Eight
A Respite in the Weather
Having tested their mettle with a soft dusting of snow the night before, a frosty winter sun shone forth that morning. By nine, the last wisps of snow had melted into the ancient cracked sidewalks surrounding Grimmauld Place. Leaden clouds promising a more enduring display hung poised on the horizon, held back by the sheer force of will of those dedicated Ministry employees who had worked tirelessly to organize the day’s activities.
“Right this way, ladies and gentlemen!” Percy Weasley was at his obsequious best, his Ministry robes starched so crisply it was a wonder they didn’t flap like sails on a schooner.
Nimbly, he directed the small group of important guests towards the wooden bleachers which had been cleverly erected for the Minister’s speech. Bearing in mind the townhouse was sandwiched in a Muggle neighborhood, a small stage had been situated at the rear of the house, covering much of the overgrown brick patio. The elevated seating actually straddled the fence bordering Mrs. Figg’s property, allowing guests to Apparate directly into her heavily wooded side yard so as not to create a disturbance on the sidewalk. As an extra precaution, Ministry employees were posing as paving crews and sanitation workers along the adjoining streets in order to further divert traffic.
Percy barely managed to scamper back to his post at the open gate before he was called upon to assist an entourage of several ancient matriarchs. Quick reflexes prevented him from colliding with one of the WWN crew who was double-checking the connections for the live coverage of the dedication ceremony. Like glistening fish beneath the surface of a frozen pond, the catering crew was intent on setting up a lavish buffet inside the glass solarium which had been refurbished to exacting Victorian standards in preparation for this event.
Raised voices near the spot where wands were being tagged according to standard Ministry procedures drew Percy’s narrowed eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary there, he decided, just an elderly gent who was convinced they were trying to confiscate his wand instead of just weighing it. A common misconception among citizens who had never had cause to visit the Ministry of Magic in person.
Little by little, the assembled crowd grew to cover the reviewing stands with a living quilt of boisterous colors, murmurs of anticipation growing to a fever pitch as they awaited the show. As the last chime of the noon hour reverberated within the narrow confines of number twelve, attendants pulled open the double doors to the solarium and Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic, strode pompously towards the podium.
“There’s really no need to stand so far away from the windows,” Luna chided. “They’ve been coated with a reflective surface on the outside.” At Harry’s doubtful expression, she added, “No silhouette will show. Not during daylight hours, not even when back-lighted at night.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to be an easy target,” Harry retorted with a nervous smile.
He barely hazarded a glance towards the skies; he was more concerned with the stark outlines of the armed guards who stood, watchful and silent, on the surrounding rooflines. Everyone who could be seen was nothing more than a decoy, placed there to give the public a sense of security among the tightly packed group of dignitaries. The true sharpshooters -- to steal a phrase from the Muggle Westerns favored by his cousin, Dudley -- were cleverly spelled by a Disillusionment Charm to blend in with their surroundings like human chameleons. No need to worry about camouflaging their shadows today, as hazy clouds had suffused the weak sunlight by the time the guests started arriving.
“I’ll alert the guards that the shooting gallery won’t be operational until after the refreshments,” Mad-Eye Moody grumbled from the doorway as he gave them a disconcerting wink with this non-magical eye. “I’m joining the others in the green room, if you need me.”
“That’s fine, Alastor,” Mrs. Figg returned. “The Apparition bubble near the door has already been tested; you should have no resistance launching from there.”
“Too much effing fanfare, if you ask me,” Moody groused under his breath as his wooden leg clunked down the staircase towards the ground floor.
“I was hoping to see Neville,” Harry ventured as he took a few tentative steps towards the tall attic windows. He had a bird’s eye view of the stage as well as the teaming spectators. Belatedly, he regretted not bringing Omnioculars for a bit of people-watching.
“He’ll be here soon,” Luna assured him as she stood shoulder to shoulder. “I didn’t think his invitation to take morning tea with Minerva would delay him this long; but you know how passionate he gets about her private garden.”
Harry chuckled in appreciation. “He won’t have to Apparate into the middle of this mess, will he?”
Mrs. Figg shook her head indulgently. “We made sure to pin the extra curator’s badge securely to his robes before he Flooed out this morning. He’ll be able to return via the hearth in the master suite.”
“All other Floos have been disconnected since we first opened our doors to the public,” Luna supplied with a dreamy nod. “Oh look, Figgy, there’s Scrimgeour himself strutting towards the stage. It must be time.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just watch from the relative safety of this desk chair,” Mrs. Figg allowed. “I’m not one to launch myself from a balcony astride a broom, thank you very much.”
“You and Tonks, both.” Luna sighed. “Couldn’t get her to join us up here at all this morning.”
“I think she prefers pacing backstage and going over her mental costume changes,” Harry observed with a wry laugh. “The crew in charge of the presentation were regaling her with their ill-conceived ideas when I left her in their capable hands.”
“Do you think we’ll be called upon to reverse any curses?” Luna giggled impishly.
“Not if Mad-Eye gets there first!” Harry shot back with a snigger.
A sharp crackle issued from the snow globe which had been configured to provide them with an audio feed. Amid the swirling bits of glitter surrounding a miniature Westminster Cathedral, Scrimgeour’s voice intoned, “Wizards, witches and honored dignitaries: welcome. Today’s events are only the tail end of a project that began many years ago with the vision of a small group of dedicated witches and wizards. Heroes in every sense of the word, many giving their lives so the wizarding world could rise from the ashes once again. Like the venerable phoenix who is no longer with us, Albus Dumbledore did not live to see this day. But he would have been proud of the private citizens who saw to it that his dreams did not die with him. Many were his former students, full of idealism; some were veterans of earlier skirmishes which had failed to end the war once and for all. We owe them our freedom, ladies and gentlemen. The biting air we take into our lungs is no longer tainted with shadow due to their valiant efforts.
“But it was a long and bitter struggle, punctuated with many sacrifices along the way. No one’s efforts were too small to be insignificant. And despite their humble protests, this edifice behind me which once served as their clandestine headquarters has been lovingly refitted as a museum to commemorate each small step which led to victory. Believe me, they are not a group who seeks the public limelight and it took a fair bit of persuasion to entice some of these heroes to be with us for today’s dedication.
“So without further tongue-wagging on my part, I present one of the senior veterans of the former Order of the Phoenix, Alastor Moody.”
As Scrimgeour backed away towards the rear of the stage, a deft motion by one of the stage hands Vanished the podium in a dramatic puff of white smoke. Instead of dissipating into the atmosphere, the wispy tendrils swirled into strangely pulsing shapes, restless and beguiling at the same time.
With a sharp cough, grizzled hands waved the smoke aside impatiently as Mad-Eye stepped through to a sharp intake of breath among the onlookers. His magical eye surveyed the crowds in a dizzying manner as he silently encouraged them to get a good look at his ravaged physique. With one last swat at a persistent patch of smoke, he coughed loudly enough to be heard in the back row.
“I told them backstage I’d given up smoking years ago,” he growled amicably as the audience broke out in laughter. Having won them over, his fierce glower no longer seemed like anything other than his natural expression. “Despite my outward appearance, this was not a one person fight against a band of militant banshees,” he proclaimed with vigor. “I spent many a year chasing down dark wizards in the Auror Department before joining forces with a more youthful crowd. As a matter of fact, some of my former trainees have come to eclipse me with their unique talents. One such is Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current department head.” With a wave of his gnarled walking stick, Moody turned sideways as he motioned towards the back of the stage.
At first nothing happened, but little by little gusts of wind started to snap at the spectators’ scarves and hats, the skirting along the edge of the stage rustling ominously.
Dust motes that had settled to the ground after Moody’s entrance came to life once more, swarming faster and faster into a small wind spout that hovered at mid-stage. With a mighty crack, the funnel was gone and Kingsley stood tall and proud in its wake.
“Hard to believe that very man regularly sneaks up on his co-workers,” Harry noted dryly at the over-blown special effects.
Applause greeted Kingsley as he assumed a wide-legged stance in polished black boots which contrasted sharply with tan trousers and a flowing dark blue Auror’s cloak. The distinctive shape of the Order of Merlin shone against the simple lines of his short, belted jacket. Not that any of them had ever worn such militaristic trappings; the standard Auror dress was nothing more than an official Ministry-type robe over Muggle street clothing. Nothing too ragged or trendy unless one was undercover. But this was theatre, Harry reminded himself, and the crowd was eating it up.
A wide grin split Kingsley’s dark features as he leaned over to address the crowd in a practiced stage whisper, “I may be in charge these days, but Moody here is still the star attraction at all the cocktail parties. It’s his adventures they clamor to hear, not my pedantic reports on exploding toilets and rampaging garden gnomes.”
“Don’t forget the gang of demonic house-elves, all dressed in black leather,” Moody prompted.
“Turned out to be a bunch of Muggle schoolmates sporting their rugby jackets, the eldest no more than ten or twelve,” Kingsley confided to much laughter. “But we wouldn’t want you to think we were just a pack of male elitists. Moody has long been an avid bird-watcher, so it came as no surprise when he introduced us to his star protégé…”
Amid the expectant hush, Tonks Apparated silently at the rear of the stage with her back to the audience. She was dressed much as she had been when Harry had first met her: a sweatshirt with a rock band’s advert, artfully torn jeans that hugged her legs, and bright purple combat boots. Harry caught just a flash of her wicked smile before she whipped around and looked about her in mock consternation.
“…who still seems to have a problem with Stealth and Tracking,” Moody finished over the chuckles and belly-laughs. “Tonks is undercover today,” he explained. “Totally blends in with the Muggles luxuriating in the park among the pigeons.”
Harry’s sharp eyesight noticed she had just added a number of rather garish ear piercings.
“No one would give her a second look except to chat her up,” Kingsley took up the narrative. “Never realizing her deadly accuracy with a wand and a ready hex.”
Tonks drew her wand from her sleeve with practiced ease as she scrunched up her pert nose briefly “ and then turned her hair a bright bubble-gum pink. The audience ooh’d on cue.
“I’m going off duty, mates,” Tonks announced as she sauntered over. “Hold this for me while I tie my laces,” she instructed Kingsley as she tucked her wand visibly into his top jacket pocket.
Kingsley shared a slightly perplexed look with the audience as Moody conjured a small footstool with a lazy flick of his wand.
Tonks nodded her thanks as she placed her boot on the seat and bent over it intently. “Fancy hoisting a few at the pub?” she posed, looking up at each of them in turn. “Can’t wait to get out of these work clothes,” she moaned as she righted herself and stretched her arms languidly over her head. In the next instant, she was dressed in a simple black cardigan over a sparkly top, her boots replaced with spiky heels. Without a second’s hesitation, she added and discarded a number of necklaces to her ensemble as it slowly dawned on the assemblage that she was not using a wand.
She waited for the applause to die down before offering, “Best not to draw too much attention to yourself, my mum always said.” With a snap of her fingers, she Vanished the jewelry entirely and changed her hair into a shiny blue bob.
With a deep sigh of forbearance, Kingsley returned the wand to her in a courtly manner as Moody continued, “What they didn’t realize was how many birds I had to interview before I found one who was a Metamorphmagus!”
“Don’t forget the graceful part,” Kingsley admonished as the audience tittered appreciatively.
“Absolutely!” Tonks shot back. “My parents paid extra for those lessons, you know.” Catching her companions’ eyes once again, she dared, “Last one there…” She took two tentative steps towards the front of the stage, letting her gaze linger over the rapt faces before her. With a blissful expression on her face, she opened her arms wide in a classic Disapparition stance. Harry waited for her to bring her tight little turn in for a second revolution with a small swing of her leg, marveling anew as she disappeared amid a small shower of sparkling stars.
A sharp gasp undulated through the crowd as Moody noted, “Not to mention her winning ways with an exit.”
“Or entrance, depending upon your viewpoint,” Tonks volunteered as she peeked out from behind Scrimgeour’s chair to thunderous applause. “It’s best to keep enemies unaware of your comings and goings.” Without any additional fanfare, she Disapparated again, leaving the trademark faerie lights in her wake.
She reappeared among the shrubbery lining the solarium walls and asked, “Did I miss the stars again? Blimey, that’s the best part!”
Harry couldn’t help but smile at how artfully she had appropriated Ron’s awed assessment as her own. Hopefully, Ron was chuckling to himself at he listened in via the wireless in his cozy kitchen.
“Time to get ready for the tours,” Luna breathed as she dashed down the stairs.
Mrs. Figg followed more sedately, commenting on her way out the door, “I’ll just let Luna take the first group.”
Even though he had been well briefed on what would come next, Harry still bristled as the journalists and other curiosity seekers clustered around the stage for the question and answer session. Percy was urging those who wished to take the first tour of the museum to please follow him as other assistants herded the uncertain towards the buffet tables inside the solarium. Suddenly, Harry felt lost without Ron or Hermione at his side, knowing Ginny was keeping a close eye on things at the main broadcasting studio.
At the sound of a small avalanche, Harry dashed out into the narrow corridor and followed the noise into the dilapidated master suite Sirius had once occupied. He was caught short when the room no longer looked as he remembered. The dark wood of the large four-poster bed had been buffed to a high gloss, its worn curtains and bedspread replaced with silver damask to match the polished granite of the hearth. The gilded mirror no longer reflected the worn patches on the ceiling and the cracked plaster beneath the moldy wallpaper. He suspected the adjoining room which had once been Buckbeak’s lair was no longer open to the elements, but he did not have a chance to explore very thoroughly.
A rather rumpled Neville was furiously shaking a decade’s worth of ashes from his robes as he coughed furiously. Harry added a wordless Evanseco spell to urge the last of the debris to detach itself and float harmlessly towards the white dust cloth laid upon the shampooed carpeting for that very purpose.
“You make quite an entrance, Neville,” Harry greeted him with a cheery slap on the shoulder. “Mad-Eye did much the same on stage.”
Neville chuckled light-heartedly as he continued to shake the sparkling Floo powder from his fringe. “So that was his entrance? Couldn’t tell so well on the wireless.” To demonstrate, he extracted a tiny snow globe key chain from the inner pocket of his robes. Inside rested the diminutive dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral as black specks represented the ever-present flock of pigeons congregating on its wide steps. “Luna got me this so I could listen in even when I was abroad.”
Harry looked skeptically as the personal wireless set. It was the latest fad for wizarding gadgets to resemble innocuous Muggle objects; just one more way to thumb their noses at the Statute of Secrecy, Harry supposed. The snow globes had been modeled after the twin’s proximity alarm prototype Ron had unveiled so many years ago. “Can you really get the WWN half a hemisphere away?” he inquired with a dubious frown.
“Not really,” Neville admitted rather sheepishly. “But I feel closer to Luna every time I use it anyway. The sound quality is great throughout Britain, though. I was listening in to the whole dedication ceremony as I hiked to the Floo connection at the Three Broomsticks.”
“Yeah, Luna was wondering what had delayed you.”
“Tons of stuff. Great news, really. Is she about?”
“She’s tied up leading the tours right now,” Harry advised, watching the enthusiasm in Neville’s eyes dim. “Why don’t you keep me company in the Crow’s Nest so we can stay out of sight? The question and answer session was just beginning when you arrived.”
With an eager nod, Neville allowed himself to be escorted back down the hall just as the mingled voices of the tour drifted up the stairs. Soundlessly, Harry closed the door behind them and applied a Muffliato charm as an extra precaution. The success of their plan depended upon not being seen by anyone other than their co-conspirators. That was in large part why Hermione and Ron had elected to stay at home, inviting Remus and the children to join them so they could all listen in together.
Seeing through Remus’ initial hesitation, Harry had volunteered to accompany Tonks to Grimmauld Place and keep a close eye on the proceedings. “After all,” he’d reminded Remus before the man could come up with any other objections, “I’m still the official landlord of number twelve.”
With the wireless feed Ginny had arranged for them, every word uttered on stage came through loud and clear.
“…was a bit of a power vacuum after Dumbledore’s death,” Kingsley was saying. “That was to be expected. But no, I did not become the de facto leader of the Order.”
“Mr. Moody?” an unfamiliar reporter’s voice prodded.
“Nor I, laddie,” Mad-Eye rumbled heartily. “I may be a man of action, but I was not the visionary tactician which Dumbledore had been.”
“Is that such an important point for your story?” Scrimgeour interjected impatiently. “I always got the impression the Order operated more along the lines of a committee where everyone’s voice was heard equally.”
“That’s a fair way to put it,” Kingsley acknowledged diplomatically.
“The Order recognizes no generals,” Tonks agreed, echoing a phrase which had clearly come from Remus.
Move on, Harry urged inside his head, if Remus had wanted you to fawn all over him, he would have come in person.
“Is it true your group of patriots originated the practice of verifying a person’s identity by Patronus?” posed yet another reporter.
“Can’t say we originated it as such,” Kingsley drawled. “But we found it to be a much more efficient method than anything the Ministry was espousing at the time.”
“You’re referring to the brochure suggesting we quiz each other before opening the door,” came a crisp voice.
Moody’s gravely voice responded, “Considering that attempts were made to infiltrate our organization by those whom we'd considered friends and allies, you can see how that might be a less than reliable method.”
“But Patronuses can change, can they not?” the same journalist persisted.
“Yes,” Kingsley allowed, “but it’s not a common occurrence by any means. It usually requires a traumatic event that would have already primed the rest of the group.”
“No method is entirely foolproof,” Moody elaborated. “We just considered it a superior method for our needs. All of our agents had mastered the charm so that was not an issue.”
“They also started using this method at Hogwarts,” Scrimgeour volunteered with a note of pride.
“Yes, we did,” Tonks acknowledged. “My main objective when I took over the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum was to empower each student, down to the most introverted first year, to defend himself in an emergency. We also addressed methods of avoiding conflict and hiding in plain sight by blending in with the surroundings. But when faced with an immediate threat, the Patronus charm would provide them with the best chance of holding out until help arrived.”
“But they were so young…” protested an obviously feminine voice.
“War does not ask the age of its victims,” Kingsley expounded solemnly. “It is barbaric just as much as it is egalitarian. That is one of the harshest lessons of all.”
“As for teaching the first years,” Tonks continued, “I admit it was a bit of an innovation. But one which paid off, even if a student was only able to produce a partial Patronus “ one composed only of silver smoke. Without a distinct shape it could not chase away its tormentors, but still provided a viable shield.”
“And no protests were heard?” posed a voice which reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia’s patented self-righteousness.
“From whom?” Moody growled. “Parents are hardly going to complain about their children being taught how to survive in a time of war!”
“Yet many parents felt the need to keep their children at home during the final year of the war, did they not?” prodded the ersatz Petunia. Harry could just envision the grim line of the lips which accompanied that particular tone.
“Yes,” Scrimgeour admitted candidly. “But that was a symptom of the uncertain times, not a condemnation of the teaching methods employed at Hogwarts. One has only to review the bulging class rosters in the years after Lord Voldemort’s defeat.”
“So the school continues to teach first years how to produce a Patronus?” strained a voice from the back.
“Absolutely,” Tonks affirmed. “We found the increased concentration required to master the charm gave students an extra boost of confidence in all areas of their schoolwork.”
“How did you counter the resistance in the first group?” came another.
“All students whing about the assignments put before them,” Moody expounded. “The same holds true for Auror trainees, although they are more clever about avoiding my magical eye.” He waited for the smattering of laughter to die down before continuing. “But in the end, they achieve what we expect of them. The question you should be asking is why the wizarding community had long held so little confidence in their children’s abilities.”
“The fault lies with us and not with them,” pronounced a disgruntled sounding voice.
“Not anymore,” Tonks replied in her usual upbeat manner. “We have seen the error of our ways. As to our methods, I was lucky to have an able assistant in none other than Harry Potter himself. Circumstances required he learn the charm in his third year for his very survival. He simply convinced the younger ones that if he could do it, so could they.”
“The students found that motivating?” came the voice of a skeptic.
“Oh, yes.” Tonks was obviously warming to her subject. “What first year wouldn’t relish a compliment and a broad smile from a seventh year? No one wanted to disappoint Harry.”
“But Harry graduated soon after that.”
“Yes,” Moody took up the slack. “But a new crop of first years will bristle if you try to tell them they are not capable of the same achievements as the prior class. They will do everything in their power to prove you wrong.”
“So it’s self-fulfilling,” surmised another journalist.
“All success is,” Kingsley concluded with aplomb.
“What about you, Ms. Tonks?” another unfamiliar voice, this time a woman’s, spoke up. “Are your children watching today? I didn’t see any young faces among the spectators. What about your husband? He was part of your group as well, wasn’t he?”
There was a long, tense pause as Harry and Neville rushed to the window to view the interactions first-hand. Tonks turned her head to look imploringly at Moody and then Kingsley. Scrimgeour was shaking his head reproachfully at the reporter, his lips pursed with displeasure. “I understood there were to be no personal questions,” the Minister remarked in a glacial tone.
“My apologies, Minister,” the reporter back-pedaled. “I represent Witch Weekly and we’re always interested in a woman’s point of view.”
“Do you wish for me to have this reporter removed, sir?” Percy offered as he scurried up with a self-important puff to his chest.
“What do you think, Nymphadora?” Scrimgeour suggested as he threw poor Tonks to the sharks -- or so it seemed to Harry.
Tonks hesitated, her mouth hanging open as if she couldn’t quite fathom how the Minister himself could have reacted in such an ungentlemanly fashion. In the deafening silence, Tonks’ navy cloak snapped sharply in the wind as the Order of Merlin shone forth from her cravat. Harry noted she had changed her attire to echo Kingsley’s, yet somehow her unique details gave her more of an equestrian look.
“Remus is surely gnashing his teeth,” Neville breathed.
Flexing his claws and swishing his tail, Harry added inwardly.
Even from their angle, they could distinguish Tonks' throat working feverishly. “I believe I’ll answer the question,” she remarked very carefully. “But you will have to be satisfied with my words.”
The reporter nodded briskly to acknowledge that a crumb was better than nothing.
In a carefully modulated tone, Tonks replied, “My children have absolutely nothing to do with today’s events. They were not born -- nor even conceived -- at the time when the wizarding world stood on the brink of being consumed by dark forces. If anything, my children are a testament to the hope for the future that we all share; but they are not, and never will be, a subject for your readers’ interest. As for my husband, he is a very private man who does not require the adulation of the world to believe in his own self-worth.”
With those quiet words, Tonks excused herself to get some refreshments, even though any of the Ministry’s attendants would have been happy to fetch something for her.
Unperturbed, a small mousy gentleman elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. “Please, Mr. Moody, my readership would be most interested in all the exploits of your long and varied career. Frankly, I’m surprised you have not considered penning an autobiographical …”
Harry’s attention was diverted by the quick tread up the last flight of stairs leading to their hiding place. Could it be Luna? He exchanged a glance with Neville who obviously was thinking the same. They both jumped at the soft knock which echoed through the door.
“Luna will have a key,” Harry breathed in Neville’s ear as he pressed a finger to his lips.
A smoky lupine shape jumped nimbly onto the desktop before them, causing Neville to grab Harry’s arm fearfully as it became clear the slavering jaws were those of a werewolf. “I told you Remus would be angry,” Neville whispered as apprehension led him to the wrong conclusion.
“It’s me,” came Tonks’ voice from the smoky jaws. “Some familiar faces would really…”
Before allowing her tremulous words to finish, Harry swirled his Invisibility Cloak over himself and opened the door. Tonks slipped through gratefully, flashing a weak smile at Neville. Before she had time to get her bearings, Harry allowed the Cloak to drop to the floor and enveloped her in a comforting hug. “You were magnificent,” he affirmed softly. “A lioness defending her cubs.”
Tonks uttered a weak laugh in relief. “Considering I wasn’t in Gryffindor, I was hoping for a comparison with a badger…”
“A veritable wolverine, more like,” Neville added with a wry chuckle.
Harry bade her to sit in Luna’s comfy chair as she unbuckled the heavy cloak from her shoulders. He poured her a small goblet of the purple wine an intrepid house elf had delivered to them moments before.
Tonks obligingly took a sip and then screwed her face in displeasure. “What is this stuff? You didn’t try to save money by having Severus’ students prepare the punch, did you?”
“Thimbleberry wine,” Harry supplied as he took a small sip of the cloying liquid himself. “They thought to stay with the Victorian theme for the refreshments as well.”
“Here, have a stuffed olive,” Neville offered her a small ivory toothpick. “They’re quite good, stuffed with bleu cheese.”
Tonks nodded gratefully as she helped herself to some of the other delicacies from the lavish silver tray before them. “Still need something to wash it down with, though. Does Luna keep any Butterbeer in that cold cabinet of hers?”
“We can check,” Harry offered as he opened the filing cabinet Tonks had indicated. “Some pumpkin juice…wait, what’s this? Two bottles of champagne. Rather good quality, I might add.”
Neville cleared his throat self-consciously. “I believe those are mine, Harry.”
“Planning for a bit of celebration later?” Harry added with a small suggestive smirk.
Neville flushed noticeably. “Not a seduction, if that’s what you mean,” he muttered as Tonks laughed merrily.
“Give him a break, Harry,” she spoke up in Neville’s defense. “What’s a dedication without a bit of champagne? And you can’t expect those dolts with the Ministry to buy anything decent, now can you?”
“Actually, if you’ll permit me,” Neville took the glass of thimbleberry wine and poured it into a tall flute he took down from the adjoining cupboard. “My Gran is a big fan of thimbleberry wine, hardly allows anything else past her doorstep. So Luna and I have learned to improvise.” With practiced moves that left Harry speechless, Neville uncorked the champagne without spilling a drop and then splashed some over the purple congealing along the sides of the elegant flute. With a small motion of his wand above the rim, he caused the liquid to stir slightly. “No more than one and a half revolutions,” he warned, “or you’re liable to bruise the bubbles.”
“Since when did you become so adept at Potions?” Harry asked in awe.
“Since I discovered the only true objective was to satisfy my taste buds,” Neville shot back with a wide smile. “And Luna’s, of course. We call this a Haley’s Comet.”
Tonks took a sip, then returned for a much longer swallow. “Very good, Neville. Has a bit of a tickle at the end.”
“That’s the tail of the comet,” Neville explained as he mixed cocktails for Harry and himself. “It’s a shame we don’t have any fresh spearmint leaves. Coat them with coarse sugar and they make the perfect garnish.”
“Are you getting this down, Harry?” Tonks urged. “You know how Dobby loves new recipes.”
Neville blushed at the compliment. “Perhaps a toast,” he suggested hesitantly. “If you promise not to say anything to Luna, the Headmistress offered me the Herbology post. Once Professor Sprout leaves to get married, that is.”
Amid congratulations all around, Neville admitted his desire to accept immediately was tempered by his fear of how Snape would react. “There’s absolutely no way I can scour the world for exotic potion ingredients for his pharmaceuticals and maintain a teaching post. Even if Minerva did warn me she had already promised the Head of Hufflepuff House to Tonks here.”
“Sshhh,” Tonks warned. “It’s still a secret.”
“Did I let the Kneazle out of the proverbial bag?” Neville asked as he hung his head playfully.
“Of course Harry and Remus know, so does Ginny. But no one beyond our house,” Tonks explained. “It’s Minerva’s privilege to make the official announcements.”
“She said much the same to me,” Neville admitted. “But then she sprung her surprise guest on me. Said she’d already taken the liberty of paving the way with Sna… I mean, Severus, on my behalf. I nearly slopped my tea all over myself at that. But he was very gracious, said he had plenty of specimens to keep him busy for a while. Suggested it was time we started seeing which ones could be propagated in our own greenhouses. ‘Which makes your appointment to the Herbology post ideal,’ Minerva finished with self-satisfied smile.”
“She certainly believes in stacking the deck, doesn’t she?” Harry laughed.
“Rumor is she’s one of the investors in Snape’s fledgling enterprise,” Tonks supplied as she downed the last of her cocktail. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“What’s Severus calling his business these days?” Harry inquired. “Would I have seen any of the products on the chemist’s shelves yet?”
“Oh, no, Harry. We’re still in the experimental stage. But he plans to revolutionize medicinal potions. Pharmaceuticals he calls them, taking a page from the Muggle world.”
“Like the reworked Wolfsbane Potion?” Tonks ventured as her eyes scanned the embossed business card Neville handed her.
“So Snape’s decided to go green now?” Harry quipped. “Not that it doesn’t match his House colors.”
Tonks laughed. “Just following the latest Muggle trend, would be my guess. But it ties in well with potion-making as a whole. Do you think he’s planning to expand into the Muggle market?”
Neville shrugged. “Dunno. It would certainly make him a millionaire if he figured out how to get around the Statute of Secrecy. But as for the Wolfsbane Potion you asked about, that’s destined to be a highly controlled substance. Available only under the strict supervision of a Healer.”
“You don’t think everyone would be as meticulous about sticking to the calendar, do you?” Harry ventured.
“Let’s just say the details still need to be ironed out,” Neville issued with care. “Not all patients are as adaptable as Remus. And this is a course of treatment which definitely requires the patient to rework his life to accommodate the medication “ and not the other way around.”
“So what sort of products do you plan to launch?” Tonks inquired.
“Our first goal is to introduce over the counter type remedies,” Neville explained. “Draughts which don’t lose their potency if they haven’t been freshly brewed.”
“Quite an undertaking,” Tonks acknowledged.
“That’s where all the exotic ingredients come in,” Neville explained. “Tell me though, Tonks, what exactly did you do to revolutionize Hufflepuff House? Both the Heads couldn’t say that enough, yet I really got zero details.”
Tonks laughed self-consciously. “It was really nothing, just a bit of tweaking with the House attributes. You were both there when it all started during your seventh year.”
“The Hufflepuff Boys?” Harry posed with a chuckle. “They were a hoot. I always wondered how you were able to round up such a group. It’s not everyone who’s willing…”
“…certainly not without the inducement of Firewhiskey,” Tonks rejoined. “Or so Remus always claimed.”
“So what’s your secret?” Neville urged.
“Hufflepuffs are always portrayed as loyal and hard-working,” Tonks elaborated. “Sort of gives the impression they have second-rate brains and have to study constantly just to keep their heads above water.”
“I can’t say I haven’t heard those jokes,” Harry admitted.
“But Ravenclaws have turned extra research into a hobby of sorts,” Neville supplied. “Even Luna has her moments when she’s glued to a book.”
“And Remus doesn’t?” Tonks added merrily.
“At least Remus reads literature, quite a bit as a matter of fact,” Harry clarified. “You should see what Hermione considered light reading in our first year. A wizard’s encyclopedia!”
“Perhaps she was just trying to catch up after having lived among Muggles,” Neville posed in a kindly manner.
“You didn’t see me trying to wean myself from the Dursleys in such a manner, did you?” Harry shot back.
“Gentlemen, you made my point for me,” Tonks allowed with a trilling bit of laughter. “Traits don’t just cleave to one House. So I decided to turn the hard-working part into an asset instead of a liability. And what could require more constant dedication than practicing for a performance? Turns out the increased stamina and coordination translates into better control on the Quidditch pitch, so it has appealed to the sports-minded as well.”
“Not to mention the number of girls who are attracted to men who know how to dance,” Harry added with a knowing lift to his brow.
“I’d forgotten about that!” Neville exclaimed. “Why, when I went to the Yule Ball…”
“Ginny told me about Snape,” Harry confided. “In a dreamy voice that was rather unsettling, I might add.”
“He was much the same when I was at school,” Tonks volunteered. “Although he once admitted he’d learned to dance to avoid the insipid small talk at parties. In a very dark, confrontational tone which dared me to question his motives.”
Harry nodded. “At least that puts it into perspective.”
“Not so out of character, after all,” Neville acknowledged with a nervous chuckle.
They finished the second bottle of champagne as the voices of Scrimgeour and Kingsley droned on in the background. The current role of the Auror Department was Kingsley’s main theme, only the inherent warmth of his personality making the subject remotely palatable to reporters who were determined to uncover some angle to justify themselves to their publications. Tonks had long since muted the volume as Scrimgeour went on and on ad nauseum; nothing but self-serving drivel in Harry’s estimation. But since the Ministry was bearing the cost of today’s event, it was not unexpected that the Minister’s ego would demand to be fed just as much as the guests prowling the buffet.
Tonks commented that Mad-Eye was likely pedaling his tales among the elegant matriarchs who had been included in the guest list. “Weaving effortlessly among the bodies gathered next to the refreshments has always been one of his well-honed social skills,” she noted wryly.
“If he hasn’t convinced that one reporter to grant him a personal interview,” Neville opined with a sharp laugh.
“I feel really bad about guzzling all your champagne,” Tonks apologized with a giggle. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll just Floo Dobby and have him bring some replacements from our cellar.”
“Have him sent some of the good stuff left over from the wedding,” Harry insisted.
Neville made as if to protest, but Tonks would have none of it.
“The connection is just as the end of the hall,” Harry explained. “The double doors leading--”
“Sirius’ old room? Stars, that brings back dreary memories of him holed up with a bottle of Firewhiskey and Buckbeak for company.” She sighed softly.
“Wasn’t that about the time you and Remus found one another?” Neville suggested as he tried to steer things in a less melancholy direction.
“It probably would have been easier on both of us if we hadn’t been so worried about Sirius half the time,” she admitted candidly. “Somehow his mournful exits never seemed to put me in a flirtatious mood.”
“So how did you ever…?” Harry left his words hanging as he realized he was likely delving into personal territory.
Tonks shrugged to convey she didn’t think his question was out of bounds. “So we spoke of serious things, more than we probably should have in the beginning of a relationship. Not that either of us saw it for what it was. We were just trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay, thinking of things other than the latest news report or the grim reality that our next mission for the Order might be our last. Yet we’d laugh at the oddest things sometimes; Remus’ sense of humor being skewed the way it is. He would wax philosophical and somehow in his simple words I would always find a soothing sort of eloquence…”
“He made you feel safe, in other words,” Neville supplied.
“Very much so, although I didn’t realize that at the time, either. All I knew was that I could relax after a grueling day at the office and just be myself and somehow nothing else would be required of me.”
“I suspect you made Remus feel the same way,” Harry noted. “The sort of acceptance he’d sought all his life, but never found.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t realize it either. Or perhaps he did, but was too hardheaded to accept it for what it was. Looking back now, it seems as if the ravages of war marked the ebb and flow of our courtship.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I didn’t want to rush into marriage with Ginny," Harry attested. "War creates an atmosphere of urgency about everything and I didn’t want my love for her to be just a by-product of that.”
“Yet you broke with wizarding tradition and gave her an engagement ring,” Neville prompted.
“Only because I wanted to mark what was in my heart with something other than words. I didn’t want her to think I was just toying with her affections.”
“Why all these questions, Neville?” Tonks posed with a vague idea gnawing at the back of her brain. “Did you suspect Minerva was planning to make you a job offer?”
“No,” Neville admitted with slight blush. “That came as a complete and utter surprise.”
“Then why the bottles of champagne?” Tonks asked pointedly.
“I suppose it’s too late to go with Harry’s earlier suggestion of a seduction, isn’t it?” Neville posed as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.
“Not unless you’re going to confess to an unrequited yen for Mrs. Figg,” Harry shot back. “What gives?”
Neville couldn’t help breaking out in nervous laughter as Tonks elbowed Harry and muttered, “I swear there are days when I don’t know who is worse, you or Remus!”
With a deep breath for courage, Neville pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it on the worktable before them. “I’ve been carrying this around for months, trying to get my courage up. So when Severus requested my participation for this event, I knew the time had come. Besides, if I carried it around too much longer, I was afraid I would end up losing it in the jungles of Malaysia or someplace even more inaccessible.”
“May I?” Tonks ventured as she gingerly reached her hand out.
“Please,” Neville implored. “I might feel like less of a total git if I could get someone else’s opinion about my choice. A decidedly female opinion.”
Harry crowded ‘round to get a closer look as Tonks slowly lifted the lid, revealing a delicate silver ring in a very unusual design.
“What kind of stones are these?” Tonks asked in awe. “I’ve never seen anything quite them.”
“They’re from a magical volcano, or so I was told. Snowflake diamonds, they’re called. The setting is platinum.”
Tonks turned the box so the ring caught the light at various angles. The small irregular cluster of bluish stones almost pulsed in their intensity, never repeating their sequence. “You picked the color to match the pale blue of Luna’s eyes, didn’t you?” she uttered with a note of reverence.
Neville nodded. “That and their brilliant sparkle.”
“It was an inspired choice,” Harry asserted. “I didn’t think engagement rings were very traditional in the wizarding world… or so Ginny informed me as she slipped the amethyst I bought her onto her finger.”
Tonks laughed. “Didn’t keep her from accepting it, did it?”
“I’m hoping Luna feels the same way,” Neville confessed. “She always said that Harry’s gesture was so romantic”even if it did betray his Muggle upbringing.”
“Coming from Luna, I’m going to assume she didn’t mean it in a derogatory way.” Harry chuckled. “But Neville, you’re a pureblood.”
“You don’t think she’ll hold that against me, do you?” Neville exclaimed with genuine anxiety coloring his features.
“I’m sure not,” Harry confirmed. “Why you and Luna have been together almost as long as Ginny and I.”
“Not really,” Neville noted.
“If you disregard that hiccup at the end of sixth year when I was so brainless to think I could break up with her. My heart berated me daily for months until I made things right.”
“Ginny’s loved you much longer than that,” Neville observed solemnly.
“And you would know this how?” Tonks slipped in.
“Ginny was my date to the Yule Ball in our fourth year,” Neville explained, directing his remarks to Tonks. “While Harry was vacillating about whom he should invite once he found out that as one of the Triwizard Champions, he couldn’t just boycott the event entirely.”
“Really, Harry?” Tonks noted with a smirk. “You would have rather gone alone than screw up the courage to ask a girl?”
“I would have rather skipped the event entirely,” Harry clarified. “Cowardice at its most paralyzing.”
“I won’t deny Harry’s position was more difficult than mine,” Neville elaborated. “Harry had a crush on an older girl with whom he hadn’t shared more than two words. Admiring her from afar when she wasn’t looking at him and practically dribbling food into his lap when she happened to look his way.”
“It was hardly my finest moment,” Harry conceded as he shook his head in chagrin. “At least Ginny’s had the decency to never bring it up.”
“Ginny knew about this?” Tonks inquired.
“All of Gryffindor House knew,” Neville supplied. “Perhaps most of the school, as well. When Harry finally screwed up his courage to ask the girl, she already had a date. So Harry chose another girl practically at random and just sat there on the sidelines all night mooning over his dream date.”
“Don’t forget how she arrived on the arm of the most handsome guy at school,” Harry added with a note of petulance.
“I’m sure that didn’t help,” Neville sympathized. “I, on the other hand, had no illusions of finding my heart’s desire, but I was determined to overcome my shyness anyway. So I found a friend who would be my date, who would even practice the dance steps with me once or twice ahead of time so we wouldn’t look like total idiots. In return, my invitation allowed her to attend an event which was restricted to older students. I ended up having a great time, dancing until the wee hours of the morning!
“But despite how polite and attentive Ginny was to me, I couldn’t help noticing that every once in a while she would steal a look at Harry. Finally, I asked her about it, in the non-judgmental way only a friend can ask another. I didn’t really expect her to be so forthright, but she told me that just as Harry dreamed of a date with Cho, she dreamed of Harry more than anything. Then she apologized for implying she wasn’t having an excellent time with me.
“‘It’s all right, Ginny, we both know this is a negotiated date between two friends; I don’t have any false illusions.’ But then it was as if her candor inspired me to speak my mind as well, ‘But, if you don’t mind me saying, why didn’t you just ask Harry to go with you? Wouldn’t that have cut through all the red tape?’
“She thought for a long time before she gave me her answer. ‘Well, it certainly isn’t because I stand with such outdated customs as waiting for the boy to ask me out,’ she began, then garnering her courage, she added very solemnly, ‘It would kill me inside if I were Harry’s date and he was pining over another girl. I may be ready, but he’s not. Believe me, there will come a day; and I assure you, I won’t think twice before taking the plunge. Merlin knows, I’ve had years to gear myself up for it.’
“And I realized how very astute she was in her assessment of the situation, although it must have smarted to be so brutally honest with herself. She knew she couldn’t compete with a fantasy girl who Harry hardly knew, nor did she want to be the object of a schoolboy infatuation which would melt like yesterday’s snow. And I knew then that someday, I wanted to find someone who would love me truly, despite all my shortcomings. Even if it took years, I would wait for them just as Ginny was willing to wait for you, Harry. So you see, Ginny loved you even back then, when you were too pre-occupied to even give her a second look.”
“Is that what you feel you’ve found with Luna?” Tonks posed through the heavy silence which had descended over Harry.
Neville nodded with just the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. “I think I finally feel as lucky as Harry.”