Chapter 38 : Resetting
I do not own Harry Potter
Author's Notes :
1) It's been a while. Thank you for your patience, and let's pick up steam.
2) A transition chapter, but one that was need to reset the pace. Look forward for longer updates in the future, cheers.
| Black Manor | 12, Grimmauld Place | London | January 5 1994 |
Harry slowly blinked his eyes open, the room around him swimming into view. His head felt heavy, his body stiff and sore.
Looking around, he took in his surroundings.-
Grimmauld Place.
Home.
He winced as he tried to shift, the memories of the past few days rushing back to him like a relentless tide. A wave of nausea swept over him as he processed the day's events. He shut his eyes and exhaled uncomfortably as the visual of a killing curse beaming towards him replayed in his mind.
Saved only by a miracle, again.
He began tearing up as his mind comprehended how close to death he had come in that moment. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, and the room seemed to close in around him. He tried going back to sleep, only to find that time he closed his eyes, images of the day flickered through his mind like a nightmare he couldn't escape.
The killing curse heading straight for him.
The Death Eaters' counter slowly advancing on him, assuring a steady but certain defeat.
James and Lily falling limp to Voldemort's killing curse.
Slowly fading away from the Basilisk venom.
Flanner getting cleaved before being crushed under a pile of rubble.
Harry's body shook uncontrollably, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the cold sweat that had formed on his brow.
The door flew open, and Sirius hurried into the room, a sense of urgency propelling him forward. He settled onto the bed, his movements steady yet filled with an unspoken urgency.
"Ho-"
Before he could complete his sentence, Harry lunged at him, gripping him tightly.
Sirius, sensing Harry's distress, hesitated for a moment before enveloping him in a tight embrace. His arms felt uncertain, grappling with the unfamiliarity of offering solace, but he persisted, resolved to support his charge in any way he could.
As Harry's sobs gradually softened into quiet sniffles, Sirius eased back, grappling with his own inadequacy in providing comfort. He offered Harry a tentative smile, hoping to offer some semblance of solace amidst the chaos.
Taking a deep breath, Harry looked up at Sirius with haunted eyes. "How long was I out?" he asked, his voice raw with emotion.
"Three days," Sirius replied, his voice faltering slightly. "Three very long days."
Harry nodded weakly, his gaze distant as he struggled to process the events that had transpired. Sirius could see the weight of the trauma bearing down on him, each memory a heavy burden to carry.
"What happened?" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the silence of the room.
A lot, as it turned out.
Sirius started by revealing that there were eight separate attacks by people wearing Death Eater regalia all over the country with varying degrees of brutality. The attackers were mercenaries hired from all over the world, with no clue as to who employed them, since any attackers captured were already dead, and surviving used several combinations of portkeys, apparitions and floo networks, which rendered them more or less untraceable. Sirius suspected they were out of the country before the Aurors could even scramble an investigation team.
The Gryffindor alumnus suspected Lucius Malfoy to be behind the attacks, who went on to have several other important figures, including himself, targeted to balance out any extra sympathy Harry may get following the attacks.
Sirius also believed that Plan A was to make sure his godson died outright but chose not to say it out loud, given how strained the boy was already.
A Special Investigations Unit had been set up to look into the intelligence failure, and the DMLE suspected that was an internal breach as far as their hotel was concerned, given the seamless nature of their breach, and their acute knowledge of the estate's blueprint, including where everyone would be at the time of their assault.
"Malfoy played this one beautifully" the animagus grudgingly acknowledged. "He's made sure none of the internal competition gets too far ahead and the good PR from his 'restoration' efforts will make people forget about the fiasco from last year."
"Internal competition?" asked Harry curiously
"Malfoy runs a tight ship, but if he was going to be out of the Wizengamot for at least 2 years, his power was going to take a hit" explained the Marauder "Stuff like this was common during the war, and he's just reminded people that the DE threat isn't over yet. Anyone remotely credibly accused of being a Death Eater has just taken a huge bump in popularity, you know, the majority of any genuine threat to his hold over the Conservatives."
"He's deliberately killing his own faction?"
"Oh, its not going to 'kill' them" scoffed Sirius "But, yes, don't expect them to do too well in this round of elections. And remember, 1/3rd of the Wizengamot retires every two years, and as far as press goes, two years is an extremely long time. Two years of rebuilding his brand, and he comes along to spearhead a Conservative push, not only maintaining, but increasing his hold on the bloc."
"So he's killing his own party so that he can be the one to save it?" the Gryffindor surmised, taken aback.
"Politics" shrugged Sirius.
There was a silence while Harry gathered all the information he'd been just been given.
"How's everyone?" the seeker inquired eventually, triggering another round of explanations.
Dora had been put on the SIU and was part of the team investigating their attack. She'd been working overtime chasing every threadbare lead, leaving before sunrise and coming back well past midnight. Much to her dismay, she had just been called into questioning herself over suspected complicity in the attacks, the reasoning being that she'd come late, and escaped uninjured.
"What? That's mad!" Harry said with revulsion
"Tell me about it" growled Padfoot "It's that prick Dawlish calling her... in Lucius' pocket that one, so I wouldn't be surprised if he's purposefully wasting time so that leads can go cold, and he can exact some revenge on Daddy Malfoy's behalf."
This entire incident, including the aftermath, born from a centuries-old hate given a new face by Voldemort, showed how broken the system was. Criminals and murderers walked free and continued to hold power, while the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was supposed to protect the innocent, still had people like that Auror Dawlish.
"Being an Auror means something. It's the most honourable job there is" ranted Padfoot "He's disgracing the entire Corps."
Or perhaps it was because there were people like him that Voldemort grew to be as vile and fearsome as he did. By willfully obstructing justice through his office, it was people like Dawlish who were "complicit" in the crime.
Yet he was the one leading a team in the SIU.
"Andi's not doing much better" continued Sirius "If her hands weren't already full with the coming vote, she's also been doing a lot of meetings, condolences, then there's that mess with Fawley's allies - she died, so everyone's circling like vultures to get them on to their side."
Harry scowled. Sirius noted the reaction.
"You'd rather they get recruited by someone else?"
"N-No, but" started Harry "...it just feels... really cold? I dunno, their friend and leader just died, and umm, we..." the third-year clicked his tongue trying to find the right words.
"I get it" replied Sirius "But that's just how it is. And for what its worth, you might be overestimating how much of a "friend" Fawley was to her allies. The only reason these 'discussions' are taking place is because they've kept themselves open to it. But that's besides the point. The fact of the matter is that we've gotta move fast, or get left behind."
"Mhhmm" hummed Harry in agreement. They discussed all Harry could understand at the moment about the situation, before the conversation switched to his friends. He was relieved to find out that all of them had gotten out without any significant injury.
"And Ted?"
Being a healer, the last few days had been predictably hectic for Ted, but with the bulk of the emergency out of the way, his schedule had gradually decluttered over the week.
Finally, Harry asked about himself. Sirius spared no detail of his injuries, wanting to emphasise just how grave the situation was. Harry grimaced as a strained Sirius listed off his various wounds.
It wasn't what he needed. At all.
Liability.
That's what he'd called himself when trying to channel his emotions into the Cynndaredd spell. He was yet shake those feelings off. The contention that was he a danger to everyone close to him had been stewing at the back of his mind ever since he found out the fact that Voldemort was targeting him, and not his parents. They died simply as obstacles in his nemesis' path.
The hurt caused to everyone around him last week and witnessing Flanner's death had brought that notion to the forefront, if only momentarily, given the circumstances.
But now, as he lay on his bed, he could not escape from the the angst on his godfather's face, and that Sirius had come to save him well aware that he would be executed on sight.
Sirius was now trying his best to cheer him up. The dogfather had dived into a story about shenanigans from his and James' school days, but Harry was only half listening. He would nod along and act startled or amused, just enough to feign interest as his perceived crises plagued his thoughts.
Not strong enough.
All those months of incessant training, and he was still soundly outmatched. In fact, anytime the stakes had been high, he had ended up badly injured, be it Quirrell, the Chamber, during the dementor attack, or now.
He wondered what it was that he was doing wrong. Was he going too slow?
His general tactic was to stay focused on operating just the fundamentals, but on as high a level as possible.
Evade, Counter, Press.
Evade the adversary's spell, counter with speed, mount pressure with rapidly-cast spells and overwhelm with speed or power. It wasn't the most creative or eye-catching of strategies, but as long as he did it right, there were few things his opponent could do.
If not out of preference, then limitation necessitated sticking to that tactic for now. He simply didn't know enough magic to be able to do pull off complex plans effectively. But given how things had played out, it was clear something had to change. The threat wasn't uncertain and beyond the horizon, but very much clear and present.
He could start his second and final ritual cycle, but even that wouldn't start to show its effects until the medium-to-long term, as opposed to his immediate needs.
As Sirius regaled him with tales of the past, Harry listened, half-hearted. He needed a plan, something concrete, something immediate.
| Ministry of Magic | Whitehall | London | January 5, 1994 |
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the familiar corridors of the Ministry of Magic. Nymphadora Tonks stepped out, her footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors as she made her way down to the 6th level—the heart of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE).
As she approached the 'Investigations Wing', she simmered at the sham her boss had just put up. She'd been accused of complicity in the attack that took place where she was —a time-wasting exercise orchestrated by Dawlish for motives she could only begin to fathom.
After a walk across the Department that seemed longer than usual, Dora found herself outside 'Interrogation Room 3'.
With a resigned sigh, the Auror pushed open the door and immediately her eyes flickered to John Dawlish, a Senior Auror and the Chief Investigator of the team she was part of. The grizzled veteran leaned against the wall with an air of sinister confidence. His gaze was dark and predatory, his jet black robes and silver-chained pendant adding to the air of malevolence that surrounded him. Normally, he would observe from behind the safety of the glass, but today he had chosen to take charge of the investigation himself.
For a moment, their eyes locked—a silent battle of wills that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine as she stared back defiantly.
A singular table was present in the dimly room, it's surface gleaming under the harsh overhead lights, casting long shadows that danced across the room. In front of the metamorphmagus sat a microphone, its sleek black design a stark contrast to the room's drab surroundings.
Across from her, Jeremy Irons, one her batchmates, sat with a dicta-quill hovering over a parchment, his expression inscrutable as he regarded Tonks with a cool detachment. Once her friend and colleague, he had become little more than a lackey for John Dawlish, his allegiance bought with promises of power and prestige.
"State your name and designation for the record," Irons said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
"Nymphadora Tonks, Private First Class, Department of Investigations, DMLE," Tonks replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within her.
The interrogation had begun. And Tonks knew that she was in for a long and arduous ordeal.
Vexed at how time was being wasted while leads continued to grow cold, she reminded herself that frustrating her was their very objective and composed herself using whatever Occlumency her father had taught her.
'Short and to the point, that's all I have to do. They have no basis anyways.'
Dawlish leaned forward, his eyes boring into Tonks' as he began "Let's start with your whereabouts on the night of the attacks,"
"I was at the party."
"You were late to the party," the Senior Auror pointed out, his voice stopping just short of making an accusation.
Tonks squared her shoulders, refusing to let Dawlish's attempts at unnerving her with his gestures get the better of her. "I was meeting an old friend," she replied evenly. "Bill Weasley."
Dawlish leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Interesting," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And how is your relationship with your family, Ms. Tonks? Do they know about your... liaisons?"
"I beg your pardon?" Tonks answered evenly. This time Dawlish HAD alleged something.
The investigator's lip curled into a sneer. "don't play dumb" he spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "You are close to Mr. Weasley, is that correct?"
Dora felt her cheeks flush with anger, as Dawlish smirked, "Bill is a friend," she verberated through gritted teeth. "Nothing more."
Dawlish's smirk widened into a grin. "Oh, I'm sure," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But tell me, PFC Tonks, does your friendship with Mr. Weasley extend beyond mere platonic relations?"
Tonks's jaw clenched, her fists tightening in her lap. "I fail to see how that is relevant," she said, her voice low but plain.
Dawlish leaned back in his chair. "I beg to differ," he said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You see, Ms. Tonks, if Mr. Weasley is also a suspect in these attacks, that would make your relationship with him... rather suspicious, wouldn't it?"
Did he really not have anything better to ask?,
Dora wondered inwardly. "Bill had nothing to do with this," she said firmly. "We met at a bar, coming directly from our houses, the floo network should have a record of that, and the bartender can confirm we were there for a few hours. We came straight to the party afterwards."
"Convenient," muttered the Auror, before muttering something to the dicta-quill she couldn't hear. "And where were you before that? Who were you with?"
Tonks felt her patience wearing thin, but she forced herself to remain calm. "I was at home," she replied, her voice steady. "Alone."
Dawlish raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Alone, you say?" he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. "As I understand you still live with your parents, do you not? Yet there is no one to corroborate your story?"
Well Sirius was, but that was hardly going to make her case.
"That's correct," she responded with a inward sigh. "My father is a Healer who had been called in to work overtime, while my mother was away with Harry, Harry Potter" she added the full name for the record "for some last-minute meetings."
"Ah yes, Harry Potter... the boy wonder" Dawlish drawled strikingly similarly to Severus Snape "But let's put him aside for now. Tell me, since local apparition is unmonitored, you could still have met with your boyfriend, Mr Weasley to tamper with or duplicate the security apparatus using your Portkey access to the venue, or indeed at the bar itself, yes?"
"Mr Weasley is NOT my boyfriend, Senior Auror Dawlish" Dora replied stiffly.
"And you have not answered my question" Dawlish replied evenly "Let the record note that the suspect is dodging questions about her whereabouts and activities on the day of the incident"
"This is ridiculous!" outraged Dora ""Suspect"?!"
"Keep your voice down, girl!" Dawlish screeched "You will speak only when spoken to!"
She was reacting exactly how Dawlish wanted her to. She would not rise to the bait again.
"And what about Mr. Weasley's expertise as a curse-breaker? He would certainly know how to breach a ward, wouldn't he?"
Tonks met Dawlish's gaze head-on, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Yes, he would," she said simply, refusing to elaborate further.
"Well, then," he continued, seemingly unfazed by Dora's attempt at turnabout. "If Mr. Weasley did indeed have a hand in these attacks, that would make you an accessory, wouldn't it?"
Tonks's voice remained steady as she countered Dawlish's accusations. "Bill was out of the country for most of the year," she explained calmly. "And he spent the majority of his time with his family upon returning. I highly doubt he had anything to do with the attacks."
"Even if I am familiar with Bill," she pressed on before she could be interrupted, "that doesn't mean I have any knowledge of his involvement in these attacks."
"And how so?" invited her interrogator, and Dora took her shot.
Tonks maintained her composed demeanor, innocently elaborating on her point. "I'm simply drawing a parallel, Senior Auror," she explained calmly. "Having worked with you, I can confidently say an upstanding member of society, yet your marriage to Jane Selwyn, whose uncle is a convicted Death Eater, shows that even the most respectable individuals can have connections to unsavory characters."
Dawlish's expression darkened at the mention of his wife's family, but Tonks pressed on, her tone light and innocent. "It's just a matter of association," she continued, her voice carrying a hint of irony. "I'm sure you can understand that, being such a seasoned Auror. And if a lack of my whereabouts is the only basis of this investigation, then the entire DMLE is a suspect. Including you, sir."
"I'm not the one under questioning PFC Tonks," the Chief Investigator retorted sharply. "You are, and you will answer directly."
Dora decided to punch below the belt too. "And if it's secret liaisons then I'm certainly not the only one with those, am I, sir?"
Dawlish had recently been rocked by an adultery scandal, as she just remmebered following the mention of his wife, and if the momentary flicker of annoyance that lashed in his eyes was any clue, he hadn't missed her inference. "I am more than capable of applying logic, Private. You will answer questions directly, or I shall take your continued darting as an admission of guilt."
Tonks was quick to point out that wasn't legal, but her boss had had enough.
"Quiet, you punk!" thundered Dawlish "I've been doing this job longer than you've been alive. I will not have a jumped-up rookie condescend me, let alone one who might be a criminal!"
"Criminal?" scoffed Tonks "Need I remind you I haven't even been charged yet?"
"And that attitude" he spat coldly, "is one of the reasons you will never make it as an Auror. Even during your time at the academy, your arrogance and reliance on your metamorphmagus ability were conspicuous, veiling the shortcomings in your work and skills."
Despite the piercing insult, Tonks maintained a façade of indifference, refusing to grant Dawlish the satisfaction of witnessing her falter. Instead, she parried his attack with a calculated retort. "My promotion to Private First Class was one of the fastest from my class"
"Let's not deceive ourselves, PFC," he chuckled dismissively. "It wasn't your competence that propelled you; it was your connections—your affiliation with the scion of two Ancient families, Harry Potter, the most self-important and fame-hungry adolescent to grace this earth. Even your first assignment after that promotion was to be his...at best, chaperone" Dawlish gave a cruel laugh.
"My assignment to Ministry-deployed security for Harry Potter was a necessary duty," she replied calmly. "I executed it with the same dedication as any other task entrusted to me."
With a patronizing grin, Dawlish reclined in his chair, reveling in his perceived superiority. "Of course, Private," he patronized. "But let's not fool ourselves regarding the nature of your assignment. It was nothing more than a cushy position, a reward for connections rather than competence."
Tonks, maintaining her composure despite the mounting tension, calmly retorted, "If that were the case, why would I put my golden goose in danger? Harry himself was attacked and badly injured." She paused briefly before continuing, "I'd like to refocus on what's relevant to this investigation."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter's injuries," Dawlish mused with a sardonic edge to his voice, "a subject of some discrepancy, it seems, depending on whose reports you believe. But let's not dwell on the whims of differing perspectives, shall we?"
Turning to her record from the Auror library, Dawlish highlighted Tonks's extensive reading on the previous war, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, and the recent mercenary activities. "Do you deny checking out those books?" he inquired, his tone accusatory.
Tonks maintained her honesty. "No, I don't deny it," she replied calmly, her voice unwavering.
She had been reading ever since she'd found out Voldemort was still alive. It was to fight him, not aid him.
Even she had to admit it was grounds for the remotest of scrutiny. But not in the way Dawlish was construing it. At his instruction, the dicta-quill diligently noted Tonks's admission to having extensive knowledge about mercenary groups involved in the recent incidents.
Tonks gaped in disbelief, objecting that her words were being misconstrued, privately wondering whether the dicta-quill was truly accurate or if it took liberties with the proceedings. Seizing upon her objection, the Malfoy-aide swiftly directed the quill to note that the suspect was resisting questioning, emphasizing the term "suspect" with a pointed emphasis.
Internally seething, Tonks reminded herself to tread carefully, having played into his hand again. She settled back in her chair, awaiting Dawlish's invasive, scandalizing questions and the remote, pathetic attempts to somehow tie her to the attacks.
Outside the Ministry of Magic, Dora leaned against the cool stone facade, her breath forming wispy clouds in the chilly evening air.
She had been on one of her intermittent cycles of attempting to quit smoking. Today, however, she made an exception. The events of the day had taken their toll on her nerves, leaving her feeling drained and defeated as She reflected on the way Dawlish had twisted innocent details into insidious insinuations. Despite her best efforts to remain composed, the sting of his words still lingered.
With a heavy sigh, she stubbed out her cigarette before vanishing it, leaning tiredly against the cold stone wall,
'Better cover up my breath or mom will be on my arse again.' she reminded herself of her mother's disdain for smoking.
Footsteps echoed down the deserted alleyway, and Tonks glanced up, her tired eyes meeting the familiar figure of Bill Weasley.
"Rough day?" Bill's voice cut through the quiet, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow.
"You have no idea," muttered Dora, the weariness evident in her voice.
Bill stepped closer, his expression sympathetic as he took in Tonks's exhausted demeanor. "I can imagine. Dawlish's lot can be a real pain," he remarked, his tone tinged with bitterness.
A wry smile tugged at Tonks's lips as she shook her head in agreement. "You don't know the half of it," she replied, the memory of Dawlish's probing questions still fresh in her mind.
With another sigh, Dora began to recount some of the invasive, rude, and downright humiliating questions she had been subjected to.
Bill listened attentively, his expression growing increasingly incredulous with each passing moment. "Bloody hell, Tonks," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "And here I thought I had it bad."
Despite the exhaustion, a faint chuckle escaped Tonks's lips at Bill's reaction. "Well I had Sir Shithead himself leading the "proceedings,"... sorry for dragging you into all this, by the way"
"Nonsense" shrugged Bill "Its gonna take more than cheap insults to break me... Listen, let's grab a drink before I head back. My treat," he offered, extending a hand in solidarity.
Tonks's tired eyes brightened at the suggestion. "That sounds like just what I need," she admitted, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
| Black Manor | 12, Grimmauld Place | London | January 6 1994 |
Tonks joined her parents, Andi and Ted, Sirius, and Harry at the breakfast table. Her head throbbed with each step, a painful reminder of the impromptu "one drink" with Bill Weasley had transpired into.
As she shuffled to her seat, hoping to go unnoticed in her current state, her father greeted her with an overly enthusiastic, "Good morning, Sunshine!"
Dora winced at the loudness of his voice, feeling as if every decibel was a nail being hammered into her skull. She shot him a half-hearted glare, silently cursing his impeccable timing.
Trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the pounding headache, Tonks gingerly lowered herself into her chair, squirming uncomfortably as the noise only exacerbated her hangover. She reached for a glass of water, hoping it might offer some relief to her parched throat and pounding head.
Arriving from the kitchen with a hangover potion in hand, Andi's reproachful tone cut through the morning haze, her disapproving gaze fixed squarely on Tonks. "Honestly, Nymphadora, I am baffled you continue to indulge in such tasteless behaviour."
Gratefully accepting and gulping down the remedy, she raised a hand in a feeble attempt to ward off her mother's admonishments. "Come on, Mum, can you drop the high-strung aristocrat act for one day!" she whined, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Not acting like a wastrel hardly clears the bar for a decent human being, Nymphadora, let alone - "
"Don't call me Nymphadora!"
"Oh, will you grow up, it's a beautiful name!"
The clinking of coins accompanied the eruption of laughter from the rest of the table, as the familiar exchange between mother and daughter unfolded.
Tonks glanced at Sirius, puzzled. "Huh?"
"Nothing much, just Ted and I had a little wager on how long it'd take for you two to have this spat again," Sirius explained, his amusement barely concealed. "Ted won."
"Dad!"
"What? It was an easy bet," Ted chimed in, shrugging nonchalantly.
The Auror scoffed, before looking around the table, her potion starting to take effect. Her attention was quickly drawn to Harry, seated quietly to her left. It was an unusual sight, his usually lively presence now subdued, his responses minimal as the lively chatter bounced around the room.
With genuine relief, the former Hufflepuff directed a warm smile his way, expressing her pleasure at seeing him up and about after the recent ordeal. However, Harry's responses remained muted, and his smile half-hearted.
She would have struck it off as a one-off, had it not been for the next time someone spoke to the Gryffindor. Andi remarked, in as far as she could tell, the most purposefully bougie tone possible about the "schlubby" (whatever that word meant) state of Harry's hair and all but begged for the opportunity to cut them.
As if on reflex, Tonks was ready to play off on whatever quip the raven haired boy would go for, only to have him tamely agree to it. Caught off guard, she glanced at her mother, noting the shared surprise in her expression.
Being under "investigation", Dora had been suspended from the team while her internal inquiry proceeded, and was looking forward to spending the day with Harry, but their interactions continued to fall flat. Even Ted's suggestion of celebrating Harry's recovery with lunch at Nando's elicited only a hesitant response from the usually vibrant Gryffindor..
As breakfast continued, a palpable sense of unease lingered over the table. The adults exchanged concerned glances, their attempts at conversation met with brief, lackluster replies from Harry. By the end of the meal, a subtle sense of disappointment settled over the room, leaving them all feeling somewhat deflated
"Kiddo, come with me, let's run to the store" she ordered once Kreacher took the plates.
As they strolled along the cobblestone streets, Tonks made a conscious effort to give Harry space, allowing him the opportunity to speak if he wished. But minutes passed, filled only with the sound of their footsteps echoing against the pavement.
Her patience wearing thin, Tonks finally couldn't bear the silence any longer. She turned to Harry, her concern evident in her eyes. "Harry," she began tentatively, "you've been awfully quiet today. Is everything okay?"
"I nearly died, Dora," he replied simply
Tonks felt a pang of sympathy at his words. "I get it, Harry," she began gently, her tone empathetic. " I understand if you're not comfortable sharing everything. Sometimes it feels like we're all trying too hard, especially Sirius, eager to make up for lost time pr everyone's collective guilt about your sucky childhood... But you don't have to feel like you're burdening us. You can talk to me, you know that"
Harry glanced at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "Today was... tough," she continued softly, her words carrying a weight of sincerity. "We all tried to reach out to you, hoping to lighten your load, and it... it hurt, Harry. You have to have noticed that."
Sensing she was close to breaking the ice, the Auror continued to reassure him he could talk freely, especially with her, since she wasn't much older than he was. She searched his eyes, hoping to find a flicker of understanding. "So, if you're ready... whenever you're ready... I'm here."
Umming and ahing, the Gryffindor eventually decided to let on what'd been on his mind of late, his conscious, pragmatic side seeking to extract some sort of solution to the problem while his sub-conscience ached out for some comfort and sought to explain some of his cold behaviour.
Tonks watched her now essentially foster brother closely as he poured out his feelings of inadequacy, each word laden with self-doubt and guilt. She saw the turmoil swirling in his eyes, the weight of responsibility bearing down heavily on him.
In his admission, Harry expressed frustration and resignation. Despite his efforts and dedication, he found himself constantly in need of rescue. Each encounter with danger left him injured and vulnerable, a pattern that only intensified his sense of inadequacy. His perceived failures had taken a toll on his confidence, while a deep-seated fear of endangering those he cared about, weighed too heavily on his shoulders. Furthermore, the Hufflepuff also observed an overwhelming sense of guilt, haunted by the possibility that it was his actions could lead to their harm.
Dora wanted more than anything to give the boy the tightest hug she could manage, and she would have, if she hadn't realised at the last moment that he wasn't done speaking. His hesitation was palpable, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke.
"It's just... I need something," Harry finally admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Something to help me, you know? Something... immediate."
Her brow furrowed subconsciously as she tried to decipher the meaning behind the Seeker's cryptic words, stood passively as he searched for the right way to express himself, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation.
Then, like a revelation, the pieces clicked into place, and she understood.
"Dark magic," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "You're thinking about dark magic, aren't you?"
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, as if shocked that she had managed to read his mind. He nodded slowly, his expression conflicted.
Dora let it be known in no uncertain terms that she was baffled that he'd even considered that, and cautioned Harry against the dangers of dark magic, emphasizing its ability to consume and corrupt.
Offensive magic didn't mean dark magic. There was light magic that could hurt its target, and dark magic meant purely for defense. The lure of the dark arts was especially tempting for those who were troubled, as it was powered by emotions commonly considered "negative".
It was easier to lose patience than to hold it. It was easier to lose calm than to keep it . It was easier to drown in your insecurities than to rise above them.
Impulse, anger, vulnerability.
Tonks passionately conveyed the dangers of succumbing to the allure of dark arts, emphasizing how feelings of inadequacy often led individuals down a treacherous path. She explained that mastery over dark magic required channelled, purposive and focused control to be able to cast it without being affected by it, something he, and in fact she herself, simply didn't possess at this point in time.
The Auror underscored that tales of individuals who had fallen victim to the corrupting influence of dark magic were not mere cautionary tales but stark warnings of the destructive, and self-destructive power that lay within. She was baffled she even had to tell this to him, and made the Gryffindor promise her he wouldn't try what he'd just suggested.
"Harry," she said firmly, reaching out to grasp his arm. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, he met her gaze, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, and what she thought was shame.
"Promise me," Tonks said, her voice pleading yet firm. "Promise me you won't delve into dark magic. "
For a moment, Harry hesitated, his gaze flickering between Tonks's earnest eyes and the ground below. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. "I promise," he affirmed quietly.
The journey back home was cloaked in an uneasy silence, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air. Tonks cast a sidelong glance at Harry, his expression reflective and contemplative. She couldn't help but feel a pang of concern, hoping that his musings were merely a fleeting response to the pressures he had faced recently, rather than a foreshadowing of the future and a harbinger of darker intentions to come.
That's all for now, see you all next time!