Doubt

The following day Professor Slughorn asked Harry, Hermione, and Blaise Zabini, a tall, aloof Slytherin, to stay after Potions.

"I'd like you to come to a little get-together I'm having before the Christmas holiday," he said jovially. "Just a small gathering of friends, really, with a few special guests. Gwenog Jones, the Weird Sisters… and you're welcome to bring dates." He beamed at Harry. "Harry, m'boy, you've missed all my parties so far, but never fear, I checked with Professor McGonagall, and she assured me your schedule was clear."

"I'll be sure to thank her, sir," Harry lied, forcing a smile.

He had deliberately avoided Slughorn's gatherings of those students he considered well-connected, talented, or, in the case of Harry, simply famous, commonly dubbed the 'Slug Club'. Though Harry's potions had decreased in quality since he had given up his edited textbook, Slughorn still treated him as a favorite. Harry did occasionally remember bits and pieces from the book, such as crushing beans instead of cutting to release more juice, and his potions weren't half-bad.

"The night before term ends!" Slughorn called as the three left the classroom. "Eight o'clock sharp, and wear your very best!"

Zabini quickly disappeared, and Harry and Hermione were left to stroll to lunch by themselves.

"Do you think we have to bring a date?" Harry asked gloomily, recalling the dismal experience of getting a girl alone before the Yule Ball. He didn't even have anyone he wanted to bring, except—

"No, I'm sure we don't," Hermione replied. "His parties are actually very interesting, Harry. He's quite well-connected, you know. But you should find someone."

"Why? I'd rather go alone."

"Do you remember all the girls who showed up for the Quidditch tryouts?"

"Right." Harry scowled, but she was right; if he didn't find a date, one would be sure to find him, and not necessarily a welcome one. He cast a sidelong glance at his friend as a thought presented itself. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to go to Slughorn's party with me?"

She looked startled. "Me?"

He looked around. "You're the only Hermione I see in this corridor." Harry shrugged. "I won't be gutted if there's someone else you'd rather go with. I only thought since we're both going"

"Oh. Um, sure, Harry, we can go together. It will be fun, and I hadn't anyone else in mind." She grinned. "You realize this is only going to increase the gossip about us."

"I don't care if you don't."

"Not really, no."

Harry thought about the special guests Slughorn had mentioned. "Hermione, do you think Tonks is invited?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"No reason."

Tonks rolled her shoulders, beginning another midnight rendezvous in the Room of Requirement.

"What I want you to do tonight is cast a shield and maintain it for as long as you can while at the same time following me and rebounding my spells in the direction I call."

"Until when?"

"Until it breaks. And then we do it again. You have good shields, but you need more stamina." She winked suggestively. "Ladies love stamina."

Harry chuckled, but inwardly he groaned. This sounded like he was going to spend the rest of the night being flung backward.

And that was pretty much how it went. After a constant cadence of directions, Harry's shields inevitably collapsed, and he was helpless against whatever spells she used, which fortunately weren't too harsh. Harry didn't know how many times his shields shattered, but it seemed like hours had passed by the time he didn't have a drop of energy left.

"Again," Tonks ordered as he stood up for the umpteenth time.

Harry ran a hand over his hair, sighing. Every bone in his body ached. "Tonks, I am completely worn out. I had a long day, and it must be two in the morning by now. We have to call it a night."

"No," she said simply. "Do it again."

Her imperious tone annoyed him. "I don't want to," he told her, setting his jaw stubbornly.

Her eyes widened at his resistance, and she took a step closer. "Do. It. Again. Now."

"I said no." Harry matched her glare. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Her eyebrows shot into her pink hair. "When I agreed to this scheme of yours, you promised to do as I say. So do it, and quit acting like a moody adolescent. It's not becoming."

"Quit acting like a superior bitch. It's not becoming," he retorted.

Tonks's eyes flashed, and Harry had one brief moment of oh crap before she launched into him.

"Listen here, Potter. You think I don't have anything better to do than train you? You think this is the highlight of my day? I could be having a drink! I could be flirting with a cute bloke! I could be asleep! You think you're worn out? Join the freaking club! No one is paying me to deal with endless loads of teenage snark and bad attitude!"

"Tonks—"

"Oh, I'm Harry Potter! I'm the bloody Chosen One! I have 'brood' stamped on my nice little arse! I stomp around all damn day long and glare at everyone so much that my name ought to be Heathcliff! I've a nancy-boy Dark Lord obsessing over my every move! I'm just going to whine all day long about no one helping me! And then, when one person takes time out of her nights which are already too short as it is to give me a hand, I'm going to yell at her!"

She was ranting and raving, waving her hands like a maniac, and all Harry could do was stare, retreating from the index finger that kept poking his chest. Her eyes were ablaze and her cheeks were flushed and her hair danced around her head like a cotton candy-flavored halo, and then she actually stamped her foot on the ground.

It was the most amazing sight to behold.

"Oh boo-fucking-hoo! Mr. Boy-Who-Lived! Mr. I had my destiny picked out for me when I was still in nappies! Mr. my parents died for me! If you think I'm going to let you throw away that sort of sacrifice because you're tired, then you need to grow the fuck up, Potter! You think Sirius died so you could get some sleep? I already lost him, I won't lose you, too!"

"Tonks—"

"Yeah, your life sucks! No, no one knows what it's like! We all understand that! Get over it already! You think the prophecy is the end-all and be-all of your existence? It's not an Unbreakable Vow! If you want to move to an island in the Mediterranean and sip mojitos on the beach by day, shag oliveskinned tarts by night, go ahead! I won't stop you! But until that point, you will listen to me, damn it! You convinced me to help you, convinced me that my training would give you a fighting chance, so I am going to see this through to the bitter end and so help me, Potter, if you do not—"

Impulsively, Harry grabbed her face in his hands and crashed his lips against hers. The force of his kiss carried him forward, and he stumbled against Tonks as she clenched his forearms, threatening to topple to the floor. Incredibly, he felt her mouth respond to him, one hand creeping into his hair, lips opening as a whimper sounded from the back of her throat—

And then they parted and Harry's heart was racing and Tonks's chest was rapidly rising and falling, and they simply stared at each other, eyes wide, his a panicked green, hers a surprised raised one hand to her lips, mouthing something Harry couldn't make out. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her tone more curious than anything.

"I couldn't help myself," he replied honestly, just as surprised as she was.

Tonks nodded as if it made complete sense. "I see that." In an abrupt movement she hastily walked to her bag and crouched down, her back to Harry, who remained motionless. "Are you planning on doing it again?"

"Yes."

Her shoulders slumped into an oddly defeatist position. She continued to fumble through her bag in silence. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she finally said quietly.

Harry's stomach lurched, but he ignored it as he moved closer. "Why not?"

"Don't you think I'm too old for you?" she asked, shouldering her bag as she stood and gave Harry a bottle of water and a muffin, avoiding his eyes.

"No," he said frankly. "In the grand scheme of things, is six years really all that much?"

Tonks flicked her hand impatiently as if swatting at a bothersome insect. "I do wish you were out of school," she muttered.

They departed, though Harry didn't disappear under the invisibility cloak like he normally did. He watched Tonks openly, remembering the taste of cherry-flavored lips beneath his, imagining pulling her close again, touching that pink hair. He felt like he'd been waiting for that moment for a very long time.

When Tonks finished her own water and replaced the bottle in her bag, Harry reached out and entwined their hands. She had marvelously long fingers, and they complemented Harry's in a way Parvati or Cho never had.

She slowed to a stop, though she didn't pull her hand away, and she looked at him, pensive. "You don't know what you're getting into, Harry. I'm shite at the girlfriend thing, quite awful really, and I—I have, you know, issues," she said in a forced manner, like the words emerged against her will.

"You don't want me."

Harry shook his head, sending a spare lock of hair into his eyes. "Don't do that, Tonks. Don't tell me what I want like everyone else does. You're better than that. I want to kiss you, not proclaim my everlasting love and ride off into the sunset. And everyone has issues. You think I don't?"

"Oh, I know you have issues," she said, and he was relieved to hear her normal playfulness. "You're probably so fucked up in the head, you're going to snap one day and kill us all. End up the next Dark Lord."

"I'd spare you. Care to be my right-hand woman?"

"Don't know if I can pull off the necessary evil cackle, but hell, if you're a Dark Lord, I'll be a Dark Lord." She tilted her head contemplatively as they resumed their walk, still hand in hand. "Though I suppose I'd be a Dark Lady, not a lord. Dark Lady Tonks. Oh no, that won't work at all. I need a properly menacing name."

"I don't think I'm quite to the point of snapping yet, so we have time." Harry smiled. "See how well we work together?"

She returned the smile. "I know you like me, Harry. You're adorably obvious."

"So much for playing it cool."

"Oh, I can always tell. A lot of men think they like me," she continued. "Being fairly attractive with the ever-enticing possibility of becoming even more attractive, I'm pretty much anyone's type, and not in the slutty way. But I think you have me up on some sort of pedestal, like I'm perfect."

"I know you aren't perfect. Your nose is off-center."

She pulled her hand away with a gasp of outrage. "My nose is not off-center! I'm a Metamorphmagus. I have perfect features."

"Whatever you say," he teased before eying her speculatively. "Tonks, what—"

"Merlin. We're going to have that conversation now, aren't we?"

"What conversation?"

She rolled her eyes. "The one I have with every single person I meet. Where you ask me what I really look like, and, if you're trying to get into my pants, you tell me that my 'natural form' is a thousand times prettier than anything I could ever morph to." She shrugged. "It's complete bullshit. Like I said, I'm a Metamorphmagus. I ought to look like bloody Christy Turlington all the time, but I'm too lazy."

They spent the next few meters in silence until Tonks came to a stop with a resigned sigh. After casting a careful eye over the Marauder's Map, she increased the light emanating from her wand. And then she screwed up her face, sending a ripple across her body.

It was the eyes Harry sought first, but they stayed the same stormy grey that was always so familiar. Her skin lost its tan, and her features grew slightly more defined as if being brought into focus. The short pink bob darkened to a mousy brown, tumbling in loose curls down her back. When he took her all in, not very different from the Tonks he was used to, it finally clicked.

"You look like Sirius," he realized aloud, zeroing in on her eyes again. Sirius's eyes.

"And Mum, and Bellatrix, and Narcissa, and Draco, and Regulus from what I've heard," she said with a resigned smile. "Strong, the Black genes are."

"And this?" he asked, tentatively tracing a distinctive scar shaped like an upside-down L next to her

left eyebrow. Tonks took a sudden breath at his touch.

"That's nothing," she claimed, resuming her old look with a flip of her head. "Forget about it."

"Why do you change?"

"Why not?" she countered. "We all have things we don't like about our appearance, and over the years I've settled on a look I think suits me better."

Harry didn't exactly agree. Her appearance didn't fit the loud, teasing, clumsy aspects of her personality, but with some parts—her flashes of temper, the set of her mouth when things didn't go her way—were a perfect match.

"Nothing major," she continued. "A nip here, a tuck there, a tan so I don't look like a ghost. And of course sometimes the girls need a bit of a pick me up."

"Er, what?"

"Perky tits, Harry," she said matter-of-factly, and Harry immediately started walking again, staring straight ahead determinedly. She caught up, laughing. "Look at you, trying not to peek."

"So do you always keep that appearance?" he asked in a rather loud voice.

"I had trouble maintaining when I was younger, but ever since Hogwarts I can keep a change for as long as I want. Except for those times when I, ah, lose control."

Harry didn't know what she meant by that, but he still wasn't quite ready to look at her, so nothing was said for some time.

"Sorry for calling you a bitch," he blurted out when the silence became loud.

She squeezed his hand, and Harry kept his grip when she made to pull away. "S'alright, babe.

Wouldn't be the first time, and nine times out of ten I take it as a compliment. Think of how many times I've called you a name. Shite, I called you a bitch just last week. And sorry for yelling at you."

"It's fine." He gave her a sly glance. "I kind of like it when you're bossy."

"Clearly," she said effusively, and both laughed.

Tonks spoke suddenly again as their trip came to an end. "You could have nearly any girl in this castle, you know."

"They're nothing like you."

"How so? Because I'm older? Colorful? Experienced?"

"Not at all. You're so easy, Tonks," he tried to explain.

She raised her eyebrows. "For future reference, babe, if you're trying to pull a girl, you ought not to call her easy," she said dryly.

Harry grinned. "That's not what I mean and you know it. You're easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, easy to be around. In fact the only thing not easy is getting you to admit that you want to kiss again as much as I do."

"Oh, now you get confident."

"What are you so afraid of?"

She dropped his intense gaze after a few seconds, and triumph surged in Harry's chest. "I'm not afraid of anything," she muttered.

He seized the opportunity, stepping forward and curving a hand around her neck. Her skin was on fire under his palm. "So there's no problem."

Now she grinned, retreating. "Oh? So if I say thee nay, thou wilt woo?"

"I have no idea what you just said," Harry told her. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"It's Shakespeare, babe."

"You read Shakespeare?" he said, skeptical.

Tonks tossed her head haughtily. "I read all sorts of things. And I was asking if you're planning to woo me, Harry."

He followed. "Do you want to be wooed?" he said, having only the vaguest idea of what that entailed.

Tonks clicked her tongue, her smile in full spread. "Never ask a woman that. If you're going to woo, you ought to be sure she wants it."

"I think you do," Harry said in a low voice, continuing to follow Tonks until she backed into the wall. He bent his head toward her ear. "I think you liked kissing me."

She took a visible breath, her mouth working several times before any words came out. "I think you should go to bed."

"I think we should kiss again."

She slipped under his arm in one fluid motion, backpedaling away from the Fat Lady. "Not now, Harry."

"But later?" he called, joyful despite her supposed rejection.

"Goodnight, Harry!"

"That's not a no!"

Her laugh echoed through the corridor as she disappeared from sight, and Harry felt like whistling as he climbed through the portrait hole. Having not quite sorted out his feelings for Tonks, the kiss had

been anything but planned, and even though her reaction wasn't perfect, he didn't really want to change anything. And if she wanted to be wooed, he could do that.

He hoped so, anyway.

On Saturday morning Harry made sure to sit on the end of the Gryffindor table near the staff table. He ate as slowly as he could without making himself late for Quidditch practice, not wanting to miss owl post. On one of his many glances at a certain Auror seated next to Professor Trelawny, whom she seemed to be determinedly avoiding, Tonks caught his eye and gave him a cheery smile.

"You have to get me with her," Seamus urged Harry, noticing the exchange. "How'd you manage to become mates anyway?"

"We've known each other for a long time," replied Harry, suppressing a flare of irritation. Seamus did all but drool when Tonks was around. "Ever since she was a student herself."

"What makes you think you'd stand any sort of chance, Seamus?" Dean asked derisively. "Reckon she doesn't have any better prospects, would rather spend her time with a titch of a schoolboy than an adult wizard?"

"Aye, I bet she gets right lonely, all alone in the castle. She'd welcome a wee bit of Irish luck in her." Seamus grinned lecherously, and Harry tightened his grip on his goblet.

Lavender made a noise of disgust. " 'Wee' would be correct."

"Like you would know. Not for lack of trying."

"Oi," Ron warned from Lavender's other side.

"Don't worry, Won-Won," she assured her boyfriend, causing his face to turn red as the others sniggered at his nickname. "There's a reason we never went out again after the Yule Ball. A very small reason."

It was Seamus's turn to flush, and with a visible effort he ignored Lavender and returned his attention to Harry. "What do ya say, mate? Get me an in?"

"No," he said curtly. Though he was on his sixth year of rooming with them and well used to often boastful girl talk, this was the first time the lewd talk had turned to someone Harry was interested in, except the one time they probed Harry for nonexistent details about Cho.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you want her for yourself," Seamus retorted jokingly.

Harry managed a sardonic smile. "Sod off, Seamus," he said, catching a glimpse of Parvati's suspicious face.

Seamus's response was lost in the characteristic ruffle of feathers that heralded owl post. Hedwig made one of her rare appearances without a letter, visiting Harry to nip his arm affectionately and eat a bit of his toast, but it was a barn owl headed for the staff table that Harry watched.

"Ruddy bird!" he exclaimed suddenly when what looked like a limp feather duster crashed into the jug of pumpkin juice, showering everyone nearby with orange liquid. Harry fished out Errol, the Weasleys' ancient owl, and passed it to Ginny while Hermione cleaned the mess with a wave of her wand.

"I think you're too late, mate," Dean told Seamus, pointing at Tonks, and Harry returned his attention to her.

With a curious expression, she relieved the waiting owl of its package, tearing it open with apparent interest. She examined the box of Honeyduke's fudge for a moment before turning to the accompanying note. A tinge of pink flashed on her cheeks as a pleased smile spread across her face.

Before she could do anything else another owl alighted on her goblet, screeching loudly. Tonks read its letter hurriedly, her eyes widening with concern. In a sudden movement, she shot out of her chair, shoving the package of chocolate into her bag haphazardly as she quickly left the Great Hall, earning the stares of many students on her way.

Though highly intrigued about her sudden departure, Harry put her out of his mind while he made his way to the Quidditch pitch for practice. His team had maintained their high level of play after defeating Slytherin, and Harry felt sure they would extend their winning streak in their March match against Hufflepuff despite having to replace still-absent Katie Bell with reserve Gavin Davies.

Tonks had been rather tight-lipped about Katie, only saying that releasing someone from the Imperius curse was a difficult process that took time. With any luck, Katie would be able to tell them what happened once she returned to her senses.

Harry retrieved his Firebolt (now protected by more than colloportus) and walked onto the pitch. Jimmy and Ritchie were already in the air, goofing around and divebombing each other.

"Can you make this a quick practice?" Demelza called, shivering. "It's bloody freezing out here. All the other teams have canceled practice until next term."

"Which is why we're going to win the Cup," replied Harry. "Here." He cast a warming charm over Demelza and her broom. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks!"

Harry cast the same charm on himself, deciding to shorten practice to a quick scrimmage anyway. Warming charms didn't last forever, and with only one week left in the term no one would be concentrating on Quidditch.

"Harry, can I talk to you?"

Harry turned around to find a pensive Ginny behind him. "Sure, Ginny. What is it?"

She held a letter in her hands. He noticed Ron standing a few feet behind his sister, as if he'd accompanied her but didn't want to get too close to Harry.

"Did you really leave school and go to an Order meeting?" Ginny asked in a low voice.

"I—yeah, I did. How do you know about that?"

She waved the envelope. "Mum owled us. She's concerned about you."

A tendril of annoyance began to wind around Harry. "Is she? Why?"

"She said that you didn't even have permission to attend, that you and Tonks had some sort of secret agreement for her to bring you, that you nearly argued with Dumbledore, and that Tonks ended up in a row with the entire Order."

"All true, but I don't see why she's telling you this."

"She's just worried, Harry."

"Worried? About what? Worried about my safety? Surely not. I'm here under Dumbledore's watchful eye, aren't I? Or is she worried that I'm not sitting back being a good boy while the adults take care of everything?"

Ginny's face reddened, but it was Ron who spoke up. "Don't yell at my sister, and don't have a go at my mother."

"I don't need your help, Ron!" Ginny snapped. "Harry, you're being ridiculous. Mum has always cared about you. She wants you to come for Christmas."

"Thanks, but I don't think I should," Harry blurted out impulsively. As much as he knew Molly Weasley had good intentions, he couldn't bear the thought of her or Arthur trying to talk him back into Dumbledore's corner, and he didn't trust himself not to say something rude to the people who had been so nice to him. Not to mention the awkwardness of spending two weeks with Ron.

"What?" Ginny asked incredulously. "You've always spent Christmas with us."

"It's just not a good idea this year."

"Are you going to stay here?"

"I'll figure something out."

Ginny started to argue, but Ron grabbed her arm, sending Harry a dark look. "Drop it, Gin. He's made up his mind like he always does."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, dropping his broom on the ground.

"It means you get an idea in your head and you cling to it like it's your last hope. Like Snape after the Philosopher's Stone or Malfoy as the Heir of Slytherin."

"Which you believed, too!" Harry argued furiously.

"Yeah, but I'm not twelve anymore. How many times have you nearly died? The difference between you and me is that you still think you're always right. Malfoy's a Death Eater. Dumbledore doesn't care what happens to you. And no one can tell you any different." Ron's mouth twisted in an ugly smile. "No one except Tonks, anyway. What does she have that no one else has?"

Harry was aware that the entire Quidditch team had gathered around, jaws hanging, but he didn't care. "What does she have?" he repeated. "How about my back? How about a little faith in me? Don't turn this into something it isn't."

"I'm just curious," Ron said in a mocking tone. "Because it looks like you went from listening to whatever Dumbledore said to listening to whatever Tonks says, and the only thing I can reckon is that Tonks has a cheeky wink and a nice arse."

Harry wasn't aware of pulling his wand, but suddenly Ron was several yards away on the ground, holding a hand to his stomach and cursing. Boiling with anger and his scar searing, Harry took a step forward, but his progress was blocked by Ginny's wand in his face.

"Leave him," she warned, her face blazing.

Ron got to his feet, glaring at Harry. "You've changed, Harry. Tonks may like it, but I sure as hell don't."

"Ron? Ron!" Ginny called as he stalked away. "We have practice!"

He spun around on his heel, staring Harry directly in the eye. "I quit."

Curtains drawn across his four-poster, Harry pretended to be asleep when the other boys went to bed that night. In truth he lay staring at the ceiling long into the night.

He had cut practice short after a half-hearted scrimmage in which the other players regarded him with wary eyes. Ginny was furious, refusing to even look at him. Harry stayed in the shower until his fingers wrinkled, hoping the warm water would clear his head. It didn't work.

How had he let his temper get so out of hand? He would never in a million years imagine hurting Ron, no matter what words passed between them, and yet there they were, Ron on the ground and Harry's wand pointing at him, shaking. It was an irrevocable move, and Harry knew that even if they managed to patch up their differences, their friendship would never be the same.

Harry had skipped dinner and hid inside the Room of Requirement, pushing himself through a workout far more punishing than Tonks ever devised. He nonverbally cast every single spell he could think of, and when his repertoire ended, he clumsily animated one of the wooden training dummies and spent hours blasting it into pieces before repairing it and starting over. Though curious about her departure, he was supremely glad for once that Tonks wasn't around.

He was right, he knew he was. Malfoy was a Death Eater. Dumbledore wasn't doing anything to help him. But why was Tonks so willing to believe him? And why had he been so eager to trust her? Had she merely told him what he wanted to hear? Was it pure relief and gratitude that pulled them together? Or was it merely his attraction to Tonks that made him believe she was on his side? What really had gone on after he left the Order meeting? It was this that kept Harry awake far past the point when his roommates' snores filled the room.

What if Ron was right?