CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Molly Weasley blinked as she recognized someone in Diagon Alley calling her name.
"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley!"
Swiveling her head to look in the general direction of where the voice had come, she relaxed, forcing her lips into a smile as she was met with the sight of Florean Fortescue, the man who ran the ice cream shop here in Diagon Alley and with whom she was on generally good terms with.
He used to give all seven of her children free ice cream when they were all younger on Sundays when she would come here to do her weekly shopping for the week. Mrs. Weasley stared into Mr. Fortescue's eyes, absolutely determined not to look away first.
She was certain the old aging wizard knew that Molly was trying to hide something, but still, she was determined to fool him.
Mrs. Weasley contorted her lips into an awkward little half-smile, but her cheeks were not so compromising, and she knew it did not meet her dark brown eyes.
Molly could feel their reluctance to be molded falsely, and when Mr. Fortescue averted his gaze for a moment to tend to a paying customer, her smile fell lifeless, allowing her normally kind and quite friendly face to return to its usually cold, hard gawk these days now.
In truth, Mrs. Weasley did not know why she had stopped by the ice cream parlor. It was really quite pathetic in size in terms of the rest of the shop that lined the edge of Diagon Alley, hardly enough room for ten people, but it suited their small shopping plaza.
People rarely came to Mr. Fortescue's parlor these days, at least, not for the ice cream, though he had a reputation for the best sundae around, they came for the gossip. But Molly, Merlin bless her soul, could always be relied upon for decent conversation.
Except today, though, Mr. Fortescue noticed with a keenly trained eye as he eyed Mrs. Weasley walking towards him, her lined face coming together in a slight frown, her brows furrowed, in spite of the fake smile that was so evidently plastered upon her face to try to fool him.
Today, however, something was different. Off.
Today, Mrs. Weasley was coming to him for a different reason altogether, though he had no chance to comment on it as his newest employee came staggering into his parlor, followed by the young man who worked at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, whom it was no secret among those in Diagon Alley that he harbored something of a rather intense crush on Florean's newest employee of a month.
Perhaps that was the reason for the truly murderous look in his young employee's blue orbs.
The young man lifted his head and met Mrs. Weasley's gaze, and Molly froze. She knew this fellow.
This chap was Tonks's best friend growing up, Ollie Brennan, and her son, Charlie's, as well.
Though Mrs. Weasley had no time to speak as Mr. Fortescue spoke up, causing her to tear her gaze away from Ollie.
"Ah, Miss Jameson, you're here, good, I was worried you weren't going to come in today, you've taken quite ill the last few days, dear," he chirped cheerily.
The young blonde witch that was looking rather pale and peaky as she entered, dark purple bags clinging underneath her eyes, looking thoroughly disgruntled and cross as she slung her black purse off her shoulder and waved her wand once so her bag hung itself of its own accord on the coat rack by the front door, as did her black traveling cloak. She forced her lips into a light smile and sighed.
Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brows, watching as the young witch who looked a few years younger than Remus, who was thirty-six next March, she pinpointed this young blonde lass at around age thirty or so, thinking the witch was blond from root to tip, and it showed.
Her pale skin was almost without pigment and her hair, which was cut short in a stylish short pixie cut, easier to keep out of the way, she surmised, the most pale blonde possible, each strand almost translucent when seen on its own. In Diagon Alley, the young witch was as obvious as the end of a lighted wand caused by the Lumos Wand Lighting Charm in the dark.
Though she was really quite pretty, yes, nobody else in Diagon Alley was as pale as this young witch.
Molly supposed she could have passed for an albino, but either way, she did not belong in this place, though as the young blonde slowly adjusted her name tag on the front of her black polo shirt and shrugged into her set of black robes, lifting her chin, about to ask Mrs. Weasley what she could get for her, the girl froze.
And then, Molly was able to place where she had seen this she-stranger before, why the young woman was so familiar to her, but she had not been able to place where she had seen this girl before.
It was Norah Jameson.
The young woman whom she and Arthur met in St. Mungo's the night of Tonks's attack.
Their gazes locked, and a light pink blush speckled along Norah's cheeks, though Molly offered her a curt little nod of her head, shooting the young lass that she hoped was a sympathetic smile.
If Mr. Fortescue was well aware of the young woman's lycanthropic condition and what it entailed, he made no notice of it, though his brows furrowed at the sight of the dark-haired young man lingering near her.
"Is there something Miss Jameson can help you with, Mr. Brennan?" he snapped, no warmth in his voice, no doubt having noticed the grateful little look Norah shot him as she sulked behind Mr. Fortescue's ice cream parlor.
Her arms were folded across her chest as she shot the young dark-haired, blue-eyed wizard a venomous look, and the wizard turned and shot the owner of the ice cream parlor a disarmingly white smile meant to disarm and give no meaning of any ill intent.
"As much as I would love to stay, you know I cherish your sundaes, Mr. Fortescue, I cannot stay. I have…another appointment to keep this afternoon. I was…merely enjoying the pleasure of Miss Jameson's company, sir," he began in a deep voice as smooth as silk, languid, and Mrs. Weasley immediately knew this young man in his late twenties must be a former Slytherin.
His voice was apologetic while he addressed Mr. Fortescue, though the man didn't look it.
Though he continued, not giving Mrs. Weasley any time to further ponder this.
He dipped his head in submission towards Mr. Fortescue and offered young Norah an apologetic little nod, raising his head and looking at Norah with brimming blue eyes glistening with a strange unshed moisture.
"I merely…did not want you to walk the streets of Knockturn Alley alone, Norah. Seedy types walk our streets, you never know the types of men you'll run into. I thought that when you Apparated into my shop this morning, it was not by mistake," he murmured, a little chuckle escaping his lips. "That you truly desired my company for a change, that you would allow me to take you out to dinner one of these nights, Norah," he offered, shooting Norah a white grin.
Ollie Brennan, was all politeness and smiles and offered his hand in a handshake towards Molly Weasley, who was feeling quite flustered, but took it, though Mrs. Weasley, the intuitive witch that she was, was quick to notice how Tonks's best friend looked around the desolate little ice cream shop and scrunched his nose in disgust, a look of incredulity in the man's brilliant blue eyes, as if to say, "Who would have thought Jameson would end up working in a craphole like this?" Not meanly, not smugly, per se, more that he was just being observant.
Norah was halfway through opening up another container of the fudge ripple when Ollie spoke to the young blonde witch behind the counter.
"Forget this place, Norah," he breathed, almost sounding desperate as he pleaded with her. "A witch of your talents deserves better. This place, as delicious as your ice cream is, sir, no offense, is no place for a young woman of your talents. Forget scooping ice cream, Jameson, you're better than this. I—I want you to come work with me at Borgin and Burkes," Ollie murmured, raising his voice and casting an apprehensive glance towards Florean Fortescue, who merely proceeded to raise his eyebrows in alarm, though he offered up no verbal retort, gave a curt nod.
Norah rolled her eyes and scoffed. "What, and have to look at your ugly face every day, Brenann?" she snorted. "I don't think so, Ollie. I—I'm happy here. Free ice cream, you know," the young blonde murmured under her breath lowly.
But Ollie did not appear to be convinced by her answer, or fazed by her insult, and folded his arms across his chest, shrinking into his black woolen robes as much as he could for warmth against the bitter autumnal breeze that wafted through the ice cream parlor's open door in the attempt to attract a few straggling customers.
"Oh, really? Is that why you work here, for the free ice cream, barely making 10 Galleons an hour? It's not even enough for you to afford your own home, Jameson, much less buy clothing and food that you need to survive in this world, Norah!"
His tone became clipped and hardened.
Charlie and Tonks's best friend was growing angry, Mrs. Weasley recognized, by the look in his blue eyes.
She had seen it before in all seven of her children, and Mrs. Weasley liked to consider herself an expert in reading peoples' expression, as she was doing to Ollie Brennan right now.
The way a muscle in his jaw twitched, his sky-blue brilliant blue eyes darkened, almost cerulean in color, the angrier he became.
Mrs. Weasley shot Mr. Fortescue a concerned look, who said nothing at first, wanting to see, she supposed, what his employee would say to deflect him.
"It's—it's not free, it's part of my job, Ollie, now can I get you something or are you going to do me the favor of getting out of my way and heading back to Borgin and Burkes? Don't you have Death Eaters to pawn your wares off on?" Norah grumbled, becoming annoyed with Brennan's constant pestering of her new job, dramatically throwing her spoon that she had been using to taste test a small sample of Florean's latest creation, the fudge ripple, giving a little moan of appreciation as she gave the plastic spoon one last lick, throwing the spoon over her shoulder and successfully landing it into the trash can lid behind the counter.
Ollie furrowed his black brows into a frown and scowled, his lips pursing into a thin line.
He huffed in frustration and did not seem altogether convinced.
"Do you like it here, Norah?" he demanded, sounding fed up. "Be honest."
Norah grimaced. "It's—it's great," she murmured, the heat creeping to her cheeks, and even Mrs. Weasley could tell the young blonde was lying.
That this was, if she had a choice in the matter, not where she would have chosen to work.
"It's great work, Ollie. Keeps my hands busy, flexible schedule with my... ailments, and the pay is decent."
Ollie at first, did not seem like he was going to speak, and when he finally managed to find his voice at last, it shook, and Mrs. Weasley saw how angry the man was.
"My mistake," he growled in a dangerously quiet and low voice. "I merely thought that a witch with such promising potential in her life would want more out of life, but I can see that isn't the case. If you do change your mind, Nor…you know where to find me. You deserve better, and I'll be waiting for you when you realize it yourself. Norah."
Norah made an odd little strangled noise at the back of her throat, a look of stunned disbelief and growing anger in her eyes, though before she could part her lips open to speak, the co-owner of Borgin and Burkes as Mr. Borgin was aging and nearing that point of sweet retirement, merely proceeded to bow his head and shot Norah a charming white smile, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black woolen robes and turned his back on Norah, Mr. Fortescue, and Molly and quit the scene of the ice cream parlor without another word to Norah.
Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brows into a frown as her gaze lingered on the young man's backside, wondering what the hell it was that Tonks saw in her best friend.
Tonks, when Remus had departed for Greyback's camps, had confided in the matriarch of the Weasley family over a cup of hot chamomile tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies that the shop owner was due to stop by her and Lupin's cottage at some point this afternoon to check on her condition.
She could not quite understand it, but she knew she did not trust the Slytherin. Snakes in the night, anybody who was sorted into Slytherin House.
Nobody, to the best of Molly's ability, who was ever good, came from Slytherin.
Ollie Brennan worked in Borgin and Burke's for Merlin's sake! She frowned, though Mr. Fortescue cleared his throat, causing Molly to reluctantly tear her gaze away from the tall, dark-haired man's towering form.
"Jameson…"
Norah blinked owlishly, her blue eyes brimming with unshed moisture, before slowly swiveling her head in the direction of her boss. "Sir," she squeaked.
Her gaze nervously flitted from Mr. Fortescue and Molly, and Mrs. Weasley was surprised to see the young blonde lower her head, pink in shame.
"I—I don't know what Ollie was thinking, sir, I apologize, I—I've told him a million times that—that I'm too old for him and married besides sir, but he does not listen to me. He's...hopeful and persistent, even when there is no hope, despite our...history once, in a different life," she began, feeling quite flustered and nervous, but Florean stopped her.
"Say nothing more, child," he sighed, his frown deepening slightly. "If that boy continues to bother you, you will let me know, and I should see something done about it, Mrs. Jameson," he added, rather sternly, fixing his employee with a pointed stare. Norah quickly nodded, actively averting Mr. Fortescue's gaze.
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, a fiery heat spreading to her cheeks, before slowly lifting her head to look at Molly, swallowing down hard past a lump in her throat.
She turned her head to the side once to cough and picked at a loose thread on the sleeves of her robe.
"What can I get for you, Mrs. Weasley?" she asked quietly.
But Mrs. Weasley waved her offer of free ice cream away with a brush of her hand, glancing down and picking at a loose thread of the sweater overtop her housedress.
"Nothing for me, Mrs. Jameson, thank you," she murmured, pointedly ignoring the young blonde's quizzical gaze, turning towards Florean.
"Are you well, Molly?" Florean offered kindly, not at all convinced, and motioned for Norah to scoop her out a few scoops of the fudge ripple in a cup, which she proceeded to do and silently handed it across the counter to her.
Mrs. Weasley wasn't exactly hungry but wasn't about to turn down a free offer of ice cream.
As she accepted the cup from Norah Jameson, she felt a pang of pity stab at her heartstrings as she looked at the dark circles under her eyes.
The full moon was last night, Tonks's first without Remus by her side, and she wondered how the poor dear was taking his absence, though he'd only been gone but a single day.
The poor thing had been in a constant state of distress last night, her tears relentless following Remus's departure a month ago, not knowing if he'd come back.
Mrs. Weasley sighed and took a seat at the table in the corner of the shop.
"Yes, yes, I am perfectly fine, Mr. Fortescue, don't worry about me, dear."
The ice cream parlor owner was not convinced and continued to press.
"And Tonks? How is she?" he urged, noticing Norah Jameson's ears practically perk up at the mention of the young witch, and Mrs. Weasley took note of it too, how she set aside the container of ice cream she'd been swapping out, and leaned against the counter, feigning disinterest, but hanging onto her every word.
Mr. Fortescue made a show of lacing his fingers together as he rested his hands on top of the circular table as he joined Mrs. Weasley in sitting down.
He knew full well it was a little pushing to ask. He had not seen Mr. and Mrs. Lupin in his shop in quite a long time, though the gossip in Diagon Alley, particularly after what had happened in The Leaky Cauldron with the young witch, ran rampant through the streets, and the whispers followed everywhere.
"Tonks has…not quite been herself, Mr. Fortescue, since her husband's departure. Surely, you can find it within yourself to understand. She is quite worried and sick with grief at not knowing if he's alive or dead," Molly sighed.
"He left?" Norah piped up, a hint of anger laced throughout her German accent, causing both Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Fortescue's heads to turn up and to the right to regard the young blonde, now having long forgotten preparing any of the day's gallons of ice cream and leaning heavily on the counter. "What?!"
Mrs. Weasley nodded as the fatigue of the last few weeks, constantly heading over to Tonks and Remus's cottage in Wales to check on the poor dear in her isolation was doing, was finally catching up to her at last, as she slumped forward in her chair, her shoulders sagging in defeat, her brows knitted together.
"I'm afraid I don't know what to do for the poor dear," whispered Mrs. Weasley in a hoarse voice as the morning sunshine streamed in through the glass window of Florean's ice cream shop and cast its light and warmth on her back. "She refuses to tell me any of what was said that night between her and her husband, which I really don't need the details, but at least, why he left his wife while pregnant," she spat, the briefest notes of anger wafting its way to her voice.
Florean gave a curt nod of his head to show to Molly he understood, waiting for her to take a rather begrudging bite of the fudge ripple ice cream, the corners of his mouth twitching as they fought back a smile.
"It's good, then?" he asked, gesturing to the ice cream in her cup with a jerk of his head, grinning.
"The best," Molly sighed with an appreciative little moan, noticing out of the corner of her eye as the young blonde werewolf behind the counter strode out from behind it without even waiting for permission, pulling up a chair and joining her boss, though she straddled the chair backward, much to his disgust.
Mr. Fortescue crinkled his nose though he said nothing at his employee's proper lack of edict in the proper way to sit in one of his chairs while on the clock.
A lesser person would have dismissed the matronly, ginger-haired witch right about here at the point of her explanation, merely suggesting to Molly there was nothing for her to worry about when it came to Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin.
From what he knew of the young witch (aside from her favorite flavor of his ice creams, which was pretty much anything chocolate!), he knew that Tonks was an independent strong woman who could most certainly handle her own.
At least, that's what Norah had informed him when he had inquired after what had happened between the two witches in The Leaky Cauldron's lavatory.
Molly gave a curt shake of her head, her red curls bouncing as she did so. "Tonks has had a hard life, as I am sure you know. Her parents disapprove of her marriage and now her pregnancy," she murmured, noticing the growing look of sympathy that was wracking Mrs. Jameson's face at the moment. "But if something is happening to her while she sits at home and waiting for Remus to return, if she's in any kind of danger, I wish that she would tell me, for I would have her live with Arthur and me in the Burrow, as a safe house. If Greyback really is after her now too, it is not safe for her while she's pregnant to stay cooped up in that cottage alone without any kind of protection while she waits for Remus to come home," Molly growled, and she heard Norah gasp.
No doubt, Norah Jameson's employer did not know of her lycanthropy, and Molly shot her a look of understanding that communicated she'd keep her secret.
She watched the younger witch's shoulders sag forward in immense relief.
"Mrs. Weasley, if I may, for a moment, offer in my own two cents," Florean began, cautiously, fidgeting with his fingers.
Either he had noticed Norah's outburst, or he had pointedly chosen to ignore it and had missed the silent exchange between Norah and Mrs. Weasley completely.
"I think Mrs. Lupin merely needs time to adjust to what is happening. Her condition, while truly a monstrous thing, is nothing to be ashamed of. What happened is no one's fault."
The ice cream parlor owner took a pause to draw in a breath while he waited for Molly to compose herself before he continued.
He had seen fear get the better of many a person before, but he too was worried for Remus's wife.
He missed her bright smile and her presence in the shop. He could understand Molly's pain, who thought of the young witch like a daughter to her.
But he also knew that fear could cloud a person's judgment, even in the best of times, as he had tried to tell Norah Jameson when he had hired her last month.
He had taken one look at the scars on her neck, already knowing full well what the young blonde lass was, at how skittish and nervous the girl was around him, not wanting to address it, but Florean had merely taken one look at it, and responded in a calm and collected tone, "I'm guessing when you want to tell me about that, Miss Jameson, you will."
And then he had hired her, out of pity for her. Ever since the Anti-Werewolf Legislation Act instituted by Senior Undersecretary Umbridge a few years prior, it made it difficult for wolves like Remus and his wife, and now Norah Jameson, to maintain decent employment.
"I think you should head home now, Mrs. Weasley," Florean Fortescue replied after a long and somewhat uncomfortable pause, choosing his words carefully as he glanced out the window, swearing he saw the kid from earlier, Brennan, that damned insufferable Borgin and Burkes manager, looking at her.
One glance at Norah out of the corner of his eyes through his glasses told Florean that she too, had seen it, and she was not at all impressed, but there was a glimmer of something unreadable in her eyes, a smoldering, fathomless rage.
When he blinked a second and third time, the man's tall figure was gone.
Though whether or not it was stemmed towards Ollie Brennan or something else entirely due to the difficult nature of his and Molly's conversation surrounding lycanthropy, Mr. Fortescue did not have the time to ponder it at all.
Florean furrowed his brows in a frown and continued staring at the window, thinking what he was seeing surely had to be a trick of the sunlight.
Norah Jameson's sky-blue eyes widened in shock as she had to crane her neck to look at the article, having to strain her wolfish sight to read the words.
He huffed in frustration and turned back towards Molly, wanting to emphasize the seriousness of his point.
Mr. Fortescue grumbled under his breath as he reached over his shoulder and procured a two-day-old headline of The Daily Prophet and folded the crinkled newspaper out in front of Mrs. Weasley, where the latest grisly attacks on the wizarding community had made the front page.
"Greyback's forces move west. They hit Godric's Hollow just last night, anyone who does not align with the man's twisted views is seen as an enemy. His latest victim was a little boy, no older than five—" Florean started, though he was violently interrupted as Norah snatched the paper out of his grip and her eyes scanned the words of the front-page article, her face growing rapidly paler as the seconds passed. "My dear?" he murmured, seeing the beads of sweat form on her brow.
"I—I h—have to go," she stammered, her face turning an interesting shade of green, and Molly thought the poor dear might be sick. Norah swallowed down hard, and her pale face crumpled. "Th—that boy…is my son…" she croaked hoarsely, slamming down the newspaper roughly.
Norah blinked back briny tears, trying to speak, but her throat hollowed and constricted, closing in on itself.
She moved her mouth soundlessly, searching for words of denial as her glistening blue orbs scanned key phrases of the article.
Three-year-old boy…found dead…dead for days before a group of Aurors raiding the house found his remains buried under a floorboard… Jackson 'Jax' Bryce Jameson has no surviving kin.
She continued to read the article, searching for any evidence whichever journalist wrote this slanderous piece of trash just had to be lying.
But she found none. Instead, as she lifted her chin and blearily tried to focus her gaze more than a few feet in front of her at Florean and Mrs. Weasley, their pitying, horrified gazes broke through the stone wall she'd built around herself, hardening her heart to keep people like Ollie Brennan out of her life.
The article did not lie. After a month of desperately searching, following up on dead-end leads, Greyback had struck his final killing blow and gone for her heart, where the Alpha knew it would hurt her the most, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt, her son and husband were dead.
Murdered.
Norah's feet felt rooted to the floor of the parlor, standing in shocked silence, attempting to digest the truth that had been just shoved down her throat.
Norah's wolfish sight blurred, an invisible hand tightening to squeeze the very breath out of her lungs.
The buildings of Diagon Alley outside the shop rose up around her, suddenly tall and intimidating, threatening to collapse in themselves.
Norah took a faltering step backward, making a beeline for her black leather jacket as she shrugged out of her employee robes, and slung her black purse strap over her shoulder.
"M—Mr. Fortescue, I—I'm sorry, b—but I—have to go. My Jax…"
She imagined her sweet husband and son, bound in iron-wrought chains, shackles, as Jax was dragged away from Wes, horrible visions of Greyback lunging for the little column of her three-year-old's throat.
Norah reached out her hands to seize him but couldn't get to either one of them in her mind. In the same vision, she saw her husband, her Wes, screaming in despair and grief as Alpha made the distraught father watch the mauling and murdering of his boy.
Before Norah knew it, and before either Molly or Mr. Fortescue could protest her leaving, she was running, not trusting herself to Disapparate in her frantic, panicked state, for fear that she would Splinch herself.
Tears marred and stung at the corner of her vision, and her breaths came out raggedly, in shallow, distressed panting and gasping, her stomach churning until she thought she might get sick.
She careened around the corner of Fortescue's shop, heading for Knockturn Alley, nearly crashing into Ollie, who'd come to check on Norah, but did not stop to apologize, or much less give the man the time of day anymore.
The werewolf ran, not giving a damn about where she was heading. All she knew was that her lonely little world had stopped making sense five minutes ago.
Florean and Mrs. Weasley watched the blonde witch disappear, still hearing her echoing, haunting screams, howls of misery, echoing in Diagon Alley.
He frowned and looked towards Molly, who was painfully twisting her fingers together. He could tell that Mrs. Weasley wished they had stopped Norah.
"Go home, Molly," he repeated to the ginger-haired matronly witch again. "Talk to Tonks. Tell her what has happened. It may take a little while, but I'm confident she'll open up to you, in time. She's going to need you now more than ever with Greyback at large," he spat disgustedly at the mention of the wolf's name.
When Mrs. Weasley did not respond, Mr. Fortescue took that as his sign to continue, a grim and worried expression on his face as he wondered what would become of Norah in her emotionally distressed state upon hearing the shocking news her only child had just been murdered.
"Our time in this life is short. We must learn to make the most of what we are given. Don't let these dark times and uncertainties get the better of you. Whatever lies ahead, I know Mr. and Mrs. Lupin will be able to overcome anything. They've made it this far, haven't they? They're strong. Stronger than you think." He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"In time, they'll come to see just how much."