One weary foot after the other, Tonks made her way across the worn carpet of the Ministry's cafeteria '"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;"' she intoned."
'Merlin! Yeats was a miserable sod,' she decided, avoiding the battered tables and chairs that had been returned to use when the long refectory tables and pew-like benches, each seating twenty a side, had proven to be less than practical for people who did not sit down, and get up, all at the time.
Not that their subsequent placement, with the benches back to back and one end hard up against a wall, had helped. It had indeed reduced the space they'd taken up. It had also made them inaccessible from one end. But, the place was nearly empty and, right now, she was in the mood to appreciate some solidity. Climbing into one of the 'pews' she slumped down, losing herself in the reflections in the polished wood of the massive table, plainly purchased by someone in the Ministry with better connections than sense.
Of course, the more senior people in the Ministry had their own Dining Room. The only one of them who didn't use it was Arthur Weasley who brought in his lunch and ate at his desk.
'Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,' she continued, not remotely wanting to be there. Unfortunately this was where she had arranged with her colleagues, Gates and Styles, to meet up for a pint or two. She did want to drink; preferably until she fell over.
Or even until she consistently fell over.
Five and a half hours in debriefing tended to have that effect. Especially when, she suspected, she wasn't even getting paid for it. Someone had wanted a scapegoat and she had been damned if it was going to be her.
'" The blood-dimmed tide is loosed".'
Sighing, she decided that she really shouldn't think that way. Her mother was a pureblood and she was intelligent enough, even if quite differently sane. Actually that was the case with quite a few of them, not excluding Mehitabel Fortinbras, now sliding into the seat opposite and pushing towards her a great, steaming bowl of apple crumble and custard and a mug of tea. 'They said they weren't doing hot food,' she protested. 'And not so much as a sandwich in sight either,' she thought bitterly.
'This is cold food. I heated it up.' The older Auror had the dirt on a great many people, however disinclined they might be to oblige her, and others followed their lead. 'Show me,' she commanded. Tonks pulled her copy of the 'Warning' that she'd been given out of her robes and handed it over to Fortinbras who read it carefully. 'You've not signed it?'
'I don't accept it. A "gas explosion" that kills upwards of a dozen people and everyone else obliviated may well be well be better than something weird glimpsed by a few people at a distance or in a rear view mirror and those closest being obliviated. I'd like to see them actually stand up and say that in court.'
'And you used to be so quiet. Are you getting enough sleep?'
'You disagree?'
'No. But you might be better off just signing it. A decade or so's more seniority - then you can make waves.'
'No. They're wrong.'
'You saved some lives. You did a good thing. Tonks, we can't save all of them. There are too many of them and too few of us . . .'
'There was an unqualified "Duty to Minimise Harm". Magicals made the problem. That's not what it was about.'
Her companion said nothing. Tonks got stuck into her pudding. Eventually she put down the spoon. 'They were accusing me of, amongst other things, trying to start a goblin war. Kept at it right up until Madame Black arrived with a deposition from Mysteries concerning what had happened.'
'Madame Black was here?'
'They had arrested Nott.'
Fortinbras made a non-committal sort of noise. 'Ok. So what did happen?'
Tonks told her. 'Now they hate me because they look stupid,' she concluded. 'Not a chance they'll leave it alone. Better this than they go looking for something else.' She picked up her tea.
'Why didn't you report in immediately?'
Tonks put the tea back down. 'I did,' she said. 'Or I tried to. Then I gave the mirror to Nott as proof that the message was from me. It wasn't working and now, apparently, it's gone missing.'
'There was s general recall for an upgrade to the enchantments last week.'
'I checked in. Several times. I received no such message.'
'I see,' said Fortinbras. Did they replace the mirror?'
'Not until I submit a satisfactory explanation as to how I lost it.' Tonks stowed the "Warning" stowed away in her robes.
'I'll have a chat with Nott.' Tonks couldn't help but notice that Fortinbras was sitting a little straighter than was usual. 'You did recently take some serious damage to the head.'
'I am not cracking up.'
It hadn't quite been a growl. The older Auror continued as though there had been no interruption. 'Then there's the dragon animagus thing. And what happened to Madame Lestrange. And . . . being a metamorphmagus, of course.
'You're saying I should expect some challenging behaviour?'
'Our favourite witches!' Gates, repulsively jolly for the hour, hailed them from across the cafeteria.
'I'll look into things,' said Fortinbras. 'You try not to eat anyone.'
Gates climbed onto the "pew" backing onto her own and then over the top of the seatbacks to slide down beside her. Styles replicated the performance on the opposite side of the table; right up to the sitting down part, whereupon he immediately reversed his course, finishing up with his hands on the back of the bench and a foot on the seat, straining desperately to extricate the foot that remained underneath the table from toothy crocodilian jaws that were emerging from below. Fortinbras thwacked them sharply over the nostrils with her wand until they let go.
Shortly thereafter, Mr. Thomas of Animagus Registration climbed up from under the table and sat down.
Styles finished examining his shredded robes and scarred boots. 'You bit me!'
'You stood on my 'ead.'
'What in fuck were you doing under the table?'
'Those bastards in Accounts. Forever shoving me in cupboards or down maintenance hatches. Or worse places.' A partial footprint was blooming across his face. 'They think 'cause they can add up they're smart.' Fortinbras cast a healing charm.
'Perhaps,' suggested Styles, sliding back down onto the bench, 'you could try staying awake.'
'Thomas's face fell even further. 'I can't. It's a curse. Or a curse combined with a potion. I fall asleep. And sometimes, while I'm sleeping, I get younger. Plays 'avoc with my memory. Sometimes I wake up and I've no idea where or even who I am.' He handed Fortinbras a crumpled piece of parchment. 'I 'ave to carry that.'
Fortinbras glanced over the fragment and handed it to Tonks who read the fading, hand-printed message. 'Mr. Thomas is a wizard and a crocodile animagus. He was found floating at sea in the branches of a fallen tree and taken by the ship's crew to Saint Thomas Hospital in London where he remained until a fire prompted his accidental magic to produce rain. He works in Animagus Registration at the opposite end of the floor from the lifts (usually 4th or 5th). His address is 13d Cauldron Court, off Knockturn Alley. Seafood does not agree with him. He suffers from bouts of "Dormientes Pulchritudinem" and memory loss.'
'I wake up panicking. I'm supposed to be somewhere and it's really, really important that I get there . . . and I can't remember.'
Tonks passed the note to Gates. 'What can you remember?' she asked.
'Only that people were waiting for me.' Thomas stared at his knotting fingers. 'I think one of them's my wife. But all that comes back to me is darkness; there's a path and there's her shadow as she's standing in the doorway.' His fingers unravelled, fists clenched. 'Sometimes, I forget everything. And then, I start again. I get to know things. Familiarise myself. Things come back to me. Until the next time. Was told I was fortunate because I remember how to speak English. Mostly. Sometimes they 'ave to find someone who speaks Welsh.'
'Surely they can . . .,' Tonks began and then shut up. Stereotypically, with that particular curse, the victim slept for a century but there had been both shorter and longer periods. 'How long ago?'
'I was found by the Ministry shortly after the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. I don't know how long it had been before that. Or how many times I've forgotten everything since.' He glanced at Styles. 'I am sorry about your foot.'
The Auror gave his shoulder a shove. 'Adds character to my boots. Let's get out of here.' They extricated themselves from the furniture.
'So. Where are we going?' asked Thomas, suddenly cheerful.
'The Blue Badger?' offered Fortinbras. If she was surprised at his intention of accompanying them, she showed no sign of it.
'Don't think I know that one,' mused Thomas.
Fortinbras raised one arm in the manner of someone commencing an old fashioned formal dance, Thomas grinned. His hand came up under hers. Fortinbras's fingers tightened and they were gone, Gates and Styles losing no time in following.
At the Blue Badger, it was still early and the pub was almost empty. Tonks headed for her favourite alcove with the tall windows opening onto the garden. 'How much trouble are you in?' asked Styles. She showed her friends the 'Warning' that she'd been given and explained what had happened. 'Bastards,' commented Gates. Fortinbras and Thomas arrived with drinks and snacks and sat down.
'Nice 'ere,'said Thomas.
Hours passed. Various of her colleagues came over to chat and make supportive remarks. Thomas enjoyed himself; especially when an amateur band started up in a corner of the pub, the animagus borrowing a harp and joining in. On her way back from the loo she spotted him sitting with Granger and the Dream Team. Potter had Thomas's note. He'd turned it over and was writing on the back. Leaning in over his shoulder she read: 'Mr. Thomas's friends include Harry Potter'.
She tapped him on the shoulder. 'A word.'
It had been raining a while, so it was easy enough to obtain privacy in the garden with an umbrella charm and muffliato. 'Harry, you know Remus was the last werewolf ever enrolled at Hogwarts?' The apprentice nodded. 'Don't suppose you'd happen to know why?'
'Maybe.'
'And didn't he look shifty.' 'Snape's being blamed,' she told him.
A wince. 'Sirius managed to lure him into the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack at full moon. If my dad hadn't interfered, he'd have been turned or killed. Dumbledore told him that he owed a Life Debt and swore him to secrecy under threat of being expelled. Because of the need to protect Remus, Sirius wasn't really punished. I think that made them worse. They took the non-punishment as "carte blanch". And they'd got the invisibility cloak and the map.'
'Thank you Harry,' intoned Tonks. 'Lucy needs to know. Should you chance to see her, will you tell her, please?'
'I'm having dinner with them Sunday. Why didn't she ask Remus?'
'Remus has a slight tendency to sulk.'
'Right.' Harry put his hands into his pockets. 'I'll tell her. Will Neville be alright do you think?'
'Snape was with him and they went voluntarily.' Tonks started heading back towards the bar.
'So I shouldn't worry?'
'I suppose that depends upon how you feel about goblins possessing something that appears to be able to tunnel through anything instantaneously. Forget I said that. That is not something you want to repeat.'
'It's Ok. Hermione says that, with magic, the really dangerous things tend to be self limiting. After a while it will probably vanish itself, or something.'
'What we don't need is a panic in the meantime.'
'You should have seen how people behaved at school when they thought I was the heir of Slytherin.' He scowled.
Tonks changed the subject. 'Befriending Thomas was kind of you.'
'I like him. I ah . . .made myself a note too. Just in case. Wrote him up as a missing person and set myself a reminder.' She stared at him. 'That is how those spells work, right? One component so you don't notice something strange; another so, if you do, you forget it immediately and a third to stop you making connections? I thought if someone went to so much trouble losing Thomas, they wouldn't want him found.'
'Who've you been speaking to?
'No one.'
'Potter, The 'Fidelius', spells making places unplottable; they're the exception. They need insane amounts of raw power. Far too much to be useful to the average witch or wizard. Ordinary level spells capable of doing that sort of thing to magicals are called 'Nameless.' They're not supposed to exist. You might be right. Maybe they're not so much different from anti-muggle spells. That never occurred to me, and there may well be a reason for that, so I will not be repeating it and neither will you.'
Behind his ridiculous round spectacles, the young wizard's eyes were wide. Suddenly shivering, she slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him back towards the warmth of the pub. 'Everyone needs friends,' she told him.
'I'll be happier when Neville gets back.'
'You and a few other people.'
Heaving open the door, she heard a bark of laughter behind her. 'So it turns out Neville has the power after all,' Potter mused as he passed through the doorway. She inclined her head enquiringly. 'Power the Dark Lord knows not.'
'Sorry.' She let the door close behind them. 'Don't get it.'
Tipping up his glasses up, Potter rubbed at his eyes. 'Prophecy. Was wrong anyway. Or didn't mean what some people thought it meant.'
'Prophecies for you,' said Tonks.
A grin and he was off into the crowd. Tonks thought that they were all extremely lucky that Potter wasn't a nascent Dark Lord. 'Although,' she had to wonder, 'would they recognise it if he was?'
