How High the Moon

.ψ.

Chapter Eighteen: Path to Perdition, Road to Rome

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Someday I'm gonna go out to the country
I'll drive til the highway ends
Chasing after picture perfect sunsets
To take my breath away

I'm tired of living in the city
The world's got me tied on a string
Wanderlust has overcome me
Like Lewis and Clark I'll dream
There's a million different ways to go
Only God can know where I will call my home

Love lead me on
Where no one else has gone
Faith keep me strong
Love lead me on

The open road can be so lonely
I'm longing for someone to love
If only I could share my new surroundings
Open the doors above
There's a million different ways to go
Only God can know where I will call my home

Love lead me on
Where no one else has gone
Faith keep me strong
Love lead me on
Faith keep me strong
Love lead me home

-'Love Lead Me On', The Afters

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Tonks tiptoed into the flat and slid her key back inside her robes, hoping not to wake little Bimby.

She had quite a soft spot for the strait-laced little dear, and shared Ace's concerns about her declining health. The sweet elf would never in a thousand years admit to it, but cool mornings tormented her soft old joints, poor thing. She put all of her Auror training to use trying not to break anything and cause a ruckus.

This flat always made her a little sad, a reminder that they had both moved out of the house where they'd grown up. It was great to see Ace when she had the time –time was becoming dear lately, with more reports of dark arts activity and challenging assignments pouring into the office every day- but it was a bittersweet reminder that life was tugging them both down different roads. Childhood with Ace had been rocky at first, but no one could ever say it hadn't been exciting. Now they were trading in school girl fun for real lives. It was sobering and exhilarating all at once.

"Can't be helped, Tonks. Be glad you get to see her this much."

The pink-haired witch stopped short in the kitchen door with a grin despite her uncharacteristically somber thoughts, observing the scene before her. A pile of notes and some empty parchment tubes were stacked on the table. Bimby was meddling with something that smelled divine. A lumpy figure lolled in one of the tippity chairs. Tonks munched on her gum and bubbled gleefully inside.

Ace was not bent over her research, a first in years as far as Tonks could recall. Instead, the older girl cradled her precious acoustic guitar and rumbled along to the melody with her feet propped up on the table. In a ratty old t-shirt and a pair socks, she sprawled out and let her wet hair hang down while a fierce wind pummeled the window casings. Her croaky singing made Tonks smile and blow a bubble.

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

Bimby was silently shaking her prim little head, every soft white hair in place and concentration on the fireplace. There she shepherded a heavenly little shoal of kippers in a pan that made Tonks's mouth water. She would never squeak a word, but the table was obviously not intended for feet, not even the feet of her Miss.

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun
And I say

Tonks popped another wad of gum and started to recognize the song.

It's all right

Charlie Weasley was officially the most smashing bloke on earth. (After Remus of course.) She was going to have to get him something spectacular for his birthday. Something better than better than last time at least. (How was she supposed to know that he was allergic to liverwort?) It didn't matter. This time he deserved a broomstick for every day of the year!

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting

She hadn't seen Ace this cheerful since they were ankle-biters. With her eyes closed and her head tilted back in the soft morning light, Tonks's sister looked like she was ten years old again.

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear

Her singing had never gotten them any gigs of course, since it just barely squeaked past the not-quite-out-of-tune-category compared to Queenie, but Ace wasn't nearly this bad at night (after a whole lot of warming up) and made a fair back up singer then.

Still, years of listening to the girl warble in the shower had taught the rest of the family to stay away from the bathroom in the morning.

Here comes the sun,

Do do do do

Here comes the sun,
And I say

However much Ace sounded like a stepped on kneezle right now, Tonks felt a sparkle of giddiness in her spleen. That was the sound of joy. Mad, explosive, wriggling joy that just about made her want to kiss someone (namely Remus).

It's all right

Her sister was singing. Her wedding was only a few weeks away. Her back was almost completely healed from that little scrape at the night club. She had just been selected as part of a special taskforce assigned to some sort of high security mission. Everything was right with the world.

It's all right

What more could a girl ask for?

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it – WHA?

There was a booming tumble and Ace came inches from flying out of the chair. It was nice to see someone else be clumsy for a change.

"Nyms!"

"Don't fall off there, sis." She giggled.

"Good morning, Miss Nymphadora." Bimby took her appearance as a matter of fact. She hopped down with the kippers and a plate appeared on the table.

"Wotcher." She pulled out a chair and eyed up the delicious little sea creatures. "Got enough of those for two? Or maybe some bacon?"

Bimby waggled a long, bony little finger with a motherly smile and another plate popped into existence. "How many would Miss like?"

The stack of notes and the pencils -Tonks had never really caught on to those things. Give her a quill any day- disappeared while Ace was carefully leaning her guitar against the sill. She shook her head and blew another happy bubble. Bimby was always trying to keep her sister's mind off her work. She had to admit, the poor dear really had a job cut out for her. Ace was very laid back most of the time, but there were times when she could be as single minded as a man when she wanted to, and ever since Mungo's had let her go she'd been positively rabid about her research, hoping to get a grant.

Ace was a practical girl down to her bones, (something Tonks was incapable of even on pain of death) and could worry about her finances with the best of them. She was always out to make some extra dosh when she could: careful investments, this flat, the occasional business agreement. Course', Ace's idea of a business agreement bordered on blackmail rather often … maybe it was a good thing she was focused on research right now.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Wotcher to you too, sunshine."

"The rest of the girls won't be here for an hour. I was gonna get a little kip before they did." She pouted before getting up and meandering into the bathroom a few doors down the hall.

"We're only getting together for some elevenses and a bit of practice." Tonks blurted out after her. "Who cares if I'm early? Don't tell me you aren't just leaping to see your favorite sister?"

"I care. I wanted to sleep." Ace returned, hair up in her ratty old snood. Even Tonks had always found that ugly thing rather odd.

"What a stupid word. Snood!" She thought, not paying much attention to her sister whinge. "Sounds like some sort of diseased waterfowl."

"And I'm not jumping anywhere." Ace muttered as she started in on the salty fish. Tonks found her stomach rumbling just watching. "Not unless you brought the solution for the Artemisian equation along with your bottomless stomach."

"Cheerful today, aren't we?" Tonks jibed blithely. She was used to this. All she really wanted right now was a peck of those kippers.

"El horno no está para bolos. Not at this hour of the morning." Her sister grunted, making short work of breakfast.

"Up late again?"

Another grunt.

"You should really ease up a bit. This whole bash on attitude is lovely and all, but you're not indestructible. Get some rest, huh?"

Narrowed eyes glared at her from across the knobbly table. "You of all people should understand why I'm doing this! You love the man, don't you?"

For the hundredth time she wondered if Ace's obsession with her work was a healthy thing.

"Of course I love Remus, but that's got nothing to do with you killing yourself. Can't get anything done if you're dead, can you? We both appreciate the sentiment and all, but I'd rather have my sister than a cure. If this has really got such a hold on you, maybe you should take a holiday or something. I'm sure old Belby'd give you a week off."

Ace snorted and went back to her foraging. "You know I can't do that. We're really on the edge of a breakthrough this time, especially now that I have a lab assistant."

"That kid? He looked like more of a hindrance than a help the last time I dropped by."

"He's alright. Knows what he's doing around the greenhouse at least."

"Well thank Circe for that!" Tonks snickered, knowing it was one of Ace's great weaknesses. "You can kill a plant at thirty paces."

"Yeah, I was lucky that Professor Sprout was willing to let him come on weekends for a work study program. He does a pretty good job, as long as I keep away from the cauldrons. I just wish I had him there more often. It makes everything run so much quicker."

"If things are getting done faster, why are you still burning the blinking midnight oil?"

Ace sighed and pushed back from the table. Only the drippings were left on her plate. "There just aren't enough hours in the day. Research, Order work, shifts at The Basement, recruiting nights, seeing Ted and Auntie A. … It's times like these a girl starts to wish for a time turner. And now there's Charlie…"

"How is that going?"

Tonks usually had more opportunities to hear Charlie's take on their relationship that she did her sister's, simply because she saw more of him. Since she was still a sprog in the auror hierarchy she usually got the grunt assignments, and for the past few months most of her day to day work had consisted of security for top priority vaults under Gringots, patrolling known caches of dark arts objects and impeding removal from certain accounts tied to known death eaters. She and her sister's boyfriend had taken to long conversations when they were on break.

"Good." Ace yawned.

"Just good?" Knowing a lot about things from his side of the fence, Tonks was curious to hear her take on matters.

The sleepy girl rolled her eyes. "Better than good then. It's … I don't know … It's just good." A half pleased, half titchy air hung over her.

"You say that like you aren't sure."

"I'm sure." She said defensively.

"Have you told him that?" Charlie had confided that he was happy, but uncertain about exactly what Ace felt for him. It was awfully sweet as far as she was concerned.

"You know my track record with men, Nyms. I'm just happy with things the way they are. I'd rather not rock the boat."

"Codswallop." Tonks replied conversationally, reflecting on a recent conversation they'd had and reaching for a strawberry. "Boy's mad for you."

"You really do sound like a Victorian schoolboy. Honestly, codswallop?" Ace ignored the implied request and retrieved a pear from the counter.

Tonks was used to the jabs at her quirky vocabulary. "Fine then. Don't follow my sage advice."

"Since when have you ever had sage advice?"

"Since the last time I talked to Mrs. Weasley. I was over at their house making a few plans for the ceremony, and she mentioned something that I think you could use to-"

"I don't need advice from Charlie's mother. Woman hates me." She made a disgusted face.

"You look like a puking flobberworm when you do that." Tonks noted.

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

"Do so! Here, I'll show you!" She concentrated on the image in the back of her head.

"Eww, Nyms. That's so disgusting. Change it back."

"Only if you listen to my wise counsel."

"Oh, fine!"

The pink-headed witch returned to her original, non-goo-covered state with a smug smirk. "You're gonna thank me when you hear this, broomstick's honor."

"Oh, get on with it!"

"Well, I was talking to Mrs. Weasley, and I think I figured out a way to get Charlie to do what you've been trying to convince him to do."

"You mean…"

"Yep."

"Are you sure it's going to work?" Ace leaned in, eyes shining.

"Your kippers is done, Miss Nymphadora."

.ψ.

"Why did I ever agree to this?" Charlie wondered, not for the first time that afternoon. "Why, why, why?"

Another bump in the road sent a wave of nausea through him. He closed his eyes tightly and wished with all his might that this would just be over soon.

As he had once predicted, Stella's motersickle was a less than ideal means of transportation. He'd never really cared for his dad's Ford Angelina -the one drive that he had ever taken in it- but this was a thousand times more gut wrenching. The evil thing sputtered and groaned and howled like a rumbling Ironbelly mating call, causing any passenger to vibrate from head to foot. His bum had gone completely numb from the constant jostling after several hours on the disturbing contraption.

Stella had been so proud of the creature when she first introduced him to it. "You'll love it, Charlie. Can't be that much different than a broomstick, after all."

This was nothing like a broomstick.

On a broomstick, you did not feel like you were going to get pitched headfirst over the front end and then gutted by the thing you'd just been riding. Sure, there was a little turbulence sometimes, but you and the broom were like one being. You were liquid motion, smooth and daring. Wind and precipitation were only secondary factors. On this hell demon, you felt every little rock on the ground, every uneven surface of the road. The Angelina was a swim in the frog pond compared to this.

The only good thing in this whole terrifying situation was that he got to hold Stella. Granted, he was holding on to her for dear life, but it was holding none the less. During the rare moments when he could stop envisioning his fiery doom, Charlie had to admit that she felt smashing nestled into his death grip.

She fit there perfectly, snug in his lap and against his chest. Under her leather jacket she was soft and curved in places that set his mind down paths his mother would have sternly disapproved of. He wished that their helmets weren't in the way so that he could kiss the back of her neck, something he'd just figured out she liked a few nights ago. Actually, he wished that there could be a lot less of everything between them.

Less clothes, to be specific.

A certain part his anatomy quite liked the idea. (He hoped Stella wouldn't notice.)

Merlin's beard, having her in his arms like this almost made the whole terrible experience worth it.

Almost.

As they exited another little town, she shifted her leg again and kicked some part of the monster. He really hated this part. Obviously the beast didn't like to be kicked, because whenever she did it, it grumbled and went faster. That made his stomach right unhappy with him.

How in the name of gulping gargoyles did she ever get him on this thing? He wondered again, trying to keep from sicking.

Alright, he knew how she had done it. Blackmail. Pure blackmail.

Somehow, Stella had discovered that his mum had invited them to a family dinner. Invited probably wasn't the right word. More like dictated. When mum wanted to be sentimental and 'have her babies come home', you either went or you spent the next several weeks buried in guilt inducing letters delivered by a particularly bedraggled Errol.

When he found out that mum wanted Stella to come this time, he had been a bit suspicious –neither of them really seemed to get along- but decided that he would just have to find a way to persuade his girl. He wasn't sure why exactly he wanted his family to like her … it wasn't as if they were going to get married or anything … but he knew that she should probably come.

He had figured on having to take her out to a very nice dinner to get her to do it, but to his surprise she knew about the whole thing.

"Sure I'll come, gatito. I'll even bring dessert. There's just one thing I want you to do for me…"

He should have known.

At long blessed last, Ottery St. Catchpole rumbled into view. There had never been a more beautiful sight in all his life. Charlie escaped the clutches of the creature as soon as Stella killed it's purring a few hundred yards from the burrow.

"Like riding a broomstick, she says!" He snatched off his helmet as she calmly removed her jacket and exchanged it for a warm robe, the bike happily lagging along beside her like a harmless puppy. "Easy as pie, she says! Then once I'm on all I get is 'hold on to your hippogryphs, Charlie!' More like hold on to my lunch! That is the last time I ever listen to you, Stella."

She just rolled her eyes and gave him a little shove. "Don't be such a baby. It wasn't that bad."

"Wasn't that bad? Wasn't that bad? Like hell it wasn't that bad! I'm never coming near that monster again!"

"Oh hush. We're almost there." She began to fidget with the yellow flowers embroidered on the homey brown cloak.

As his heart began to slow and his stomach cautiously crept down from somewhere in his throat, he started to realize just how uneasy she was about all of this.

Charlie was sorely tempted to put an arm around her waist, to pull her up next to him as they walked towards the door. He tried to argue with himself that it was a comforting action, but knew she wouldn't appreciate it the way anyone else would. She probably wouldn't be bothered by it much -especially while she was this nervous- but she probably wouldn't find it reassuring either.

By the time they got to the front stoop, she was almost twitching.

She made as if to knock, but he just dragged her inside with out ceremony and crowed out an "I'm home!" as they stepped into the ramshackle den. Bill grinned up at him lazily from the sofa and Fleur gracefully sauntered over and embraced Stella. She was still far too attractive. It just shouldn't be legal.

As usual, it was a good thing that no one in the house was a Legilimens.

"Oh Charlie!" His mother rushed out of the kitchen and smothered him in a welcoming hug, her wand stuck in a pocket of her flowered apron as always. "I was afraid you were lost! Did you get hurt on that freakish machine of her- oh. Hello, Myra. I didn't see you there."

"Mrs. Weasley." Stella replied levelly, trying to stare the older woman down.

If his mum noticed her tone, she gave no sign of it. "How was your trip then? Charlie, you're chilled to the bone! You should come into the kitchen and have a nice hot cuppa next to the fireplace. How does that sound?"

"Mum …"

"I brought some dessert." Stella proffered a red metal bowl covered with something called 'aloominum foyil', ignoring the way Mrs. Weasley continued to take no notice of her.

Charlie cringed inside as his mum lifted the foyil, looking like she expected to be attacked by whatever was inside.

He wasn't completely sure that she wouldn't be.

Stella, for all her wonderful strengths, could not cook. When she did, it was not edible or had strange ingredients that he had never heard of, like 'soy' and 'toe-foo'. Mum was unlikely to appreciate the sentiments.

"This is … lovely Myra." Stella was red. "Fruit. Imagine that." Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen, and called over her shoulder. "Charlie, would you please come help me for a little while?

He was torn, wanting both to be with his mum and his girlfriend. Thankfully Mr. Weasley stepped in and saved the day with a covert wink for his son. "Myra, was that a motersickle I saw outside?"

Stella perked up a bit. "Yeah. It's a Triumph. Gift from a friend a few years back. I can show you if you'd like…" They walked out the door, and Charlie soon found himself in the kitchen.

"Please mum, be a little easier on her."

"What do you mean, dear? I haven't done a thing!"

He grunted in frustration, then went back to cooking. It was no use arguing with her. She wasn't going to do anything unless she wanted to. Charlie let the soothing sound of the snick-snicking knife massage his tired nerves and jumpy stomach. The smells of good home cooking wafted over him and brought back memories as he worked side by side with his mum.

As he stood there carving the ham, he saw years of life pass before him. He watched little Percy tattle on them for sneaking afters, baby Ginny sick on his first girlfriend, visions of shorter twins overcoming proud Ronnie in tickle wars. It was good to look back, but he was beginning to realize that these memories were only that: memories. There would be no more life for him in this place, not the way it used to be. He would always find welcome, always find love here, but it just wasn't the same.

It wasn't home anymore.

Wallachia had always seemed like one long school year. Almost as if he could come back and reassert his right to the bottom bunk on the fourth floor. But this was permanent. This kitchen was no longer his kitchen, the burrow no longer his burrow.

There was no home anymore.

Not here, this was his parents' house. A place of memories. Not Wallachia. That was a place of lost dreams. Certainly not his cave of an apartment. That was just plain depressing.

Charlie was lost, alone, adrift and uncertain. Was this all there was to life? Was this what he was going to spend the next two hundred years doing, wishing for a place that didn't exist except inside his head? A feeling of safety and security that wasn't real?

Why wake up every morning, go to a job he didn't care for to pay for a flat he hated?

But then he thought about the nights. Spending time on Stella's couch. That was something. That was a reason.

Was it enough, though? He felt like he was walking blindfolded down one of the narrow, winding cart tracks that criss-crossed the vaults under Diagon Alley. It was shaky ground. Would there be something under his foot the next time he took a step, or would he just wander around forever without any place to land and nest?

Every dragon loved to fly, but eventually they all came down and found a cliff ledge in the mountains. Females uprooted trees and shredded branches to build nests on their rocky shelves, while males decorated theirs by hoarding the bones of their prey and pissing on everything in sight. Charlie had watched them do it a hundred times.

But no one knew how they picked their sites. Was it by rank? Preference? How did they choose? How did they know that that was the cliff they were supposed to land on? Suppose they picked the wrong one? What then?

If only he had asked them about it before he left.

"Why so quiet dear?" Mrs. Weasley busied herself with some herbs as an enchanted pan settled into the perfect nook of the fireplace to brown the tripe. He pondered the question.

"Just been missing this place." With mum, there was never any need to over explain things. She just understood and took it in stride, bustling you along and making sure you'd packed a lunch and had clean socks.

Dinner was awkward. There was just no getting around it.

The twins made a grand entrance just moments before everyone sat down, flourishing their wonky maroon robes and producing a box of cockroach clusters for their mum. She was delighted and fussed over them, highlighting the contrast to her reception of his girlfriend. But it was only once the meal started that the real chaos began.

"Tripe Bill?" Mr. Weasley passed the dish.

"No. I'm just craving this, sorry." Bill's plate overflowed with a cut of meat so rare it appeared to still be oozing blood. "Myra?"

"Mmm. Yes please." She speared a bit, then made to pass the plate. "There you are Mrs. Boogle dee plup."

"Myra? Is something wrong dear?" His mother asked suspiciously.

"Plip ashkey … ibble?" Stella's brows drew together and she looked about ready to die of shame and bewilderment.

One of the twins snorted into his pudding.

"Snork snork flicky doo dum. Snick?" Stella looked at him questioningly, her confusion obviously growing.

"Deed you two do zis?" Fleur began to cotton on.

"Perhaps…"

"Flick fliddle?"

"You are zee worst creetures on zee face uv zee earth. Do you know zis?"

"You shouldn't praise us so, dear sister-in-law. Billy's bound to get jealous."

"Boys, what have you done to Myra?" Mr. Weasley asked as sternly as he could.

"Nothing at all."

"Right, well it's nothing harmful…" George added.

"Doyko bab zilg! Tudgy!"

"Eet ez like those U-No-Poo's eezint eet, you awful cheeldrin!"

"Nothing nearly that bad! We save those for you, Floo-Floo darling." Fred made eyes at the irate Frenchwoman.

"Jibber jabbers." Fred inserted smugly. "Beauties, aren't they?"

"Iggle mimmy foom dataroo!" Stella had grown indignantly red and her eyes were predatory.

"We were experimenting with some Jobberknoll toenails early one morning," George began with his usual dramatic flair, not heeding the danger. "And then I saw it clear as the freckles on Charlie's face." Charlie growled a bit. They knew he didn't like the fact that he was covered with the things.

"Shnuckle cuspduck toot!" She was going to strangle one of them, he just knew it.

At this point the only question was whether he was going to help her or not.

"It's true. Jobberknoll, a dash of fruit fly feelers, a few secret ingredients, and bob's your uncle: Jibber Jabbers."

"Boys, I want you to undo this this instant!"

"Flibble idskypus!"

.ψ.

Charlie followed her out of the house after the disastrous dinner, very ashamed of his family.

"Stella, I'm so sorry! If I'd known they were going to-"

"Family is family, gatito. You can't help who you're related to." She sighed glumly. "Let's talk about something happier, alright? How was your day?"

"Alright, I guess."

Pause. Contemplative silence.

"You?"

"Igualmente." She replied neutrally, gazing up at the bright moon. It was nearly full, which meant that the tartan sofa would be cold and lonely for the next three nights. He absently wondered just what sort of research she did while she was gone every month.

Thoughts flitted idly through his head like tadpoles in the frog pond. It was good to just walk with her like this, not really needing to talk if they didn't want to. Comfortable. They sort of just fit, like spoons in a drawer. No need for deep conversation or mindless chatter every second of the day. They could just … be.

It was nice.

"Is the dark still hard on you?"

"Hmm? You mean at work? Bout the same." Truthfully, he was starting to feel more and more trapped every time he approached the bank doors. It was like shoving a bird into a badger's den. He was beginning to consider looking for another position, now that Bill could take up full responsibilities at Gringots again.

"How about that new dragon you were telling me about? What did you name it again?"

"Odie. Odie the Antipodean Opaleye. He's still got a temper on him. Gave me three more love bites just the other day." 'Love bites' was an old keeper's code still used in certain circles for injuries they didn't want to worry their wives over. Not that Stella was his wife, of course. He just didn't want her to worry like his mum did.

"Mmm. Too bad." She murmured listlessly, her eyes still far away.

"Anything on the job search?"

"No." She sighed heavily, finally looking away from the sky. "I don't think I'm going to put anymore in, gatito."

He wasn't really that surprised. Stella must have put in applications to every hospital, clinic, and medi-tent this side of the channel. He did his best to cheer her up.

"You shouldn't let them get you down. You're a brilliant healer. Someone has to figure that out eventually. Have a little courage. Don't give up."

She smiled her iron smile and he was surprised. He had been expecting depression, not determination.

"I'm not brilliant, you ass. And it's alright to give up. Don't be so silly."

"What are you talking about? You shouldn't ever give up! If you want it, then keep trying."

"You and your Gryffindor bullheadedness." She ruffled his hair and the wind whistled through their cloaks. "It's kinda cute."

"Cute?" He snorted indignantly.

"Yes, cute, you ass. Also silly."

"And giving up is so much more intelligent!"

"Yes." She replied levelheadedly as the bike hopped over a pothole, as though he were too thick to understand. "I told you before. If it can't be done, you either keep trying to find a new angle to exploit, or you go off to a more lucrative venture. In this case, I will simply apply for the full-time position at the thir- at my research facility. I still obtain my goal in the end. I get to help people. Who cares what means I used to achieve it? All roads lead to Rome, if you know what you're doing."

"And what if they don't? What if nothing gets you there? Do you just wander around for the rest of your life, stuck on some backwater path?" He wasn't even sure which one of them he was talking about now.

She investigated him with her black earth eyes. "Then you pave your own road, gatito. Or better yet, get someone else to do it for you." She chuckled.

He almost cringed, hearing her say words like that: do it for you, new angle to exploit, obtain my goal, more lucrative venture. That underlying self-serving nature made him sick. It was like pouring malt vinegar over a bar of delicious Honeyduke's chocolate. Why couldn't he just have her sweetness without the stain?

"Are you even listening to me? You may not like the way I do things, Charlie, but in the end I get them done. I get what I want, whether it means building that road or swimming an ocean or growing wings. Somehow I find a way." She punctuated her thoughts firmly. "At the end of it all, I'm the one who gets to Rome."

He was broiling inside trying to think of something to say, but never got the chance. A faint silver shimmer began to glow around Stella's head. Her lips formed a silent O and she stared at it, but before he could ask her what it was she blinked and suddenly vanished.

The bike fell to the ground.

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Authoress's Notes: What did you lot think of Tonks's viewpoint? She isn't going to be in here much, not even as often as 'happy' Harry, but you will see her once or twice more. Opinions? Suggestions? How did you like the dinner? Charlie's reaction to the 'motersickle'? I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

I regret to say it, but I may not be able to post next weekend. Sorry. Final exams are just around the bend and my birthday is on Saturday, so I'm bloody swamped. If I can't post (I will do my very best despite the chaos) then I will be back the following weekend with a long chapter for you lovely readers. I do hope ya'll understand my predicament.

Igualmente means 'the same'.El horno no está para bollos literally means 'the oven is not ready for buns.' It means you're not in the mood for any nonsense. Elevenses is a rather old-fashioned word used to describe a mid-morning snack. To whinge is to whine.

Alright kiddies, you asked some good questions, so here are some direct answers for once… a few at least

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Harry Potter Magic- No, Harry is not going to use time travel to see his parents. As interesting as that idea is, I find that it's REALLY OVERUSED in fanfic. So no, no time travel to see his parents. Try again on theories for that. Yeah, in the detailed plot in my head, tonks sustained a pretty major injury to her back (note that she thinks of it as a 'little scrape'). But she's almost all better now, so hooray! Yes, you will find out about Stella's background soon. I promise it will be worth the wait. Care to wager a guess? Yes, congratulations, you caught one of my hidden clues. Stella WAS about to slip and say dark lord. Hmm… oh the possibilities…

Possum- Yes, we have another winner. She was about to call him the dark lord. I'm glad that you enjoyed your 'read one, get one free' special on the men of HHtM. Humdinger is a fun word, isn't it?

Random- thanks so much for commenting. Yes, eventually I think that Harry and Stella will need to tell us all about what is going on … or else they may need to see a psychiatrist to get all of this off their chests! As always, I will do my diligent best to continue to post every week. It is reviews from kind people like all of you that keep me writing.