Paradox, Part 7
Jul. 11th, 2005 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pandora_culpaSometimes, stories grow beyond what you intended for them. It's part of what's so cool about writing. Also, my brain surprises me with what it can pull together unbeknownst to me.
Title: Paradox
Dramatis Personae: Tonks, Moody, various and sundry OCs
A/N: Bear with me.
Following Moody up the dusty stairs, Tonks could barely restrain herself from pelting him with questions. Curiosity burned within her as she wondered where he could possibly be taking her, but she trusted the old man despite his eccentricities, so she held her tongue and kept silent. Besides, she reasoned, he wouldn't answer her anyway.
They climbed up and up, past where the first storey should have been and then higher still, until she was certain that they must be in the building's attic. Finally the stair terminated at a plain wooden door, scuffed and stained with age, but otherwise unremarkable. However as soon as she laid eyes on it, Tonks snapped to attention. The door practically vibrated with wards, tickling her senses until she thought she'd begin sneezing. She opened her mouth to break the silence and ask him where in hell he'd brought her, but Moody paused, half-turning to catch her eye.
"Watch close," he growled. "I won't be showing you this again."
He turned back to the door, pointing his wand at the lock and muttering a series of charms and countercurses while Tonks listened intently at his shoulder, memorizing the order and inflections. Finally the door glowed briefly red and she heard the snick of the latch, and then Moody pushed it open easily. Warm gold light flooded out onto the landing, spilling over the old man's uneven features and revealing that the smile she'd seen downstairs was still on his face. Intrigued, Tonks followed him eagerly as he stumped into the room beyond.
Her first impression was one of danger, and adrenaline pumped icily through her veins as she tried to take in her surroundings. The room they'd come into was, in fact, a rather shabby pub, with only a few patrons and a shriveled-looking witch behind the bar. But every person there exuded a lethal aura, and Tonks realized with a sinking certainty that any one of the people present, right down to the frail barkeep, could handle her as though she were a kitten. She could feel every eye in the place upon her, though not a single head turned her direction, and it took a great effort to remain calm and act unconcerned as she followed Mad Eye to a stained table in the corner. He seated himself with a contented sigh, leaning back in his chair and propping his clawfoot on what she thought might be a brass spittoon beneath the table.
"Well come on, don't dawdle," he said, pointing at the chair across the table from him. "You wanted a drink, didn't you?"
Tonks warily drew up the chair, turning it slightly before sitting so that she could keep the other bar patrons in her view. No one was watching them, but she still felt the weight of their eyes. Scooting her chair fractionally closer to the old Auror, she hissed between clenched teeth, "Mad Eye, where the hell are we?"
He cracked her yet another of those unfamiliar grins. "Best place in all of Knockturn Alley for a couple of Aurors to have a drink. Ho, Twyla! Two pints, if you will."
Tonks waited until the withered old barkeep had brought a couple of foaming tankards to their table and retreated again behind the bar before replying. "Yes, I can see that it's a pub, but that hardly answers the question. What kind of- Merlin, Mad Eye!" Her question trailed out into a startled squeak as her companion lifted his tankard and drained half of it in one gulp, without casting the first cantrip over it. "You- you're drinking here?"
He stared at her as if she had grown a second head. "Of course I'm drinking," he grumbled. "It's a pub, isn't it?"
"Yes of course it is, but- you never drink anywhere. I mean, you drink in pubs, but never what they serve." She pushed her own drink away, untouched, and stared about in mounting confusion as she continued to whisper. "And while we're on the subject, what's with the people here? Mad Eye, surely you realize that they're dangerous-"
The old man snorted in amusement. "I should hope so," he chuckled. "Trust me, lass. You'll find no safer spot in London, to my mind, than Twyla's private pub." And as if to prove it, he took another deep swig of his beer. Setting it down with a thump, he chuckled rustily and added, "Well, no safer place except for my own cottage."
"Yer cottage is naught but a leaky auld shack, ye gouty goat," rumbled a large man seated at a nearby tables. Tonks cut her eyes his way, and had the impression of a small giant hunched over a huge pewter tankard of ale, hints of red still clinging to his graying beard and thick, braided hair. He chortled like a landslide, nearly shaking the table with his mirth before continuing in his heavy brogue, "Me mam could cast better wards than ye."
Moody didn't glance his way, and surprisingly, his magical Eye stayed fixed on his drink as well. Taking another sip of beer, he commented to no one in particular, "Yes, but everyone knows your mam's a goblin, and they've a gift with wards."
Most of the patrons of the bar began laughing, and the large man's face darkened. "Ye needn't be fashin' me mam, Mad Eye," he grumbled in wounded tones, his huge hands flexing and unflexing on the table before him. "T'weren't called fer."
A scrawny old fellow sitting next to Horatio guffawed and clapped the mountain of a man on the shoulder, earning him a grumpy stare. "Oi, Horatio is just tender because his brother is back in town right now, and his Mammy hasn't Flooed him in days. Wee Fergus bein' her favorite an' all. Poor Horatio."
"Now look what ye've gone and started," the huge man growled, pointing a sausage-like finger at Moody. "I'll nae hear the end of it from this auld gowk."
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," Moody snapped testily, but Tonks was beginning to pick up on the amusement underlying the banter, "you oughtn't be starting fights you can't finish. Thank Merlin you've retired from real work."
The giant puffed up indignantly. "Real work? Ye call that pansying around of yourn work, do ye now? Why, in me own day…"
"Enough about the old days." The ancient barkeep's comment cut through Horatio's mounting bellow with ease, for all that her voice was like the crackling of dried leaves. "You know how I feel about people havering on about such things. Drink up, Horatio, and shut it." With a brusque gesture, she sent another huge tankard sailing over to land before him, foam slopping messily over the edges to pool on the table. "On the house, if you can keep your great gob shut for a time."
"Och, now that's a fine thing!" Horatio groused, but he drank the ale and said no more.
More confused now than concerned, Tonks turned back to regard Moody, who was finishing off his drink and smiling to himself in a preoccupied fashion. Catching his eye, she nodded toward the giant and his companion. "Friends of yours?" she asked with a sardonic twist of her lips.
The old Auror nodded solemnly. "Indeed they are," he replied. "The finest pack of bastards that ever graced a London street. Lass, these are my oldest companions, my brothers in arms. There's nary a one of them I wouldn't trust with my life."
Understanding dawning, Tonks turned and reexamined the pub and its patrons with new interest. "So they're all retired Aurors?"
"Some. Horatio McTavish was one; he was in the same training class as me. Edmund Lockerbie- he's the skinny old chap next to Horatio- he wasn't an Auror, but he fought against Grindelwald all the same. There's Daffyd Llewellyn there in the corner. He's been an Unspeakable, time out of mind. Likely still is; I haven't any idea. Not my business. Twyla was an Auror as well, one of the finest. She can still best me in a duel when she's of a mind to do so." He chuckled fondly, his Eye roving over each person in turn.
Tonks' jaw had dropped open as Moody went through the list of names, but she shut it with a snap, slowly turning her face back to him with wide open eyes.
"I've heard some of those names before," she whispered, but this time it was awe and not trepidation that kept her voice hushed. "Horatio, the Oakbore. Daffyd, Hand of Wales. And…" her eyes cut sharply to the frail barkeep, wiping glasses with a graying rag, "…Twyla Wilhoughby, the slayer of the Newgrange Dragon."
"Aye," Moody nodded. "The Wicked Wand herself."
"But Mad Eye, most of those people are dead!"
"Only in the Ministry's eyes, lass. It's a hard road, being a living legend. Retirement isn't an option, as Ministry officials come after you time and again, knocking on your door and asking favors 'for the good of society'. Hmph! Society be blowed; those Ministry fools are just looking for someone else to do their job for them. So they disappeared. Got themselves written off as dead, so that they can finally live a little. Bloody hell, I've considered it a time or two myself!"
"No!" Tonks shot him a scandalized look. "Not you."
He shrugged eloquently, the magical Eye spinning slightly in its socket. "Not often," he admitted. "But it has crossed my mind. Being an Auror can be a trial, especially when you're good at what you do." He motioned Twyla for another pint, before fixing his attention back on Tonks. "And speaking of which, something seems to have been weighing on you." He leaned back in his chair, watching her keenly as she frowned, the memory of her odd experiences flooding back.
"I, ah… yes." She pulled her pint back, taking a quick, nervous sip as Twyla deposited another in front of Mad Eye. As the witch walked away from the table, she shut her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before saying, "I'm… seeing things, perhaps. And I remember things wrong. I…it's… oh, bloody hell…" There was no way that she wanted to tell Moody that she was hallucinating, though that actually seemed the best explanation.
"It's kind of like… have you ever had a dream that was terribly real? So real that when you woke up that it seemed more like a memory than an illusion? That's what it feels like right now. Like I'm living bits of dreams that no one else remembers." She sighed, feeling a little relieved to have finally verbalized the odd feelings. Glancing up at Moody hopefully, she cracked a crooked smile. "So this is where you tell me I'm going mad, right?"
He simply stared at her impassively. "Do you think you're mad?"
Tonks gave a small shrug. "Not especially. But then, they always say that you don't think you are. And I really haven't any other explanations for what I've seen."
"There's always other explanations," Moody scoffed. "I suppose that you could be mad, but I doubt it. Lass, being an Auror is one of the most stressful jobs out there and if that weren't enough, you're working with the Order as well. Top it all off with that damned Quidditch match recently, and losing Dumbledore, and frankly I'm surprised that you're holding up so well. It's not an easy life you've chosen for yourself, however worthy, and a little unraveling from time to time is to be expected."
"So you mean I'm fine?"
He gave her a stern look. "I didn't say that. I'm no mediwizard, just an Auror. If you want to make sure…" He swiveled in his seat, twisting around to shout to a fellow in the corner, "Collins! Would you mind having a quick look at the girl here?"
A short, balding man lifted his head from the scrolls he'd been reading intently. "What's that?" he asked in a querulous voice, expectation lighting his face as Moody repeated the request. Leaving his papers spread across his table, he stood and tottered over to where Tonks sat, regarding her with interest as he approached.
"What have we here, what have we here? What seems to be the problem, young Miss?" Watery blue eyes studied her face as he produced a long wand from his sleeve and began waving it around her head. "Aches, pains? Not sleeping? Can't eat?"
"No need to get into it, Thom. Just give her the once-over, make sure that she's sound." There was a scraping sound as Moody rose from his chair, moving to stand just behind the old mediwizard. "It's been a troubling week all around."
"Ah, yes, dear old Albus." Collins sighed expressively. "Poor man- I wish I'd been on the scene that day. Might have made a difference; who knows? Who knows? Still, t'was a good reason I had for giving it up; indeed it was, yes indeed. But I miss it somedays, bless me if I don't! Ah, those days…" The old man sighed again, his eyes misting faintly and his wand paused in its dance around Tonks' head.
"Your patient," Moody prompted, and Collins stared as Tonks as though surprised to see her.
"Yes, yes; of course," he prattled, finally seeming to truly focus upon her. But after only a few more passes with his wand, he suddenly gasped and stepped back in alarm. "Disguise!" he shouted, his watery eyes bugging out. "Deception!"
Instantly there was a scuffling of chairlegs on the floor, and a small wave of people rushed forward like a silent mob. She didn't have a chance to twitch before she found herself staring down the length of their wands, into the grim faces of every patron present in the pub. Twyla's ancient face was implacable, and her quill-thin wand was just as steady as the gnarled tree limb that Horatio pointed menacingly at her. The giant didn't appear half so congenial as he had before, his ruddy face like a stormcloud about to burst. Confronted by their cold anger Tonks held perfectly still, keeping her face smooth and expressionless and hardly even daring to breathe.
Thankfully, Moody came to her rescue. "Do you really think I'd bring someone up here who couldn't be trusted?" he snarled, pushing his way through the crowd. "You daft old… Collins, you ought to know better than that!" With a snort he straightened, glancing over to where Tonks sat stiffly in her seat. "You'd best show them," he said.
Hardly daring to look at him for all the wands pointed at her, Tonks nodded fractionally, and let her features slide into their old, familiar shapes. The windblown red hair that she'd ended up wearing when they left the Alley darkened and straightened to dull black, and her face rounded slightly as she let the adjustments melt away. Within seconds, she wore her natural face, complete with all the scars and bruises that she normally hid even from casual company. This was no time for vanity.
Twyla merely sniffed, pocketing her wand in a movement almost too fast to see before turning to push her way back to the bar. But the others nodded to themselves, lowering their wands fractionally as they began murmuring. "Metamorphmagus. Should have known. I knew one once, couldn't ever tell what he'd look like…"
As the small crowd dispersed, Moody poked the abashed Collins in the back, prodding him closer to Tonks. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself," he grumbled. "You, of all people, should know a Metamorphmagus."
"Dreadfully sorry, Miss, dreadfully sorry!" Collins stammered, wringing his hands before him. "And he's right you know, just so; I used to be quite the famous Healer. Should have known, oh yes, I certainly should have. Worked with all sorts, all sorts indeed…"
Tonks raised a hand, waving away the man's nervous, rambling apologies. "It's all right," she told him with a queasy smile. "No harm done." His simpering was beginning to grate at her nerves, and she hoped fervently that he would stop talking. Despite the release she'd found once she told Moody of her symptoms, the sense of wrongness had finally returned, like a roaring in her ears. As good a time as any, I suppose, she thought as her stomach bounced once. Maybe he can make something of this.
Collins approached her slowly, lifting his wand and once again letting it dance like a butterfly about her head. His pale eyes sharpened until they no longer seemed to be foolish or hesitant, but were rather focused in intense scrutiny on whatever information he was gleaning from her. The hand-wringer was gone, replaced by a confident and intelligent Healer, expertly analyzing her with an ease that she'd never before seen even at St. Mungo's. Watching him as he gave her the 'once over', Tonks could easily believe that this balding, watery-eyed little wizard had once been famous.
After a few minutes of examination, Collins let his arm drop back to his side with a sigh. Wiping his brow, he beamed at her. "No worries!" he said. "You're hale and healthy, young Miss; as fit as a fiddle. A little tired, perhaps; yes, you could do with a bit more sleep. But couldn't we all? Oh my yes, couldn't we all…"
Moody patted the smaller man on the shoulder, thanking him in his gravelly voice, as the old Healer puttered his way back to his table and his scrolls. He gave Tonks a quick wave once he'd seated himself, and she managed a weak smile back at him as her stomach lurched again. He hadn't noticed. He hadn't sensed any illness in her at all. She could feel the nausea sweeping through her body in waves, could feel the fever in her skin, and yet he'd missed it altogether. It was more than discouraging.
Moody rejoined her, taking a deep drink from his pint as he reseated himself. "Drink up," he told her. "This has been fun, but we're still on duty. The Alley's waiting."
"Right," Tonks replied, more than happy to hide her disappointment in her drink. She hadn't realized how much she'd hoped that the funny little Healer would find something definitive in her to diagnose until he'd given her a clean bill of health. Moody's easy reassurance that Aurors sometimes just 'unravel' at times didn't nearly assuage her worries- something was wrong, if only she could suss it. But Mad Eye was right about one thing; it was time that they went back to work.
Moody tossed Twyla some coins as they left, as well as murmuring something to the old witch that Tonks didn't hear. As he caught up to her at the door, another memory tugged at her, and she turned to him with a frown.
"Mad Eye, you never did tell me when that meeting is going to be held."
"Friday," he grumbled, stumping past her with a sudden grimace.
"Friday when?"
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her with a sour look. "Five a.m.," he finally snapped, and turned away to descend the staircase. Tonks waited for a moment, watching him travel stiffly down.
"Five a.m.," she repeated. "Of course. Should have seen that coming."
She followed him out, her stomach and mind both churning once more.
~*~*~
Title: Paradox
Dramatis Personae: Tonks, Moody, various and sundry OCs
A/N: Bear with me.
Following Moody up the dusty stairs, Tonks could barely restrain herself from pelting him with questions. Curiosity burned within her as she wondered where he could possibly be taking her, but she trusted the old man despite his eccentricities, so she held her tongue and kept silent. Besides, she reasoned, he wouldn't answer her anyway.
They climbed up and up, past where the first storey should have been and then higher still, until she was certain that they must be in the building's attic. Finally the stair terminated at a plain wooden door, scuffed and stained with age, but otherwise unremarkable. However as soon as she laid eyes on it, Tonks snapped to attention. The door practically vibrated with wards, tickling her senses until she thought she'd begin sneezing. She opened her mouth to break the silence and ask him where in hell he'd brought her, but Moody paused, half-turning to catch her eye.
"Watch close," he growled. "I won't be showing you this again."
He turned back to the door, pointing his wand at the lock and muttering a series of charms and countercurses while Tonks listened intently at his shoulder, memorizing the order and inflections. Finally the door glowed briefly red and she heard the snick of the latch, and then Moody pushed it open easily. Warm gold light flooded out onto the landing, spilling over the old man's uneven features and revealing that the smile she'd seen downstairs was still on his face. Intrigued, Tonks followed him eagerly as he stumped into the room beyond.
Her first impression was one of danger, and adrenaline pumped icily through her veins as she tried to take in her surroundings. The room they'd come into was, in fact, a rather shabby pub, with only a few patrons and a shriveled-looking witch behind the bar. But every person there exuded a lethal aura, and Tonks realized with a sinking certainty that any one of the people present, right down to the frail barkeep, could handle her as though she were a kitten. She could feel every eye in the place upon her, though not a single head turned her direction, and it took a great effort to remain calm and act unconcerned as she followed Mad Eye to a stained table in the corner. He seated himself with a contented sigh, leaning back in his chair and propping his clawfoot on what she thought might be a brass spittoon beneath the table.
"Well come on, don't dawdle," he said, pointing at the chair across the table from him. "You wanted a drink, didn't you?"
Tonks warily drew up the chair, turning it slightly before sitting so that she could keep the other bar patrons in her view. No one was watching them, but she still felt the weight of their eyes. Scooting her chair fractionally closer to the old Auror, she hissed between clenched teeth, "Mad Eye, where the hell are we?"
He cracked her yet another of those unfamiliar grins. "Best place in all of Knockturn Alley for a couple of Aurors to have a drink. Ho, Twyla! Two pints, if you will."
Tonks waited until the withered old barkeep had brought a couple of foaming tankards to their table and retreated again behind the bar before replying. "Yes, I can see that it's a pub, but that hardly answers the question. What kind of- Merlin, Mad Eye!" Her question trailed out into a startled squeak as her companion lifted his tankard and drained half of it in one gulp, without casting the first cantrip over it. "You- you're drinking here?"
He stared at her as if she had grown a second head. "Of course I'm drinking," he grumbled. "It's a pub, isn't it?"
"Yes of course it is, but- you never drink anywhere. I mean, you drink in pubs, but never what they serve." She pushed her own drink away, untouched, and stared about in mounting confusion as she continued to whisper. "And while we're on the subject, what's with the people here? Mad Eye, surely you realize that they're dangerous-"
The old man snorted in amusement. "I should hope so," he chuckled. "Trust me, lass. You'll find no safer spot in London, to my mind, than Twyla's private pub." And as if to prove it, he took another deep swig of his beer. Setting it down with a thump, he chuckled rustily and added, "Well, no safer place except for my own cottage."
"Yer cottage is naught but a leaky auld shack, ye gouty goat," rumbled a large man seated at a nearby tables. Tonks cut her eyes his way, and had the impression of a small giant hunched over a huge pewter tankard of ale, hints of red still clinging to his graying beard and thick, braided hair. He chortled like a landslide, nearly shaking the table with his mirth before continuing in his heavy brogue, "Me mam could cast better wards than ye."
Moody didn't glance his way, and surprisingly, his magical Eye stayed fixed on his drink as well. Taking another sip of beer, he commented to no one in particular, "Yes, but everyone knows your mam's a goblin, and they've a gift with wards."
Most of the patrons of the bar began laughing, and the large man's face darkened. "Ye needn't be fashin' me mam, Mad Eye," he grumbled in wounded tones, his huge hands flexing and unflexing on the table before him. "T'weren't called fer."
A scrawny old fellow sitting next to Horatio guffawed and clapped the mountain of a man on the shoulder, earning him a grumpy stare. "Oi, Horatio is just tender because his brother is back in town right now, and his Mammy hasn't Flooed him in days. Wee Fergus bein' her favorite an' all. Poor Horatio."
"Now look what ye've gone and started," the huge man growled, pointing a sausage-like finger at Moody. "I'll nae hear the end of it from this auld gowk."
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," Moody snapped testily, but Tonks was beginning to pick up on the amusement underlying the banter, "you oughtn't be starting fights you can't finish. Thank Merlin you've retired from real work."
The giant puffed up indignantly. "Real work? Ye call that pansying around of yourn work, do ye now? Why, in me own day…"
"Enough about the old days." The ancient barkeep's comment cut through Horatio's mounting bellow with ease, for all that her voice was like the crackling of dried leaves. "You know how I feel about people havering on about such things. Drink up, Horatio, and shut it." With a brusque gesture, she sent another huge tankard sailing over to land before him, foam slopping messily over the edges to pool on the table. "On the house, if you can keep your great gob shut for a time."
"Och, now that's a fine thing!" Horatio groused, but he drank the ale and said no more.
More confused now than concerned, Tonks turned back to regard Moody, who was finishing off his drink and smiling to himself in a preoccupied fashion. Catching his eye, she nodded toward the giant and his companion. "Friends of yours?" she asked with a sardonic twist of her lips.
The old Auror nodded solemnly. "Indeed they are," he replied. "The finest pack of bastards that ever graced a London street. Lass, these are my oldest companions, my brothers in arms. There's nary a one of them I wouldn't trust with my life."
Understanding dawning, Tonks turned and reexamined the pub and its patrons with new interest. "So they're all retired Aurors?"
"Some. Horatio McTavish was one; he was in the same training class as me. Edmund Lockerbie- he's the skinny old chap next to Horatio- he wasn't an Auror, but he fought against Grindelwald all the same. There's Daffyd Llewellyn there in the corner. He's been an Unspeakable, time out of mind. Likely still is; I haven't any idea. Not my business. Twyla was an Auror as well, one of the finest. She can still best me in a duel when she's of a mind to do so." He chuckled fondly, his Eye roving over each person in turn.
Tonks' jaw had dropped open as Moody went through the list of names, but she shut it with a snap, slowly turning her face back to him with wide open eyes.
"I've heard some of those names before," she whispered, but this time it was awe and not trepidation that kept her voice hushed. "Horatio, the Oakbore. Daffyd, Hand of Wales. And…" her eyes cut sharply to the frail barkeep, wiping glasses with a graying rag, "…Twyla Wilhoughby, the slayer of the Newgrange Dragon."
"Aye," Moody nodded. "The Wicked Wand herself."
"But Mad Eye, most of those people are dead!"
"Only in the Ministry's eyes, lass. It's a hard road, being a living legend. Retirement isn't an option, as Ministry officials come after you time and again, knocking on your door and asking favors 'for the good of society'. Hmph! Society be blowed; those Ministry fools are just looking for someone else to do their job for them. So they disappeared. Got themselves written off as dead, so that they can finally live a little. Bloody hell, I've considered it a time or two myself!"
"No!" Tonks shot him a scandalized look. "Not you."
He shrugged eloquently, the magical Eye spinning slightly in its socket. "Not often," he admitted. "But it has crossed my mind. Being an Auror can be a trial, especially when you're good at what you do." He motioned Twyla for another pint, before fixing his attention back on Tonks. "And speaking of which, something seems to have been weighing on you." He leaned back in his chair, watching her keenly as she frowned, the memory of her odd experiences flooding back.
"I, ah… yes." She pulled her pint back, taking a quick, nervous sip as Twyla deposited another in front of Mad Eye. As the witch walked away from the table, she shut her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before saying, "I'm… seeing things, perhaps. And I remember things wrong. I…it's… oh, bloody hell…" There was no way that she wanted to tell Moody that she was hallucinating, though that actually seemed the best explanation.
"It's kind of like… have you ever had a dream that was terribly real? So real that when you woke up that it seemed more like a memory than an illusion? That's what it feels like right now. Like I'm living bits of dreams that no one else remembers." She sighed, feeling a little relieved to have finally verbalized the odd feelings. Glancing up at Moody hopefully, she cracked a crooked smile. "So this is where you tell me I'm going mad, right?"
He simply stared at her impassively. "Do you think you're mad?"
Tonks gave a small shrug. "Not especially. But then, they always say that you don't think you are. And I really haven't any other explanations for what I've seen."
"There's always other explanations," Moody scoffed. "I suppose that you could be mad, but I doubt it. Lass, being an Auror is one of the most stressful jobs out there and if that weren't enough, you're working with the Order as well. Top it all off with that damned Quidditch match recently, and losing Dumbledore, and frankly I'm surprised that you're holding up so well. It's not an easy life you've chosen for yourself, however worthy, and a little unraveling from time to time is to be expected."
"So you mean I'm fine?"
He gave her a stern look. "I didn't say that. I'm no mediwizard, just an Auror. If you want to make sure…" He swiveled in his seat, twisting around to shout to a fellow in the corner, "Collins! Would you mind having a quick look at the girl here?"
A short, balding man lifted his head from the scrolls he'd been reading intently. "What's that?" he asked in a querulous voice, expectation lighting his face as Moody repeated the request. Leaving his papers spread across his table, he stood and tottered over to where Tonks sat, regarding her with interest as he approached.
"What have we here, what have we here? What seems to be the problem, young Miss?" Watery blue eyes studied her face as he produced a long wand from his sleeve and began waving it around her head. "Aches, pains? Not sleeping? Can't eat?"
"No need to get into it, Thom. Just give her the once-over, make sure that she's sound." There was a scraping sound as Moody rose from his chair, moving to stand just behind the old mediwizard. "It's been a troubling week all around."
"Ah, yes, dear old Albus." Collins sighed expressively. "Poor man- I wish I'd been on the scene that day. Might have made a difference; who knows? Who knows? Still, t'was a good reason I had for giving it up; indeed it was, yes indeed. But I miss it somedays, bless me if I don't! Ah, those days…" The old man sighed again, his eyes misting faintly and his wand paused in its dance around Tonks' head.
"Your patient," Moody prompted, and Collins stared as Tonks as though surprised to see her.
"Yes, yes; of course," he prattled, finally seeming to truly focus upon her. But after only a few more passes with his wand, he suddenly gasped and stepped back in alarm. "Disguise!" he shouted, his watery eyes bugging out. "Deception!"
Instantly there was a scuffling of chairlegs on the floor, and a small wave of people rushed forward like a silent mob. She didn't have a chance to twitch before she found herself staring down the length of their wands, into the grim faces of every patron present in the pub. Twyla's ancient face was implacable, and her quill-thin wand was just as steady as the gnarled tree limb that Horatio pointed menacingly at her. The giant didn't appear half so congenial as he had before, his ruddy face like a stormcloud about to burst. Confronted by their cold anger Tonks held perfectly still, keeping her face smooth and expressionless and hardly even daring to breathe.
Thankfully, Moody came to her rescue. "Do you really think I'd bring someone up here who couldn't be trusted?" he snarled, pushing his way through the crowd. "You daft old… Collins, you ought to know better than that!" With a snort he straightened, glancing over to where Tonks sat stiffly in her seat. "You'd best show them," he said.
Hardly daring to look at him for all the wands pointed at her, Tonks nodded fractionally, and let her features slide into their old, familiar shapes. The windblown red hair that she'd ended up wearing when they left the Alley darkened and straightened to dull black, and her face rounded slightly as she let the adjustments melt away. Within seconds, she wore her natural face, complete with all the scars and bruises that she normally hid even from casual company. This was no time for vanity.
Twyla merely sniffed, pocketing her wand in a movement almost too fast to see before turning to push her way back to the bar. But the others nodded to themselves, lowering their wands fractionally as they began murmuring. "Metamorphmagus. Should have known. I knew one once, couldn't ever tell what he'd look like…"
As the small crowd dispersed, Moody poked the abashed Collins in the back, prodding him closer to Tonks. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself," he grumbled. "You, of all people, should know a Metamorphmagus."
"Dreadfully sorry, Miss, dreadfully sorry!" Collins stammered, wringing his hands before him. "And he's right you know, just so; I used to be quite the famous Healer. Should have known, oh yes, I certainly should have. Worked with all sorts, all sorts indeed…"
Tonks raised a hand, waving away the man's nervous, rambling apologies. "It's all right," she told him with a queasy smile. "No harm done." His simpering was beginning to grate at her nerves, and she hoped fervently that he would stop talking. Despite the release she'd found once she told Moody of her symptoms, the sense of wrongness had finally returned, like a roaring in her ears. As good a time as any, I suppose, she thought as her stomach bounced once. Maybe he can make something of this.
Collins approached her slowly, lifting his wand and once again letting it dance like a butterfly about her head. His pale eyes sharpened until they no longer seemed to be foolish or hesitant, but were rather focused in intense scrutiny on whatever information he was gleaning from her. The hand-wringer was gone, replaced by a confident and intelligent Healer, expertly analyzing her with an ease that she'd never before seen even at St. Mungo's. Watching him as he gave her the 'once over', Tonks could easily believe that this balding, watery-eyed little wizard had once been famous.
After a few minutes of examination, Collins let his arm drop back to his side with a sigh. Wiping his brow, he beamed at her. "No worries!" he said. "You're hale and healthy, young Miss; as fit as a fiddle. A little tired, perhaps; yes, you could do with a bit more sleep. But couldn't we all? Oh my yes, couldn't we all…"
Moody patted the smaller man on the shoulder, thanking him in his gravelly voice, as the old Healer puttered his way back to his table and his scrolls. He gave Tonks a quick wave once he'd seated himself, and she managed a weak smile back at him as her stomach lurched again. He hadn't noticed. He hadn't sensed any illness in her at all. She could feel the nausea sweeping through her body in waves, could feel the fever in her skin, and yet he'd missed it altogether. It was more than discouraging.
Moody rejoined her, taking a deep drink from his pint as he reseated himself. "Drink up," he told her. "This has been fun, but we're still on duty. The Alley's waiting."
"Right," Tonks replied, more than happy to hide her disappointment in her drink. She hadn't realized how much she'd hoped that the funny little Healer would find something definitive in her to diagnose until he'd given her a clean bill of health. Moody's easy reassurance that Aurors sometimes just 'unravel' at times didn't nearly assuage her worries- something was wrong, if only she could suss it. But Mad Eye was right about one thing; it was time that they went back to work.
Moody tossed Twyla some coins as they left, as well as murmuring something to the old witch that Tonks didn't hear. As he caught up to her at the door, another memory tugged at her, and she turned to him with a frown.
"Mad Eye, you never did tell me when that meeting is going to be held."
"Friday," he grumbled, stumping past her with a sudden grimace.
"Friday when?"
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her with a sour look. "Five a.m.," he finally snapped, and turned away to descend the staircase. Tonks waited for a moment, watching him travel stiffly down.
"Five a.m.," she repeated. "Of course. Should have seen that coming."
She followed him out, her stomach and mind both churning once more.
