Chapter 7

"Just gonna stand there and watch him all night, are you?"

"Well, the slaying isn't really doing it for me these days, figured I'd get my kicks elsewhere."

Ron let out an amused 'hm' and stopped beside her. "Mum sent me to see what was taking so long."

Buffy let out an exhale of uncertainty. Ten minutes ago she had been sent down to see if Harry wanted something to eat, but the moment she saw him sleeping, looking so calm, and comfy, and cute…

"I don't have the heart to wake him," she confessed. "He just looks so…sleepy."

"Well, that's what usually happens when you sleep."

Buffy gave him an unamused look. "Funny."

Ron smiled in return and turned to look back at his best friend, who he had to admit, did look very sleepy.

"I say we just leave him. He'll still be just as hungry in the morning."

Buffy nodded. "True. And a hungry Harry does make your mom very happy."

But the pair didn't move. They stood there watching over a very deep in sleep Harry Potter. There was just something so serene about it. The cool of the basement. The darkness outside the window. The quietness of the room. It was all so –

"This is weird," Buffy broke.

Ron sighed. "Yeah."

Buffy looked up at Ron. Ron looked down at Buffy. They blinked off their stupor and headed towards the stairs.

"Remus said he's bringing Neville tomorrow morning," she informed him.

"Surprised his gran allowed it."

"Remus and Tonks can be convincing when they want to be," she explained. "And Luna's a no go. She and her dad are on some sort of excursion to look for something I can't even remember to pronounce."

"They should'a just come here, plenty of demons and creatures they can discover," Ron joked.

"Yeah, cause that's what Sunnydale needs. Exposure," she countered sarcastically.

"Never know, it might be good for the economy, could probably start a circus of some sort."

Buffy nodded. "Sure, pay full admission to get eaten, that sounds like a good old laugh."

He smiled and then changed the subject. "Should we head out to the Bronze then?"

But Buffy shook her head. "Nah, I think we should just veg it in tonight. I don't think Harry would appreciate us going without him. We can go tomorrow."

Ron paused by the door, disappointed, but then remembered what 'veg' meant and asked, hopeful. "So that means television?"

What was it with teenagers and TV. Even teenagers who had never even grown up with a TV. It had to be biological somehow.

"Weasley's choice," she offered.

Ron nearly skipped out of the doorway, making a beeline for the living room. "TV remote's mine. I called it!"

And Buffy smiled as she closed the basement door behind her.

It was bleeding out into the Muggle world. The headlines in the Daily Prophet attested to that.

The collapse of Brockdale Bridge caused mass casualties. The murders of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance. The ruckus in the West Country with its pulled trees and destroyed houses. The strange, near dangerous behavior of Herbert Chorley, one of the Muggle Junior Ministers – likely addled by an Imperious Curse gone awry. Voldemort and his followers were behind the attacks. Behind the chaos and fear. Muggle minds that bared witness to these events had no doubt been modified. The whole of the Ministry must be working around the clock, and it was only going to get worse.

The new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, had his hands utterly full. As the newspaper in Remus's hand had proclaimed in so many words. The one pictured with Scrimgeour scowling on the front cover. He was a shrewd and cautious man having headed the Auror office before taking his new position after Cornelius Fudge had been forced to resign. He was a good man for the job, but Remus, like others, worried that it might not be enough. That anything they do may not be enough.

But Scrimgeour was much better than Fudge – a man who was left a shadow of his former self. A once portly man, Cornelius Fudge was now thinner, balder and grayer. His once smug and arrogant manner seemed to have weakened. His ego deflated. He held no more credibility in the eyes of Wizarding citizens. A benefit to many given what Fudge knew about certain Slayer affairs, but has kept silent on the matter, thankfully.

There were definitely many things to worry about, but at the moment there was only one Remus was told to keep his focus on. A Death Eater named Gibbon. He and Tonks were currently stationed outside his home in the early hours. Spying on whatever they could see, which wasn't always very much seeing as Death Eaters could pop in and out of their homes to meetings with no one the wiser. Especially if they were smart enough to place blackout curtains on their windows. Gibbon, as it turned out, was such a wizard to do so.

However, there was also another matter Remus was trying very hard not to keep his focus on. Tonks. Kind, brave, sweet, beautiful Tonks, whom he wasn't allowed to have feelings for – though his heart was one big traitor. Everything would be so much easier, simpler for them if she hated him. Better yet, was disgusted by him. And not trying her absolute hardest to break his resolve.

"It's just coffee," she said, her large dark eyes staring at him.

Remus, however, kept his eyes strictly on the newspaper he was holding. "No. It's not just coffee.

She smiled. "And why wouldn't it be just coffee?"

Tonks knew she was pushing. She had been pushing for weeks maybe months. It was hard not to, knowing he felt the same way about her as she did about him. If only he wasn't so damn stubborn.

"You know why."

"Let's say I didn't?" she kept teasing.

How was it possible for a heart to be so elated and so disappointed at the same time. If only she didn't make things so difficult.

Remus gave up his pretense and lowered his paper. And again, forced himself to reject her as gently as possible, "Dora…"

But Tonks would have none of it. "Would it really be so wrong?"

"It wouldn't work. I'm too old for you and –"

Tonks rolled her eyes and interrupted the well-practiced speech she had heard before.

"And you're a werewolf and you have no money and all the other flimsy excuses you've said before."

Remus swallowed. "You know, how…I think you're wonderful, I do, and that's why you deserve…so much better."

She could feel every burn. Every word, every denial, like a Crucio to her heart. Merlin, why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn't he just get out of his own way?! Why him?! Why…why couldn't he just take her out for coffee.

"Such a shame all I want is you, isn't it," she admitted softly and looked away from him and back to the small house on an empty street.

Remus opened his mouth to stay something – but he couldn't. Nothing came out. What was there to say. What could he possibly say to make her feel better. And he wondered, maybe…maybe it wouldn't be so bad, it was just coffee. But then that would turn into more coffee. And then meals. And then touches. And kisses. And so much more, and then he'd be in so deep that he would eventually, somehow, destroy her along the way. He'd take her light and her joy and swallow it. Take it into the dark with him, how could he possibly do that to someone as kind, brave, sweet and beautiful as Tonks. That would make him more of a monster than he already was.

"He's leaving," Tonks's voice suddenly cut through the quiet. "Lucky for you, eh?"

Right. Lucky.

Remus said nothing as he turned towards the front of the house and could see a figure exiting the front door. By some miracle Gibbon had decided to leave by foot. They had been given a break after weeks of just standing by and loitering with nothing to show for it. No point in wasting it now.

"Come on," Remus ordered in hushed tones, folding up the newspaper and tucking it into his jacket pocket.

And that was that. Another night of Order of the Phoenix business. Another night of not talking about what they really should be talking about. Another night of bruised hearts. Another night of just…being another night. How lucky of them.

It had been long, arduous, stressful day. A day of full of questions. Of interrogations. Of meaningless chatter and he was no closer to his goal. He had estimated the search to take no longer than a day or two, he had an excellent pool to choose from after all, a pool of the best and brightest, a pool of his own making. How frustrating it was that he was now going on a week and have nothing to show for it. Quentin Travers was very tempted to pick a name out of a hat at this point and get the bloody thing over with.

"And your name is…Twatt? With two T's?"

"Yes, sir. It's an old family name."

Travers looked at him over the top of the file. Twatt…how utterly fitting.

"Yes," he couldn't help but mutter, unimpressed. "And you've been with us for…six years." He flipped to the next page. "Not much field work, I see."

Twatt straightened a bit more in his seat. "My specialty lies more in the research department. Demonology. The occult."

"Hm." Of course it did. "Your magical proficiency level is…adequate. I see you've even trained under our warlock Rowe."

"Yes, sir."

That was something at least. Quentin silently reviewed the file again. Not as if he needed to, as Head of the Watcher's Council he was well versed in the candidates he handpicked for these interviews from the pile of applicants. But he needed them to know, just because they were handpicked it didn't mean they were cut above the rest. They were still just candidates after all. And Quentin was looking for something in particular. Something he had yet to find. And the applicants had yet to cut the cloth so far.

"Tell me, Twatt, what do you know of this position?"

"I know you're looking for a replacement closer to the Council," he replied proficiently. "Someone knowledgeable in magic. Someone trustworthy." So far so good. They were the right answers. Now, all he needed was – "Someone with ingenuity."

And well that as that.

Travers did not let his disappointment show. He had been so close. And was once again left with his line dry.

"Thank you, Twatt, that'll be all. I'll contact you if I have more questions."

The dismissal was curt and Noel Twatt knew right then and there that there would be no additional questions.

"Thank you, sir," Noel replied, as was done in polite circles. He rose from his seat and left the room as swiftly as he had come in. The position did sound interesting, and he knew he would learn and experience so many new things if he had been chosen. But it was not to be, if Quentin Traver's tone of voice was any indication. Well, at least it was over with now, and he could go back to his books. The one place Noel Twatt was always very happy to be.

Another file for the archive. Quentin dropped it in the box next to his chair, and with a heavy sigh, picked up the next one from the pile. With his eyes barely skimming the worded page, he pressed the button on his desk phone.

"Yes, Mr. Travers," came the female voice on the other end.

"Another cup of tea, please," he requested.

"Right away, sir," his assistant confirmed.

Then Quentin promptly released the intercom button, and couldn't help but mutter to himself, "And a sedative."

Or maybe a scotch. A scotch would've been better. Might help the tension headache that had been creeping up two interviewees ago. If only he wasn't such a perfectionist. Quentin knew he could have easily found someone else do this job for him. Plenty of underlings ready to impress. But it was too important. The position had to be handled delicately. Secretively. It required a certain personality. A certain…nature. And only he could be the one to find it.

The door to his office opened. Steady footsteps, softened by the carpeted flooring, walked straight to his desk, and steady hands gently placed a cup of black tea on the wooden top.

"Thank you," said Quentin, not once raising his eyes from the brown-colored file. "Send in the next the candidate, please."

"Yes, sir," she adhered, leaving as efficiently as she had come.

The bottom of the barrel. It seemed to be getting closer and closer. Quentin wasn't all that impressed with the data he was reading. It all seemed to be the same as the previous ones. Not much field work. Excellent at research. Knowledgeable in magic. He didn't…hold on…the name…the name was familiar…Quentin knew that name. Now that was a good start.

The door opened again. And in stepped a young man who seemed to look fresh out of the academy. He was well groomed. Energetic. And most importantly, eager.

An air of…confidence stirred about him as he strode forward, an air which teetered very close to pretentiousness. His chin high and his keenness mighty, a small smile on his lips as he stopped just before the desk of the Head of the Watcher's Council.

"Hello. Pleasure to be here, sir."

And Quentin smiled a little. Because he could tell this young man had the aptitude. This young man had the right training. This man had the legacy. And above all, this man seemed very eager to please.

In other words, this young man was perfect.