Another day, another chapter.

Hey everybody, it's the Lonely Lorekeeper here again. Sorry, but this chapter is going to be a bit shorter than the others have been recently—this is going to be more of a filler chapter, though I felt I really needed it to help the story move along the right track I wanted to. Also, this chapter is pretty much 100% original—unlike the chapters before this one, I did not refer to losthpfanficwriter's story Nymphadora's Beau while writing it.

So, yeah, here's hoping it goes well.

Oh, also, I may decide to slow down on updates to just about one per week. Right now, I've started work on my first original Harry Potter fanfiction, and I want to devote more time to writing it while still writing To Date a Metamorph. As such, I'm going to try to just update once a week with this story, maybe twice if things really go well and I end up with a lot of free time on my hands to write as much as I want.

Anyways, that's probably enough jabbering from me—on with the story!

Chapter 5: The End of a Long Day

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat behind the large desk in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his focus on a small device that he was tinkering with. With Voldemort back, new measures would need to be put in place to ensure Harry's security and protection. He had no doubt that the blood wards he'd placed on the Dursley house were still in good working order, but it never hurt to add a few more precautions just in case.

Dumbledore had a lot of precautions set up when it came to Harry, each displayed as rather innocuous devices that sat upon his desk. There was a top that registered Harry's health, which became more erratic when Harry was ill or injured. Beside it was a teapot that constantly released puffs of steam so long as the binds he'd placed on Harry's core remained in place. And not far from that was another device, a series of metal balls connected to string and that bounced off each other, which measured the loyalty charm, and of course there was the sphere at the end of his table, spinning slowly, representing the blood wards.

Of course, Dumbledore's precautions weren't simply limited to the tools and devices laid out on his desk. With the power he held, he had set himself up as Harry's magical guardian, allowing him to take control of Harry's post—the incoming post at least, he wasn't sure how the boy's bird managed to evade his control so easily—as well as managing the Potter accounts at Gringotts for him.

These precautions of Dumbledore's would probably be viewed as more than a bit controlling and manipulative to most, but to Dumbledore they were the clear decisions to make. Harry was a very important piece in the fight against Voldemort, and as such he needed to be kept safe, while also being molded into the role he was destined for. He was the sacrificial pawn, after all, the one who would die so that the rest of the magical world would live and prosper.

It was, as he so often said, for the greater good.

Dumbledore had just been putting the final touches on the device at hand—a bowl of marbles that glowed different colors in order to let him know when an unauthorized magical individual was at or near Number 4 Privet Drive—when he noticed that another trinket at the far end of his table had begun to make a racket. Dumbledore frowned and set the bowl of marbles down, turning his attention to the odd trinket made of several tin disks that clattered together.

This device, Dumbledore noted, was connected to the Improper Use of Magic branch of the DMLE. Specifically, it was tied to the device there that monitored Harry's trace and the subtle manipulation he'd placed on it. It appeared that Harry had been caught using magic at the Dursley's again.

Dumbledore frowned and gently rapped his fingers upon the hardwood surface of his desk, his mind mulling over this new development. He had placed a subtle confundus charm upon Harry's trace once Harry began attending school at Hogwarts, so that it only registered while he was at the Dursley's and in the neighboring area. So, there was no doubt that something was indeed happening at the Dursley's, but what it was he hadn't a clue.

Glancing over at the other trinkets on his desk, he was pleased to see that they were all spinning, tapping, and puffing the appropriate amount. Whatever had happened at the Dursleys, it hadn't seemed to have caused Harry any sort of harm. So, that at least was one concern laid to rest.

Still, the fact that it had gone off at all confused him.

Frowning, Dumbledore stood from his desk and walked over to the nearby fireplace. He grabbed a handful of the dazzling powder sitting in the mug atop the mantle and tossed it in, causing the faintly flickering fire in the hearth to suddenly blaze up and turn a bright and iridescent green color. Standing tall, Dumbledore spoke firmly into the fire. "Ministry of Magic, the Improper Use of Magic's Department Head's Office."

Seeming to hear and understand his words, the fire flared up again, before almost seeming to part like a curtain. Through the green fire, Dumbledore could see into a fairly quaint little office space. A short and plump woman was sitting at a desk in the room, her hair pulled back into a bun as she busied herself with the papers on her desk. She hadn't seemed to have noticed Dumbledore yet, too focused on the paper before her.

"Alright…and, that should do it," the woman muttered, nodding firmly to herself. She lifted the paper up off the desk, and very quickly it folded itself up into a paper airplane and zipped out of the doorway. The woman sighed as she watched the airplane fly out, before lowering her gaze to her desk again.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and cleared his through. "Excuse me, Mafalda Hopkirk?"

The woman on the other side of the fireplace squeaked in surprise, and she seemed to hop in her chair, which nearly toppled over in response. Very quickly, however, the woman steadied herself and sighed, before looking about the room frantically for whatever had called out to her. It didn't take long for her attention to turn to the fireplace at the far end of the room, and the green flames that were currently billowing from it.

"Oh, excuse me!" Mafalda called out, hopping up and walking over. "I didn't realize that I had a floo-call! Well, Professor Dumbledore, what can I do for you?"

Dumbledore smiled cheerily, his eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Mafalda, my dear, it has been twenty-five years since you last were a student at Hogwarts. It is more than alright for you to simply call me Albus or Mr. Dumbledore."

His sweet and honeyed tone caused a faint redness to dust Mafalda's cheeks in embarrassment, and she nodded her head quickly. "Yes of course, A…Mr. Dumbledore," she quickly stated, "So, what did you need?"

"Yes, well," Dumbledore said, before frowning and feeling a twinge in his back, "Would you mind if I come through? Stooping down to talk like this isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, certainly not at my age."

"Oh of course, of course, come right through!" Mafalda replied, quickly hopping back and waving the older wizard through.

Dumbledore sighed with relief and stood up. In the next instant and in a flash of green light, Dumbledore found himself standing in the center of Mafalda's office, the witch hurrying back over to her desk where she sat herself back down. "Oh please, do make yourself comfortable," Mafalda said, gesturing to one of the nearby chairs.

"Why thank you, Mafalda dear," Dumbledore replied, moving over to sit down. As he did, he did a subtle wandless transfiguration spell to make the seat a bit more cushiony and comfortable. Sighing, he turned back to the woman sitting at the office desk. "Now then, Mafalda dear, I was wondering if you could settle an old man's weary heart for a moment. You see, I just came to find that one of my charges has recently been charged with a case of improper use of magic."

"I see," Mafalda replied, turning to her small pile of papers and rifling through it. "What is your charge's name?"

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore replied calmly.

To his surprise, Mafalda seemed to wince and groan. "Oh no, not you too." Sighing, she turned back to Dumbledore and shrugged. "Sorry, it's just that I just came back from the DMLE to help them sort this out. But don't worry, Mr. Potter will be fine."

"The DMLE?" Dumbledore asked, frowning. "What are they doing, being brought into the mix."

"Now Mr. Dumbledore, you know I can't say that," Mafalda replied, lightly admonishing the powerful sorcerer before her. "As it is DMLE business, it is private and I need to keep it secret between my department and theirs. All I can tell you is how it relates to your charge, and that you needn't worry any more. Madam Bones and her department will have this all sorted out for you and Mr. Potter, don't you worry."

Dumbledore frowned, and his eyes twinkled once more. This time, however, rather than a simple glamor to make himself seem more gentle and unassuming, they were the sign of him accessing his skills in legilimency. With practiced precision and grace, the elder wizard reached into Mafalda Hopkirk's mind and slipped his way through her defenses as though they were nothing but an open doorway beckoning him further in.

What he found did not please him.

It appeared as though someone had tipped the director of the DMLE about there being something wrong with Harry's trace, and Madam Bones had then called for Mafalda so that the two of them could work together to get to the bottom of it. And while Dumbledore knew there was no way for them to ever notice the confundus he'd placed on the trace, it would cause them to look with more suspicion to any alarms that were sent their way from Harry.

Dumbledore had specifically placed the confundus on the trace so that it would pick up the spellcraft from other witches and wizards near Harry, rather than Harry himself. That way, should Harry ever become attacked by someone with dark intentions, the Ministry itself would be able to quickly know and send someone to investigate. If they found reason to doubt the trace, however, they'd be less likely to listen to it, and Harry would be in more danger.

Frowning, Dumbledore pulled back from his delve into Mafalda's mind and passed a gentle smile back to her. "Well then, thank you, Mafalda dear. I'm glad to hear that you and the DMLE have this all under control."

Mafalda, utterly unaware of what the old professor had just done, just simply smiled back at Dumbledore and nodded. "You're most welcome, Mr. Dumbledore. After all, I'd thought the report had been a bit fishy to begin with, but after Madam Bones brought it to my attention, I knew something was up."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore nodded, "Out of curiosity, by the way, for my young charge of course, what were the alleged spells that Mr. Potter supposedly cast to receive this warning?"

Mafalda chuckled softly and shook her head. "Why, that's quite the question, isn't it? As ridiculous as it might sound, Mr. Dumbledore, Mr. Potter was charged for, of all things, some simple house-cleaning spells."

"Really?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling as he laughed along with Mafalda. "Well, that is something. Well now, I believe with you handling this, I'm good to take my leave. Thank you for having me, Mafalda."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Dumbledore! Always a pleasure!"

Dumbledore nodded and turned back to the floo entrance behind him. In another flash of emerald flames, the old professor found himself back in his office, his cheery disposition disappearing quickly.

This was troubling. Not only because of the threat it posed his plans for Harry, but also because of the method that this was all coming about. Someone had brought this situation to the attention of the DMLE, but who it was exactly he had been unable to glean. Whoever it was must've been there when it happened, and was trying to help Harry out of it. Which would've been a noble effort any other time, but as it was taking away one of his means of keeping Harry in check and out of harms way, it was only worrying.

Frowning, Dumbledore turned to the list of Order members that were supposed to be on Harry Watch duty today. Nymphadora Tonks was the one scheduled for the current shift, so she had likely seen what had happened. Even better, she was an Auror, and so she would have a far easier time getting a message to Madam Bones about what had happened to begin with. Dumbledore sighed, stroking a hand through his long beard.

What on earth was going on at Privet Drive?

Once Tonks had successfully calmed Harry down once more about the meeting tomorrow, the two of them spent the next hour or so setting up plans. These plans helped Harry feel like they had a bit more control of the situation than he currently felt, and they went a long way towards helping him understand what to expect when they left the next morning.

By the time they were done with their planning—during which Tonks had conjured up a folding screen to change behind—the day was already starting to wind down. It was still light out, but the sun was starting to get low in the sky, and the bedroom was tinted a faint orange from the sunlight streaming in through the window. Hedwig, over on her perch inside her cage, ruffled her feathers a bit—it was almost time to head out for the hunt.

Tonks, however, merely frowned as they came to the end of their planning session, now dressed in the change of clothes she'd brought along inside her moleskin pouch for her stay. She had been planning on spending the day getting to know Harry, getting closer to him, and getting him to open up to her, just as Hermione had suggested back at Grimmauld Place. However, thanks to the wonkiness going on with his trace, she was forced to put her personal plans to the side for the moment.

Now, the day was almost done, and in a few more hours Harry would need to head off to bed so that he could rise early for their meeting the next morning. The metamorph deflated a bit a that—if it hadn't been for that damned trace, she would've been able to spend more time getting to know Harry. As it was, the day had ended up mostly being a waste to her greater plans.

She, of course, ignored the tiny fact that it had technically been her fault that the trace had acted up at all.

Sighing, Tonks hopped up from the bed and leaned into a long stretch. Well, no point in crying over spilt milk now. The day might've been ruined by the little fiasco they'd just gone through, but the night was still young, and she still had a bit of a chance to work her magic on Harry's heart.

"Mmm, well, now that that's all sorted out, I think I could use something to eat!" Tonks suddenly stated, smirking over at Harry who was staring back up at her. "Come on, let me take you out, my treat—it's only right, after the day you just had."

Harry grinned back at Tonks and nodded, standing quickly and moving to pull on a pair of roughed-up-looking trainers near the door. The prospect of having a nice meal for a change, one that he didn't need to cook for himself even, brought a bit more of a spring into his step. "Sounds good to me…but, are you sure, Tonks? I mean, I'd hate to impose…"

He glanced over his shoulder back at Tonks, only to be met by a very flat, very unamused expression looking back at him. Tonks, as it were, found Harry's modesty to be rather endearing at times over the course of her time with him. However, after a few hours of him tripping over himself trying not to upset or annoy her, it sounded less like modesty, and more like yet another red flag towards how much harm the Dursleys had done to the young man.

By the time she was done with him, Tonks hoped to help Harry past that.

"Harry, after the stress of what you've gone through today, you deserve a nice treat for once," Tonks replied, crossing her arms across her chest and unintentionally making her breasts appear more pronounced than before. "Really, it's no bother. Now, come on."

Before Harry could respond, Tonks had turned and walked out of the bedroom and began heading down the hall. Harry quickly followed after her, feeling more than a little sheepish about his own anxiousness when dealing with Tonks. To be fair, while he knew he was a bit more mature than most of his peers thanks to his upbringing, he was still well out of his depth when it came to girls. The most experience he had was during the Yule Ball, which had been a total flop, and neither Pavarti Patil nor Cho Chang even came close to the wild beauty Tonks carried.

Of course, he knew that she was likely just doing it to tease him, but that didn't stop him from reacting with embarrassment at her acts, intentional or not. Like how she'd unintentionally brought attention to her breasts a moment ago, or how his eyes were now accidentally drawn and locked on her ass that had somehow been squeezed into the skinny black jeans she was now wearing…

Harry blushed and shook his head. He needed to stop thinking, and fast.

A little while later, after locking the house up behind them, Tonks led Harry out of the neighborhood and to a nearby fast food place. It wasn't the healthiest, nor was it the most ostentatious of options, but it was close, and the food was supposed to be really good, so they went inside and ordered. A few minutes later, Harry was digging into a delicious sandwich with a side of chips, while Tonks slowly slurped a smooth and creamy milkshake.

"Seriously, again Tonks, thanks," Harry said between bites of his sandwich, "I really owe you one."

Tonks, meanwhile, merely shrugged and smiled back at Harry, "I'll keep that in mind, then, though really any excuse to eat out is a blessing. My mum hates the idea of me eating nothing but 'junk food', so I'll leap at any chance I get. Besides, it gives me a chance to finally sit down and get to know you, which was what I was really hoping for before this whole trace business started up."

Harry raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to sip from his drink. "What do you want to know?"

Tonks shrugged and leaned back against the booth they were sitting in. "Well…how about, to start, what do you like most about the wizarding world since you rejoined us five years ago?"

Harry blinked in surprise—he certainly hadn't been expecting a question like that. He had honestly been expecting something to do with his scar, or whatever he remembered from the night his parents had died. On a lesser extent, he'd expected her to pry into his personal life, especially now that she'd seen how he'd been forced to live. Still, the question brought a smile to his face, and he took another sip of his drink as he thought of an answer.

"Probably flying," Harry finally replied, setting his drink down. "I know there's a lot of things to love about the wizarding world—and a lot to hate, but that's another thing entirely—but being able to fly…well, it was always a dream of mine as a kid. Coming to the wizarding world made it a reality, and in a lot of different ways, too. Riding a broom, of course, but also riding on the back of a hippogryph, or letting a phoenix fly me around."

"Wait, you've ridden a hippogryph?" Tonks asked, looking more than a bit impressed. "And a phoenix?"

"Well, I really don't think the phoenix counts as riding," Harry replied with a laugh, "If anything I was more just carry-on luggage for its flight. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a question for you, Tonks."

"Oh?"

Harry paused, thinking over the best way to ask what he'd been dying to know for the past few hours. "When you first showed up, you did something to make your eyes really big and cat-like…what was that?"

"Oh right! I never got around to telling you about that, did I?" Tonks laughed at herself and set her shake back down onto the table. "Well, Harry, I'm what you'd call a metamorphmagus, basically a natural shapeshifter. We're really rare—some of the pureblood bigots actually think of us as a whole other species, if you can believe it."

"Really?" Harry asked, his eyes wide. "So, then, what can you do?"

Tonks grinned, and after glancing around the small fast food restaurant's lobby a moment to make sure no one was around to see, she let her hair grow super short, turn bright blue, and make her nose look like a pig's. Harry, who had been in the midst of taking a drink, had to hold himself back from snorting in laughter. He ended up curling up on his side of the booth, coughing and spluttering.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Tonks asked with a playful smirk. "I can pretty much transform myself however much I want. I'm a walking, talking Polyjuice potion and more, though I mostly just use my powers to keep myself looking good."

As she said that, her hair shifted back to its usual punk style in a bubblegum pink color, and her nose reverted to its usual button nose shape. At the same time, though, Harry noticed Tonks's chest expand, her shirt seeming to strain under the pressure of her larger breasts. The metamorph shot him a playful wink, which only made Harry blush and quickly look away. He had to admit, though, that was pretty impressive.

The ability, not the breasts.

Though the breasts were pretty impressive too…

Harry cursed his hormonally charged mind, trying to banish his blush away, before turning back to Tonks. "Alright, I see what you mean," Harry replied, quickly grabbing another bite of his sandwich while he ignored Tonks's soft laughter at his plight.

"Yeah, it's a pretty useful skill, in a lot of ways," Tonks replied, shooting Harry another wink. "Now, if you don't mind me asking…how in the bloody hell do you get yourself flown around by a phoenix of all things?"

The conversation continued on like that for another hour or so, with Harry and Tonks sharing stories and trading barbs. It was really nice, actually, and Harry found himself smiling—truly, genuinely smiling—more and more throughout the night. He found that he really enjoyed talking with Tonks, whenever she wasn't acting overly flirty or teasing. And as for Tonks, she certainly got a much better idea of just who Harry Potter really was.

And she was happily falling for him a little more every time.

Eventually, their little hang out time was cut to a close as the restaurant's manager came by to gently ask them to leave so that he could finally close for the night. So, with bellies full of a delicious meal and faces pulled into warm smiles, Harry and Tonks walked back down the road towards Privet Drive, still laughing and sharing memories with each other.

When they finally arrived at the house, it was finally dark out and Harry could feel the need for sleep crashing over him. Still, he felt a bit bothered by Tonks's situation, and asked her what her plan for the night was. When she revealed that she only intended to sleep on the couch in the living room, Harry quickly rejected the notion.

"I mean, if you think about it, you're my guest, and I can't just let you sleep on the couch," Harry tried to reason back at her. "You can have my bed for the night—I can sleep on the couch."

Tonks, however, stood firm. "Nope, no can do, you need your rest for tomorrow, Harry." With that, the metamorph practically forced Harry up the stairs towards his bedroom. In her own private desires, she of course wished to join him—who knew just where sharing a bed with the handsome young man might lead, after all—but after the long day, she mostly just wanted to sleep, and she knew Harry was feeling the same way. She could crash on the couch, it'd be fine.

So, after being nearly shoved up the steps, Harry finally relented and disappeared upstairs. Tonks smirked as she watched him go, before turning and changing into her sleepwear she'd brought along—which consisted simply of an extra large t-shirt—and plopping down onto the couch, casting a simple spell to make it feel much softer. Sighing, Tonks closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep. For as bad as the day had started, it hadn't been too bad after all.

Or so she thought.

About two hours into her sleep on the couch, Tonks was awakened by a shout from upstairs. The witch popped up off the bed, drawing her wand from where she'd left it on the nearby coffee table. Her heart pounding in her ears, she could hear someone sobbing and shouting at odd intervals. The voice, as it turned out, was coming from upstairs—from where Harry was.

Quick as a flash, Tonks dashed up the stairs and threw open Harry's bedroom door. She glanced around quickly for any sign of distress, but could find nothing but Harry, laying in his bed. And that was all that she could see for a good long moment, and so, with her heart still pounding in her ears, she turned to leave.

And then she heard it.

"Cedric…Cedric, no…go, please…"

Tonks froze at the doorway, slowly turning back to face Harry. Now, she could see more clearly the sweat dotting his forehead, the ragged breathing as he thrashed under the sheets, and the tears leaking from his shut eyes. He was having a nightmare, and perhaps of the worst thing possible. He was reliving that night in the graveyard, the night that Voldemort had been resurrected.

Tonks felt her heart ache at that realization, but before she could do anything else, she heard something else—something that, once she heard it, broke her heart clean in two.

"Mum?"

Harry's voice, even while asleep, sounded so broken and fragile. The sobs, now, came with force, shaking the young man's body as he curled up more in his bed, trying desperately to hide from whatever phantom was tormenting his mind with these images.

At that, Tonks had seen more than enough and forced her feet to move towards the four-poster bed. Quickly, quietly, the metamorph crept over to the bed and slipped under the blankets and sheets. Reaching out with gentle arms, Tonks gathered Harry into her embrace, and pulled him close against her from behind. She rested her cheek against the small of his back, and slowly shook her head back and forth.

"It's alright, Harry, it's going to be okay…" Tonks gently murmured, "I promise, everything is going to be okay."

Her words seemed to do the trick, that or her embrace, as only a few minutes after Tonks had joined Harry in his bed than had the young man finally stopped his sobs. He quieted, and seemed to curl into a tired ball, leaning into Tonks's embrace. Tonks, for her credit, blushed brightly, before smiling and leaning forward to place a gentle kiss upon Harry's cheek.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered, before getting herself comfortable and slowly falling asleep right behind him, still holding him in a gentle, comforting embrace.