"Did you always want to be an Auror?"
David's voice was low and gravelly, his chest rumbling against her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him. They were sharing the same pillow, the same breath. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through foggy glass and tangled vegetation, bathing the inside of the greenhouse in a warm glow. There was a lovely stillness to the air; a sense that – at least for this moment – everything was as it should be.
"Always," she admitted with a self-conscious smile. "There was a brief period where I wanted to be a musician, but a complete lack of talent made that career path rather impractical."
"Oh, come on," he laughed, "I'm sure you have talent."
She snorted.
"I can't hold a tune to save my life. I just fancied strutting about on stage wearing ridiculous outfits."
"… you would be quite good at that."
"I know, right?" she laughed. "D'you play music?"
"I sing in the shower sometimes, does that count?"
"Depends on what you sing."
"Beatles, mostly. Occasionally David Bowie, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious."
"Ground control to Major Tom…" she warbled. He grinned and joined her.
"Ground control to Major Tom…"
She giggled and fell silent, but he was off to the races, singing with mock solemnity as he closed his eyes.
"This is ground control to Major Tom… you've really made the grade…"
"Bloody hell, you've a good voice."
"Speak for yourself," he smiled, nudging her foot with his. "No talent, my arse."
His fingers lightly traced the line of her collarbone as he continued to sing quietly. She listened for a while before joining in.
"Here am I sitting in a tin can… far from the world. Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do…"
Tonks began to strum a fake guitar.
"Bum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum dum…"
He chuckled as she continued to play her imaginary instrument.
"I think we really have something here," he said. "We should hand in our notices and start a band."
"I'm game. What should we call ourselves?"
"… Dora and the Scruffy Wanker?"
She burst out laughing and shoved him.
"You are not a scruffy wanker!"
"Dora and Her Utterly Besotted Boyfriend?"
"That's a terrible name for a band, you're not even trying."
"Dora and David…" he closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Oh God, we sound like something out of a 1950s sitcom."
She snorted, having reached the same conclusion herself several days ago.
"How about… The Shapeshifters?"
He contemplated it for a while, then –
"I like it. Sounds like a punk group."
"Really? Sounds more hard rock to me."
He shrugged.
"We can do both. This is our imaginary band, we can do whatever the hell we want."
She laughed and rolled to face him, burying her fingers in his blond stubble. They had escaped to the greenhouse an hour ago, after a few failed attempts at biscuit decorating and several spirited rounds of wizarding chess with Ron and Charlie. Apart from Marlene's unexpected arrival, it had been rather a perfect day.
"… you look good with a beard," she mused, tugging absently at it. His lips twitched.
"It hides the scars."
She scowled at him.
"That's not why it looks good. It just… suits you."
"… the better to tickle you with, my dear."
Tonks barely caught a glimpse of a mischievous grin before he was surging forward, pressing his face into her neck and kissing her madly. Sure enough, the beard rasped against sensitive skin and she shrieked with laughter as his fingers danced down her exposed ribs. He didn't subject her to this torture for long, though, hands stilling as his lips met hers. They were lost in each other for several long moments before they parted, breathing heavily.
"… Little Red Riding Hood?" she gasped, cocking an amused eyebrow. "Really?"
He shrugged, unapologetic.
"Had to be done."
They settled back into the pillow, grinning at each other in quiet contentment. For a while, the only sound in the greenhouse was the soft hiss of wind blowing snow against the glass. David lifted a reverent finger to brush a lock of pink hair out of her eyes. His gaze was distant, fixed on the curve of her right cheekbone.
"Sickle for your thoughts?"
He blinked. Tonks waited, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Then he let out a huff of quiet laughter and shook his head.
"I was… thinking about how much I owe you," he murmured, dropping his hand. "Honestly, I… I owe you everything."
"What?" she laughed. "That's not true."
"It is," he insisted. "Yeah, there were a lot of reasons why I started spying for the Order, but you were the last straw. And then – I mean, for the past six years you've been one of the only people who will actually talk to me. You were scared at first, I could smell it, but… you got over it. You… made me laugh, you called me out on my bullshit. You made the wizarding world bearable. You gave me a reason to get up every day, to keep trying. And then that night the others were Kissed… Dora, if you hadn't asked me for that drink, I would be dead right now. D'you realize that? I would have gone off on my own and Umbridge would have cornered me and that would be it."
"That's not true," Tonks repeated weakly, overwhelmed by the words suddenly pouring from his mouth like a dam overflowing. "You fought them off all by yourself."
"Because I knew that at least on some level, you cared," he said, voice shaking. "And because I was so fucking angry. They could have hurt you, they would have. If it weren't for you…"
He let out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head.
"If it weren't for you, I probably would have let them kill me."
The words rang with morbid conviction. She didn't know what to say. Luckily, David didn't seem to expect a response. His eyes were now fixed on the few centimetres of bedsheet visible between their bodies.
"… sorry," he finally mumbled with a self-conscious chuckle. "I just… thank you. For being you."
An uncertain silence stretched between them. Then Tonks cleared her throat awkwardly.
"You're, uh… you're welcome."
They examined each other for a long moment, noses almost touching. Then David drew in a deep breath, and Tonks could see a decision forming in his eyes.
"You're the first witch I've ever been with, you know. The only…" he swallowed, "the only woman who's ever let me touch her, knowing full well who – and what – I am."
She blinked. Then –
"What about Soha?"
He dropped his gaze, tangling his fingers with hers under the covers.
"… Soha wasn't… we weren't…" he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "She was more like a sister. She was a few years older and I wasn't really her type, if you get my meaning."
"But… I thought you loved her."
"I did. She was my best friend. I met her when I was six, she was the first werewolf I ever saw. I still remember… waking up and – and looking across the hall at those yellow eyes. Scared the shit out of me."
He went quiet for a while, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Then he rolled onto his back, gaze fixing on the fairy lights. Tonks knew he wasn't really seeing them.
"… what was she like?"
A long silence.
"Funny. Terrifying. A lot like you, to be honest. I'd say you two would have been friends, but she hated Ministry types unconditionally, 'specially Aurors."
"Did she know you were helping the Order?"
"No," he replied immediately, shaking his head at the ceiling. "She loved me, but she was too far gone to see things my way. She was rubbish at wandless magic, so the facility was much worse for her than it was for me. The packs were almost as bad, and I could only do so much to help her. When we finally made it to Tantallon…"
He trailed off, then sighed deeply and ran a hand down his face.
"The Dark Lord gave us food and protection, but it was more than that. He made us feel wanted; he gave us power. It was all an illusion, of course, but if you toed the line the rewards were… compelling."
Another long silence. Then he sighed and rolled back to face her. He didn't meet her eyes, however, instead fixing his gaze somewhere over her shoulder.
"We were all broken, in one way or another. Even him. I think that's what scares me the most. Hardly anyone sets out to be evil. We all thought we were doing the right thing. Soha was a good person, but she could murder someone without batting an eye if they refused to swear loyalty to the Dark Lord."
Finally, his gaze flickered to Tonks. She examined him for a moment, then took the plunge.
"Why did Sirius kill her? And why is she his boggart?"
David didn't seem surprised by the question. In fact, it looked like he had been preparing for it.
"He shot her during a Ministry raid on the club we all used to go to on our nights off. I knew the raid was happening, I was the one who suggested it. But I asked them to leave my friends alone. I gave them… pictures and everything."
His lips pressed together in a thin line and his eyes lowered again.
"It was right after I killed Pettigrew. I tried to explain, I – I tried to tell them he was a traitor. And I tried to tell them what he… what he…"
When he trailed off, almost choking on the words, Tonks reached forward and wrapped a hand around his wrist. He drew in a deep breath through his nose before letting it out shakily. Closing his eyes, he continued.
"… Black didn't believe me. I don't think anyone did. A few of my tips turned out to be wrong, and they were starting to trust me even less than they had before. Black got it in his head that I killed Pettigrew because he was going to expose me as a double agent. So when he showed up at the nightclub… well, he knew what all my friends looked like. He had their pictures."
David glanced up. Tonks knew she was gaping at him, but no amount of self-discipline could force her expression back to the firm neutrality he always seemed to need in place of sympathy. His gaze flickered, then he was dancing away from the emotions.
"Anyway," he said, forcing a small smile, "he figured it out eventually. As to why she's his boggart… looks like he finally developed something resembling a conscience."
The silence that filled the greenhouse was ringing with speechless rage. Tonks opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Still, no words came. She was plumb out of comforting phrases, and all she really wanted to do was get the floo back to Grimmauld Place and slap her cousin in the face. Repeatedly.
"Dora…"
A rough knuckle brushed her cheek and Tonks blinked away the haze of anger. David looked concerned.
"… nobody gets through a war like that without making mistakes. Believe me, I made more than my share. For what it's worth he did apologize, a few months later. I was too angry to listen, and… I've been that way ever since, to be honest. But I don't want that for you."
His hand was now cupping her face, his eyes intent.
"I don't want you to be angry on my account. Especially not with your own cousin."
She drew in a trembling breath.
"… but he was supposed to be better than that."
"He's only human," David said sadly. "Just like you and me."
Tonks couldn't find the strength to argue. She blinked furiously and dropped her gaze, breath still coming in shallow, shaking gasps. A long arm wrapped around her waist and David pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. Several long minutes passed, and Tonks let herself cry silently into his chest. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. For Soha, for David, for her shattered confidence in her cousin or her own battered soul, she didn't know.
Finally, the werewolf decided they had been miserable for long enough.
"Anyway…" he ventured, the words vibrating in his throat where Tonks's nose was pressed, "I have actually dated a few muggle women."
The young Auror sniffed, gathered herself as best she could, then pushed back far enough to peer up at him through bloodshot eyes.
"… oh yeah?"
His lips quirked.
"I had a rather… embarrassing string of one-night stands after the War. I spent a lot of time in muggle nightclubs, trying not to think about anything. I kept moving, a different city every month until I ran out of cities. I tried to escape to the Continent a few times, almost got myself thrown in Azkaban. Then I overdosed. When I woke up, Sev presented me with a flat in Manchester and told me to grow up. A few weeks later I was a mechanic."
He paused, a surprisingly wistful expression overtaking his features. Not for the first time, Tonks wondered if he'd actually wanted to teach at Hogwarts.
"There, uh…" he trailed off, then cleared his throat. "There was a girl named Rose who worked at a tattoo shop across the road from my garage. I don't know why she liked me. I was just a… strange, skinny bloke who never said anything – "
"You really don't understand women, do you?"
He blinked. Even Tonks was a bit surprised by her own interjection. She gave him a wry smile.
"You're mysterious, love. Girls like that."
He grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.
"… yes, well. I couldn't exactly tell her the truth, could I? We dated for over a year, and I spent most of that time just trying to keep my story straight. I did… genuinely care about her. But she didn't really know me, and it never felt… real. I was about to tell her everything and live with the consequences, whatever they were. But then Dumbledore showed up and… well, I made a choice."
"… do you regret it?"
His eyes rose to meet hers, and Tonks waited patiently for an answer. He contemplated her for a moment, then –
"No. Not anymore. I miss the simplicity of that life. I liked not having anything to do with the wizarding world. But I never could have had… this… with Rose. And even if this doesn't last – even if you decide tomorrow that you can't deal with my drama… it will still have been worth it."
Tonks swallowed thickly and dropped her gaze to his dogtags, resting against pale, warm skin. She reached forward and traced the edge of one of the metal discs, then let her fingers wander further down to the black serpents that ran up his sternum.
"You're worth all the drama."
His hand came up to press hers firmly into his chest. She could feel his heart beating, slow and steady, through his ribcage. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it, and she could see the argument die in his gaze. She was making progress.
"So, erm…" she ventured hesitantly, rubbing her thumb over one of the serpents' fanged mouths, "did Rose ever try her talents on you?"
"… sorry?"
"You said she was a tattoo artist."
"Oh, right. Erm…"
He wriggled his left arm out from under her and pointed to a vine of small roses twisted into the celtic pattern stretching from his fingers to his shoulder.
"These are hers," he murmured. "I wanted to cover up all my Lothian tattoos – do those big ugly sleeves, you know. But she refused. She thought these were beautiful."
He grimaced, still examining the thin, oddly tribal black lines that swirled dizzyingly across his skin. The roses stood out, dark red and delicate, amidst the chaos.
"So we compromised. She added something that would always remind me that… time has passed. And things have changed."
He didn't look up to gauge her reaction. Instead, he gestured to his right arm, where a similar vine of roses had taken up residence.
"Did those too, obviously. And these – "
He sat up and twisted his arm to point at four deep, white scars running parallel down his right shoulder blade. They looked to be yet another product of full-moon violence, but now that Tonks had time to properly examine them, she noticed several colorful tattoos between the lines. She leaned closer, then let out a surprised laugh.
Three tiny cars were racing each other up the lanes between scars. The tattoos were immaculately detailed; one red, one black, and one green. Tonks already knew they must be very specific cars.
"An Aston Martin, an Alfa, and an E-type," he said proudly, peering over his shoulder. "I drew them for her, she knew as much about cars as you do."
"So… fuck all, then?"
He laughed and lay back down, pulling her hand into his once again. Tonks smiled.
"She's a talented artist."
He shrugged.
"Yeah, she was. Drawing is about all we really had in common, to be honest."
"D'you think you'd ever go back? To the muggle world, I mean."
He considered the question for a moment, eyes flickering between hers. Finally, he responded.
"Maybe. But I wouldn't get to see you."
"Yes, you would," she chuckled. "My friend Naïema's dating a muggle, she sees her every day. You could be a mechanic and still have a floo, you know."
The idea was obviously intriguing. He drew in a breath, hesitated, then spoke.
"You wouldn't… mind that?"
A slow smile creased her face.
"Why would I mind? Sounds like it would make you happy."
He didn't deny it, and Tonks furrowed her brow.
"Why did you take the job at Hogwarts anyway?"
He shrugged, grimacing.
"Dumbledore said it was a chance to show the next generation that werewolves are more than bloodthirsty savages. I reminded him that I'm hardly a shining example of human decency, but he was… rather insistent."
"I'm glad he was."
David raised an eyebrow.
"I think a lot of your classmates would disagree."
"Well, they're wrong."
He let out a surprised bark of laughter and slid an arm around her waist, yanking her towards him. His lips captured hers in an unhurried kiss.
"You really mean it?" he murmured when they parted. "You wouldn't mind dating a… relapsed muggle mechanic?"
"Would you stop asking me that?" she chuckled. "I don't care what you do for a living, so long as it makes you happy."
A broad smile split his face from ear to ear, his eyes alight.
"Well… I thought I was joking before about handing in my notice, but maybe I actually will. I'm heartily sick of the wizarding world, present company excluded."
"I think you'll have to make an exception for the Weasleys as well," she pointed out. "Now that they've adopted you, I don't think they'll let you just disappear."
His smile turned rueful, but she could tell he was pleased.
"Yeah, 'spose they're not so bad…"
She was about to say something along the lines of they're great when they're not being bigoted arseholes when a yawn overtook her. They had spent much of the last twenty-four hours in bed, but very little of that time had been devoted to sleeping. She sighed and burrowed into him, tucking her head under his chin.
"Mmm… can we just stay here forever?"
His throat hummed against her nose and his fingers lightly caressed her back.
"… the others are probably wondering where we've gone."
"Oh, come off it," she snorted. "They know exactly where we are and what we're doing."
"That's… mortifying."
Tonks peered up at her boyfriend, smirking.
"I didn't know you were so bashful."
He huffed.
"I'm not bashful. I just… don't want people gossiping about you."
"People have been gossiping about me my whole life. At this point, I couldn't care less."
"You're going to get a lot of abuse on my account," he said bluntly. "Most people won't understand."
"David," she replied firmly, "I'm a metamorphmagus. I know what it's like to be judged for something I can't control."
His lips pulled into a thin, unhappy line.
"… I hate that you know that feeling."
"If I didn't know that feeling, I wouldn't be who I am. I might never have spoken to you."
"True. But Dora… I can't marry you, least not legally. And it would be very difficult for us to have children. I can't give you the future you deserve."
"But you're the future I want," she stated, her tone daring him to argue. "Besides, we've been dating for a bloody week. If you popped the question right now, I might just run away screaming."
He burst out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Fair point. 'Spose I'm getting ahead of myself."
"Just a bit. You don't know me that well yet. I could snore, or chew with my mouth open, or break really foul wind – "
He let out an undignified snigger.
"You snore when you're on your left side, you don't chew with your mouth open, and as long as I keep you away from French onion soup, your wind should be bearable."
She gaped at him, torn between horror and amusement. He smirked.
"At the risk of sounding creepy, I actually know you quite well."
"… I can't believe you know about the French onion soup."
"How could I not know about the French onion soup?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to laugh.
"And I suppose your digestive system works like a well-oiled machine at all times."
"Hardly," he snorted. "I'm a vegetarian who's allergic to corn and most types of mushrooms. My digestive system is always angry with me, you just have a terrible sense of smell."
They looked at each other, lips quirking, for a single moment. Then they descended into helpless giggles.
"We're so romantic," Tonks gasped. He pulled her body flush with his, burying his face in her hair and continuing to snicker.
"… I love you, my sexy, smelly girlfriend."
"I love you too, my stinky werewolf."
They both snorted with laughter. As their mirth slowly died away, contented silence once again filled the greenhouse. The light streaming through the windows was going a bit cool, indicating the rapid approach of twilight. Tonks pressed her lips to David's collarbone, relishing in the warmth of his skin. She kissed him again, hands ghosting down his back. He cleared his throat.
"We, uh… we should probably go inside soon."
"Mmm… in a bit."
By the time they stumbled back into the house – disheveled and grinning – the sun was beginning to set, and snow was falling once again. The door was barely closed when they were accosted by a flustered Molly.
"There you are," she cried with relief, grabbing David's arm before he could even bend to take off his snow-covered boots. "We were beginning to think you'd never come out again…"
She ushered him down the hall, leaving no room for argument. He glanced helplessly over his shoulder, but Tonks could only offer him a bewildered shrug. She pulled off her jacket and hung it up, then hurried after them. She had a feeling her boyfriend was going to need some moral support.
She turned the corner to find the sitting room full to the brim with people. A sea of red hair told her that the Weasleys were all in attendance. Sirius and the Potters must have arrived at some point in the afternoon, and Marlene and Kingsley were sitting in a corner, deep in conversation. Dumbledore stood – tall and serene – in front of the window, and Ollivander sat in an armchair near the fire, an enormous trunk propped open at his feet. He looked the same as he always did – thin, bent, old, with a shock of white hair on his head and grey whiskers curling out his ears. But his eyes were bright and shrewd as they examined the young man Molly was all but dragging into the room.
All eyes, in fact, were fixed on David. Unsurprisingly, he did not appreciate the attention.
"… the fuck is this?" he demanded, glaring around at the spectators. "What are you all doing here?"
"What d'you think?" George said blithely, popping the last of a gingerbread biscuit into his mouth. "Watching you get Sorted."
"Eh?"
Horrified incredulity could not save the recalcitrant werewolf. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as he stepped forward and pulled a very familiar hat from the depths of his robes.
"Oh, no," David groaned, taking several steps backward and holding out his hands. "No no no, I – I appreciate the gesture, but I really don't think this is necessary."
Dumbledore didn't reply. He simply placed the crumpled hat on a small footstool and took a step back, turning expectant eyes on the former Reaper.
"I'm not eleven, Albus," David spat. "I don't need some… bloody hat telling me who I am. I know who I am."
"Do you?"
"I don't belong in your little boxes, and I never will."
"The Hogwarts Houses are not meant to be boxes. If that is what you see, then perhaps I need to make some changes."
The old wizard took a step forward and reached out. Tonks could see David's shoulders tighten, but he allowed Dumbledore's wrinkled hand to grasp his upper arm.
"Remus – "
"David."
Dumbledore paused, blue eyes calculating. The werewolf raised his chin.
"My name is David."
A pause. Then –
"David. I know you're angry with me."
The former Reaper opened his mouth, but Dumbledore raised a hand.
"You're angry with all of us, and I don't blame you. In many ways, we treated you no better than Tom did, or Abraham. I could offer excuses for my actions, but in the end it won't change the fact that I hurt you, and I let other people hurt you."
David was staring at the old man, his eyes wide and his mouth open in mute shock. Dumbledore drew in a long breath through his nose.
"I know you have very little reason to trust me. I haven't been nearly as supportive as I should have been over the last fifteen years. Severus told me you didn't really want to teach at Hogwarts, but I thought it would be good for you. If you want to leave when this is over, I will understand."
The werewolf blinked, then cast a brief glance over at Tonks. She raised her eyebrows, also bemused by the coincidence. David's throat bobbed, then he was looking back at Dumbledore.
"… wait, I – I thought the Board of Governors made you retire 'cause of me."
The old wizard dismissed this with a wave of his hand.
"They ask me to retire almost every year," he said flippantly, shaking his head. "Last year they were upset because I was using government funds to improve the house elf dormitories."
"Oh yeah, erm, speaking of which – could you apologize to Ellie for me? I meant to clean my room before her next visit but… obviously that didn't happen."
Dumbledore blinked down at the younger man, one side of his white mustache twitching.
"… you do know it is her job to clean your room, do you not?"
The werewolf bristled.
"The word job implies wages, Albus," he snarled.
"Hear hear!" Hermione called out from a corner. Tonks stuffed a fist over her mouth to keep from laughing and Dumbledore rolled his eyes heavenward.
"I'm not having this argument with you right now," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "The point is that once you're proven innocent, the Board of Governors will fall all over themselves to reinstate me. And then I will make it my business to get that petition of yours circulated, signed, and passed into law."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then David's feet shifted on the floor.
"… really?"
"Yes, really. I should have thrown all my weight behind it from the very beginning. I thought it was too soon after the War; I thought it would never get enough signatures. But that was no excuse for leaving you to fight the battle alone."
Dumbledore stepped forward again, this time grasping David by both shoulders. He shook the young man slightly.
"We will get werewolf children into Hogwarts. I promise you. If it's the last thing I ever do."
David stared at the old man for a long moment, speechless. Then he swallowed, blinked rapidly, and nodded before dropping his gaze to the floor. He brought a shaking hand up to cover his mouth and Tonks fought the urge to wrap her arms around him. Dumbledore – perhaps sensing that the former Reaper needed some emotional breathing room – took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides.
"So," he said brightly, "now you see why you must be Sorted. In my experience, werewolf children are a very distrustful lot. They'll be much more likely to try the Sorting Hat on if they know another werewolf has already done it."
David shot him a rueful glance from under his eyebrows.
"That's a… surprisingly valid point," he admitted. "Though you probably shouldn't tell them said werewolf was me. Then you'll never get them to put it on."
Dumbledore just smiled at this, an oddly knowing glint in his eyes. He stepped to the side and gestured expansively toward the crumpled hat on the footstool. David's eyes landed on it then skittered away, turning to Tonks as he ran an agitated hand through his already messy hair.
"I still don't understand why," he complained. "Why are you all so obsessed with these… labels? A person could be cunning, brave, loyal and clever, where the fuck do you put them then?"
"I don't know," Tonks replied with an arched eyebrow, a challenge in her voice. "Why don't we find out?"
He blinked at her, then let out a huff of frustration and shook his head, pulling at his hair until it stood almost straight up. Then he threw both hands out to the sides in resignation.
"Fine. Whatever. I'll wear the stupid hat."
Then – as though afraid he would change his mind if he hesitated – he turned, strode swiftly to the footstool and grabbed the hat. Turning back towards Tonks, he quirked his eyebrows as if to say, here goes nothing. Then he stuck it unceremoniously on his own head. It had barely touched the almost vertical locks of his messy hair when the rip in the tattered fabric that served as its mouth opened to announce its decision.
"Hufflepuff!"
David flinched in surprise and dropped the Sorting Hat. It tumbled off his head and fell to the floor with a soft flop. Stunned silence filled the room for a good ten seconds. Then David brought a hand to his mouth to try and cover a loud bark of undignified laughter.
"Erm…" he choked, voice quivering with mirth as he bent to pick up the hat and hold it out to Dumbledore, "is this some sort of joke? If not, there's, uh… there's something wrong with your hat."
But Dumbledore did not respond. He was staring at the young man like he had never seen him before. David shifted on his feet and waved the hat around.
"Albus, it – it's broken."
"… no it isn't."
After half a minute of trying to remember how to breathe, Tonks had regained her voice. Something that felt a lot like triumph was spreading through her veins.
"Loyal," she said quietly, "open-minded, giving, compassionate, practical, hard-working and unassuming. A strong sense of right and wrong, a belief that everyone should be treated as equals. You hide it all behind a mask of sarcasm and anger, but there's no fooling the Sorting Hat."
David blinked at her for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned to look behind him. He was greeted by identical stunned expressions on Fred and George's faces. When he turned back around, his brow was furrowed in obvious confusion.
"… you're talking to me?"
With a frustrated scoff, she took three long steps forward and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her by the waist, hat falling to the floor once again.
"… I should have known you were a 'Puff," she murmured in his ear. Then the room erupted with noise.
"Bloody hell – "
"A Hufflepuff?"
"I did not see that coming – "
"Holy fucking sh – "
"Language, Ginny!"
"… thought for sure he'd be a Gryffindor."
"Nobody's going to believe this. I can't believe it, and I just watched it happen!"
"You'll have to make him a new jumper, mum…"
As the cacophony of voices continued around them, David's body slowly relaxed in Tonks's arms. She heard him draw in a sharp breath.
"… wait, so… I really am a Hufflepuff?"
She pulled back, blinking tears out of her eyes as she grinned fiercely up at him.
"Yeah, silly. That's what the Sorting Hat just said."
His throat bobbed and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
"Oh. Erm… well, that's…"
"Unexpected?"
"I was going to say completely insane. There's no way I'm in your house, you're too… good."
"Maybe you don't know yourself as well as you think you do."
It looked like he had another argument lined up, but he was interrupted by a beaming Marlene.
"Another Hufflepuff!" she cried, touching his arm. "Welcome to the best house by far."
"I don't know about that," a booming voice said from beside her. Kingsley grinned down at David and held out a hand for him to shake.
"But I do know," he said as the werewolf took it firmly, "that Hufflepuff just gained a good man. Congratulations, mate."
"… thanks?" David replied hesitantly. "I didn't actually do anything."
"'Sides be yourself," the tall Auror said, shrugging. "You'll have to get rid of that Slytherin mug on your desk. And I see Molly was a bit premature with the knitting."
The werewolf snorted, looking down at his dark blue jumper.
"I 'spose my personality rather defies expectations."
"You can say that again."
"This calls for a drink!"
A familiar voice called their attention to the tallest member of the Weasley family. Bill was standing at the entrance to the sitting room, levitating bottles of ale one by one from the kitchen into peoples' hands. Tonks took hers, then caught David's eye and grinned.
"To David," Bill said, raising his ale. "Welcome to the Hogwarts family, mate."
Everyone raised their bottles – even the man of the hour, who looked rather bewildered. Then they drank, and the room returned to a state of noisy confusion as half a dozen different conversations started at once. Tonks took David's hand and turned back to Kingsley, well aware that they hadn't had a chance to talk since their disastrous patrol in Lunar District.
"You alright, mate?"
His smile faded a bit and he nodded.
"'m fine. You?"
"I'm alright. Thanks to this one."
She squeezed David's hand and he responded in kind. Kingsley glanced between them, an amused glint in his brown eyes.
"'Puffs always seem to end up with other 'Puffs," he remarked, glancing at Marlene. "Ali was in your year, wasn't he?"
She nodded, smiling ruefully.
"It's a rather incestuous house, I will admit," she said, then lifted her drink to them. "Here's to keeping it in the family."
Tonks laughed and raised her ale in response. She looked up at David, who still seemed bemused by it all.
"Knew I had good taste," she teased before stretching up to deposit a kiss on his cheek. He leaned into her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"We got a lead on your sister today."
The simple sentence electrified the former Reaper. His body stiffened and he took a small step forward, golden eyes suddenly locked on Kingsley.
"Really?"
"We made the rounds at the block of council flats where your family lived," Marlene explained. "I meant to tell you this afternoon, but I was a bit… distracted."
Kingsley shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head and soldiered on.
"Quite a few people remembered your parents. One woman started crying when we said we were reopening the case. Does the name Asali Tareen mean anything to – "
"Aunt Asali?" David interrupted eagerly. "You spoke to her?"
Both Marlene and Kingsley blinked at him.
"… she's your aunt?" the tall man ventured.
"As good as. She was mum's best friend."
"Oh. Right, well," Marlene said hesitantly, "we spoke to her for almost an hour today. Whoever wiped her memory did a bloody good job, most Obliviators can't come close to that level of work. But I think I can counteract a lot of it, given time."
David didn't respond for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained.
"So… y – you think she'll remember me?"
"Yes," Marlene replied immediately, smiling. "I think she'll remember you."
"And she does actually remember your sister," Kingsley added, "at least somewhat. She has memories of a girl named Amelia, but she thinks your parents adopted her a few years before they were murdered. She's under the impression that Amelia went to an orphanage down in London."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then David was suddenly moving, putting his beer down and making for the fire.
"Hey," Kingsley said, stepping in front of the smaller man, "hey. Moody and Mrs. Tonks are looking right now, okay? They'll find her records, I promise."
"If you go, you'll just be putting everyone in danger," Marlene reminded the werewolf when he tried to dodge Kingsley's outstretched hands. "Let us help you. Please."
Tonks couldn't see her boyfriend's face, but his entire body was trembling, his back tense. She stepped forward and hesitantly took his hand again, pulling him back to her. With a little bit of persuasion, he turned. His mouth was set in a hard line, his eyes darting angrily from the floor to her face to the fireplace and back again.
"My mum is on the case," she murmured, then let out a huff of wry laughter. "Apparently. She'll find your sister."
His gaze finally locked with hers. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded curtly and ducked his head, squeezing her hand tightly.
"Excuse me."
Tonks looked over David's shoulder to find Ollivander standing on the outskirts of their small circle. The tiny man was looking at the werewolf's back, his gnarled hands folded in front of him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, voice so soft that Tonks had to strain to hear him, "but I really must return to my shop soon. Mr… Lupin, is it?"
David turned slowly to face him, amber eyes wary.
"… Exley," he eventually replied. It was clear that he had no idea who Ollivander was.
"I'm told you are in need of a new wand, Mr. Exley."
Realization dawned.
"Oh. Erm… yes, I – I am."
"Well, then. I need your measurements."
The old man beckoned him towards the fire. David glanced at Tonks, and when she nodded encouragingly, he ambled slowly over to join Ollivander beside the enormous wooden trunk. Tonks followed them eagerly, perching herself on the arm of a nearby couch so she could observe the action. Kingsley and Marlene sank down onto the couch opposite her.
With a flick of his wand, Ollivander's measuring tape flew through the air towards David. The werewolf jumped backwards, hands coming up in a defensive motion.
"Oy!"
But the tape was not to be dissuaded. It set to work, measuring the length of David's fingers, the size of his wrist, the diameter of his bicep. As it worked its way around his body, even measuring the distance from his lip to the tip of his nose, the man turned bewildered eyes to Tonks again. She shrugged, working hard not to smile. It was odd, watching him go through what every eleven-year-old experienced when they bought their first wand.
The tape measure was wiggling its way between David's legs, measuring the diameter of his upper thigh, when the werewolf finally decided he'd had enough. He grabbed the flailing piece of ribbon and threw it back towards Ollivander.
"Is this really necessary?"
But the old man was barely paying attention. The tape measure flew back to him and wrapped itself around his hand as he perused the contents of the gigantic wooden trunk. How he had gotten it through the floo, Tonks couldn't even begin to fathom. Ollivander was muttering to himself, eyes darting from one side of the trunk to the other. Tonks's view of the inside was obscured, but she could imagine it looked something like his shop in Diagon Alley – packed haphazardly to the brim with long, thin boxes.
"Mmm… no, too yielding… he's too bright for that one… ah!"
He drew out a long wooden box and stepped around the trunk, holding it out toward the werewolf. By this time, the others had noticed what was going on and silence was once again descending as they crowded around to watch.
"Yew and dragon heartstring. Temperamental, yet powerful. Much like yourself, no?"
David stared at the old man for a long moment. Then his gaze darted about the crowded room, discomfort clear in his posture. Ollivander pushed the box forward and quirked his eyebrows.
"Give it a try, Exley. We're not getting any younger."
The werewolf's throat bobbed, then he reached hesitantly forward and wrapped his fingers around the smooth, curved wand handle.
"No," Ollivander said immediately, snatching it back without ceremony. "No no no, that won't do."
He bustled back to his trunk and David snorted incredulously.
"You can tell that quickly?"
"Oh yes," the old man said absently, perusing his options. "Wands can be quite vocal if you know how to listen, and that one did not like you at all."
"Well, the feeling was mutual."
This grunted statement attracted Ollivander's full attention. He peered at David over the top of his trunk.
"You have been using stolen wands your entire life."
It was not a question, and the former Reaper shifted on his feet.
"Yeah, so?"
"They didn't trust you, so they hurt you. That is not their fault."
The werewolf bristled.
"It's not mine, either."
Ollivander cocked his head, gaze calculating.
"You're the one who stole them."
"Tell you what, old man," David snarled. "The day you give every child in Lunar District a free wand is the day I'll let you lecture me about stealing other peoples' magic sticks."
The old man blinked in silence for several seconds, then swiveled on his feet to look at Dumbledore, who was watching the proceedings from the far corner.
"He is rather prickly, isn't he?"
Several people snorted. Even David let out a huff of annoyed laughter and shook his head. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Can we just get this over with?"
Turning back to his trunk, Ollivander hesitated for a moment before picking up another box. He approached the werewolf slowly this time, thoughtful eyes fixed on the wand he bore. It was long, thin and straight, a smooth knot of wood at the base forming the handle.
"Cypress and unicorn hair," he said softly. "Perhaps a bit too pliable for you, but we shall see…"
He held the wand out. David sighed wearily, then reached forward and grabbed it. Ollivander did not immediately snatch it back, which Tonks took as a good sign.
"Give it a wave," the old man encouraged, eyes fixed on the wand. David glanced unhappily over at Tonks, and she knew he was feeling a bit silly. He swished the wand lazily about in the air.
"Is it speaking to you?" he asked sarcastically after several seconds of pointless wand waving. But Ollivander said nothing. Tonks looked over to find that the man's eyes were full of a surprising sadness. David let his wand hand fall back to his side.
"… what?"
The wandmaker blinked rapidly, then shook his head.
"Nothing. Just… an echo of what might have been. You were a very kind boy, weren't you?"
For a moment, all the air seemed to leave the room. Tonks struggled to fill her lungs, blood rushing in her ears. Then the moment passed, and David was pushing the wand back into Ollivander's hands.
"Something tells me that one isn't right either."
"No," the old man said sadly, turning back to his trunk. "Not anymore."
He put the box back, then contemplated his options for nearly a minute before choosing another one. His expression when he brought the next box to David could only be described as apprehensive.
"Try this one."
David glanced down at the long, almost white wand but did not take it.
"What is it?"
"Holly and phoenix feather. Nice and supple."
Movement in the corner caught Tonks's attention. Dumbledore was stepping forward, brows furrowed. David raised his hand, but his index finger had barely touched the wand when Ollivander was slamming the lid back on the box and turning away.
"… thank Merlin," the eccentric old man muttered as he practically threw the wand back into his trunk. "That one will never find an owner…"
He cocked his head again, a thought dawning. Then he was diving forward, pulling an armful of boxes out of the trunk. David's eyes widened, but Ollivander simply dumped the boxes on the floor and reached in for more. This process continued for over a minute, and the Weasley's sitting room began to look more and more like Ollivander's actual shop.
"Erm… Garrick?" Dumbledore ventured finally. "Are you looking for something in particular? Maybe I can help."
"No, no," the wandmaker said breathlessly, not looking up, "I've almost got it. I know it's down here somewhere… there!"
With a triumphant flourish, he emerged from the trunk with a box in hand. It was stained with age and coated in dust. He brushed it off, then coughed.
"My goodness," he gasped, "I don't remember the last time a customer tried this one. So few adults looking for new wands these days, and no child would suit it."
The lid took some convincing, but finally the box was open and Ollivander was lifting out a surprisingly ugly wand. Dark and unpolished, a large knot in the wood scarred its surface and bent it sharply in the middle before returning to its original course. Tonks eyed it uncertainly. That didn't look like any wand she'd ever seen.
"My great great great grandmother made this," Ollivander said proudly. "The last of its generation, I should think. All its brothers and sisters chose their owners long ago and are now buried with them."
He turned the handle so it faced David, holding it out in both hands like the valuable piece of history it was.
"Blackthorn. A warrior's wand. I don't make many of these anymore."
David reached forward slowly, and Tonks half expected the old man to snatch the wand away like he had the others. But Ollivander's eyes were wide, his face eager as the werewolf's large hand wrapped around the blackthorn wand and lifted it into the air.
Tonks remembered the moment she first held her wand. The way the world seemed to sing, rejoicing in the harmony created by compatible magic. Only experts like Ollivander could hear the whispers of all wands, but Tonks could hear hers. It spoke of power and of the future, of partnership and protection. She had used other peoples' wands out of necessity at times, but they always felt like pale imitations of her own. Poor substitutes for the magic she was truly capable of.
David's expression told her in no uncertain terms that he finally understood this. He was gaping down at the ugly blackthorn wand, his amber eyes alight. Ollivander looked on, a broad smile creasing his lined face.
"… that was a long time coming," he murmured, as if to himself. The werewolf blinked and finally managed to tear his gaze away from his new wand. He looked up at the old man.
"I didn't… I didn't know it could – "
"Be like this?" Ollivander finished for him. "You have abused your magic and yourself for long enough, my friend. This wand will help you find a new path."
David's throat bobbed. He was holding the wand gently, as though afraid he would break it. Job done, Ollivander began to pack away the piles of boxes he had upended in his haphazard search.
"What's in it?"
The old man paused and looked up.
"Sorry?"
"The core," David said, nodding to his wand. "What is it?"
Ollivander examined him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then –
"A single hair from the tail of a thestral."
He returned an armful of boxes to the floor and straightened up.
"I have never used the material myself. It is… unpredictable, and mistakes during the wandmaking process can lead to rather gruesome outcomes. But Idonia Ollivander was exceptionally gifted. Witches and wizards came from all over the world to try her wands. It is an honor that this one waited for you."
David's lips curled into a disbelieving smile.
"Yeah, well… thestrals have always liked me."
The wandmaker cocked his head.
"Blackthorn and thestral hair is a dangerous combination in the wrong hands. Idonia's notes suggest that such wands usually went to people whose moral compasses were not easily swayed."
He paused for a moment, contemplating the younger man. Then he gestured toward the wand.
"Take care of it, will you? It's an antique."
With that, he turned back to his boxes. Tonks jumped down from her perch and wandered over to David, joining him as he carefully examined his new wand.
"What d'you think?"
"It's perfect," he said without hesitation, eyes lit with a boyish wonder she had rarely glimpsed. "I can… hear it, almost."
With a quick snap of his wrist, he summoned the beer bottle from the table. Catching it deftly in his free hand, he let out a bark of triumphant laughter.
"First spell, and nothing burst into flame. That's a good sign."
He took a deep swig from the bottle, attention still fixed on his wand. Tonks could see a decision forming in his eyes.
"Think I'll try a few things outside," he said, shooting her a half smile. "Wouldn't do to unleash a werewolf patronus on everyone."
He set the bottle down again and started for the door. She cast an excited glance at Kingsley, then hurried to follow him.
"Your patronus is a werewolf?" she called after him as he strode down the hall.
"Probably," he replied over his shoulder. "I've never been able to conjure one. Fire works just as well on dementors, I've found."
He shot her a rueful grin as she caught up to him. She was too confused to return it.
"You've never conjured a corporeal patronus? But… you taught us all how to do it."
"Knowing how to do something and actually doing it are two very different things," he said with a chuckle. "First rule of teaching."
Neither one of them bothered with a coat. He threw the door open and leapt down the stairs. Coming to a stop on the packed snow between the house and the shed, he hesitated for a moment and looked down at her.
"If this works, it won't just be the wand that made the difference."
She didn't know how to respond to that. His amber eyes were warm, a soft smile playing at his lips. Then he turned and raised his wand.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silvery blue light erupted from the end of his wand, swirling chaotically through the night air until it solidified into a large, canine form. The wolf was huge, its body lithe and powerful as it loped away from them across the Weasley's back garden. Paws the size of dinner plates made no impression on the untouched snow, and as it turned back their way, a slow grin began to take over Tonks's face.
"That's not a werewolf. Look at the tail!"
"Sure enough," David murmured, eyes fixed on the wolf as it came to a stop several metres away from them. Tonks pulled out her own wand, then smirked.
"Your patronus won't try to eat mine, will it?"
It was supposed to be a joke, but David looked surprisingly alarmed by the question.
"What? No! 'Course it won't!"
Filing the odd reaction away for later, Tonks raised her wand and closed her eyes. Recent memories flashed through her mind – David's smile, his hands on her skin, the sound of his laughter.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The man gasped. Tonks cracked her eyes open. Something very large and very un-rabbit-like was trotting across the garden towards David's wolf. For a moment, her brain refused to accept the image it was receiving. But when her patronus reached David's, the two wolves greeted each other with an affectionate bump of noses, and the man beside her let out what could only be described as an exuberant howl. Then she was being lifted into his arms, her legs wrapping automatically around his waist as he whirled her about with reckless abandon. They were both laughing, full to bursting with unabashed joy. Then he was kissing her, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair as the other held her body firmly to his.
"… I love you," he gasped into her mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"
She framed his face with her hands, pressing her lips to every inch of it.
"… does this mean we're a pack, now?" she asked between kisses. He laughed, and she could hear the lump in his throat.
"You were always in my pack," he said. "This just makes it official."
A throat cleared discreetly from the direction of the house. The lovers turned to find Kingsley standing on the back step, an amused expression on his face.
"Thought your patronus was a rabbit," he teased, jerking his head at the two wolves now cavorting in the frozen vegetable patch.
"A girl's allowed to change, isn't she?" Tonks shot back with a grin, legs tightening around David's waist. Kingsley's smile softened and his eyes flickered to the werewolf.
"You're a lucky man, Exley."
"Don't I know it," David replied, and she turned to find his awestruck eyes fixed on her. She smiled self-consciously and ran her thumb softly down one of the scars on his cheek.
"I love you," she whispered for his ears alone. His answering grin lit the night like a sun. He pulled her to his chest, and the soft click of the door told them that Kingsley had tactfully retreated.
For several minutes they simply stood there, wrapped around each other. His warmth seeped into her body, counteracting the chill of the frozen night. The silvery blue glow of their patronuses finally faded, and they were left in the surprisingly bright light of the waxing moon overhead. Tonks lifted her face out of the crook of David's neck and smiled down at him.
"You're a Hufflepuff."
He let out a surprised snigger.
"Apparently so."
"Literally nobody saw that coming."
He shrugged.
"If you assume, you make an ass out of you and me."
She burst out laughing.
"Where'd you pick up that nugget of wisdom?"
"Think my dad used to say that."
"Sounds like a smart bloke."
He shot her a wry grin.
"Mum was the smart one. Dad had that sort of… Yorkshire stoicism that sounds a lot like wisdom but is really just shite he picked up at t' pub."
She giggled at this, running her fingers through her hair.
"That actually sounds rather familiar…"
He opened his mouth in mock offense.
"My wisdom is real, I'll have you know," he retorted, laughing. "Hard-won from years of experience."
"Mmmhmm," she teased back, quirking her eyebrows. "That's what they all say."
He chuckled and tickled her side briefly.
"Alright, you. Let's get inside, shall we? It's freezing out here."
"Mmmm," she hummed again, burying her face back into the crook of his neck. "But there are so many people in there…"
He squeezed her tightly to him, a huff of amusement shifting her hair.
"I thought I was the anti-social one."
"'m not anti-social," she protested against his skin. "I just want you all for myself."
"But food," he reminded her. "And beer."
"Hmmm. You bring up several excellent points, Professor Exley."
Another chuckle reverberated in his throat, and Tonks pressed her nose more firmly into the stubble under his chin. Drawing in a deep breath that smelled entirely of him, she let it out in a resigned sigh.
"… very well," she finally conceded, lifting her head. "I suppose I can share you with everyone else for a while."
He smirked, deposited a lingering kiss on her lips, then lowered her gently back to the ground.
"Come on," he murmured, squeezing her bum with one hand. "I need to talk to Dumbledore anyway."
She laced her fingers with his and led him back into the house. They quickly discarded their boots inside the door and headed down the hall. The Burrow was oddly quiet, considering the fact that most of its occupants were now drinking.
The moment Tonks walked into the kitchen, she knew something was wrong. Most everyone, it seemed, had migrated there from the sitting room, and they all looked vaguely ill. Molly was leaning into Arthur's chest, eyes wide and distant, and Kingsley – who only minutes before had been smiling and joking with them outside – was leaning both hands on the table, head hanging down like he was about to vomit.
"Bloody hell," Tonks blurted before she could stop herself. "What happened?"
Nearly twenty pairs of eyes swiveled her way, then focused intently on the man behind her. David's body stiffened against her back. An awful silence descended.
"… for fuck's sake," the man finally hissed. "What is it this time?"
Nobody seemed capable of speech. Tonks looked from face to face, growing increasingly alarmed. Even Arthur – normally a rather implacable character – was pale and speechless. Tonks was about to once again demand an explanation when Dumbledore – looking older and wearier than ever before – stepped out from the back corner.
"David…"
"It's Amy, isn't it."
The werewolf's voice was hollow, flat, devoid of expression. He took a step backwards, hovering between the kitchen and the hallway.
"It's alright," he said firmly, and Tonks almost believed him. "You can tell me. I won't… freak out or anything."
"It's not Amy."
Dumbledore's words were soft and sure. He took another step forward.
"We haven't found her yet. This is… something else."
David blinked and cast a confused glance at Tonks. She could offer him nothing but a bewildered shrug.
"Fucking hell," he snapped, looking back at the old wizard. "Just tell me. Did something happen in Lunar District?"
Dumbledore shook his head, but still no explanation seemed forthcoming. It looked like he was, for once, struggling to find words. Then a soft, frustrated noise from the back of the room called everyone's attention. A blond woman was unfolding herself from an armchair in front of the small kitchen fire. When she turned to face them, Tonks barely recognized Fleur under the streaked mascara and splotchy cheeks. The young veela had been crying. Quite vigorously, by the looks of it. When her eyes landed on David, she drew in a harsh breath through her teeth. Then she let it out slowly, shakily, grim determination taking shape in her blue eyes.
"Monsieur Exley," she said, voice soft and surprisingly calm. "I believe I owe you my life."
There was a bewildered beat. Then David let out an awkward, stuttering laugh.
"… sorry?"
"Twenty-three years ago. La Malène. Do you remember?"
The werewolf went very still. His confused expression flattened into a cold mask, amber gaze freezing over. His lips hardened into a thin, resolute line and Tonks knew he would not be speaking any time soon. Fleur – perhaps sensing this as well – took several confident steps forward and snatched a small object off the kitchen table.
"My mother does," she said, holding it up between her thumb and forefinger. It was a tiny glass vial, empty, glinting in the warm light of the fire.
"She sent me her memories. Everything she saw that night. Everything that happened."
Fleur continued to approach, fist now clenched around the tiny vial.
"I knew there was something familiar about you. I was only three, but…"
She came to a stop several metres away, gaze sweeping almost hungrily over David's features.
"… you do not forget the face of the boy who almost died to save you."
There was a long, thunderous silence. Tonks found herself looking from Fleur to David and back again, waiting breathlessly for one of them to expand upon the story. To her surprise, it was the werewolf who finally spoke.
"Two hundred and seventy-three people were murdered at La Malène," he hissed. "Most of them while they were trying to break through the wards that I cast. Don't – "
"Remus, you didn't know!"
Dumbledore was clearly too upset to remember the man's real name. He was striding forward to join Fleur now, having regained his voice.
"You thought you were casting the wards to protect them – "
"'Cause I was a fucking idiot!"
The cry echoed around the kitchen, making the dishes in the sink rattle. David was visibly enraged now, his body trembling.
"I should have known better!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I should have used an imperio to get them out of there before we even arrived. But I didn't, and now they're dead!"
He paused for a moment, chest heaving. Tonks didn't know what to say, what to do. Mere moments ago, everything had seemed so perfect, and now the situation was spiraling rapidly out of her control.
"I don't want to talk about this," the werewolf suddenly snarled, lifting his hands and shaking his head as he took several more steps backward into the hall. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Remus – please – "
"Stay the fuck away from me!" David cried, shrinking further away as Dumbledore tried to approach. "Just – leave me alone. For fuck's sake."
He stumbled backward down the hall, then turned and made his way swiftly towards the door. Tonks stood, frozen, at the entrance to the kitchen.
"… Davie?"
He was shoving his boots back on when her soft entreaty called his gaze back to hers. He grimaced apologetically.
"… don't worry, 'm not running off," he muttered. "Just gonna work on the car a bit."
With that, he yanked the door open and left, slamming it behind him with enough force to shake the house. Tonks stared after him, mouth open.
"… that went well."
Her cousin's dark sarcasm was just what Tonks didn't need right now. She rounded on him with a glare that she could only hope contained the full measure of her disgust. She hadn't forgotten what David had told her barely an hour ago. Perhaps Sirius could tell what she was thinking, or perhaps he was drunk already – either way, he looked particularly miserable as he downed nearly a full glass of firewhiskey in one go.
"It was not his fault."
Fleur was still staring at the back door. She was hugging herself tightly now, looking small and upset. Bill came to join her, rubbing his large hands up and down her arms in quiet comfort.
"They would have just found another way," the girl continued, shaking her head. "It was not his fault."
"Don't think you'll ever convince him of that, love," Bill murmured.
"He was just a little boy!" Fleur cried, stamping her foot almost petulantly. "What could he possibly have done?"
"Cast a wandless Imperius Curse on all of you, apparently," the tall man replied, gesturing towards the back door. "You heard him. Sounds like he's put a lot of thought into it."
Someone else took that opportunity to chime in, but Tonks was no longer listening. Her attention had been captured by something else.
A small bowl – chipped and unassuming – sat at the end of the table nearest her. It looked empty on first glance, but when she peered closer… there it was again. A glint of silver at the bottom. She took a tentative step forward, then another one. Kingsley was still leaning against the table next to the bowl, looking ill.
"Tonks…" he rasped, watching her approach, "… you don't want to see it. Believe me."
She looked up at him. He stared back, gaze beseeching.
"I don't think he'd want you to see it."
Tonks hesitated, her mind racing and her heart pounding. She wanted to know. She wanted to understand.
Ignoring Kingsley's continued pleas, she reached forward and picked up the bowl, bringing it close enough so she could peer down into the makeshift pensieve. A tiny amount of viscous, silvery liquid sloshed around at the bottom, but as it slowly stabilized an image took shape within it. A small, white-blond girl lying face down in the mud. The world pitched forward and Tonks was falling, tumbling into someone else's memories.
AN: Thank you all SO much for the reviews, I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. The next chapter will be up really soon - it was actually supposed to be part of this chapter, but it got way too long :D
p.s. apologies to anyone who thinks he should be in a different house, but he's totes a Hufflepuff.