A/N: Hi Folks. I promise this story isn't all dark and moody/ broody all the time. In fact, the next couple of chapters are quite light-hearted.
I thought it would be fun to do a flashback of sorts of how Tonks and Ollie met in Knockturn Alley when they were only 13 years old, and it wound up being a super long flashback, so rather than have it be one long ridiculous chapter of like 11k words, I split it up into two, one from Tonks's POV and one from Ollie's, both segments told while they're, you guessed it, sleeping lol.
I actually had this segment planned out originally in my super-detailed outline with all my notes to take place much earlier in the story near the beginning, but since this story doesn't cover Tonks's Hogwarts years, and I didn't want to detract too* much from Remus and Tonks, as this is very much their story and not Tonks and Ollie's, I thought there wasn't much point in putting it in here, and then I decided that I liked it so much and didn't want to cut it, and now that Ollie is alive and back in her life, I thought it would be a good segment to sneak this in here and have it be a bit of a breather from all the heavy stuff going on with poor Ollie and Tonks worrying over Norah, etc.
Hope you enjoy it!
1O7
Tonks shut the front door quietly and leaned against it, her heart still beating wildly in the confines of her chest, a hand over her racing heart.
She only breathed out a shaking and relieved breath the moment she heard Jack Brennan's footsteps fade from her porch and the all-too-familiar loud crack of Ollie's despised father Disapparating.
What just happened?
His father arriving now of all times, could not have been more poorly timed.
Sliding down to the floor, still using the door as a brace to rest her back on, Tonks shakily knit her fingers together, forcing herself to try to calm down by breathing in and out slow breaths.
Jack Brennan would be back in two days' time.
Of that she was certain. Ollie's father was a man of many things, and a man of his word, you could count on him to be that much, if nothing else, at the very least.
Tonks bit her inner cheek as she felt an uncomfortable churning pit start to swoop and roll in her stomach.
Jack had acted as if what he had asked of her, to be allowed into her and Remus's home, uninvited, to see his son, was simple and nothing out of the ordinary, as though the man merely wanted to catch up with Ollie over tea, ignoring the fact that Jack Brennan had more or less despised his youngest son growing up and done unspeakable things to him as Ollie grew into a young man.
And Dominic, oh, his brother! Tonks thought tiredly, squeezing her eyes tight shut.
The young witch kept her eyes shut, leaning her forehead against her wrists as she pulled her knees up close to her chest, trying her hardest to drown out muffled screams, Norah's voice, coming from just down the hallway and to her left.
Tonks let out a sigh.
She sincerely hoped that Ollie was managing to sleep through this, though at the moment, she lacked the strength to get up from her spot on the floor in front of their front door to go and check on her best friend right now.
Besides, after the harsh exchange of words between herself and Ollie's dad, she really needed a moment just to herself.
Tonks attempted to forget the entire ordeal with Jack Brennan but couldn't erase the sight of Ollie's father from her mind.
A man whom she hoped never to see again, and for Ollie never to lay eyes on again, for that matter. Tonks did not think she would be able to forget the wizard's eyes.
A deep, earthy brown—the color of the earth after a torrential downpour of rain. But there was something else in them, something glistening. Something evil.
Glistening like an old bronze Knut being examined in the warmth next to powerful flames that were licking the safety glass door of one of those old fireplace hearths.
The man's eyes held mysterious secrets, the same way that a pot held layers of deep soil—cradling it—because it was essential to keep the plant safe from harm.
The roots were held in place the same way Death Eater Jack Brennan's dark brown, liquid eyes held so tightly onto his precious secrets.
Tonks remembered Jack, growing up.
Jack Brennan, an alluring and mysterious man, the very same one that she had just confronted was also, in his own way, arresting and strangely, utterly hypnotic, almost.
Tonks, who had never put much stock into a person's physical appearance, preferring to judge them based on their personality and their actions, could not deny that Ollie's father was not made of the same flesh and blood as most people.
Even in his refined, older age, the man was admittedly something of a looker, and she hated to admit it. His salt and pepper hair, a roman-like jawline and a strong, discerning brow, Ollie's father tended to give off an otherworldly vibe, almost god-like.
Well. Almost.
When Tonks had refused to allow Jack inside to see his son, Jack Brennan had looked at her much like a dragon would stalk its prey before burning it alive.
She had been able to find no warmth in his darkened brown eyes that were flashing and angry.
He had stared at her just now with such contempt and disgust, she was sure the air outside on her front porch had instantly become colder, which was really saying something.
A voice from in front of her suddenly jolted her out of her thoughts of Ollie's dad.
"Tonks?" Tonks blinked, startled as she heard Ollie's hoarse, weak voice coming from the entryway that separated their living room and kitchen and its nook from the hall.
She flinched, lifting her gaze and regarded her best friend with a furtive, guilty look on her face. Tonks sincerely hoped Ollie hadn't heard any of what was said outside just now, physically or otherwise by means of his natural Legilimency.
Knowing his father was coming was not something he needed to learn right now.
Not tonight, at least. Tonks winced, biting her bottom lip as she gazed at Ollie.
The poor man was pale, paler than she had ever seen her best friend.
His thick tuft of short, coarse black hair was a stark contrast against his almost translucent skin, and both dried and fresh tear tracts could be seen stained against his cheeks.
Right now, his dark brows were furrowed in a heavy frown as he regarded her with a concerned look.
"Who was at the door? Are you all right? You look…sick, T," he muttered.
Tonks airily brushed away his questions with a curt wave of her hand, hoping her eyes and her nervousness at wanting to deflect his questions didn't show on her face.
"I—it was no one, Ol, I promise. Just…a visitor."
There was a beat, a pause, and Tonks cursed herself for not asking after Norah's condition.
Damn.
"Norah, Ollie. Tell me! Ollie, how is Norah? Is there…is there any change in her, Ol?" she murmured, rising to her feet shakily, reaching for Ollie's outstretched hand, noting how badly it was shaking, and the moment her fingers interlaced with his, Tonks let out a muffled squeak of surprise as Ollie pulled her in close, cutting off the gap of space between the pair of friends, and openly sobbed in her arms, his fingers clutching onto the back of her overly large Weird Sisters t-shirt that she used for sleeping in for support.
She blinked.
"No…" he managed to croak out before he lost the semblance of speech. In Ollie's sobbing was the sound of his already fragile heart as it broke, shattering into a million pieces, never to be whole again. "They...won't let me in still to see her, Tonks."
Hearts didn't snap like brittle caramel or burst like an overfilled balloon.
A heart broke in the heaving waves of a new disturbing reality that has arrived uninvited and certainly unwanted.
It was entering a life they couldn't bear and so their hearts break. They would not be the same again, there's just a part of them that had to die so that the rest of them could carry on their duties to the other people they loved.
So, as Tonks held onto Ollie, feeling him shake with grief, the last vestiges of his sanity hanging on the threads that Norah Jameson would survive the night, there was a part of her breaking too.
If Ollie wasn't the same, then neither would Tonks be. That was what happened when you loved someone, right? Their happiness was a part of your own, as his was.
"C'mon, Ol," she murmured. "You look like crap, Ollie. I can tell you haven't been able to sleep. I know you're worried about Norah, Ol, but you need to rest. You won't help Norah by stressing yourself to the point of exhaustion. The best thing you can do for her and you is to try to get some sleep. You can barely stand up. You can sleep on the couch. We've got plenty of extra blankets and pillows. It should be comfortable enough. I can help you get there, but I need you to help me, Ollie. Can you walk for me, Ollie? Wotcher, please don't fall, Ol, if you fall, I might not be able to—to pick you back up, I—I don't think I'm strong enough for that," she whispered, draping her arm over her best friend's shoulder, having to almost stand up on her tiptoes in order to do it, given how much bloody taller he was than Tonks.
Gingerly, she guided Ollie towards the sofa, and collapsed onto the sofa with him, not even minding that he needed to take comfort in her arms as he allowed his mind to collapse in itself.
The thin walls of his mind shattered like glass, razor-sharp edges tearing through his flesh, and Ollie whiplashed his head upwards as Tonks helped him sit up.
He opened his mouth to speak, yet the words clung to the inside of his throat, unwilling to be said, and it felt like there was a gag on his mouth. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
His wretched vision stung and blurred with hot tears, marring his sight.
Ollie held no more room within for false facades of strength. Not anymore.
Not when the woman who he now knew he loved, just two doors away from him, teetered on the brink of death itself, and he was more or less powerless to help stop Norah's pain.
Before Tonks could even fathom what was happening, her best friend clung to fistfuls of her t-shirt for support, sobbing into her chest unceasingly, hands clutching at her back, nestling his head into the crook of Tonks's shoulder.
She held him in silence, rocking him slowly where they sat on the sofa as his tears slowly soaked into her chest.
A tiny lapse let Ollie pull away for a fraction of second, blinking lashes heavy with his tears before he collapsed again.
The pain must have come for him in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurtling poor Ollie back into the outstretched arms of his grief.
Ollie cried, tears of relief, for one out of two friends in his life, the other being Charlie Weasley, was safe, and in terror, out of fear of not knowing whether Norah would survive or if she would succumb to the severe extent of her wounds.
He clung to Tonks like she was his last lifeline, and he knew that she was, waves of fear, sadness, and immense stress, both physical and emotional moving through his body faster than he could keep up with.
Ollie didn't know if he would ever be okay again.
Tonks, for her part, could not remember the last time Ollie had cried like this, not since they were teenagers and they first met in Knockturn Alley when they were only thirteen years old, and then again later that summer when she snuck over to his house.
His brother, Dominic's death had hit the family hard, but especially Ollie.
The loss had been crippling for Ollie, and especially for his father.
It was rumored (though Tonks had never believed these slanderous lies) that Ollie had a hand in murdering Dominic.
Ollie, the strong friend he had always been, nearly crumpled and became destroyed under the weight of grief and despair, not only from the loss of his brother and mourning Dominic, but his father disowned him that day, and had beaten the boy within an inch of his life, and it had taken Tonks all the strength and stubbornness she had inherited from both of her parents in order to pull Ollie out of that vast, dark hole.
She had very nearly lost her beloved friend in the process, though she remembered it like it was yesterday.
These thoughts aside, Tonks gingerly pushed Ollie downward so he was lying on the sofa, and when she made a move to leave, his arm shot out so fast, she barely had time to blink, though Tonks blinked, turning her head slightly to regard her best friend, who had curled in on himself, shuddering, almost convulsing in grief.
"Stay. Please. I—I don't want to be alone right now, T, I—I don't think I can breathe, Tonks," he croaked hoarsely, his voice cracking and faltering, as was his resolve.
Tonks did not need to be asked a second time.
Exhaling slowly through her nose, she felt something shift within her give way and Tonks nodded, sitting with Ollie, watching as the man slowly drifted into consciousness.
And then back out. The little world of Remus and Tonks's cottage around him was a blur as his vision hazed at the edges.
Tonks furrowed her brows into a frown and put one of her hands on Ollie's cheeks, peering deep into his glistening blue eyes.
"Ol, your pupils are super dilated…did you drink or eat something that might have caused this? What do you think is keeping you from breathing properly?" she asked, the edges of her voice hardening slightly.
For a moment, she heard her own mother's voice come out of her own mouth.
"No, no, no food or drink, I—I can't breathe, T," Ollie gasped for air, clawing at fistfuls of her t-shirt. "I—help me, Dora," he begged, biting his bottom lip, his face paling rapidly.
"But you are breathing, Ollie," Tonks assured her best friend calmly, though a stab of fear pricked at her heart, grabbing her friend's hand in her own and pressing it to his chest. "Feel for yourself, Ol," she whispered soothingly, keeping her hand pressed over the top of Ollie's so that he could feel for himself that he was, in fact, breathing normally. "See?" she urged, letting out a tired sigh, breathing a breath of relief as Ollie mutely nodded, though his face had turned an interesting shade of green, and she hoped he wasn't going to start getting sick, but to her immense relief, his eyelids drooped.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so damned bloody exhausted in his life.
A tap on his shoulder momentarily brought Ollie back to the outside world, but after a second, in his exhaustion brought on by exertion and mental anguish, he was once again lost. He could feel Tonks trying to look at him, staring dead in the eye.
But he just couldn't keep focus. Confusion and panic blossomed in his chest and heart and he knew that sooner or later, he would need to wake up.
To stare reality in the face and find out from Snape and Remus if Norah was going to pull through.
But for now, he was unable to stop himself from laying down his heavy head and retreating into the wallowing blackness.
Tonks, for her part, sat awkwardly on the couch curled up next to Ollie's unsteadily sleeping form, her hand on his thigh as reassuringly as she could possibly manage without the gesture coming across as suggestive.
She flinched, hoping Remus or Snape wouldn't walk in on this and get the wrong idea, but after all that Ollie had done to help her and her husband, she owed him.
We owe both of you, she thought sadly, squeezing her eyes shut as she swore she heard another guttural moan of pain of the young blonde wolf's, coming from behind the spare bedroom and she and Remus were putting Norah up in to allow the young blonde wolf time to heal.
Their friendship was strange, and admittedly not natural, but it was the best Tonks could think of, thinking that nothing in her life had ever been, for lack of a better word, 'normal.'
Tonks felt a surge in her temper flare hot as dragon fire at the thought of Jack Brennan's unexpected but not all together unannounced arrival on their porch.
She had known from the owl he sent her (well, technically to Ollie, though Tonks had intercepted it!) that Jack would be coming, but he hadn't specified when.
Tonks had not anticipated nor did she appreciate the fact that Jack had made an attempt to see his last-living son tonight of all nights, when his body and mind had already been taxed and pushed to the brink, teetering on the edge from fighting at Hogwarts and worried sick over Norah's condition, not knowing if she would survive.
The hot fire-seed of anger swooped and churned in the pit of her stomach, and Tonks felt her bare toes almost curl in frustration and ire.
No matter when Jack Brennan came back to see Ollie, one thing was certain.
She and Remus were not going to allow the man to set one foot inside their home.
They could converse on the porch or take a walk if it pleased them to do so, and she was most certainly going to have words again with Jack and make sure the man heeded her warning from a moment ago.
Ollie had suffered at his father's expense for far too long, and it was high time she kept true to the promise they had made to one another the morning they met in Knockturn Alley when they were thirteen years old the summer before start of term.
Tonks squeezed her eyes shut as the memory returned to her of the promise the two of them had made that fateful summer their unbreakable bond had been forged…
This was her third summer shopping for school supplies before the start of term in early September, and each trip to Diagon Alley was always the same for Nymphadora Tonks.
Listen to her mum and dad, and never, ever under any circumstances, go down Knockturn Alley.
It was rumored dodgy people skulked about that alleyway, seedy types.
Types that Andromeda and Ted Tonks did not want their daughter around at all.
Ted and Andromeda frequently told Tonks stories at bedtimes of the types of bad men and women that lurked in the shadows in that ill-fated alleyway for Dark wizards and witches.
Her parents said those that favored the shadows would come for her unless she stayed closed and minded her parents, or she would meet a truly abysmal fate.
Tonks was thirteen years old when she met Ollie Brennan for the first time.
Her mum had dragged her to Diagon Alley to buy the list of supplies on her list this year as a third-year Hufflepuff, and Tonks needed new school robes and had been bribed into coming with the promise of Mr. Florean Fortescue's famous large fudge ripple sundae.
Never one to turn down chocolate ice cream, or chocolate anything really, Tonks had eagerly agreed, and even with the warning lingering from her mum not even two seconds ago, it was impossible to repress the young teenager's curiosity.
Teens will do what they want, after all. Some parents learned this a little more quickly than others, and they were wise not to discourage the tendency too severely, though it was the high-strung, overprotective parents who were slower to learn this lesson of their kids.
Much to the cost of their own sanity. Ted and Andromeda Tonks were one such set of parents.
Tonks, for instance, bloody damned bloody well where she was and not allowed to go in Diagon Alley.
She'd been told countless times by Mum and Dad, and under no circumstances, not for anything in all of Great Britain, was she to step one toe over the threshold that separated Diagon Alley from Knockturn Alley.
Not. One. Toe. But when you were thirteen, the pull and irresistible beck and call of the ghoulish was nearly irresistible.
You know. You were once thirteen, too. To be fair, Nymphadora, for the most part, always did what she was told.
Every morning, she helped her dad with chores around the house, doing it always without complaining, helping her mum cook in the kitchen.
Doing what you were told, however, was one thing, but refraining from doing what you were told not to do?
Quite another matter entirely.
Particularly when fellow soon-to-be third-year Charlie Weasley was teasing her for it.
"You won't do it, Tonks! You're not allowed! You're way too scared! You want to give up? I won't think any less of you for it, but…I will make you give me your sundae at Florean's," the ginger-haired, freckled Gryffindor student mercilessly teased Tonks as the pair of them had managed to give both of their sets of parents the slip, and the friends were standing upon the threshold that separated Knockturn Alley from Diagon Alley, who shot her an infectious grin.
Tonks stomped her foot in frustration and put her hands on her hips, scrunching her nose in disgust, not even aware her ponytail had accidentally changed crimson in color.
"You shut up, Charlie!" Tonks retorted hotly, her face reddening in anger, giving her classmate and friend the most venomous glower, the young witch could manage, though at only thirteen, the look was more adorable than it was intimidating.
Charlie Weasley scoffed and rolled his eyes, folding his burly arms across his chest.
"Oh, yeah, Tonks? Then why is your voice shaking? You afraid of what your mum will do if she finds you skulking around Knockturn Alley? What's she going to do if she finds out, huh, Tonks?" he smirked, giving his friend, who was something of a tomboy a quick once-over, surveying her simple black t-shirt and jeans and black sneakers.
Tonks bristled, seething, but said nothing.
"Sit on you? No, wait, wait!" he continued, clutching his side between his giggling fit. "Make you wear a dress!" he joked, gasping for breath, and howling with laughter, nearly falling over himself at the thought of his tomboyish young friend wearing a dress intended for young women. Ladylike girls.
Of which, Nymphadora Tonks was most certainly not. Tonks had little friends in this world, save for Charlie.
Not many witches her age cared for trying to take a dip in the Black Lake at Hogwarts, even though it was against school rules, just to see if she could catch a glimpse of the Giant Squid that lived there, being outside when it rained, and curling up with a blanket with a good book.
All things Nymphadora loved to do.
Unfortunately, she had no one to share them with. Because of her tomboyish nature, she did not really fit in with young witches her age, and the boys all saw her as a threat to their ambitions, they wouldn't let her hang out with them, either.
Except for Charlie, though he was so not her friend right now, considering how he teased her!
Tonks gritted her teeth in annoyance, feeling her purple-painted fingernails digging into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists in indignation.
She was not afraid of Knockturn Alley, particularly Borgin and Burkes' shop, no matter what the people in The Three Broomsticks and The Leaky Cauldron said about the place.
The injustice of what Charlie was suggesting—that she was scared when she bloody wasn't—made her ears burn.
"Watch me, Charlie. I'm going to touch it!"
'It' of course, being the famous Cursed Hand in Borgin and Burkes. Known by another name, the Hand of Glory.
A Dark artifact, a shriveled hand rumored to give light only to its holder.
It was rumored that if you attempted to grab onto it or touch it in any way, and you were not the designated holder the Hand chose, it wouldn't let go.
Well. She would show him!
She'd touch it, and then some. Seven hells, she'd touch it so bloody well, the Hand of Glory would be hers for the rest of her natural life!
That would teach Charlie to call her a coward!
Tonks did not bother to stop the triumphant smirk forming at the edges of her lips, though she knew Charlie Weasley couldn't see as she stalked down the cobblestone steps that led into the depths of Knockturn Alley, ignoring Charlie's startled shout of surprise, leaving the second oldest Weasley sibling to gape after Tonks in surprise, though she did not hear him follow her.
Now we'll see who's the coward, Weasley, Tonks thought darkly to herself, swiveling her head this way and that, trying to take in the infamous Knockturn Alley.
It was a rather disquieting place if Tonks was being honest with herself.
The alleyway itself well over a hundred and fifty years old, or so Tom the Bartender in The Leaky Cauldron was fond of telling anyone who would listen to him over a butterbeer.
The cobblestone walls of Knockturn Alley had grown green with a dank mold, and grass sprouted up from cracks in the street.
Understandably so, it was regarded by the adults in Nymphadora's world as an ugly splotch, a blot on the picturesque landscape that was known to their community as Diagon Alley, and just its spooky appearance alone was enough to give Knockturn Alley its haunted reputation.
Her fellow classmates, those precious few who did give a damn about Tonks, wouldn't blame Tonks for being hesitant initially about getting anywhere near this repulsive shopping plaza where only questionable types, people who used to be Slytherin came to do their shopping.
But now it's become a matter of her personal pride now.
The thirteen-year-old daughter of Andromeda and Ted Tonks was no coward, and now that she stood in front of the open entrance to Borgin and Burkes' shop, now was the bloody time to prove it to Charlie and anyone else who called her a coward.
Tonks exhaled a sharp breath, puffing her cheeks out to steel her nerves. As she gingerly approached the open entryway of the nefarious, dingy, dusty looking shop, several crows that had been perched on the awning took off, squawking and rustling their feathers in annoyance.
Tonks kept her gaze fixated on her black sneakers in nervousness, it wasn't until she reached the entryway, she forced herself to look upward.
It's close. Sweet Merlin's left buttock, it was bloody close to her now.
She'd never been this close to a Knockturn Alley shop in all her life. What would her mum say if she could see her here? If she wanted to, she could reach out with her finger and—
"Touch it!" Charlie Weasley shouted from directly behind her, eliciting a startled yelp from Tonks, causing the poor young witch to falter backwards and scream loudly.
"Is this going to become a regular thing with you?" she snapped, toying with the ends of her ponytail as she whirled around on the heel of her shoe and glowered at him.
"It is until you touch it," Charlie retorted with a vicious looking smirk on his face, one that Tonks wanted to ball her hand into a fist and wipe that smug grin right off his arrogant face with a well-deserved punch at the nose, the Muggle dueling way.
"I am not going to touch the Hand of Glory!" Tonks growled through gritted teeth, and this time, she really did stomp her foot in a moment of frustrated agitation.
"Oh, but Nymphadora, I thought you weren't afraid," Charlie whined in a mock little pout, knowing he had her right where he wanted his friend at the use of her full first name, a name which he knew she loathed, judging by the look of daggers she shot.
Tonks raised her eyebrows at Charlie in annoyance and swiveled her gaze back around in front of her, cringing at the fact that there were dead skeletal remains of Merlin only knew what, though one of them looked suspiciously like a dead baby's head in the front window of Borgin and Burkes.
She was sure that's what it was. Yes.
A shudder went down her spine. "You go inside and touch it then, if you're so tough!" Tonks spat at Charlie, trying her best not to think about the dismal fact that the shopkeeper, Mr. Borgin, kept a dead baby's skull in his front shop window. "Why do I always have to be the first one to do anything whenever you and I hang out, Charlie?"
"Because the gullible one always goes first!" said Charlie with an impish chuckle that she thought was better suited for one of his twin brothers, Fred, or George.
"It's—it's your turn to do something stupid and take the blame for it, Weasley!" Tonks protested, not looking at Charlie, her gaze fixated on something behind the window.
She was sure, she was sure that she saw a flash of black, and a brilliant shade of blue peeking out at her from behind the shop window, but she couldn't be sure exactly.
Her ears practically perked up as she swore that she heard the sound of someone's voice, a boy her age, coming from inside, though it sounded muffled, distant. Faint.
Charlie snorted, rolling his eyes, and raking his fingers through his fiery tuft of red trademark Weasley hair.
"That doesn't even make any sense, Tonks!" he sighed exasperatedly.
Tonks groaned, painfully twisting her hands together. "If I touch it, will you get off my back about this?" she breathed, her light gray eyes shining as there it was again.
Charlie made the sign of the Hail Mary across his chest. "Cross my heart, hope to die," he swore solemnly, not a trace of joking in his face or his voice for once. "Swear."
Groaning in frustration and toying with the ends of her ponytail, Tonks took a deep breath and turns back to face the front of Borgin and Burke's open front door.
It's not haunted, she told herself firmly. It's not bloody haunted, Dora. You can do this. Just…go inside, get a good look at the Hand, touch it, and get out of here!
"Oooh. I can't believe I'm really doing this!" Tonks whispered through gritted teeth, clenching and un-clenching her fists, keeping her voice low enough so that Weasley wouldn't hear her.
If he learned she actually was scared of going in here, she'd never hear the end of it.
"I—I really am a stupid girl," she hissed, steeling her nerves.
Taking a deep breath to try to calm down her racing heart, Tonks took a ginger step forward, and then another, and another, until she had crossed the threshold and was now well past the point of no return.
There was no going back. Too late to turn back.
I should go back.
This single thought nagged at the back of her mind like a fly that she could not swat.
But still, now that she was actually inside Borgin and Burkes' shop for the first time, she felt a hint of longing to see what was in here for herself. Who knew?
Maybe she would actually survive touching the Hand of Glory and live to tell it.
However, the thought of facing Mum and Dad and their temper when she found out that she had managed to give them the slip while they haggled over the price of her school robes this year, and the thought of Charlie getting in trouble with his mum, who had an even worse temper than her mother was almost enough to spur her to turn the hell around and march right out the front door, to go back.
Though, before she could, she heard a shuffling sound behind her, footsteps.
At first, she thought maybe it was the grizzled old shop keep, Mr. Borgin or was it Mr. Burke?
She didn't know which one of them ran the shop itself, but Tonks did know that she didn't particularly care to find out.
But then she noticed, the sound was entirely too soft and agile, too soft to belong to an adult's footsteps.
She whirled around on the heel of her sneaker, just in time to see a flash of black woolen robes whip around the corner and out of her line of sight.Someone's spying on me! Tonks thought, intrigued, catching a brief glance of the shrouded figure's tall stature, though not that much taller than her.
Way too short to be a fully-grown wizard or witch. It had to be someone her age.
Maybe they're just too shy to talk to me, then! But why? She thought, furrowing her brows into a frown.
They had nothing to be afraid of with her.
And Nymphadora Tonks, being the inquisitive, somewhat nosy thirteen-year-old that she was, and a bit of a lonely young witch at that, was not about to pass up the opportunity to make a new friend, especially if this figure hiding in the shadows was someone her age, and Tonks, without giving it so much as a second thought, followed.
Tonks almost caught up with the black blur around the next corner, almost knocking over a shelf of tattered leatherbound books in the process, though she didn't.
Thank Merlin, she thought, biting the wall of her cheek. Mum was going to bloody murder her as it was for sneaking off like this, let alone what she would do to her if she knocked over a whole shelf of merchandise and her mum had to pay for it.
Tonks took a moment to breathe and catch her breath, a hand clutched onto her side, doubled over, coughing, and gasping for breath.
Whoever she was chasing, was fast.
As Tonks slowly righted her posture and stood up straighter, she found herself staring directly at the withered Hand of Glory itself.
She scrunched her nose in disgust. It truly was an ugly thing. The Hand of Glory was ashen where the dim sunlight streamed in through the dusty front shop window, not ghostly like a white person, just subdued and greyish, and in her mind, quite grotesque.
The once-smooth skin was wrinkled and thin, the fingers of the Hand long and they bulged at the knuckles, and the hand seemed permanently curled over in a claw.
Don't touch it, a new voice, an unfamiliar voice, not her own, piped up at the back of her mind, though Tonks could not place it, and neither could the thirteen-year-old young witch tear her gaze away from it.
It calls to you. Don't touch it. It's evil.
Tonks furrowed her brows in a frown. "Wh—who said that? Was it you?" she whispered, glancing to the left and the right, into the shadows, thinking whoever was trying to talk to her was doing so in a very strange way, most unusual, and then it hit her. Hard.
Oh! She almost clamped a hand over her mouth at the realization. "You're a Legilimens?" she whispered. Tonks had heard her mum tell stories of these people.
People who could read minds, see visions of their past, memories, could hold entire conversations with just their thoughts.
Tonks had always envied the ability.
Yes.
Just a one-word answer, and in her mind, the young boy's voice sounded extremely shy, for his voice shook, but it was more than enough to confirm her suspicion.
Tonks almost clapped in delight at the excitement of meeting a Legilimens for herself, thinking that Charlie wasn't going to bloody believe the turn this had taken.
Tonks swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat. "Don't you want to come out where I can see you?" she asked, biting her bottom lip in hesitation.
She began to fear that this magnificent voice which seemed to radiate from all corners of the desolate, dusty, murky shop of the first story of Borgin and Burkes was not a person at all, but merely a figment of her imagination, and suddenly, she needed him to be next to her.
N—no. He was stammering now, or at least, the boy's voice was, in her mind.
Tonks's frown deepened, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had one of her fingers in her mouth and bit down on her nail, harder than she intended to, as she accidentally swallowed the fragment as she turned her head back to the Hand of Glory.
Something about it was calling to her. Tonks, in a dazed haze, stared at it.
"Tonks…"
The Hand seemed to be calling to her somehow, leaving her timid and afraid. It seemed like it was whispering to her, beckoning her to fulfill her purpose for her visit with that gnarled, curled, arthritic-looking claw of his, for her to reach out her hand—
Tonks let out a muffled yelp, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the Hand of Glory's fingers suddenly shoot downward and latch firmly onto her arm in a vice grip.
She wasn't even aware she had walked towards the Hand where it rested, perched on a shelf's mantlepiece just above the fireplace for people to travel via Floo Powder.
Nor could she recall screaming, but she must have.
"Hang on!"
The voice, the same boy's voice from inside her head, a soft, sweet, shy, almost musical tone, now radiated from all around her, and then, the voice was behind her, speaking for real this time.
"I—I told you not to—to touch it!" he gasped, panting with the effort to free her. "I...got you!"
Then, she felt a surprisingly strong, smooth hand latch onto her arm, and she heard the boy grunt with the effort to pull Tonks's arm out of the Hand of Glory's cursed grasp, but the mysterious boy from behind her succeeded, freeing her hand.
Tonks felt herself being pulled backwards, stumbling and almost tripping over the hem of what looked like the hem of a long black woolen robe, and she cracked open one eye, looked up, though by the time she did, the boy had disappeared into the shadows again and out of her line of sight.
"Are you hurt?" the boy's voice asked.
Hesitant. Fearful. Kind. Those were the first initial impressions she had of him.
Well, of his voice, really, since she couldn't manage to get a good look at his face.
He had moved backward to step into the shadow, and Tonks had followed him.
"No. Thanks," Tonks whispered, heat creeping onto her cheeks. "I—I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to…come in here a—and disturb you. I just…"
She looked away, feeling ashamed of herself for allowing herself to take Charlie Weasley's stupid bait.
And now, she had forced this boy to save her life, and surely, he was going to tell Mr. Borgin what she had done, how she had touched the Hand of Glory, and then her mum would surely give her seven shades of holy hell when she found out.
The boy in the shadows dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet nervously, and Tonks realized the kid was trying to avoid eye contact with her, which only puzzled her even more.
"It's all right," he murmured, still keeping to the shadows, his back pressed against the dirty, peeling wallpaper of the shop, starting to walk away. "As long as you're not hurt."
"Wait! Don't go! What's your name?"
Tonks, against her better nature, reached out and caught the young stranger by the arm.
The kid who'd saved her life shirked and flinched at her gentle touch, ripping his arm out of Tonks's grasp with a strong but relative ease.
She took a step backward, hoping she hadn't offended this boy somehow, but was surprised at his aggressive and somewhat violent reaction.
All she wanted was to get a good look at him. Tonks didn't much care for people who hid in the shadows. She huffed in anger.
"Sorry. I…didn't mean... what's your name?" she mumbled, not daring to meet his gaze.
It seemed to take the boy in the shadows several minutes to find his voice, and when he did manage, she saw a brief flash of movement and saw two brilliant pinpricks of an icy-cold, glacier blue stare regarding her in silence.
Tonks shivered, but not from fear, but rather, a sense of unbridled curiosity.
I need to see more of those blue eyes…
Tonks locked her jaw, ignoring her victorious smile as she, upon sensing the boy was not going to come out of the shadows anytime soon, gave a gasp of surprise as Tonks backed up against one of the bookshelves and used it as a support brace to lower herself to the dusty hardwood floor of the shop, not minding the grit and dust that stained her blue jeans, choosing to sit cross-legged on the floor, just across the way.
She would sit here all afternoon if that's what it took until he came out of hiding.
When the boy did finally answer her after what felt like an eternity in a thick, uncomfortable silence, his voice was timid, and afraid, but he spoke to her, nonetheless.
Ollie.
Tonks smiled, flashing him what she hoped was a brilliantly white smile, kind, and that the boy could see it from where he stood lingering under the cover of darkness.
She did not know what exactly possessed her to do so, but something about the way the boy nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and how hoarse, soft, and timid his voice sounded, suggested he was not exactly used to speaking in front of other people, other kids their age, which Tonks thought odd.
She wanted to try something. Maybe it would help him become less nervous around her.
Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and exhaled through her nose.
Tonks concentrated, forcing her mind to shut out all the other sounds of the bustling streets of Knockturn and Diagon Alley, the hoots of the owls, the hissing of the cats, and squeaking of rats, the guttural croaks of the toads for sale in the menagerie.
It was a difficult task, but slowly, she heard the sounds of the outside world begin to dissipate.
Tonks, she thought at last, and when her eyelids slowly fluttered open, she was surprised to see movement in the shadows, and the blue pinpricks widened slightly.
Slowly, but surely, the boy stepped from the shadows and into the light, timid and afraid.
The boy was pale, paler than she had ever seen someone her age.
She wondered if he was an albino, but as the boy called Ollie lifted his chin and skittishly dared to meet her eyes, she knew this wasn't the case. Albinos had red or pink eyes typically, and this boy's eyes were blue.
An electric, spine-tingling, brilliant shade of crystal blue, like the ocean's waters.
He held out his hand to help Tonks up.
Feeling somewhat nervous, Tonks was hesitant for a moment before slipping her hand into his as she was pulled to her feet, and she decided she instantly liked the warmth that he gave off.
"Tonks…I—I'm Ollie. Ollie Brennan. N—nice to—to meet you," Ollie whispered slowly, stammering, but seeming to savor the syllables of her surname just the same, saying her name with such a sweetness that Tonks decided she couldn't describe it to Charlie later even if she tried.
His stammer worsened the more nervous the boy became, but finally, he found his voice.
"Are you...are we...friends now?" Ollie asked hesitantly, biting down on his bottom lip.
Tonks nodded, shooting him what she hoped was a kind, white smile. "Yeah. Friends..."
Just the word made her heart swell with hope, someone else besides Charlie to talk to.
But the boy did not seem convinced by her words, for he proceeded to raise his eyebrows at her and shoot her a look of slight distrust, which Tonks couldn't help but feel irked by.
Did this boy really think she'd lie?!? Not that she wanted to, really.
Lifting her chin to meet his gaze, those piercing glacier blue eyes, Tonks nodded.
"I promise." She gave his hand a squeeze.
What had transpired today between the two of them was their little secret, and Tonks knew by the mischievous twinkle in the thirteen-year-old's eyes as he slowly raised a finger to his lips and nervously carded his fingers through his thick tuft of short messy, black hair that he wasn't going to tell on her to Mr. Borgin or to Mr. Burke as they heard the shopkeeper round the bend with old Lucius Malfoy, in the middle of discussing a sale and too busy to notice the pair of teenagers hanging out in his business.
And it was in that one simple gesture, Tonks knew she could trust Ollie Brennan.
She did not know how long the pair of them remained rooted to their spots in Borgin and Burke's, the two new friends not needing to say a single word to each other.
Because, in their own way, they were already communicating.
From that day forward, Nymphadora Tonks and Oliver Brennan were inseparable.
Tonks eventually announced that she had to go, or else she would be in trouble with her parents, but Ollie insisted on walking her out.
As she allowed the raven-haired boy to take her by the hand and escort her outside of Borgin and Burke's, much to Charlie's teasing the moment he caught sight of Tonks holding his hand, Charlie didn't hesitate to ask her if she had touched the Hand of Glory in the shop.
"So?" Charlie asked urgently, as the trio walked up the stairs that led back into Diagon Alley. "The Hand of Glory. Did you touch it?"
Tonks did not immediately answer her friend. She glanced down at her and Ollie's interlocked hands.
"Yes," she murmured, slowly lifting her chin, addressing Charlie, but never once averting her gaze from Ollie Brennan's glistening blue orbs.
Tonks lowered her voice and glanced down once again at their inter joined hands, her next words meant for her new friend Ollie, and him alone.
"I touched it."
