Fear and Loathing in Romania
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not, or ever will be, mine. Do not allow yourself to think otherwise…
Rating: R (language, violence, sex)
Summary: Tonks is begrudgingly sent to Romania to fetch Charlie Weasley and bring him back to the Order. Everything that can go wrong manages to go wrong and the two find themselves running for their lives, without magic, from both Death Eaters and the Muggle police and somehow manage to re-discover each other along the way.
Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback. It was very much appreciated. Makes writing for some reason just a little more fun. This story is going to take awhile to get going, so please, be patient with me. Also, the ages for Charlie and Tonks are mere speculation. I have no idea how old they actually are. Anyway, please, read and review!
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Chapter Two: Changing Lanes
"Yeah, the night's not over
You're not trying hard enough,
Our lives are changing lanes
You ran me off the road,
The wait is over
I'm now taking over,
You're no longer laughing
I'm not drowning fast enough…"
- "Reptilia" – The Strokes
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So. Today was the day. Off to the dragon camps in Romania.
"What the deuce have I gotten myself into?" She's asking the empty bedroom for answers. Answers she knows she'll never receive. If she's lucky, she might catch an echo. And repetition doesn't lead to problem-solving. If it leads to anything, then that has to be insanity.
She's sitting on her bed. Robes covering her t-shirt and old jeans. She can see the tops of faded sneakers sticking out from underneath. She's debating. Deep in thought. About her appearance.
She can't even remember the last time she cared about how she looked. She's assuming it was back at Hogwarts. Because, then, who didn't care about how good or bad they looked?
She feels like she's in fourth year all over again. Fourteen and awkward and not sure who she's supposed to be.
You are an Auror. An Auror. You have fought Death Eaters. You have risked your bloody neck. You work for the bloody Ministry. Grow the fuck up. You are a professional. A professional.
She sighs. Hating the fact that going to get Charlie Weasley is a major conflict of interest that no one seems to be aware of. And completely unraveling her in the process. She doesn't get unraveled. She can't remember the last time she was unraveled. Fell apart. Wanted to crawl back in bed and hide and pretend that the past had never happened and was really just a giant nightmare.
Apparently today was all about resurrecting the past. Emotions and otherwise.
She's getting annoyed with herself. Annoyed that she's spent the last fifteen minutes debating on a hairstyle. She has gone from looking completely unrecognizable to her former Hogwarts self and everywhere in between. This is ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous.
She stands, smoothing out her rumpled robes, wrinkling her nose at the appearance in the mirror. She makes a compromise. Her face with her eyes. But short black hair with pink stripes. No. Too typical. Always pink. She scrunches up her face. Brown. With blonde. She looks too ordinary for her tastes. Too much like herself. In the end she decides on a brown with odd maroon-ish streaks. It suits. It works. Sort of.
She sighs again. And kicks off the sneakers. Pulling on an even older pair of boots instead. She smiles. That wry, sardonic smile of hers where only half her mouth moves while the other stays in place. "Perfect," she murmurs, mussing her hair slightly. "Perfect."
She leaves the room. But only after tripping over her discarded shoes.
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The camp is still a mess. Reeking of charred wood and dragon shit. Flattened tents decorate the field, and there are far fewer trees than there were mere days ago. Now they're just smoldering stumps left in the angry animal's wake.
But he's out of bed, tired as always. Dreading the rebuilding process that has yet to begin.
He's murmuring curses as he blindly stumbles towards the bathroom, eyes refusing to open. "Bloody wankers…get up before the sun…a fucking joke…"
He braces himself against the sink, holding either side. Leaning towards the mirror. Gazing through bleary eyes at his exhausted reflection in the speckled glass. "You need some more sleep, mate." He watches himself say the words. Knowing that they're true. Knowing that they're not going to happen.
He looks at himself. He looks old. Older than he is. He's twenty-four years old. Yet looks ten years older than that. His short hair's a mess. Flying in every direction. And he's so freckled. Completely covered in them. So many freckles he looks tanned. He groans and grabs his toothbrush.
He's making a list of things he has to do while brushing his teeth. Shower. Eat. Visit the infirmary. Check in with Laurence. That is, if he's out of the infirmary. Re-check the perimeters. Make sure boundaries, guards and spells are still intact. Check on the Norwegian. And the Fireball. Try not to die. Or burn to a crisp. Oh, and read that letter from home.
He'll save that one for last.
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"I didn't know I'd have to take the bloody train! Couldn't I just Apparate?" Tonks is gazing at Mrs. Weasley expectantly.
"Now, you know, Tonks, as well as I do. There are laws regarding stuff like this. International Apparation Laws. You can't just go popping over into another country!" She looks at her as though she's just a child. A petulant child.
"But, Molly, really, couldn't I – "
"The train, Tonks. The train."
"But, seriously! Molly! You know me. I can scarcely sit through dinner. How the bloody hell do you expect me to sit on a train all the way to Romania? I'll go mad!"
"Watch your language." Molly looks irritated. She looks at her the way she looks at the twins. "Now. Here is your ticket. 9 and ¾, as always. The train leaves in an hour, so best quit your complaining and get on over there." She sees Tonks's dismayed expression. "You'll be back tonight."
Tonks takes the ticket out of her hand, still frowning slightly. It really wasn't the train ride that was bothering her. She could handle that. Easily. It was the whole trip in general. She's anxious and nervous and hasn't the slightest clue how to deal with these feelings. She's off to a foreign country to meet up with a man who might still hate her. It was your fault, you know. Her frown deepens.
Molly looks at her curiously. Trying to figure out the strange woman in front of her. "Something the matter, dear?"
The frown shifts into a forced smile. "Not at all." Her smile widens, convincing the mother of Charlie Weasley that everything is perfect in her little world. "Well, guess I'm off then. Bye, Molly."
"Bye, Tonks." The older woman closes the gap, slightly, between them. She places a hand on her arm. Always the matriarch. Even for those not in her family. "Be careful."
Tonks laughs. Surprised the woman cares so much. "When am I not?" She swings an arm around, accenting her words. Knocking the kettle to the floor, splashing the hot liquid through the dank kitchen. How ironic…
"Oh, Merlin. I am so sorry, Molly. So, so, so sorry. Please, here, let me – "
Molly holds up her hand, walking Tonks out of the room. Looking like she needs a good nap and a stiff drink. "No, no. Leave it to me. You need to get going. Charlie will be waiting for you at the station. Go, go." Shooing her away like a pesky fruit fly. Who should know better than to stick around.
She waves lamely, feeling the class fool. With a crack she disappears.
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He left his boots outside last night. And of course it rained.
"Today is not your day." He's talking to himself again. Not sure when he fell into that particular habit. He's talking as his wet boots squish and his toes go numb. He mutters a spell, grateful for the warmth.
Walking, he idly runs a hand over his left arm. Feeling the scar there. Still hurts a little. Twinges more than it should. Supposed to heal over time. The way most things are supposed to do. He's not there yet.
"Oi! Charlie!" He looks up to see Will racing over to join him.
"Hey," he calls in greeting. Grateful for the company. "How'd patrol go last night?"
"Could've been better. Could've been a whole lot worse." Will pauses, his features slanting downward. Looking concerned, worried. Frustrated. "Charlie. Have you noticed that wood over there?"
Charlie looks where Will is pointing, spying a dense forest. A tangle of foliage and fallen leaves. Dark as the eye can see. What's he on about? "Yeah. Kind of hard to miss, don't you think?" he quips sarcastically. Where's he going with this?
He punches Charlie lightly. "I'm being fucking serious! Last night the dragons we got in the paddock down on the South Bend near those bloody woods were acting real sketchy. Trying to keep back from it. Didn't make any fucking sense."
Slightly worried, more intrigued than anything, Charlie looks off at the trees. No birds were flying overhead.
"You think something's back in there?"
Will shrugs. "Damned if I know. That'd be my best guess, though. Bloody bizarre. You should have seen 'em last night. Stomping and carrying on. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were scared. But they're dragons, for Merlin's sake. What the fuck do they have to be afraid of?"
Charlie could only think of one thing. And he didn't dare offer it as a possibility. He'd tried convincing some of his return. They rather believe the Daily Prophet though. Will included.
He stops walking. Runs a hand through red hair. The sun is just now coming up. Illuminating tbe scene. He watches as the fog rolls in.
Abruptly, he turns to Will. "I'll let Laurence know."
As well as Dumbledore…
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Platform 9 and ¾. It had been awhile. Suddenly, she's a few inches shorter and clutching her mother's hand. About to climb aboard the Hogwarts Express.
Hogwarts.
Charlie.
It's been what? Seven years? She hands off her ticket. Steps aboard. Searches for an empty compartment. Yes. Seven years. Merlin, that's a long time. She locates one and swings the door open, stepping inside. I wonder if he still hates me. She sits. Impulsively pulling her knees to her chest.
Minutes pass and the whistle screams. She feels the wheels move beneath her. The gentle rocking motion of the compartment as the train departs the station.
The compartment is stuffy. Too warm for her. But the window next to her seat is stuck and refuses to budge. Too lazy to pull out her wand, she remains in the heat. And begins to doze off.
Just as her eyes begin to close, she hears a knock. Looking over at the sliding door, she spies a woman. An old woman. An old woman who looks oddly familiar. She opens the door slowly and feebly walks in.
"Is it alright if I join you?" She peers at Tonks through her over-sized glasses. Her white hair untamed. Stray strands falling in her eyes.
Tonks merely nods. The woman smiles. Taking a seat across from her. Placing her hands, heavily decorated with rings on every finger, in her lap.
Tonks looks away. She has too much on her mind.
She remembers parts of Hogwarts so well. She remembers some parts so well it's almost frightening, while the others have just faded over time. He had been one of the great Gryffindors. A seeker for their Quidditch team. Leading the House to glory. He had been attractive. Popular. Never without a friend. She had been a Hufflepuff. But she never seemed to belong. She was loud. Abrasive at times. Sweet, but never humble. Naughty and occasionally nice. She had always managed to find her share of trouble.
She had played Quidditch too. Not nearly as well, nor as famously. But it's how they met. It was her fifth year. And his sixth. She had gone down to the pitch to practice. Desperate to win the next match, desperate to prove herself. She had been flying and diving. Swooping and soaring. And he had come along.
Somehow they ended up sitting in the grass talking for most of the night. She can't remember a word that was said. None of it was flirtatious. None was deep and philosophical. It was just banter. Witty banter going back and forth. Nagging and teasing. Jousting with their words. And something that night had been established. Something that to her had felt so strangely right.
They had remained friends after that, to the shock of their own friends. Charlie Weasley was the Hogwarts Hero. Good-looking. Smart. Athletic. Friendly. Nymphadora Tonks was the trouble-maker. Spending more time in detention than in her own bedroom. She was clever. Quick. Sarcastic. Openly goofy and nonsensical. But the two got along. Quite well.
But it seems that boys and girls can never just remain friends. Feelings always have to be added into the mix and that's usually when it all just boils over. They had been no exception.
She was a sixth year and he was a seventh year. And he finally asked her out. They were the odd couple. The two who inexplicably worked. They'd bicker and poke fun at one another. They'd laugh. Mainly at each other. They were wild and fun and magnetic. But never serious.
She remembers those days. Going to the Three Broomsticks and drinking butterbeer while she made him laugh so hard it'd shoot out his nose. She remembers their own Quidditch "practices." They always ended the same way. She remembers the way he used to blush every time he'd attempt something romantic. The way she could make him smile. How easy it was to get him going. How he preferred her "natural" look to all the others. She remembers telling him secrets late at night in the Common Room while she laid in his lap and he mindlessly stroked her hair. How he'd kiss her. No one had ever kissed her the way he did. With that odd mixture of sincerity and desire. She remembers teasing him about his love of dragons. And how they'd sneak down to the Forbidden Forest. Up to the Astronomy Tower. She definitely remembers that.
There had been a fight. She can't remember what it had started over. She just remembers how ugly it got. The things they said to each other. Right before the holidays.
He had gone away for Christmas Break that year. She had chosen to stay behind. There had been a Christmas bash and she drank too much. She remembers that clearly. She slept with a Ravenclaw. What was his name? What the bloody hell was his name? She remembers the guilt. And the shame. And how she didn't come out of her room for a full day.
He had come back. Oblivious. Still not on the best of terms. She remembers how he came over to her at dinner and apologized. And how she had accepted and offered her own in return. They were supposed to be on track. But she remembers what a mess she was. And how eventually someone spilled the beans. She'll never forget that look on his face. That look of horror and shock and pain and grief. And anger. She had never heard him yell like that. She never wanted to hear him yell like that again. Yelled about how he had loved her and trusted her and how this is how she pays him back. The things he yelled still sting today. The words he used. The names he called her. You deserved it though…
He left Hogwarts that year without saying another word to her.
You deserved it. And you know it.
It's amazing how guilty she still feels. As though it happened yesterday as opposed to seven years ago.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
The woman doesn't smile. She shakes her head. "Your baby…" Her voice is raspy. The words sound choked, struggling to reach the air.
"My what?" Tonks hands instinctively fly to her lower belly. She doesn't know whether to feel insulted or not. She had always considered herself quite fit.
"Baby…" she rasps again. Her eyes are strange and unfocused. Her lips clenched together, The lines around them pulled tightly. Making her skin look like creased leather. She's rocking back and forth, back and forth. A halo of frizz around her head. She gasps noisily. Tonks flies up. Not sure what's going on. "Born out of love from the unwed. Blood that flows through his veins shall be the key. Open the demise of the father, the grief of the mother. The power…to…the…Dark Lord." She starts shaking. Violently. Head banging the wall behind her, body seizuring. Suddenly, she falls backward. Eyes wide open, mouth gaping, a fish out of water. Chest rising and falling rapidly. A roller coaster in motion.
Her breathing slows and her chest stills. Her eyes are still wide. And empty. Tonks just stands there. Shocked. Shaken. Completely confused.
She can hear her own ragged breathing echoing through the closed compartment. Fogging the windows.
"Ma'am?" Ma'am?" she whispers, tip-toeing over to the woman. She's not moving. She prods her arm gently with her finger. "Ma'am?" Her voice is louder this time. She can feel the panic rising in her chest. "Hey! Hey!" She's yelling now. She runs to the door, forgetting it's closed, and her knee collides with it. Hard. "Fuck," she mutters. She throws the door open and races down the hall.
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The train slows as it reaches the Romanian station.
Tonks is sitting there. In a different department. Back hunched and shoulders slumped. The woman had died. Died. And Tonks couldn't even begin to understand what had exactly happened back there. The words she had said… What was she talking about? My baby? I'm not pregnant. I'm not having any baby.
She shakes her head. Attempting to drive the memory out. "The power to the Dark Lord." No no no no no no no. Stop. She didn't mean me. She was old and confused and obviously ill. She did not mean me. She wasn't talking about me. No.
The train has stopped and she is desperate to disembark. She steps down onto an old platform. The station is nothing like London's. It's old and underused. She looks around quickly for him. Looks around for red hair. And freckles.
He's not there.
Oh, no. Oh, no no no. He's here. Somewhere. Just in the loo. That's it. He's here.
She waits. For an hour. He never comes.
"Oh, bugger," she whispers to no one but herself.
He must really hate me. I mean really, really hate me. But, it's Order business. And this is Charlie. Charlie is not irresponsible. Or, wasn't. But would he really blow off the Order?
I guess this means I have to get him…
Standing up slowly, hating the day more and more, she walks over to a conductor.
"Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me how to get to the dragon camps?"
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Crack.
"Oh, shit." Tonks had arrived. In style, of course.
She had just Apparated into a pile of dragon dung.
"Could this day be anymore perfect?"
She stands, disgusted. She reeks. The whole place reeks. She looks around. The place is a mess. Trampled tents and broken fences. For a second she feels worried.
"Good going, Tonks. Way to get yourself in a real bloody fiasco." She continues to mutter to herself as she hoists herself up and over the broken fence.
Then she hears footsteps. From behind. Auror training at the forefront of her mind, she reaches for her wand.
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He heard the crack. Someone is here.
Carefully making his way to what was once the Norwegian's paddock, he spots someone. Leaping over the fence.
In a matter of steps he's behind the intruder.
"You! Yeah! You there! Turn around!" The intruder complies. He can sense the caution in the movement, not sure what comes next. He's never had to deal with trespassers.
The intruder stops. It's a woman. A small woman. Covered in shit. Heart-shaped face and cool grey eyes. Brown hair with colored streaks.
Oh, Merlin. It's her. It's her. It's really her.
He doesn't know how he managed to find his voice. "Tonks? Tonks? That you?"
She smiles slightly. Chuckles nervously.
"Wotcher, Charlie."
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