Chapter 54: Please
Sitting at his desk, Draco pulled out his scarlet tipped quill, tapped it into the ink well.
Mother, a lot of things have happened, wrote Draco. I'm scared what you'll think of me once you read this, but we promised to be honest with each other, and I don't want someone else telling you. I'll be here in the Manor for the next few days, but on Tuesday I have a meeting with the Priestess. And then…I don't know.
Draco let out a slow breath, and then wrote down everything. Somehow it only filled up two paragraphs. The paper rustled as he unfurled more of the scroll.
Ever since then, Romilda's memories have been flooding my mind, when I wake and when I sleep. It feels like the least I can do is write the memories down, even if it is painful.
The visions would start with a headache and then he'd black out, thrown into memories and insensible to the rest of the world. Each day this happened as often as every 20 minutes, and he had no choice but to write down the memory in the brief space he had between.
Some memories were useful. The memories from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger seemed promising. The prophecies from Lavender were an awful mess, and he could tell that the Seer had been just as confused by her own visions. These he wrote down carefully, but the words were scrambled, as if jumbled up, or missing certain sounds. It would take a long time to decipher them.
Many of Romilda's memories were mundane. Eating breakfast in the morning. Talking to Ginny about schoolwork. Curled up in bed, losing herself in a book.
His loved those visions, watching them over and over. Someday, if he ever had enough power and influence, he'd find a way to give those memories back to her.
There were others that infuriated him. Romilda staring for hours out of the tiny window in Boris's room, bound and restless. Attempting to pick the lock on the door, and Boris slapping her down. Draco felt his blood boil over at the insults Boris had hurled at her before locking her back up.
Is it wrong that I wish he was dead? I'm sure father would have flayed any man who wronged you—in fact, he launched an entire campaign against Dumbledore, didn't he? But I am not as strong as father—at least, not yet, and it would not be wise to alienate my allies. Besides, I cannot forget that Boris brought her back safe from Hogwarts when no one else could. Even if she is a Muggle now, she is not in Azkaban.
During her captivity, her memories showed that Boris left her alone three times. On the last of those days, she broke free. Draco saw her last moments of lucidity, and learned what it was that caused her to lose her mind. She'd cast a spell on herself, one she discovered from a stolen memory. Potestas Imprimas.
Draco stared out the window, feeling numb. It always seemed to come back to Harry, didn't it? Even if he wasn't directly responsible, she was one more person that Harry had taken from him.
After a few days, Draco found the password to Romilda's bag of personal effects. He searched through the items inside, and though they were clearly magical, he couldn't put a name to any of them. It was as if she'd raided the restricted section of the Hogwarts library and Borgin and Burkes' antique shop. How she'd managed to gather it all, he had no idea, but he supposed he would have to wait to unravel that mystery.
Draco, with a final scratch of his quill, signed off on the letter.
That's all for now, Mum. The healer told me to let you rest, so I'll leave this letter in her care. I hope you feel better soon, and I will talk to you as soon as you wake up.
Love,
Draco
Wednesday April 10th, 1996
The first patches of sun broke through the clouds as Harry shuffled out of the train station at Hogsmeade.
Outside, students walked out in clusters of two or three. He saw Neville talking to a group of second years, Dean hugging Padma tight as if he was a soldier returning home.
Harry found it impossible to approach any of them, like a pane of glass stretching between himself and the rest of the world.
Last night, he'd left Hermione a half-hearted message on her answering machine, asking if she wanted to meet at the train station. She hadn't called back.
But what did he expect? He'd had five days of vacation to think, and he realized he couldn't have handled that situation worse. Some things, even if true, were better left unsaid…particularly if that included the words, 'relationship with you has low value.' He'd spent his entire vacation missing her and despising himself. He didn't know why he'd even left her that message.
Directing his trunk to follow him, he walked to Hogwarts. It was probably for the best she didn't call him back, since he still had no answer to give her.
As he travelled the long 1.4 miles from Hogsmeade station to Hogwarts, Harry began to sense that something was wrong. The first sign were all the black robed Aurors guiding them back to class, standing along the path like sombre signposts. Next, Harry noticed that the size of the returning class seemed a fair bit smaller than usual. Entering the Great Hall, Harry saw even fewer of Durmstrang.
But the last sign, after a careful examination of the room, was that several people were crying.
The students waited as their solemn professors gathered on the dais, faces drawn. A large group of Aurors clustered at their side, but Hermione was not among them.
"Students," said Professor McGonagall, her voice trembling. "I have some terrible news to share with you. Two students—Romilda Vane and Lavender Brown—went missing from Hogwarts just before vacation. The Aurors are working tirelessly to find who's responsible, and we're supporting their investigation in any way we can. I'm sorry that I cannot tell you more at this time, but rest assured that you will know as soon as we do."
Softly, the doors to the Great Hall closed behind them, and the room seemed noticeably darker.
Professor McGonagall's breath hitched, but she spoke evenly. "The other news I have to share with you is that the headmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkarov, is dead. He was murdered at the Minister's Birthday Gala by an unknown assailant. This is also being investigated."
She paused, surveying the students in her room with heartfelt sympathy. "The Headmaster of Durmstrang was a good man who cared for his students, and he did great things in the service of his country and ours. He was a friend of mine, and I deeply mourn his loss."
Someone a few seats behind Harry scoffed and muttered, "Factionist scum."
Harry could sense the mood shifting in the room, hostility and tension rising. Harry almost hated himself for thinking this, but it seemed overdue. The terrorists had been attacking England since at least December, and the students only started to care now when it affected one of their own. But perhaps this tragedy had a silver lining, if they could get everyone to work together, start thinking of solutions…
Don't get ahead of yourself, said Slytherin. Their opinions are formed by the Daily Prophet and other substandard media. Anchoring bias means they're going to associate "enemy" with "Durmstrang" and they won't bother trying to find who's really responsible, they'll just hex students wearing brown robes in hallways.
McGonagall spoke briefly with an Auror, then turned back to the silent students. "At this time, we have no reason to suspect anyone in this room is involved in the disappearance of the girls. However, we must take precautions and support the Aurors in their investigation. Each one of you will be examined by an Auror with Legilimency and truth potions. Again, you are not under suspicion for anything. This is a way to try and discover what really happened, so we can help Lavender and Romilda. You will remain in the Great Hall until all students have been questioned, then, you may return to your rooms. There will be no classes held tomorrow."
McGonagall cleared her throat. "I suppose it goes without saying the Triwizard tournament has been postponed indefinitely. Those in Durmstrang and Beauxbatons may leave after they've been questioned, if they so choose."
That's smart, thought Harry. Keep the Durmstrang students long enough to interrogate, then get the offending party out of the school. It won't help the ones who stay, but at least they can claim Auror verified innocence before being hexed.
Harry waited while McGonagall and the Aurors took the first group of students, his eyes sweeping the room. Why wasn't Hermione here?
He searched the room again, his hands clenched into fists against his knees. Stop freaking out, she's fine, said his Ravenclaw side. She's trained as an Auror, she's got regeneration abilities, and even if there were a troll in the castle, which there isn't, she's more than capable of handling herself.
You're making excuses because you don't want to look foolish, said his Hufflepuff side. And what happened last time you did that?
This isn't the same situation. Risk to my pride for being wrong is minimal, sure, but if I stand up and call out her name, I'll only be embarrassing her—
You're arguing with yourself instead of acting, and what happened last time you did that? WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME?
The terrible images resurfaced in his mind, things he could have prevented if he hadn't been only two minutes late...
Oh, screw this.
Harry rose from his chair, taking one final glance around before he—
But then he saw her, standing in a corner by the doorway, guarding the exits. She didn't see Harry, or at least didn't look at him, but he felt an immense wave of relief as he sat down.
I told you so, said Ravenclaw.
I don't care, I'd do it again, said Hufflepuff.
His panic subsiding, he turned back to look at the students around him. The Ravenclaws were sad, but in less distress than the Gryffindor table, who had lost two of their own. Everyone was too shocked to do anything but talk about the missing students and speculate about the culprit, a few making no secret of which school they blamed. A lot of people were silent or wept quietly.
A completely automatic part of him began to start preparations in case of attack. The Great Hall was large enough to hold them, but was it safe?
He turned to examine the windows, all the corners and exits, mentally shifting his focus to examine the warding. Upon close inspection, he noticed weak spots across several windows, where the magic grew thin over time. Alarmed, Harry realized if an enemy wanted to sneak in, they wouldn't even need to go through the doors.
He was oblivious to the world around him until someone at their table said, "Has anybody seen Luna?"
Harry walked between the two Aurors who escorted him to the Headmistress's office. He'd expected to meet McGonagall alone, or with a few non-descript Aurors who would take his testimony and leave. Instead, he counted five people: Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, both seated near each other at the desk. Seated to their right in transfigured chairs were a tall, bald Auror in African robes, Alastor Moody, and Madam Bones.
Hmm, Harry thought, examining the situation. Two guesses as to why both senior ranking government officials are present to interview the Boy-Who-Lived, and it's probably not that they missed me.
"Please, sit down, Harry," said the Headmistress, gesturing him to sit in an unoccupied chair in the center of the room.
Harry took his seat, facing McGonagall. She explained what the Aurors were going to do, which tests would be involved and what was expected of him.
"I'll offer any information I can, but you should know I am an Occlumens," said Harry. Transparency was important, as he didn't need to give them more reason to suspect him.
McGonagall nodded. "We know and are prepared for that. We will not be using Veritaserum. Are you ready?"
He consented, and the process began.
The tall, bald Auror spoke in a deep voice. "Hello Harry, I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. Please describe what you did, in detail, from the week before Spring break. Starting on April 1st."
Err…damn it.
Harry described everything that happened. He didn't want to say certain things, but they came out anyway, and even softening the impact was impossible.
"You say you lost time for an hour on Tuesday afternoon," said Auror Kingsley. "And you still cannot remember what you did during that time. Do you know if this has happened before or since?"
"No, it hasn't," said Harry firmly. "But even if it had, then still no. As surprising as this might be for my enemies to believe, I don't spend my free time cartoonishly dancing in the blood of the innocent just to Obliviate myself of the whole experience afterwards. That would defeat the purpose and be a complete waste of time, although I suppose I could store the memories in another place for later viewing—"
His mouth snapped shut. So this is what I'm like without a filter. Great.
The questioning continued, asking for particulars about his Spring vacation.
"My parents told me they're getting a divorce. On Thursday evening, I went to the park near my home with my best friend, Hermione. We spent the next day in London and she asked me to kiss her," said Harry. "So I did."
Harry's fists clenched, but he could not hold back his words, any more than a sick person could stop vomiting. "And then I broke her heart."
The only saving grace in this situation was that no one seemed to react to this.
"Which part of London?" asked Kingsley, who scribbled notes as he talked.
The interview continued in this way, asking questions to clarify unclear details, until the bald Auror—Kingsman?—closed his notebook.
"I'm finished," he said. "He's told the truth."
"Hmm," said Mad Eye. "Well, didn't expect anything less from the Boy-Who-Lived. You can go, kid."
Harry didn't move, though. He turned to survey the group of prominent, influential people, realizing he might never get another chance like this again. And as he was still under the vestiges of the truth potion…or spell, or whatever they used, they would know he wasn't lying.
"I understand that you're busy," said Harry. "But I have a few questions of my own. First of all, I know that there are prophecies that say I will destroy the world, but I think I can help you save it."
The group remained silent.
"Not that I think these prophecies are real, but I know that people believe these prophecies and have been terrorizing the Ministry because of it. Once I realized this was happening, I started gathering information, and have discovered…" Harry's mouth twisted. "No, Hermione and I discovered that the terrorists aren't just attacking with bombs; they're kidnapping and torturing Wizards as well. Around 70% of the victims who are targeted have access to sensitive information, such as high ranking officials or retired wizards from the Ministry."
Harry took a deep breath. "It seems obvious why these people are being targeted: someone is seeking classified information. But Hermione and I discovered there have been other victims that don't fit the profile—squibs, low-born, blue collar workers. It's harder to find details about their deaths, you have to really look. These Squibs leave a trail of death around them before dying themselves. As impossible as it sounds, I believe the Squibs are extracting Obliviated memories using powerful mind magic, and that process is so mentally destructive it is killing both victim and murderer.
"The question is, what are they looking for? Well, that's hard to figure out without more information, but a reliable method is to consider what the enemy stands to gain. If these Squibs are outcasts of the Wizarding community, I expect they're looking for power. Considering the wild stories they're propagating about the Ministry and myself, they're probably also willing to believe in other fantasies. Therefore, they want the Philosopher's Stone, so they can have mountains of gold and live forever. The two securest places in England are Hogwarts and the Ministry, so they probably suspect that either Madam Bones or myself are in possession of it. So, the information they're looking for is twofold: who has the stone and how can they get access to it. Barring that, they probably want political or military leverage, which is where secrets from high-ranking government officials come in."
He observed their sombre faces, feeling doubt creep over him. "Unless…maybe they've really bought into this whole end of the world thing, and they're trying to figure out how to stop it? They could be looking for the three Deathly Hallows."
"You found all this from newspapers?" asked Mad Eye, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, and that's not even all we discovered. For example, we came up with a few solutions for how to reduce the number of people attacked, things we can put in place right away. Think of how much I could come up with if I had more accurate information, and I was working with an elite intelligence team. What I'm saying is, don't need to keep me in the dark anymore. I can be useful. I want to help you."
Mad Eye made a sound like a grunt, but the others remained silent.
Harry's gaze flicked from one to the next, realizing he wasn't reaching them. He felt the coldness lingering at the edges of his thoughts. Stay calm. "Please. Think of it as if you were in my shoes. I know something is going on, I know it's heavily related to me, and that it potentially places me and my loved ones in great danger. Yet no one will tell me anything about what's going on, and you won't even tell me why. I had to do all of this research, all on my own—"
"Your family is safe," said McGonagall swiftly. "Heavy warding protects them and the families of all of our Aurors."
"That's not enough," said Harry. "I can't just sit around while everyone else is protecting me. I know none of you would…" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair, let out a breath. "I'm begging you, give me something. If you cannot give me sensitive information, because it would be a breach of security to do so, then at least give me a job to do! Tell me nothing, if necessary, but let me help the people I need to protect!"
He paused. "Unless…do you consider me so dangerous, that involving me in any way whatsoever would cause the fulfilment of the prophecy? Even just allowing me to help defend this school?"
Madam Bones cut in, her voice crisp and formal. "Harry, we will consider your offer of assistance, as well as your request for more information, but realize we are under no obligation to involve you in any capacity. Regardless of any prophecy—real or fabricated—you are still a student, and we are the adults in charge of protecting you."
Harry was silent for a long moment, his body deadly still. When he spoke, his voice remained quiet. "I see. Madam Bones, I understand now why Hermione is scared of you. You are as sane as Bellatrix Black. Rigid, fanatical and unable to see beyond your own narrow minded prejudices."
"Harry—" said Professor McGonagall.
"Do you not see the hypocrisy in your statement?" continued Harry. "Hermione is just a student like me, and you're training her to be a warrior. I cannot help but wonder if it is because some prophecy told you to, or because she is a more useful pawn. But either way, you've lost my respect." Harry turned his scathing gaze to McGonagall and Mad Eye. "But to be honest, I expected more from all of you. If the point of this meeting was to teach me not to rely on adults to be sane, then you've succeeded. Congratulations."
Madam Bones slammed a palm down on the table, making several people in the room jump. "It is not your concern how I treat my soldiers," she said. "But if you were one of my Aurors, as Hermione has been training to be for years, that kind of outburst would earn you a severe reprimand. However, you are not. And we are already behind schedule. Auror Shacklebolt, please escort him out."
When they were gone, Minerva rose from her chair, hands clenched into fists.
"That was uncalled for," she said, glaring at the head of the Wizengamot. "Harry was asking to help us—we who have so few allies left—and you throw him out like he's committed a crime."
Madam Bones stood pin straight, in a pose of military training, and said icily, "The boy needs to learn respect."
"Harry is in love with that girl, Madam Bones! He wants to protect Hermione, to protect his family and friends, and you just silenced him, ordered him to remember his place. You cannot tell me in his shoes you would not be furious!"
"He does not know what he is asking. Do you honestly think we should have told him what we know?" Madam Bones' eyes glared with cold fury. "Sat him down at our Auror meetings?"
"Yes. Why not?" snapped McGonagall. "It's not like there's a prophecy that forbids it."
"No, but there is good reason," interjected Mad Eye, arms folded. "Headmistress…do you realize how often Harry's mind has been tampered with?"
She froze. "What?"
"My eye can see magical residue," said Mad Eye. "So when he let down his Occlumency barriers, I took a good long look. Whoever's responsible has done a good job of hiding it, a very good job, but Harry's memories have been altered at least 100 times in the past year. I don't have to tell you how unusual that is. Until we figure out what's going on, we can't tell him anything we don't want the enemy to know."
"Harry is right about one thing," said Madam Bones. "The spies we discovered always suffered from severe brain damage, eerily similar to a botched Obliviation, or any number of invasive mind magics."
McGonagall's heart dropped. Falling into a chair, she put her head in her hands. Just how deeply had the spies penetrated her school? Had she been blind, too fixated on one problem to see all the others, as Albus used to chide her over? She felt sure things would never have gotten this bad under his tenure.
Her old fear came roaring to the surface. Hogwarts will be a ghost of its normal self, if not a smouldering ruin, once Dumbledore leaves…
"And I do wonder," said Madam Bones, her eyes glinting. "How Harry knows all this information about how our enemies are operating? As if, perhaps, someone told him—"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," cut in Mad Eye Moody. "It wasn't Harry who hurt those girls. We don't have any proof that he is involved with anything nefarious."
"Not yet," said Madam Bones, who got out her Auror mirror and called downstairs. "Tell Remus Lupin to get in here now."
When Harry was deposited in the Great Hall, he was already seething with cold rage.
Mechanically, he sat down at the Ravenclaw table, his classmates giving him a wide berth. Harry heard their timid questions about his mental state, but ignored them.
He'd tried to be reasonable with the adults, to be patient and considerate of the chain of command. But the way they ignored him, treated him like his legitimate concerns didn't matter…
The coldness in his chest deepened, then whispered a possibility. Poisonous snakes live in the Forbidden Forest. Call them in to Hogwarts, give them the command to bite, then lock the door with the victim inside. Offer the antidote only if they tell you what you want to know…
Harry swallowed, breathing slowly until the cold anger seeped away.
Fine then. Option 2.
After about five minutes, he got up from the Ravenclaw table and crossed the room to Hufflepuff. He found Neville, who was comforting a sobbing girl with blonde hair. "I need to talk to you," said Harry.
Neville, still holding the girl, looked up at Harry. "What's wrong?"
"We need to be prepared for what's coming," said Harry. "Are you interested in being a part of that?"
Neville's gaze hardened. "Yes."
"Good. Then I'll recruit from Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and if you wouldn't mind, please spread the word in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor."
"Er…what are we doing?"
"If everything goes according to plan," said Harry. "Then we're training an army."
It was past 11 pm when Tonks finally released the students to their beds. The last ten hours had been gruelling, and she was exhausted enough that she wanted nothing more than to flop into bed and pass out.
But there was one last thing she had to do.
Remus Lupin's makeshift workshop was in an empty classroom, warded against intruding students. He stood beside a table, writing with quick strokes on a piece of parchment, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He snapped his fingers, and a book appeared in his hand, which he read under the soft glow of a lamp. After a few seconds, he vanished the book and continued making notes.
He saw her and smiled, hesitant but genuine. "Hello, Ms. Tonks. How was your evening?"
She perched on the far end of his table, so as not to obstruct his work. She wished to be closer. "The students just went to bed. I spent the entire day on my feet with a bunch of upset, scared, angry teenagers. It was exhausting and awful."
"Oh, I can imagine." Remus frowned. "It sounds like a nightmare."
"I can't help but feel like it's only going to get worse." Tonks sighed. "It's like I'm waiting on pins and needles for the other shoe to drop. Not just for those missing girls, either. Tomorrow, I might wake up and find out the Ministry was destroyed and everyone I work with is dead. I spent all day trying to assure those kids everything would be alright, and I feel like a hypocrite, because I don't believe that myself."
Remus nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. When we were fighting You-Know-Who, you could always sense it in the air when something terrible was going to happen. It helps to stay busy, because then at least you know you're doing something to help. You have that hope to hold onto, when times get tough."
Tonks glanced down at his desk, where he kept hundreds of magical items from the Hogwarts quests. She still remembered the first time he showed one to her, the light of joy in his eyes. Gaining access to the ancient magic of the quests would be a boon beyond our imagining, wouldn't it? We could save so many lives.
She felt privileged to know so much about his work. She suspected her shy, sweet Remus didn't share the details with everyone, so when he did, it meant something.
"Any groundbreaking discoveries today?" asked Tonks, gesturing to the item before him.
Remus sighed. "Not yet, I'm afraid. Here—hold that, please."
Tonks stood beside him, holding a bowl shaped object as he wrote something down on the parchment.
"What is this?" she asked, when he finished.
"A quest prize from a colleague of mine. This particular object is not coded into the Customs registry in England—or in any country from what I gather. It looks like an ordinary bowl, but it is highly magical. I just can't figure out what it does. The only clue as to its origin is this symbol inscribed on the back, translated as 'A.' Which could mean Atlantis, or Athens, or some person named Arthur, for all we know."
Tonks examined it, running her finger along the rivulets in the green clay. "It looks ancient."
Remus nodded. "It could be. I've found items from centuries ago, dating back to the time of Merlin, or perhaps even earlier." His voice was touched with awe, which it always did when talking about history. "An archaeologist would have an aneurysm just looking at this stuff, and I can't believe it took us so long to see how valuable these quests are. It's not just a children's game. There's something bigger going on here, and I only wish I had thirty years to study it, rather than a few months."
Tonks leaned against his desk, studying him. "I don't understand. If this work is so vital, why isn't anyone helping you?"
"Well, Slughorn and Flickwick have been helpful, and Harry Potter stops by now and again when I need a hand. We tried opening the quest door last week, but that didn't quite go as planned. And, of course, you come visit me to help, or to hinder, I haven't figured out which." He smiled at her.
"But…you have co-workers," said Tonks. "Trained professionals. Where are they?"
He glanced at her, then turned away. "Busy on their own projects, just as important as mine, if not more so," said Remus. "Besides, I don't mind working alone."
Remus busied himself with the clay bowl. She wondered if he could feel this tension, the silent back and forth between them, or if it was all in her head.
"You know," Tonks said, scooting closer to him. "If you need an assistant, I can help you. Or hinder, whichever you like."
He shrugged stiffly. "It's okay. You've got your own Auror duties, and I wouldn't want to intrude..."
She touched his bare arm. "But Remus, you forget. I'm young. I don't need much sleep. Tell me what you want from me."
He raised his eyes to her then and really studied her, the shock of her suggestion written all over his features.
"Tonks…"
"Yes?"
"I once seriously considered joining the Factionists."
They shared a moment of silence, the hair raising on the back of her neck. "Oh." After another moment. "Why?"
His gaze was an intense, blazing blue. "Because the Factionists are the Muggle-born, the Squibs, and the marginalized, all of them finally banding together to fight for what they believe in. I've never seen this level of interest in any movement of their kind before, and as I disagree with the Ministry on many issues, I was compelled to join them. They even claim to accept those with magical illnesses as equals."
He turned from her, back to the safety of his desk. "So I attended a few speeches, and considered my options. If I joined, I knew they would have asked me to be a spy, to use my position to gain a foothold in the Ministry. As a former member of the Order of the Phoenix, I didn't like the idea of becoming a traitor. Besides, something about their ideology didn't sit well with me. Their plans for redistribution of power were sketchy, to say the least. Once they toppled the Ministry, I feared there would be anarchy, or someone worse would step into the power vacuum. So I didn't join." He sighed. "But, even so, I empathize with them, almost to the point I feel like a traitor."
"You do?"
He nodded. "I'm luckier than most. I have a career, and I'm not living in poverty. But nothing I do will ever be enough. Because in spite of my achievements, and however well I conduct myself in society, I will always be looked on with suspicion and scorn. Not just by strangers, but co-workers and even some friends. I wish I could dare to think of a future where that wasn't true."
She touched his hand. Like the rest of him, it was so gentle and strong. "I know what you are. It doesn't bother me."
His eyes darkened. "Maybe it should."
"We could fight for that future, together," suggested Tonks. "After the war is won."
His face crumpled into sadness, his thirty-eight years showing. "I used to be so optimistic, just like you. But the world isn't…we can't always get what we want."
"Are you sure about that?" She reached out, gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "How long has it been, Remus, since someone loved you?"
That shock crossed his face again, and she smiled. "I might be young, and I might be naive, but I could give you that. I'm a metamorphagus. I don't fit in anywhere, either, but that's okay. If we accomplish nothing else, at least we could make each other happy. We might not change the world, but let's create something good in it, something worth living for."
She wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his chest. With a shudder, he bent down and kissed her fiercely, betraying how much he needed her. "Tonks…" he murmured against her lips. "I don't—"
She silenced him with another kiss. "Don't speak. Just let me in."
