Chapter Thirty-Two: A Discussion

"That was fun," Jessie sighed. "Even the bit with the whissh and the pff-pff-pff and the part where I broke my foot." She gestured alongside her sound effects, and I understood what she meant. "And you did a great job with that charm before Sarah could fix it for me."

"Well, it does have some side effects."

"You bet! Mild dizziness, euphoria and feeling somewhat like being drunk. S'okay. I like it. It's like how champagne feels, but without the Regrettable Lapses in Judgment." She leaned back across the bed, which put her head and shoulders conveniently alongside my lap. I stroked her hair and she grinned at me. "Not that I've had lapses in judgment around you before."

"I don't know, whacking that Bludger the way you did was pretty bloody regrettable."

"We won, didn't we?"

"You broke your own foot with the ricochet."

"Accep'ble margin of risk."

"Not in Quidditch, it isn't."

"What? You said I should play more like a Gryffindor, Charlie."

"Gryffindors play bravely, not with a willingness to strategically fracture extremities in the interest of winning. I have to hand it to you lot when it comes to sheer calculated ruthlessness at the game."

"Slytherins get injuries too."

"Slytherins try to injure others. Ravenclaws risk themselves like self-aware chessmen. It's one of the most disconcerting things about their playing style."

"Ian's made a pretty damn good career of it," she argued, not quite pouting but still with a little resentment at being called out on something immature.

"He's learned to tone it down a notch, and he wears a hell of a lot more protective gear than you had on."

"…Boots next time?"

"Full kit or you're not playing. You can't be trusted."

"Can, too. I just wanted to show those guys that I'm not scared to play anymore."

"Acrophobia is nothing to be ashamed of. Going up on a broom like you've been at the whiskey and playing like it's for the bloody House Cup is a little extreme."

"I was…I was happy about passing the masterpiece and sorting out that whole unwanted-proposal problem. I needed to blow off steam."

"Yes…and I'm very glad we won, but I never want to see you take a physical risk like that."

"Have I mentioned that you're not the boss of me? I haven't needed to up until now, but you do know you aren't, right?"

I tensed, thinking this might well be the beginning of a fight between us, but then she smiled. "Unless it's in here. Then you can be the boss of me. A lot. And in many ways. Unless it is not your turn, in which case..." Jessie clutched a fistful of my shirt and pulled me down toward her even as she sat up to level with me. An inch from my face, she grinned. "Well, then I'm the boss of you. Right?"

She…managed to persuade me. With…with chocolate biscuits, the nice kind. I like biscuits. We both do.

Awhile later, once the most obvious effects of my analgesic charm had worn off, she conceded that I was right about not taking an extremely high risk of injury even if it meant winning a bloody Quidditch match. She also explained that she really hadn't known the Bludger was going to ricochet as it did, never having played anything but pick-up games, but that playing the 'I meant to do that,' attitude was easier than looking weak in front of her old clockmaking schoolmates.

"I will also concede that it is a highly effective and terrifying tactic, the way you handle injuries."

"Terrifying to you," she agreed. "It's not fair of me to make you worry."

"No, I also mean terrifying to the rest of the boys. If I saw a beautiful Valkyrie on a broom with her foot smashed, her face cut and bleeding, her arms bruised and a mad, triumphant grin of blood-purchased victory as she waved a beater-bat aloft, I would be pretty damn terrified. I was even a little anxious about the implications of some of our other activities, knowing you can take injuries and still keep coming like that."

"…That was the worst pun ever."

"What do you mean –oh. I didn't mean like that, but…well…"

"I have…interests, as you now know. Some have a little in common with what could be considered Dark, but only if the participants are not absolutely consenting to and okay with what occurs. I also have a fairly high tolerance for pain, which, I'm told, is partly genetic and partly something that's just to be expected when one starts working with sharp tools, molten metal and assorted miscellaneous pointy things at an extremely early age. You get hurt often enough, and you get a little bit used to it."

She shrugged and I noticed that there were a few little white pocks and lines on her wrists here and there, all in places her watches normally covered. Molten metal and pointy things…

"Neither of these things mean that I have any intention of doing things to you to which you have not consented or which you would not enjoy," Jessie continued. "And while I may, eventually ask you to experiment with some activities along that line, a tolerance for pain does not mean nor should it imply a fondness for it. Primarily, my interests deal with experimenting in relative levels of control during certain activities, and as an unavoidable safety requirement for said experiments, either subject can call a halt to the proceedings at any time, for any reason." Jessie sighed again. "I know it seems strange, but I'm determined to be…sane about this. And safe. And it almost goes without saying consensual. If I were to…do things to you that you didn't want, well, the definition of what that is doesn't change just because we've been a little …creative in the past. There's a word for a person who does something to another that they don't want, and that's not me. Ever. No matter what."

"I…have a hard time imagining something you'd want to do to me that I wouldn't want."

"Supposing you'd rather sleep at the time because you had to be up early the next day."

"Point taken...but still, hard to imagine. Unless you mean…pain might be involved somehow?"

"Yes. I will not hurt you. I know a lot of people assume that if you like to occasionally play with things like Madame Morrigan's Mistress Cuffs or the odd bit of unusual lingerie that you'll be breaking out the riding crops next and it won't be long until you're Body-Binding a village full of attractive young things to practice your Cruciatus. And it's not really like that at all. That's how a crazy person handles this sort of thing, and perhaps because sane people have the sense to keep it behind closed doors, crazy people are the only ones thought to enjoy this sort of activity. Never mind that they're doing it wrong."

"I really don't see you as being the sort of person to use a pain curse on a spider, let alone me."

"Well, and neither is anyone else who likes this sort of thing with any level of sanity. It isn't about 'oh, I shall have my wicked way with you any way I please while you are tied up and there is nothing you can do, mine is an evil laugh!'" Even I couldn't restrain a grin at that. "It's about 'you are putting yourself completely in my hands and trusting me not to take unfair advantage of that submission while still depending on me to make that submission…very enjoyable.' Crazy people are just…well, they're abusing the privilege and giving the rest of us a bad name."

"Rest of us?"

"You don't know how scared I was of you realizing I liked this. I was pretty wrecked on champagne and that Riesling stuff from the train, plus whatever was in that vaccine thing when I did tell you."

"Jess, I was there. I know how scared you were, especially after we'd had some Sober-Quik potion and you almost panicked I was going to think you were a horrible person. And it's not really something that bothers me."

"So you said…but I am aware of how this sort of thing is viewed. Someone once noticed me picking out a book on the subject and actually checked my arm for the Dark Mark before threatening to follow me until the glamour charm wore off and then warn my family."

"Glamour charm?"

"Most bookstores have some kind of security for their more grown-up inventory, usually an Age Line or similar, but others also have something for their customers' privacy. The Redferns have a random glamour charm generator like the bigger stores, but it caused problems, so they just started using identical wrapping for all parcels and packaging things from the special section prior to the register."

"So what happened?"

"Fellow shopkeeper cast a dispellment charm and asked the other customer to leave. The privacy rule in such shops is quite strict, either respect it or lose it. The shopkeepers can see through the charms, so if there's a problem they can handle it, but I'm pretty sure one could trust them with state secrets, let alone whose paperback novels have a little more rope than nudity."

"If it helps, I'd read a little about such things, too, I just hadn't seen enough to know if it was something I liked or not. There were one or two drawings of ladies tied up, but you wouldn't believe how many of witches in black leather with some poor wizard chained to a bed or similar and a naughty smile on her face as she toyed with her wand, or a thing to smack him with, or a lot of times a feather. Never did figure out what that one was for."

"Tickling, of course," Jessie explained, before going absolutely scarlet and shutting her eyes before speaking again. "Don't ask me how I know that. But if you're interested in something that involves pain, discipline or testing of boundaries, well, we'd discuss it and our respective limits long before we tried anything, if only for safety's sake, and if it turns out that you're not comfortable with it, this sort of activity is still a thing I can live without. My relationship with you…not so much. I won't risk you-and-me to try something…interesting with you."

"I'm just still getting over the surprise of how, well, aware you are of the various ways to experiment, and your…well…eagerness."

"Why wouldn't I be eager to try new things with you?"

"No, I mean…well, on the one hand, you still blush when the subject comes up in general and I know you…well, let's just say you had very little practical experience, but you're so…so well-read on the theory, I guess. You've brought up things I've never imagined doing, let alone done."

"…You do know there's a secret repository of absolutely filthy novels in the Ravenclaw girls' dorms?"

"I knew the gents had one, but the ladies…well, actually, no, that doesn't surprise me so much as it hadn't occurred to me that you'd be as well-prepared there as in other subjects. I should have guessed, given some of what the Redferns keep in stock."

"You don't know the half of it. Sometime I shall take you to Nooke's Books and More in Knockturn. I'll give you a hint, the 'and More' doesn't just mean a delicious coffee and scone for while you browse." She stretched out like a cat before putting her head on my shoulder and snuggling close. "And it's not like I'm ridiculously well-read on the subject, just swotting away on smut. But I did notice that witches and wizards have certain drives and needs, and since male company didn't seem particularly forthcoming, nor did I really have time for it with apprenticing, school, the shop… well, books worked. One could read a reasonably interesting story that had additional educational content, as it were, and that was more or less adequate to satisfying my own interest at the time. Just because you don't know the whole of what you're missing doesn't mean you don't still wonder, as I'd assume you're aware."

"Considering a few badly-drawn booklets that got passed around the Common Room in second year, yes. I take it you weren't just satisfying curiosity."

"Curiosity can be physical as well as intellectual," she explained shortly, as if that was all to be said on the subject. It set my imagination to racing, but she still tended to skip words and fill in with vague gestures, almost as if afraid of being overheard.

"And then later, once I met you and…okay, developed rather an awful crush…you're older. And I knew you…knew more. From actual experience, I mean. Just on the off chance I had any chance at all…I kindofwantedtoimpressyou," she stammered, in a voice so small that if she hadn't been close, I mightn't have been able to make out a word.

"I was very, very impressed night before last."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought a half-hour of stammering and blushing followed by …well, I wouldn't think that would impress anyone."

"Not that. The fact that you overcame the blushing and stammering to mention what you wanted, that you were self-aware enough and good at what I will, for the sake of argument, call 'research' to know you wanted it, and that you trusted me enough to tell me –that was impressive. But I've known since before the dinner dance on the Trans-European that first night that you had the potential to be…well…pretty darn amazing at this. I'd never been asked what I liked before, doesn't that sound crazy?"

"Seriously?"

"Really. It just…well, nobody else before did very much talking on the subject beyond 'have you taken the potion' and 'was it good for you?'"

Jessie seemed to earnestly consider this, frowning a little as she thought.

"In that case, I think I could reasonably understand my capacity to impress you. It's not skill, it's adaptability. Even inexperienced apprentices can do a good job with a highly specialized custom piece meant to exactly suit one person."

"Well, and the way you asked…" I was a little uncomfortable there for a second, but Jessie snuggled a little closer against me and I felt better. "Where did you hear of that?"

"I actually have the book at home, disguised as an arithmancy text. It actually is an instructional manual. They make those."

"The author has my eternal respect."

"At the risk of being a complete cliché…am I improving at all?"

"The first time was more than adequate. That last time was the best I've ever experienced, and I mean that honestly."

"…I'm really working on trying to not blush and stammer as we discuss this. The books all seem to indicate that we'll get better at this the better our communication is, whether we're doing anything out of the ordinary or not."

"I love books."

"I love men who write them." She kissed me. "I did wonder why the scenes in your last novel were, so, well, nonspecific, but it does leave a little more to the imagination."

"Avoiding the censors, mostly," I explained, almost stammering a little. "I know I said I didn't have much experience with this sort of …specific thing, but I find that I'm…well…I think it's safe to say you've succeeded in sharing an interest."

"I see," Jessie smiled, a little hesitantly, but with the blush starting to really fade. It was astonishing, to watch the timidity and anxiousness blurring away as the same kind of confidence she had in her timepieces, that desire to give precisely what was asked and work tirelessly until all demands were met, grew in and overpowered the novice. "So…would you like me to untie you first?"

"Don't. Not unless it's your turn already."

"…Can it be?"

And then we ate biscuits. Again, yes. Biscuits are a very popular snack, after all.

Clearly, we did not get very much done that evening. However, as the train stopped to take on coal or water or some other thing that trains enjoy stopping for, it did occur to me that I was rather hungry, and Jessie reminded me that there might be a murder on the Trans-European this second time around, so we got dressed, Jessie in a pretty gray-green dress that shimmered a little and me in my black tie again. We talked as we got ready and I found out that she had started her trip with three or four new very dressy outfits her stepmother had helped her select, then when the two of them had gone shopping in Switzerland, she'd picked up a few more things, as well as presents to take home. I agreed that Ian would probably like the hooded sweatshirt she'd chosen for him, but questioned whom the enormous box of separately-wrapped, prism-shaped chocolate bars was for.

"…Everybody, I guess. I got enough for your brothers, and the Redferns, and I thought I'd take a couple by Fortescue's, and then you might take some by your mother's next time she has you home to supper. It just occurred to me that if I bought it wholesale, I'd be markedly less likely to forget anyone. Besides, it's not like leftover chocolate is really all that much of a hardship. I could eat a bit, and this kind does go well in brownies, if worse comes to worse."

"I don't believe I've ever heard of there being leftover chocolate. There sure never was any at my house."

"Then you should send your folks some of these with my compliments. I bought enough to give just about everyone I know stomach-ache from too many, just to be sure I didn't miss anyone."

"Did you know my brothers Bill and Percy are allergic to chocolate?"

"Really?"

"Yep, gives them both a stomachache if they have more than a little bit. It's why Mum makes cinnamon cookies as well as chip ones when she makes any. And the gingersnaps, well, those are just because Dad likes them."

"I've had her cookies once; the twins brought some by. Only gingersnaps I've ever had that weren't hard enough to chip a tooth. Wish I'd known, too…next trip I'll make a point to get peppermints or something for the non-chocolate-eaters."

"Bill is very fond of peppermints."

"I got these little cinnamon mints in a tin, they're supposed to be stronger than average? Will some of them do?"

"You don't have to bring back presents for every one of my relatives, Jess."

"But I like having people to bring back presents to," she replied quietly. "All my life, I've only had my uncle, my grandfather, Ian, Great-Uncle Emeric whom I've only known through letters and, to a certain extent, my dad. That was all. And then Sarah came, and then the little twins…so now I have some family, but it's not like yours."

"Mine is larger. And redheaded."

"There's also…I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but…well…remember when your mother asked Fred and George and you and I over to dinner a few weeks ago? We had just come in and she was helping us off with our coats when Bill and Fleur came in, totally unexpected."

"I remember."

"And your mum didn't even blink, she just smiled that smile and said 'Oh, look, Arthur, it's our Bill and his young lady!' as if an extra two people for dinner were some kind of grand treat. And later, when you and Bill were losing at Parcheesi to the twins and Fleur was asking me about a watch for her sister's birthday, I saw your Mum was knitting. 'It's a sweater for our Harry's Christmas,' she said, as if a good friend of her son's was just as important to her as any other one of her children. And later, when your Dad and I were listening to that Wizarding Wireless bit about the new theoretical charm-stringing theory, she said 'Our Hermione would know all about that sort of thing, we should ask her about it next visit.' She just…well, adopts people. Once you're a friend of her children's, she considers you hers, and looks out for you and makes you sweaters and is proud of you when you know things. I love that about your Mum."

"Really?" I asked. "I never thought that was anything particularly special; she does that all the time and I'd never noticed it."

"Well, to you, it's probably no stranger than Tuesdays, but to me, that's just wonderful. Nobody's ever described me as an 'our' before, and only very rarely as 'my' anything. And even then it's only sister or daughter or friend, which is nice, but…well…"

I zipped up the back of her dress and put my arms around her from behind for a snuggle, which made her sigh like a contented cat. I wondered for a split-second if clockmakers could purr, as she leaned her head on my shoulder and pressed my hands even tighter around her.

"Mine," I announced possessively.

"And mine," she agreed, slipping her hand into mine and kissing me on the cheek.

Shortly thereafter, we went and had dinner. Not biscuits. It was the nice black-tie sort where partway through the soup course, the instructions are handed out for the murder and the plot is underway by the fish. That's how they do the evening murder on such trains. It doesn't typically get solved until fairly late at night, but any time you want, there's your choice of drinks.

There was a nice murder on the train, actually. It seemed for all the world like the rich young heiress who'd stolen her best friend's fiancé and then been followed by the jealous and slightly dotty friend onto the train was going to be the victim, but then it was her house-elf, and I was so flummoxed by how anyone could have such an obviously Agatha Christie plot go differently that I almost missed the second victim's multiple errors in the description of his profession or the very large number of owls he sent. And if Jessie hadn't noticed the ink-blots on his cuffs when we found his body, we might never have guessed the motive or who'd done it.

But we did, and apart from a tense moment when we were suspects and an even tenser one when somebody thought Paul Deroulede's new fiancée had done it for hire, it was a jolly good murder –which is to say, one that's quite hard to solve. Jessie and I put our identical theories into the guesses-box together before the detective did his summation and were happily rewarded for being right with champagne and a small silver cup each. That was nice, especially considering the only other three people who guessed it were a pair of retirees who just about live on trains, we think for the exclusive joy of murder-solving, and of course, Juliette Deveraux, who had, I think, enjoyed being suspected of paid assassin-dom just a little too much. She was rapidly becoming a good friend of ours, being just as quiet as Paul was effusive, just as serious as Paul could be frivolous and both of them sarcastic enough to account for an increase on French export tariffs in snarky comments. They were the sort of couple whom you had to watch before taking a sip of anything, lest one of them say something and send said drink right up your nose.

Suffice it to say, it was a plot I doubt even dear old Dame Agatha would have considered, though that'd be more due to when the dear lady lived than to a lack of creativity. And the comments Jessie and Juliette made at Paul's expense when he had the Gallic chagrin to be scandalized by it were perfectly hilarious. The Deveraux-Derouledes, (or whatever their name might become once they actually got around to marrying,) got off at the junction before Paris and we waved goodbye with promises to send an owl soon and similar.

We were still chattering away about our favorite mystery stories, which, of course, I prefer in books and Jessie likes best as radio plays, when the train steamed into London. The sun was just beginning to come up and shone through the glass windows of the station in that foggy, not-quite-awake-way the sunrise sometimes has, and rather than go to bed just to get up again, we'd stayed up and…talked about mysteries. Yes. And having coffee, of course. The coffee on the Trans-European Rail is remarkably good, you know. There were even biscuits. We were so busy eating biscuits that it took a few knocks for us to get our luggage together before the train stopped. Very good biscuits, too, the absolutely non-metaphorical, comes-in-a-tin-and-you-eat-them kind, certainly not some sort of half-hearted attempt to clean this up for the censors, that would be quite silly.

Yes. We did have biscuits quite regularly at that point in time.

Jessie'd only just stepped off and waved a last goodbye to Isambard elf when a serious-looking pink-haired witch strode up.

"Madam Chairwoman Tickes?"

"Tonks!" Jessie replied, perking up considerably. I recognized Nymphadora then. She'd been in Gryffindor with me, but of course, she'd changed her hair…probably a lot. It was a very plain and businesslike brown at the moment, as opposed to her usual more vibrant hues. Then Jessie coughed, straightened and seemed to realize how stern Tonks looked. "Auror Tonks," she clarified with a serious nod that didn't quite cover the smile of a second ago.

"We have a situation, ma'am," Tonks announced direly, pronouncing the title to rhyme with 'farm' rather than 'ham.' "There has been an incident in Diagon Alley. Two dead and two missing."

"Good lord!" Jessie's smile was gone. "Where?"

"Fortescue's, ma'am."

"No! Who would…?"

"We are uncertain as to the nature of the attack at this time, ma'am. One of the deceased does appear to have been part of a group of miscreants invading the premises."

"What happened?"

"As far as can be told, a party of unidentified miscreants, motive unknown, entered the shop after hours and attacked the occupants, who have disappeared."

"But…no…did you say two missing?"

"Two out of the four occupants, ma'am," Tonks explained, removing her hat and twisting at the brim a little. "Ms. Fortescue-Price defended the premises most bravely and succeeded in fatally repelling one of the attackers, but Mrs. Fortescue and Florean are missing."

"There is a search underway?"

"Naturally, ma'am, with descriptions and a reward offered via wireless, and twenty of the best working day and night."

"When did this happen?"

"Earlier this evening. Ms. Fortescue-Price succumbed to her injuries on the scene, and we have only one survivor in custody."

"Are you interrogating?"

"No, ma'am…you see… it's the little Fortescue, Florean's great-nephew."

"Loren?" Jessie's expression of shock and anger softened into plain sadness. "Oh, no…that means his mother…"

"Both of his mothers," Tonks confirmed sadly. "Ms. Price-Fortescue passed away a few days ago in St. Mungo's. Cancer, they said. They were staying in London with the elder Fortescues while arrangements were being made."

"Both…oh, no. The dear little chap."

"I thought you might need a moment," Nymphadora sighed, clapping a friendly hand onto Jessie's shoulder and squeezing it in a friendly way. "Will you take him home directly, then, or shall I arrange for an overnight observation by the Healers? I'm told he's all right, apart from some shock and the natural grief…"

"Take…home…the what now?"

"…You didn't know?" Tonks' hair flashed from a soft brown to an electric green for a split second. "Oh, dear."

"Know what? Does being Chair have some sort of orphanage responsibility I wasn't told about? I don't mind having the little fellow over at all, he's a darling, but surely there's someone…well…actually qualified…"

"With the passing of his mothers, whose papers have not yet been located, that leaves the question of his custody to Mr. Florean Fortescue. He being missing, the will was checked, and he quite specifically names you as not only guardian of his great-nephew, but co-executor of his will."

"He what?" Jessie ran a hand through the loose not-quite-fringe that had escaped her ponytail with a sigh and a crinkle to her forehead that spoke of stress upon stress piled faster and heavier onto the shoulders of an only-just-Master Clockmaker –and one who was only-just-twenty-years-old, to be specific about matters.

"I…I would've thought you knew."

"Florean didn't see fit to mention that part. I knew about co-executor because he told Abby Flourish and I that he expected us to outlive him and Abby had a good laugh but I just thought it was awfully morbid and said okay…" Jessie sighed again, and looked back to me. I had gotten my small suitcase off the train and set it next to her trunk, but now I slipped my hand into hers, simply because it seemed the most helpful thing to do. "Charlie, did you catch all of that?"

"I did," I squeezed her hand a little and looked to Tonks. "It's terribly sad, of course. The poor kid."

"You can, of course, refuse, ma'am," Tonks pointed out. "Custody would then revert to the next appropriate party, and in the absence of any other living relatives, the boy would become a ward of either the Ministry or Her Majesty's what-have-you, depending, of course, on who spoke up first and held on longest. It's always so difficult in the cases with one parent Muggle-born."

"Has he any other living relatives?" I asked.

"None that we've been able to track down in three hours," Tonks replied, "but it's hard to say."

"Was his father…in the picture?" Jessie gestured vaguely.

"Not as such. I understand it was a donor scenario, anonymous. It would take some time to look him up, and in just about every case, he'd…well…for legal purposes, the assumption is that the boy is a complete orphan until we're told otherwise. This investigation may take some days or weeks…or years, as the case may be. I'm told there's a half-Muggle-born custody case from the Seventies that's still going on."

"How is that possible?"

"…Bureaucracy is a funny thing, Madam Tickes. I'm sure you've heard of superfluous case metal?"

"In some inferior designs, yes, such a thing might happen."

"I'll be blunt. Muggle-made mass-produced garbage the Chinese wouldn't approve of. Quartz and a battery. That's what your tax Galleons buy, when it comes to family-law cases. The centaur office is better funded and while the witches there manage to spin straw into gold on a regular basis, they're presently working with three pieces of hay and a drinking straw. They make it work, but it's not always fast or good, and even cheap often eludes them."

"You can only pick one, in government service," Jessie nodded ruefully and recalling the old saw. "I sometimes manage two, between fast, good, or cheap, but bureaucracy…and he'd just come and live with me?"

"Until the official custody hearing, yes, and then there would be the opportunity for challenges and similar, fitness as a parent, a home study. The usual."

"How long might that take?"

"In that case, much faster, I would think, than sorting out a magical-Muggle custody spat. The straw-to-gold social workers would have rather more straw in that case." Tonks tried to look cheerful and succeeded only in looking like a person who, having informed one that while the fire destroyed the building and the smoke and water from putting it out destroyed what few possessions which survived, there were still some leftovers in the building's fridge that weren't all green and fuzzy yet. "Point is, Jess, there's a little kid here who's just lost everyone, maybe forever. I don't place good odds on Florean and the Mrs. turning up alive and well, not in these You-Know-Who cases."

"It was…" Jessie went ashen.

"The corpse we recovered of the one attacker had a Dark Mark in the right place."

"Have you identified him? Perhaps there's a chance that-"

"He's missing most of his head, Jess," Tonks' abrupt tone became admiring. "Say what you will for the late Ms. Fortescue-Price, she had some style about her at the last. Brave as can be and fought like Firewhiskey going down, may she rest in peace. Ever hear of a Muggle thing called a Thirty Thirty Winchester?"

"Can't say as I had," Jessie looked a little alarmed.

"I'm going to ask Sam Redfern to stop by and confirm the identification tomorrow, she knows about Muggle things and could tell us for sure that the weapon we found did it, as well as, you know, what the weapon is. But I'm guessing it's a Thirty Thirty Winchester all right. I read a Muggle book that had them and this sounds like just the thing. Looks like the drawing on the cover, too."

"Is that a kind of gun?" I asked.

"I think they call this kind a riffle, but yes, it is," Tonks sighed. "Horribly brutal to look at the work of, but considerin' what her wounds looked like, I think a shot-head is comparatively merciful. Shouldn't underestimate Muggle methods of self-defense."

"Excuse me a moment," Jessie said quietly, and then in the most ladylike and graceful fashion one can imagine, she stepped over to a nearby rubbish bin and horked like a cat with a hairball. Then she took a belt from a hip-flask I think Sarah gave her, spat it out, and came back over just in time for Tonks to finish a perhaps overly-descriptive description of the Thirty Thirty Whatsit.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am fine," Jessie replied, though she still looked rather green. "I know I'll have to come and observe the body at the inquest, but if it could wait until such time as I've gotten used to…such things, I'd appreciate it."

"We have a sheet we use, to cover the…missing bits," Tonks explained.

"Thank you. I'll be taking my nephew home now, if you could take me to him, please."

"Your…ma'am?"

"Loren Fortescue. I'm certainly not going to have him calling me anything like mother, not after he's lost both of his so horribly. Considering I'm just a hair too young for the job anyway, I think a sensibly vague title like 'aunt' should suit," she smiled wryly. "And that way if there are any nasty little questions, I can rely on gossip to see an elder brother who plays professional sport and remains resolutely unmarried, a spinster sister with her own shop and room for an apprentice, add two and two so it makes five and draw their own wrong conclusions."

"You'll take him?" I'd never seen an Auror look so relieved. Nymphadora saluted again and was off like a shot, partly, I think to conceal moistening eyes and other womanly sentiment at a touching speech, and partly before Jessie could change her mind.

"You're quite sure, Jess?" I asked. She seemed to realize something and went momentarily white again, then set her jaw in that very assured way she had.

"What else can I do, Charlie? He's all alone. I know what it feels like to lose a mother, and I wouldn't wish the 'straw-into-gold' system on anyone. Maybe a Muggle relative will be found soon, or perhaps Florean might turn up safe and sound. But in the meantime, there's a little fellow who needs some kind of home, and I'm the person his great-uncle picked for the job."

"Why did he pick you?"

"Haven't the vaguest. Florean always had an inflated idea of my capabilities. Knew my Mum and such…gods, I'm already thinking of him in past-tense. Mustn't do that, now. But…do you think you could find some way to be okay with this? As my…as what you are to me, is this a thing you'd be okay with my doing?"

"I support you completely, in anything you do, you know that," I took her hands in mine. "But you're overworked as it is, are you quite sure this is something that you can do, without running yourself ragged? A kid is a lot of work, and a grieving, shell-shocked kid is going to be even worse."

"…That's rather getting to my next question. I mean, I can declare myself the little fellow's Auntie, take him in, raise him as best I can…but a little boy is going to need some sort of male influence around the place here and there. I grew up with practically nothing but male role models until the age of eleven or so and look what a mess I turned out. Ian's fine, but he's only home a little bit of the year. And your twin brothers…well…the least said about their influence, the better, though I'm rather counting on their being able to cheer him up.

"What I guess I'm asking is…if I can be an Auntie…you wouldn't have to be an uncle, not right away…but all of a sudden I seem to have acquired what they call 'baggage.' Is this something you can take? Because if you can't, you need only say so now and I'll call the Muggle authorities to take him and I'll just pay for some nice foster family until his relatives are found or he gets to school age or whenever. I have enough money to make even social workers move. And…as much as I feel this responsibility is mine by rights, I can't ask it of you, nor would I be willing to give you up to take it on. Say the word and I'll stick him with a nice nanny in Hogsmeade to keep you…though…I'm not sure I can avoid being involved a little."

"You'd drop him to keep me?"

"In a heartbeat," Jessie was as pretty as she ever looked just then. "Oh, to be sure, I'd resent you for it, but if it were a choice between being his custodial adoptive auntie and…whatever I am to you, I'll pick you every time. Of course, I would hedge that by being a non-custodial fairy-financial-type-godmother, because duty and honor are still a thing, but…you might want to hurry and speak up, because I can't make you any promises once I see him and I swear I think Tonks means to bring him here."

"Jamesina," I almost never called her by her full name, but that was one time I did, "let's pick up your nephew and get him home. You can explain me as the fellow who isn't his uncle yet but will be as soon as I marry you, who'll look after him when you're busy with work, read to you both before bed and who will teach him Quidditch when Ian's not home. I wouldn't love you so much if you weren't the sort of person who says 'yes' when duty calls. And I think you'll make a great mother…or custodial adoptive auntie, as the case may be."

"Oh, you…"

There are few feelings as nice as your beloved's arms twined about your neck and several soft kisses, and there's a lot to be said for a smoky railway station on a cold and frozen winter morning, with the snow starting to fall. Things may be staying darker for longer outside, but right there, between the two of you, things aren't bad at all.

Of course, most people have a significantly longer interval between biscuits and becoming the custodial parent of a seven-year-old, but that's clockmakers for you.