Dramatis Personae

Chapter 10

By Diocletian

Nymphadora Tonks sighed dramatically. She marched into the study, striding purposefully across the dark hard wood floor to stand in front of the desk perched beside one of the room's many windows. The occupant of said desk looked up at her sheepishly and she glared down on him, hands on hips, her now-blue eyes glinting at him dangerously.

"Have you any idea," she asked, "just how much time I spent making that?"

Remus Lupin, looking unsure, but most assuredly guilty, shrugged awkwardly.

"How long I stood there, carefully watching the clock, chopping and measuring ingredients so that they would be perfect, stirring it at the exact right times in the exact right direction? How worried I was that something would go wrong?" Lupin hunched down in his seat, seemingly in an attempt to make himself invisible. Tonks continued ruthlessly.

"And now, after slaving over it for God knows how long, you," she poked him in the chest, "you don't even try to eat it. Are you really that scared of my cooking skills?"

Remus swallowed. "Well..."

Tonks threw up her hands in exasperation. "For Pete's sake, Remus, it's chicken soup! How much harm could it do?"

"I got caught up in my book," the werewolf attempted in defense. "I've finally finished the first draft, so I'm very busy with my editing. I didn't even remember that you left it here."

Tonks snorted. "A likely story."

"It's true," Remus insisted. "And I know it's delicious, I don't even have to taste it to tell. I can smell it from here. See?" He sniffed the air theatrically. "Special werewolf smelling capabilities. Yum."

Tonks narrowed her eyes and was about to retort when the doorbell rang. It echoed throughout 12 Grimmauld Place and, even though the old portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed and burnt to a crisp years ago, Tonks and Remus still cringed slightly in reflexive expectation of the furious shrieking. After shaking herself back to her senses, Tonks glanced at the door of the study and slowly stepped away from Remus's desk. "If you think this is over, you've got another thing coming, Lupin."

She sauntered out of the study and down to the front door. As soon as she disappeared, Remus wrinkled his nose at the soup which continued to sit, seemingly innocent, beside his draft and quickly dumped it into a large potted fern that sat on the floor beside his desk. The plant shuddered for a moment before promptly turning purple. Remus sighed. Tonks may have been older and more mature than she used to be, but she was still Tonks.

Her voice floated in through the open door leading out into the stairway. "Oh yes, he's home. He's always home. That's why they call them recluses."

Remus rolled his eyes. He heard the front door shut as Tonks invited whoever it was inside. He listened as they came up the stairs, apparently heading towards the study. He figured that it was somebody from Obscurus Books, maybe his editor, wondering how the new book was going. But then he heard the familiar, but unexpected voice speak from the stairs.

"Tonks, are you sure that I'm not interrupting his work? Because I can come back..."

Hearing the tone of his voice, Remus could practically see the uncertain look on Ron's face. He stood up from his desk and went to the doorway just as Tonks and Ron reached the landing.

"No need for that, Mr. Weasley," he said, smiling genially and leaning against the doorjamb of the study. "The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is always welcome in my humble little boarding house."

"Oh Gawd," Ron moaned. "You heard about that?"

Tonks chuckled and patted the redhead comfortingly on the back. "Ron, mate. Everybody's heard about that. It was in the 'Prophet' this morning."

Ron's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head, they widened so much. "WHAT?" he squawked indignantly.

"It wasn't on the front page or anything," Tonks continued as though she hadn't heard him. "The Summit bombing still has a monopoly on that. But it was in there somewhere. They had a blip about the Ministry's upcoming downfall at the hands of the under-qualified children that many of the Departments were now going to be controlled by."

"Excuse me, what? I don't quite—"

"The Department Heads, Ronnie," Tonks replied, concern starting to slip into her voice. "You aren't the only one who suddenly got promoted yesterday. There are at least four of you, maybe five, I don't remember. Haven't you read the paper at all?"

Seeing the confused look on the younger man's face, Remus took pity on him and decided to try and explain the situation. "Four of the Ministry's Heads of Department were killed in the bombing. Another's still at St. Mungo's in critical condition. I think Darius Melforth and Ed Atwood are the only ones who managed to escape unscathed."

"Hot damn," Ron muttered to himself. "I didn't know any of that."

"Well, it is," Tonks chuckled mirthlessly, "rather a big shock. I can honestly say that I wasn't expecting it."

"Nobody was expecting it, you crazy bint," a voice said from the stairs above them. "That's why it's such big news."

Remus, Tonks and Ron all turned to face the man who had spoken. He was a thin-looking fellow with chestnut-brown hair which was combed back in a prissy wave, and a long, narrow nose. Ron judged him to be a few years older than himself, roughly Tonks' age. He looked down at the three of them condescendingly and Tonks threw him a big grin. "Ooh Lysander, baby, you know I love it when you go all dominant on me."

The man, Lysander, sneered at her and walked down the stairs past them. "Sorry to interrupt you and your guest, Mr. Lupin, but I forgot my press pass on my dresser."

Remus waved his hand dismissively. "No problem, man. You live here, too." He turned to Ron and gestured him into the study. His eyebrows were raised, urging him to hurry. "Why don't you step inside, Fred? We can talk in here."

Before he could say a word, Ron found himself being harshly propelled by Tonks into Remus's study. Remus gave Lysander one final smile and a cordial nod before closing the door behind them. He turned back to a mildly irate Ron.

"I'm RON, remember? What the hell was that about? Who was that?"

Tonks rolled her eyes and stepped away from the door, where she'd had her ear pressed against the wood, apparently listening to the other man's footsteps disappearing down the stairs. She then went over and sat down on top of the desk while Remus cleared away the sheets of paper that made up his most recent draft. "That was Lysander Newkirk," she replied. "He's my fellow patron at 'Lupin's Grimmauld Place Boarding House'. He currently inhabits the room you and Harry used to share when you were teenagers."

"He's also a reporter for the Daily Prophet," Remus added. "That's why I wanted to get you away from him. If he'd known who you were, he would have torn you apart. You are currently a target that the press is anxiously awaiting a chance to pounce on."

Ron sighed and dropped himself into the chair in front of the desk. "Grand."

"So, tell us, Mr. Weasley," Tonks asked, looking mischievious, "give us the exclusive before the vultures get a hold of you: What caused the Summit Bombing?"

Ron sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "We're still kind of working on that," he admitted. "Right now we're more trying to make sure everyone's okay than anything else, trying to get ourselves organized again."

Tonks grinned sardonically. "Yeah, that's what I figured. I haven't been called back in off my sick-leave, so I didn't think the real investigating would have started yet. It's really pissing off the 'Prophet', by the way. They're practically salivating over the prospect of writing about how incompetent you are."

Ron's nose wrinkled in irritation. "Yeah, I don't doubt it. But before I can really dedicate my every waking hour to trying not to royally fuck this whole thing up too badly, I need to find a Senior Deputy for the Department."

Remus frowned and leaned forward across the surface of his desk. "You don't have one?" Ron shook his head.

"I've got a Junior. Some guy I knew vaguely from school, smart fellow who just happens to be the Minister's second cousin's nephew thrice-removed or something. But I haven't got a Senior." Ron coughed uncomfortably and scratched his chin, trying not to seem awkward. "That's, umm… That's kind of, uh… It's part of the reason—Lord, this was a lot easier in my head—It's sort of why I'm, uh, here."

"What is?" Remus asked, curious despite himself.

"Huh?"

"What is it that you are here for?"

"Oh, yeah. That." Ron cleared his throat and tried to ignore Tonks' inquisitive stare as he fixed his gaze on Remus. "Uh, what are you going to be up to for the next couple of years? Busy, anything important scheduled or anything?"

The room was silent for a few moments, during which Remus furrowed his brow in mild puzzlement and Ron swallowed nervously. Then Tonks burst out laughing. "You want to hire REMUS?"

The werewolf's eyes bulged with comprehension and Ron winced at the tone of incredulity in Tonks' voice. "Is it really that preposterous?" he asked. "I mean, I have reviewed every single employee record open to me from the Ministry in the past 36 hours and I can't find a single person I'd rather have be my Senior Deputy. Well, aside from Harry, maybe, but he'd turn me down flat if I asked him. He likes being an Auror too much. Tonks is on sick-leave from that malaclaw thing for another four days and no one else, including her, wants to quit active duty in order to sit behind a desk for who-knows-how long.

"But, Remus," he continued ruthlessly, ignoring the doubtful look on Lupin's face, "I think you'd be good at this. REALLY good. I need help, and if it came from someone who knew what the hell they were doing, it would certainly come in handy. If you say no, I'm gonna have to ask my dad or something, and I'd rather not do that if there is even the slight possibility that I don't have to."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand while his left played with a lock of hair lying across his forehead. He paced for a few moments, deep in thought, while Tonks did her best to pretend she wasn't there so that the boys could concentrate on what they were doing. Finally, Remus released the grip he had on his neck and hair and swung his arms a couple of times at his sides. Then he turned back to Ron, who was chewing his bottom lip as he awaited a response.

"Can I sleep on it?" he asked at last. Ron frowned and let out a disappointed breath, but nodded.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. If you can let me know by the end of the work day tomorrow, though, I would appreciate it immensely." He cleared his throat and paused, suddenly appearing rather antsy and when he began to speak again, it was in a more hurried fashion. "I'll be at the office tomorrow morning, probably, and I won't be leaving until," Ron checked his watch and closed his eyes halfway, counting to himself and looking up at the ceiling, "roughly next month. So, whenever you make up your mind, let me know, okay? I should get going about now, but thanks for taking the time to see me."

Remus held out a hand, waving it disarmingly. "Woah, Ron. Calm down. I didn't say 'no'."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "No, but I can tell from the tone of your voice that you're going to. And when you contact me tomorrow, with your oh-so-polite refusal in hand, I'm still going to need SOMEONE to do it, so I kinda need to get on that. Like, now. So, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I should really be going."

Tonks gently grabbed Ron's elbow as he went to turn away. She looked at him with mild concern, but he just looked at his feet. "Are you okay, Ronnie?"

Ron's jaw clenched and he released a small, intense noise of frustration. Aside from all the pressure he was already under at the moment, he hated being called 'Ronnie'. "I'm fine," he muttered, tugging his arm out of Tonks grasp and walking down the stairs. "Fucking peachy."

He stormed the entire way down the steps to the front hall before leaving the house and slamming the door behind him. Remus looked inquisitively at Tonks, who shrugged. "What was that about?"

That night, Harry decided to take a short trip to Brighton on his way home in order to check on Ron. They had spent much of the day together at work, after Ron had returned to the Ministry from his venture to Lupin's. From what Harry had been able to glean from Ron's mood, it had not gone well. He felt sorry for his best friend, and he was more than a little worried. He was officially in charge of the enormous international investigation into the Summit bombing, he didn't have a deputy to delegate to, his fiancée was in the hospital and his unborn child was dead. Anybody would be stressed and with Ron's temperamental nature, it was more than likely that he was about to explode.

Harry stopped in at the Leaky Cauldron to buy a couple of butterbeers before apparating to the safely fenced-in backyard of 547 Maybury Hill Road. With the two butterbeer bottles in hand, he knocked cautiously on the back door, even though he knew it wasn't locked. Hearing no response, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He put the two bottles on the kitchen counter before venturing down the short hall and into the living room. None of the lights were on, but he had a fairly good idea that that would be where Ron was hiding. Sure enough, when Harry stepped into the dark living room and flicked on the overhead light, he was met by the sight of a tall redheaded man slouching on an armchair and suddenly shielding his eyes from the unexpected brightness.

Ron groaned. "Fuck. Turn it off, you pillock."

Harry raised an eyebrow sardonically. "And let you continue sulking here alone in the dark? Not a chance. It's not healthy."

"Neither is shooting yourself, but the thought has occurred to me," Ron muttered. "I am so tired of this whole situation. I just want it to be over, and you and the damn light aren't helping." He stood slowly and stumbled over to the television set that was propped up in the corner of the room. Seeing the curious look being sent his way and completely misinterpreting it, Ron spoke again. "Hermione taught me how to use this thing ages ago. I like it. I like being able to see the reporters' faces when the bastards are telling us the world is going to hell."

Harry watched him carefully as he staggered back to his chair after turning on the television. He knew better than to take Ron too seriously when he was depressed, but he was a little concerned. He seemed a bit...off. A suspicion growing in his mind, Harry stepped closer to Ron's chair and sniffed. His thought was confirmed.

"You're drunk," Harry accused. Ron gave him a slightly off-kilter grin and waggled his finger in his friend's direction.

"See now, that there's what you call an acute observation."

Harry sighed. "I know you're going through a bit of a rough spot at the moment, mate—a bitingly, agonizingly painful spot, rather—but you shouldn't drink to drown your sorrows. Sorrow knows how to swim."

Ron snorted as a commercial ended on the screen in front of him. "Oh, right. I'm getting drinking advice from the alcoholic. That's a confidence booster."

Harry ignored the barb that had inadvertently been flung at him and went over to help Ron out of his chair. The redhead grumbled at him and the bleach-blonde reporter on the television started commenting perkily about the continuing heat wave throughout the UK and how, for the moment, the draught was keeping the water-ban firmly in place.

As they passed the open front hall window, Ron suddenly clutched at the curtain and pulled himself up to the sill. "Yeah, I hope he's watching that across the street!" he shouted outside, slurring for any and all of the neighbours to hear. "Him with his bloody fucking sprinklers on half the bloody fucking night!"

Reminded strongly of his Uncle Vernon on the night he had been attacked by Dementors during one of Britain's last water-bans, Harry yanked Ron away from the window, somewhat more forcefully than necessary, and tugged him into his room. He pushed him down to sit on the end of the bed and sat down on the floor in front of him.

"Ron," he began carefully. "I'm gonna tell you something that I know you don't want to be told, but which you need to hear, regardless. Okay?" Ron groaned and threw his body backwards onto the bed. "I'm taking that as a 'sure.'" Harry took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Life is going to go on. I realize that you feel as though your world is tumbling down about your ankles, but tomorrow is going to come anyway—"

"Fucking inconsiderate of it," Ron mumbled.

"And," Harry persisted, reflecting absently that Ron said 'fuck' an awful lot when he was drunk, "you are going to have to face it, whether you go kicking and screaming or not. The sooner you accept it, the better it'll be for you." Ron's nose wrinkled in distaste. Harry decided one final incentive was needed. "And if you're still in this rut of yours tomorrow morning, I'm ringing up Molly and telling her that you need her to look after you for a few days—for your own good."

Ron sat straight up, not nearly inebriated enough to ignore the threat of his obsessively doting mother. "You wouldn't."

Harry's eyes narrowed in all seriousness. "Just try me."

"You miserable sod," Ron replied after unsuccessfully attempting to stare him down. "Mum isn't what I need to make me feel better. I need a healthy, happy family. But guess what? That doesn't seem to be working out! I no longer have a home-life to speak of. Plus, when I'm at work, the head of security for the representatives from Ju-tiki-stan or wherever-the-fuck-it-was is practically stalking me, demanding answers—"

"Tajikistan," Harry corrected.

"—That I can't give!" Ron continued, blatantly ignoring him. "I need a deputy. I have a damn press conference tomorrow, ordered by everybody's favourite bossy Minister, Manny Shoal, in front of representatives from almost two hundred countries. Can you imagine how bad it's going to look when I get up there? I mean, I don't know what the hell's going on myself! We had magical bomb detectors, we had armed security personnel, we had triple-layered anti-apparition wards up. This thing should not have happened!"

Ron suddenly collapsed onto his knees on the floor. He set his palms out in front of him, palms up, and stared at them unseeingly. After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm supposed to be a slacker, Harry. I mean, I've always been a slacker. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I am one of those lucky people who are predisposed by nature to avoid hard work at any cost. How the hell did I get into this mess?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it was just plain bad luck," he suggested, settling himself down on the floor beside Ron. "I mean, sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. There's jack-shit we can do about it except struggle on. And..." He sighed and faced Ron directly, looking as though he would rather be disemboweling himself with a spoon than be saying what he was trying to say. "If you can't find a Senior Deputy you trust before the conference tomorrow..." His face twisted as he took the final leap. "I'll do it."

Ron stared at him blankly for a minute and Harry rushed to clarify the agreement. "I mean, I'll do it, but only until you find someone else. I like being an Auror and I don't intend to give up on it so easily, but, you know, if you need me—"

Ron held up a hand to halt Harry in his rambling. He looked noticeably more sober than he had all evening and Harry was more relieved than he cared to say to see a small smile there. When he spoke, it was in a calm, level tone of voice, expressing nothing less than complete gratification. "Thank you, Harry."

Content, but feeling oddly humble, Harry shrugged in response. "Hey, I'm always here for you, man. I told you that yesterday. That's what best friends are for."

Dedicated to Lila and Magnolia Lane. Hugs and cookies!