The pear let out a soft giggle when Harry tickled it, and the portrait swung open just as the Fat Lady did. Stepping through a stone archway behind the frame, Harry gaped at the sight, sound, and smell of the kitchens. They assailed his every sense, from the heady aroma of roasting meat to the sight of dozens of house elves scurrying to and fro, kitchen implements and platters of food both raw and cooked clutched in their hands. He heard their high-pitched voices calling out across the kitchen, and could almost taste some of the food being prepared already. His stomach gave a low gurgle, and a squeal came from across the room.
"Harry Potter sir!"
Harry wheezed as something rammed into him, winding him more from surprise than force. The thing didn't move, and Harry had to pry its long fingers loose from around him.
"Dobby? Could you...let go? You're crushing me," said Harry, speaking through clenched teeth. The house elf released him hurriedly, and its ears drooped.
"Dobby is sorry! He was just glad to be seeing Harry Potter," said Dobby. Despite his wilting ears, the elf looked ridiculously happy, beaming at Harry with a grin that split his face in two. "Dobby wanted to visit Harry Potter when he heard he was at Hogwarts, but Professor Dumbledore told Dobby not to seek Harry Potter out because he might not be wanting to see Dobby."
A good thing too, Harry thought, considering how every other encounter with Dobby had ended in disaster. Another house elf trotted up, and squeaked at his elbow.
"Can we be getting you anything, sir?"
Harry looked from Dobby to the second elf, and noticed yet another strange thing about Dobby. His clothes. The elf wore what looked like a mismatched assortment of items from a dozen different outfits, some shrunk down to his size. He even wore a tie, loosely knotted over a bare chest.
"Erm...could you get me something to eat?" he asked, and the elf bowed, scurrying away quickly. His eyes were still riveted on Dobby, but Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye how the other tried to avoiding looking at him more than it had to, as if the overdressed elf was something to be ashamed of. "What are you doing here Dobby?"
The elf's ears perked up at the question, and he answered eagerly.
"Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to give Dobby a job! Not many wizards would be employing Dobby, since Dobby is wanting paid now, but when Dobby visited Winky and saw she was free too, Dobby thought Winky could get work with him! The only place Dobby knows where there is work enough for two house elves is Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, just like Harry Potter!" said Dobby. Harry flinched at the onslaught on his ears. The elf's speech was rushed and excitable, but Harry was able to pick out a few words.
He remembered an elf named Winky – she had been with him at the Quidditch world cup, covering her face in fear of the height and saving a seat for the master that did not show up, Barty Crouch. As Dobby said her name, he pointed to an elf that Harry had not noticed before, huddled on a stool in the corner. Her large eyes were rimmed with red, and she, too, wore clothes. Much neater than Dobby's, her outfit was a matching blue skirt and blouse, but it had not been taken care of. Burns and stains covered the lightly-coloured fabric.
"Why was Winky freed?" asked Harry. Winky began to sob loudly – she had heard him, and Dobby's beaming expression faded.
"Winky is a bad house elf," said Winky, huddling herself in eyes, the size of golf balls, crinkled up and tears began to form. Dobby looked mortified, and triedto shush her.
"Bad wizards said that Winky made a bad sign in the sky with a wand," he said, and Hary's interest rose. He asked the elf to continue as Winky's sobs grew louder. "Winky was hiding from bad wizards, and she picked up a stolen wand that one of them dropped. It was Harry Potter's Wheezy's wand! His orange wheezy."
Harry blinked uncertainly. What was a wheezy? He wasn't sure f he owned one, or if he wanted to admit to it if he did.
"My...what? Wheezy?"
Dobby nodded, making frantic gestures for Winky to be quiet.
"Harry Potter's friend the orange wheezy who sleeps in Harry Potter's room at school," said the elf. Realization dawned on Harry, and he wished, not for the first time, that the elf would speak normally.
"Ron? He did lose his wand at the cup, when the Death Eaters were attacking the camp," said Harry.
Dobby nodded again, and Winky stopped her sobbing for a moment, looking at Harry with a fearful expression.
"Bad wizard who picked up the wand made the sign of bad wizards like Dobby's old master in the sky." Dobby froze, and rushed over to the wall. Solid thumps punctuated squeals of "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" as it hit its head against the wall, until Harry pulled him back.
"Dobby should punish himself for saying bad things about his master," squeaked Winky, before bursting into tears again, and wailing louder than ever.
"Thank you Harry Potter," said Dobby. He ran back over to Winky, and tried to quiet her again. The house elf who had offered Harry something to eat appeared again, holding a silver tray. A mixture of various cold meats and thinly sliced bread decorated the tray, arranged in an intricate pattern, like in the very expensive restraints that the Dursleys occasionally went to, celebrating a bonus at Vernon's work. Harry, naturally, was left with Mrs Figg and a lingering smell of cats to eat at these times, but on the few occasions that she was unavailable, he was forced to sit with them, not eating anything save for a few slices of bread that Dudley chose to leave. They were often generous enough to order him a drink. Tap water was fine by him, or so they said.
"Would Harry Potter sir like a drink?"
Harry said that he would, and the elf pulled him away from Winky's outburst. He wondered why the elf wasn't simply bringing something over to him, but after a quick glance around the kitchens he began to see why. Many of the elves had paused in their work to regard Winky with something akin to embarrassment – they didn't want Harry to see her making such a spectacle of herself.
"Miss Tonks the Nymph is through here," said the elf, gesturing at a sturdy oak door. "Would sir like to drink with Miss?"
Harry blinked, taken aback by the sudden statement. He tried to work his way through the convoluted speech that all house elves used, but only confused himself more. Was there a nature spirit visiting Hogwarts? Or, even more outlandish, had the elves mastered the subtle science and exact art of innuendo?
"I guess?" he said, not entirely sure of what he was volunteering himself for. When the elf ushered him in through the door, he saw a small round table surrounded by four chairs. One of them was occupied by a young woman that seemed normal enough – until Harry saw her turquoise hair. He blamed the after-effects of the veela for the fact that it wasn't her head that he looked at first. With his hormones in overdrive, even worse than the average teenager, and then someone of the fairer gender sprung on him without any real warning, Harry didn't feel like he could be blamed for his wandering gaze. Lucky she hadn't noticed.
She gave Harry a knowing grin, and leaned forward, as if to say something. He couldn't help but let his eyes flicker downwards again.
"Keep your eyes up here or I'll get rid of them," she said. A tinge of pink flushed across Harry's cheeks – apparently she had noticed. He tried to suppress the oncoming blush, but didn't have much success.
"You'll gouge my eyes out? That seems a bit extreme."
"Nope," she replied happily. "I'll do something far worse. I'm a metamorphmagus. I can change the shape of my body if I want to and makethemgo away." The implications of what she was saying sank in, and Harry widened his eyes in mock horror.
"So...you're not a nymph?"
She glared at him for a few awkward moments. Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and she relented, pushing a chair out with his foot.
"You'll give me a crick in my neck looking up like that. Get down here." He sat down, but didn't speak, waiting for an answer. She sighed and put down a small glass beaker, dropping it onto the table where it landed with a soft chink. "My first name is Nymphadora, but if you call me that I will gut you. With a spoon."
"Miss Tonks the Nymph."
"Right, call me that."
"Nymph?" Tonks glared at Harry again, but he just gave a faint smile in return – a smile that bordered on the edge of a smirk.
"Call me Tonks, kid."
"Call me Harry, Nymph," he replied. Her eyes gave the customary flicker up to his scar, and it was his turn to sigh in exasperation. "Shall we just agree not to ogle one another?" suggested Harry. She shook her head, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"Oh no, I couldn't turn away the Boy-Who-Lived. I get to look at your scar as much as I want, and in exchange..." Her voice trailed off suggestively, and Harry felt his cheeks burning. She began to laugh softly, a pleasant, lilting sound. To Harry's relief, the door shot open. The house elf from before bustled through, holding a large silver tray in both hands.
"Pumpkin juice for Miss Tonks the Nymph and Harry Potter sir!" he squeaked cheerfully.
A frightened yelp quickly shot through the air, followed by the deafening screech of the tray shattering. Harry gaped at Tonks, who had risen and castsomethingso quickly that he hadn't seen her move. Part of him noticed the interesting things that her heavy breathing did to her body, but far more of his attention was occupied by the brightly coloured lights flashing out of the end of her wand. The doorframe splintered when the lights impacted, causing a cloud of dust to envelop the room.
Harry covered his mouth and struggled to hold back a coughing fit. From the other side of the table he could hear Tonks spluttering in a mixture of outrage and disgust. Through the dust, he could see a diminutive silhouette fleeing back into the relative safety of the kitchens.
By the time that the dust had begun to settle, Harry was watching Tonks with an expression of awe. She turned to him and returned his look with one of deadly severity. Red highlights had begun to appear in her hair, and her eyes were narrowed.
"No bloody elf is calling me a nymph," she growled, stabbing her wand emphatically into a pocket. Harry chuckled lightly, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Of course not."
Tonks sat down rather grumpily and shook her head. When the flying strands settled again about her head, they had changed to a shade of bubblegum pink.
"Metamorphmagus, huh?" said Harry, under his breath. Tonks didn't seem to hear, and filled a small glass on the table, keeping the bottle for herself. She nodded towards the glass, and Harry took it. At her unspoken command – a raised eyebrow, and an air of anticipation – he raised it to his lips and swallowed.
Before the liquid inside had reached the back of his throat, Harry knew that had been a mistake. A burning warmth poured through his throat and mouth, making his eyes water. He struggle not to choke, and spluttered heavily. Tonks looked on and snickered to herself.
"No better way of clearing your sinuses than that," she said. Harry took a moment to collect himself before answering, sniffing the remains of the liquid apprehensively.
"What was that?"
"You never had firewhiskey before?"
This woman was a little odd, Harry thought. He shook his head, and her perpetual half-smile deepened. After a few moments, she hadn't looked away. Harry began to feel a little awkward, and a slight warmth rose in his cheeks. Tonks seemed to notice his discomfort, and snickered again.
She really was rather pretty when she laughed.
The platter of food brought by the house elf soon disappeared, thanks to the combined efforts of Harry and Tonks. Harry adamantly refused to take any more firewhiskey, but Tonks' mischievous teasing soon had him relenting. He tipped back the bottle, and let the sharp liquid pour down his throat, struggling not to cough it up again.
"Now all I need is to go fall off my broom and this day will be perfect," grumbled Harry, under his breath. For some reason, he loathed the feelings of inadequacy that rose around Tonks, regardless of how much he was enjoying her company. If anything, he was half-tempted to do something impressive and noteworthy, instead of just sitting there.
"What broom d'you have?"
Harry jumped a little in surprise, not realising that she'd heard him. He opened his mouth to reply, when another realisation struck him. Quidditch! Sure, he was ungainly on the ground at times, but nobody could deny his skill on a broom. Maybe that would impress Tonks, and – he shook himself mentally, wondering why he wanted so desperately to show off.
"I'll show you," he said, climbing to his feet. She raised her eyebrows and stood to follow him. Harry grabbed Tonks' hand, and pulled her towards the door, trying not to seem too eager. He made it almost out of the kitchens before he noticed what he was doing. Blushing furiously, he tried to drop her hand, but Tonks squeezed hers tighter, lacing her fingers through his.
Harry glanced at her, and promptly looked away upon seeing the expression of evil glee on Tonks' face. He was right; she was enjoying his discomfort. Vile woman. He wished he could bring himself to dislike her, but to no avail. Harry settled for promising himself the aid of the Weasley twins in bringing her down. He tried to force down his embarrassment and regain some of his dignity by talking normally.
"Tonks? What are you doing at Hogwarts, anyway?"
"Ehhh." Tonks rubbed her eyes sleepily in an overdramatic manner. "Too much work so I needed a break, and signed up for a nice easy job. After what happened at the world cup, the Minister decided that it would be a good idea for someone to keep an eye on the school, just in case the Death Eaters decide to come out an' play."
"What exactly are Death Eaters? I mean, I know that they're Malfoy's lot of purebloods, and they're rubbish in a duel, but –"
"You duelled a Death Eater," interrupted Tonks, with a short flat statement. It wasn't a question, just an expression of disbelief. Harry scowled. He was tired of everyone underestimating him, all the time.
"Were you at the Quidditch world cup?"
Tonks narrowed her eyebrows, and playfully cuffed Harry on the side of his head.
"Don't try to change the subject," she said. Harry clasped a hand over her mouth in irritation, preventing her from speaking further.
"Were you there? Or at the Death Eater attack?"
Tonks nodded, her mock-glare replaced by a glimmer of amusement shining in her eyes. Harry began to worry – it couldn't be healthy for him – but pushed on resolutely.
"A few of them went after me and my friends, and...I had to deal with it. Not everyone there was a witch or wizard, so..."
Harry trailed off, lost in memory. He could remember the anger and hate, and the desire to kill. He shuddered a little, both out of loathing and love for what he was feeling. As terrible as it was, he could feel himself revel in the darkness welling up inside him, and take joy in the spray of blood and terror in the night air. He remembered the look of shock and fear on the Death Eaters' faces, and –
Something warm and wet pressed against his hand, knocking Harry out of his reverie. He pulled the hand quickly away from Tonks, who was making small noises of amusement.
"You licked my hand!" exclaimed Harry. She winked at him, and squeezed their joined hands together.
"It worked, didn't it? I wasn't planning on using you as a gag for much longer."
Harry gave up. She was too much for him to understand. It was far better just to take things in his stride and try his best not to fall over in shock the next time she did something completely unexpected. He just hoped that his cheeks would stop burning sometime soon after all of her endless teasing.
The remnants of the memory faded quickly, but one feeling lingered. The strange desire to impress the veela had remained – and Harry realised that it had been there for all the time he had been speaking to Tonks. She quirked an eyebrow again, as if to ask what Harry was thinking.
"You aren't a veela, are you?"
Her incredulous laughter echoed in the kitchens long after they were gone. Harry could have sworn he heard an elf muttering under its breath as Tonks dragged him out.
"Bloody humans."
o0o0o0o
"Firebolt."
"Yup."
"Firebolt."
"Yup."
"Firebolt!"
"Want to see if she lives up to her reputation?"
Tonks turned puppy-dog eyes on Harry, and bit her lower lip. Behind her head, her hair rearranged itself into a pair of short blonde pigtails, and she nodded, doing her best to be cute. Harry watched in amazement as she shrank to the size of a tiny girl, and hugged his leg, nodding furiously all the time.
A little hand tugged at his robes, pulling him down. Harry crouched so his head was level with Tonks', giving her a suspicious look.
"Pweeeaaaase Mister Hawwy?"
Harry tried very hard to resist the urge to curse the ineffably cute midget. Not trusting himself to speak without bursting out laughing or crying at such a sight, he simply nodded. Tonks changed back into her normal form, her hair a sky blue, and he sighed in relief. He found the whole thing a horrific mix of nauseating and, though he would never admit it, cute.
"Never do that to me again," he demanded, unable to glare properly, but settling for jabbing his wand into the base of Tonks' neck. She looked at him innocently, and he relented.
Harry held out the broom for her, idly reminiscing about past Quidditch.
"Maybe I'll be a worse seeker now that I'm so much bigger," mumbled Harry, speaking more to himself than to Tonks.
"Eh?" she interrupted. Harry tried to think of a reasonable explanation for recent events, but couldn't find a way of explaining things to himself, let alone to someone else.
"Dumbledore said I grew a lot over the summer," he said at last. Tonks shook her head.
"Harry...I don't know how to tell you this, but..."
"What?"
Tonks looked away, biting her lower lip again.
"You're a shortarse."
Harry pulled out his wand, and waved it threateningly in Tonks' direction. She gave an evil cackle, and stole his firebolt. The air whistled around her as she kicked off the ground, hovering just above Harry's head, out of his reach, and pausing long enough to show him her favourite finger.
"Bitch!"
"Midget!"
"Nymph!"
Pushing aside the desire to heckle Tonks further, Harry took her broom, wishing that he'd held onto his own, faster, bundle of charms and twigs. She fled, calling obscenities over her shoulder, with Harry in close pursuit.
He clutched the handle of her unfamiliar broom, pushing his body as close to it as he could. Wood had lectured him time and time again on the importance of streamlining himself when chasing the snitch. Firebolt or no, it was never a good idea to pass up an advantage, and every tiny little burst of speed was one step closer to winning the cup. Even though he was playing professionally since leaving Hogwarts, Harry's old team captain would come to the school in person to ream him out if he let someone who didn't even play Quidditch out-fly him.
Throwing his weight sharply to one side, Harry rolled on his broom, positioning himself directly underneath Tonks.
"Stop looking up my robes, scarhead!"
Harry flushed, and pulled the broom up further, until it was almost touching his firebolt. Tonks kicked out at him, hitting him in the stomach. He let out a muffled wheeze, and pulled away from her, twisting back around until he was the right way up again.
"Ha-arry, aren't you going to come and get me?"
"I'll knock you out of the sky and dye your hair pink when I catch you, Nymph!"
"How're you gonna catch me? Scrawny little short- oof!"
Harry blinked, and pulled back on his broom, bringing it to a stop, and hovering beside Tonks, who was spluttering indignantly and spitting out small white feathers.
"Stupid...blasted...BIRD!"
A magnificent snowy owl flew in a tight circle around Harry and Tonks, hooting softly. Harry watched her in mingled approval and amusement.
"Hedwig?"
He thought that this, if nothing else, was good reason for owning an owl. Judging from the feathers that Tonks was still picking out of her mouth and hair, Harry's familiar had come to his defence in an admirable manner.
Hedwig splayed her wings out, slowing herself until she was almost hovering in place, and perched neatly on the end of the broom he was riding. She stuck out a leg, and shuffled her feathers. Harry reached out, and unfurled a length of twin and parchment.
"Midair deliveries? Blimey, that's some owl you got there," commented Tonks, having finally gotten rid of all the feathers from her mouth. A few still clung to her hair, but Harry wasn't about to tell her that. He thought it looked rather cute, in a scruffy and humiliating – for her – way.
"Hoot," replied Hedwig. At the sound of her voice, Tonks remembered that she was supposed to be annoyed with the owl, and shot off after her like a bat out of hell on Harry's stolen firebolt.
"Damned bird!"
"Hoot."
"Arggh!"
Harry watched, amazed, as Hedwig somehow managed to outmanoeuvre Tonks, despite the firebolt. Her hair rapidly changed into a vibrant, angry red; a shade that seemed almost alive, flickering between highlights like a flame. It was, he thought, the kind of hair that an attractive Weasley girl might have. For a moment, he found himself regretting that the whole family was made up of boys – and Mrs Weasley.
He wondered who could be writing to him, turning the letter over in his hands, still watching Tonks and Hedwig. When Tonks performed a particularly sloppy turn, and got slapped in the face with a wing, she sprouted thick bristling facial hair that was incredibly unkempt, and reminded Harry of Sirius – Sirius! He had written to him before leaving Privet Drive.
Harry almost dropped the slip of parchment in his haste to unfold it, and quickly scanned the contents.
Harry –
I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumours that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore – they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.
I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry.
Sirius
A bite of alarm rose in his stomach. Sirius couldn't come back to England, to see him; he'd get caught the moment that he put foot to Hogwarts' ground. The search had died down a little – a lot – since last year, but there were still teams of Ministry workers hunting ceaselessly for him. Harry felt a pang of worry for his godfather. As much as he wanted to see him, it simply wasn't possible, even with the Dementors returned to Azkaban. Not yet, anyway.
With a guilty glance at Tonks, still chasing after Hedwig, Harry realized that she was probably part of the team working to catch Sirius. An auror – a dark wizard catcher – and Sirius was the epitome of dark wizards, according to the ministry. She'd mentioned being stationed at Hogwarts. Was it because of Sirius?
Harry felt for a quill, and the realized, stupidly, that he had no ink. A muggle ballpoint pen was still lurking in his back pocket – he must have forgotten to take it out the last time that he'd worn those jeans. He tried using that, but it was an uphill struggle. The hard nib of the pen refused to work with the surface of the parchment. It was too soft, and gave way too easily, almost like cloth. Trying to write in midair without any hard surfaces to rest on did not make it any easier. Eventually, with a lot of effort, Harry managed to scratch out a message, although his handwriting was noticeably worse than his usual atrocious calligraphy.
Padfoot,
It's not worth the risk. Don't worry about me. Hogwarts is as safe as anywhere can be, and it's too early in the term for my yearly brush with death, or Voldemort, or singing dwarves to be a nuisance. What are these rumours? The Quidditch world cup was probably one of them. Did you know I was there? Took out a couple of assholes playing dress-up on your behalf. But what about the rest?
Who's this Mad-Eye, anyway, and what does Dumbledore want with him?
Keep in touch, but DON'T come up here. It's not safe.
Harry
"What'cha writing?"
Harry jumped at the sound of Tonks' voice. Somehow, she'd caught up with Hedwig while he wasn't looking. His owl was stuffed under one of her arms, looking like an extremely disgruntled teddy bear. He tilted the parchment towards himself, blocking what he'd written from her view. He'd forgotten that Sirius' message was on the other side, and Tonks' eyes narrowed as she quickly read it.
She grabbed for the message, but Hedwig slipped out from under her arm , and pecked at it, holding it in her beak. Tonks tried to yank it back, but Hedwig flew a few feet upwards, out of her reach.
"Hedwig! Take that to Sirius," said Harry, desperate to get it away from Tonks. He sighed in relief as the snowy owl began to wing her way across the horizon, and Tonks didn't give pursuit. Perhaps she thought that the letter wasn't important.
Or that something else was more important, he thought, as she turned her gaze on him. Her normal joviality was all gone.
"Sirius? SiriusBlack?"
A/n: Again, thanks for reading my humble scribbles.
Edit: I should point a few things out before anyone else complains; I didn't forget Ginny. Harry did. Think about it; in canon he's hardly aware that she exists at this point, regardless of what happened in CoS. There will be repercussions about the events at the world cup - he's been asleep since then, however. Hard to question someone in a coma. And, last but not least, he's not taking things with canon's simple unquestioning acceptance. He just hasn't really registered that they've happened yet - and I didn't think that filling a chapter with an old man explaining that Harry is going to hell for murder would be particularly interesting. Even if he has a long white beard.