Author: J.A.K.

Rating: R

Author's Notes: This story starts in the middle of Tonks and Harry's relationship. There will be a few flashbacks alluding to situations and events that happened in the past between the two, but I felt it best to start here because the crux of this story lies in them being together not in how they came to be together. I also wanted to warn everyone that this is a darker Harry; less like the one written in books 1 through 4 and more like the Harry written in book 5.

AN 2: Again thank you all for the wonderful reviews. Sorry for the delay. I've been doing a lot of traveling lately (first Sabago Lakes, Chicago, then Atlanta) so I haven't really had the opportunity to further my fic. Luckily, while I was in Chicago, I had nights where I was just whiling away the time, and somehow I managed to piece together this chapter (on a notepad by the way). Atlanta was when I finally got the chance to put the whole thing together. Please forgive spelling errors and the like, as they are not intentional. The next chapter should be out very soon because I wrote that like two months ago. Before you go on to the story I just wanted to remind everyone that although this is a Tonks/Harry fanfic, there is still a plot!! So please read, review, and most importantly…enjoy!

Chapter Five

Harry sat in the Three Broomsticks, watching his friends as they chatted away about one frivolous topic after the next. Lately, anything that anyone had to talk about these days was irrelevant. Unlike his peers, he did not have the luxury of letting his mind be occupied by simple matters like clothes and fashion, and or which celebrities were in the latest issue of Witch Weekly.

The sound of Hermione's quiet laughter filled his ears as he watched Seamus' fingers accidentally on purpose brush against hers as he reached for his drink. Harry paused in what he was thinking, and glanced over to where Ron sat at the other end of the round table. Lo and behold. Even from three seats away and in the midst of what seemed like a heated discussion, his friend managed to screw the corners of his mouth down at the sight of Seamus' action.

Harry looked skyward for a moment and sighed. Why didn't those two just shag and get it over with already. It was clear to everyone who attended Hogwarts that they got off every time they wound up in a spat with each other. Arguing was their equivalent to foreplay. The fact that they were his closest friends was one of his better reasons for him wanting them to find happiness, but he also had other, more selfish, motivations. For starters, maybe he wouldn't feel so bad—ditching them for Tonks—if they were more wrapped up in each other instead of him.

Harry sighed again.

The mere thought of her name brought an array of mixed emotions swirling through his entire body.

Last week she had told him that it was her responsibility as a teacher and as his mentor to inform Dumbledore of what he had done; after all, forging someone's signature was an unacceptable offense, especially if that someone was his professor. Little did she know, or perhaps she forgot, that offenses meant almost nothing when one was Harry Potter.

He had discerned in advance what Dumbledore's response would be, but he didn't let Tonks know that, allowing her instead to purge her conscience.

In the past, Dumbledore's disappointed eyes would have deeply affected him. They would have felt worse than any punishment the headmaster could have administered. Before Sirius' death, however, a lot of things were different. His respect for the old man had diminished in waves since then. No longer was Dumbledore the all knowing, 'always right' person that Harry had believed him to be. Though, if truth be known, Harry was almost grateful for that unexpected eye-opener, because—since then—he had come to learn several lessons.

Lesson one. To the Light, at least while Voldemort was still at large, he was and would forever be their weapon.

He also learned that people had to earn trust, and that it was never—under any circumstances—to be given away freely.

His thoughts continued in that circular, self-obsessive path until Dean Thomas walked through the doors. Dean's presence caught the eye of all six people who sat with him, and a sudden hush came over the table.

Harry was thankful that he was there; the mere fact that he was standing where he was reminded him that he wasn't the only one with problems.

Last week he, along with the rest of the school had learned the reason why the headmaster had canceled classes for that day. Apparently Voldemort, as well as several Death Eaters had attacked numerous Muggle villages, and some of the casualties included parents of students who attended Hogwarts. Dean was one of the unlucky few, which unfortunately meant that he was now an orphan.

Dean had left school for a couple of days, to take care of legal matters and family alike, but now he was back. It was for his sake alone that everyone was making a concerted effort not to appear too happy while he was around. Little did they know that the last thing Dean wanted from anyone was their sympathy. Actually, to be perfectly honest, the last thing he wanted was to be around anyone.

Dean took a step backwards.

Coming here was a mistake.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at those who were a part of the impromptu Gryffindor gathering. He turned and made his way to the other side of the pub, not wanting to travel all the way back to Hogwarts just yet.

Harry noted Dean's reaction and empathized. He knew what the kid was going through. He could probably even guess exactly what he was thinking.

"Well…maybe he didn't see us." Lavender suggested, breaking the silence.

Ron sighed, putting as much sarcasm into his tone as he could.

"Right, that's why he was looking straight at us."

Lavender colored, while turning to glare at Ron. Her mouth opened, ready to defend her statement, but her face abruptly changed—as if she thought better of her words—and she promptly kept her response to her self.

Lavender shrugged instead, feeling slightly offended that Dean didn't want to talk to them.

"You know, even though he's like this, we shouldn't take his snub personally," Harry switched his attention from Dean and locked eyes with Hermione as she spoke. "He's just grieving."

Harry gave her a half smile as an onslaught of affection poured through his body for his perceptive friend.

"I'll go talk to him." This time all eyes turned to him, mildly startled. He couldn't blame their reaction really, as he was solely responsible for giving himself an anti-social reputation mid-way through sixth year.

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to where his friend and housemate sat.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Dean raised his head in irritation at the intrusion. Irritation quickly became surprise, however, when he realized whom the person standing before him was.

"Harry…"

Harry felt a bit amused at Dean's reaction, but wisely kept said amusement to himself.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Dean carefully eyed Harry. He noted his calm expression and was slightly mollified. At least this was a person who understood. A person that could say "I know what you're going through,'' and truly know what he was going through. After all, both of his parents had been killed by the Dark Lord.

Dean sat back in his chair and pointed to the one that faced him. He folded his arms over his chest as Harry took the seat.

Harry immediately flagged down a waitress that was passing by them and asked for a butter beer.

"Did you want one?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure."

Harry flashed a few of his teeth at the young woman.

"Could you make it two then?"

The waitress lowered her eyes and smiled, a slight blush creeping up along her neck.

"That's two butter beers coming right up."

The exchange brought a small genuine smile to Dean's face.

"Harry Potter when did you become such a Lady's man?"

Harry placed his elbows on the table, twiddling his fingers, and looked at the person sitting opposite of him, ready and waiting with an answering smile of his own.

"Dean Thomas, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean shook his head and looked out the window. There was an ensuing silence that followed between the two, but it was comfortable. He heard as Harry thanked the waitress for their drinks, but didn't turn his head in response. It was only until Harry was on the last sip of his butter beer that he finally knew what he wanted to say to the Boy Who Lived.

"I want in."

Harry swallowed the remaining contents of his drink and set the glass down with a raised eyebrow.

"You want in on what?"

Dean sat forward in his seat and stared his friend directly in the eye.

"I don't know about everyone else Harry, but I'm not stupid." Dean glanced around, making sure that anyone within hearing distance wasn't suspicious looking. "I know that there is a resistance to Voldemort," Harry was surprised to hear someone his age, refer to the Dark Lord by name, "and I also know that you're a part of that resistance."

Harry surreptitiously eyed the people sitting around them. They seemed well enough, but one could never be too careful. Harry brought up his hand, halting Dean's words.

"Before you say anything more, you might want to stop whispering as if you've got something very important to tell me and lean back in your chair so that you look more relaxed."

Dean did what he was instructed and quickly resumed talking.

"You see…that's what I mean."

The waitress came back asking them if they wanted anything else. Dean shook his head as he watched Harry give the girl the once over before he said no and paid for the drinks.

"Whatever you're a part of…wherever it is…I want in."

Harry saw that he was serious. He also saw pain; raw unabashed pain that could not be consoled and would only ease with time.

Pain sometimes made people do stupid things.

"I know that you want revenge because I wanted…" he looked at his fingers as an image of the crazed but beautiful face of Bellatrix Lestrange flashed across his mind, "…and still want revenge too." He raised his eyes to look at his friend. "But the fact of the matter is, I can't let you make that decision while you're like this."

Dean felt anger cloud his features as he sat forward.

"Like what?" He cut off whatever his mate's response was going to be. "This," he said pointing to himself, "is not a disease. This is grief Harry." He heard his voice rising, but didn't having the presence of mind or the will to stop it. "Grief doesn't have a magic cure all. There is only one way of getting over grief, and that's facing reality and moving on." Dean felt his breath's coming in short uncontrollable huffs and stopped himself before he started crying. He sat back in his seat and looked around him to see if anyone had heard. From the looks of things they hadn't, so he continued, taking a long gulp of his cooled butter bear.

He set the glass down, inhaling deeply at the same time.

"This," his voice cracked and he paused, shutting his eyes briefly. "Doing this is the only way I know how to move on."

Harry understood all too well what Dean was feeling, which was why he wanted to protect him from himself.

Yet he knew he would be a hypocrite if he denied him this. The war was fast approaching, and as regular students got pulled into it, they were quickly seeing that a side had to be picked and defended.

Harry nodded his head and Dean, for the first time in a while, felt hopeful.

"Okay…" The boy showed a few teeth at that word. "Meet me in the Library around seven to talk about some things, alright?"

Dean smiled a big genuine smile as he stood to leave.

"Alright."

Harry sat back in his chair and watched Dean leave the small pub. From his position, he couldn't help but feel smug and just a tiny bit satisfied.

Later that evening:

Tonks felt worry crease her brow at Harry's lack of focus. Usually, the vigor and precision he used to execute each attack and counter-attack was visible to even the untrained eye; but now she could see that something was weighing heavily on his mind. Perhaps he wanted a follow-up report on the Order meeting held two days prior.

She flicked her wrist, performing a simple disarming spell, which he automatically blocked. Tonks continued in this manner, throwing him one easy spell after another, confirming her suspicions that he was indeed acting out of dole.

"Someone's on the inside."

Her blurted statement gave him pause enough to let her take his wand from him. In the fractioned space of time it took for him to recover, she cast another spell, forcing him to employ wandless magic in order to defend himself.

Eyes alert, Harry called upon the natural magic that lay dormant inside of him. The ward summoned was simple, but powerful. Unfortunately for Tonks, the ward was more damaging than he intended, and it's after affects knocked Tonks squarely off her feet.

She landed with a loud "thwap" on her back, the force of the fall making her see stars for several moments. She slowly curled on her side. The nausea which had overtaken her earlier in the day, returned full force.

Harry had originally done nothing when he saw Tonks' body lying on the matted floor, as they had done much worse to each other in the course of his training. His nonchalance, however, became alarm when his lover proceeded to turn on her side, moaning softly as she clutched her abdomen.

Tonks tried as best she could to keep the contents of her stomach inside of her mouth as the various smells of the tattered mat pervaded her nostrils. Smooth hands brought her out of her thoughtful concentration as they unthinkingly traveled down her sides and settled over her stomach, searching for her source of injury.

"What happened," he asked.

Tonks opened her eyes to see Harry kneeling before her, something akin to panic etched on his strangely dark face. It was that look that made her realize how serious the situation must have seemed from his position.

She rolled on her back, pushing his hands away while assuring him that she was okay.

Heat flooded her neck and body as he continued to gaze at her body, skepticism reflected deeply in his eyes.

What the hell was wrong with her? How could she let a simple ward immobilize her? Tonks scooted herself into a sitting position, embarrassed by her exposed vulnerability.

Shaking her head slightly in an effort to clear it of cobwebs, she couldn't help but stare wonderingly at the person sitting in front of her.

Training all those years as an Auror were almost for naught when it concerned this boy. Harry Potter, at seventeen years of age, was still more powerful than she could ever hope to be.

However, he didn't need to know that.

Not yet.

Tonks sighed as she forced herself to remember that Harry was not to be caught off guard.

Harry could see that she was obviously embarrassed; whether it stemmed from her fall or something else, he couldn't tell—so he wisely kept his distance.

The silence that followed grew beyond awkward as her eyes searched his face for countless seconds. Unable to hold her gaze, he looked to his feet instead.

Harry took a deep breath.

"So…what did you mean when you said that someone was on the inside?"

Tonks crossed her legs—Indian style—while mentally preparing herself for what she was going to say.

She tilted her head and looked him straight in the eye. The direct approach was always best.

"At the meeting," She hesitated, unsure of how he would react, especially given his trust issues. "It was confirmed that Voldemort is using someone who's close to you to… work against you."

Harry's mind blanked, thinking desperately of every face that came to the fore. Had anyone appeared or acted suspiciously of late?

His eyes were unfocused and Tonks knew that he was mentally inspecting his friends and acquaintances recent behavior.

"That's not all." He braced himself, knowing that whatever she had to say would be bad.

"They know that you're being trained…" her voice trailed off as she left him to figure out her unspoken words.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Hesitation weighed heavily on the tip of his tongue.

"Do they know that you're the one that trains me?"

Tonks saw the fear on his face and noted that his reasoning skills needed to be worked on. He always jumped to the wrong conclusion when danger or potential danger was close to the people he cared about.

"No Harry." His face sagged slightly in relief. If the Death Eaters knew she was training him, her head would be wanted on a silver platter. "The mere fact that they know that you're being trained means that people are noticing your substantial improvement in all of your classes." Tonks thoughtfully reflected her statement. "Well…they see your improvement, bad behavior aside."

Harry's tolerance for teachers and their tolerance for him had waned drastically since the middle of Sixth Year. He didn't really see the point of civility when he was mad at just about everyone. The only professor he had maintained a modicum of respect for was McGonagall. She never treated him differently than any of her other students. She always had his best interests at heart, and there was always a level of respect that she had showed him since First Year.

At his continued silence, Tonks gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Harry, none of the professors would tell Voldemort about your progress, now would they?" Tonks watched as he turned over her words in his mind.

Harry shrugged, looking at his shoes once again.

"I wouldn't suppose they would—no."

Tonks moved her hands expressively, coaxing him into following what she was trying to say.

"And the only other people who would or could see your developments for themselves are…"

As the words came out of her mouth, a light bulb turned on in Harry's brain.

"The students," he supplied, his gaze leaving his shoes to meet her eyes.

Tonks couldn't help but smile at the wonderment that reflected on his face.

What was that American saying again?

She stuck her finger into the air.

"By George I think he's got it."

Harry's forehead furrowed at the implications of what such a thing meant. It suggested that while official battle plans hadn't been made, the war had truly begun. He had always known that students were beginning to pick sides; but he didn't know that said students were sending information directly or indirectly to Voldemort.

He let out a low grunt of chastisement, as he should have thought of that prospect before. After all, students in the three houses were looking for ways to become a part of the unofficial underground movement called "the resistance." It only made sense that others would be looking for ways to help the Dark Lord.

Lately, it had been tragedy that was the motivating force that spurred some of his schoolmates into action. Schoolmates like Dean Thomas.

Harry paused in his thoughts.

"Would you think it weird if someone was suddenly interested in getting in on the whole down with Voldemort campaign?" He stood up as he said this, prepared to start dueling again. Tonks followed his lead and stood, positioning herself in a battle stance.

"It would depend on the circumstances surrounding their interest." She left her wand where it lay and summoned the magic that was inside of her.

Harry circled her, prepared for her attack.

"His mother was killed in the attack last week, so I think it would be plausible that he wants revenge."

Tonks was listening attentively to what he was saying…up until the point that she felt a sharp pain jolt her entire body. She ignored it, prepared to carry out her offensive strike, but the pains got worse.

This was simply ridiculous. Now she knew for sure that she had to perform a spell on herself so she could see what was wrong with her.

Tonks stood still, calling her magic back inside of her hands.

"Harry I think I have to go lie down for the night."

Harry thought it strange that she would stop their session so abruptly, but he quickly glazed over that fact when he thought of what they could be doing later, inside of her bedroom.

"Maybe I could join you?"

Tonks took a sharp breath as the pain resurfaced again.

"No," she said backing up and shaking her head. "I just…" she paused taking another breath. "I just need to rest right now."

Worry etched itself on Harry's face again as he saw the manner in which she recoiled from her pain.

He took a step closer to her.

"Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself before?"

This time the rush of nausea almost made her deliver the contents of her stomach on the floor.

"No…it's alright. Really." Tonks turned around, walking steadily towards the door. She put her hand on the knob, resting it there while she worked through the feelings of queasiness that were swirling around in her stomach. As she turned the handle she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

Harry knew that her behavior was odd, but for whatever reason she wanted to keep her problems to herself. He respected that and would leave her to work it out. But before she left…

Harry lowered his head so that his lips were right beside her ear.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

Tonks felt a shiver course through her body at his actions and had to force herself to move away from him.

She turned around and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and at the same time she pulled away.

Before he could think to open them, she was gone.

AN 3: Do you like? Please review if you do, as reviews are muchly appreciated and greatly adored. If you don't, respond anyway so I can know what to change or add in future chapters.

Remember: Embrace the ship of Tonks and Harry forever!!!