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Author: Wild Magelet Story: Justice Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 7 Words: 33,705
A/N: Thanks as ever to Mistral, who gives up time to help me that I’m sure she can’t really spare! It’s much appreciated. &&&&& The day before New Year’s Eve brought with it a hoarfrost, and the post-Christmas crowds in Diagon Alley slipped and slid their way across the cobblestones. Arms folded across her chest, strands of hair sticking to her chapped lips, Ginny made her way past The Rotting Quill – formerly Fortescue’s – and strode toward the designated meeting place. Distracted by the sight of a middle-aged woman engaged in earnest conversation with her broomstick, she lost her footing and jostled the tall blonde in front of her. Her hasty apology stuck in her throat as the sharp-featured girl turned and answered in Tonks’s distinctive voice, “Crikey. Spot of cold weather and you turn into me, kid.” Ginny stared. Tonks rarely altered her facial features, adopting the face of a stranger only when undercover work called for the disguise. And even then, she’d never looked quite so…sharp. It was like a painting, Ginny thought, like those odd pictures in the Muggle museum that Hermione had dragged her to see last summer, when they’d spent a week with the Grangers. All smooth planes and vicious angles. “Nice nose,” was all she could think to say. “Careful you don’t poke someone’s eye out.” An odd expression twisted Tonks’s face, and she scrabbled frantically in her pocket. Hauling out a pressed, masculine handkerchief, she buried her face in it and vigorously sneezed. “Oh, not you as well!” Ginny was dismayed. Half of the Department had come down with the forty-eight hour ‘flu in the past week, and it was wreaking havoc with the investigations. Seamus, never afflicted by anything that wasn’t a direct result of binge drinking, was thrilled with the depleted workforce, as it meant twice as many hours out in the field. He wouldn’t be happy if Tonks was out of action for two days. Possessed of a bit more sympathy than her partner, Ginny dug around in the roomy pocket of her cloak and smacked the other witch helpfully on the back as she dissolved into wracking coughs. Her fingers closed around a hard circular object, and she pulled it out triumphantly. Bugger. Puking Pastille. She was sure… Yes. “Phlegm Phondant,” she explained briefly, as she was given a quizzical look in exchange for the wrapped sweet. Tonks’s smile was more weak than grateful, and she continued to eye the soft mass of sugar with suspicion. Ginny grinned. The name was both gross and apt, unfortunately, as it referred to the symptom it helped clear and its own appearance. “It looks bloody disgusting, I know, and tastes it, too, but it’ll clear up your cough for awhile. Fred came up with it last winter when Fleur was driving everyone mad with her 'leetle throat teeckle'.” Tonks hesitated for a few more seconds, then shrugged and tossed the whole thing in her mouth. “’ow is – Fleur – baby?” she asked around her mouthful, shuddering and chewing faster. Ginny’s face softened at the thought of her new nephew. “Fleur’s fine. She’s out of hospital, and they’re staying at the Burrow for another week. She’s already arguing with Mum about how long she and Bill should wait before trying for the next one.” Her nose wrinkled. “Reckon they could keep that information to themselves. Baby Noel’s the sweetest thing. Cries all day and looks like a turnip. You and Remus will have to come and see him,” she added without thinking and was relieved when Tonks merely smiled. “It’s all right, Ginny. I won’t dissolve into tears if you mention babies. We’d love to inspect the new recruit. When this ruddy cold clears up, maybe.” “Cold?” Ginny snorted. “After listening to Harry moan for eleven hours straight, I know what forty-eight hour ‘flu looks like, thanks. Can you believe he took a Cruciatus Curse meant for me without a word, but by his tenth hour of ‘flu, he reckons he’s dying?” Tonks laughed croakily behind her handkerchief. “That’s men for you, mate. Remus is the same. Endured transformations without the Potion for years, but gets crabby as all hell at the first onslaught of a cold. You should probably back up a few steps. Don’t need you and Seamus clocking off, as well.” Ginny ignored the advice. Her feet were unsteady enough with forward movements. “I’ll probably be all right. Our family doesn’t get sick much these days. Mum thinks we passed around so many germs when we were little that we must be immune to everything except Nargle Pox by now. What hour are you up to?” she asked, not beating around the bush any longer. If it was anything past three, Tonks ought to be in bed. Wizarding ‘flu was the bane of a Healer’s existence. As soon as it hit a person, she would start feeling rotten and get progressively worse until the illness vanished after exactly two days had passed. There was no cure; it just had to be ridden out. It usually occurred at the worst possible time and encouraged the filthiest and most unreasonable of tempers in its victims. She’d come close to hitting Harry over the head with his Firebolt earlier that week and could have followed suit with Dean, who had trudged around the office bemoaning his very existence. At least the two of them had stuck it out at work for an hour or two before packing it in. Their mighty chief, Roderick, had vanished at the first sniffle. In the words of Hermione: Boys. Honestly. Tonks flipped open her pocket watch. “Ninety minutes, or thereabouts,” she said gloomily. “It won’t get really bad until tonight. We have to follow up this lead today. I can’t afford to leave it until I’m back on my feet.” “Are you planning to let us in on the secret soon?” Ginny asked, as they began to push their way through the crowds again. The note she’d received from Tonks that morning had told her to meet at the hippogriff statue by Gringotts, and that if she was late she would spend the rest of the week cleaning the slop room. If the Ministry didn’t, in fact, have a slop room, Tonks would make one herself, and Ginny would still have to clean it. Several words had been heavily underlined. “You said we were going underground. Does that mean undercover?” Tonks dodged around a particularly ancient wizard and nearly tripped, grabbing Ginny’s arm while she regained her footing on the slick ground. “Wait until we…” She paused to sneeze again. “We find Seamus. Who had better be waiting for us, if he values the physical essentials for his tarty reputation.” Seamus was, for once, apparently on time. He was a miserable sight, hunched on a free corner of a public bench, his face red, hair disheveled and expression more than a little cross. As they approached, he glared silently, rising to stand on shivering legs. “What time is it?” he demanded between chattering teeth, shooting Ginny a look of dislike as she chirped a purposely cheery good morning. Tonks was still holding her watch, and she consulted it with exaggerated care. “It’s nine-oh-one. What’s wrong with your own watch?” “Stopped working last year, after that holiday to Brighton,” Seamus said flatly. “Did you or did you not tell me to be here at half past eight?” His brogue was clipped and angry. “Yes, I did,” Tonks agreed. “And what time did you get here?” Seamus scowled. “A bit after that.” “Quarter to nine at the earliest, I’d say,” Tonks said shrewdly, her own voice thick with an impending blocked nose. “If you showed up on time, I wouldn’t have to get you here early, and you could have stayed an extra half hour in some poor desperate girl’s bed.” “I was not…” “Poor desperate bloke, then?” Tonks asked, interested. “No! I…” Seamus was of the quick boiling and short-lived variety of temper. He smiled reluctantly, but looked rather alarmed as the implications of the spluttering and sneezing finally penetrated. “Oh, blimey, you’re not getting sick, are you? That bloody filing room is doing my head in.” “Your concern is truly touching, you horrible little wassock.” Lips twitching, Tonks tucked her handkerchief back into her robes. “I think I can manage not to expire today and if I’m off tomorrow, I’ll have an assignment for you that doesn’t involve impermeable ink, right?” Seamus looked slightly mollified. “Right-o. And let us know if you’re going to cark it or anything, yeah?” he tacked on chivalrously. “I’ll be sure to give some warning of my imminent demise,” Tonks said, deadpan. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with before the thought of a hot shower and toddy becomes too much for me.” Seamus was grinning now, visibly excited. “We’re going undercover, you said? Is that why you’ve got a face like a dropped pie this morning?” Ginny choked on a burst of laughter, and Tonks stared at him, dumbfounded. “Pardon?” “Well, not ugly,” Seamus qualified, recognizing the signs of danger. “Just a bit nasty-looking. Mean, but still shaggable, like.” Tonks twirled her wand around her fingers. “You know,” she mused, “sometimes I think Robards was just having a go at me. I haven’t heard Shacklebolt complaining about his babies. Harlow seems happy enough with Neville and Harry. Even Dawlish didn’t get saddled with such a complete pillock. Reckon the boss still hasn’t forgiven me for the Nelson fiasco in ’96.” Before Seamus could blink, swear or squawk, she’d fired off a Stinging Hex that left a bloody trail on the tough brown skin of his right hand. “Oi!” he snapped, jumping. “Steady on, Tonks. I wasn’t having a go.” He raised the scratch to his mouth, ready to suck at the wound, but Tonks grabbed his wrist and pressed her fingers to the reddened line. “Blood of another, taken in anger. Sorry about that, kid,” she said blithely. “You’re my unwilling sacrifice today. Donating to a worthy cause.” “What?” “You’ll see.” Spinning around, she pulled her cloak tightly about her body and gestured impatiently for them to follow. Given the location of their meeting place, Ginny had already had a fair idea of their destination. She still had to hold back a flicker of apprehension as she treaded over the heavy prints left by Tonks’s combat boots into Knockturn Alley. The jolly sounds from Diagon Alley faded quickly as they advanced into the quiet dinginess of the street. Aside from the occasional skittering of rats’ paws and spider legs, the alleyway was hushed and almost deserted. Remnants of street peddlers and their wares - broken phials, an old knitted bag, a shoe buckle - lay scattered about, wedged between cobblestones and gathering dust and mold. A figure in dark robes, hood pulled tightly to conceal its face, darted from a store doorway and hurried past them without looking back. It was dangerous to be seen or to linger here, and the clientele were ever protective of their own safety. Even Seamus, at her side, had fallen silent as they followed Tonks deeper into the Alley than Ginny had ever before ventured. A door banged loudly to her left, but she knew better than to react. Nor did she look back, although she was certain that they had been swallowed up by now, that there would be no visible glimpse of safer territory. Eventually, Tonks came to a halt between two abandoned market carts. A large brown cat watched them from its perch on the less dilapidated of the two. Looking at her angular face in the shadowy light, Ginny had to admit that Tonks, at least, did not look out of place in her surroundings. She had a nasty feeling that she, on the other hand, looked like a lost schoolgirl. Tonks caught her gaze and smiled coolly. “I have my grandmother’s nose and my aunt’s chin,” she said in low tones. “It’s best not to advertise a Black heritage around here.” A swirl of icy wind scattered the rubbish at their feet, and Ginny’s hand tightened instinctively around her wand. Tonks caught the movement and glanced down. “Don’t have that out unless you’re going to use it,” she said sternly. “Same goes for you, Seamus. Until we’re back out in Diagon Alley, wands are kept at the ready but hidden. These folk will curse first, and you won’t be around to answer questions later. Keep your head up and your eyes open. And don’t tell anyone that I brought you here.” Seamus looked as startled as Ginny felt. “What d’you mean?” he asked. “Aren’t we carrying out orders?” “You are,” Tonks replied grimly. “My orders. If we find out what I expect we will, I’ll report back to Roderick and leave your names out of it. It’s strictly against protocol to take juniors into Thieves Alley. I’d be suspended if it came before the Colonel and out on my arse if it were up to Roderick. And you two would be on sandwich duty for the rest of the year for listening to me.” “Thieves Alley?” Ginny looked around curiously, but Knockturn Alley apparently petered out into a dead end. Tonks pushed up her sleeves and dropped to her haunches on the cold ground. Her attention was focused on a symbol, three parallel lines carved roughly into the stone curb. Ginny watched, fascinated, as she reached out and laid blood-stained fingers against the cuts of the blade. Without pulling her wand, she muttered something beneath her breath that was either foreign and pretty or English and very rude. There was no delicate rearranging of brick or dramatic revelation of the portal. The ground around the curb merely dropped, instantly and without ceremony, only to land somewhere with a distinct whump sound. A series of stone steps descended into the dark hole, and an unpleasant smell drifted up to their noses, fortunately soon dispersed by the bitterly cold air. “Oh,” said Ginny. “When you said underground, you meant…underground.” Tonks straightened, groaning as her knee joints cracked. “I’m getting old,” she complained, turning to look at them. “Well? Up for a wee adventure?” Her face turned serious. “I wasn’t joking, you know. I really shouldn’t take you down there. If you’d both rather go back, I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron when I’m done.” “No bloody way.” Ginny and Seamus were for once united in total agreement. Seamus was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and no longer from cold. “You barking, Tonks?” he asked, grinning. “We’ve spent months up to our elbows in quills and musty old documents that nobody gave a rats about when they were filed and which mean even less now. A little sojourn into the dark, dangerous and unknown is right up my alley. No pun intended.” Tonks glanced at Ginny. “You think anyone would notice if I accidentally left him down there?” “Probably not,” Ginny said lightly. “Although it would be a bit of a shame. You wouldn’t believe what he can do with an Elevenses Charm.” Tonks was the first to make her way down the staircase. They were wide and sturdy, and Ginny didn’t know why that fact surprised her or why she had jumped to the conclusion that a secret passageway must inevitably be rickety and perilous. According to Tonks, Thieves Alley was a veritable crush on market days, although not, she added with a saucy grin, a usual hangout for nice respectable girls with particularly blacklisted fiancés. Ginny pulled her hood closer about her red hair. It didn’t take Hermione’s brain to realize that a Weasley – and a Weasley engaged to Harry Potter, no less – was not likely to be popular in the underbelly of Knockturn Alley. There was no need for a nox spell when they reached the bottom of the steps and found themselves standing on a street that was wider, tidier and significantly busier than the alleyway above ground. Candlelight flickered along the bare walls, glowing from within a multitude of shrunken heads. It was very atmospheric, Ginny decided, and much less gross than a first glance warranted. She was fairly sure that the heads were ornamental. She peered closer, and her nose wrinkled. Or perhaps not. Shops lined both sides of the Alley, tightly packed together, and people walked from one to another purposefully. A few faces could be glimpsed through the window of what was apparently the pub, their skin showing blue and their eyes reflecting the gleam of wand light, but this was evidently a place that discouraged leisurely shopping. Ginny tried to avoid meeting any stares, but managed to clash gazes with a tall, thin woman. The vampire flashed teeth at her and stalked on her way. “This way,” said Tonks briskly, striding towards a small shop with no windows. Ivy grew thick over the façade, slithering around the door, and people seemed to be giving it a wide berth. Ginny automatically stepped out of the path of a scowling goblin, and Tonks turned to hiss at her, “A polite witch stands out like spots on a Veela. No one will thank you for it, either. Better to give him a passing kick next time.” Seamus appeared ready to follow that advice when a male vampire elbowed him rudely aside. Tonks hastily grabbed his arm and towed him on. “Not to a vampire, idiot.” She was sounding less and less sure about the wisdom of bringing them along; Ginny could hardly blame her. “What exactly are we doing?” she whispered, as they came to a stop outside the unnamed store. Tonks ignored the soft rustle of the moving shrubbery and seized the heavy door knocker, letting it fall once. The ivy drew back, and the door swung quietly open, which seemed somehow ominous. “Following a hunch,” she replied briefly and stepped inside. It was darker inside the shop, and it was several minutes before Ginny’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. The interior was deceptively large and cluttered with merchandise, most of which appeared to be at least a hundred years old. A wooden counter held piles of dusty books, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room. “Don’t touch anything,” said Tonks absently, and Ginny was immediately reminded of the few shopping trips that her mother had taken them on as children. She would always say the same thing, but something was inevitably broken within ten minutes. Usually by Fred or George, once even by Percy. Those outings had been rare, she remembered guiltily, because her poor mum had been forced to apologise to snooty shopkeepers and then pay the difference between a new item and one mended with a reparo. Of course, shiny crockery was a lot more inviting to small fingers than a bag of human skin. Tonks’s warning, which sounded very adult and maternal for someone wearing orange lipstick, was entirely unnecessary. Ginny had no desire to touch anything. And, to be fair, when the mirror fell less than five seconds later, she hadn’t actually touched it. As she turned around to get a better look at a pile of wands, her hip caught a silver urn on a table, which teetered and crashed to its side, knocking a small hand-held mirror to the floor. Seamus irritatingly clucked his tongue, and Tonks gave her the half-exasperated, half-amused look of someone who understands clumsiness. Horrified, Ginny bent to pick up the mirror, ignoring Tonks’s sharp exclamation. It didn’t seem to be broken…the glass was intact, anyway. It was quite pretty, set with a gold filigree handle. Without thinking, she held it up before her face. It was like plunging into a Pensieve, as if someone had reached hands from behind the glass and pulled her face into darkness and cold. For a moment, she could see and hear nothing, and then the voice started. Hard and amused – and familiar. Her own voice. ‘Nothing special…a liability…miracle you made it through the first time…the youngest, the weakest…the weak link…you’re the weak link…’ She emerged from the icy blackness, gasping, to find Seamus gripping her arm and Tonks wrenching the horrible thing from her hand. “What the…” Seamus frowned at her, his eyes large and anxious. “Are you okay, Ginny?” You’re the weak link… “What…” She couldn’t go on. “It’s a Truth Mirror, ” Tonks said shortly, glaring at it. “Nasty Dark Arts rubbish.” “Truth,” Ginny repeated stupidly, feeling a little sick. “But…” “Truth in a relative sense. If you look into it, you get a nice spiel of your own insecurities. They were first distributed, secretly, during Grindelwald’s reign, to help weaken enemy morale. Wasn’t a very successful ploy, as everyone except the Gilderoy Lockharts of the world had better things to do than moon about gazing at their own reflection, so they faded out of circulation. They pop up now and then – the bronze ones are worth a packet, actually. There used to be one at Headquarters, helped put some rubbish into Remus’s head a few years back. I smashed the ruddy thing and had to pay a month’s wages to replace it with something less poisonous, but I couldn’t have that filth lying about,” Tonks recounted with great satisfaction. She winked at Ginny, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “It was hard enough to get into Remus’s pants as it was.” Seamus groaned. “Oh, could you not.” The sex life of everyone but himself was an unsavory conversation topic. Hearing about his former teachers made him particularly squeamish. Their antics worked to a certain extent, and Ginny relaxed enough to smile. Tonks was right, it was rubbish. She gave the mirror an uncertain glance. At least she’d never have to see it again. That theory was blown out of the water when a large blond man swooped out of the shadows and, without once raising his voice or even changing from a monotone, gave her to understand that she would be very wise to buy the merchandise that she had undoubtedly damaged. Prepared to hotly argue the point – if egotistical Dark Lords had ceased to scare her, she wasn’t going to be pushed around by dissipated middle-aged men who looked as if they’d had a dozen too many Firewhiskys – Ginny caught Tonks’s almost imperceptible shake of the head. Rather sulkily, she paid for the mirror, thankful that it wasn’t an overpriced bronze one. She’d have to destroy it somehow when she got home; she supposed she could hardly just toss a Dark object into the bin. Her gaze fell onto a wicked silver dagger, blue gemstones set into its handle. Pity she hadn’t dropped that instead. Tonks was engaged in mysterious pleasantries with the soak behind the counter. Seamus, whose attention span was even shorter than his temper, wandered off to peer at a collection of suggestive-looking tools. Ginny watched curiously as the shopkeeper casually asked about the weather. “Rain,” said Tonks steadily. “And wind from the south.” The man looked down at his nails for a moment, his white face implacable. “Currency?” he asked finally. Tonks drew a vial from the sleeve of her robes and held it up to the candlelight. Crimson liquid gleamed within, and a spark of interest lit the cool, watching eyes. He reached out a hand, and she shook her head. “Information first.” He studied her, his lips twisting with apparent enjoyment. “Child. What do you seek?” “Ingredients. I seek ingredients.” Tonks kept her full attention on the shopkeeper, who was beginning to look less amused. “Of a type that I would be unlikely to find anywhere else, I think. Of a type that were taken and used without permission.” “There is an apothecary two doors down,” the man said. His pupils flickered. “And many ingredients are used without permission, little witch. Do you ask a favour of the Acromantula before you steal his venom?” “No.” Tonks was unsmiling. “I would wait until he was dead. Else he may be angry,” she said softly, “and kill me first.” There was a brief silence. “Come,” said the shopkeeper. He flicked a dismissive glance at Ginny and the now attentive Seamus. “Your…charges may wait here. And not touch anything!” He disappeared behind a curtain without waiting for Tonks to follow. “Back in a moment, kids,” she said grimly. She repulsed Ginny’s instinctive movement forward. “It’s all right. Stay here. Read your case notes or something while you’re waiting.” The curtain engulfed her, and Ginny turned to look at Seamus. “Have you noticed,” he said, “that even when we’re on an active mission, somehow we still end up sitting around with the paperwork?” “Yeah,” said Ginny glumly, watching the doorway. “I had noticed.” It was close to fifteen minutes before Tonks returned, alone, still looking drawn and ill but with an odd satisfaction behind her pallor. During that time, a woman in white had entered the shop and left immediately upon sighting them. Shortly after that, Seamus had dropped a gold pocket watch, definitely breaking it despite his attempts to stick the two halves back together, and had hidden it behind a sinister rag doll with a wand jutting from its neck. He was no less eager than Ginny to leave Thieves Alley. “What have you done?” Tonks asked suspiciously as soon as she saw Seamus. “Nothing,” he said, with admirable blankness. “Are we set? Got what we came for?” “Oh, I think so,” said Tonks. There was no joy in her smile, but something had gone right, Ginny was sure of it. “Your hunch was right, then?” she asked, as they left the shop and walked with careful indifference back to the portal to Knockturn Alley. “Yes, it was. I’ll fill you in when we’re on safer ground.” Tonks chewed her lip thoughtfully. It took no blood ‘donation’ to leave the alleyway. Following Tonks’s instructions, they walked up the steps and passed directly through the cobblestones overhead, in much the same way that the King’s Cross portal operated. There was no one at all in Knockturn Alley now…at least, not visibly so. There was always, Ginny was quite sure, someone watching. For that reason, it was both imperative and difficult not to break into a run. In a surprisingly short time, they were standing at the junction to Diagon Alley, watching a stream of people come and go from Gringotts. It was if the air was suddenly clearer. Tonks, however, was almost bent double with a renewed spasm of coughing and was clearly not finding it easier to breathe. “Go home,” said Ginny without preamble, ignoring Seamus’s half-voiced protest. She was itching to hear what had happened behind that curtain as well, but Tonks looked ready to keel over. Remus would never forgive her if she let his girlfriend expire outside the confectioners’. Tonks looked up from her pocket watch, her eyes wet with fluid. “Drink first,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Don’t reckon I can face Apparition just yet. I’ll shout you both a butterbeer at The Rotting Quill.” “Witch piss,” said Seamus rudely, dismissing the school drink and interrupting Ginny’s argument that Tonks would likely feel worse after a break in the pub. “But I’ll show off my gallant side and buy you both a warm rum.” Tonks almost moaned with pleasure. “Lead on, Irish.” The Rotting Quill, despite its less than prepossessing name, was becoming a favourite haunt in Diagon Alley. The collective venture of Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, the pub was colourful and inviting inside, and, best of all, boasted at least three fireplaces. Ginny and Tonks found a table by the window, as close as they could get to the largest fire, and watched as Seamus went to order their drinks. Ginny couldn’t see Angelina or Alicia anywhere and wondered if they were visiting the twins, who often put business their way and had the favour returned. They were business allies and rivals, willing to help one another but determined to outdo each others’ profit line. Ginny squinted at the blonde girl flirting with Seamus from behind the bar. She recognized her face; she’d once worked at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Apparently the duos weren’t above head-hunting employees, either. Tonks leaned back in her chair and yawned. She had pushed up her sleeve and was picking absent-mindedly at a healing cut. “One bright side to this bloody ‘flu,” she said, catching Ginny’s glance. “Unhealthy blood is useless for potion-making. I’d probably have had to give the greedy bugger another vial, otherwise.” “Was that your blood?” Ginny asked, surprised. “What’d you reckon? I’d lassoed me a Dark creature before work this morning?” Tonks managed a tired grin and drew her wand to cast a strong privacy spell around the table. “The blood of a Metamorphmagus is one of the pricier ingredients of Felix Felicis. Pretty hard to get your hands on unless you have a source who’s willing to feed your addiction in exchange for information.” Ginny played with the bowl of chocolate mints on the table. “Is he an addict?” “Hmm. It can happen pretty easily. Sometimes it takes as little as two doses. Overwhelming happiness is a powerful drug. You’ve never tried Felix, have you?” Tonks reached for a mint, her eyes steady on Ginny, who replied shortly, “No.” “Because of Charlie?” Ginny’s head snapped up at the blunt question. She gazed wordlessly back at Tonks. “You’re a blinking good actress, Ginny,” the other witch said gently. “Unless it’s about someone you love, and they’re in trouble.” “How do you know about Charlie?” Ginny pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kept a wary eye on Seamus. Fortunately, he seemed fully occupied at the bar. “I didn’t think anyone knew.” “Your mum doesn’t? Ron?” Ginny made a sound between a laugh and a snort. “It took Ron seven years to tell Hermione that he fancied her. He doesn’t get things. And Mum…she has this sixth sense when it comes to us. She’s knows when we’re unhappy. She knows there’s a reason why Charlie hardly ever comes home. But she’d never guess…she wouldn’t understand…” She blew out a heavy breath. “He would never talk to any of us about it. But…one of the girls in my dorm, she was Muggle-born. She had a brother, too, who was… What do you know?” She was defensive, without meaning to be. Tonks wasn’t a stranger poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. She was family, too. “I knew Charlie at school. I know that he was involved with a Muggle-born. I know that he had an older brother who loved him completely but made him feel horribly insecure in comparison. And I know that insecure people can be vulnerable to…outside influences.” Tonks banished her half-eaten chocolate. “I know that when he talks about chasing the dragon, he doesn’t just mean a Hungarian Horntail. Ginny…have you thought about telling your parents?” “I can’t.” Ginny didn’t hesitate. “Mum would be devastated.” She laughed shakily. “She’d probably never let Dad touch his Muggle toys again. And I don’t think they’re the people to help him. Why would they make that rubbish in the first place?” she burst out bitterly. “Why would they make something that hurts people?” “Why would witches and wizards make up Cheering Charms? Brew Felix Felicis? A quick escape from unhappiness, Ginny, it’s hard to turn down.” “I know,” Ginny tugged hard on the end of her ponytail. “I know that. He…he seemed better at Christmas, more like he used to be. It was nice.” “If it helps at all, last I heard he was seeing someone new. Someone decent, I think.” Tonks passed her a mint. “Maybe it’ll give him the strength he needs to get some help. Confide in your parents himself. Eat some chocolate; Remus swears by it.” Ginny took the chocolate, biting into it mechanically, and almost jumped out of her skin when Seamus banged a mug of steaming, fragrant rum down in front of her. “Cheers, ladies,” he said, already sounding a touch under the weather. “Now, unbelt, boss lady.” Words passed silently between Ginny and Tonks, and by mutual agreement the topic was dropped for now. They had other problems to tackle. “Unbelt?” Tonks teased him. “Sounds a bit fresh, Finnegan. Roderick has seminars to counteract that sort of behaviour, you know.” “Reckon he ought to attend them himself,” Seamus retorted. “If it’s not my sterling example of a bottom that he has a good gander at when he comes into the copy room, it must be Ginny’s.” “Urgh!” Ginny choked on her second gulp of rum. Tonks looked faintly revolted herself. “All right, moving on,” she said after a moment. “Basically…hold on a tick.” Scrunching up her face, she concentrated, and her features slid back into their rounded curves and heart-shaped bone structure. Her hair shortened and spiked itself, washing over with a wave of bright pink. A more familiar Tonks let out a sigh of relief. “All those angles were giving me a headache. Where was I?” “Explaining why we had to pay a visit to Count Creepy and his Shop of Horrors,” Seamus said impatiently, leaning forward. “Have you been watching Muggle films again?” Tonks quirked a magenta eyebrow at him. “Polyjuice potion.” Ginny blinked. “What?” “Polyjuice potion,” Tonks repeated grimly. “I was sure…now I am sure. The killer is using potion made with Delltorio’s hair.” “I thought that wasn’t a possibility,” Seamus said, frowning. “Roderick said…” “Kid, your superior doesn’t know a possibility from his own arse,” Tonks snapped rudely. “You’ll do a lot better in this career when you figure that out. While I’m not, of course, suggesting that you break orders to follow your own initiative,” she stared at them pointedly, “sometimes it’s best to work around Roderick’s…suggestions. As long as you prove yourself right, he’ll bluster a bit and then take the credit for a success.” “So it’s okay to break orders?” Seamus’s brain had stuck on the words that most interested him. He looked thoughtful. “Roderick’s orders,” said Tonks firmly. “Robards and the Colonel know what they’re doing. And if I catch you ignoring my instructions, you won’t see daylight outside that file room, got it?” “Yeah.” Seamus moodily swirled his drink. “So, where’d he get it? The potion?” Ginny frowned. “I thought it wasn’t likely because no one would be able to get hair and fluid samples from Delltorio.” “I’d like to see most people try,” Tonks agreed, tapping her nails against the table. “He doesn’t have friends, he’s disowned his family. He changes his companions more often than his socks. He rarely sleeps and always alone. But there is one person who had the opportunity to nick a few strands of hair.” It clicked into place. Of course. “Bellatrix.” Tonks nodded. “Dear Aunty Bella made a habit of bad company and foolish decisions. She was raising a few funds on the side during the war, selling the DNA of her Dark Arts lovers to less than reputable folk like our pale friend in Thieves Alley.” Seamus looked indignant. “What, shag ‘em and rip out a few hairs in the heat of passion? Cold-hearted bitch.” “Because she seemed like such a darling before?” Ginny asked sarcastically. She looked at Tonks. “It was awfully dangerous. She knew him, what he was like.” “She did, but as you say, Bellatrix was hardly sweetness and light herself. She had a healthy ego, like the rest of them, and devotees of Dark Magic tend to believe that they’re invincible. Witness Tom Riddle. I imagine the shine went right out of her little plan when she found herself sharing a very small island with Delltorio.” Despite everything, all of the knowledge that she had of the perverse lovers, Ginny was slightly shocked. “You mean…” “Bellatrix’s death in Azkaban never seemed quite right to me.” &&&&& Ten minutes later, Ginny stood at the doorway of the Quill, wrapping her old Gryffindor scarf tightly about her neck and trying to summon the motivation to venture back outside into the cold. Seamus was ostensibly heading back to work as well, but she noticed that he’d become…delayed at the bar. Tonks was presumably home in bed by now. While they sat talking, Remus had come out of Gringotts across the street and spotted them through the pub window. His furious face had been visible even at a distance, through a jumble of people and a light drizzle. It transpired that Tonks had snuck out of bed that morning after faithfully promising to call in sick. Remus had hauled her out of her chair and half-carried her toward the Floo portal in two seconds flat. The last Ginny had seen of Tonks was a face like an errant child whose parents have been summoned by the headmaster and a blur of disappearing pink hair. She already had the door open when she heard a familiar voice. Turning around, letting it swing shut behind her, she saw Hermione standing at the bar, reaching for a tray of pasties. Her friend made her way across the room, weaving between tables, and disappeared to a booth behind the staircase. Curious, Ginny followed her and found another table obviously under a privacy spell, if the hum of meaningless chatter was anything to go by. Hermione looked up from distributing plates and saw her. Her eyes widened. “Ginny!” she said, looking surprised and sounding dismayed. “What are you doing here?” Ginny smiled warily, looking around. Besides half a dozen strangers, Hermione was seated with Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan. The group stared silently back at her, and she shifted awkwardly where she stood. “I was having a drink with Seamus and Tonks. Poor Tonks has caught the ‘flu.” “Oh, dear.” The conventional response came vaguely and automatically. Hermione, Ginny realized anew, both intrigued and slightly amused, was not pleased to see her. She was terrible at dissembling and kept shuffling about, her eyes constantly on the move. “What are you up to?” Ginny asked with deliberate casualness. “Hullo, Hannah. Ernie. How are you?” Hermione seemed in no hurry to introduce her to the rest of her companions, and Hannah looked scarcely less uncomfortable. She was looking at Hermione, as if waiting for guidance on the simple greeting. Ernie was compulsively biting his lips and carefully avoiding her gaze. “Hmm?” Hermione stared back at her without blinking. “Oh, just having a spot of brunch. You know how it is.” “Yes.” It looked more like a meeting than a get-together to Ginny, and it seemed as though Hermione was in charge, as a sheaf of papers sat at her place - although the other witch was the sort of person to bring reading material to a pub. She took pity on her. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I need to get to work before Roderick ruptures something. Tonks is off, and it doesn’t look like Seamus is going anywhere.” “Oh, must you?” Hermione said quickly, her relief palpable. “I mean,” she gestured, her good manners returning, “if you want to stay and eat with us…” Please, please leave, said her expression. “Thanks, maybe another time. I’ll see you at the Burrow tomorrow night.” Ginny waved and turned away, finally giving in to a smirk. What was Hermione up to? She wondered if it were something to do with her mysterious job and if Harry knew anything. She gave herself five minutes to get it out of him if he did. &&&&& When she opened the door to their flat that night, a welcome burst of warm air hit her in the face. Good, the new heating charms were working, then. And…was that food she could smell? Following her nose to the kitchen, she found Harry eagerly burrowing through a basket of covered pans and plates. He looked exhausted and hungry, the ravages of illness still carved into his pale face. “Going out on a limb, I’m assuming you didn’t cook all that,” Ginny said, her tummy grumbling its approval. She placed the loathsome Truth Mirror on the coffee table, covered it with her cloak and went to peer over his shoulder. Slipping her arms about his waist, she rested her cheek against his arm. He felt thin, but solid, and his skin always radiated heat. She snuggled closer, and he turned to kiss her cheek. “Your mum left it for us; there’s a note.” He lifted a tea towel from a pie tin and crowed, “Oh, yes. Treacle tart. I’m starving.” “Hmm,” Ginny breathed in against his neck and stood on tip-toe to trail kisses around his jaw. “Me, too.” His stomach temporarily lost out to other areas, and Harry turned to smirk at her. “Is that right?” he asked, his arms folding about her shoulders to tug her closer. His mouth opened on hers, teeth lightly seizing her bottom lip. “Should I be worried that every time you go out in the field with Seamus, you come home and attack me?” he muttered, pulling the clasp from her ponytail. Ginny dug her fingers hard into his hair, returning the kiss with interest. “Not,” she broke off and gasped as his hands slid into her jeans. “Not as worried as you should be if I came home all smiling and satisfied.” “Good point.” Harry’s hands dropped to her thighs, and he tugged her legs out from under her. Ginny came down hard on the kitchen counter, laughing as he followed her down. Their mouths clashed and clung, and she anchored her arms around his back for balance. “Erm…Harry?” she murmured after a moment, between kisses. “Mm?” “I’m lying on a trifle.” His head lifted, and he stared at her, eyes dazed and hair hopelessly rumpled. “What?” Ginny gripped his shoulders and eased him back, sitting up with difficulty. She glanced behind her and nodded. “I was definitely lying on a trifle.” Harry tucked her hair back and put his arm around her, looking down at the damage. “Oh, it was made with raspberry jam,” he said, disappointed. “I really like raspberry jam.” Ginny dissolved into giggles, and he grinned. Reminded of his hunger, Harry performed a non-verbal scouring spell on her clothes for her and began to dish up the surviving food. After seeing how much effort her mum had put into the care basket, Ginny’s conscience got the better of her, and she went to find some Floo powder. When she looked out from the Burrow’s fireplace, her mother was in the kitchen, stirring a large saucepan and looking harried. “Mum,” said Ginny loudly, and Molly jumped, dropping the wooden spoon to clutch at her breast. “My heavens, Ginny, what a fright.” Twisting her wand, she turned down the heat on the stove and turned to study her daughter, frowning. “If you’re here to ask after Elizabeth and David,” she said tetchily, “you can tell Tonks that they were just fine at seven o’clock this morning, and they’re still perfectly well now. They’re eating and sleeping properly and neither of them have caught this wretched ‘flu bug. Nobody in my house has caught the ‘flu.” The words came accompanied by a look that seemed to suggest it was Ginny’s fault that Harry had succumbed. “Mum, I wanted to thank you for the food!” “Oh.” Her mother looked a little taken aback. “That’s quite all right, dear. Harry needs building up; he’s looking dreadfully thin. Those takeaways you keep feeding him are probably why he got sick in the first place.” Ginny pointedly ignored that. “I’m glad Elizabeth and David are doing okay. Actually, Tonks is the one who’s come down with the ‘flu. Remus took her home this afternoon, but she must be feeling rotten by now.” “Really, that girl just does not take care of herself! Poor thing,” Molly fussed, her enmity immediately forgotten. “I have a pot of soup on the stove; I’ll send some over later so that Remus doesn’t have to cook. Perhaps some scones.” “I’m sure they’d appreciate that, Mum. I’d better go now; Harry’s got the meal set out. Love to the baby. Oh, you wouldn’t happen to have another trifle, would you? I accidentally sat on the other one.” “You sat on…” When Ginny straightened from the hearth, having wheedled her mother into making another trifle for Harry the following night, she found him standing beside the coffee table, his head bent. “Mum’s making another pudding for New Ye… Harry?” She broke off, her brow creasing. “Are you all right?” He looked up slowly and gave her the oddest look. “What’s that?” he asked after a strangely fraught pause. “Oh, New Year’s supper. Brilliant.” Ginny’s gaze flicked to the table, where the mirror lay, uncovered now, beside the cloak. “You didn’t look into that, did you?” she asked. “It’s a Truth Mirror, Dark Magic. I dropped the bloody thing today, and the shopkeeper made me buy it. Tonks said she just smashed one once, but I reckoned it might be safer to get Bill to take a look.” “Good plan.” Harry’s voice was rather flat. “Can’t be too careful.” He continued to stare at her, face shadowed. “Listen,” he said suddenly, when she would have spoken. “I have to go out for awhile, okay? I’ll be back soon.” “What? Harry…” Ginny watched, taken aback, as he strode toward the front door and grabbed a coat. She went after him, shaking her head. “What did you see in…” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her shoulder a quick pat, avoiding her eyes now. “I won’t be late.” The door closed behind him, and Ginny continued to stand there, speechless. Turning, she looked at the counter, where steaming food was piled high and untidily on two plates. The sound of the kitchen clock echoed in the room. Right, then.
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