post-trau·mat·ic stress dis·or·der (noun) 1. A severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one's own or someone else's physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual's ability to cope.
Harry couldn't stand it anymore. The forced cheer, the too-loud laughter that stopped abruptly, the seemingly empty place at the dinner table despite the amount of guests. Mumbling a hasty excuse about needing fresh air, he shot off the sofa and out the door, finally exhaling when he exited the Burrow.
Fearful that someone, probably Hermione, would come seeking him, Harry didn't linger but continued walking aimlessly, eventually making his way to a small pond past the paddock where they used to play Quidditch. He didn't even think he was still on the Weasleys' property. He slowed to a stop before he reached the dock, for there was a figure silhouetted by the moonlight. Female, judging by the slim, curvy figure and long hair. She was tapping a small box in her hands, and when Harry caught a silver flash on her wrist, he realized who it was.
"Smoking, Tonks?" he asked as he made his way to her side, noticing the stick she'd placed between her lips.
She grinned as she held her wand to the tip and lit the cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing out a cloud of smoke before responding. "Terrible habit, I'm afraid. I picked it up from my flatmate when I started the Auror academy, assuring myself that I'd quit as soon as life got less stressful." She laughed harshly. "Somehow, it has yet to do so."
He sat next to her, letting his feet dangle off the dock like she did. "What does Remus think about it?"
A pregnant pause. "He disapproves." Another pause as she tapped a few ashes from the end. "Not that it bloody matters anymore." She glanced sideways at Harry. "He dumped me a month ago."
"Ah," said Harry eloquently. "I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "It is what it is. We're doing the ol' 'let's stay friends' thing. There are so few of us left ..."
Her next cloud of smoke drifted over to Harry, but he didn't mind. In fact ... "So, Tonks, can I try one?"
She raised her eyebrows. "What would young Ginevra say?"
It was Harry's turn for a confession. "As you said, it doesn't bloody matter. I broke up with her last week."
"Suppose it's my turn to be sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be. We tried all summer to regain what we had at Hogwarts. It hasn't happened yet, and seeing as she returns to school tomorrow without me, it's not going to happen over hundreds of miles."
Tonks was silent, something Harry appreciated. So many people felt like they needed to comfort Harry or take his mind off things, when in reality he just wanted to be left alone.
"I guess we're just a couple of lost, lonely souls, Harry," she eventually remarked with a dry laugh.
He joined her. "That we are, Tonks. So, about that cigarette ..."
She snorted. "Eager to damage your body, aren't you?" She examined him for a second before handing over her own half-smoked cigarette. "Go on, try it. I'm not wasting an entire fag on you if you end up spewing all over my shoes. And don't spew all over my shoes, Potter."
He took the cigarette, noting the ring left from her lipstick. Holding it to his lips, he sucked in deeply before exhaling, coughing as he did. Thankfully, no spewing occurred.
Tonks laughed. "Easy there, Harry. If you throw yourself into everything you do with such enthusiasm, Ginny was a lucky girl these last few months."
Harry coughed harder, unused to such bluntness. Everyone walked on eggshells these days. She held her hand out for the cigarette, but he shook his head. She shrugged again and flipped another out of her pack with a practiced twist of her wrist.
"You know, they'll smell the smoke on us when we go back," Harry said as he finished the cigarette. It tasted horrible, but he liked having something to do.
Tonks exhaled, and he got the impression that she rolled her eyes. "You know, for a defeater of Dark Lords, you can be quite thick. A quick scourgify would do the trick."
"Don't call me that," he growled with a flare of irritation. Why did everyone have to treat him differently?
She was quiet for a moment before a low chuckle emerged. "Hey, that's my line, innit?"
He glared at her, torn between amusement and further irritation, before a matching chuckle slipped past his lips. "I reckon so, Tonks."
"And besides," she continued. "You lot probably never noticed, but I've been the resident bad girl of the Order for three years. You think I haven't lit up after a meeting? They know I smoke. Hell, when Charlie's around, he joins me. So if that's what you're worried about, blame the smell on me."
"I wouldn't do that," he said quietly.
She regarded him, a curious expression on her face. "No, you wouldn't." He could feel the vibrations as she jiggled one leg, as if nervous, and it made him frown. Tonks was never visibly nervous. When she spoke, her tone was measured. "Listen, sorry about what I said. Flippancy, Remus tells me, is my defense mechanism. Your comment about smelling the smoke reminded me of my mum. 'Nymphadora, don't lie to me. I can smell that smoke on you again', she'd say every time I came round." She was silent for a moment. "S'funny, y'know? I'd quit cold turkey if she asked me to, but she's the reason I keep it up."
Harry did know. Driven to actively join the Order after Ted's death, Andromeda Tonks had participated in the Final Battle, but like too many others, she hadn't made it out. He fingered the engravings on the silver bracelet around his left wrist, the same one every surviving member of the Order wore. He could repeat them by memory. Fred, Andromeda, Aberforth, Colin, Lavender, Flitwick, Sturgis, Alicia, Elphias ... and more.
"Yeah," was all he said, but in the darkness her hand found his, squeezing it tightly. It was comforting, and again Harry was grateful that she didn't find it necessary to talk. Ironic, for he used to think Tonks talked so much she was a bit annoying.
"Well, I'm going in, no more for me," she said, flicking the butt of her cigarette into the water. "It is, after all, a filthy habit, and I've no desire to become a chain smoker." She grinned. "Hypocrisy might be my middle name, but at least it's better than Nymphadora."
"Thanks for sharing," he said, giving her a hand up and steadying her when her natural clumsiness threatened to send her into the water.
She sighed dramatically. "Oh dear, I fear I've gone and corrupted an innocent ... well, I reckon after this last year I can't call you a boy any longer. Eighteen, aren't you? At any rate, I'm sure Sirius would be proud."
"Would he?" Harry said skeptically. "Sure, I defeated Voldemort. But it's been three months, and I still have nightmares." He wasn't sure where his words were spilling from, but it felt good to get it out. "I see the faces of the dead all the time. I can't have fun, nothing tastes good, I have no ambition, I just ... no one ever told me what to do after, and yet they all expect something great from me." He chided himself for his last childish words.
She slowed her pace. "Coping is a bitch, isn't it? It's like everything is turned upside down. Those that used to be a comfort are now an annoyance, every other word is the wrong thing to say, and I'm so lost a Four-Point Spell can't send me in the right direction."
"So if everyone feels this way, then why can't we help each other?" He struggled for the right words. "I come to these things because I feel like I'm supposed to be here, because Molly tries to cover up the loss of Fred with everyone else. But all I do is count the minutes until I can leave. I know they mean well, but everyone just gets on my nerves."
"Why do you think I go outside?" Tonks replied. "I love them all dearly, but sometimes I can't stand the lot of them. Somehow I reckon flipping them the bird wouldn't help."
Harry snorted. "But can you imagine their faces?"
They shared a laugh as they returned to the Burrow. As they passed the shed where Arthur worked on his Muggle contraptions, Tonks stopped, tugging on Harry's arm.
"Harry, Merlin knows I don't have any of the answers, but for what it's worth, I'm not doing any better than you," she said frankly. "And I even attend Ministry-enforced counseling, where they tell me how fucked up my multicolored head is. Post-traumatic stress bullshit. Isn't that something? I could have saved some Galleons and told them that myself. Anyway, you're not alone."
She gazed at Harry with a pained look before she took his face in her hands gently. Pulling his head down, she lightly kissed his forehead. He blinked, feeling a surge of affection for his old friend. She, unlike anyone else, understood.
"Tonks, when it gets to be too much, can I – can we get a drink or something? You don't expect anything from me."
"Of course, Harry, come by anytime." She grinned wryly. "And hey, we always have nicotine, right?"
oOo
cope (verb) 1. To deal with and attempt to overcome problems and difficulties.
mal·a·dap·tive cop·ing (noun) 2. A response to challenge or stress that works neither to reduce anxiety nor to resolve the situation.
"Tonks."
"Tonks."
"Nymphadora!"
"Don't - aaooohhh," Tonks moaned, holding her head as she sat up. She glared at Harry. "The hell, Potter?"
"Just thought you'd like to know you were supposed to be at work ten minutes ago."
She switched her glare to the clock, falling back in bed as she groaned. "Fuck. Shit. Damn."
"And bloody hell," Harry finished. A part of his still-bleary mind noted that if he was able to complete her litany of curses every time she was late to work, it might be becoming a habit. Another part, possibly still drunk from the night before, noted that the lovely Miss Tonks was not wearing any clothing. "You know, since you're already late ..." He slid one hand over the curve of her hip, grinning rakishly.
She stretched beneath his wandering fingers, practically purring. "The joys of being a 'war hero' and a personal friend of the Minister – as long as I show up eventually, they don't say anything."
Harry laughed before slipping a finger inside Tonks, eliciting a gasp. He began to probe gently while capturing her lips with his. She had just begun some ministrations with her own fingers when the door to Harry's bedroom opened.
"Kreacher!" he groused.
"Leave him be, Harry," Tonks scolded, wrapping a loose sheet around herself as she relieved Kreacher of the tray. "If he's brought what I think ... ah, bless you, Kreacher." Ignoring the food completely, she handed a goblet to Harry. "Cheers, mate."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the vodka went down smoothly. Tonks had turned him on to the idea of a Bloody Mary in the morning instead of a hangover potion. Though he hadn't admitted it to her, he had recently begun drinking one with his breakfast whether or not he was nursing a hangover. It took the edge off.
"What the fuck did we do last night?" Tonks asked as she drained her drink, massaging her temple.
"I'm sure it was the usual – good drinks and great sex."
She smirked. "You're so sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Harry sat up, leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head. "One, when have you ever spent the night when you weren't pissed? Two, you wouldn't be in my bed if we hadn't shagged last night. Three, there's no way you could have slept with me and had it be anything less than amazing.'
She rolled her eyes. "Excuse me while I find a pin to deflate that ego of yours."
"I learned from the best, didn't I?"
They shared a grin. Neither Tonks nor Harry remembered the first time they had sex. What started as sneaking off for a shared cigarette during Weasley get-togethers had turned into drinks at her flat until her roommate insisted they leave. Before they knew it, Tonks and Harry were getting smashed together nearly every night at Grimmauld Place, drinking away their cares, until one morning they woke up next to each other in Harry's bed, nary a hint of underwear in sight.
Tonks was the first to speak. "Please tell me you weren't a virgin, Harry."
He shook his head. "Nope."
"Well, you're welcome, then."
He stared. "For what?"
"Because whatever I did to you last night, I'm sure it was mind-blowing."
Though each made it clear that it was not a relationship, it wasn't uncommon for them to wake up together, and Harry enjoyed it. Unlike the Weasleys or anyone else from the Order, Tonks understood that he needed help dealing with his demons and was only too happy to lend a hand, or a bottle of Firewhiskey, as it were. They had loads of fun together, both in and out of bed.
Tonks yawned. "Take a rain check? I had a report for Robards due two days ago, so I reckon I ought to drag my sorry arse in fairly quickly."
Harry admired the view as she slid out of bed and headed for the shower, her sheet abandoned. "Baby, there is nothing sorry about that arse."
He heard a laugh echo from the bathroom. "'Baby'? You're pathetic, Harry. A couple of blowjobs and you're wrapped around my itty-bitty pinky finger," she called over the sound of the running water.
"You wish," he retorted, searching for his pants on the floor. "I just think that calling you by your surname is too informal when we wake up next to each other naked, and you won't let me call you Nymphadora."
"Hey, you know the rule!"
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. After Harry complained, Tonks let him call her by her first name, but only when they were in bed together.
"So what are you doing tonight?" he asked, beginning to pick over the food Kreacher brought.
"Molly's birthday party, remember?" She startled him by appearing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her torso.
"Damn, I forgot. Do we have to? If someone asks me one more time what my plans are ... I fucking defeated Voldemort. I think I earned the right to do absolutely nothing for the rest of my life if I choose."
She shrugged, dressing in last night's clothes. "You do what you want, but I'm forcing myself to go. I'd much rather not, but I can't do that to Molly."
"Come by for a quick drink first? Just enough to get through the party?"
She flashed a grin, tugging on her shoes. "Definitely. I've given serious thought to taking a note out of Mad-Eye's book and carrying my own flask."
"Not a bad idea. See you later, then."
Harry spent his day, like most days, lying around Grimmauld Place. He did skip out briefly to pick up a present for Molly, a gift certificate to Gladrags Wizardwear. The rest of the day passed as he flipped through channel after channel on the television, slept, and got an early start on his and Tonks's pre-party celebrations.
However, when she arrived, she was clearly not in the mood for a party. Clutching a duffel bag, she was subdued, sniffling suspiciously.
"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.
"She kicked me out."
"She ... who? What?"
Tonks threw her bag on the floor, kicking it across the room. "My stupid bint of a roommate kicked me out. Our lease is up this month, and she refuses to live with me anymore. I'm late on a couple of rent payments, maybe broke a few dishes, and she acts like I'm a horrible person." She sniffled again. "Now I have to go find another bloody flat."
Harry had a stroke of inspiration. "Live here."
"Excuse me?"
"Move in here. You stay here most nights anyway, and I have about ten extra bedrooms."
"Oh, well ... hell, why not? Fuck her. Thanks, mate." She smiled for the first time. "Smokes to celebrate?"
After plucking her own cigarette from her pack, she handed it to Harry. He began fishing one out when he noticed something unusual: what looked like a hand rolled fag. He pulled it out instead. "Tonks, what's this?"
She flushed. "Oh, um ... that's a joint, Harry."
He was shocked. "A joint, as in marijuana?"
"Weed, Mary Jane, cannabis, that's the one. I, uh ... well, I had a really awful day at work, even before tonight. I went to Diagon Alley for lunch and ran into a bloke I used to run around with at Hogwarts. Bit of an unsavory character, so I stopped hanging out with him when I started Auror training. We ended up eating together and after I told him what a horrible day I had, he gave me that. Said it would make me feel better."
Harry studied the small marijuana cigarette. Feeling better was always something he desired.
"Have you ever done it?"
"No."
"Are you going to?"
"I don't know." Her eyes met his, and together they traveled back to the object in Harry's hand. "I could use something to mellow. It's just one ..."
oOo
de·ni·al (noun) 1. A psychological process by which painful truths are not admitted into an individual's consciousness.
an·ger (noun) 2. A strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.
Harry was having a grand time. One drunken night led to Tonks volunteering Harry's house for a Christmas party, and though he was angry at the time, he reluctantly acquiesced. He dreaded the day as it approached, but he and Tonks joined in what he referred to as "a little pick-me-up" before everyone arrived. At first the party went well. Everyone seemed to assume he and Tonks were in particularly good spirits, and no one mentioned otherwise, though he caught a few glances at his exuberance. Then the issues began the same way they always did.
"So have you given any thought to what you'd like to do since you're done with Hogwarts, Harry?" Arthur asked.
Burning with annoyance, Harry forced himself to shrug lightly. "Not really. Weighing my options, you know? Quidditch, maybe."
"Really?" Arthur brightened. "Have you gotten any offers?"
"Oh, sure," Harry lied. "Practically every team. Youngest house seeker in a century, remember?"
Ron strode over, slapping his friend on the back, and Harry fought back a glower. "Harry'll be playing for England in the next World Cup, just watch."
The conversation turned to Quidditch, and Harry took the opportunity to slip away, finding Tonks perched on the windowsill, chattering rapidly to Remus, who frowned.
"Remus, relax!" Tonks exclaimed as Harry came up. "There's nothing to fear but running out of beer!"
She looked at Harry before both burst into loud laughter. Really, Tonks was quite funny when she was high. Everything was funny when they were high.
Remus bent his head closer as if to prevent others from listening in. "Dora, I think you've had enough to drink. Why don't you go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face, then come back here and eat something? You're too thin."
"No, Remus." Tonks's voice rang across the room. "No, you haven't had enough to drink. And you sound like Molly, always trying to fatten others up."
She tried to stand up, but Remus put his hand on her shoulder. "What is wrong with you, Dora? I've seen you drink before, but I've never seen you act like this. You're completely erratic."
She shrugged him off, standing up and glaring at him. "Don't call me Dora, Remus. You dumped me, remember? You said I wasn't the girl you fell in love with anymore."
"Is that what this is about? Tonks, it's been six months since we broke up."
Tonks burst into laughter again, and Harry had to grin at Remus's assumption. If only he knew ... "Puh-lease, Remus Lupin. I was over you long ago, you bloody killjoy. Furthermore, I'm fucking Harry."
There was probably never a good time for that declaration, but the fact that it came along right as the Celestina Warbeck song ended meant the entire group heard. Harry flushed, feeling all their eyes on him and Tonks. "I reckon we probably should have prepared you better for that revelation."
"Oh God, I'm sorry. Harry's right." Tonks cleared her throat. "I'm shagging Harry. Is that better?"
"That's it." Remus grabbed Tonks firmly by one arm, propelling her toward the door. "Come on, you're out of control."
"Don't touch me!" she snapped, twisting out of his grip. "And don't tell me what to do. I'm a bloody adult."
Harry stepped in front of her, furious. No one hurt Tonks. "Leave her alone, Remus," he told his parents' last friend coldly. "This is my house. If you don't like my party, you can leave." He spun around to confront the crowd of people he used to consider his family. "You can all leave!"
Breathing hard, Harry stared at them all. Hermione with glistening eyes. Molly holding her hand over her mouth. Remus clearly torn between anger and concern. All the others in varying states of shock.
"I think Harry's right." Arthur broke the silence quietly. "It's time to call it a night. We're all tired."
One by one they filed out the door, either with a muttered goodbye or without any words at all. Ron was the last, and he paused as he passed Tonks and Harry.
"Listen, mate," he started, looking down at him and keeping eye contact. "I think you need some help."
Something in Harry snapped, and all his anger came rushing out. All the times he had bitten his tongue when someone said he should get a job, or go to school, or get out of the house more often, all the times someone wanted to talk about Sirius or Fred or Colin – it all boiled to the surface, and he couldn't take it anymore. Rearing back with his fist, he struck Ron with all his strength, sending the taller boy reeling.
"GO!" He screamed in rage. "Get out! I don't need your help or your pity! I don't need you at ALL!"
With one last furious glance, Ron left, holding up a hand to stanch his bleeding nose. Harry glared at the door after it closed. His head was swimming and he was only vaguely aware that the portrait of Mrs. Black was screaming, too.
"Kreacher!" Tonks yelled. "Shut that damn portrait up or I swear I will burn it down!" She took Harry's hand and led him upstairs to his bedroom. "Fuck them all, Harry."
He strode around his room, still shaking in fury. "The nerve of Ron. Of Remus. Of all of them. They ruined what was a perfectly good party."
"Well, I don't know about perfectly good," Tonks said, digging through a drawer. "I think the parties with our other friends are much better."
Harry laughed hollowly. "That's the most honest thing I've heard all night."
Tonks and Harry had gradually fallen in with a group of Muggles whose interests aligned with their own. It was particularly nice to be anonymous for once; Muggles didn't know anything about the Boy-Who-Lived or the Second Wizarding War.
"Aha!" Tonks held up a tiny packet of paper, their latest discovery from their new friends. "Here, Harry. You're just coming down from earlier."
It was relief that Harry felt as he poured a bit of white powder onto his hand. And when he snorted it and fell back onto his bed next to Tonks, he didn't feel anything at all.
It was perfect.
oOo
with·draw (verb) 1. To remove, to stop providing (one's support, etc).
re·ha·bil·i·ta·tion (noun) 2. The process of restoring an individual to a useful and constructive place in society.
"You're going where?"
"To Romania, to stay with Charlie." Tonks paced the room, looking anywhere but at Harry. "I've been placed on administrative leave from the Ministry, and they were clear – a month to clean up my act, or I'm out of a job."
"Fuck them, Tonks. I have money."
"It – it's not about that, Harry." She fumbled with a cigarette before catching it between her lips, lighting it with her wand. "I worked so hard to become an Auror, and I'm one fuck-up away from losing it all. I need help."
Harry scoffed. "Help? Nothing's wrong with you."
She regarded him in disbelief before grabbing his chin in her hands, chipped nails digging into his skin. "Look at me, Harry. Really look at me. I'm a bloody mess."
He looked, trying for her sake to see past the Tonks he thought he knew well. She was skinny, bony even; that much was obvious. Her face was pale like someone who shied away from the sun, and her cheeks were sunken. In between drags on her cigarette, she chewed on her lip nervously and constantly sniffed, rubbing her reddened nose. Her eyes, a deep brown today, were bloodshot, dark circles perceptible underneath, and her purple hair was short and stringy.
"Yeah, you look like shit," he said, trying to make her laugh. He didn't succeed. "Come on, Tonks. A shower, some sunlight, a decent meal – you'll be back to normal."
"That's not going to work. I need help, we need help."
"No. No, Tonks, listen to me." Harry felt desperate. Everything was falling apart. "You're just – you're just coming down. All you need is one little hit, and everything will be fine." He rifled through his drawers frantically, getting angry. Where the hell was that damn stuff?
"Stop!" Tonks grabbed Harry's arm. "That's just it, Harry. I need it. I can't get through the day without a joint or something else, and I can't go to sleep without a drink first. I can't function!" She ran a restless hand through her hair, clenching and unclenching her fingers.
Harry recognized the signs. "Tonks, calm down. If you want to cut back, that's fine. Go for it, I won't pressure you. Just don't leave, please, baby." Pulling Tonks with him, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing her arms.
She wouldn't look at him, instead focusing on a hole in her jeans. She picked at the frayed edges. "I'm sorry. I have to go, have to get away from here. I've been trying to cut back for weeks, and it hasn't worked at all."
Harry was stunned; he hadn't known she felt this way. This was completely out of nowhere. In fact, just last night they'd had a hell of a night together. What was wrong with that?
Tonks continued in a low voice, starting to tap her foot agitatedly. "I just keep thinking of how Mum and Dad would feel. They hated that I smoked. Can you imagine what they'd say if they saw me doing a line of blow? It would kill them. At the end of the war, I had a boyfriend, a great flat, and was a rising star at the Auror department because I actually participated in the fucking war. And now, less than a year later, I've been dumped, kicked out of my apartment, and put on probation at my job. I can barely even control my fucking morphs."
"But Tonks, you have me!"
She laughed harshly. "Harry, you're great, but I need more than someone to get shitfaced with and fuck when I'm horny."
Harry recoiled. "Is that all I am to you? Baby, you are all I have! You are the only person who understands me, who doesn't lecture me about the choices I make in my own damn life."
"Maybe I should." She was quiet for a long moment. "I think that you and I could be more than just fuck buddies. I do. But not like this, not when six days of the week we're too stoned to do anything but shag, eat, and giggle."
Harry shot off the bed, full of frustrated energy. Tonks could not leave. "I don't see what the hell is wrong with that. We have fun, don't we?"
Tonks rose slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. "We do, but it's becoming less fun. I –" She snapped suddenly, shoving all the junk that littered the top of his dresser onto the floor. "Dammit, Harry, can't you see what's happening to us? I'm shaking, literally shaking, because I'm jonesing so badly. I'm leaving before I let go of this last drop of resolve and light up one of the joints I know you have around here. I'm leaving and I'm going to see Charlie. He asked me to come, said he'll take care of me. If I stay here, I'll fall. I know I will."
"This is about Charlie, isn't it?" Harry snarled. "I always knew you wanted him."
"Charlie Weasley?" Tonks gaped at him, her eyes flashing. "Are you fucking kidding me? There's never been anything between the two of us. He's far away, Harry, and that's what I need."
"Go then!" Harry strode to the door and held it open, shaking with fury. Fuck her. Fuck everybody. "You think you're so much better than me now, so go. You're just like everyone else."
"You can come with me, you know," she pleaded. "It would be good for you, too."
"No, sorry, wouldn't want to get in the way of your romantic liaisons with Charlie fucking Weasley." He laughed nastily. "Unless you have some twisted idea of a threesome."
"Sod off, Harry," she snapped. "And find some help before you destroy yourself."
"Get OUT of here!" he yelled, picking up the nearest object (a pack of cigarettes) and flinging it in her direction. He missed by a wide margin, but Tonks reeled like it had struck her.
She stared at him, moving her mouth once like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Finally she left. When she passed him in the doorway, she paused, and he could see tears welling in her eyes. Biting her lip, she raised one hand as if to stroke his face, but he shoved it away.
Her feet thundered down one, two, three flights of stairs before he heard the distant slam of the front door. Breathing hard and full of rage, Harry slammed his own door, then punched the wall next to it so hard his fist went through. He howled in pain and anger. How dare she leave him alone like this? What right did she have to suddenly decide she was too good for him?
He strode to his bedside table, flinging the contents across the room hurriedly until he finally found the tiny vial. Emptying it onto the small mirror he kept for that purpose, he quickly made two lines of the white powder and snorted them in succession. Inhaling deeply, he breathed with relief as he settled into that happy place.
He didn't need Tonks. He didn't need anyone.
oOo
re·cov·er·y (noun) 1. A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
Harry stared, trying to find his voice. "Tonks?" he finally uttered in disbelief.
She smiled. "Wotcher, Harry. Can I come in?"
"Oh! Of course." Harry stepped aside, still staring as she moved past him. Though he remembered Tonks saying she would only be gone for a month or so, at some point in the admittedly hazy weeks since her departure, he had convinced himself that she would never return. It hadn't been pleasant, and he had done his best to forget her.
"Perhaps we should go elsewhere." She bent her head toward the portrait of Mrs. Black, and, nodding, Harry followed her into the drawing room.
"You look good," he remarked admiringly. And she did. Her cheeks were full, and though still slim, she looked healthy again. She'd obviously spent time in the sun, and her tan nicely set off the blonde curls that fell to her shoulders. Best of all, her eyes were clear and bright, a sky blue.
"Thank you. I wish I could say the same." She raised her eyebrows.
"What's wrong with me?" asked Harry, annoyed by her tone.
"Harry. You answered the door in nothing but your pants and an undershirt, you scrawny bastard, you haven't shaved in days, and your hair is longer than I've ever seen it."
Harry felt like laughing out loud. She was right, and it was such a relief; Tonks had always been one to tell it like it was. He caught her up in a fierce hug, catching them both by surprise. "God, I missed you, baby."
Though she returned the hug, he felt her tense. "I missed you, too, Harry." She pulled away, and her smile faltered. "Please don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't call me that. Whatever it was between us, it's over." Her eyes sought his, and he saw they had darkened with anxiety. "You understand, right?"
He forced a smile, swallowing his disappointment. "Of course. We were never in a real relationship after all." They both fell silent, and Harry cast about for something to break the tension, so thick he could cut it with a knife. "So ... how are you?"
"Clean," she answered honestly.
"How was that?"
She didn't answer, instead groping for a cigarette from a pack she pulled from a pocket. "Fag?"
He took one, surprised. "You still smoke?"
"One vice at a time, Harry." She didn't speak again until they both blew out a cloud of smoke, each noticeably relaxing. "It gives me something to do with my hands. Sobering up was nothing less than pure hell. I can't tell you how many times I begged Charlie for just one tiny hit, something to take the edge off. Bless that man a thousand times over." Her hand found his, squeezing it. "But it's worth it, Harry, it really is. For so many months, it was all about the next high, the next buzz, whatever I could do to make my problems disappear. Now I actually deal with my issues. And yeah, that sucks, but I'm free." She sprang up, walking back and forth with nervous energy. "It's like I spent the last year in a cage, but it was a cage of my own volition, you know? I didn't want to be out, but now that I am, I never want back in. I'm in charge of my own life again, Harry! It's brilliant!"
Harry fiddled with his cigarette, not sure what to say. She was clearly happy, and that pleased him, but at the same time there was now something standing between them.
Tonks misinterpreted his silence and blushed. "Sorry, I reckon I got a bit overexcited there. Um, how about you? Anything new?"
He saw the hope in her eyes, and he couldn't help but lie. "Well, I've cut back on ... things, too. Not completely, not like you, but I – I'm trying."
Her face lit up. "Truly?"
He nodded, hating himself. The truth was that Harry had been in a drug-induced stupor ever since she left, shutting himself off from others more than ever, not that many people bothered him since Christmas. At times he screamed and cursed Tonks for leaving, and other times he laid in his bed for hours and swore at himself for pushing her away, for not following when he had the chance. The worst part was that no matter what he did, how high he got, he couldn't forget his problems like he used to, and his nightmares had returned with increasing frequency.
She wrapped him in her arms again, and he closed his eyes, smelling the not unpleasant combination of her perfume mixed with a hint of smoke. "I'm so, so glad, Harry," she murmured.
Soaking in the presence of Tonks once again and craving a joint, Harry blew his breath out, wondering what the hell he was going to do.
oOo
mo·ti·vate (verb) 1. To give an incentive for action.
"You lied," Tonks said flatly.
She had been back from Romania for a month, and Harry had spent the time struggling to make her believe he was getting clean, using more magic than he had in months to sober up, or at least appear so, when she was around.
"Tonks, I – I can explain," Harry said quickly, shoving away both the small vial of white powder in his hands and his feeling of irritation that Tonks had entered early and unannounced.
Her eyes flashed in anger, but when she sat on the bed and spoke, her tone was calm. It was worse than any of the times she had yelled at him. "Don't bother, Harry. I shouldn't have expected you to clean up on your own. If I hadn't removed myself from the source and had Charlie to watch me, I'd still be all sorts of fucked up."
Harry exhaled in defeat, sitting next to her. "I'm sorry. I do want to quit. Honestly. I started snorting because I didn't want to feel anything, and that was the only way I knew how. But I see you, and you're happy, and I want that. I want to be happy again. It's been so long."
"You will be." Tonks leaned over, clearly intending to peck his cheek, but on impulse Harry turned his face and caught her lips with his, kissing her briefly.
When she pulled back, eyes round with surprise, Harry reached up with one hand and lightly dragged his thumb across her lower lip, catching his breath. When he kissed her again, she made a noise of longing in the back of her throat, and suddenly Harry couldn't take it anymore. He tore his clothes off, following Tonks as she slid back on the bed. Her clothes disappeared so quickly he swore she used magic, but he didn't dwell on that. Instead he worshipped her body, kissing every inch of hot skin, feeling like he was about to explode as he watched her writhe beneath him. Every moan, every whisper of his name, every touch of her mouth made his heart pound.
"Nymphadora," he breathed in her ear as he slid inside her, making her arch her back with a gasp.
As they moved together, trembling with strain and concentration and pleasure, they locked eyes, and with startling clarity, Harry realized that it wasn't the drugs that got him through the day anymore; it was her, this beautiful Metamorphmagus he was in love with, her legs wrapped around his waist and her lips parted in a distinct O shape. It wasn't much longer before Tonks threw her head back, crying out his name as her hair cycled through a rainbow of colors, and the sight of her falling apart sent Harry over the edge, groaning with release and joy.
As they drifted off to sleep, a delightfully pink-haired Tonks firmly wrapped in his arms, Harry was, for the first time in a long time, perfectly content.
He was woken some time later by a clicking noise. Fully dressed, Tonks sat on the end of the bed, hunched over.
"What are you doing?" he mumbled.
Her shoulders jerked like he startled her, but she didn't speak. Curious, Harry slid to the edge, sitting next to her. When he looked over, his heart sank. In one hand Tonks held a joint; where she'd gotten it, he didn't know, but he had several in various places. In the other she held a simple Muggle lighter, which he kept around for those times when he was so messed up using magic was dangerous. She was flicking it on and off, which explained the noise.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, desperate to keep the fragile peace. "I'm going to get rid of it all, I swear."
"It's not that, Harry," she said quietly, and to his horror he saw a lone tear slide down her cheek. "I found it in the bathroom when I went to use the toilet. I've been sitting here for five minutes telling myself not to light it."
Cautiously, he took both items from her grasp. He intended to toss them in the wastebasket, but he couldn't make himself do it, setting them in the wardrobe instead. "But you didn't. See? Everything's fine."
"It's not fine." She stood up suddenly and repeated it in a louder voice. "It's not fine! I am nowhere near strong enough to deal with this."
"I'm quitting," he vowed firmly. "Right now. I'm done."
She smiled sadly, curving one hand around his cheek. He caught it with his own, squeezing tightly. "I've been there, Harry, and you're not done. You couldn't even throw that joint away. You can't do it on your own, and I can't be the one to hold your hand. Maybe if it was a year down the road, but not now."
"I'll get help. I'll – I'll go to Romania and live with Charlie."
"You should. Something like that, anyway." She smiled again, but it faded to anxiety quickly. "I'm sorry I got you into this whole mess. Don't you understand? You and I – we're bad for each other!"
"No, no, no." He took her other hand and pulled her to him. "Don't you understand? I love you, Nymphadora."
"I love you, too." She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, and for a brief moment he held her close. "And that's why I have to go." Both cheeks streaked with tears and her eyes a gray he'd never seen on her, she kissed him softly, and then she was gone.
oOo
hap·pi·ness (noun) 1. A state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment, love, satisfaction, pleasure, or joy.
Harry glanced around the living room of Grimmauld Place, completely unrecognizable from the days of the Order thanks to the efforts of Kreacher, with a little input from Harry himself. The entire house had been transformed from dreary and rundown to bright and cheery, and at this particular moment in time, it was covered in Christmas decor. Even the portrait of Mrs. Black was finally gone. Kreacher had removed it easily, and Harry wondered why no one had ever thought to ask the house-elf. She now resided in the bedroom Harry had given Kreacher.
It had been a long six months since Tonks walked out of Grimmauld Place for the last time. Finally admitting defeat, Harry checked himself into a private rehabilitation facility, run by Muggles to keep his name out of the papers. It still shocked him that he'd been able to mostly keep his downward spiral hidden from the wizarding world. After his release, he started seeing a counselor regularly, finally talking about his wartime experiences, and he mended his relationships one by one.
Molly and Arthur sat on the sofa nearest the fire chatting with Bill and Fleur about Fleur's recently-announced first pregnancy. It was all the soon-to-be grandparents could talk about. Kingsley and his wife sat opposite them, talking to Fleur as well, while their two small daughters occupied themselves with Gobstones on the floor.
Ron was engaged in a raucous chess match with Ginny in the middle of the room, cheered on by Luna and Dean, their respective dates. Harry didn't know when Ginny and Dean had reconnected, but he was happy for them. He was shocked when Ron and Luna showed up together that night, but somehow it seemed to work.
Remus, Hermione, and Percy stood near the door. Harry drifted close enough to hear the word "Ministry" before quickly escaping to the other side of the room. Percy's date, a woman named Audrey, wasn't as fortunate and now sipped her pumpkin juice politely, trying desperately to appear interested in the conversation.
Neville assisted Professor McGonagall in conjuring some last-minute decorations for the enormous Christmas tree that occupied one corner. Harry wasn't much for ornaments and was only too happy to let them take the lead. They were supervised by Susan Bones, who had shown up with Neville, though he blushingly insisted they were simply friends.
Near the window Charlie, George, and his girlfriend, Angelina, loudly discussed the upcoming Quidditch match between Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies. Angelina was a reserve for the Harpies, who had recently offered a similar spot to Ginny. Kreacher, who was bobbing about the room with trays of treats, watched the trio demolish a platter of small pastries.
And leaning against a wall near the door was Tonks, a fond smile on her face as she, like Harry, simply gazed around the room. They hadn't spoken since she left that day, except for a brief letter of apology Harry sent her when he got out of rehab. She had replied with a small scribble expressing that she was glad he was doing better, signing it simply "T." Since then, Harry had maintained a respectful silence until he sent an owl asking her to come on Christmas Eve for a small party. She hadn't responded, and Harry had lost all hope of ever regaining her friendship until she had shown up that night with a plate of biscuits and a quick, awkward peck on the cheek. Harry spent the entire night watching her from afar, even while interacting with the others. Her mere presence spoke volumes, but he hadn't yet gotten the courage to talk to her.
"Just go to her, Harry." Startled, he looked away from Tonks to find Bill standing next to him, grinning over his mug of pumpkin juice.
"I, uh ... tired of the pregnancy conversation?" Harry tried to change the subject.
Bill's grin grew wider, with the pride only expectant fathers have. "Never. But it turned to hormones, and I've already experienced too much of that topic. But this isn't about me. Go talk to her, Harry."
"I don't know what to say," Harry admitted, not sure how much the others knew of what had happened between the two of them.
"Start with hello, and see where it goes from there. I've known Tonks for years, and she wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be." Bill nodded in her direction. "Go, you might miss your chance."
Whirling around quickly, Harry spotted Tonks slipping out the door. Not caring if anyone noticed, he jogged after her just in time to see the front door close. He shot out the door, prepared to chase her down the street if he had to, but she was sitting on the top step. The combination of his speed and the snow nearly made him fall down the stairs, but he caught the railing just in time.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Tonks asked.
Grinning sheepishly, Harry sat next to her after brushing off the fluffy snow. "I thought you were leaving."
"Just needed some fresh air." She stuck her tongue out to catch a fat snowflake, and he nearly laughed. It was such a reminder of the younger, carefree Tonks. He looked at her hands, but they were empty. She must have noticed, for she held both up. "No more fags for me. Haven't smoked in months."
"I haven't either. Not a cigarette, not a joint, nothing. No more drugs and not even a drop of alcohol." It all came in a rush, Harry was so eager to tell her.
"I know."
That took him by surprise. "You do?"
She laughed, then took his hand in hers, making his heart leap out of his chest. "Just because I stopped coming by doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. Molly kept me well informed, bless her. In fact, she convinced me to come tonight. I wasn't sure how you would feel."
Harry resolved to buy the Weasley matriarch a diamond for Christmas. "I sent you the invitation."
"Yes, but I was afraid you did it simply because you felt obligated."
"Nothing with you is an obligation."
She fell silent for a while, watching the snow fall with her fingers loosely entwined with his. "So how have you been?"
"Good. Kingsley arranged for me to take the entrance exams for the Auror academy next summer."
"Yes, I heard."
He looked at her sideways, raising his eyebrows. "What, you stalking me?"
She laughed, a full, rich laugh, then hit him affectionately on the arm. "You wish. No, the Auror office is all abuzz about the 'Chosen One' coming to work. Bloody idiots."
Harry scowled at the mention of the old label. "Well, tell them to calm down. I'm not even sure I'll pass. I'm dreadfully out of practice."
"Well, y'know, I did kick ass when I took mine." Tonks sat up, straightening her shoulders. "I could help you."
Harry struggled to keep his face from lighting up so brightly he blinded her. "Really? That would mean spending a lot of time together."
"I suppose that wouldn't be too horrible."
Heart pounding, Harry stood up, pulling Tonks to her feet along with him. "No? In that case, what are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?"
She shrugged. "I'm sure I'll end up at the Burrow at some point."
"Would you like to come over in the morning?" Harry clasped both her hands in his, moving closer.
She looked up, a smile spreading across her face. "I think I would like that very much," she murmured. "But I'm afraid I don't have anything for you."
Harry bent his head, mere inches from hers. "All I want is you, Nymphadora."
It took a year, seven months, and twenty-two days, but as he pressed his lips to hers, snow melting in their hair, Harry Potter was finally healed from the war.