"Yes, it's a phase. Who says I want it to pass? But the pain, the pain,"
"Hector would say it's the only education worth having,"
- Alan Bennett, The History Boys.
Headmaster: Part One
Bringing that television set to Hogsmeade was the best idea of Eliza Savage's life. Dawlish was a half-blood, but his wizard father hadn't been around much when he was a kid, so he hadn't grown up with a TV in the house. He barely even knew what they were, and he was fascinated. The television set that Savage had brought to Hogsmeade with her was therefore working a treat to shut Dawlish up when he was being annoying. Which was almost all the time.
It was Friday evening and Eliza was sitting on the armchair while Dawlish sprawled on the couch, a bowl of crisps between them while they watched TFI Friday. Eliza and the other Aurors had been stationed in Hogsmeade for three weeks now, and this had been the first week back at school for Hogwarts students. Eliza hadn't come up here since she graduated twelve years ago, and it felt strange to return to Hogsmeade. A couple of the shops had changed, Madam Puddifoot's had been repainted, and the alleyway behind the post office had been blocked off, but apart from that Hogsmeade was the same as it had been in the mid-eighties. Having spent the past twelve years living in Norwich and working in London, cities where a road or shop or café could change during a lunch-break, the statis of Hogsmeade felt eery.
On the telly, the show's host was shouting about the competition to win a sports car. Dawlish was rapt, and Eliza could see him fiddling with his wand as if resisting the temptation to cast a spell at the TV to find out how the moving pictures worked. Then, they both heard the noise of the front door being opened. Dammit, that was Proudfoot and Tonks back from patrol. Eliza hadn't realised that it had got so late. She and Dawlish looked at each other, then grabbed their wands and leapt to their feet to pretend that they were practising duelling.
"Evening," Proudfoot's voice called. Eliza grabbed the TV remote to switch it off, and while she was distracted, Dawlish took the opportunity to cast expelliamus. That was just like Dawlish, trying to score a point when they both just needed to stay out of trouble with Proudfoot. And it would look suspicious now Eliza's wand wasn't in her hand. She dashed to pick it up, as Proudfoot and Tonks walked into the living room from the hallway.
"Oh, hello," said Savage innocently, pretending that she and Dawlish had been too busy practising duelling to reply to Proudfoot's first greeting, "How was patrol?"
"Fine," shrugged Tonks, unbuckling her cloak and hanging it on the row of pegs on the wall. Tonks had got really miserable recently- she'd even stopped messing about with her hair. It was obviously something to do with Sirius Black's death. He was Tonks' cousin and, wildly, he'd turned out to be innocent, although Eliza wasn't allowed to ask about that. Aurors weren't allowed to know about other Auror's work unless it was strictly necessary.
"We've been duelling," said Dawlish, and Eliza grimaced. Highlighting that they were supposedly doing was a giveaway that they hadn't actually being doing it at all. Proudfoot eyed them disapprovingly, and then her gaze flicked to the bowl of crisps left on the sofa.
"What are these?"
Eliza saw Tonks slink over to the stairs, clearly attempting to avoid witnessing the potential dressing-down. Dawlish needed an absolute smack sometimes- he had all the subtlety of a bat-bogey hex.
"Dinner," Eliza lied, "We didn't fancy cooking,"
"No, we didn't," Dawlish corroborated, nodding imbecilically. It was up to Eliza to get them both out of trouble. She crossed to the mantelpiece and grabbed the envelopes she'd propped up there when they'd arrived an hour earlier.
"We've been sent these," Eliza announced, "From the headmaster,"
Four envelopes had been delivered by owl that evening, one each for Eliza, Dawlish, Tonks and Proudfoot. Eliza held out the two unopened envelopes and, frowning at her suspiciously, Proudfoot took one. Tonks reappeared at the foot of the stairs, shot across the room, grabbed her envelope from Eliza and tore it open.
"Dumbledore wants tea with us individually to discuss the placement," Eliza explained. She hoped that Proudfoot's letter would contain more information, hopefully enough to distract Proudfoot or at least to stall her. Living with a bunch of other Aurors, Eliza thought for the hundredth time that week, was not going to be plain sailing.
Proudfoot opened her envelope and read the letter carefully. When she reached the bottom, Eliza saw Proudfoot's eyes flick back to the head of the letter to reread it. Tonks was scanning her own letter rapidly, bouncing on the toes of her yellow Doc Martens.
"Have you replied to the headmaster?" Proudfoot asked.
"Not yet, we wanted to wait for you,"
Dumbledore's letters had proposed times to meet, and he'd supplied the password for the route to the headteacher's office.
"Good. We arrange our patrol shifts around the times Dumbledore's suggested," Proudfoot declared.
"He wants to see me first thing on Tuesday," piped up Dawlish. Everybody ignored this inane boast. Tonks clutched her letter and thundered back upstairs.
"Very well," said Proudfoot brusquely, folding her own letter into her skirt pocket, "Now, Dawlish, Savage, explain this to me: if you have been duelling, why are both of you covered in crumbs, and neither of you out of breath?"
Eliza cringed.
Albus heard her arrive outside his office. She was early, which wasn't unusual. People tended to be on time to visit Albus Dumbledore. He listened to her pace around on the landing outside to kill the minutes before eleven o'clock and then, exactly on time, he heard her knock on the door. Albus called that she could come in, and the door opened. When Tonks entered the room, Albus realised that he hadn't often seen her wearing her Auror robes- at Order meetings she normally had them slung of the back of her chair. The uniform made Tonks look older, though Albus had thought that she'd looked older for weeks.
They said polite hellos, and Albus invited her to sit on the other side of his desk. He kept the conversation professional, treating Tonks as an Auror on an assignment to Hogsmeade, instead of as a member of the Order of the Phoenix or Sirius Black's cousin. They discussed the Auror house in Hogsmeade, details of potential security threats to the castle, and if anything had happened since the students had returned to school a few days previously. Then, Tonks brought up Harry- Albus knew that she assumed correctly that Severus had told him about the incident on the Hogwarts Express. This was Auror business, although it skirted close to Order responsibilities.
"It was the Malfoy kid," she added. A strange way to refer to a first cousin, though Albus knew that Tonks and Draco's mothers had been estranged since before either of them were born. The cousins had never met.
"He and Harry have long been engaged in a hostile relationship," Albus explained, though expected that Tonks knew that already too.
"He broke Harry's nose and left him petrified under his invisibility cloak. Harry could've bled all the way back to London if I hadn't clocked that he wasn't on the platform,"
"Draco is sixteen years old and his father has recently been given a lengthy Azkaban sentence, for which Draco blames Harry. It would be more surprising if he did not exhibit a violent outburst,"
"He broke his nose! Hasn't Harry got enough on his plate without having some brat beating him up on the train?"
"Harry," Albus posed, "Is a highly unusual boy. I agree that Draco Malfoy's attack on him seems shocking, though I imagine that Harry will prefer to put the episode behind him. And I believe it is in Draco's best interests to remain at Hogwarts,"
If the same altercation had occurred between two other students, Albus and the heads of house would send letters home, set lengthy detentions and consider suspending the culprit from school. Except with Draco Malfoy that wouldn't be possible.
Tonks still looked troubled, so Albus assured her that he had made a note of the incident and would be keeping an eye on Draco Malfoy from now on.
Tonks nodded half-heartedly, sighed, and continued, "Spoke to Harry a bit on the walk up. He misses Sirius,"
"Did he tell you that?"
Harry didn't often talk about his emotions. He expressed himself in ways which were more…physical.
"No. I don't think we know what to say to each other," Tonks admitted glumly.
"Once again, may I say how sorry I am about Sirius. It was cruel that you and he had such a short time together after being re-acquainted,"
"My fault though, wasn't it? I should've got Bellatrix,"
"There wasn't anything you could have done," Albus promised. Sirius' death was not her fault, nor Harry's. Bellatrix Lestrange had killed him, though Albus himself had to shoulder a large amount of blame. Albus' foolishness and naivety were the reason Sirius had rushed into the danger which had led to his demise.
"Yes, there was. Course there was," Tonks corrected, "There were hundreds of moments I could've disarmed her or stupefied her. I'm an Auror and she's been in prison for fifteen years,"
Albus could tell that Tonks had said these words many times before. He wondered if blaming herself for Sirius' death made it easier to cope with. Sirius had pinballed in and out of Tonks' life, so perhaps she wanted to exert some control over the bizarre narrative, even if the only way to do that was to convince herself that it was her fault he had died.
"Have you spoken to Mad-Eye?" Albus asked. Aurors, in his experience, did not respond well to philosophical musings about narratives and why people did what they did. Aurors preferred facts to thoughts. Therefore, it was probably more helpful for Tonks to discuss the minutiae of the Ministry battle with Mad-Eye, than it was for Albus to try to convince her of the reasons she was blaming herself. Albus knew that Tonks trusted Mad-Eye implicitly.
"'Course,"
"Do you mind me asking what he said?"
Tonks sighed. "Grief's not his thing. Mad-Eye doesn't do emotions, does he? We went through what happened move by move- I was me and he was Bellatrix and we worked out what I could have done differently,"
She paused, then added more blurrily, "He said it was an extremely high-risk situation with the kids there. Obviously I knew that, but he said it was so unpredictable that I didn't do anything wrong for Bellatrix to get me,"
When Albus replied, he kept his voice very soft. "I understand it's not my place to say, though I don't believe Mad-Eye would lie to you about that,"
Tonks glared at him. "Maybe he's an imposter," she said stonily. Then she burst into tears.
"It's my fault he died," Tonks choked out, "Everyone's telling me it isn't, but I know it is. It's my fault,"
Albus averted his eyes, knowing that it was unpleasant and humiliating to be observed when sobbing. Tonks composed herself faster than Albus expected, wiping her face messily on her arm.
"Professor?" she asked, looking across the table at him, "Is Remus safe?"
Albus had suspected that this subject would come up, though he still felt an unpleasant lurch.
"Yes," he confirmed.
He didn't expect Tonks to look relieved at this confirmation, so he wasn't surprised when she immediately began interrogating him.
"What happens? What do they make him do? What do you make him do? If they've hurt him, if they've made him hurt anybody, I swear I'll kill them,"
This was the reason for the lurch in Albus' stomach- he expected Tonks to get gabbly and threatening. His response had to be clear and firm: "Remus has asked me not to tell you any more than that he is safe,"
Tonks winced. Then she begged, "Can't you tell me? If it's Order stuff I've got the right to know,"
The Order of the Phoenix had never worked that way, and Albus knew that Tonks was aware of that. "I assure you that Remus is safe," he maintained.
"Doesn't mean much, though, does it? He won't tell you how he feels. Sirius has just died, for God's sake," she groaned, "Remus gets sad sometimes, really sad. He says he always has. But he wouldn't tell you about that, he won't tell you if he's hurt or if he misses Sirius or if he- if he misses me,"
Tonks took a breath at last, batted another tear away and asked, "Did you send him away, Professor? Or did he ask to go?"
The saddest part about this answer, Albus thought, was that he knew Tonks knew it already.
"He asked to leave," Albus confessed (though his tone did not suggest that this was a confession), "Remus and I had discussed the possibility of infiltrating Greyback's colony, though we had never made any firm plans until he asked me,"
"That was when I was in St Mungo's wasn't it? After Sirius died?"
"Yes,"
Tonks swallowed. "I think I've broken his heart. I thought he might end it one day, get bored of me or something. People break up, don't they? But I didn't think it'd happen like this,"
Nobody ever thought it would happen like it did. The end of a romance wouldn't be so bad if it weren't such a surprise, such a nasty severing of happiness and comfort. Albus did not know, nor did he wish to know, the details of how Tonks and Remus' relationship had ended, though he knew that Remus' guilt and panic had been a significant contributing factor. That much had been obvious when Remus wrote to and then visited Albus to discuss a mission to the werewolf camp. Albus had known that allowing Remus to travel and live with the pack would not be healthy for him so soon after Sirius' death, but Remus was insistent. Moreover, Albus could not turn down such a fervent offer to obtain information about the Death Eaters' dealings with Fenrir Greyback. With Voldemort's return now public knowledge, he would be looking to recruit more followers, and Albus suspected he would target a werewolf commune first. Voldemort detested anything "half-breed", though he was skilful at attracting the dispossessed, making those who felt cast out by society want to belong to a group who would bring them power and infamy. Plus, Greyback was easily persuaded by the promise of blood.
Remus had travelled to the werewolf pack in Keswick to act as both an informer and an advocate- to gain information as well as spreading distrust about the Death Eater's aims and investment in werewolves. Remus was clever and articulate, and used to putting on a front. His first few weeks in Keswick, however, had been largely unsuccessful. He was viewed with suspicion by the werewolves, which meant he was struggling to gather intel or start a discussion.
"He told me to forget about him," muttered Tonks.
"I believe Remus expects that to be easy,"
"He doesn't understand why anyone would want to remember him, but he's totally unforgettable to me,"
Albus saw embarrassment in Tonks' face as she realised she was speaking so candidly to him. Then embarrassment gave way to anger, desperation:
"Tell me what he said, Professor,"
"I understand this is difficult for you, yet I gave Remus my word that I wouldn't," Albus re-iterated.
"You don't understand," Tonks mumbled.
Yes, he did. Albus understood perfectly. The flutter of infatuation and the floating cavern of realising that infatuation had grown into love. The surprise at the depth of feelings you were able to experience. Hating this discovery, but loving it too and being unable to understand what your head and heart had been like before love illuminated these new ways to feel. The delight of conversation with the other person- listening to their voice and their words and telling them things you thought and felt, and knowing that because it was you it'd be important and interesting to them. Wanting to be with somebody every day, all day. All night too. The closeness and the intimacy and all the ways to touch, to be near. To be there for them and stand by them whatever the cost. The bold, dramatic promises made to one another. Forever. Always. Mine. Never. Yours. This. Ours. Love.
He remembered, too, the conviction Tonks was displaying- that nobody else had felt this way before, this was different, bigger, more phenomenal than anybody had written in a book or a song. The proud knowledge that you were the first and only to feel like this.
The bewilderment that someone who you thought loved you could hurt you (the bewilderment came before the horror). Someone who did love you, and that way why it hurt so much. The denial, pleas, and apologies. Fury, next, at yourself as well as them. Frustration for having gotten your hopes up. And then the pain. Oh, the pain, both a submergence from the outside and a choking from within. The pain was still with Albus- less frequent and more predictable these days, but still there. It was different to pains of losing his mother, father and sister. Different to pains of the previous wars and this one too. Different to the pain about what he knew was coming. There were so many ways, Albus had learnt throughout his long, wonderful life, in which one could hurt.
"I miss them," said Tonks.
Albus looked at her over the gold rims of his half-moon spectacles. "I know,"
"Yeah, 's'pretty obvious. Snape's told you about my patronus, hasn't he?" she glared, sounding less sorrowful and more surly now, "He was a prick about it, by the way,"
"Professor Snape," Albus corrected.
"I'll call him Professor when he calls me Tonks. And when he stops picking on Remus,"
Albus could imagine the sort of jibe Severus would make about Tonks' changed patronus. He could imagine the torment it had caused her, though he also knew that Severus was Severus, and that Tonks had much more distressing things to deal with than a taunt from him.
Albus thought it best that he curtail this part of the conversation before Tonks became inconsolable, or furious, or before she began to make more demands about contacting Remus.
"I believe we are at an impasse," Albus announced, "And we do not have much time remaining. Is there any further Hogwarts business we need to discuss?"
He kept his tone light, and he knew that Tonks would understand he was telling her that he would not be pushed on Snape or Remus any longer, and was changing the subject. She acquiesced, and they returned to safer, official-business territory: Azkaban, assistance from foreign Auror departments, what kind of security would now be required for Quidditch matches. When it reached eleven o'clock (Albus had many watches and clocks in the room, though the sound of footsteps and chatter passing this way as the students moved around the castle to their next lesson meant that he could tell the time without glancing at a watch), Albus invited her to leave.
"I would of course enjoy your company for longer, although Mrs Proudfoot specified that she wanted you back on patrol by half-past, and I wouldn't dream of making you late for her,"
"Thanks. And thanks for the tea, Professor," she said, with the trace of a smile. Albus tipped his head politely. They both stood up, and Albus moved around the front of his desk to shake Tonks' hand.
When he let go, Tonks turned fractionally towards the door, then stopped and blurted, "When are you writing to Remus?"
Albus didn't wince, though he wanted to. "We are in regular contact,"
"Let me guess, he told you he doesn't want to hear anything about me?"
"He asked me to tell him that you were safe,"
"Well, you can tell him I am, and tell him it's stupid for us to keep going back and forth via you. I don't care what he's said he wants to hear from me- tell him I think he's wrong and he's an idiot and he's too stubborn, and I miss him and I'm sorry about Sirius and I'm going out my mind worrying about him all alone down there without me. Tell him I said that, Professor,"
For a second time, Albus peered over his spectacles to look at her apologetically. Tonks looked on the verge of tears again.
"Bye, Professor Dumbledore," she murmured hurriedly, and bolted from his office, clunking the door shut behind her.
Albus walked back behind his desk to sit on the old wooden headteacher's chair. He hadn't been looking forward to this meeting with Tonks, and it had gone largely as he expected it to. Albus felt troubled by the fact that Harry and Minerva, and now Tonks, were blaming themselves for Sirius' death. They were not to blame- Bellatrix Lestrange, Lord Voldemort and Albus himself were the reasons Sirius Black was dead. It was Albus' fault that Tonks was miserable and wracked with guilt and anguish, and why Remus was risking his life with Fenrir Greyback. When he'd first heard about their relationship Albus had, callowly, thought it rather sweet. He was fond of Remus, and he believed it would do him good to be desired and loved. Albus should have known- Albus had known- that giving Remus a taste would make the inevitable end of the affair harder for him to deal with. He could have stepped in months ago to keep them apart, or he could have talked to Remus about why such a relationship would be unwise. Remus would likely have been amenable to that given how used he was to solitude and disappointment. Though was that not the very reason Albus hadn't wanted to intervene?
The night Sirius died, Albus had told Harry that he was guilty of an old man's mistakes. Now, however, Albus wondered if he was equally culpable of childish folly. His guilelessness had caused suffering to those much younger than him, those like Harry who had to grow up too fast, to Tonks who seemed much older this Autumn than she did in the Spring, and to Sirius, who would never grow old at all. Victims of Albus' childlike hope. In war, hope was essential. But, Albus acknowledged darkly, using his good hand to pick up his quill, hope was also dangerous.
