"Are you ready for the press conference?" Mylla, one of the public-relations officers for the Auror Department, asked Tonks. She'd been here a long time—the grey streaks in her hair were proof enough of that.

Brushing her limp, tired hair out of her frazzled face, Tonks tried her damnedest to hold back a sigh. A puff of air still left her mouth, and she instantly saw Mylla cringe at the sound.

"Yes, I'll be fine," Tonks assured her with a weak smile.

Honestly, she didn't know how Harry managed all of this. Between reading countless reports, assigning jobs, attending meetings, and dealing with the press, she was stretched beyond thin. It felt like she'd combust at any moment. She didn't know what kept her going beyond the desire to not disappoint Harry, but even that wasn't enough. Maybe it was the thought of Teddy and her desire to prove to him that she, his mother, could handle anything that the world threw at her. Maybe it was sheer stubbornness that kept her going.

Regardless, Tonks was exhausted.

Mylla nodded. Yet, Tonks knew that she harboured her doubts about Tonks' ability to perform.

"I just need a few minutes to rest," Tonks added, leaning back in her chair.

"I'll stall the Minister for a bit longer," Mylla said, glancing down at the sheet of unfurled parchment she held in her hands. "But you've got another meeting with the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes at four."

Unable to hide her frustrations, Tonks finally let out a sigh.

"Can you ask them to reschedule?" Tonks asked desperately.

"You've already rescheduled them twice," Mylla reminded her as she marked something down on the parchment she held.

"I know," Tonks cringed. "But I just need—"

"I'll get it sorted," Mylla interjected as she finished her writing. She stowed her quill within a pocket along her hip and rolled the parchment in her hands back up into a tightly-bound form. "Just remember that you need to be down in the atrium in twenty minutes."

"Thank you," Tonks managed to say before Mylla left her office.

The second the door shut, Tonks sagged down in her seat and let out another sigh. This was too much. She didn't know how in the hell she was going to continue as the head of the Auror Department until Harry was done with his job.

Honestly, he should have picked someone else for the job. There were half-a-dozen Senior Aurors who were just as, if not more, qualified as her who could've taken up the role as temporary Head Auror, but she was the only one he trusted.

Tonks hoped that Harry knew what he was doing. Ever since he took down Dawlish, he'd been pushing forward the importance of his public persona. He'd be a shoe-in for Minister for Magic one day so long as he kept up his efforts, but such things came at the cost of dealing with others who vied for his position.

There were more than a few Senior Aurors with more than double the experience of Harry who grumbled over the fact that he'd been named Head Auror over them. They still did their jobs well enough, but the resentment lingered. Coupled with the fact that several witches and wizards suspected Harry of wrongdoings—mostly those who'd continued to hold prejudiced views against him over what the Daily Prophet reported about him prior to his defeat of Voldemort—Harry was caught in a tight position.

Tonks hadn't quite realised just how fragile his position was until she took over as temporary Head Auror. Then, all those who held some form of grief over his appointment felt confident enough to approach her and air everything out. Tonks had listened to them, biting her tongue to stop any damning criticism from escaping her mouth.

What did they know about the sacrifices Harry had made for everyone? If it wasn't for him, Britain would be little more than a slave state to Voldemort. More than that, his tenure as Head Auror had seen a substantial rise in the number of convictions of those who harboured dark artefacts or dark-sided sympathies. He was doing excellent work to purge Britain of its most undesirable elements that would undoubtedly strike against the government if the proper moment arose.

No, they were all fools. Tonks knew better than to take any of them or their criticisms seriously. She listened to them and did her best to assuage their concerns, but she was ultimately loyal to Harry.

It was that fact that reminded Tonks of the significance of the duty she now held. She wouldn't let Harry return back to Britain to face a worrying amount of reporters questioning his ability to lead the British Auror Department.

So, she took several deep breaths, calming her body and readying her mind for what was to come.

She felt confident as she opened the door to her office and stepped outside into the wide corridor. She was ready to take on the world and support Harry to the best of her ability, but her confidence fell short when she heard her name being called from down the corridor.

"Tonks! Wait up!"

Proudfoot came hobbling over, and Tonks had to bite back a look of disgust at the man who still harboured delusions of demolishing Harry's career and seeing him locked up in Azkaban.

Although it was true that Harry sabotaged Dawlish's reign as the Head Auror, he did so out of good intent. Dawlish had failed the Auror Department and the Wizarding World at large. Harry had been one of many to recognise that, but he'd been the only one to actually take significant strides to prevent Dawlish from doing any future harm.

Tonks felt confident in that. Harry's reasoning had always been sound to her despite the significant measures he took to usurp Dawlish.

Tonks stopped in her tracks, her hair shifting to a violent red colour.

"Yes?" She asked aloud, expecting a prompt response from Proudfoot.

Despite his exhaustion from hurrying over, Dawlish managed to remain articulate and polite.

"Madam Bones wishes to speak with you," he said, rubbing his knee that was permanently injured from some esoteric bout of dark magic years ago. "She said it was important."

That wasn't like Amelia, Tonks thought to herself. Amelia always reached out to her via one of the interdepartmental memos or one of her secretaries. Why would she send one of Tonks' own Aurors to get her?

A sinking feeling filled the pit of Tonks' stomach.

"I've got a press conference to attend," Tonks said, glancing up at a nearby clock to double check the time.

"It'll only take a couple of minutes," Proudfoot replied. "She insisted that you visit her at once."

Tonks held back a grimace. While Harry was in France, Amelia was technically her supervisor. She was the head of the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she had a concrete vision of how to direct the Ministry's efforts to deal with the remaining Death Eaters and the other dark forces that plagued the country. It was surprisingly similar to the vision that Harry had, but for some strange reason, she always seemed reluctant to work closely with Harry. Perhaps it was due to the death of her niece, but Harry surely couldn't be blamed for that.

But if she was sending Proudfoot, a man who suspected Harry of countless wrongdoings…

"Okay," Tonks agreed reluctantly. "As long as it'll only be for a few minutes."

"I'll take you there," Proudfoot said, gesturing down the corridor from the direction he'd come.

Tonks grimaced, not that Proudfoot noticed. The man was already hurrying forward, limping due to his knee that was plagued by the remaining effects of some dark magic that'd plagued him since the war. He was always slow to move, but today was different. He seemed intoxicated, like all he needed to do was dash to an invisible finish line and see all of his desires met.

It left Tonks feeling uneasy. Something was wrong here, and she needed to know what it was.

Still, she followed Proudfoot throughout the corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They left the Auror Offices behind and headed towards the centralised offices, which housed the Head of the department and her support staff.

Witches and wizards passed them by, but none of them seemed uncomfortable with Tonks' appearance. If any of Amelia's support staff had been put on edge for some reason, Tonks was sure that she'd have been able to recognise it.

This simply made it all more confusing to her. Proudfoot's excitable demeanour seemed contrary to the calm here.

What was going on?

By the time they reached Amelia's office, Tonks' paranoia had reached an all-time high. Proudfoot's seeming calm only enhanced her concern. Nothing about this seemed right, but Tonks didn't feel like she was in a position to question it. Amelia had been helping her out so much, and Proudfoot was a Senior Auror just as she was. Even if she was technically Proudfoot's superior at the moment, that wouldn't last for long. Once Harry returned, she'd be right back down to the same level as Proudfoot. Protocol dictated that she follow him and not question his directives, but Tonks' own suspicions left her wanting for more clarity.

Proudfoot opened the door to Amelia's office and quickly hobbled his way inside. Tonks followed with only the slightest bit of hesitancy, quickly double checking the location of her wand in its holster.

Unsurprisingly, Amelia's office was devoid of anything obviously nefarious. The older woman was sitting behind her desk, reading a sheet of parchment in front of her without a seeming care in the world.

"Hello, Amelia," Tonks said as she entered.

Amelia gave a slight grunt, barely glancing up at Tonks before she looked back down at the parchment in her hands.

She was asserting her power over Tonks. Regardless of the fact that Tonks was temporarily the Head Auror while Harry was away in France, she was still beneath Amelia's position, and the witch was doing her best to remind Tonks of that. She seemed bothered that the Head Auror had just walked into her office.

Perhaps she had figured that Tonks would regress to her previous state as a Senior Auror and take the slight as merely a reinforcement of the differences in their positions. But Tonks wasn't so blind as to ignore what game Amelia was playing at. Despite Tonks' own weakness at the grand game of politics, she'd seen Harry play it enough to have a good idea as to what was going on here.

Amelia and Proudfoot were colluding together, and they both wanted Tonks to feel lesser than them. They were about to ask her to do something or insist upon some sort of task to be done for them, but Tonks wasn't going to give in so easily.

Tonks took a deep breath in, reinforcing in her mind that she was strong enough to hold her own against whatever the world threw her way.

And yet, she couldn't help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach from affecting her mental state.

Tonks sat down, awkward and uncomfortable. Proudfoot sat next to her, sighing as he took his weight off of his bad knee. He seemed quite calm about whatever this was, but there was an underlying tension that was leaving Tonks on edge.

Finally, Amelia set her parchment down on her desk and met Tonks' gaze.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Amelia said.

"Is something wrong?" Tonks asked quickly.

Amelia and Proudfoot glanced at each other for just a moment, reaffirming Tonks' belief that they were in on something together.

"Yes," Amelia stated bluntly. "I'm here speaking to you not only as your boss but also as a concerned friend, and I hope that you'll do me the respect of being truthful with me. I have reason to believe that Harry wasn't so innocent in Dawlish's downfall as he has led me and others to believe. Proudfoot's been investigating him for months now, as I'm sure you well know, and he's finally turned up some tangible evidence that might help him out."

Tonks' blood went cold when Amelia laid out a photograph on her desk. It was of a press conference in the Ministry Atrium where they were celebrating the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. The stage was lined with countless important men and women, and Harry was just finishing up giving his speech. Tonks remembered this day well—after all, Harry had just shagged her brains out only minutes before this photo was taken.

Tonks knew what happened next as the photo continued to play out the scene. She'd seen it in person and from various other angles in different publications, but this was a new angle to her.

Dawlish took a step forward and instantly pitched forward and crashed down onto the stage. That was all normal, but what was new was the subtle flash of magical energy in the background coming from the tip of her wand. Half of her face was in the frame, but it was quickly blocked when Dawlish fell.

How had she been caught? She'd been so careful to make sure that this didn't happen. The enchantments on her robes should have protected her from appearing in any memories or photographs… unless the camera specifically had charms designed to counteract enchantments like the ones Tonks used. They probably hadn't even intended for it to find Tonks out; more likely than not, they were just fishing for some juicy drama by spotting out anyone who was using beauty charms to conceal a blemish or something like that. It was the exact type of thing that magazines like Witch Weekly would absolutely do.

"It was Harry who convinced you to do this, wasn't it?" Amelia asked, not unkindly.

Tonks remained silent.

Amelia leaned forward. "I worked closely with Harry last year, and I know just how clever he can be. He told me to my face that he was completely innocent in this case, and I believed him because my niece supported him. Now, I can't help but wonder if she was complicit too."

Tonks desperately wanted to tell Amelia that Susan wasn't complicit in anything. Susan had found out about Harry's efforts to sabotage Dawlish, using her clever brain to connect the dots when Proudfoot confronted him, but she didn't participate in any of Harry's schemes.

Maybe she could explain everything to Amelia without Proudfoot present. Susan understood the necessity of change within the Ministry just as much as Harry did; maybe Amelia would find some sympathy in that. But Tonks knew that her hopes were foolish. Amelia was a by-the-book type of woman. Even if she approved of Harry's actions, she'd still do her utmost to prosecute him in full accordance with the law.

At least she still didn't know what Harry had done to Dawlish at the end. But with Proudfoot still sniffing around the topic, Tonks knew that there was a chance she'd find out eventually.

This was bad. Really bad.

"And I can't also help but wonder if Harry was somehow complicit in her death," Amelia admitted, letting her true emotions shine through on her face for just a moment.

"You can't honestly think that," Tonks replied sincerely. "Harry adored Susan."

"And she adored him, but he ended up with Greengrass instead," Amelia pointed out. "I don't know… maybe that's too much of a stretch, but nothing about this whole situation seems right. Harry has lied to me, and I can't help but ponder what else he could have lied about too. I'm coming to you now because I want to give you a chance to help us. If you tell us what Harry's done and help us in our investigation, I can offer you a plea deal that minimises any penalties you face as his accomplice."

How could she get out of this? Claim the photograph was doctored? It was the only one of its kind that she knew of—none of the others from that day captured her doing this. She could go up the food chain to Kingsley directly and ask for his help. He'd protected Harry before.

This was all too much to think about in a single moment. She needed time to sort this out, and she needed to confer with Harry.

"I have a press conference to get to," Tonks said as she stood up. "I don't know what you and Proudfoot think you know, but I can assure you that you're mistaken."

Amelia's face fell, like she was disappointed in Tonks.

"Just keep what Amelia's said in mind," Proudfoot told Tonks before she could leave. "The deal will still be on the table for a little while now, but it won't last forever. Sooner or later, Potter's going to get caught. We don't want to see you go down in flames with him."

"They're still out there," Cyrus growled quietly under his breath. He'd been holed up in this stuffy, old safe house for days now, and he was well past the point of going stir crazy. It wasn't enough that he was stuck in here though; the real pain came from dealing with Emile.

Between his various potions bubbling away incessantly and the myriad of alchemical tests he'd been performing, Emile was having the time of his life. Even their half-successful efforts in Place Cachée seemed to only exist in the periphery of his focus. He was utterly and totally consumed by his endless desire to perfect this blood ritual of his. He made for poor company, and the fumes filling this place left Cyrus perpetually feeling lightheaded.

"As they have been for… how many days has it been now?" Emile asked absentmindedly, still hunched over a series of ink-stained scrolls splayed out across what was meant to be their dining table. He'd taken it over instantly, using it as his research table.

"Eight," Cyrus said, wanting so badly to snap at the man who didn't seem bothered in the slightest that they were being spied upon by French Aurors.

"Eight," Emile repeated, smacking his tongue off of the roof of his mouth as though he were tasting the word. "Yes, that sounds right."

Of course it was right. Cyrus had meticulously been keeping track of each passing hour in this place. It wasn't as though there was much else he could do.

Sooner or later, the Aurors were bound to make a move on them. How many other safe houses had been raided by now? They had no way of sending or receiving messages out of here without risking letting the Aurors know that this place was occupied, and the extensive wards made apparation impossible. In a worst-case scenario, they could always drop the wards and apparate out, but that would have a violent magical backlash due to the wards volatility. But who was to say that the Aurors hadn't already established anti-apparation wards outside of this place yet?

They needed to come up with a plan to get out of here. Really, they should have had one put in place days ago, but Cyrus was the only one of the two of them who seemed to think so.

"Perhaps we should consider an escape plan," Cyrus suggested… again.

Emile danced around the words as he always did. It seemed as though that nothing that related to his current tasks would disturb his focus in the slightest. On one hand, Cyrus could appreciate that; on the other, he repudiated it. Emile's single-track mind had led them here, and they seemed no closer to solving the issues that plagued them then they had at the start of their partnership.

"Perhaps," Emile repeated again, clearly too focused on the alchemical work before him.

Cyrus didn't bother to hide his sigh of exasperation this time. He wanted Emile to know just how sick and tired he was of waiting upon his supposed genius to finally appear and bring about the solution that they both so desperately craved.

With Lord Voldemort's return, both of them could finally reach their goals. It frustrated Cyrus to no end that he was little help in the alchemical practices, but at least he could procure Emile the means with which he required in order to fulfil the ritual necessary to return their lord to life.

But such a thing would inevitably fail if they were trapped in a safe house like this. Even the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to hold off dozens of Aurors at once. All it took was a single spell to slip through to destabilise whatever defences the Dark Lord would arise in order to render all protections meaningless. Cyrus needed to ensure that this nightmare didn't happen.

"Emile," Cyrus stressed. "We really should—"

"Shh," Emile hushed him, and not for the first time, Cyrus fought back the urge to curse this man.

"What?" Cyrus whispered, fingering his wand.

"I've found it out," Emile murmured, teasing a piece of parchment between his fingers. He looked it up and down, considering each aspect of it before he finally let it flutter down onto the table. "The ritual is so close to completion."

For a brief moment, Cyrus looked away from the window to truly examine Cyrus. The man was positively jittering with tension. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, giddy with excitement and more than a tinge of fear.

"You've found what out?" Cyrus prompted him.

"The ritual!" Emile virtually squealed. "We have the blood we need, and the Thunderbird feathers. We're so close… we just need a little bit more to see us through."

"What?" Cyrus asked hastily, abandoning his post. "What do we need?"

Emile looked up with a devilish grin. His normally placid-looking face was twisted into something dark and demonic, but Cyrus couldn't seem to care. He was too close to his goal to relent.

"Rouart's Blood Chalice," Emile announced with all the pride a single man could offer. He let out an infectious giggle. "That old artefact got nabbed a few decades back after Grindelwald's followers were all rounded up. It's still within the Ministry of Magic, in the dark artefact storage rooms in the Bureau des Aurors. It'll cleanse the blood we've collected of any impurities and allow for a flawless resurrection. Call upon your mole. With it in our hands, our Lord will rise again."

The Dark Lord had promised him something dear to his heart. Something that couldn't simply be replicated by anyone else.

He'd promised to end the blood curse that'd plagued his family's line.

Finally, Anastasia and Astoria would be free. They'd be able to live their lives to the fullest.

No matter the cost, Cyrus would see it through to the very end. He'd revive the Dark Lord back to life and offer up anything he could to please the man who'd nearly brought an end to the Wizarding World.

He had to.

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! If you are interested in reading more or supporting me, check out at p atreon .com(slash) ashox