. . . in darkness, stars come and go to a chanting that Tonks is only properly aware of when it stops; her eyes are hot iron, lids fused shut; trying, with all she has, she can barely crack them open; red resolves itself into a palm and long fingers and a dark river of blood trickling into a narrow sleeve and her eyes slam closed again; she is lying in an alley with her head on Snape's lap. . .
'That's a useful spell,' says Moody . . .
. . . points of light are the harness of the horse held by a woman in strange trousers berating Goyle . . . ('that's a useful spell,' says Moody) . . . flashing silver becomes a pair of glittering sandals, grasped in a large hand; the blue of Moody's gown marches his mad eye; his great, hairy leg sticks out the side . . .
. . . tangled brightness unravels into the skein of a river, far away, in the valley bottom; her cousins are amused until laughter and colour fade leaving only darkness and a rope of twisting light travelling fast toward her; ('that's a useful spell,') ; three twins brandish water pistols (that's a useful . . .); rope explodes into shining raindrops . . .
. . . she tries to curl up; perhaps the horse has trampled her: she hurts . . .
Tonks awoke.
Sore, sweating and shivering, she opened her eyes.
Saint Mungo's, going by the faded eu-de-nil of upper walls and ceiling. The colour was supposed to calm the patients. Mostly it didn't. Fear rolled her out of bed and adrenaline got her hands between her face and the chequer tiled floor. A door opened and a mediwizard came in. 'Now . . . ,' he consulted her medical notes from the foot of the bed, '. . . Nymphadora, I don't believe that we should be getting up out of bed just yet.'
'Nrghmph,' said Tonks, using the high bed frame to haul herself up.
'In you get,' soothed the mediwizard, leviosa-ing her into the air, pulling back the covers and dropping her, sprawling, onto the bed. He pulled the covers back over her and treated her to a professional smile. 'There now,' he continued, 'isn't that . . .'
Tonks hand, as if of its own volition, had grasped him by his robes. 'Wand and clothes before I rip your head off.'
She let go but the man was undismayed. 'And how will you do that without your wand?' he inquired, rearranging his attire.
'Metamorphmagus.'
That had an effect: the mediwizard didn't quite match the paintwork. 'I'll call the Auror Office,' he stumbled and was gone.
Tonks got up, briefly considered the tent-like floral nightie that Saint Mungo's had provided, and reached for her notes. Purple squiggles tried to crawl off the edge of the page; with a hand over one eye she could make out some of it. That word was definitely 'concussion' and that looked like 'gastric lavage'. Dropping the notes and not letting go of the wall, she followed the wizard out of the door and along the corridor to the floor's reception desk. The resident mediwitch took one look at her and handed over a cardboard box. Tonks opened it and took out her wand and a new set of robes. 'My old ones?' she enquired. The woman shook her head and made an oddly intricate gesture with her wand that replaced the nightie with the robes.
Now properly dressed, Tonks tried to collect herself. The last thing she could remember was an argument in the 'Leaky Cauldron'. Perhaps she'd been hit with a stray hex? She had no idea where the flashing silver rope had come from.
'Gastric lavage', her notes had said: she'd had her stomach pumped. The terrifying thought intruded that it had been a 'Girls' Night Out'. The idea that her condition might be her own fault almost tripped her. 'Probably not a good idea to apparate,' suggested the mediwitch.
Tonks nodded and steered herself towards the floo. She grabbed a handful of floo powder from the box which fell and exploded at her feet. 'Em-oh-em,' she gasped, lurching forward. Green spinning ended with her falling out onto the Ministry of Magic's floor.
'Tonks?'
Tonks rolled onto her side. 'Remus?'
Lupin helped her towards one of the mismatched collection of comfy chairs that had mushroomed where the golden fountain had been, sat her down and knelt beside her. 'Tonks, are you alright?'
'Fine. Just tripped. What are you doing here?'
Lupin tensed for a moment. 'Applying for a Marriage License.'
Tonks blinked at Lupin. 'You must love her.'
'Tonks, I love you but . . . With Lucy, it's as if I've always loved her, as though she's . . .'
'A soul mate?'
'Exactly so.' Lupin nodded enthusiastically missing, or choosing to ignore, the sarcastic undertone. Tonks stood up and Lupin scrambled to his feet. 'Tonks, about the cottage; that was decent of you.'
Except that it wasn't. Not entirely. She had insisted that he kept the cottage in Hogsmeade because, despite the exorbitant rates he would pay as a werewolf, Remus could never hope to obtain even reasonable accommodation otherwise. It was a bitter triumph to know that it would take him years to repay her share of the deposit and, even then, he would be in her debt.
And he'd hate it. 'We were friends before we were lovers,' she said. Lupin put his hand over his face for a moment and then turned the gesture into one of rubbing his eyes.
'Hello,' said a hard voice behind Tonks.
Lucy Reive, thought Tonks, turning slowly, Remus' werewolf lover, now fiancée.
She wasn't beautiful. There was grey in her long auburn hair and a small scar across the bridge of her nose. The worn, ankle length, grey gown looked to be of muggle origin. Masquerades as some sort of magical dabbler, thought Tonks, telling fortunes and peddling mystical tat. She smiled with her mouth. 'Well, since you're her for a Marriage License, let me show you where . . .'
'I'm afraid it's not as simple as that,' interrupted Reive. 'They've had the application for four months now. Every week or so they call us in, keep us waiting most of the day and then, if we're lucky we get to see Madame Umbridge who keeps us standing while she enjoys a nice cup of tea and biscuits, asks insulting questions and pretends to clarify the same point she clarified the time before last. Have you any idea how difficult it is to run any sort of business like that? We're lucky if we get a day's notice when they want to see us.'
'This is Tonks, Lucy,' said Lupin and Reive deflated. 'Tonks, this is Lucy.'
'It's got nothing to do with the Auror office,' said Tonks, in a calm voice that surprised herself. 'Why not just marry as Muggles?'
'That would be deliberate action taken in order to avoid the requirements of a Ministry Decree,' said Lupin.
'That's nonsense' said Tonks. Reive made a small, rude noise. 'Something like that would be unenforceable. The Wizengamot wouldn't pass it.'
'It doesn't have to be enforceable against everybody,' Reive snatched a paper aeroplane from the air before it reached her eyes, 'and when the Wizengamot blindly passes enabling legislation, people use it as they see fit.' She dragged open the folded paper and glanced at it. 'Well, the toad's finally ready to see us,' she said, turning to Lupin who put his arm around her shoulders.
Tonks followed them into the lift. As it ground its way up the building, Lupin began to speak. 'We actually thought we'd succeeded, you know. They issued a Licence and set up a special appointment with the Magical Registry Office for a Sunday morning.'
'Registry's not usually open Sundays,' said Tonks.
'Exactly. Can't have werewolves mixing with ordinary decent people. The License was valid only for that date, so we made our arrangements and sent out invitations.'
'Then we got a letter from the Registry,' said Reive, 'telling us that they had unfortunately been scheduled for an 'Inspection of Records' and would we care to make another appointment.'
'So now we start again.'
