1O6

A lone figure shrouded in a black thick woolen cloak stood at a crossroads, having only recently Disapparated into the small village just outside of Wales, and was now uncertain of which direction to take, left or the right, swearing under his breath.

The mysterious figure was tall in stature and just as intimidating, his presence near stiffing to those who happened to look upon him, if you were unlucky enough.

At a distance, he seemed no different from the other witches and wizards who lived in this rural village, but if you got a close enough look at him, you would see for yourself this was not exactly the case.

However, as proud, and regal as he carried himself, the man in the black cloak, though he'd never admit it, was lost.

The man swore under his breath, finding it had become his new habit in his life of swearing for no reason at all. Lowering the hood of his cloak slowly, the man ran his lined hand across his rough mop of coarse gray hair, cut short, and rolled his neck to crack it, all the while feeling the pressure of the evening mount within him.

Now and then, his hawklike, sharp dark brown eyes capable of counting the flaps of a hummingbird's wing had adopted the new habit of glancing, trying to determine which house it was, and having no luck at all, eliciting a growl from him. Grumbling to himself, he dipped into the interior pocket of his wand and murmured, "Point me."

The effect was instantaneous, causing a hazy golden burst of light to come forth from the tip of his wand and created a path at his feet, showing the tall man the way.

He cursed himself for not thinking of this before. The man had wandered aimlessly for the better part of a day, searching for the one whom he could not seem to find, that which he had lost, seeks him now. The very person who had directed him to where he needed to go, had not been as clear as he ought to have when he had visited the man last night during the witching hour for directions.

The man was not pleased with being made of a fool of, and Merlin help the man if his contact was proven to have lied.

Never mind that punctuality had never exactly been his strong suit, that had always been his. However, that did not mean this black-cloaked figure particularly enjoyed being lost or made to feel as though he could not tell his own bloody way.

The man abhorred weakness, thinking it to be the lowest form of pitiable human nature, especially within himself. "Merlin damn you to the seven hells, Crouch," the man snarled, growling it out of frustration as his footfalls trudged alongside the dirt path, following the golden haze of light that was guiding him towards his immediate right.

The shrouded figure froze, faltering in indecision as the light illuminated the path in front of him that revealed a small cottage, perched on the plain near the edge of the woods, so old and poor that it was surprising to the figure how it was still standing.

And yet it seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rising from the old chimney.

The sides were the same grey slabs as the low walls in the dales and the roof was a darker slate. It crouched low into the grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide and hunch in on itself, like a child in the elements trying to keep warm.

But the misshapen slate roof was much too large to go unnoticed, especially by him. Through the darkness of night, the man could see the coarse, unevenly sized, grey stones that made up the simple abode's walls.

As he got closer, the occasional flash of color—some blues, others green or brown—emerged from the grey stones that to him looked like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world. He furrowed his brows angrily.

"Merlin save him," he growled in a tone that suggested he was not at all impressed, and his glimpse of the small home caused him to scrunch his nose in disgust.

He lives here?! In this…this dunghill?

The man stifled a growl of frustration and carded his fingers through his thick tuft of short black hair flecked with bits of gray.

The man's strong, refined face told of a lean body beneath his set of black woolen robes, and his expression was serious but not unkind. His black hair flecked with specks of gray here and there gave him a distinguished salt and pepper look to his hair, and against his still youthful skin, it was more than enough to attract interested stares of witches his age.

His eyes a rich dark brown, framed by graceful greying brows, prominent cheekbones, and a well-defined, if not somewhat sharp nose, he was not a man to be trifled with, and unlike his son, his was obscured by a fuzzy, thin beard.

He let out a haggard-sounding sigh as he stood in front of the desolate but welcoming cottage. The figure pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, a look of exasperation on the beginnings of his lined face, though no one was around to see it.

"Merlin above, spare me this torment if you're even listening to me," the man murmured darkly under his breath, taking a moment to card his fingers through his thick tuft of hair, white whisps fluttering to the breeze in the cool spring air. "This girl had better be worth all the trouble Crouch has promised. I shan't stand for wasted effort, and if this proves fruitless, not even Merlin will be able to save him from me," he growled, and without a second thought, he strode up onto the front porch of the simple cottage, wondering how in the seven bloody hells his lonely life had now come to this.

He faltered in his decision, his knuckles white-boned with the effort to steady himself, fist raised in mid-knock, though he made no effort to pound it against the door.

He was cold, hungry, and quite fed up with people's antics for the week, a potent combination that was a disaster for the churning fire-seed of anger swooping in the pit of his stomach as he heard it let out a low growl, reminding him he had not eaten at all.

His dark brown eyes were alight with rapidly growing anger, and his mood fouler and blacker than the night sky above his head, which showed no signs of the encroaching dawn any time soon.

The man bit the inside wall of his cheek and bit down hard enough on his tongue that soon he tasted the tang of metallic iron and copper on his tongue, turning his head sharply to the left to spit out a bit of blood.

Disgusted, he pulled a face and turned back around, his fist still raised in mid-knock, though before he could even think to bring his fist down and announce his presence to those within, he was met with someone who was anything but agreeable.

Catching his breath, the hooded figure forced himself to lift his chin and meet their gaze, and the person glowering at him from across the threshold of the entryway that separated the little tumbledown cottage's front porch from the interior of the house was not who he had been hoping for, and he was certain the crestfallen look on his face remained evident on his face, as he quickly molded a false smile onto his tired features.

The young woman that stood before him was quite pale. Even in the dark, he could see her, like a bright shining beacon of light. The white creamy tone of the young woman's skin reminded the hooded figure of whipped milk, and he couldn't help but wonder if he reached out his hand, would his fingertips graze only the air.

As if Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin were nothing but a ghost. The young witch with the shoulder-length wavy tresses, rich maroon color this evening, stepped from the shadows and out onto the front porch, gingerly closing the door behind her, stealing the man's breath and the very heat from his skin.

"Ah, Mrs. Lupin." The man inclined his head slightly and folded his fingers together, taking a cautious half-step forward towards the young witch who had caused him so much trouble throughout these last few years.

Tonks, for her part, merely proceeded to grit her teeth in anger at him and looked at the hooded figure with raised eyebrows, waiting for the man to continue speaking.

"If I recall correctly, Bartemius Crouch relayed to me when I visited him the other day was no trouble to locate. I lost my way. Three times, as a matter of fact."

Jack's voice was rough and coarse, albeit cheerful, though underneath the surface lurked something dark within the Death Eater, and Tonks was not at all fooled by the man's false pleasantries, though, slowly, as if by witch's curse, her face changed and she lit up into a falsely sweet, honeyed smile that immediately reminded him of Umbridge.

"Oh." The young witch consoled him in a voice positively dripping with false sympathy, causing him to shirk away in disgust as he was quick to recognize Tonks did not sound, nor did she look at all apologetic for the fact he had gotten himself lost. "For that I am sorry," she growled, looking at her with what the hooded figure could only perceive as venom in those glistening, bewitching gray orbs of hers. "I seem to forget that I had not invited you onto my property, Jack, much less informed you he was here."

The hooded figure flinched, biting down on his bottom lip as he willed his temper cool. The young witch was evidently aware of what had transpired between himself and his son all those years ago.

And yet, ever mindful of feigned courtesies, he inclined his head as a show of submission towards Mrs. Lupin, though his fingers itched to throttle her with his own bare hands.

"Yes, Mrs. Lupin," he confirmed dryly. "It would seem that you have. Nevertheless, let us assume you have not gone the way of my son and forsaken your manners, and have chosen to let me inside. I must speak with him." The man shot Mrs. Lupin what he hoped was a truly admonishing and withering look, though the young witch took no notice of it, and merely proceeded to fold her arms across her chest, glowering at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes and pursed lips.

Tonks stood on the front porch of her and her husband's cottage and eyed the man in the black traveling cloak as if he were little more than dirt on the bottom of her shoe. "So, after all this time…you came. Why are you here?" she snapped, her tone ice.

The man could feel the contempt in the young woman's voice, which he thought rather odd. The number of times this bewitching beauty, this Metamorphmagus had spent in his company, he could not recollect her ever treating him quite so coldly.

Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin stepped into the dim light cast at the tip of his wand as he held it out in front of him to better take a look at the young woman's pale features.

It was then that he noticed just how gaunt and drawn her face truly was, the darkened circles underneath her eyes. Something was troubling her immensely, he could tell, considering how it looked like she had not slept an ounce in a long time.

Yes, she was exhausted, and Tonks was also looking immensely annoyed at the man's intrusion. Her delicately shaped, arched eyebrows knitted together in quandary and became creased with deep lines. There was no doubt in his mind now. She fretted.

And yet even then, he was, even he had to confess it, such a truly sweet sight.

The young married witch looked like summer, a sweet ray of sunshine. Her gray eyes sharp and inquisitive, her pale skin cut from the finest of pearls, her chest a pleasant convex, and her figure eye-catching, despite even learning she had just given birth to a son.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of that. "I must congratulate you on the birth of your son, Mrs. Lupin. A fine accomplishment indeed," the man murmured. The man found his younger self nursing a strange desire for the married witch, which was, of course, impossible, as he was happily married, as was Nymphadora.

Giving his head a curt little shake to clear it, Jack let out a low frustrated growl.

As he sanguinely lifted his head to meet Tonks's gaze, he was not at all surprised to hear the tense exhale that emanated in front of him, causing Jack to angle his head in curiosity. She was unhappy that he was here, Jack was able to sense by her stiff posture.

Tonks played with the edges of her pinkish-tipped fingers to keep them warm, still continuing to look at him with that venomous poisonous stare in those gray eyes, labeling him, and for that, he supposed he could not fault her. Why shouldn't she?

He had, after all, not attended his own son's funeral, and now, here he stood, years later, and as he looked upon the young witch's face, which, for so many years, had been the object of his desires, Jack saw a strange revolt in Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin's face.

It was paler than usual, which for her, was saying something. Her lips agape as if devoid of words, also rare, and her gray eyes were new for Jack to take in the sight of.

When she spoke, her tone suggested she was apprehensive and did not fully trust him.

"You did not come here merely to congratulate me. I'll ask again. Why are you here?" she growled, still keeping her arms folded firmly across her chest, glaring at him.

"You know why. You received my owl a few hours ago, I take it?" Jack shot back immediately; the last vestiges of his temper tested as it swelled as a fire within his chest.

Tonks's shaking hands balled into fists at her sides. "You should have stayed away," the young witch declared, hatred seething behind her flashing, steely gray eyes.

Jack's desperation got the better of his plans, and he revealed his purpose, the nature of his visit, much sooner than he had anticipated.

"I need to see my son," he growled, though as he met the young witch's gaze, teeming with hatred and animosity, he felt a sudden shift within himself as something gave way, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know that I have no right to dream that he would see me, but I must."

Tonks ground her teeth in anger, but it was not enough to quell the familiar hot fire-seed of anger churning in the pits of her stomach, and she could hold her wrath no longer.

"You are the last person Ollie needs to see right now!" she bellowed angrily.

Before Jack Brennan could implore his reluctant host again regarding his 'surprise' visit, a guttural pain-filled scream echoed from within the slightly cracked open door behind her, a woman's screams, and Jack swore that he could hear his son's frantic tone.

It was muffled, and faint, but the worried tone was very much that of Oliver's. He recognized the lilt of his son's tones, and Jack suddenly became intrigued, cocking his head to the side, trying his hardest to ignore the sudden onset of panic that pricked his heartstrings. He could not quite explain where this foreign feeling was coming from.

The boy throughout his entire life had become a disappointment to Jack Brennan. He was a man who would do what he wanted to achieve the necessary results, his desired outcome, and right now, his want was to speak with Oliver, and his best friend's resistance, he had expected it, of course, given the circumstances of the last time Tonks had set eyes on Jack had been when Jack had come to identify his son's body in the Carrows' estate following his 'death', but he had not expected it quite to this extent.

As he heard the guttural scream come a second time, and hearing his son's frantic tones, it hit him square in the chest like a well-aimed Knockback Jinx that Jack felt older than his ways, his black hair graying faster than he could bloody blink his eyes.

His body, though he refused to think this, much less admit it, was aching more and more, and the stress of it all hampered his ability to think rationally as he wanted.

It galled him, the thought of it, and Jack's frustration with Nymphadora Tonks mount within him until he thought the very blood within his veins might spontaneously combust. Anger, even.

This damned bastard of his—nothing Jack had imparted on Oliver throughout the years had stayed. He had told him, Tonks, given her heritage and relations to the Lestrange family, was truly a precious prize to be won.

A strange material of beauty that Jack had no trouble admiring and admitting to, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, and now, he had squandered the opportunity.

Jack scrunched his nose at the thought of his bastard son now consorting and, dare he even think this next part, if what Crouch had told him of the boy's thoughts were true, infatuated with a bitch, a werewolf, and that, he couldn't allow.

Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, though married now and a new mother as she was, was entrancing, and there was something about her that would have surely solidified Oliver's place amongst polite society, and that his vicious bastard son was able to have her grated on him, and now, he was consorting with a werewolf if the rumor was true.

The cry of pain from inside came again and it seemed enough to cause the young witch to blink herself out of her stupor, and Jack watched as Tonks turned on the heel of her shoe and made to head back inside, though was halted as Jack Brennan shot out an arm to catch her arm, preventing the young witch from taking another step inside.

"Let. Go. Let go of my arm, Jack, now, or I'll be forced to jinx you," Tonks snarled in a warmth that held no compassion or kindness for her best friend's father.

"Please," Jack persisted, grinding his teeth as he recognized he was practically groveling, knowing he was a man not used to begging, and here he stood in front of this witch, his son's friend, begging her. "My son." He watched as Tonks faltered in her movements.

He observed as the young witch angrily flicked her maroon tresses back over her shoulder and took in every little detail that she could about Ollie's father in front of her, but the man's impassive features gave away nothing. Just a cold aura.

She bristled, silently seething, thinking that Ollie's father's arrival could not have fallen on the worst of possible timings, considering her best mate was worried sick over Norah's condition, which, from the sounds of the screams coming inside, wasn't good.

Tonks hesitated, her gray eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Ollie's father, the cold indifference in the man's dark brown eyes, and she almost flinched, angered.

She was not at all pleased with this arrangement, that the man had shown up on her doorstep, never mind that it was her and Remus's home, their property, Jack Brennan was always a man who did as he liked, and damned what anybody else wants.

Finally, Tonks could not bear the thick tension and silence between them.

"What is it that you want, Mr. Brennan?" she demanded, folding her arms across her chest, and pinning Jack Brennan with a glower of her own. "I know you did not come here merely to see me. What is it that you want of your son? Why do you want to speak to Ollie, after all this time? He—he doesn't even know you didn't go to his own funeral," she whisper-hissed through gritted teeth, lowering her voice so nobody from inside thought to come out and check on her, particularly Ollie himself. No way.

Dealing with his father on top of stressing over whether or not Norah would survive the night was the last Merlin-damned thing Ollie needed in his life right now.

The cruel man smiled and just the way the corners of his mouth twisted upwards in a listless smirk was enough to send a tremor down her spine.

"How perceptive of you," she heard Jack snap in a smooth, languid tone that rivaled that of his son whenever Ollie was in a particular mood. "There are questions surrounding my son."

Tonks bristled, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and stomp her foot in frustration.

"And what makes you think I'll answer any of your questions, Mr. Brennan, after the horrible way you treated your own flesh and blood, your own son growing up? The person you should really be talking to about this is in there," she growled, unfolding one of her arms and pointing a shaking finger towards the door to her home, left open.

Jack Brennan raised his greying eyebrows so far up onto his forehead they almost disappeared into his hairline. "You will answer them, Tonks. Because, Mrs. Lupin, there are questions surrounding my son that only you seem capable of answering, and since you will not allow me entry into your home so that I may speak with Oliver—"

Tonks immediately withdrew her face from his, taking a fumbling step backward and almost tripping over the welcome mat on their front porch.

She knew that dangerous look in the man's flashing dark brown orbs, having seen it in Crouch's now.

"Don't you dare touch him," she growled, her threat escaping her before she had the chance to swallow it. "If you even think about stepping one foot inside this house as long as Ollie stays here with me, I can promise you, you will regret it," she snarled.

"Your threats mean nothing to me, Mrs. Lupin," Jack replied smoothly, clasping his ringed fingers together and unfazed by his son's best friend's little outburst towards him. "I will be leaving with him with more time, then, though that boy has no true understanding of the word 'love,' my dear. Oliver is ignorant of the word and any meaning that it holds," he murmured darkly under his breath, glowering at Tonks.

"And who is responsible for that, Jack?" Tonks spat back at him, her glower and anger intensifying, as she forcefully shoved her wand in the back pocket of her jeans to prevent her magic from accidentally imploding and destroying their porch in the process. "You are the one who convinced him growing up he's not worthy of a father's love and affections. That he wasn't worthy of a woman's love! That he's a bastard! It's vicious, slanderous lies!" she shouted, though she lowered her voice upon someone calling out to her from where the door lay cracked open just a jar.

Damn, Jack thought, and for a moment, he stiffened as he heard her husband's voice rent through the air.

"Dora?" Jack heard an unfamiliar man's voice call out. This must be her husband, he thought, biting down on his bottom lip in anticipation. "I heard a noise, love. Who's out there with you?" he demanded hotly; his tone laced with a biting suspicion.

Tonks, for her part, did not immediately respond to her husband's call, it seemed to take her an age to find her voice.

"N—no one, Remus, I—it's just one of the...the….neighbors," she called out lamely. "They—they heard the screams and wanted to make sure that…we were all right. Don't worry about me, Rem, I'm fine. I'll be inside in a moment, sweetheart," she finished lamely and closed the door behind her.

Tonks was practically shaking where she stood now, radiating anger in heatwaves, and Jack Brennan could feel the intense fiery heat the young witch and Auror gave off.

Ollie's father sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. "I still wish to see him."

A beat. A pause.

And then, just before Tonks could coldly dismiss him again and insist Mr. Brennan get off of his property or find himself at the mercy of the end of her wand, he spoke up in a much more subdued and coarse voice than he had just before.

"His mother is dying, and soon, Mrs. Lupin. I come at her insistence. That, and only that, is the reason for my impromptu visit, my dear."

Every sound in her pounding eardrums felt like it throbbed. Tonks drew in a sharp breath of frigid night air and held it.

"You disgust me, Jack," Tonks growled, her lips bitter to the bone. "Seeking out your only son after all this time. Surely, you knew that he—that he was alive? You're a Legilimens too, just as he is. Could you not sense it?"

She felt him pause. Almost succumbing to defeat and Tonks had her answer, her blood turning to ice in his veins.

"You knew," she breathed, her almond-shaped gray eyes going wide and round with shock, her lips agape, and her already pale face turned even whiter as she staggered backward, her hand groping for the doorknob. "You knew he was alive all this time, and you did nothing to help get your son away from Crouch, oh, you are a vicious, arrogant son of a b—" she started to shout, but Jack interrupted.

"My dear sweet Tonks." Jack Brennan held up a hand to cut Tonks off in mid-insult, merely proceeding to glare at her, shaking his head and clicked his tongue as if in mock disappointment, as though he had expected better. "You truly are many things, Nymphadora, and politeness, not one of them, my dear. But…tell me. Do you honestly believe the world would see my own son as anything but the bastard I know him to be, dear? The world is a cruel and dark place. The boy was an Obscurus for years. Marked. It shows no mercy to no one, and I am…disappointed to hear my son has taken an interest in a bitch, though I suppose I ought not to be too surprised, Mrs. Lupin, yes?" he growled, no semblance of warmth. "Though what woman would take my son as he is, knowing what he is? If what my contact the other night told me is true, my son surely deserves the dog," Jack sighed, turning away from Tonks for a moment.

After a moment's pause, he turned back around and lifted a finger, resting it on her shoulder.

"I am an understanding man, Nymphadora. And understanding men, I know, are most difficult to please, but it would please me if you would so kindly allow me to see my son. Before his mother passes, she wishes to see the accursed wretch, and it is only my love for my wife and the goodness of my heart that I come for my son."

Tonks spluttered and stammered to think of a retort, feeling a piece of her resolve falter. In a strange, horrible way, she knew Ollie's father had a point.

She had already seen for herself how the rest of the wizarding world treated Remus and Ollie, barely able to meet their gazes, once they learned the truth of their conditions, and her best mate's torment, no one should have to endure what Ollie did, and though Newt Scamander and Professor Dumbledore had been successfully able to rid him of the Obscurus, she knew there would be a part of Ollie that would never be the same again.

Tonks drew in a sharp breath and held it. The way Ollie's own father was staring at her, regarding her in cold, indifferent silence spurred a wave of nausea in her churning stomach, and she swallowed, her head inclined, though her eyes were unmoved and her face impassive.

"You don't know me, Jack. You never did. Just as you don't even know your own son, you bastard," Tonks murmured, her voice soft, quiet.

Jack Brennan flinched at her last word. "I'll imagine you did not just say that."

Tonks blinked owlishly at Ollie's father, her lips parted open in shock and anger.

"What?" she challenged hotly, her hands on her hips. "'Bastard?'" she demanded, summoning her inner strength, what little was left of it after the ordeals of tonight, to face those brown eyes that bore a thousand weights. "My apologies, Mr. Brennan. My dad and mum always taught me growing up to address people as to what they are, sir."

Jack's vicious temper swelled, and the heartless words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "And now your father rots in the ground somewhere."

Tonks froze, her blood churning within her veins, and so did his. Tears blurred and stung at the corners of her vision, and wrath burned bright in his dark brown eyes.

"It was the Death Eater Augustus Rookwood who murdered your father, Tonks, not I," growled Jack, narrowing his eyes which almost, Tonks swore, painted hurt. "So, from here, you stop treating me like I am the one who held your father at wandpoint."

Tonks's eyes squeezed shut, and Jack Brennan heard his bastard son's best friend draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, and he was momentarily relieved when the young woman shook her head in protest, blinking back her tears at learning the identity of her father's murderer.

"To allow your son to rot in a prison cell, knowing full well that Crouch was keeping him, physically torturing him daily, keeping him under the watch of Barty Crouch Jr., it's wrong. Not bothering to seek your son out until now when his own mother—your wife—is on her death bed, Brennan, it's despicable, and I said it before, and I'll say it again. You disgust me. Ollie was the only good thing to come out of your wretched family besides his brother and your wife. And I think you've said enough. I won't let you in. Not tonight, Jack. you need to get off my porch, Jack."

Jack bristled, his teeth grinding in anger, knowing she needed to hear this. "I kept him away…from you, my dear. You were…a weakness in his life. A complication, once I saw that you did not intend to follow in the footsteps of your Aunt Bellatrix, I could not have you around my son, Tonks. That is why I did not seek Oliver out sooner and free him. I knew that if he knew that you were aware that he was alive, he would want to return to you, and I could not permit that," Jack confessed, his tone low, soft.

Tonks immediately felt as if she had been hit square in the chest with an Unforgiveable Curse, her heart nearly stopped, and she clutched onto the doorknob of the front door to steady herself.

"H—how?" she stammered, her brain not working.

"Oh, yes," Jack said slowly, nodding his head in a total and complete understanding. "I was and remain still very much aware of it, even if my son's…affections have shifted to this werewolf," he spat, scrunching his nose in disgust and almost gagging at the thought of his pureblood son mating with a half-breed wolf. "It was really quite obvious, child. Oliver shielded you from me for the past three years, you see. Now, you will find it within yourself to forgive me, the lad is quite shy. Not at all brave, dear. So, the question now I find myself faced with is why?"

Jack paused, lacing his fingers together. "Why, after all this time, has Oliver continued to shield you from us, Tonks? It was never in his nature to disobey me and yet, he immediately did not hesitate to the second Crouch Sr.'s son became aware you were tracking him, and I alerted him to this fact."

When his voice elevated, Tonks decided to quit engaging the man. Jack Brennan was a handsome, refined wizard in his mid-fifties with a fiery temper, and she knew it was unwise to provoke his anger even further, but she knew that he was hiding something, and then, when the man jutted his chin out slightly defiantly and met her gaze, Tonks had her answer. She pursed her lips in a thin line and glowered at Jack.

"How frightened are you, Jack? Mr. Brennan," she added, not one to forget her manners, even in the less-than-polite company and in front of a bastard like Ollie's dad. Tonks was almost tempted to cut off her tongue by the way her best friend's father sharply whiplashed upward and regarded his son's best friend, his face rapidly paling.

"What?" he demanded, looking at Tonks as though he had not heard her at all.

"Your son. He frightens you. He still does. And you are wrong about Ollie, sir," she answered, lifting her own chin and jutting it out so as to match Jack's glacier stare.

He scoffed at that, which only proceeded to invoke Tonks's anger even further.

"He is only ignorant of this world around him because that is the path you carved for him right from the start when Ollie did not meet your expectations of the 'perfect son,'" Tonks stated coldly, ignoring the stinging sensation in her palms and bottom lip, not realizing that her nails were digging into the skin of her hands, or that her teeth were biting down so hard on her bottom lip that she now tasted blood. She ignored it.

She drew in a breath and continued. "You have never been a positive influence in Ollie's life, Jack. You've taught him nothing but fear and hatred. You're just as bad as Lucius Malfoy is with his own son!"

Then something changed within the wife and new mother, and her jaw locked up and her posture straightened. Angrily, Tonks tossed her hair back over her shoulders.

A new blaze of determination and resolve crept onto her features, color slowly snaking its way back into her ashen and somewhat clammy cheeks. She now knew exactly what it was that Jack Brennan needed to hear, even if he didn't want to hear it.

"I am the one who showed him true acceptance in his life, Mr. Brennan. I'm the one who became his first friend in our third year in Hogwarts. I'm the one who stays by his side, no matter what. I've never abandoned him when he needed looking after, Jack. I never looked away from him! I never told Ollie that he was a bastard and never will!"

Tonks spat the words as though they were poisoned chocolate that had settled upon her tongue, and she was glowering at him with the fiery venom he was used to.

Her previous fear she felt towards Death Eater Jack Brennan (or ex, she supposed, now that Lord Voldemort was dead), was severed and she would never let Ollie's father lay another hand against his son as long as she still dared to draw in breath to her lungs.

"Her name is Norah," Tonks whisper hissed through gritted teeth, the fingers of her wand hand twitching as she resisted the urge to jinx Ollie's father where he stood. "Not werewolf, not wolf, not bitch, not dog, or whatever you call people like her. The woman's name that your son loves is Norah. Norah Jameson. And you'll start to call her by her name and treat her with a semblance of respect while you stand on my property, Jack," Tonks growled, a flicker of something unreadable darting through her eyes.

Tonks paused to catch her breath, turning her back on Jack Brennan, who was gazing at the young witch and Auror with a mixture of astonishment and onslaught.

"I will permit you to see your son, Mr. Brennan, as long as he stays with us," she snarled reluctantly. "But not tonight. Come back in two days. For now, let him rest," Tonks snapped, wrenching open the door, though she risked chancing one last glance over her shoulder at Jack Brennan.

Ollie's father had turned his back on her and started to walk down the steps of her front porch to Disapparate when she bade him wait for a moment.

"Stop."

Jack did as she asked.

When Tonks spoke to Ollie's father, her voice shook.

"Listen, Jack, and I will only say this once. If you so much as lay a single finger against your son in anger, I will personally kill you myself," she spat. "I don't care if it goes against what I stand for. Test me, and you won't win. If you really, truly wanted to keep love out of your son's life, you should have let him die that day in the Carrows' estate. Something tells me you personally had a hand in saving your son's life, Jack, which suggests to me that there is a part of you, however small, that might actually love your son. I just hope he realizes it before the end."

And with that, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin turned her back on Jack Brennan and slammed the door behind her so hard the door itself rattled in its hinges.

She was smart enough not to look back.


A/N: Proud of Tonks for sticking up for her friends! Also, Ollie does* have a brother, or I guess in this case, DID, because I mention it here that he had a brother, but he's not talked about, for obvious reasons which are coming up in a future chapter, but either way, the father-son reunion will likely not be a pleasant one and have dire consequences.