AN: Just when you thought I was down and out, I'm back for another round!
I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my reviewers, in particular GrossGirl18, momentofbored and smallmarsupial. You guys all convinced me to stop merely telling this story in my head and get it down on paper instead. Chapters 13 and 14 are in the works – can't wait to share them with you all.
Chapter Twelve
Paranoia
September 6th, 1991
Although Remus had warned him repeatedly about just how famous he was in the Wizarding world, Harry still found everyone's interest in him a little strange. Students queued up outside of his classes to stare at him through the windows and the castle ghosts pointed at him in the corridors, whispering loudly to one another as he walked past. Even the professors watched him a little too closely, as though he were a particularly interesting specimen. It was also a bit unnerving that complete strangers seemed to know so much about him – one older Hufflepuff boy informed him, with an aura of pride, that they shared the same birthday.
But despite feeling like an exhibition at the zoo, Harry immediately fell in love with Hogwarts. It was possibly the greatest place he had ever been before in his life – and Remus had once taken him to Disneyland for his birthday. The lessons, the castle, the grounds, the magic – it was all so unbelievable and yet comforting. He felt as though a part of him had come home.
The only downside to life at Hogwarts were the Slytherins, including their head of house, Severus Snape. During their first potions lesson, Snape seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Harry and began quizzing him on his potions knowledge. Which, obviously, was non-existent. Harry didn't know what happened when you mixed powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood, nor did he know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. He could feel himself start to sweat a little bit. Why couldn't he be more like Remus? He should have spent more time this summer reading his textbooks instead of Quidditch magazines.
"Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
A bezoar? Harry sat up a little and tried to ignore Hermione as she bobbed up and down in her chair, her right hand quivering in the air. He was sure he knew the answer to this one – something Remus had said to him while they looked through his potions book together. Something about poison? Yes, that was it! He had asked Remus about magical poisons.
"Well, of course there are many magical poisons," Remus replied, "just like there are in the Muggle world. In my line of work, we have to learn a lot about poisons – what the effects of each look like, how to treat them, etc. For example, one of the most common antidotes for poison is a bezoar –" Remus flipped to the middle of the book and pointed at a drawing of what looked like a small, dark stone – "A stone that is formed in the stomach of goat. The victim has to swallow it, as quickly as possible after the poison has been ingested, and the bezoar neutralises it before it can spread throughout your body. They've been used for centuries for this purpose, very useful things."
Harry stared down at the sketch and felt a bit queasy at the thought. "They don't look very nice," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Have you ever had to eat one?"
Remus chuckled. "Funnily enough, I recently choked on a cup of tea and Mad-Eye tried to shove a bezoar down my throat. He's a bit paranoid, but nice to know he's got a stash in his pocket if I ever need one."
"Well, Potter?" Snape said.
Harry looked up into Snape's black eyes and straightened in his chair.
"It's a stone you find in the stomach of a goat, sir," he said. "You use it to treat poisons."
Snape's lip curled and Harry knew he was right. Hermione sank back in her chair, looking slightly put-out.
"And where did you learn that, Potter?" Snape asked, in a silky voice. "Has Miss Granger learned to communicate the correct answer to you using only her eyes?"
"No, Professor," Harry said, trying not to let his annoyance show. "My godfather told me."
Snape's lip curled further into a sneer. "Ah, the heroic Remus Lupin. Interesting that he could impart any knowledge to you, given how thoroughly incompetent he was at Potions while at school."
The Slytherins sniggered loudly. Harry felt colour flood his face. He could tell that Snape was trying to goad him, although he couldn't imagine why, but it got his back up. He swallowed hard and said, in a tone of surprise:
"Were you his professor too, sir?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione wilt in her chair. Snape said nothing for a moment, just glided slowly towards Harry until he stood over him. Harry forced himself to hold the stare, even though looking into Snape's eyes was like staring into two dark tunnels.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Potter," Snape whispered.
Harry chewed the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from saying anything more, as Snape swept away to the head of the class again and began his lesson.
As they walked to their next class, Hermione was in full superiority mode as she chided Harry for losing the house points.
"Surely it's obvious, Harry, that Snape is a similar age to your godfather. They might have been classmates."
"How?" Ron shot back, "It's impossible to tell what age that greasy git is."
"Well, I could tell. I might as well not have earned those house points for correctly identifying wolfsbane in Herbology."
With a huffy look at Harry, Hermione stalked off ahead of them.
"You don't mind that I lost those points, do you?" Harry asked Ron. "I couldn't let him say that about Remus."
"Don't worry about it mate – Fred and George are always losing points to Snape."
Harry nodded and smiled. He was glad to have a friend as laid-back as Ron.
"Wonder if Snape actually does know Remus from school," Ron mused, "Or if he's just being foul for the sake of it."
Harry shrugged. "Who can even tell."
He thought about what Hermione had said about Remus and Snape being a similar age, and dismissed it. Even if they had been classmates, there was no way that Remus would have been friends with someone so unpleasant.
"Snape is probably just jealous," Ron continued, "Remus is a famous Auror, while he's stuck here teaching prats like Malfoy."
As if waiting to be summoned, Malfoy and his two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, appeared in front of them, blocking the corridor.
"Speaking of prats," Harry muttered to Ron, before raising his voice. "Something you need, Malfoy?"
"Crabbe and Goyle wanted to make sure you weren't too upset after learning your godfather is just as thick as you are." Malfoy sneered. "Must be an awful blow for you."
"I heard your dad spends all his time sucking up to Fudge," Ron said, with a smirk. "Think I'd rather be rubbish at potions than that pathetic."
Malfoy's pale face flushed. "At least I wasn't raised by a muggle-loving peasant." His eyes shifted to Harry. "Or a lunatic."
"Say that again, Malfoy," Ron said, moving forward. Harry yanked him back, holding onto his robes. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles and looked menacing.
"You do know what they call your godfather at the Ministry, don't you?" Malfoy continued, moving closer to Harry. "'Loony Lupin.' They say he went round the twist after the war – couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was in his head. Half the Ministry is still afraid of him. Shame that wizard didn't manage to off him at the Leaky Cauldron the other week –"
Suddenly, the door beside Malfoy opened and Professor McGonagall stepped out.
"What is going on out here?" she said, her eyes flickering between the five of them. "Get on to the Great Hall for lunch or I shall start deducting house points."
"Of course, Professor," Malfoy simpered, "We were just on our way."
With a final sneer at Harry, he strode off down the corridor, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle.
"What was he talking about?" Harry said.
"Ignore Malfoy," Ron muttered. "He's just like Snape – completely foul. They're trying to wind you up, that's all."
"Yeah," Harry said, watching Malfoy disappear around a corner. "C'mon, we're going to be late for lunch."
(-)(-)(-)
Tonks was nervous.
Actually, 'nervous' wasn't really the right word – it was more apt to say she was 'freaking out a bit.'
After hours of trawling through the archives, she had found a case. A very curious, unsolved case, but it was so far from the type of one she had wanted. In fact, it may have been the exact opposite of what she wanted. And yet, the moment she read it she knew she couldn't let it go. Hence her current state of 'freaking out a bit.'
And now here she was, loitering in the corridor like some first year waiting for a detention with Professor McGonagall. The door to Lupin's office was ajar, and she could hear him moving about inside, but she couldn't convince her legs to bring her any closer.
She shouldn't be afraid, right? Lupin was one of the greatest Aurors of their time; he wouldn't ignore something like this, no matter his personal feelings about werewolves – or about Tonks. And yet, what if he…
Before she could finish that thought and sabotage her own plan by being a coward, she marched forward and rapped three times on the door. When she heard him call out his permission to enter, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
"Good morning, Auror Lupin. May I speak with you?"
It all came out in one breath, making her sound winded and feeble. She cleared her throat.
Lupin's eyebrows twitched up in surprise, but he waved her inside with a smile, continuing to move stacks of parchment around.
"Good morning, Nymphadora. What can I do for you?"
Lupin was especially well-dressed today, in a dark tweed waistcoat and trousers, paired with a light blue shirt. Tonks idly wondered if a Muggle had taught him how to dress, or if he was just naturally stylish. Very few of the other Aurors put in this much effort, although Proudfoot did own a smashing collection of dragonhide jackets.
She had been so busy staring at him that it took Tonks a few seconds to register that he had spoken.
"Oh, sorry. And it's just Tonks, sir. If you have a minute, could I get your advice on something?"
Maybe she imagined it, but Lupin's body seemed to go slightly rigid. However, when he turned back to her, his expression was fixed as one of pleasant curiosity. She really had to stop being so paranoid around him.
"Of course," Lupin said, "as long as you don't mind talking while walking, that is. The moment I find the correct scroll, I'll be heading downstairs to the Wizengamot."
"Yeah. I mean, of course – I don't mind at all."
Tonks squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back. She had chosen a deep blue today, feeling that it was sombre enough for the topic she had to discuss.
"Do you remember, a few weeks back, when you told us that one of the best ways to learn about laws involving magical creatures was to review old cases?"
"I do, yes."
"Well, I found this cold case, from 1987."
Lupin glanced up, a small smile on his lips. "Not that cold. Aha!"
He tugged a scroll from the bottom of a pile on the visitor's chair. Snatching a set of impeccably iron-spelled robes from the hat-stand, Lupin gestured for her to follow him. She almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides, which was not a good idea for someone so clumsy. She kept her eyes on the ground, looking out for any potential obstacles until they reached the elevator.
Once they were inside and plummeting downwards, Lupin turned to her. "So, why don't you go ahead and brief the case for me."
"Sorry?" Tonks said.
He gave her an apologetic smile. "My apologies; it's an Auror phrase. What I mean is: give me a quick rundown of the facts involved in this case. All Aurors have to learn to memorise important information in this way."
"Okay..." Tonks said, hoping she remembered everything of importance. "The victim's name was Simon Roacher, he was forty-seven when he died - I mean, was murdered. It's a murder case, I should have started with that." Tonks wanted to bang her head against the lift wall. "Anyway, Simon lived with his wife in Kent and worked as a supplier to some of the shops in Diagon Alley."
"What kind of supplier?"
"Office supplies – quills, ink, parchment; that sort of thing."
Lupin nodded and gestured for her to continue.
"In early September, his family and friends noticed that he had started acting a bit weird – almost paranoid, his wife said. He told her that he thought he was being watched, but when she asked him by who, he wouldn't answer. He started to stay up late, locking himself in his home office for hours at a time."
The elevator had reached Level 9. When the doors opened, Lupin started to walk again, albeit more slowly. He seemed to be listening closely to her now.
"On October 18th, he told his wife that he was going out to meet a client. The following morning, she found him dead in their back garden. There were no witnesses and none of the neighbours heard anything. The coroner ruled that it was a werewolf attack –"
Lupin stopped so quickly that Tonks slammed into him from behind and nearly toppled over. "Merlin, sir, I'm sorry."
Lupin steadied her and waved away her apologies. "A werewolf attack? You said this was a cold case."
"It is. No-one was actually charged in connection with his death, although a lot of werewolves were rounded up, questioned and charged with other crimes – petty theft, squatting, working without revealing their condition to their employers, and so on."
The way the investigators had written about this so casually made Tonks's skin crawl. It seemed like they had treated the murder as an excuse to prosecute local werewolves.
"But they couldn't tie anyone to Roacher's death. The murder is still unsolved."
Lupin's face was impassive, although a muscle was jumping in his jaw as he stared at the wall opposite them. Tonks forced herself not to fidget. The last thing she had wanted to do was upset him. Moody's words about making peace with him rang in her ears.
"I see," he said, finally. "Unfortunately, this happens sometimes – there is not enough evidence to narrow down the list of suspects, or the trail simply goes cold." His eyes met hers. "What is it that you wanted my advice on?"
Tonks started to speak and then stopped herself, dropping her gaze to the file. She had wanted a case involving a vicious, feral werewolf that she could help Lupin put away. Someone like Fenrir Greyback, who was actually guilty of the crimes he committed. Instead, she had found a case where it looked as though the opposite were true.
Why did she have to pick up this file in the archives?
"Well, I wanted your advice because...I think a mistake might have been made during the investigation, sir," Tonks said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I don't think it was a werewolf attack at all."
Lupin's expression quickly changed to one of surprise.
"What do you mean? What sort of mistake?"
Trying not to let her hands shake, Tonks pulled a photograph from the file.
"The coroner said the marks on the body were made by a werewolf – bites and scratches. But from the pictures, the marks seem inconsistent with that. And there are signs that magic was used, perhaps a gouging hex or a really crude severing charm to make it look like a bite..."
She trailed off, suddenly aware of how she sounded. She was a recruit, barely in the door and already questioning the work of professionals who had likely been in their jobs longer than she had been alive. Merlin's beard, maybe this had been a terrible idea for more than one reason.
The expression on Lupin's face had gone back to being unreadable. He held out a hand that was so much larger than her own.
"May I see the photographs?"
Feeling miserable, Tonks handed them over and watched as Lupin silently began to examine each one. Tonks stood in front of him, the impulse to fidget almost overwhelming. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her robes and peered up at him.
She had never stood this close to him before. The hair at his temples was flecked with silver strands, but the rest was thick and light brown. He smelled of soap and tea, but also of chocolate and cinnamon. The scar that cut across his face was a thin sliver of pink against his pale skin. She had wondered, more than once, how he had received it.
Mostly she wondered if it had been Bellatrix.
Since her conversation with Moody, she had thought about little else but her extended family. She remembered how relieved her parents had been when her aunt and uncle were arrested, waking in the middle of the night to the sound of sobbing and coming downstairs to find her parents cradling one another. It was strange now knowing that Moody had been the one in their house that night, breaking the news.
When she was younger, Bellatrix had been this terrifying spectre – a boogeyman waiting to attack her family if they ever revealed themselves. Now that she was older and less afraid, Tonks wanted to know the truth about what her aunt and her husband had done during the war. To know just how bad it was.
She wanted to ask her parents about it, but didn't want to drag up the past. After the incident at the Leaky Cauldron, her mum hadn't been right for days and was only now starting to smile again. She supposed that she could ask her dad, but knew Ted would play down the horror of that time and try to shield her from the reality of what had happened.
The best person to ask was Lupin himself, but that was out of the question. What would she even say?
"Thanks for locking up those psychotic murderers that I'm related to. Sorry they killed a bunch of your friends and probably tortured you, though. Care to tell me all about it over a cuppa?"
Before she could examine his scar further, Lupin's eyes flickered up and widened when they met hers. Tonks felt colour begin to rise in her cheeks and quickly morphed it away.
"You're quite right, Tonks," he said, his voice low. "These marks were not made by a werewolf. A very astute observation for a recruit, I must say."
Tonks let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She had been right. "Really?"
"Marks made by a werewolf, even a young one, would be larger and farther apart. Any coroner worth their salt should have known that straight away. In fact, they most certainly would have done." He frowned at the wall again. "Which begs the question, why? Why would the coroner falsify their findings and pretend it was a werewolf attack?"
Did he expect her to answer that?
"Er, money, revenge, blackmail?"
Lupin gave a small chuckle. "Any of those would do nicely as motives, yes." He handed the photographs back to her. "Who was the investigating Auror?"
"It was originally Auror Savage, but when the coroner reported it was a dark creature attack –"
"– the case was handed off to the Werewolf Capture Unit," Lupin finished. He didn't look pleased as he started walking again. Tonks shoved the pictures into the file again and hurried after him. They passed the Department of Mysteries – the sight of which gave Tonks the chills – and took the stairwell down to Level 10. Lupin appeared to be thinking hard.
As they approached the courtroom, Tonks couldn't keep it in any longer.
"Sir, I'd like to help. I know I'm not a real Auror yet, but I think I could be of use –"
Lupin gestured for her to be quiet and glanced behind him. Two wizards stood outside the courtroom doors, deep in conversation. Lupin watched them for a moment, then beckoned her to move closer and lowered his voice.
"First things first," he said in a whisper. "To even think about re-opening this case, I'll have to present it to Moody and Madame Bones – the head of Magical Law Enforcement. And for that, I need to examine the evidence. Every last piece."
"I can get it, whatever you need." The smell of chocolate emanating from him was strangely distracting. Did he have some hidden in his robes? Probably.
"The original coroner's report – their notes, all tests that they ran, all trace evidence from the crime scene. Re-opening a case like this is bound to put a few noses out of joint. So, until we're one hundred percent sure, this needs to be done discretely."
"I can do that," Tonks said, firmly, "I've got your back."
A shadow passed over Lupin's face and was gone. He straightened up.
"Alright, then. Come to my office this evening and give me everything that you've gathered."
He started to walk again towards Courtroom Ten. Tonks enjoyed a split-second of triumph before his words registered and she ran after him.
"Wait, sir, you want it all by this evening?"
There was something strangely mischievous in Lupin's eyes when he turned back to her. "Unless you want this case to grow even colder, Tonks."
The door of the courtroom swung open and a clerk stuck her head out. "We're ready for you, Auror Lupin."
With a swift smile at Tonks, Lupin disappeared through the heavy wooden doors.
(-)(-)(-)
Remus spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in a fretful daze. Once he had finished his testimony in front of the Wizengamot, he left the courtroom and leaned back against the cold wall, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his ears. Of all the cases that girl could have picked, she had to go and choose one about werewolves? As if he didn't have enough to worry about.
Most of the wizards arrested in the Leaky Cauldron attack had been charged and were awaiting official sentencing. As Shaz had predicted, none of them said a word. Several of them looked as though they desperately wanted to, but something more frightening than the threat of Azkaban kept them quiet. This was not good news; criminals had not been this silent in ten years.
Shaz, however, was still in the custody of the WCU. Moody and Scrimgeour were happy to let him stew in their cells for the moment, thinking it might convince him to give up his employers since he was on the hook for more than just assault. Being an unregistered werewolf was a crime in and of itself – a fact that Remus was far too aware of – and the penalty was severe. Along with a brand on his arm and all the social stigma that went along with it, Shaz would undoubtably earn a far longer stint in Azkaban than his co-conspirators. The fact that Shaz seemed in no way bothered by this made Remus uneasy. The young man had initially been furious to be moved out of the Auror cells, suggesting that a full moon breakout had been on the agenda after all. But once he settled into his new digs, he had returned to insulting the guards and occasionally requesting that 'Pinkie' be sent down for a visit.
On top of this, Kingsley and Proudfoot appeared to have had some sort of falling out and now spent their time sniping or casting dirty looks at one another. Moody had hauled both of them into his office the morning after Harry started at Hogwarts, and they had emerged half an hour later, red-faced and glaring daggers at one another. Neither one would tell Remus what had happened, and given how furious they seemed to be with one another, he did not want to get caught in the middle. Better to let them sort it out themselves.
Unable to face anyone, Remus spent lunchtime shut up in his office under the guise of catching up on paperwork, even though the stack of parchment in his inbox was unusually small. He unwrapped his roast beef sandwich, stared at it for a few seconds, and then wrapped it up again. His stomach was churning; he wouldn't be able to force down one bite.
His mind was also churning – why had the girl even looked at this case in the first place? Tonks had never shown any particular interest in werewolves – in fact, he wasn't sure he had ever really heard her mention them. Plus, there were far more interesting cases in the archives; Remus knew of dozens that involved broom chases, violent duels, and public murders – often all three together. Those was the sort of cases that normally drew the attention of the recruits, before the violence of the job made it more difficult to find such glee in death.
There had to be some other motive for her to choose this type of case. But surely she couldn't know...
He got to his feet, pacing the office. Merlin's beard, what if she did know? What if Sirius had told her when she was younger and she had remembered? What was he going to do?
He had so many contingency plans for what to do if someone discovered his secret, but for some reason he couldn't think straight. The idea that a Black would be the cause of his downfall after he had willingly let her into the Auror Squad was so bloody ironic. He had started to believe that she was different to her estranged family, but maybe he had just wanted it to be true. He was a such a fool.
He was staring blankly at the wall, cursing his own stupidity, when a stray thought sprang into his mind:
Nymphadora's boyfriend worked for the Werewolf Capture Unit.
Remus sank back into his chair and let out a long breath, laughing at himself. Of course, that was what all of this was about! She was just trying to show off in front of him; she didn't know that Remus was a werewolf after all.
How could he have let himself get so paranoid?
And yet, after a moment, he found himself strangely disappointed. He still wasn't sure of Nymphadora's character, and while this was obviously preferable to her figuring out that he was a werewolf, she had never struck him as the kind of person to go out of her way just to impress a bloke. Sure, everyone wanted to impress the person they were dating, but to seek out a cold case and convince her boss to reopen it seemed a tad excessive. Although, the fact that she figured out the werewolf element was untrue and brought the case to him anyway showed that, at the very least, that she had a stronger moral compass then the WCU agents.
Another possibility was that she was doing it because she wanted something from Whyte – something to do with Shaz…
Remus shook his head, derailing that thought before it finished. Much to his own surprise, he simply didn't buy the idea that Nymphadora Tonks was the mole. Even if she secretly was as dark as her extended family, it didn't make sense for her to take such a careless risk.
He had been keeping a close eye on her ever since she had joined the squad – two eyes, really. And the way that she looked at him every so often told him that she was well aware. Remus knew that he wasn't the only one, either. Scrimgeour had always been averse to hiring her and had, Remus suspected, hidden some dark-detection devices in her cubicle. She must know that a member of the Black family couldn't work there and not be monitored closely, and she was by no means stupid.
It made more sense for the mole to be someone far less conspicuous. Someone that they would not immediately suspect.
Scrimgeour was not in agreement with him on this; he would rather the answer were obvious and the situation tidy, which Remus did understand. It was a far more pleasant thought that the mole was an already-problematic newcomer than someone who had been fooling them all for years.
Puzzled, but far more relaxed than he had been all morning, Remus returned to his report, sandwich in hand.
At exactly six-thirty that evening, there was a quiet knock on his office door. Remus dropped the final report into his outbox and waved his wand to send the contents to Moody.
"Come in."
The door opened and Nymphadora Tonks slid into the room. Pulling something out of her pocket, she tapped her wand against her palm. Several scrolls appeared, along with a large cardboard box.
"I got almost everything you asked for – test results, crime scene report and all the trace evidence." She gave the box a little shake. "But weirdly, the original coroner's report was missing."
That was weird indeed – and suspicious. Remus gestured for her to place the box on his desk. "May I ask how you acquired all of this?"
"You sure you wouldn't rather have plausible deniability?"
Remus couldn't help but chuckle. "Very kind of you, but I'd better know. I gave you the order, after all."
Tonks gave him a sheepish smile and morphed into Clem Hayworth, one of the coroner's assistants. The resemblance was utterly uncanny, and Remus felt himself instinctively lean backwards. He had never liked Clem; his gaze always lingered far too long.
"Very impressive, in a rather disturbing way. Would you mind changing back?"
'Clem' laughed and in the blink of an eye, Nymphadora was back in front of him again. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet as Remus inspected the contents of the box.
"So," she said, "what's our next move?"
"Well, first we –"
Remus was interrupted by the arrival of a letter. A pale pink memo zoomed into the office, settling in the air in front of him, quivering as it waited to be read. Remus took one glance at the familiar handwriting and felt the urge to throw something breakable against the wall. Instead, he heaved a sigh, touched the tip of his wand to the envelope and set it alight.
"I'm afraid we're about to be interrupted by someone unpleasant, Nymphadora. I'll review the contents of the box this evening and we can reconvene tomorrow."
Remus paused and regarded her for a minute, before deciding that he needed to know. Just to be sure.
"Before we go any further, I do have a question for you."
Nymphadora's eyes were watching the smouldering parchment. "Er, sorry, what did you say?"
"I want to know how you found this particular case."
"Well, I –" She cut herself off, glancing back to the letter that had turned to small pile of ash on his desk. "I'm sorry sir, but didn't you want to read the letter you just burned."
"No, that's why I burned it."
"Oh. Well, when you put it like that." Glancing again at the pile of ash, she shrugged and looked up at him. "I told you earlier how I found it, didn't I?"
"You wanted to read up on cold cases involving dark creatures and happened across this one in the archives. But there are many more interesting cold cases sitting in storage – in fact, I believe there is even a section labelled, "Cold Cases: Bizarre Creature Stuff." Why look into something as routine as a 'werewolf attack' in the first place?"
Nymphadora opened her mouth and shut it again. She had a strange habit of doing that around him – as though she was restraining herself from saying what she really wanted to say. It frustrated him to no end. Which is probably why he displayed very little tact when he said:
"I would hate to think you chose to research werewolf legislation simply because of your boyfriend's profession."
Nymphadora's eyes widened and her cheeks swiftly turned a dark red. But strangely, so did her hair, from root to tip.
"This has nothing to do with my personal life, Auror Lupin," she said, her tone icy. "I don't see why you would assume that."
"Well, considering his position at the Ministry –"
"His position has nothing to do with my interest in this case. In fact, the only person I've mentioned this to is you."
That brought Remus up short. He was so used to the Werewolf Capture Unit spreading their prejudice, it hadn't occurred to him that she might have developed an interest in werewolves that was all her own. After all, feral attacks were quiet common during the war, and Fenrir Greyback had been a notorious ally of the Lestranges.
Shame nudged at him.
"I would rather you didn't make assumptions about what I'm thinking." Tonks's face flushed even further. "Sir."
Now it was Remus's turn to open and shut his mouth again. He knew that he should reprimand her for speaking to him that way; he was her superior in rank and Scrimgeour would kill him if he let it go. But he couldn't deny that she had a point, and he didn't like it when people made assumptions about him either.
Plus, they had an unusual relationship, if one could call it that. She had undoubtedly helped him in the Leaky Cauldron – maybe even saved his life. She knew about his connection to Sirius and perhaps even knew that he had been the one to capture Bellatrix. They knew far more about one another's pasts than was normal and it unnerved him a little. He usually kept his colleagues at a friendly, but firm, distance.
You know you shouldn't trust her, the Auror in his head said. You trusted her cousin and look where that got you.
But what if Moody's right about her? another, quieter voice replied. What if she is different?
Either way, keeping her onside was better. For now.
"Fair enough," he said, eventually. "I apologise for the assumption, it was uncalled for."
Tonks's eyebrows sprang up, still bright red. "What? Okay, I mean, that's –"
There was a sharp rap on the door and Dawlish poked his head in.
"Remus? You'd better get out here. Your worst nightmare is approaching and scaring the criminals."
Remus sighed. No point in putting off the inevitable. "Of course she is."
"Your worst nightmare?" Tonks said, her hair slowly fading back to pink. It was fascinating to watch.
"Oh, she's that to many people," Remus said, ushering her out of the office in front of him. "I'm not special."
"Who is she?"
"Well..."
Remus had barely closed the office door behind him when he heard that awful sound:
"Hem-hem."
Fighting the urge to run, he turned to face the short woman in a pink jacket and matching skirt staring up at him.
"Madame Undersecretary," Remus said, "What a surprise."
What a horror, more like.
The woman's smile twitched, but remained plastered in place. Somehow, her lipstick was the exact same shade of pink as her suit. Remus idly wondered when she had time to coordinate her wardrobe to her cosmetics, considering how many hours she spent tormenting every living creature. One had to admire her ability to multitask.
"Hardly a surprise, Remus," Umbridge said, furrowing her brow. "I sent you a note not ten minutes ago to tell you I would be stopping by."
"Did you?" Remus said, keeping his expression neutral while he relished the memory of the burning letter. "How strange, it must have gone astray. I must say, I always found owls more reliable than interdepartmental memos. I was terribly upset when the Ministry retired them."
Behind the woman's back, Nymphadora gave a small cough that may have been to cover a laugh. Unfortunately, it only drew attention to her. Remus's heart sank as Umbridge's beady little eyes flickered to the young woman.
"And who might this be?" Umbridge murmured sweetly, leaning forward. Tonks wavered on her feet, as though she was trying to avoid taking a step backward. At least the girl had decent survival instincts.
"One of our new recruits," Remus said. He looked at Tonks over Umbridge's head, hoping she understood what he was trying to communicate to her – that she should run away and fast. "Thank you for your assistance. You may go."
If Nymphadora was confused, she hid it well. Nodding her head, she gave him a quick, "Yes, sir," and headed off in the direction of her desk. Umbridge's eyes watched her go, before turning back to Remus.
"What a lovely young woman." Her eyes glittered. "I should like to get to know her better."
Remus decided to feign disinterest. "Whatever you like, Madame Undersecretary. Now, surely you didn't come all the way down here to make chit-chat with my recruits?"
"Of course not, Lupin – I have something important to discuss with you." The sickly-sweet smile was back. "As I'm sure you're aware, this year marks the tenth anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord. On October 31st –"
"I'm aware of the date," Remus said, impatiently. Dolores Umbridge might well have been the very last person he wanted to discuss this wretched anniversary with.
Umbridge's smile widened. "Of course you are. Well, as you know, there will be a ceremony to celebrate the occasion, and of course the Minister wishes to honour the dear Potter family and their sacrifice."
Remus nodded to show he was listening. The corridor felt unbearably warm, although his hands were freezing.
"The Minister would like you to personally say a few words at the event. A tribute to your fallen friends –" She reached out to clutch his wrist. "– as the last person remaining who knew them best."
How he fought the urge to rip his arm away from her, Remus couldn't say.
He had been dodging Umbridge, and Fudge's other lackeys, for weeks because he had seen this coming. And he had absolutely no intention of attending this sham of a ceremony.
He knew how these sorts of Ministry events went. The Minister would start off by giving a self-congratulatory speech about the times of peace they were currently enjoying, with a few thinly-veiled nods at how it was all thanks to himself. Then Remus would have to face the crowd – some of whom he knew would be 'reformed' Death Eaters – and be expected to talk about how Lily and James were heroes, how proud they would be to have given their lives to save the wizarding world. And all the while, the crowd would shed a few crocodile tears and applaud, before stuffing themselves at the buffet table and toasting to The Boy Who Lived until they were too inebriated to stand.
The mental image made him so nauseous that he wished he hadn't eaten that bloody sandwich after all. All he wanted to do was go and see Harry...but Harry was at Hogwarts now. His throat ached.
"Thank you for the offer, Madame Umbridge, but I would rather not."
Umbridge's eyes widened, mockingly he knew. "Why on Earth not, dear?"
Having this woman call him 'dear' was another horrifying blow to his soul. Remus hoped his distaste didn't show in his face as he tried to generate an excuse.
"I believe the Minister is better suited to lead an event of this nature."
"Oh, Remus," Umbridge tittered. "The Minister will of course lead the event. But the public will want to hear something from the Potters' closest friend. We must always put the needs of the public first."
Remus would rather have chewed broken glass. And from the look in her eyes, Umbridge knew it all too well.
"I'll tell Cornelius that you're hesitant to say yes until you have perfected your speech."
Not caring how defensive it made him look, Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "You can tell him whatever you like. I'm not doing it."
"Oh, of course you will." She reached up and laid a pink-tipped hand on his forearm. "After all, everyone knows you to be a man of honour."
She squeezed his arm, fingernails digging into him like talons. Remus wanted nothing more than to hex her into oblivion, but knew that she wanted to get a rise out of him, so he just stared at her blankly until she let go.
As she stalked her way back down the corridor, Remus decided he there was one more thing he now had to burn.
His shirt.
(-)(-)(-)
On Friday, Harry and Ron went to take tea with Hagrid, who wanted to hear all about their first week of lessons. Hagrid lived in a small, wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and had the most affectionate boarhound named Fang.
When they reached the part about Snape's lesson, Hagrid shrugged.
"Aye, Snape is a strange one. Don't know why he bothered becoming a teacher when he doesn't seem ter like students in general."
"But he seemed to really hate me."
"Rubbish," Hagrid said, busying himself with a plate of rock cakes. "Why should he?"
The conversation turned to Ron's brother Charlie, who was studying dragons in Romania. Harry didn't know much about dragons, except for what Remus and Ron had told him, and was only half-listening when he caught sight of a newspaper clipping tucked underneath the tea cosy.
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
"Hagrid," Harry said, frowning, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"
Hagrid grunted and offered him another rock cake, not meeting his eyes. Glancing back at the page, Harry scanned the rest of the article.
The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day.
Hagrid had emptied vault number 713 – was that what the thieves had been looking for? Harry wanted to ask, but the gamekeeper seemed unwilling to even talk about their trip to Gringotts, let alone the mysterious package.
He was half-thinking about owling Remus to ask if he knew anything about the robbery, when he reached the final paragraph:
Both Gringotts and the Auror Office deny that this incident is linked to a duel at the Leaky Cauldron on the 4th of August, where ten Dark wizards were arrested after launching an attack on three Aurors, all of whom sustained minor injuries.
Harry swallowed hard, his heart beginning to race. The article didn't mention Remus by name, but that was the evening he had been called away from The Burrow. Harry hadn't seen him until the following morning, when he had looked pale and was holding his right arm strangely, while Mrs Weasley fussed over him. He had dismissed Harry's concern with a smile and a joke about being clumsy.
Had Malfoy been telling the truth about someone trying to kill Remus?
He re-read the last paragraph. Ten Dark wizards against only three Aurors… Was that normal? Was Remus always in that level of danger? If not, why hadn't Remus told him what had happened? Harry shook his head when Hagrid offered him more tea, his stomach churning.
It was only when they were walking back towards the castle after tea that Harry remembered the other thing that Malfoy had said. Did people at the Ministry of Magic really refer to Remus as 'Loony Lupin'? He felt like he was betraying Remus by even thinking it, but if Malfoy had been telling the truth about one thing...
The thought followed him all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, to his dormitory, into his bed, and would not let him sleep. He wished that he could see Remus, but how would he even go about asking if it were true without hurting his feelings?
He needed to ask someone else; someone who wasn't fazed by anything. And he knew exactly who that someone should be.
Climbing out of bed and tip-toeing over to the window seat, Harry pulled out a quill and parchment and began to write.
AN: If you have a moment, drop a review like it's an un-sanitised facemask!