Note: There are references to Meet the Order of the Phoenix and Meet the Animagus in this chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
16: Rock Bottom
Rock bottom.
Imogen Lupin had hit it, and it had struck her dumb.
Either that, the young witch mused as she slammed another empty glass down upon the bar and turned to gaze around at the assortment of witches and wizards milling around the night club, or she had been sat downing drinks at far too fast a rate.
Either way, the world looked comfortably fuzzy.
Truth be told, it had been several years since Imogen had dared venture into the dark and crowded confines of Hexx, the somewhat seedier of the nightclubs tucked away off the narrow side streets of Diagon Alley. Unlike the distinctly swankier joint up the road that Imogen and her friends usually gravitated towards, which was full of plush sofas, cocktails in elegant glasses and a raised dance floor of shiny black tiles, Hexx, hidden away in a basement accessed by a steep set of narrow concrete steps beside a dilapidated second-hand cauldron shop, was a cramped, crowded little club that served its drinks in half-washed glasses. It's guests, short skirted witches caked hopefully in make-up and artfully scruffy wizards with carefully gelled quiffs, shunned the meagre cocktail menu in favour of beer and alarmingly coloured shots, throwing themselves enthusiastically around the dance floor to a series of pounding tunes, determined to enjoy their night out despite the tired décor and the faint stench of body odour that, should one breathe too deeply, was enough to make the nose wrinkle. Free entry and cheap drinks were, to Imogen's mind, all this club had to recommend it.
That and the knowledge that she was unlikely to bump into anyone she knew there.
Imogen could sit and mope in peace.
Besides, it didn't look too bad a place after a drink or two or three or four...
The music, some nondescript track with a repetitive booming bass and the odd crash of cymbals, was oddly appealing, she could nod her head along to it quite successfully, it made her feel as if she could more easily blend in with her surroundings as she fished around in her bag in search of her purse.
"I'll get these ones, shall I?" a sudden voice suggested in her ear, and Imogen narrowly avoided toppling off her bar stool in surprise. She turned slowly to regard the speaker, and found the two of them almost nose-to-nose.
He was a somewhat broader shouldered and thicker framed than the average Hexx frequenter. The rest tended to be thin and lanky, as if they spent too much time downing drinks in this place and not enough time taking proper care of themselves. But he seemed keen enough to fit in, his black hair had been slicked back against his head with what was probably half a pot of hair gel at least, and his clothes looked purposefully dishevelled. He offered her a wide smile, watery blue eyes eying her keenly.
Imogen turned back to the bar with a vague toss of her head which made the world spin a little.
"Nah, you're alright." she told him, leaning forward in an attempt to catch the barman's eye.
To her vague irritation, he slid onto a stool beside her, apparently undeterred by her lack of interest in him.
"Fair enough!" he said, leaning heavily upon one elbow so that he could turn to look at her. "Come here often, d'you?"
"Nope." Imogen said, sighing when the barman walked straight past her and set about serving a rowdy group of witches at the other end of the bar. She sighed again when her sudden companion said:
"I'd better make the most of it, then."
"What makes you think I'll let you make anything of it?" she asked him, turning to offer him a distinctly challenging look, and he had the audacity to shrug nonchalantly and suggest:
"Well if you don't come here very often, you must've come for a specific reason. It could be to dance, but the music here's rubbish compared to up the road. It could be to meet friends, but you're sat on your own. Or it could be you're just feeling reckless and want to get pissed. And there's no place better for that than here, is there? Their poison'll have you seeing stars after only a glass or two. And if you're feeling reckless...who knows what you might allow!"
"Are you calling me an easy target?" Imogen asked, wondering whether or not she felt offended by his assumptions or not, and he laughed and told her:
"No, I'm just saying you've got potential."
"Bloody hell..." the witch muttered with a shake of her head...
And before she knew it they were squashed in amongst the crowd upon the dance floor, the faint smell of body odour assaulting their nostrils as they swayed and moved in time to the music.
She didn't know how she had gotten there.
She didn't even like dancing with strangers, and yet she was laughing and grinning and twirling around.
She didn't even like him, and yet that didn't seem to matter, he seemed to like her an awful lot.
She she wasn't interested in random sleazy blokes in bars, either, they were only after one thing and she wasn't that sort of girl...
But that sort of girl was wanted, if only for all the wrong reasons, and Merlin, it seemed like nobody had ever really wanted her ever.
Because she hadn't been what Jamie had wanted.
He'd wanted a proper Quidditch star with silly fluttery eyelids and disproportionately big and no doubt fake boobs!
And so what if all this bloke wanted was a bit of a grope and whatever else? He'd picked her out of all the other girls here.
Wasn't that something? Wasn't that just...all she had?
It seemed reasonable, the alcohol flowing merrily through her brain had her quite convinced, and it seemed pointless to try and think about it all too much.
Because he had his arms around her, his hands sliding down her back, and she didn't really know how that had happened at all, when it had suddenly been alright for him to invade her personal space, put his hands upon her.
They were all over her and all she seemed to be able to do was smile at him and laugh and somehow his face as getting nearer and nearer and he reached a thumb up to prise her lips open and for a moment, as she felt his lips crash keenly against her mouth, Imogen felt as if she had been doused in icy water.
She remained in shock when a moment later he drew back from her to regard her in consideration, before another wide grin spread across his face.
"C'mon!" he said, catching hold of her by the hand, and she had vague thoughts of planting her feet more firmly upon the floor, of pulling her hand free...
Because it wouldn't do to go wandering off with some bloke like him.
But then they were stumbling through a door, past a row of discoloured urinals and before she knew it a cubicle door had slammed shut behind them and her back was pressed back against the cool grey paint of the cubicle wall.
She waited for her senses to kick in, waited for her mind to catch up with the automatic reactions of her limbs. But instead she found herself simply waiting.
Waiting for some sort of thrill, for some semblance of satisfaction that her plummet to the bottom had left her desperately craving.
Even though she knew it wasn't to be found. Not like this.
She gave up running a hand through his hair, silently grimacing at the slimy residue the copious amount of gel left upon her fingers, leant further back against the wall and closed her eyes as she felt her dress slipping ever closer towards her hips.
She kept on waiting.
But really, she realised some minute later as they reached the point of no return and she found herself repeatedly bumped clumsily back against the wall, somewhat paralysed by his face buried in her shoulder, sour breath hot upon her skin, whatever she was waiting for simply wasn't going to happen. She didn't really feel anything much but uncomfortable.
Awkward, even.
Imogen sighed, wincing a little at a sudden increase in the stranger's mindless enthusiasm for their fumbling foray. Something was digging into the small of her back and the dim lightbulb of the light above them was flickering on and off. She raised her head a little to stare up at it, trying to ignore the muffled sounds humming against her shoulder...
At least one of them appeared to be enjoying themselves, she reasoned with another wince.
She'd have to wait until he was finished, she supposed dully. It was only polite...
If there was anything polite about an encounter like this.
She tried not to think too much about what 'this' was, it would only make the whole mortifying situation even worse...
It all ended in a sudden freeze frame and a gasped few expletives that rather made Imogen fail to suppress a grimace. For a moment the two of them stayed stock still, his face still buried in her shoulder as he attempted to catch his breath. Imogen found the sudden silence almost as awkward as his steady stream of grunting moments earlier, and when he finally released her and straightened up, reaching to yank the jeans back up his legs she found herself compelled to say something.
"What's your name?"
"What?" He paused in his fiddling with his zip to look up at her questioningly. She rather wished he hadn't, looking at him was suddenly making her feel rather queasy...or was that the alcohol?
Imogen straightened up a little, chancing a glance down at the knickers caught down around her ankles. Nevertheless she yanked the dress back down over her thighs and again asked:
"What's your name?"
Her companion gave a soft snort of amusement.
"Does it matter?" he asked, sounding quite confused by the question, and when she didn't respond straight away he pointed out: "I didn't ask for yours!"
Imogen supposed she wouldn't want to tell him, anyway.
She stooped somewhat gingerly to slide the underwear back up her legs, and he stared down at her in a distinctly triumphant manner and suggested:
"We should do this again sometime."
"Mm..." Imogen mumbled, feeling herself redden as she set about rearranging the bottom of her dress. "That might be tricky...since you don't know my name..."
As he set about adjusting his waistline, frowning a little at this slight glitch in his plans, Imogen hastily snatched up her discarded bag from the floor and hurriedly reached to slide back the lock from the cubicle door.
"I should...I should...you know..."
Fumbling she pulled the door open and made a bid for freedom, squeezing past him and inwardly grimacing at their closeness. She tried to ignore how abruptly unsteady she felt on her feet, and she was about to let out a sigh of relief as she hurried through the narrow cubicle doorway when her high heels came across a damp patch upon the tiles and all of a sudden she had lost her balance and was lunging forward, arms flailing...
Somebody caught her under the arms and she found her face abruptly buried in yet another stranger's chest.
"Merlin!" exclaimed a voice as Imogen was set firmly back upon her feet. "Careful, there!"
Imogen, her gaze snapping immediately to her feet, sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to smother her humiliation, before daring to look up.
Her rescuer was a young man with a carefully combed wavy head of sandy hair and short stubble upon his face. He was dressed in a well-ironed shirt in checked shades of green and looked far too well presented to be seen in a place like Hexx. He had big, brown eyes that Imogen couldn't help but find disarming. They seemed startlingly similar in shade to those of her grandfather.
A snort of laughter sounded from behind her and Imogen felt her cheeks growing pink as her nameless companion stepped out of the cubicle after her.
"Teach you to leave in a hurry!" he jeered, and Imogen rather wanted to shoot him an utterly filthy look, but didn't quite dare to do so because she feared her face was far too flushed not to entirely ruin everything.
She also wanted to apologise for tripping into a second stranger's arms, or possibly explain that this wasn't what she usually got up to of an evening, only she couldn't seem to find her voice. The whole scenario was simply too mortifying. She felt a little angry at the small smile playing upon the curly haired wizard's lips. He was just too polite and nice for all of this. He made her feel even more ashamed than she had done already. What was he doing in a place like this, anyway?! Surely turning up so well-kept warranted being turned away at the door?!
"Here," he said kindly, entirely ignoring the other man who was striding triumphantly off towards the bathroom door, "let me get that for you..."
Imogen watched mutely as he stooped to retrieve the bag which she had apparently flung to the floor without even realising it. When he reached to press it into her hand, she managed a feeble:
"Thanks..."
"Well I don't know about you," he said, "but I think I've had rather enough of this place for one night. Ghastly, isn't it?"
"Yes it's...it's horrible! I...I don't...I never come here, I don't know why anyone would...would come here..." Imogen trailed off, her tongue becoming tied in knots and her face growing yet more pink at her complete failure to construct a coherent sentence. Nevertheless the young man nodded in polite agreement and suggested:
"Shall we go, then? How are you getting home?"
"I'm going to apparate." Imogen said as he turned to lead the way back out into the club.
"Really?" he said, sounding mildly impressed. "You're braver than me then, that's for sure! I would dream of trying that if I'd been drinking..."
"I'm not drunk..."
"Oh. Sorry..."
"I mean I am! I am drunk...obviously. Obviously I don't usually...I wouldn't be...in there...with...somebody like that unless I was...utterly plastered..."
"Right. Of course."
"In fact I've never done...done anything like that before!"
"I see."
"It's just I'm having a bad day."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I lost my job today."
"Goodness."
"And I'm going to have to tell my parents. They're going to kill me."
"So you needed to numb yourself entirely before facing them, I suppose."
"Exactly...sort of...actually I'm not...not really sure why I...what I'm doing here..." Imogen was cut off abruptly as they reached the long staircase leading up towards the exit, as she promptly tripped over her own feet, only for a hand to catch her by the elbow.
"Watch your step." he told her as they set off up the stairs, but Imogen found herself persistently stumbling, indeed she was beginning to feel rather...sick...
As soon as they had stepped out onto the cobbled street above, Imogen found herself stumbling over to a nearby lamppost and before she could attempt to hold her breath she found herself lurching forward to vomit upon the cobbles.
Her self-appointed chaperone looked politely around for something else to look at, and as Imogen waited for the ground to open up and swallow her, his eyes came to rest upon a large piece of parchment tacked securely to the lamppost.
"Merlin, it's a bit like being at war, isn't it?" he commented conversationally as if he were entirely unaware of his companion hurriedly fumbling around in search of a tissue to swipe across her mouth. "What with notices like this plastered all over the streets! They've been scurrying around putting them up all over the place ever since nightfall."
Imogen gingerly dared to look up at what he was looking at, a tissue pressed cautiously to her lips. It was an official notice from the Ministry of Magic, the familiar logo stamped in dark purple ink atop the page.
WANTED: Dedicated Volunteers!
Due to current fears surrounding public safety in light of the emergence of the militant group known as 'Pan's Army' and it's leader, Jeffrey Fawley, the Auror Department is seeking civilian volunteers to support the department in their efforts to maintain it's constant presence in key locations throughout the community. Guard Duty rotas will be drawn up by the Auror Department in a manner that best supports the department's current work and capabilities. Keep watch over your neighbours and local area, look out for suspicious behaviour and help keep our streets safe!
To join us and register your support, please report to the Auror Department's designated desk in the Ministry's Atrium between 9am and 1pm on Wednesday, where I will be pleased to take down your details.
Nymphadora Lupin
Deputy Head of Aurors
"I'd sign up if I had the time, wouldn't you?" he said as she finished reading the notice. "I wonder if I could grab a few more hours off work..."
"I've got all the time in the world." Imogen realised dully, wondering quite what her grandmother would have to say about her sudden abundance of free time should she appear at the Ministry to sign up in the morning. The whole notion was quite depressing. The witch reached clumsily to adjust her grip upon her bag, deciding: "I think I'll get going..."
A hand instantly reached to grab hold of her firmly by the elbow.
"Wait!" her companion insisted, sounding a little alarmed. "You're not seriously considering apparating home, are you?"
Before Imogen's sluggish mind could give this question any serious consideration, he had insisted:
"Here, let me...let me call the Knight Bus or something..."
Imogen didn't particularly think this was a good idea. Her stomach felt delicate enough without finding herself being flung around this way and that inside a triple decker bus of lurid purple that was being driven by a complete and utter maniac.
"...or I could...I could apparate you home, if you like...? Do you live far away?"
"It's a muggle town. You won't have the faintest idea where to find it."
"Ah..."
"I'm sure I can manage..." Imogen attempted to insist, only for him raise his wand arm up into the air, deciding:
"Knight Bus it is, then!"
"That's really not necessary." Imogen protested weakly, but here merely smiled brightly at her and said:
"I think I must insist!"
Imogen leant heavily against the lamppost, eying her shoes awkwardly.
"Listen...what's your name?"
He offered her an apologetic smile as she dared meet his gaze again.
"I didn't really introduce myself, did I?" he realised with a vague chuckle. "My name's Phoenix..."
Imogen couldn't help but snigger a little.
"Phoenix?" she echoed disbelievingly. "Are you joking?"
"No, but I rather wish I was." he confessed, offering her a hand to shake. "Phoenix Selwyn. Son of a father not terribly keen on his roots and rather more keen on Dumbledore's crowd!"
"Sounds a bit extreme to me. Not even Order members have been quite that pretentious with baby names."
Phoenix Selwyn took this jibe with thankfully good humour. Imogen wondered how she had managed to be so rude.
"Well we do seem quite good at extremism, don't we?" Phoenix pointed out with a shrug. "Pure bloods, I mean! At any rate, I rather prefer the name Nick."
"Right..." Imogen mumbled. She had forgotten why she had asked for his name in the first place.
Before either of them could say another word, however, a bright purple blur came streaking through the narrow street and Imogen watched in resignation as the Knight Bus came to a screeching halt, narrowly avoiding crashing into the lamppost that she as leaning on. A stooped, elderly wizard wearing a faded conductor's hat appeared at the entrance to the bus and squinted down at the two of them. He took a long moment to clear his throat loudly, before beginning to recite:
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for..."
"Just the one ticket please, Stan." Nick interrupted briskly, reaching to usher Imogen forward a few steps.
The elderly wizard squinted at Imogen in a distinctly scrutinising fashion for another long moment before asked:
"What, 'er?!"
"That's right. Where are going, um...?"
"Imogen."
"Yes, where are you going, Imogen?"
"Briar's Green, Eddington."
"One ticket to Briar's Green in Eddington, if you please!"
The conductor gave a distinctly unimpressed snort.
"She ain't coming on 'ere!" he informed the two of them frankly, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. "She's sozzled!"
"Yes," Nick agreed pleasantly. "And she can't very well apparate herself home now, can she? That rather makes her stranded, so..."
"She'll throw up all over our clean duvet, she will!"
"I'm sure she wouldn't dream of it, Stan."
"I'm too old to be putting up with the likes of that! We 'ad a young man onboard only last week, he'd drunk half a dozen too many and the mess he made...! And the SMELL! Disgusting! Upset all my other passengers, didn't 'e?! An' he never said sorry or nuffink..."
As the conductor continued to rant and rave, Nick Selwyn sighed heavily before reaching into his pocket to retrieve a distinctly heavy-looking wallet. Imogen watched him tip a generous few golden galleons into his palm before stuffing the wallet back into his pocket.
"Really," he interrupted, holding out the extravagant offering towards the ranting man who promptly trailed off into surprised silence. "I do think this lady would be terribly grateful if you could just take her home."
There was a long pause as the elderly wizard eyed the money keenly, before he reached to half-snatch it up out of Nick's hand, shoving it into a deep pocket of his uniform before tearing off a ticket and, abruptly nothing but polite, gestured grandly towards the nearest bed, bowing a little as he announced:
"Your carriage awaits, Madam!"
"You're very kind." Nick told him as Imogen consented to taking her ticket and stepping gingerly up into the bus, grasping hold of the pole for support. She turned back to offer Nick a somewhat startled and yet thankful look.
"Thank you, that was...that was very generous of you." she told him, feeling embarrassed all over again. "I really don't deserve your help..."
"Think nothing of it!" the young man told her, leaning forward so that he could lower his voice and add: "And do try not to be sick, won't you? I hear his cleaning spells are shockingly bad!"
"I'll do my best..." Imogen began, and before she could utter anything else grateful the bus gave an abrupt lurch and she found herself narrowly avoiding being flung straight out the back of it as it sped off up the street, leaving her saviour to disappear in a blur.
As she made her way slowly down the corridor, leaning heavily upon her cane as it clunked down upon the highly polished marble floor, Dora Lupin stifled a yawn into the sleeve of her Auror robes. She examined her watch with a frown and found herself muttering:
"Bloody hell..."
It was ten minutes to nine in the morning and already that day the Acting Head of Aurors had completed her outstanding paperwork from the day beforehand, held a staff meeting and handed out tasks to the other Aurors, addressed the Wizengamot regarding the death of one of their longest serving members and somehow between all of this found the time to speak to the Auror cadets about Jasmine.
Quite frankly, Dora thought despairingly as she tightened her grip upon the papers she had clutched to her chest and headed towards the lift, ready to jab half-heartedly at the button upon the wall, she felt about ready to go home and put her feet up already. Her pace faltered somewhat to hear hurried footsteps after her as a voice called:
"Tonks!"
Dora glanced round to watch Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt striding up the corridor, sidling past a couple of witches adorned in Wizengamot plum coloured robes.
"Wotcher, Kingsley." Dora mumbled as he came to a halt beside her in front of the lift. As she reached to press the button, she could feel his gaze upon her as he looked her up and down.
"How are things this morning?" he inquired quietly as a small crowd of Wizengamot members joined them waiting for the lift.
"Busy." Dora summarised vaguely. "Very busy. In fact I'd say things were downright hectic..."
"Yes..." the Minister agreed, shifting his feet almost uncomfortably, before he confessed: "I was rather talking about you personally, however."
"Me personally?"
"Indeed."
"Well as you can imagine, I am also very busy..."
"Yes, yes! That's not what I meant either and you know it."
Dora was stubbornly mute for a long moment as the lift doors slid open and they shuffled into the lift. Once it had become crowded and the doors had slid shut again, the witch confessed:
"I am expecting a Howler this morning."
"From who?" the Minister wondered, sounding mildly surprised. "I don't like to disappoint you, Tonks, but I've not the time in my schedule to write you one..."
"Any time now whilst tidying up the house this morning," Dora explained in an undertone, "my darling husband is going to come across an alarming number of empty potion bottles and shall be unspeakably furious when he realises just how many doses of pain relief and bright-eyed potions I downed just after breakfast. Look." Leaning her cane against the wall, she held up a hand for his inspection.
It was shaking uncontrollably.
"Sweet Merlin," Kingsley muttered, reaching to push the trembling hand out of sight down towards her side again. "How many did you take?!"
"Plenty, apparently." the witch muttered as she retrieved the cane, gripping it tightly in an attempt to stop the tremors. "I don't really remember, I was a bit bleary eyed at the time..."
"A bit bleary eyed?! For the love of Merlin...!"
"Don't try and scold me." Dora murmured, sounding bored. "You used to give yourself the shakes on caffeine potions when you were up for night after night guarding the muggle Prime Minister...developed a bit of a twitch in your jaw if I remember rightly..."
"Be quiet!" the Minister snapped, causing a few of the other passengers in the lift to turn and look at them curiously. "I'm just saying, Tonks, you should be a bit more careful!"
"Kingsley," the Auror whispered, voice abruptly strained, "I daren't go to St. Mungo's to visit Harry, not because I'm too busy, but because I'm afraid if the healers there caught sight of me they would insist upon re-admitting me! The pain is unbearable. Even when I could go to sleep at some ungodly hour last night I was in so much pain I could barely dose off for a single hour! I'm starting to wish they'd cut my bloody leg off! And quite frankly I don't care what's sensible and what's not. I'm keeping out of hospital, I'm keeping on top of work and I'm keeping the pain at bay. Right now I don't care about anything else."
Kingsley reached to press a firm hand to her arm.
"Lean on me, won't you?" he murmured. "I've cleared my diary for the day to assist with this dreadful letter bomb business. Have you given any instructions to the Aurors regarding that yet?"
"I'm waiting to hear from the Magical Substances lot...see if they can determine what was in the envelope so we might figure out where it came from. A couple of Aurors are on call should any members of the Wizengamot require assistance, but besides that I've left it with the rest of MLE."
"It's chaos upstairs this morning." Kingsley confessed with a sigh as the lift stopped to let out a wizard wearing a crooked pointed hat. "The press have gone utterly wild, Security have been throwing reporters and snoopers out of the Atrium all morning. I am going to go and give a statement to them all outside and hope it quietens them down."
"Rather you than me."
"Perhaps I might borrow your office, afterwards. I wish to examine whatever information has been collected so far."
"Knock yourself out."
"Are there still Aurors on watch in Kent?"
"A fair few. I'll recall them come the afternoon, if nobody's spotted Fawley yet, he's probably long gone. Harry's going to be pissed."
"It was a long shot. Harry knew it."
"Ted says keeping an eye out was near on impossible in the dark. There's muggles all over that area, they can't light wands..."
At that precise moment the doors slid open and the Minister stepped forward to exit the lift.
"Keep your chin up, Tonks." he called over his shoulder, and the Acting Head of Aurors mumbled:
"Yes, Minister."
She rode the lift up to the Atrium and found a desk, quill, ink and lengthy roll of parchment waiting for her. Dividing the parchment up into columns, she found her writing somewhat scrawled in an attempt to stop her hand from shaking too much.
She entered her husband's name to the list of volunteers first, along with their home address and the hours the pair of them had discussed over breakfast that morning, and was just finishing her notes when she found a sizeable mug being set down at her elbow and a voice announced:
"Your coffee, Mrs. Lupin."
Dora looked up to find herself looking up at Alfie the security wizard. She offered him a faint smile.
"I wasn't aware I had asked for one, Alfie..."
"I'm sure you didn't." the middle-aged man agreed with a shrug. "You just look as if you could use one, is all."
"Well that's very kind, but I'm rather off caffeine this morning."
"Water then, is it? Or I reckon we have some orange juice..."
"A glass of water would be lovely, Alf."
"Right you are, then."
No sooner had the wizard picked up the mug and turned to walk away, a fresh shadow fell across the desk and Dora looked up to find a cluster of familiar faces looking down at her.
"Auror Department volunteers!" George Weasley announced grandly as beside him his wife offered Dora a bright smile, and just behind them Fleur Weasley inquired briskly:
"Where do we sign?"
As she looked around at the assorted members of the extended Potter-Weasley family, which these days was a large crowd indeed, Dora found herself grinning.
"Nine o'clock on the dot!" she observed as Hermione and Rose Weasley both stepped forward first to offer their details. "I'm impressed!"
"I'm only free for a couple of hours a week," Rose confessed, sounding quite ashamed of herself, "but still, I suppose that's better than nothing!"
"It certainly is, Rose. Full name, date of birth, home address and available hours, if you please!"
Numerous familiar faces appeared at the desk throughout the morning, in amongst the stream of strangers who had spotted the notices that had been put up all over Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and several other key wizard-only locations.
As she finished scrawling yet another set of details upon the parchment some two hours later, Dora found her hand was beginning to ache terribly.
"Next, please!" she called without looking up, and once she heard another volunteer come to a halt in front of the desk she inquired: "Full name, please?"
"Cain Alexander Gudgeon." came the response.
Dora froze.
It took her a good few seconds to shake off her shock to come across the man who so many years previously had been banned from working at the Ministry of Magic for fear that Dora would sooner resign than work in the same building as he did.
She looked up at him, frowning deeply.
Cain Gudgeon had not aged gracefully. He was balding and tubby and his clothes were distinctly threadbare.
"Are you joking?" Dora inquired icily, throwing down her quill so that she could fold her arms firmly across her chest.
"Not in least bit, Tonks." the wizard replied, frowning a little as if he didn't have a clue what she meant. When this response was met with a long silence he said: "I was sorry to hear about what happened at Flourish and Blotts. I'm glad you're on the mend..."
Dora's expression hardened, her mind made up.
"Leave before I call security." she instructed, snatching the quill back up again before calling: "Next!"
"I'd be more useful to you than any of these other people." Cain Gudgeon pointed out, sounding rather irritated. "How many of them are former Aurors?!"
"How many of them are former Dousers with a criminal record for crimes against muggles, Cain?" Dora asked impatiently. "In case you hadn't noticed, Jeffrey Fawley is non-magical! We all know how you feel about people like that! I don't think anybody in their right mind wants you to be involved with anything relating to him..."
"Are you saying you wouldn't hex him into the middle of next week, given half a chance?!" Cain retorted furiously as the next volunteer shuffled uncertainly forward. "I mean look at yourself, Tonks! Look what he's done to you!"
"I'm sure you did far worse to me yourself." Dora pointed out, reaching wearily into her pocket, and in a flash the former Auror found a wand aimed directly at his face. "Leave."
Cain Gudgeon opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if thinking of something to say only to think better of it, before reaching to shove his hands deep into his pockets and turning to stride back off towards the visitors' entrance.
Dora slowly lowered her wand, swallowing the large lump that had lodged itself in her throat.
"Who's next, please?" she called, setting the wand down upon the desk and retrieving the quill again, busying herself with straightening the papers that had become somewhat disarrayed.
"Full name, please." she inquired distractedly when the person stepped forward, and she found herself again stumped when the reply informed her:
"Kit Cavell Carter."
Dora looked up to find a tall, lanky wizard with flyaway hair and unmistakable bright eyes, stood hugging his arms somewhat nervously around himself as he gazed down at her anxiously.
"Kit Carter!" Dora breathed, eyes widening at the sight of him, "Well blow me down!"
"Good morning, Mrs. Lupin." the animagus greeted quietly, sounding distinctly abashed, and Dora once again put down her quill so that she could rise stiffly to her feet.
"Merlin, it's been such a long time!" she recalled, looking him up and down. He looked rather well dressed and distinctly better fed than she would have expected. After his short stint being sent back and forth between Azkaban prison and the psychiatric unit at St. Mungo's as a teenager and having no doubt not been welcomed back into his close-knit community in rural Wales, Dora had rather suspected the odds of Kit Carter making a success of his life to be slim to say the least.
And yet here he was, over two decades later, fit and well and looking to be doing quite nicely for himself.
"How are you keeping?" she asked him, leaning across the table as she found herself with an overwhelming urge to give him a hug, so relieved was she to see him well. She had always hoped he would turn out alright in the end.
"I am very well, thank you."
"What are you doing with yourself, these days?"
"I am Chief Handler of Hippogriffs at the Cattermole's Sanctuary up in the Highlands." Kit murmured, patting her somewhat awkwardly upon the back. "I saw one of your posters in Hogsmeade, so I thought I'd come and see you..." he trailed off as she drew back from him with a smile, his expression abruptly troubled as he half-whispered: "But I don't suppose you'll want me if I...if I've...I mean I heard what you said just now...to that other man...I didn't realise, you see. The poster didn't say anything about...about criminal records..."
"Everybody signs up at my discretion, Kit." Dora said, apparently not in the least bit concerned by his past as she sat back down and retrieved her quill. "I'm not going to turn you away, I'm not an idiot."
Kit Carter chuckled rather uncertainly, only to stop when she looked up at him, expression distinctly firm.
"In fact I'd consider you a great asset." she said, before setting about writing down his name upon the list. "I've nabbed myself an animagus! What's not to like?!"
"I won't let you down, Mrs. Lupin. You can trust me, you really can."
"I've not doubt, Kit Carter. What's your date of birth?"
As he stood watching her fill out his details, Kit Carter rocked back upon his heels, looking around at the hustle and bustle of the Atrium as if it all made him rather uneasy.
"How is...how is Mr. Lupin?" he asked after a moment, hands clasped tightly together in front of him. "Do you...do you still speak to Edwin and the others?"
"Christmas cards." Dora recalled distractedly as she set about scrawling notes in the last column. "And Remus is very well, thanks."
"And...Carrie?"
Dora stopped writing. When she looked up, Kit's face began to redden in embarrassment.
"Do you see her, I mean?" he mumbled awkwardly, as if he wished he hadn't said anything.
"I do."
"I...I saw her, once." Kit told her, eyes widening a little at the memory. "In Hogsmeade. At the Phoenix Day Parade. I never go, I don't like the crowds but I was passing and...and I'm sure it was her. She was pregnant. There was a...a man...I wasn't sure but I thought he might be Ted..."
"It's likely."
"They're married, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad."
Dora smiled weakly.
"Thanks for coming, Kit." she told him, and he gave an almost startled nod before mumbling:
"Good day, Mrs. Lupin."
"Good day, Kit Carter." Dora mumbled back, and she watched him turn on his heel and march briskly back towards the visitors' entrance. She watched until he had completely disappeared into the crowd before finally giving herself a little shake and calling: "Next, please!"
As she sat staring blankly at the magazine in her lap, Pandora Lupin sipped wearily at her orange juice as she watched her mother sit down upon the sofa beside her. The purposeful manner in which Carrie proceeded to fold her hands in her lap very nearly made Pandora wince. Before the muggle could utter a word, her daughter asked:
"Are you going to work?"
Pandora rather wanted to be alone. Not that she would be alone if Carrie did go to work. Imogen seemingly was not working today and was at home, though she had yet to emerge from her bedroom that morning.
"I'm due in after lunch." Carrie said, and the pair of them lapsed into silence for a long moment before the mother sighed and wondered: "Did you hear Immy get in last night?"
"Nope."
"Me neither. Dad says her door was shut, but he did't bother to check on her. Honestly, disappearing out until goodness knows when...I'm sure she's working today, too!"
"D'you want me to go and wake her up?"
"No, love. Let her be late and she might learn a lesson!" Sighing, Carrie slumped back in her chair, gaze drifting up towards the ceiling for a moment before she wondered: "Have you given any thought, Pan, to what Grandad and I said about the baby?"
Pandora mumbled non-committally under her breath.
Carrie pursed her lips a little, but continued nevertheless.
"Dad and I spoke last night about...about the other option. Have you...have you thought about that, at all?"
"What?" Pandora mumbled, frowning at her socks, and Carrie fidgeted a little before elaborating:
"Getting rid of the baby, love. Have you thought about getting rid of it?"
"Oh..."
"It's alright if you haven't."
"I don't know."
"But it is an option to...to consider. Obviously it would solve a whole load of problems in a way, but at the same time it's a very difficult thing..."
"Have you done it?" Pandora asked, utterly at a loss as to what the whole process involved, and when Carrie shook her head, she tried: "Has Nana?"
The muggle frowned.
"I don't think abortion has ever been on Nana Dora's agenda, no."
"Doesn't she approve of it?"
"I think Nana Dora approves of you making your own decision without outside influences, love. How the rest of us feel about...about something like that isn't relevant."
There was another long pause as Pandora leant to rest her head against her mother's shoulder, chewing pensively upon her lip.
"Does it hurt?" she wondered at last, and Carrie's frown deepened.
"I...I suspect it's not in the least bit pleasant." she confessed slowly. "But I'm sure there are...are spells for...numbing and pain relief, that sort of thing. It's very safe, you'd be in and out of the clinic before you knew it."
"Clinic?"
"Yes we...we'd find a clinic and...and we'd book an appointment and then Dad can apparate us over there, I could go in with you or...or Immy could go, if you wanted, you could have a look at the place, talk to the people there and then...then if you were absolutely sure you wanted to go ahead with it, the two of us would sit down and fill out all the forms together. And then...then once those were all checked and ready...I'd be right there waiting for you and you'd go in..."
Pandora chewed upon a nail in consideration, fidgeting worriedly.
"What about the...the baby?"
"What about it, love?"
"Well they...they cut it out or...or something and..."
"Nobody's going to slice you open or anything like that, Pan."
"Then they...they pull it out or...or something and then it's...it's dead, isn't it?"
"It would be...gone, yes."
"Can it feel it? The baby, I mean. Does it...does it hurt it, dying like that?"
Carrie was beginning to look increasingly uncomfortable.
Pandora didn't care. She had to know. She had to know exactly what would happen, what it all meant. The baby being 'gone' was simply not a good enough answer. Things were never just 'gone'. Something happened to make them 'go'. And that something needed serious consideration.
"Lot's of people have different thoughts and feelings about...about that. About when life truly begins..." Carrie explained slowly, only for her daughter to point out:
"I know. We did about it in RE class. I just wanted to know what you think."
Carrie reached to wind a stray strand of hair around her finger, recalling:
"I suppose your Nana rather coloured my opinion on the beginning of life the day she lost Baby Rae..."
"Why?"
"Well she said...she kept saying..."
"What? She kept saying what?"
"Well she was hysterical. She kept telling Grandad that she...she'd killed the baby. At the time I took that very literally. Nana hadn't been pregnant for all that long, and that's one of the things some people believe, isn't it? That life only begins when the child has developed a certain amount...that early on, some people wouldn't think life had really started at all, even if Nana and Grandad had gone as far as to pick out a name for it. Now with hindsight I see there are two possibilities about how Nana Dora felt about Rae. Either, as I assumed at the time, that life had started and Nana's accident did result in death, or perhaps it is possible that Nana didn't necessarily think of it as a literal death and more of the death of the inevitable life that would have developed later on. That second notion did not occur to me for many years, not until I was older. But then I fell pregnant myself and I suppose to me...to me life started right at the beginning. So I...I couldn't have gotten rid of...of a baby like that. But nobody knows what they truly think or feel until they are in the situation themselves, Pan. And what I think or what Nana or anybody thinks isn't relevant. Because you are the one who has to live with your decision. Abortion is...is a way out of the situation and I suggest you think very long and hard about it, love, because it would take you out of one situation and land you in a completely different one."
Pandora let her eyes drift closed, her hands coming to rest atop her stomach.
She wasn't really sure how she felt about the baby and what it would mean to get rid of it. Calling it a baby wasn't something she really did, though she wasn't quite sure if this was because it didn't seem like a baby yet or that the whole idea was simply too frightening to think about in realistic terms...
Before she could give it much more thought than that, a tiny owl came swooping through the open sitting room window, a small envelope tied to it's foot with a length of golden string. It came to perch upon the arm of the sofa at Pan's side, and the teenager reached to untie the letter, finding her name and address printed upon the front in thick black ink, the handwriting very familiar.
"It's from Nana." she said as the owl gave itself a little shake, before hopping to the edge of the arm and fluttering back out of the window again.
Carrie hmmed in a distinctly wary fashion as Pandora flipped the envelope over, finding it sealed with the familiar purple wax of Ministry documents.
The letter inside, again in Dora's loopy handwriting, made Pandora feel abruptly nervous from the very first line, which was quite possibly the most formal letter her grandmother had ever sent her.
Dear Miss Lupin,
On behalf of the Auror Department, I am writing to summon you to an interview at Auror Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic at three o'clock this afternoon, to discuss with me any information you may provide us with in connection to our current investigation of Jeffrey Fawley and his associates.
Please report to Security in the Ministry's Atrium via the Visitor's Entrance, where a member of the security team will direct you to Auror Headquarters.
Your attendance to this appointment is vital and should you elect not to attend without writing to reasonably account for your absence, a member of Magical Law Enforcement will be dispatched to meet with you at your home address. It is in the best interests of our investigation that the Ministry be aware of the whereabouts of all suspects, witnesses and any other relevant persons, for the sake of investigative progress, public safety and the wellbeing of yourself personally.
Thank you in advance for your prompt attendance and co-operation in assisting our investigations at this key stages, I look forward to our anticipated meeting.
Yours Sincerely,
Nymphadora Lupin
Acting Head of Aurors
PS: I'll stick the kettle on!
Pandora felt a lump forming in her throat.
Carrie, having read the letter over her daughter's shoulder, sighed heavily.
"It's nothing to worry about, love." she assured the girl, a hand coming to rest upon Pandora's knee. "It's only a chat with Nana, after all."
"Mm..." Pandora mumbled uncertainly, and Carrie mused:
"I'll have to ask Grandad to take you, I'll be at work by then..."
Slow, thudding footsteps sounded upon the stairs, and Carrie glanced round at the door.
"What time are you off to work, Im?!" she called just as Imogen appeared at the bottom of the stairs and set about shuffling down the hallway towards the kitchen. The eldest Lupin daughter grunted non-committally, adjusting the cloak thrown sloppily around her shoulders.
"Off out, are you?" Carrie called, and as Imogen disappeared into the kitchen, she called back:
"Yes."
"Where are you going?"
"Ministry."
"Volunteering, are you?"
"Mm."
"Well don't let it make you late for work, will you?"
"Mm."
"What time did you get in last night? I didn't hear you come in!"
There came the sound of a cupboard banging shut and the gush of water from the kitchen sink, before Imogen called:
"Don't know."
Carrie huffed, slumping back upon the sofa to stare up at the ceiling.
"It's no time to be waltzing off on your own until the early hours, you know!" she announced loudly as Imogen continued to bang cupboards open and shut in the kitchen. "Are you listening, Imogen? Your dad and I have quite enough to be worrying about already without wondering where on earth you are at some ungodly hour of the night!"
"I'm twenty one years old, Mum. I can look after myself, you don't have to waste your energy worrying about me..."
"You know, Im, your grandmother's hit seventy and I'm sure she's more capable of looking after herself than I am, but I spend hours fretting over her! Age and ability has nothing to do with it! I'm your mother! You're my daughter, I'm obliged to worry about you..."
As she came striding back down the hallway, slipping an apple into her pocket and rattling a packet of crisps as if to check the crisps in question were indeed still inside, Imogen glanced into the sitting room to offer her mother a weary look.
"Why don't you concentrate on wrapping Pandora up in cotton wool instead?" she suggested sourly, "She's a lot more used to that sort of nonsense than I am!"
The fresh air outside the house that late morning, as she walked groggily to the family's designated apparation point to head for London, did little to make Imogen feel less rough. She crunched unenthusiastically upon her makeshift breakfast and frowned at her disheveled reflection in a parked car's window.
She was not looking forward to facing her grandmother in such a sorry state, but nevertheless she felt compelled to go and volunteer in the hope she might feel slightly less useless.
The previous night all seemed rather fuzzy in her mind and she tried her best not to think about it...
She remembered Phoenix Selwyn clearly enough, mind you. It was difficult to forget a ridiculous name like that, even if one tried to!
Hadn't he said he was going to volunteer this morning himself?
Imogen's subsequent apparation and walk through London's streets to the Ministry's Visitor's Entrance was filled with imagining all the horrifying embarrassment that would occur should she happen across her saviour in the Atrium that morning, what would she say to him? What would she do?
Merlin, the thought of it...!
Perhaps coming to the Ministry was a mistake after all...
Despite her unease, Imogen rode the lift in the telephone box down to the Atrium and joined the end of the modest queue of volunteers, her eyes upon her feet as if being out and about was simply shameful. It was some long minutes of shuffling and fidgeting with her hands in her pockets before she heard her grandmother summon her forward.
Nana Dora looked up as she approached and Imogen was just taking in the dark circles under the Auror's eyes, her ghostly white, waxen complexion, when Dora's dark eyes narrowed a little and she muttered:
"Merlin's balls, look at the state of you!"
"Good morning, Nana." Imogen greeted stubbornly, ignoring her grandmother's assessment of her appearance, and as the young witch leant her palms down upon the desk, Dora puffed her cheeks doubtfully and said:
"I do hope you don't make a habit of wandering around looking like that, Im."
"It's a family trait." Imogen informed her impatiently. "Evidentially I inherited it from you."
"Don't be such a smart arse." Dora instructed briskly as she shifted the long roll of parchment further up the desk. "That's my job. Have you spoken to Hannah about this?"
"About being a smart arse?" Imogen asked, frowning deeply, and her grandmother sighed heavily before looking up at her again.
"About volunteering, Imogen. You're due at work this morning, aren't you?"
"Oh..."
"Dad was saying, earlier."
"Oh."
"He says you were out until Merlin knows when last night. Clubbing, was it?"
"Um..."
"Word of advice, Sweetheart, go out and get utterly bladdered if you really must, but don't do it when you've got work the next morning, eh? Common sense, love! And after the night we all had...really...! Use your brain, for Merlin's sake! You did have one, last I checked! I do sometimes wonder, mind you..." As she finished scrawling her granddaughter's home address upon the parchment, Dora slapped a triumphant hand down upon the desk, making Imogen jump.
"Right, then! Hours?"
Imogen stared blankly at her.
Dora's casual criticism, usually taken with a pinch of salt, felt like a wrecking ball to Imogen's already fragile self-esteem, and as she felt her composure crumbling, she struggled to find her voice.
Dora leant forward across the desk a little, offering her a raised eyebrow.
"Im?"
Imogen felt as if her eyes had glazed over as she tried to pull herself together.
"Come on, love, I've got a meeting in half an hour and people are waiting..."
Out of the corner of her eye, Imogen caught sight of a scarlet-robed Auror come striding out of the lift before he setting about weaving his way through the crowds, and yet the world seemed suddenly muted, there seemed to be a panicked pressure building up inside of her.
Imogen thought she was going to explode.
She did.
"I don't." she found herself hissing, eyes widening to the size of snitches as Dora stared up at her. "I really don't!"
"You don't what, love?" Dora asked wearily, about to sigh, only for Imogen to tell her:
"Have a brain. I don't have one!"
Dora's expression softened somewhat as she leant back in her chair.
"Don't be daft, Immy. Of course you have a brain..."
"I don't!"
"If I didn't think you had any brain at all, Sweetheart, I wouldn't waste my breath telling you to use it..." Dora pointed out calmly, only for Imogen to jerk forward and wildly declare:
"I've lost my job!"
Dora's reassuring smile faltered somewhat. There was a sizeable pause as they both waited for this news to sink in, before the Auror managed:
"Ah..."
"Hannah sacked me!" Imogen hissed, spitting out the words as if they were some sort of deadly weapon that might wipe any utterly pointless faith that her grandmother had in her off the face of the planet, and once she had started she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I got sacked! I completely messed it up! I've ruined everything!"
"Oh, Imogen..."
"And it was...was bloody stupid! And it shouldn't have happened! But it did! Because I'm stupid, that's what I am! I'm really, really stupid! I'm a failure!"
"Imogen..."
"And yes! I...I went out! I went to the...the scummiest, nastiest, worst club I could find! And I got really, really drunk! I drank until it made me sick! I threw up all over the pavement outside! And I was so drunk I...I...there was this random bloke and I...I...we...we ended up in...in...in the bathroom and...and he wasn't even good-looking, I just went with him for the hell of it!"
Dora, former teenaged wild child and by no means easily fazed by exploits that made any normal grandparent come over faint, appeared to be finding this furious verbal bombardment increasingly troubling, and her worries were only compounded by the appearance of an Auror at her elbow.
"Boss!"
"And...and I don't suppose I have to spell out what happened next!" Imogen went on shrilly as Dora stared blankly at her, ignoring the voice at her side.
"Boss?"
"It was stupid! I didn't even enjoy it!"
"Boss, you're needed down at Headquarters..."
"He was a scumbag, I don't even know how it happened!"
"Boss, it's really quite urgent, somebody's spotted Bartholomew Brunswick just outside of Andover..."
"But I don't suppose I gave a toss at the time! What did it even matter, anyway?! I'm a bloody waste of space! It's not as if I can sink any lower!" Imogen's face had grown bright pink and as she finally lapsed into silence Dora continued to stare at her in shock.
Almost a full minute passed before the Auror at Dora's side cleared his throat loudly and began:
"Boss, I really think you need to..."
Dora rounded on him, her dark eyes cutting him off mid sentence before she demanded to know:
"Who the bloody hell is Bartholomew Brunswood?!"
"Brunswick..."
"Brunswick! Brunswood! Whatever his name is! Who the hell is he?!"
Her colleague looked somewhat taken aback.
"Well he's...obviously he's..."
"It's not bloody obvious to me!" Dora snapped as Imogen furiously attempted to blink back tears. "I've never bloody heard of him!"
"He's fourth on our Most Wanted list, Boss." the wizard explained meekly, and Dora demanded to know:
"Well why don't you rush off over there and sort him out, then?!"
"He's exceptionally dangerous..." the Auror pointed out, sounding quite alarmed at the idea, and Dora flung her quill down upon the desk with a furious huff and cried:
"Of course he is, Dylan! He's a dark wizard! They're all bloody dangerous, that's why you've been through three years of extensive training so that you can deal with them!"
As Dylan shrunk back a few steps, the Acting Head of Aurors snatched up a glass of water as she wondered:
"Can't somebody use a bit of bloody initiative in this place?! What's stopping you from organising a group to go and bring him in?! Do I have to do everything around here?!"
"N...no, Boss..."
"No?!" Dora drained the glass in a few short mouthfuls before slamming it back down upon the desk, declaring: "Good! Bloody well get on with it, then!"
She was just turning her attention back to Imogen, when Dylan wondered:
"Should I...should I ask Deputy Wickes? I mean...not Deputy Wickes..."
"No, Dylan! You shouldn't ask Jasmine anything, she's had her Deputy's badge revoked and she's far too busy with the cadets to worry about something you should be perfectly capable of sorting out yourself!"
"But I can't find the paperwork, we're supposed to be collaborating with the Obliviator Squad and Jasmine was organising it...we can't just go rushing in there, there's supposed to be a...a plan! I thought you'd know all about it! And Minister Shacklebolt's in the Deputy's office, if he hears those papers are missing..."
"Yes, yes, alright! Give me strength!" Dora exclaimed furiously, rising abruptly to her feet and fumbling around to snatch up the cane that had been left resting against the desk. "Get back down to Headquarters, Dylan, and tell the others I'm calling an emergency staff meeting!"
"Yes, Boss."
"And tell them when I find out which moron lost that paperwork, they're going to find themselves up on disciplinary charges before they can say gross incompetence!"
"Well, Jasmine was supposed to..."
"Stop pointing fingers and get on with it!"
"Yes, Boss..."
Imogen watched with watery eyes as Dylan turned to rush back towards the lift, only to turn back to gaze blankly at Dora when the Acting Head of Aurors told her:
"Listen to me, Sweetheart, I need you to do something for me."
"Wh...what?" Imogen mumbled numbly as she watched Dora draw the wand from the pocket on her robes and reach to store it in a trouser pocket instead.
"You need to pull yourself together, Imogen." Dora instructed firmly, much to her granddaughter's anguish. "Right now..."
"P...pull myself together?!" Imogen half-squeaked. "Is...is that all you've got to say?!"
"Come round here." Dora said, ignoring her outrage. "Hurry up, love, I haven't got all day!"
Imogen shuffled round the desk, feeling dazed by such a response, only for Dora to shrug out of her Auror robes and thrust them into the young witch's arms.
"Put these on."
"Wh...what?"
"Go on! Put them on and sit down!"
"But...why?"
"Because I need another pair of hands and, more importantly, an extra brain, Imogen."
As she watched her grandmother straighten her blouse, Imogen's grip upon the robes went limp.
"Nana," she whispered, glancing around them a little uncertainly. "It's...it's against the law to impersonate an Auror..."
"Very true, Im. If anybody asks if you're an Auror, be sure to tell them no!"
As Imogen reluctantly pulled off her cloak and set about shrugging into the robes under Dora's expectant gaze, the young witch wondered:
"Why are you making me do this? You should get one of your minions to do it..."
"They prefer the term 'colleagues', I believe. Except for Jasmine. This morning she appeared in my office doorway to announce that all of my 'underlings' were present and accounted for and where awaiting further instructions!"
Imogen barely managed a snigger.
"I don't care what you want to call them. Surely they should be..."
"Nonsense!" Dora interrupted as Imogen sat down somewhat gingerly in her chair. "I want somebody reliable! Somebody with a brain who can think for themselves! Somebody I can trust to be a decent judge of character and write meaningful and genuinely useful notes for me!" Glancing down at the parchment upon the table, the Auror added: "Somebody whose handwriting doesn't look like it was composed by a small toddler grasping a quill between it's toes! D'you think you can manage that, love?"
"Um..."
"Silly question, really, of course you can! I have complete and utter faith in you! See if you can nab us another animagus, they're bloody useful in these sorts of situations, mark my words!"
"Nana..." Imogen mumbled, shifting uneasily in her seat, only for Dora to clamp a firm hand down upon her shoulder, leaning to whisper fiercely in her granddaughter's ear.
"You listen to me, Imogen Lupin." she said as Imogen gazed down at the parchment in front of her. "You listen to me, and I mean really listen! I don't care what utterly ridiculous and stupid things you got up to yesterday! I don't care if you got sacked! I don't care if you went and got utterly bladdered and...and shagged some random sleazy bloke in some club's bathroom in the arse-end of nowhere! I don't even care if you woke up this morning thinking that yesterday was the worst day of your entire life and felt so awful that you've just blurted it out to your own grandmother! Because today is a new day! And you might think you've hit rock bottom, but let me tell you something, that's one hopeful place to be! Because the only way left when you get there is up! You are not a waste of space! You are an intelligent, resourceful and determined young witch! And you might be human like the rest of us, you might make countless mistakes and wind up feeling like it's the end of the world! But that doesn't make you special, Imogen. That's the way life is. It happens to all of us! It's that brain of yours, that spirit and drive that makes you different! So you pick up that quill and get to work! And prove to yourself that I'm right about you! Alright?!"
Before Imogen could utter a word, Dora had given her shoulder a firm squeeze and called:
"Next, please!"
Then she turned on her heel and set off towards the lift without so much as a backwards glance.
Imogen watched her go, a lump forming in her throat before the next volunteer appeared before the desk and, without invitation, supplied:
"Beatrix Bellamy, dear. I can do Friday mornings, but not after half past eleven, and I suppose I could be around on Monday afternoons too if I don't dawdle at my chess club too much!"
Imogen turned slowly to gaze up at the tall, willowy witch who was squinting down at her through a pair of thick, brown rimmed glasses. She swallowed the lump in her throat before reaching for the quill, dipping it carefully into the ink.
"Wonderful, Ms Bellamy!" she said, forcing a smile onto her face as she set about writing down the elderly witch's details. "The Auror Department really appreciates your support. Could I possibly trouble you for your home address?"
"Sixteen Friars Lane, Mould-on-the-Wold, dear. And that's Mrs. Bellamy."
"Excellent. And...and do you play much chess, Mrs. Bellamy?"
"Do I play much chess?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Bellamy looked momentarily surprised by this question, only to draw herself up proudly and announce:
"Oh yes, I play all the time! I'm county champion, you know!"
"Are you really?" Imogen asked, scrawling County Chess Champion in the notes column. "I do like a good game of chess myself! It's a good exercise in logic, good for the brain, my grandfather tells me!" And with that she added: highly logical to her notes and underlined it a couple of times, before offering Mrs. Bellamy a bright smile, wishing her a good afternoon and calling: "Next, please!"
And somehow, Imogen realised some half an hour later as she set about writing down the last name and address, nearing the end of the roll of parchment, Dora was right. She felt useful, she felt as if she had a purpose, as if she was valued.
As if she had achieved something.
And as she sat watching the last volunteer heading back towards the Visitors' Entrance, she felt compelled to carry on achieving, carry on having a purpose, carrying on proving her grandmother right.
So she took a fresh roll of parchment, quill and ink, and headed for Diagon Alley, ready to round up as many volunteers as she could find in the street, and with each person she stopped, each extra person she persuaded to add their name to the list, she felt as if she were dragging herself further and further out of a hole.
And she was going to be proud of her efforts, she told herself firmly. Proud of her efforts and proud of herself.
"Right, then!" Dora Lupin declared as she threw open the doors to Auror Headquarters and stomped her way across the threshold. "Staff meeting!"
"Where are your robes?" Albert Diggory inquired with a frown as he paused in his ransacking of a filing cabinet, only for the Acting Head of Aurors to tell him:
"Mind your own business. Now! Who do I have to hex to get some bloody paperwork around here?!"
"Not guilty." Albert murmured, turning his attention back to the filing cabinet, and several other Aurors mumbled similar denial.
"Where's Xander?" Dora asked, looking around searchingly, only to catch sight of the Auror in question sat at his desk. "Xander!"
"Tonks."
"Where's this file on Brunswick?"
"I wouldn't know. I expect Jasmine's gone and lost it, Harry left it all down to her, after all..."
Dora very nearly groaned.
"Right," she muttered, glancing around the office to take a mental note of who was there. "Well then, Bertie, you keep looking, alright?"
"Yes, Boss."
"And you! Ramona, is it?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Go and see what's taking so long examining that letterbomb! I'm supposed to be meeting with them in twenty minutes and I've not heard a peep out of them all morning!"
"Yes, Boss."
"And you over there! Do me a favour and clear the junk off Harry's desk, please! I'm interviewing in there in under an hour! File it all away properly, too, we can't have things keep going missing like this!"
"Yes, Boss!"
"The rest of you, don't go wandering off! We need to talk about volunteers and I want to talk about our approach to Fawley's mother! Ron said this morning that he's tracked her down at last! I'll be right back." Dora turned stiffly back to the doors just as they were pushed open and her son came striding into the office.
"And you!" she added, pointing an accusing finger at him as he passed, making him stop dead in his tracks, eyes widening in surprise. "For the love of Merlin, keep a better eye on your firstborn, will you?! I can't be doing with the likes of that at my time of life!"
"What?" Teddy uttered, expression one of extreme bemusement, but his mother had already disappeared out into the corridor beyond.