Winter has hit and the worst of the cabin fever has come. Every day, Ron looks out of the family's one window and wants so desperately to be at Hogwarts that his whole chest aches. It will be Christmas in a week, but he knows hopelessly that this Christmas will be different than any other in his life. At Hogwarts, Christmas means sleeping in late in a warm bed, not being woken up by your brother's snoring as the icy wind whistles through the cracks around the windows. At Hogwarts, Christmas means feasting, playing in the snow, and games of chess and exploding snap in the common room. At Grimmauld Place, he and Hermione are quarrelling, Harry is being a prat, and his own brothers won't talk to him.
Everyone is behaving oddly around him because they think he broke Malfoy's arm. Ron thinks he should have listened to Hermione when she said not to believe him and that stupid story he made up about his family, and Ron feels like a moron for believing that Malfoy could have changed. Then again, the ferret-faced git seems to have completely fooled Harry. This bothers Ron more than he would like to admit, seeing Harry trail around after Malfoy like a lost puppy. He feels that something irreparable has changed in his relationship with Harry, and though he doesn't know what it is, but he's sure it's Malfoy's fault.
These days, it seems Malfoy has been communing with the house. He spends all day wandering in and out of all of the rooms, a habit that is fast annoying several members of the Wesley family. Already Charlie has threatened him at the dinner table for walking in on Ginny as she was dressing, and Ron thinks that all of his skulking around looks like he is plotting something. Malfoy avoids all of them, but none so fervently as Harry, who asks after him whenever someone walks into the room. It's as if they've been playing a game of hide and seek that has been going on for days.
This is how he feels with Hermione, who won't talk to him. She's been completely humiliated, and everywhere she goes in the house she is jeered at. The paintings mock her loudly as she walks by them and Mrs. Black makes vulgar assertions about how Hermione is now even more unmarriageable. After the first time that the portrait in Ron's room calls her a slut, she has refused to say anything at all to him, much less meet him alone in a room for any length of time.
Mum's embarrassment is tangible, as well. She has begun knitting for lengthy stretches of time—sometimes eight hours in a row—with her head down, counting stitches to avoid having to talk to anyone. Her mood is temperamental recently, and it seems that it takes very little to set her into a foul attitude or a crying jag. He is glad that Tonks has told him that he can go outside if he likes, but there is a terrible uncertainty when he thinks about the world outside Grimmauld Place. It's a world he hasn't been a part of in a long time, and except for Tonks's occasional reports, he knows nothing of what has happened. Tonks doesn't even give them a full report, Ron suspects, and from her stories it seems there is an uneasy calm permeating the world outside this vacation from the war.
Tonks talks about little things: Cho Chang has been married recently, to a boy from America who bears more than a passing resemblance to Cedric but behaves more like Viktor Krum; the Minister of Magic has declared the first day of every September a day of memorial for those lost in the war; there have been rumours, but no real movement on either side as far as she knows. No one, not even a Muggle, has been injured in a Death Eater attack since before Halloween, despite near hysteria caused by rumours at the time.
Ron is contemplating whether or not to go outside when he opens the broom closet to find Draco Malfoy half dozing under the Shooting Stars. His whitish hair is streaked with dust and his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks peacefully, but when the floorboards creak under Ron's feet, Malfoy jerks into a sitting position. His eyes are wide and guileless with lack of sleep and something else as he stares up at Ron, his expression like that of a stunned animal. A very wicked plan begins to form in Ron's mind.
"What are you doing in here?" Ron tries to keep his tone light and conversational.
"I'm hiding. From Harry," Malfoy elaborates.
"I know one place he won't find you," Ron says, extending his hand to the other boy.
::
The potion isn't there for them to play with—Draco knows this—but with Weasley polyjuiced into his sister and himself polyjuiced into Granger, he also knows that they can have the freedom to leave the house. Draco Malfoy cannot venture into Wizarding society, but Hermione Granger can, and so she does. Weasley takes him around in the neighborhood the first time, and they don't venture as far away as Diagon Alley. For now, Draco is content to sit in a swing in the park and feel the winter sun on his face. It is all too soon when Weasley's watch tells him that they must go back before the potion's effects wear off. As they part to go to their different parts of the house, he makes Weasley—who insists on being called Ron—promise that next time they will go to the Wizarding part of town. Draco wants to know what is happening to his family, and he knows that he won't find out while he's stuck in dank old number twelve.
The next time they go out, Ron is himself, but Draco is one of the twins. If anyone thinks it odd that one is going while the other stays, they don't say anything and the two of them slip out of the oppressive clutch of the house easily. They walk slowly and easily and they make it all the way to the Leaky Cauldron before they realize that it's just too far for them to walk in one hour. It has taken them twenty-four minutes to get to the pub's doors and it will take them another twenty-four to get back. If they want to stop anywhere in the Alley next time, they will have to do something else, so on their way back Ron jots the tube schedule down on a piece of paper in his pocket. Fortunately there's a tube station near the house, and if they are efficient with their time, they will be able to shave ten minutes off of their travel time each way, which leaves just enough time to have a quick peek in a shop window or two, a glance in the Prophet, and a few minutes for delay if the train is late. Draco can't pretend he isn't disappointed that he couldn't go in today, but he gives Ron a hesitant smile and thanks him, anyway, for going out of his way to help him.
The third day, Ron has become his eldest brother and Draco is the girl Weasley again, a grouping that makes his stomach roil when he thinks about it. Again, they slip out the door without complications. By this time, they've gone through almost an entire bottle of polyjuice, and Draco has grown used to the taste. There is only enough left for one more trip, he measures, but he wants so badly to poke around in Wizarding London that he doesn't let himself consider not going today.
The subway ride, paid for by Ron with a few slips of paper charmed to look like Muggle money, is nothing like Draco has ever experienced before. It is crowded, hot even though there is snow outside, and the small cars smell like sweat and stale air. There is a mad woman in the corner who gives off a foul odor and mumbles to herself. He finds himself clinging girlishly to Ron's arm, and Charlie Weasley's expressive eyes read warm amusement when he pulls himself away. When the train starts, it is with a jolt that almost knocks him out of Ginny Weasley's sensible shoes. When it stops, he has to grip Ron's arm to keep himself from tumbling arse over teakettle onto the dirty, wet ground. It is a very short walk to the pub.
When the back wall opens, Draco feels his breath taken away, as if he has never been to the Alley before. It takes all of his willpower to keep himself from gawking in awe as people in multicolor robes rush around. There are owls screeching in Owlops's window and the excited rush of children's voices around the Quidditch accessories shop give him such a heartsick pang of longing for his childhood that he stands in the middle of the street blinking back tears before moving on to the next window.
Before long, he finds himself standing in front of the Daily Prophet's offices. Inside, he can see the print machines running and the papers fold themselves carefully in order, twine snaking around the papers so that the morning owls can carry them off to readers. There is a newsstand in front of the building, and for the first time in almost six months, Draco reads a headline. He feels someone reach into him and carefully scoop his insides out, leaving him hollow. The papers declare proudly, "Malfoy Heir Missing, Presumed Dead. Ministry Seizes Assets."
This is how Draco learns that his mother is dead.
::
Draco is in a terrible mood. He's almost worse than he was back at Hogwarts, Harry thinks. Malfoy has taken to calling Hermione a mudblood again, and he avoids Charlie entirely. He makes vague, disparaging comments that impugn Ginny's honor, and he's stopped helping Molly with the dishes after dinner, citing that he was "neither born to house elves nor given their awful buggy eyes" so why should he perform their menial tasks? Everyone in the house is getting tired of his behavior, and when Harry says so one night, Malfoy merely snorts loudly and turns away from him.
That night, Harry is awoken by a nightmare—Sirius falling through the veil again, pushed by Bellatrix. There is a queue of Harry's loved ones, and she pushes them all in, one by one: Remus first, then Ron, Hermione, Ginny. Draco is the last one in line, and Bellatrix looks surprised that he is in the line, but laughs at Harry when Draco's eyes go cold and he steps through the veil himself. Harry tries to push her through, but suddenly she is a large stone statue of Dumbledore. He looks at Harry with disappointed eyes, and Harry bolts awake, sweating. There are tears on his face, but there is a cool hand on his brow, gently pressing him back into the pillow. Harry cracks his eyes open and sees a blobby white shape leaned over him.
He grabs his glasses and slides them up his nose. Draco looks suddenly nervous, as if he may bolt, and Harry finds himself clutching the other boy's hand to his chest. "Are," Draco's eyes dart up to Harry's scar, which is probably vivid red against his clammy forehead, "Are you well?"
"Yeah, I think so. Just a nightmare," Harry tries to grin at Draco, but all he can see is the distant expression from his dream.
"Oh, well then…" Draco tries to slip away, but Harry clutches tighter to his hand. "Unhand me, Potter!" his voice is panicked as he begins to tug on his hand.
"Malfoy," Harry starts, but continues gently, "Draco…what's wrong? Why have you been acting like a prat recently? I know this behavior isn't you."
"You don't know me, Potter. You know Alexandre," Draco's tone is bitter.
"That's not true. I know lots of things about you. You went to Hogwarts," Harry's voice is sweet, pleading. "You were born in Nantes, France." Draco shudders and lets Harry pull him to the bed. When he sits down, Harry brings his lips to the shell of Draco's ear and murmurs, "You've never killed anyone in your life, despite what people think."
The release of tension from Draco's frame is cathartic, and he curls into Harry's offered embrace, tucking his head into the crook of Harry's neck. "My mother is dead," he informs Harry, who makes soothing circles on his back. He feels childish and slightly patronized, but it is comforting to have Harry take care of him. Harry must be expecting him to cry, he thinks, but he only curls tighter into the dark-haired boy. "Nobody even told me. She's been dead for weeks."
"I'm so sorry," Harry's breath ghosts over the nape of his neck and he shivers at the sensation. His fingers clench in the arm that is wrapped around him, and Harry tightens his grip. They sit there comfortably for a few minutes as the memory of Alexandre rushes through Harry's mind. He presses a kiss into Draco's hair, and Draco stiffens at the contact.
"I should go back to my bed," he says as he disentangles himself.
"Wait." Draco stands awkwardly next to Harry's bed, his nightclothes slightly rumpled and his emotions raw on his face. Harry stands up and slides his fingers to the nape of Draco's neck, where they play with the short hair there and the boys' eyes meet reluctantly. Harry presses a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth as the blond pulls away, and he settles into his bed as Draco goes to the door. His eyes are luminous with unspoken words when he opens the door and leaves.
::
Draco's mind is a mess of half-formed ideas, so when Ron suggests they make another trip out to Diagon Alley, he is all for it. He's still reeling from the news of his mother's death, from the press of Harry's lips to his own, and from the knowledge that the three galleons he carries are the last of the Malfoy estate. He doesn't pay attention as Ron buys the transport tickets with his charmed paper, or when he ushers him into the car. In fact, it is several stops later, near Piccadilly Circus when he realizes that Ron isn't with him at all. None of the names on the chart look familiar, and all of the stations look the same to him. He realizes with a start that he is lost in Muggle London, and will soon change back into himself. In his mind's eye he can see himself standing in the middle of a crowd of Muggles, the frilly pink jumper he is wearing highlighting his own knobby knees. He imagines that the yellow hair ribbons he is wearing in the Weaslette's hair will clash horribly with his own hair, and that the blouse will stretch uncomfortably over his own shoulders. He could never have imagined that Ron—Weasel—would do this to him, but thinking back he suspects he should have known.
He is near Marylebone Station when the cramps hit him, and when the doors open he shoves his way through the crowd, pleading feminine problems. Once in the cubicle, he doubles over in agony as the changes occur. His skin shifts over muscles that grow firmer than they were before. The hair on the back of his neck prickles with the feeling of skin that doesn't quite fit. The tendons around his joints shift strangely, stretching and relaxing until he is quite suddenly himself again, standing in the girls' toilets at the Underground station. Ginny Weasley's socks have pooled around his ankles; he no longer has her stocky calves to hold them up. Her skirt is slipping off of his bony hips, and he is glad to be able to tug tighter the belt he's worn today. The shirt he is wearing is pulled taut over his broad, distinctly male shoulders, and the darts in the bust make it sag awkwardly in the front. The brassiere he'd charmed from handkerchiefs still fits because it is also charmed to fit, but it is a strange and entirely unwelcome sensation to feel the cloth straining to lift flesh that isn't there. He glances down and is immensely grateful for the first time that he is both shorter and thinner than the Weaslette, because the skirt and jumper he is wearing have combined to make him look like a young, if terribly flat chested, schoolgirl. He uses the hair ribbons as garters on the tall socks and as he ventures out of the cubicle, no one takes any notice of him.
He wanders aimlessly out into the city, feeling overwhelmed. He has never felt as alone as he does now, dressed as a girl wandering through Muggle London. Draco wanders around the city, taking in the sights and hoping that he will see something familiar until his feet hurt and he can walk no more. He has made it all the way to Charing Cross, and he knows that he cannot be far from King's Cross and the Hogwarts Express, but even though it would be running this time of year, the train is closed out of fear in the Wizarding world. All around him is a festive jumble of fairy lights, evergreen plants, and fake snow. The streets are filled with dirty slush and water.
Draco realizes that it is close to Yule, the Winter Equinox. He can feel his magic ebbing in him slightly, and he wonders if it is fear, illness, or anxiety that is causing this. He doesn't even consider another witch or wizard until the enchantment comes over him, and then he's asleep; the woman scoops him up and carries him into an alley, where they disapparate, leaving behind a ringing echo on the bricks and the faint shape of two high-heeled shoeprints.
::
It takes Ginny around four days to realize that one of her pairs of shoes is gone. When she sees that one of her school skirts is missing, she is sure she has only left it behind at the Burrow. The missing blouse is a case for only mild concern, and the jumper with pink bobbles is worrisome, but likely under the table in some room where her paramour has pulled it off of her. In fact, it takes one specific thing to make her upset about the missing clothing. Two things, actually: her yellow hair ribbons have disappeared.
She looks everywhere in the room she shares with Hermione. Her own jewelry box is emptied seven times before she will believe they aren't there, and she takes every pair of panties out of the drawer twice, one by one, just to prove that it isn't where she put them. She searches thoroughly underneath her bed, and then between the mattresses. She pulls all of her clothes out and this is how she notices that there is a lot missing from her wardrobe.
At first, she believes that Hermione has been taking her things. Ginny rifles through everything Hermione owns after this, and though she finds nothing, she is still certain that Hermione has them. She dumps her trunk into the floor, searches every pocket in her wardrobe, and even pulls the sheets off of her bed to search through them but she finds nothing. Leaving the mess in her wake, she goes off to search the house. She's had trysts in several rooms, so it takes her all day to search those rooms. She even searches rooms she's never been in, and almost begins to search Kreacher's nook when Mum comes into the kitchen to make dinner. Mum sends her outside to play in the backyard, where the boys are playing football, and when Ron trips over his own two feet and lands in the bramble bushes, scratching himself up, she forgets the whole issue and laughs herself sick. It isn't until after dinner, when Hermione is blubbing in the middle of her worldly possessions, that Ginny even remembers she was looking for something.
::
Harry is sure that Draco is upset with him. It feels odd to care so much whether or not Draco Malfoy is upset with him, but all he can remember when he tries to sleep are giddy eyes looking into his, the tentative press of hands against his shoulders, and the feel of warm, slightly chapped lips pressed against his own. All he can think about is the rush of emotions that accompany these memories. When he even thinks about Draco, he can feel himself walking on air.
But Draco obviously doesn't feel the same mass of conflicting emotions rushing through him at the barest memory of a kiss. He's been avoiding Harry for weeks, since even before it happened, and since it happened Draco's not been in the room at all. His bed is un-slept-in and the blankets unmussed. His things do not move and his chair at meals is not filled. Harry knows this is his fault in the same way that he knows that Dumbledore's death was his fault, and Cedric and Sirius. In a way, he is glad that Draco is angry with him, because now he will not have to worry about him.
Harry isn't even sure of what he's feeling. He doesn't know why something in his stomach aches at the thought of Draco's white blond hair. He doesn't understand how his lips can miss something he's only had three times. This is nothing like it was with Ginny, who was needy and clingy, or with Cho, who was watery. It is nothing like anything he's ever heard about relationships before, and a lot more like what he felt last year, when he was waiting for Draco to do something. He does feel like that—like he's waiting, albeit rather impatiently, for Draco to make his actions clear, to explain something to him.
Around him, Grimmauld Place slowly begins to return to normal. Remus is named the new Secret Keeper, and Harry can feel the magic singing in his blood when the ritual is performed in the sitting room. Molly continues to cook and clean and knit, and Harry has already seen at least four Weasley jumpers folded neatly in the bottom of her knitting basket. She winked at him and held her finger to her lips, then quietly went on picking an "R" into the jumper she was working on. Fred and George have left the house to go back to their shop, and Charlie and Ginny work as clerks for them from time to time. Ron and Hermione are fighting again, and she is back to memorizing her text books while Ron practices his chess moves on a charmed set. The only person he sees nothing of is Draco, but then, Draco is avoiding him.
Everything in Harry's mind seems to cycle back to Draco. He can feel himself becoming obsessed the longer the boy stays away from him, and he decides he must force Draco to acknowledge him. He goes through the small pile of the other boy's things and finds nothing but the rags he wore into the house and his dragonhide boots. Hidden in a sheath in one of the boots is Draco's wand, which makes a strange chill creep down his spine. He's never known any wizard to leave his wand behind as long as this.
This is Harry's first indication that something is wrong.
::
Ron is surprised when, after over half a week, no one has noticed Malfoy's absence at the table during meals. He was certain that someone would have said something by now, but there has been utter silence on the subject. Perhaps it has something to do with the dramatic changes in the house, he thinks. With most of the family going back to business as usual, it is easy to ignore a person who seems to beg to be ignored.
It was far easier than he thought it would be to leave Malfoy in Muggle London. He'd seemed distracted, and all Ron had had to do was guide him onto the train. If anyone had noticed the two of them, it would have looked like a big brother making sure his sister made the train. Malfoy had wandered into the car in a stupor and when the doors closed, that was that. Ron still feels a trill of elation when he remembers the sight of the subway taking Malfoy away.
It is Christmas before anyone says anything. Christmas morning before someone notices that the prat is missing. The family is sitting around a tree that Fred and George have brought, and Mum is handing out the presents. Bill and Fleur's jumpers are sitting wrapped beneath the tree, and Molly stands in front of it, holding one more package, confusion written on her face.
"Draco?" she asks. "Has anyone seen Draco?"
Silence answers her, and Ginny speaks up, "Harry, go tell your boyfriend to get his lazy arse out of bed. We can't open our presents until everyone is here."
Harry stammers, his face turning red, about how Draco isn't his boyfriend. Something cold and hard makes itself known in the pit of Ron's stomach. It isn't true, of course, he tells himself. Ginny's just being a twit.
"Stop trying to deny it and just go wake him up. I know he's not used to our country manners, but that's no reason to sleep till noon," Ginny says firmly.
"But…" Harry begins, "but I don't know where he is. He's not been sleeping in our room."
"What?" Mum's voice is strange with realization.
"I haven't seen him at all for at least a week," Harry declares.
"Not since you locked lips with him, then?" Ginny asks, a fierce sneer twitching at the corner of her lips. The entire room grows silent and Ron's stomach twists sharply. Deny it, he wills to Harry. Deny it, please, and we can still be friends. Things can be okay again.
"No," Harry's voice is deliberate, "not since then."
Ron can feel his heart break as his best friend is suddenly ripped away from him. Malfoy's gloating smirk flashes behind eyelids he only now realizes he has screwed tight against the world. Hermione's hand brushes his shoulder and he barks out, "Don't touch me!" before he opens his eyes to find her comforting hand covering Harry's instead. She looks at him understandingly, and he wonders what it is that she suddenly understands. He is overwhelmed by the sheer joy he feels in knowing that wherever he is, Malfoy is nowhere near number twelve. He pulls himself to his feet and looks around the room, where Mum is speaking urgently to Dad and the twins and Charlie are animatedly talking about the revelation. Ginny smiles at him and he suddenly feels ill, so he leaves the room. He can hear Hermione's voice echo in the hall behind him as she shouts after him.
::
He is dreaming, Draco thinks, when the foot on his shoulder suddenly jolts him awake. He rolls sleepily, a small protesting noise escaping him before he realizes he is not in the hallway at number twelve. He is curled on cold stones that feel familiar, somehow, and there is a familiar high-pitched squeal of laughter echoing in the room. His eyes crack open to the sight of a pair of old-fashioned black boots with tiny buttons up the side. He only knows one person who still wears these boots, and Aunt Bellatrix kicks him again, in the ribs this time.
"Get up, you lazy bag of bones!" she shouts, and even though every part of his body resists, he manages to slump into a sitting position. "Aren't you lucky that Wormtail found you? Said he saw you skulking around in Muggle London and I went to pick you up. What were you doing in Muggle London, boy?"
"I was…" Draco's mind works rapidly for the best way to color the truth. To his surprise, it is shockingly easy. "I was doing reconnaissance."
"Tell the truth," the whiny voice of Peter Pettigrew comes from the shadows. Wormtail looks the same as always, his battered old clothes still filled with holes. His silver hand looks a little blackened by grime, but otherwise the man is exactly as he was when Draco left. He even stoops with submission in exactly the same way.
"I am! I was watching the Order of the Phoenix for the Dark Lord." Aunt Bellatrix's eyes darken at this, and Draco is reminded forcibly of the corpse in the clearing and what happens to those who upset his mad aunt. "In L—" the word won't come. "The house is called Gr—" and he chokes again.
"Fool, we already know all of that," Aunt Bellatrix sneers down at him. "You've done nothing useful in this time?"
"I've…" Draco's throat constricts. "I've been spying on Harry Potter."
Aunt Bellatrix's smile widens and she offers him a hand, helping him stand. "Oh? Tell me what you've learned."
"Perhaps," Wormtail cuts in, simpering, "we ought best to hold the story until the Dark Lord can hear it? No sense in telling it twice." A shade passes over Aunt Bellatrix's face but the smile returns so quickly that Draco thinks he may have imagined it.
"So we shall."
::
It only takes her twenty minutes to learn that no one at all has seen Draco Malfoy in a week, and the news is almost as distressing as knowing that one of her own children was missing. Harry tells her how he assumed the boy was in the house because his wand was still in his room, and a little piece of Molly's heart goes numb and cold. Christmas has already been aching and heart-sore without Bill and Fleur, with Fred and George planning to leave early to get back to their shop and Ginny's poor behavior, but she is surprised to find that this, too, bruises her heart.
She had never thought that the skinny, mean little thing would be as dear to her as one of her own children, but something about him inspired the same rush of motherly affection she felt for Harry. It takes her only minutes to organize a search of number twelve, top to bottom, and when they find nothing, she is almost frantic with worry. She bothers Arthur until he tells her he will try to find him, and Tonks is clearly put out by her insistence that she help them. When they find that one of the bottles of Polyjuice put away by the Order to help with escapes is missing, it is all she can do not to collapse into Arthur's arms and sob. He could be anyone, anywhere.
::
Bellatrix stares down at her nephew as he sleeps, chained to the floor. She has no idea why he is here, only that she knew as soon as Wormtail told her where to find him that she needed to get him. He was surprisingly light—his magic was weak—but she doesn't allow herself to be fooled by this. She knows that, should he want to, he could fight back. She has seen him do it, back at Spinner's End.
She wants desperately to know where he went when he left the little house. She wants to know what he has been doing and how much he knows. There is no way to guess, so she has to bring him to the Dark Lord's table tonight and hope that he isn't killed outright. It is a dangerous gamble—one that Narcissa lost—but there is no other way. Hopefully, she thinks, the Dark Lord will be merciful.
There is a great deal to be done before the meeting, and she knows she must hurry if she hopes to accomplish it all before Wormtail gets back. He has gone to Knockturn Alley for the potions ingredients she requires, which will buy her some time, but not much. She quickly starts a fire for her cauldron and throws in the powdered asp eggs. To this she adds bat's blood and stirs four times counterclockwise, twice clockwise, and counterclockwise again. She continues to mix the potion quickly, taking care to stir to the maximum effect before taking the cauldron off of the fire. She can hear Wormtail approaching and grabs a small, corked bottle from behind the beetle eyes. She will run out soon, as supplies grow rarer and rarer, but for now she doesn't concern herself. As she takes a swig and wipes her mouth, she can feel Draco's eyes on her back. Her skin prickles slightly, but the sensation passes quickly and she decants the potion she has been working on. Then she leaves the room to bathe, because she smells like an alchemist.
::
The house is oddly tense these days as the Weasleys wait for Draco Malfoy to find his way back to Grimmauld Place, so she avoids it as much as possible. Tonks is working on easy cases recently, things like accusations of corruption in minor officials and misuse of magic-related materials. Her conspiracy theories, as her ideas have been dubbed, are popular around the office and almost every day someone tells her about something new, such as Boggarts trying to take over the world or pygmy puffs being the evil spawn of Dementors, charmed to look cute and cuddly. She can hear them laughing behind her when she walks down the hall and animated conversations die down whenever she enters the women's toilet. The water cooler is abuzz with lively gossip about her radical claims, and she suspects there's a betting pool to see how much longer she will last at work. To make things worse, the baby she is trying to pretend isn't growing in her is sucking at her magic, feeding ugly rumors about her "supposed" Metamorphmagi qualities as the brown hair she was born with begins to grow in, leaving her with three inches of dark roots.
Remus is trying to be considerate, but she feels torn between loyalty to him, loyalty to her job, loyalty to the Order, and her own fear that she will lose everything if she says the wrong thing. She knows that it is only a matter of time before she can no longer hide her secret—a scant few weeks before the Order loses another of its powerful links to the Ministry. She doesn't even want to think of the scene that she will cause with her resignation. She tries not to think of the look of disappointment that will show in Moody's eye when she has to hand him her badge. She will cease to be of any use to the Order; all of these things because she was careless.
Sighing, Tonks puts the files she is working on away. They are nothing important, and the Ministry can wait another day for her to finish them. She's hardly working now, anyway. She grabs her coat and is on her way to the Apparation room when the idea comes to her, and instead she heads out to Knockturn Alley for rue and yarrow.