Bosses, by nature, are nasty creatures, and if you've never seen one in its natural habitat, then you are very, very lucky, and most likely a child.
Tonks was neither.
Tonks was going to be twenty-two in August, and she had been working as an Auror for almost a year. Because she was but a cog in the machine known as The Ministry of Magic, Tonks had several bosses and several people who were higher up than she was. Tonks supposed that, in some abstract way, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was her boss, but he had never even spoken to her, and she had seen him just once, while he met with all the Aurors. That had been following the hysteria at the Quidditch World Cup, and Tonks had been so embarrassed about the whole thing that she'd kept her eyes firmly on the ground while men who were stationed well above her gave their reports.
Closer to Tonks was the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement department, Amelia Bones. Tonks didn't know Bones very well, either, but she personally thought that she was much more competent – and therefore, intimidating – than Fudge, and secretly idolized her.
She had only met Amelia Bones once, on the first day of her Auror training. She had been running late, and rushing to get into the lift. The Ministry of Magic was a busy, bustling place, and Tonks, who at the time was still concerned with the dress code, maneuvered through the crowd while finagling into her work cloak. Truth be told, Tonks could barely finagle when standing still, and so she left a trail of disaster in her wake.
She elbowed a witch in the eye; she tripped a wizard who had been carrying a stack of papers he had just spent the last eight months organizing; and she ended up knocking over a vampire who sneezed blue right into her face.
"I think it's getting better," he said. "Yesterday it was pink."
She turned away from him and tumbled into the lift that had fortunately just opened its doors.
"Level?"
Tonks, who was on her knees, looked up into the kind, weathered face of a witch she somewhat recognized. Realizing that she was on the floor, out of breath, and half-stuck in a cloak, she pushed herself up and quickly tried to gain composure. "Er, the second."
"Well, then," the witch said brusquely, "off we go."
The two seconds Tonks spent in the lift with Amelia Bones were simultaneously the most awkward and most wonderful two seconds of her life. They got off at the same floor, and Bones turned to her as they exited. "I suppose you're one of the Auror recruits?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am."
"Well, then you'd better not dally. You're already late."
Tonks had wished that she could be so calm and collected, that she could somehow demand that much deference. It was that instance with Bones that convinced Tonks that she really, truly did want to be an Auror.
And as an Auror, Tonks had another boss: the Head of her department, Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour was a leonine man with a tough gritty way, but for some reason Tonks wasn't very intimidated by him.
"You're late, Tonks."
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Tonks said, plopping into the seat she usually occupied between Dawlish and Shacklebolt. Both of the men were flanking Scrimgeour where he stood at the front, going over some papers in his hand. Scrimgeour liked expanding the broom cupboard into a meeting room for special times – like when Fudge had dropped by – and he had started to do it all the more regularly.
"I don't need to hear your excuse." Scrimgeour frowned at Tonks over the top of his spectacles. "I just hope you got your reports done."
"Aye," Tonks said, pulling the shrunken packet out of her pocket, tapping it with her wand to enlarge it. "They're all done and accounted for. And, I know you said you didn't want to hear my excuse, but I was doing research."
"Research, hmmm?" Scrimgeour grunted, reaching over and taking the paperwork.
"Yep, I was reading the Muggle news, seeing if anything suspicious had been reported. I know that we tend to get things ahead of them, but it's always good to keep your ears open, eh?"
Shacklebolt frowned and shuffled the pages he was holding. "What the hell are you talking about, Tonks?"
Tonks flushed. Shacklebolt was probably the second-in-command following Scrimgeour, and he was very imposing, and large, and he had the tendency to make Tonks feel like she was only two inches tall.
"Nothing, I'm not saying anything. I'm just saying –"
"It sounds like you're still saying something," Dawlish commented, and everyone in the room laughed. Tonks felt herself grow redder. She slid down a bit in her chair.
"I understand the desire to see what's going on with the Muggles," Scrimgeour said, rather matter-of-factly, "but at the moment, there's absolutely nothing going on with them that we wouldn't know about. Dawlish, Shacklebolt, if you two would be seated. Ah, yes. As I was saying, I had a meeting this morning with Fudge, and we talked about all the horrible things that have happened this last year, what with the Dark Mark appearing at the World Cup, and that boy dying in the Twiwizard Tournament, and things... Well, as I'm sure you've heard, Dumbledore and Harry Potter are both claiming that this means that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has returned."
This came as a surprise to no one in the room, but Tonks had only heard this in mutterings and not addressed so directly.
"Moody is also of this opinion, and it is for that reason that we have refused to rescind his resignation."
"What do you mean?" Tonks blurted out before she could help herself. No one else seemed to mind.
"We always said," Proudfoot piped up, "that Moody's resignation was nothing more than a piece of paper, and that he was always welcome to re-join us, and, hell, he most likely would!"
"It's just for the moment," Scrimgeour said calmly, running his fingers through his impressive beard. "The Ministry does not wish at present to align itself with anyone who sides with Dumbledore."
"Is the Ministry against Dumbledore?" Tonks asked, shocked. She had always been of the impression that her former Headmaster was little less than infallible.
"Absolutely not. Fudge, however, wants to examine all the evidence before sending the community up in pandemonium, and I have to say, I agree. The last thing we want to do is frighten anyone, especially when we're not entirely sure."
"What would they gain by lying, though?" Savage asked.
"Fudge believes that Dumbledore's motivations are political. Potter, on the other hand, seems to be a fairly troubled young man; I'm sure you all read the Rita Skeeter articles."
Tonks's head was spinning. "I knew Cedric," she said without even thinking. "I went to school with him. What about the investigation into his death? Surely that's the least bit suspicious?"
"I'm not discounting anything," Scrimgeour said, slamming his hand down on the table before him, sending papers onto the floor and knocking over his coffee. "I've been an Auror my whole damn life, and I know that the number one thing we must do is keep all of our options open. Cedric Diggory's death was obviously a tragic accident – something that is not at all foreign when it comes to the Twiwizard Tournament, as I'm sure you all know.
"But that doesn't mean that You-Know-Who was involved, just as it doesn't mean that he wasn't involved. At the moment, we don't really know anything. Dumbledore, of course, set up the Twiwizard Tournament in the first place, even after the school governors advised him not to. He personally went against the advice of seventeen other witches and wizards who had nothing but the best interests of Hogwarts at heart –"
"How is this relevant?" Shacklebolt, who had been sitting quietly and thoughtfully beside Tonks, finally spoke up. His booming voice reverberated around the room and sunk into Tonks's bones.
"The relevancy, Kingsley," Scrimgeour said, adjusting his glasses, "is that Dumbledore has the habit of doing whatever the hell he wants and getting away with it. Not that I blame him; if I was believed to be the greatest wizard of this age, I probably would, too. But is this You-Know-Who business meant to distract from his poor decision-making? I honestly don't know."
A deafening silence filled the room. Everyone sat lost in their own thoughts. Scrimgeour's detractive comments against Dumbledore were almost sacrilegious. He seemed to realize this.
"I'm not trying to attack Dumbledore. I'm trying to examine this whole issue from every single angle. And that is why I agree with Fudge that the best option for the Ministry is complete and utter neutrality. I believe that is the mode that the Magical Law Enforcement Department should take, and I daresay Amelia Bones will side with me.
"It will do no one any good to run around screaming at the top of their lungs that You-Know-Who is back. The most logical option for us Aurors is to continue to solve the crimes that keep coming up to us and to keep putting the dangerous lunatics behind bars. Of course Knockturn Alley continues to be the cesspool of criminal activity that we need to fish from. And Shacklebolt is still leading the case on Sirius Black. The sooner you find that bastard, Kingsley, the sooner a lot of the community's mind will be put at ease."
Scrimgeour surveyed the room before him. "I'm done. You may go to your cubicles."