This is the fifth and final piece of Hunches. Thanks (again) to Brittney,
Eyeshadow5745, for the editing and to the reviewers of earlier 'chapters'
for your encouragement.
None of this belongs to me. Reviews would be nice.
When the strap of his shoulder-bag snapped under its load and Mrs. Weasley already was busy admonishing Ginny on the proper way to pack a trunk, Harry hurried downstairs to look for Tonks instead. She was to come with them on the Knight bus the following day and should be somewhere in the house. He found her in the kitchen, at the table, staring emptily over the edges of a slim red book. As he entered, she jumped guiltily in her seat and looked up hastily, as if she hadn't intended to be caught like this.
Quickly recovering her poise, Tonks mended the sling of his bag with a tap of her wand. As Harry made to go back upstairs, she resumed her seat and picked up her book again. Below the table, she put her feet up on a chair on the opposite side, grimacing irritably as she upset the one next to it as well. It came back down on its four legs with a clatter.
The night before, Lupin had steered the conversation away from the work of the Order by telling them about Mundungus' latest business achievements. These left Ron gasping with glee, and though Hermione tried to scold them, eventually she was huffing not with disapproval, but with laughter as well. Harry had let himself be distracted, reassured by the fact that there was no edge of disguised worry in Lupin's voice, and that the twinkling light from the fire appeared to have settled permanently in his eyes. If Lupin could jest and smile, then surely there was no immediate need to worry. The soft expression Tonks wore as she looked up from her plate to join in their exchange, had not occupied as much of Harry's attention, but he felt fairly certain he knew what that meant too.
In August, Lupin had asked him not to worry too much about the war, "I know it might have to be different in the end, Harry, but for now, try to leave the Death Eaters to us." Lupin had spoken quietly but sincerely, and by and large, Harry had obliged. Four months later, however, the effects of this conversation were wearing off. During the day, he could see the strain on everyone's faces, each of them wearing looks of increasing concern. Tonks' disconsolate demeanour now was no exception.
"What's going on?" he asked bluntly. She glanced up quickly, taken aback by his question. Harry ploughed on, set on not allowing this chance slip through his hands, "What is it they've been working on lately? Where's Lupin?"
Tonks shook her head. "I shouldn't even know half of it myself," she said, poking the burning candlestick in front of her moodily with the sharp end of her quill, causing the fluid wax to trickle away down the candle. Harry waited, arms crossed decisively over his chest, the school bag dangling from his hand. She stole another glance up at him and he stared back haughtily, though even as he did so, he felt a pang of guilty conscience. He didn't draw his breath until she looked away to stare down at the table again.
Before Tonks answered, she slumped back in her chair and pulled her robes tighter around herself. Still speaking more to the scarred wooden top of the table than to him, she began in a would-be chipper voice.
"It's a break-in actually, tearing down wards and stuff, and sneaking up on Death Eaters. Hopefully, not getting noticed while they're at it," Tonks flipped over the book in front of her, 'Ways around Wards', it bore the official seal of the Ministry of Magic. She tapped her index finger against it. "It's been put off for days due to the weather being too clear, and of course Remus, the stupid git, has to insist on doing it himself, since he's the only one who's actually seen this kind of ward before and... I know Dumbledore agreed with him..." There was an impatient stress on 'know' and her voice rose angrily before it trailed off again, "but I still..."
The quill she had, with considerable force, been twirling around her fingers, finally bent. She forced back a sigh and threw the curly shreds down the table, where the disfigured feather bounced and slipped to the floor. Harry, who couldn't help feeling guilty at the distress in her voice, shifted the weight on his feet uncertainly and hoisted the shoulder- bag up with a firmer grip. Right there, Tonks' unhappiness was quite as un- nerving to Harry as the thought of the risks Lupin might be taking. Tonks was supposed to be the cheerful one, the one who made them all smile with the evermore outrageous colours of her hair and her clumsiness.
She looked up, startled out of her tirade by the quill giving way and seemed to read his mind. She smoothed a strand of dark hair back out of her eyes, "Don't worry, Harry. It'll be all right, I promise." At first, she seemed to be speaking as much to herself as to him, but then, her air was once more that of the eager, young Auror who had the cheek to talk back to Mad-Eye Moody. "It'll all be much easier when they've managed to get through once and it'll be dead useful," she assured him. "Remus's good at wards," she added as she sat up properly again, a note of pride to the words. She leant forward, propping her chin on her hands, and peered up at him. "He'll be here to see us off tomorrow. I'll just wait up and see for sure."
Harry nodded. "That's good, then," he said. The thought of her, waiting through the night in the gloomy kitchen, anxiously flicking through the pages of an old handbook, was disturbing and comforting at the same time.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, not knowing how to express that thought or whether doing so would be a good idea at all, and looked away. When he turned to her again, he saw the smile on Tonks' face broaden and spread swiftly to her eyes. Before he could think what to say, she waved a hand at him and dismissed him cheerfully, "Go get packed, Potter, make my mum proud. And don't breathe a word to anyone, right?"
Harry grinned. Cheerfulness he could handle. Secrets, of all sorts, as well.
Eventually, though, he must have slept lighter than usual, though, for in the small hours of the night, when the darkness was still complete and the first feeble glints of grey light had not yet begun to seep through the curtains, he thought he heard the sound of the heavy front door falling shut. Before he could feel any real relief at this, he drifted off once more.
When the strap of his shoulder-bag snapped under its load and Mrs. Weasley already was busy admonishing Ginny on the proper way to pack a trunk, Harry hurried downstairs to look for Tonks instead. She was to come with them on the Knight bus the following day and should be somewhere in the house. He found her in the kitchen, at the table, staring emptily over the edges of a slim red book. As he entered, she jumped guiltily in her seat and looked up hastily, as if she hadn't intended to be caught like this.
Quickly recovering her poise, Tonks mended the sling of his bag with a tap of her wand. As Harry made to go back upstairs, she resumed her seat and picked up her book again. Below the table, she put her feet up on a chair on the opposite side, grimacing irritably as she upset the one next to it as well. It came back down on its four legs with a clatter.
The night before, Lupin had steered the conversation away from the work of the Order by telling them about Mundungus' latest business achievements. These left Ron gasping with glee, and though Hermione tried to scold them, eventually she was huffing not with disapproval, but with laughter as well. Harry had let himself be distracted, reassured by the fact that there was no edge of disguised worry in Lupin's voice, and that the twinkling light from the fire appeared to have settled permanently in his eyes. If Lupin could jest and smile, then surely there was no immediate need to worry. The soft expression Tonks wore as she looked up from her plate to join in their exchange, had not occupied as much of Harry's attention, but he felt fairly certain he knew what that meant too.
In August, Lupin had asked him not to worry too much about the war, "I know it might have to be different in the end, Harry, but for now, try to leave the Death Eaters to us." Lupin had spoken quietly but sincerely, and by and large, Harry had obliged. Four months later, however, the effects of this conversation were wearing off. During the day, he could see the strain on everyone's faces, each of them wearing looks of increasing concern. Tonks' disconsolate demeanour now was no exception.
"What's going on?" he asked bluntly. She glanced up quickly, taken aback by his question. Harry ploughed on, set on not allowing this chance slip through his hands, "What is it they've been working on lately? Where's Lupin?"
Tonks shook her head. "I shouldn't even know half of it myself," she said, poking the burning candlestick in front of her moodily with the sharp end of her quill, causing the fluid wax to trickle away down the candle. Harry waited, arms crossed decisively over his chest, the school bag dangling from his hand. She stole another glance up at him and he stared back haughtily, though even as he did so, he felt a pang of guilty conscience. He didn't draw his breath until she looked away to stare down at the table again.
Before Tonks answered, she slumped back in her chair and pulled her robes tighter around herself. Still speaking more to the scarred wooden top of the table than to him, she began in a would-be chipper voice.
"It's a break-in actually, tearing down wards and stuff, and sneaking up on Death Eaters. Hopefully, not getting noticed while they're at it," Tonks flipped over the book in front of her, 'Ways around Wards', it bore the official seal of the Ministry of Magic. She tapped her index finger against it. "It's been put off for days due to the weather being too clear, and of course Remus, the stupid git, has to insist on doing it himself, since he's the only one who's actually seen this kind of ward before and... I know Dumbledore agreed with him..." There was an impatient stress on 'know' and her voice rose angrily before it trailed off again, "but I still..."
The quill she had, with considerable force, been twirling around her fingers, finally bent. She forced back a sigh and threw the curly shreds down the table, where the disfigured feather bounced and slipped to the floor. Harry, who couldn't help feeling guilty at the distress in her voice, shifted the weight on his feet uncertainly and hoisted the shoulder- bag up with a firmer grip. Right there, Tonks' unhappiness was quite as un- nerving to Harry as the thought of the risks Lupin might be taking. Tonks was supposed to be the cheerful one, the one who made them all smile with the evermore outrageous colours of her hair and her clumsiness.
She looked up, startled out of her tirade by the quill giving way and seemed to read his mind. She smoothed a strand of dark hair back out of her eyes, "Don't worry, Harry. It'll be all right, I promise." At first, she seemed to be speaking as much to herself as to him, but then, her air was once more that of the eager, young Auror who had the cheek to talk back to Mad-Eye Moody. "It'll all be much easier when they've managed to get through once and it'll be dead useful," she assured him. "Remus's good at wards," she added as she sat up properly again, a note of pride to the words. She leant forward, propping her chin on her hands, and peered up at him. "He'll be here to see us off tomorrow. I'll just wait up and see for sure."
Harry nodded. "That's good, then," he said. The thought of her, waiting through the night in the gloomy kitchen, anxiously flicking through the pages of an old handbook, was disturbing and comforting at the same time.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, not knowing how to express that thought or whether doing so would be a good idea at all, and looked away. When he turned to her again, he saw the smile on Tonks' face broaden and spread swiftly to her eyes. Before he could think what to say, she waved a hand at him and dismissed him cheerfully, "Go get packed, Potter, make my mum proud. And don't breathe a word to anyone, right?"
Harry grinned. Cheerfulness he could handle. Secrets, of all sorts, as well.
Eventually, though, he must have slept lighter than usual, though, for in the small hours of the night, when the darkness was still complete and the first feeble glints of grey light had not yet begun to seep through the curtains, he thought he heard the sound of the heavy front door falling shut. Before he could feel any real relief at this, he drifted off once more.