Chapter 15: Goodbye to All That

In the weeks that followed this exchange, Remus saw little of Tonks: once creeping out of the Burrow as he entered it—she disapparated before he could speak her name—twice at meetings of the Order—but their once weekly meetings were becoming rare. Everyone was just too busy, including Dumbledore, who disappeared without a word to anyone and returned a week later with a crippled, blackened hand. Remus didn't regret the lack of meetings that summer; they were turning into charades, and grim ones at that. He was growing more and more certain that there was something fundamental at stake that Dumbledore had not revealed to anyone.

Remus was still working long days on the werewolf project. Dumbledore had told him that he would be going underground in the autumn. After the Hogwarts term started, because Dumbledore would be traveling for the rest of the summer and he wanted Remus at headquarters "in case anything happened." In the meantime, Remus was supposed to be training Molly and Hestia to take over his usual job of coordinating intelligence. Molly was admittedly sharp, having raised the twins, and Hestia had always been clever, but all the same, Remus felt wary. Molly greeted each fresh death and disappearance with tears and denial, and Hestia, who was Muggle-born, was taking the intrusion of Voldemort's war into her parents' world very hard. Remus had always thought Hestia had a heart of dragon hide. The person he really wanted to succeed him was Minerva, but it was out of the question; she would be entirely occupied at Hogwarts when the term began, and she was also (though few members of the Order knew this) keeping a great many appointments at St. Mungo's. The Stunners had left her with permanent heart damage.

The descent of Grimmauld Place had at long last been cleared up; it was Harry's and the Order could move back in. Tonks was detailed to clean up the damage that the house, allied with Kreacher, had done in their absence. It wasn't Remus's decision, and he considered it a little tactless of Dumbledore. The shock of Sirius's death swept over him anew every time he walked into Grimmauld Place. He was sure that Tonks, too, felt Sirius's presence in the very air. She didn't say so, of course. She merely fumed about housekeeping detail, in a manner highly reminiscent of her cousin. For the first time, Remus saw the family resemblance between them. It was all in the flashing dark eyes.

He found her in the living room, curtains drawn against the hot August sunlight, mercilessly tackling a boggart that had lodged itself under the sofa. It glided out from among the broken springs and turned—to Remus's continuing puzzlement though no longer to his surprise—into a writhing purple baby with thirteen fingers and an overbite.

"Tonks—why—"

"Riddikulus!" cried Tonks, flicking her wand. The baby snapped its thirteen chubby fingers and danced the Charleston. She manipulated her wand; it danced faster and faster. Remus tried to laugh, but his throat caught and the sound just wouldn't come.

Tonks laughed joylessly. She flicked her wand and finished off the boggart.

"Tonks—why?"

She looked at him, distaste scarcely hiding the hurt.

"Tonks, you're a genius with children. Even purple ones, I'm sure. Why, in this horrible war—"

"You thought my boggart would be something sweet and fluffy and impersonal, Remus? A nice big spider, perhaps? A gangling mummy? A creepy hooded dementor?"

He had never for a moment considered what else her boggart might be. "I'm not used to seeing you afraid," he said quietly.

"It's none of your business, Remus," she said, "but my boggart is me. Just like yours is you." She took three steps forward, turned, and was gone.

Remus had been dreading going underground, but by the middle of August it was starting to seem like a welcome escape. A miserable assignment, to be sure, just about the worst he could have dreamed up for himself, but it was away—far away—from all the grim human complications that were dogging his footsteps now. He could be alone with his grief and come back whole. Sort of. And Tonks would learn to forget. She wouldn't like it, but after this she would have to remember he was a werewolf.

"You don't have quite the temperament for a double agent," said Dumbledore meditatively, "but you'll do. Keep your cover simple. Say as little about yourself as possible, and let what you say be close to the truth. You're not a man to tell a convincing lie."

"If Fenrir Greyback figures out—"

"He will figure it out," said Dumbledore calmly. "He's intelligent. And he had the wizarding education that he seems so eager to deny other werewolves. He'll realize quickly enough that you've lived among wizards. Don't try to lie to him. Don't place too much faith in your cover. You will have to get him to accept you some other way."

"He'll murder me in my sleep," said Remus, more to himself than to Dumbledore.

"No, I don't think so," said the headmaster. "He'll try to court you. He'll give you a chance."

"Merlin!"

"I trust you, Remus. I can't give you many instructions for this assignment. You'll have to use your own judgment, make your own decisions. I'll see you upstairs at the Hog's Head on the night of December 22nd." Dumbledore fished in the pockets of his robe with his one good hand. He handed Remus a Cadbury fruit and nut bar, as if he were eleven years old.

There was one last thing Remus needed to say. "Headmaster—"

"Albus," said Dumbledore.

"I still see you as my headmaster," admitted Remus.

"I see you as my colleague and deputy. Continue."

"Albus, I'm a little concerned about Tonks. She's been stuck on desk work all summer at the Ministry, and her assignments for the Order are driving her crazy. If there's anyone else who could keep tabs on Scrimgeour—or if there is anything Tonks could do in addition to monitoring Scrimgeour—I think it would cheer her up a bit. She's having a hard summer."

Dumbledore studied him silently. "Have you talked to her recently?" he asked.

"Well—er—not very recently, but a good bit in June and July. She's taking Sirius's death hard. She's full of pent-up frustration about not being able to fight. Fighting boggarts in Grimmauld Place doesn't help."

Dumbedore nodded slowly, stroking his long white beard. "As it happens, I have already asked Gawain Robards to assign Nymphadora to the team patrolling Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. She'll be transferred next week."

"Oh, thank you!"

"It's not an easy assignment, nor is it a particularly safe one," Dumbledore pointed out gently. "There's been a great deal of excitement at Hogwarts in the last four years, and Severus has notified me of certain developments that may make Hogwarts a center of interest this year as well."

"I don't think Tonks wants an assignment that's easy or safe," explained Remus. "I think she wants to lose herself in something as complicated and dangerous as possible. And she's very good with children."

Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "You don't mind seeing Nymphadora face danger?"

"I—well, she's an Auror. I'm not exactly thrilled about it, but I think I care more about her happiness than her safety at this point."

Dumbledore nodded. "Remus, you're a wise young man. Sometimes it's good to take chances."

As so often in his conversations with Dumbledore, Remus left the room wondering more about what the headmaster had withheld than about what he had told.

He spent the last night before term began at the Burrow. It was a smaller gathering than the old parties in Grimmauld Place had been, and scarcely as cheerful. At least Harry looked well. He and Ginny were talking excitedly of Quidditch. Remus gathered that Ginny was hoping to get back on the Gryffindor team. He had seen her fly; she was very good. All the children—were they still children?—looked eager to be going back to school. Molly, on the other hand, looked positively sick with worry, and Arthur still wasn't home yet.

Hermione sat in a corner and warbled to him of NEWTs and OWLs. "Your father worked in Healing, didn't he? Do you think an E in Defense against the Dark Arts would prevent me from training as a Healer? I mean, if I went on and got really good NEWTs—they wouldn't hold it against me, would they? It's an awfully competitive field, but so interesting. I got this fascinating book about rare wizarding syndromes from Flourish and Blotts—"

Remus was seized by a sudden inspiration. "Hermione, do you know anything about the medical aspects of Metamorphmagi?"

"It's another name for the underdeveloped melodermal-3 gene, isn't it? Incomplete formation of the epidermis and skeletal muscles and incomplete binding of melanin to the skin and hair."

"Is there any reason why people would fear it?"

Hermione, who still related to Remus as Professor Lupin, looked startled that a teacher would ask a question for information. "Well, it usually affects the brain as well as the skin and hair. Most people who have it die by the age of three, or else they grow up severely retarded and die as young adults. Tonks is really unusual."

"Yes," said Remus softly, "she is."