'Blue blue windows behind the stars,' Tonks sang to herself inside her head. 'Yellow moon on the rise.' Like an old sea shanty, it was a way of forcing herself on when she was exhausted; a way of driving the slow, heavy rowing of her wings. Above the eastern horizon, a bloated moon was climbing slowly from a lumpy, grey Atlantic. 'If that damned thing can fly, without wings,' Tonks reassured herself, 'I can swim.'

Again, she propelled herself forward, pain from wingtips firing along the bones into the aching mass, below her neck, of hurt and, worse, muscles she was finding it ever harder to force into obedience. Azkaban's magically induced currents, always strong, got faster whenever anything was detected in the water and Tonks had been fighting the tide race for hours. She was tired. And she was losing ground.

Losing. 'Yellow moon on the rise.' Remus curled up, nose to tail, with Lucy. Lucy Reive . . . reaver, had taken Remus away, taken away . . .

No.

Not hers. Remus had never been hers. To Tonks' surprise and something approaching relief, she discovered that she'd finally accepted that. She truly wished him happiness; wished them both only happiness. She felt the magic of the blessing go from her and her wings stopped beating. The last blessing or curse of a witch had power and what she had felt could mean only one thing: it was over and she had lost.

Failed.

With the stasis charm in place, Snape had been undetectable by her electrical sense and invisible in the turbulent water. When she finally found him amongst the breaking surf, the shoreline had been black with Dementors. It had been impossible to take off from the water carrying his weight. She might have fought her way ashore and investigated how well Dementors liked dragons but there had been too many of them. She could have flown, gathered speed and snatched him up from the beach but that would have meant leaving him alone. Leaving him to them.

Even for a minute, she couldn't do it. Doubtless he'd taken precautions. Still, the Dementors had acted as though there were something to be had and that had been reason enough to deny them.

Too late to cross as Sirius had, clinging to the stern of the boat' she might have hung from the chain that stretched between the islands and waited for rescue; but she was too far gone to try anything clever and dragons' feet were ill designed for that. Not to be a dragon, to have only human levels of stamina, would be to lose consciousness and to sink beneath the weight of Snape's shackles. Tonks had sent her Patronus for help hours ago. Now the Pepper-up potion was wearing off and the borrowed energy had to be repaid.

No one had come.

Another and another and another weary stroke until she'd lost count; yet another wing beat and the sharp, salt sting of seawater where the manacles had abraded even the tough, scaly skin of a dragon's neck; the assurance that, as the island ahead of her, grey on grey and more imagined, more wished for than real, grew ever more indistinct, the shoreline behind her was getting closer. It wasn't her imagination: she could hear breakers behind her. It would be so easy to let go, to become human and let the weight of Snape's fetters carry her down . . . and destroy her mother completely.

It would still be better to drown than let the Dementors have her. And it would be so very easy to morph and let go. For a moment, the memory of her father tucking her into bed displaced Azkaban's dark strait until she forced herself back to reality, another rowing stroke of wet, leathery wings; another lightning pulse of pain and flashing lights ahead of her just where she thought Portkey Island was.

Perhaps they had come . . .

Tonks decided that while it might be vain hope, it was hope and seized it. One more song, she thought. Just choose one more song. Something nautical . . . And then she felt, separating from the pain, a slight tugging along her wings. Tilting the leading edges upwards, she felt herself rise. She was being pulled against the tide. There were lights ahead of her. Another beat of her wings and this time she thought she was winning against the water and then she was being hauled through the crest of a wave to fall bruisingly into the next one. Somebody or some people were putting a fair amount of energy into their 'accios'. She pulled in her wings, leaving them angled and open enough to keep her on the surface. When Snape's limp body flopped over her shoulder she gripped his manacles in her teeth.

There was no longer any need, she told herself. Others would ensure that Snape got ashore alright. But as the lights slowly got closer, she didn't relinquish her grasp.

'It's ok Tonks, you can let go now.' Both Gates and Styles were with her, knee deep in the swirling seawater. 'You can change back. We'll take care of it.' Tonks crawled out of the water, laid Snape down on the stony beach, and looked around with the detachment of extreme exhaustion; half the order had to be there. It would have to do. Time to become human again. She was vaguely aware of Gates catching her as she fell.

-

She wondered when, precisely, she might have been mistaken for the 'Wicked Witch of the East'. Of course it was entirely possible that she hadn't had a house dropped on her but it would do for a working hypothesis. Some confunded idiot was trying to make her sit up. 'Up now, darling. Swallow.'

Tonks choked and swallowed. 'Mum?'

A warm arm around her shoulders lowered her gently into scented sheets and the arms of Morpheus. 'Dora, love. Sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.' A kiss. 'Now. Go back to sleep.'

Below her, a large spider web held an air bubble. Inside it Snape was snoring peacefully. They were trapped together in an underwater cave with Dementors wearing muggle breathing apparatus. She knew that, underneath their decrepit shrouds, the Dementors had on scanty swimwear and, sooner or later, they'd start to strip off and that was something she was really not looking forward to at all; she was pulling at the web, trying to get to Snape, and getting more and more stuck to it. Despite the underwater distortion, she could hear raucous music . . .

Tonks forced herself to wake up. Great, ribbon-tied bunches of cabbage roses infested shiny pink walls. Tonks leaned out of bed. Swirly purple carpet. Home; and her mother had redecorated. Tonks wasn't sure that she hadn't preferred the 'Explosion in a Sewage Farm' motif.

She allowed the noise to intrude upon her conciousness: not music: Andromeda Tonks nee Black mid rant. At least the wardrobe was in the usual place and her robes were in it. She got dressed and wandered downstairs wondering what it was about Pureblood Princesses. Andromeda, once she got started could give both Molly Weasley and Walburga Black a run for their money. It wasn't as if they didn't have wands. Tonks herself preferred to sort things out quietly, arranging an alibi as required.

What was going on in the kitchen had graduated, at some point, from disagreement to heartfelt monologue. 'Why is it that, recently, a witch cannot expect to make a few purchases without being followed about by inept and scruffy Ministry of Magic hirelings?' demanded Andromeda, tragically. Tonks decided to go back to bed.

She turned and her foot went out from under her. There was a thud as something hit the wall, a thump as Tonks hit the floor, a sharp smell of oranges and then Dawlish was helping her to her feet. Through the open door she could see that there was a fair bit of fruit mixed in with the shopping on the kitchen floor. Unexpectedly stepping into the fire as someone flued was a common means of effecting entry. Clearly her mother had been followed home in just this way.

'My daughter is in no fit state . . .' Andromeda began.

'Healer Smethwyck?' said McLaggan. Tonks recognised the Mediwitch. While she was rumoured to be good, she had always refused to have anything to do with the Metamorphmagus.

'How are you feeling?' asked Smethwyck, guardedly.

'She can walk,' said McLaggan.

'If you are feeling unwell, I could arrange to have you transported to the Ministry?' suggested Smethwyck.

'I can walk,' Tonks said, wearily. 'What's all this about?'

'Fine, but I'm coming too,' said Andromeda.

Tonks winced. 'Perhaps you should give dad a call,' she said. Given Andromeda's lack of anything like as common as sense, it was probably for the best if she stuck to shouting.

Her mother smiled a cold, cold smile. 'Certainly dear.'

At least, thought Tonks, Dad understands words like 'restraint' and 'moderation'. Mostly. 'Do you think you could tell me what's going on?' she asked.

'What it is is: Potter reckons he owed Snape a Life Debt,' explained McLaggan. 'So now he's accusing the Ministry of doing away with him and demanding satisfaction.' There was an odd twitch at the corner of McLaggan's mouth. 'Only wants us to arrest Madam Umbridge. Umbridge wants Potter obliviated and sent back to live with the muggles and, now the Wizengamot has got itself involved so it's all becoming quite interesting. Fudge thinks that you might be able to help.'

'Don't feel so good,' muttered Tonks.

'You don't say, Tonks? Maybe something you ate?'


Lyrics are from 'Helpless' by Neil Young. Sorry this took so long.