Chapter 12: An Uncomfortable Situation

The day after Boxing Day found Tonks leaning against the wall outside the Three Broomsticks, rubbing her hands together and trying to keep warm. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the past two days. She had felt so wonderfully warm in Remus's arms on Christmas night, and again on Boxing Day morning as he had bade her farewell. But now it was back to real life, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a dream.

"Morning, Tonks," Dawlish's voice said, breaking into Tonks's thoughts and causing her to frown. She opened her eyes.

"You certainly are cheerful this morning. Did you finally get something for Christmas that wasn't from your Mum?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he replied, giving her an odd look, "but I would have thought you'd remember."

Her eyes narrowed. "Remember what?"

"How could you forget?" He sounded exasperated.

"If you don't tell me, I'll whack you so hard that you'll forget," she muttered.

"It seems someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he taunted.

"It has nothing to do with where I woke up and everything to do with the fact that I have to see your ugly mug so early in the morning and that it's talking to me in stupid riddles."

"You didn't seem to think me so ugly on Christmas night," he said slyly.

Tonks decided to employ a new tactic. "If you don't spit it out soon, I'll have completely lost interest, so you might as well tell me."

"How about I tell you over a Firewhiskey?" he offered, opening the door to the pub.

"How about no," she replied coldly.

"I'm beginning to think you were just using me to get back at that dumb ex-boyfriend of yours."

At last, Tonks understood and her eyes widened in comprehension. "Annabeth," she breathed.

"No, you said his name was Remington or something. I don't know. All I know is that I told you I hadn't seen him. And that didn't make you very happy either, did it?"

She sighed with relief. "Oh, that's right. I must have forgotten since I had a lot to drink after I left," she lied.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You seemed to be enjoying yourself before you asked about that Rembrandt fellow. You know, any time you need a good time, you know where to find me."

Tonks felt rather nauseous. Just thinking about what had apparently transpired between Annabeth and Dawlish disgusted her, not to mention the fact that her body had been used to do it. And Dawlish's thinly veiled hints at a second time were certainly not helping the queasy feeling in her stomach go away. The only good news was that her memory charm had worked—perhaps a little too well, since Dawlish used a different name every time he referred to Remus—and that meant he was safe. Oh, the petty things some people would do for revenge. Tonks smiled inwardly as she imagined Annabeth's reaction that Bill was engaged to Fleur. Perhaps she was willing to be petty, too, if only toward Annabeth.

"Tonks, are you all right?"

"It's nothing. I'm probably just coming down with a stomach bug." And his name is Dawlish.

"You should go home. I'll take over the watch."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"It seems rather sound to me."

"Well, you're not me and it's not your decision to make."

"Just because you're Kingsley's favorite doesn't make you special," he spat. "In fact, I wonder—did you sleep with him too?"

"No!" Tonks replied in exasperation. "And I've never been tempted to either. I'm no whore, Dawlish!"

"Oh, come on. You can't say that no one's ever tempted you—well, apart from myself, of course."

"Considering the fact that every guy who's ever been interested in me has been a creepy, a jerk, or both—with the exception of my last boyfriend—no, I have not. Well, by my last boyfriend, but he wanted to wait and I was fine with that."

"But what about me?"

"You're both," she said without hesitation.

"Then how do you explain the other night?"

"It wasn't me," she explained. "A woman I went to Hogwarts with used polyjuice potion to disguise herself as me to get information out of you about my ex-boyfriend."

"Assuming that's the truth, I think I know what your problem is," Dawlish announced.

"And what is that?" Tonks wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the answer.

"You need a good shag, that's all. The only reason you're being such a bitch is because you're a prude."

Tonks snorted. "I'm a what?"

"A prude. You're so boring; you need to live a little."

"Well, I'd rather be a prude than a prick like you. And it's not my fault the only man I've been interested in refuses to do anything until he's married or that he refuses to marry me."

"I think," Dawlish said, a smirk on his face, "that last part may be your fault."

"It's not." She sighed. "I really don't want to talk about this right now. We have a job to do, and right now, you're interfering with my ability to do it. Now, if you don't mind, I need to have a word with Dumbledore." She left him standing at the door of the Three Broomsticks, her cloak billowing out behind her. The walk to the castle brought back a flood of memories from her school years. She remembered carefree days with old friends she hadn't seen in years and a feeling of lightness she had left behind when she awoke in St. Mungo's to Remus's news of his mission, of Sirius's death, and that he could no longer continue to see her. She remembered days of laughter when her hair could still change color. She even had a few good memories of Annabeth, when she had still been friendly.

As the castle came into full view, Tonks's heart soared. It looked even more magical than usual covered with snow, almost like one of the castles out of the Muggle fairytales her Dad had read to her when she was young. As she strode across the grounds, she hoped with all her heart that Dumbledore was there. At least, even if he wasn't, she was getting away from Dawlish for a time.

Inside the castle, she began to warm up again. She paused in the grand entrance hall, taking in the warmth and letting more memories come over her. She took a deep breath and started off toward Dumbledore's office again. It was surprising how familiar every stair case, every portrait, was, as if she had been here only yesterday. Finding her way to the Gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office was second nature. "Fizzing Whizbee," she said and the statue stepped aside. She rode the moving staircase and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice and Tonks opened the door and stepped into the office. "Ah, Nymphadora. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

She sat down in the chair across the desk from Dumbledore and his piercing blue eyes, feeling about twelve years old. She swung her legs nervously. "I've been worried lately, about Remus Lupin," she said in a quiet voice, completely unlike herself. Mentally, she reprimanded herself for sounding so weak.

Dumbledore rested his chin on his clasped hands. "I see. And you are here simply to notify me of this concern?"

"No." Tonks rubbed her clammy hands on her robes, hating the school girl tone to her voice. She was an Auror for Pete's sake!

"I didn't think so. Continue," Dumbledore said.

"Why do you make him stay? Surely you know how little progress he's made and how miserable he is there. Can't you do something? I mean, I know you can, so won't you do something? Bring him back, please. For his own good. He'll die out there! I know Greyback trusts him, that that makes it even more dangerous out there. Would you really sacrifice a good man in a useless cause in the name of a greater good it doesn't affect at all?" She was regaining her confidence and her tone showed it. Now, however, the main concern was the insolence of her demands. She hoped Dumbledore would at least take them into consideration.

He winced slightly, and when he spoke, his voice sounded pained. "Nymphadora, I know you're upset that Remus is in danger, but he is doing very well in gaining information for me."

"But why do you need his information?" she demanded angrily. "I thought Snape was giving you news directly from Voldemort himself!"

She was amazed at Dumbledore's ability to remain completely calm. "That does not mean that what Remus is doing for me is useless."

"How do you know what's going on? He hardly ever gets to leave!"

"I have other ways of communicating with him," Dumbledore said simply.

"But don't you worry about the danger he's in? He could be discovered at any moment! If Annabeth has her way, Greyback will learn everything! He'll know that Remus visited the Weasleys and me over Christmas instead of scouting for other werewolves; he'll find out that Remus is a spy and he'll be in even more danger than before, not to mention Sara. Please let him go home, Dumbledore." Her voice started to crack. "I'm worried about him."

"I know you are," he said understandingly. "I would be blind not to know how you feel about him, and I, not to boast, tend to be more observant than most. However, my decision to keep Remus among the werewolves is for the best."

"I didn't mean to question you and I'm sorry that I did," she apologized, finally realizing how lost a cause her arguments were and feeling foolish for even mentioning them. "I was just trying to help him."

"Remus will be fine," he assured her. "He has survived so far and I cannot foresee any complications. He is too cautious to make mistakes."

"That's not exactly true," Tonks muttered.

Dumbledore shook his head. "In his mind, leaving you was not a mistake."

"And that proves he has a poor vision of what's a mistake and what's not," she replied.

"I don't think so. It merely means that he is cautious; and caution is of the utmost importance in his situation."

"There's a difference between being cautious and being a noble prat, if you ask me," she grumbled.

"Nymphadora," he said firmly, "I know this is harder on you than on anyone else. When one we love is in danger, we tend to be more concerned than others. That is why he is more adamant than any in his desire not to marry you."

"But this is different!" Tonks erupted. "He could die!"

"And so could you, in his mind. From where I stand, both of your points are the same and are equally foolish."

"Can you at least tell him, then, that he's being an idiot?"

"I could, but I could no more convince him that he is wrong than I could convince you that you are wrong. He needs to understand it in his own time and his own way. He is every bit as stubborn as you."

"I daresay he's even more stubborn than me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You could outlast anyone I've ever met in a contest of stubbornness, except, perhaps, for your mother. I suppose you get that from her," he mused. "But we shan't argue about this anymore. You have a job to return to, as I recall."

"To be honest, I'd rather not," she admitted, wringing her hands.

"And why ever not?" Dumbledore sounded genuinely surprised.

"It's Dawlish. I can't stand the man; he's the most conceited, disgusting troll that it has ever been my misfortune to meet. I'd rather tame dragons for the rest of my life than continue to work with him."

"I see. What's he done this time?"

"If he were being himself—and that's unpleasant enough in its own right, mind you—then I wouldn't be too concerned. But lately, he fancies me and it's quite annoying. The temptation to hex him is too strong for me to spend much more time with him."

"I'm sorry to hear that, though I do understand your concerns. After all, I also recall that he is one of Scrimgeour's favorites and made things very hard for you and Kingsley to keep your cover as Order members last year."

"This is much worse," he insisted. "It wasn't hard to keep a secret, but this year, he insists on trying to get me to go out with him. It's very distracting to have a git like him flirting with me almost constantly, while on the job, no less."

"I see. Perhaps I need to have a word with him…Would you mind sending him up when you return to your post?"

"I will. Thank you," she said, standing. "And you will talk to Remus as well, about me?"

"I'll see what I can do, though I can't guarantee anything I say will change his mind."

"Just knowing that you said something to him will help me."

"If that's all, then you may go." He shook her hand across the desk.

"I'll send Dawlish up, then." Tonks left the office and descended the staircase. The walk out of the castle was much shorter than the one to get to Dumbledore's office in the first place. She made her way across the grounds, regretting leaving the relative warmth inside for the frigid weather. She paused for a moment, taking in the snow-covered grounds. The Whomping Willow was the only thing around not covered with a blanket of white. In a moment of rashness, she strode toward it and froze the tree with a simple jinx. Carefully, she lowered herself into the tunnel, which was slick with ice. She slipped and, with nothing to grab, fell on her back. She imagined a young Remus walking along this same tunnel in the dead of night…And she thought it was cold now, and with his painful transformation on top of everything, those winter full moons must have been the worst. She could almost hear echoing up the tunnel the anguished howls the villagers of Hogsmeade must have heard.

She reached the shack and carefully made her way inside. Most of the furniture was overturned and destroyed. She put a hand at her throat and, for a fleeting second, she felt those sharp claws puncture it. No, she thought hurriedly, brushing the image away. There's a potion now. Nothing will go wrong. She gingerly felt the deep scores in the bedpost and her fear was directed toward Remus himself. She had seen the self-inflicted scars across his arms and face before, and she couldn't help but wonder what new scars he had received from spending full moons running around with, well, savages. She hadn't used the word to refer to werewolves since she had met Remus—the word did not describe the man at all; he was too refined and gentle for that—but Greyback was a different story, the very picture of what a werewolf should be, at least according to the things she had been told as a child. If all werewolves were like him, she could almost understand Umbridge's hatred of them. But meeting Remus had changed everything. He had opened her eyes to the horrors of prejudice in a way her parents' story never had. By refusing to let the social stigma of that word—for that's all it really was, at least in Remus's case—werewolf, bother her, she had found the best friend she had ever known and the man she loved.

She sat down on the shredded mattress and absentmindedly pulled bits of fluff from it. She reached up and touched her hair. It was so dull, so unlike her, that it almost made her feel like someone else entirely. Someone older, wiser, and infinitely more boring. She thought back to Boxing Day morning. When she had woken up in Remus's lap, she could have sworn bits of pink were starting to creep back into the tips of her hair, but now, cold, miserable, and completely alone, even the thought of attempting to morph was as ridiculous to her as it would be to a Muggle. She ripped the fluff in her hands into four piece, then tossed it aside.

Tonks knew she couldn't hide in the deserted shack much longer. Dawlish would probably make up some rubbish theory about where she had been and report to Kingsley about it. Not that he'd believe it, but he wouldn't exactly be happy about her running off and hiding out. She'd seem a coward. She brushed the fuzz from her clothes and stood, still reluctant to leave. The peeling wallpaper caught her eye. It was a horrid floral pattern her mother would have chosen. Werewolf or not, she couldn't blame Remus for tearing it away. Forced to spend much time in this room, she would do the same. She cautiously opened the door to the next room, which appeared to be the main entry. There was a rickety old staircase that she was tempted to climb, but she fought of the curiosity and instead opened the front door and left the abandoned building. Down the will and a way off, she could see the peaceful little village, looking like something out of a Christmas card. Perhaps she would stop off at the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer after her shift. It was simply too cold for her to survive like this. Perhaps she'd get it after she sent Dawlish to speak with Dumbledore instead. She could just get a bottle and take it with her. Imagining the glorious feeling of warmth that would soon be hers, she wrapped her old Hufflepuff scarf tighter around her neck and pulled her cloak closer around her. The snow crunched lightly beneath her feet and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to forget about her troubles as she made her way to the village below.