changeling 4
Title: Changeling 4/7
Pairing: Tonks/Fleur
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Approximate word count: 1666
She had to apologize.
It had been two days since that confrontation with Fleur at the Burrow, and somehow, she had to make amends. She honestly did not mean it--to suggest that Bill was a coward was horribly unfair. In fact, he was a valued member of The Order, and had actually given up so much to do a desk job at Gringotts in order to fight. He was a comrade in arms and Fleur was his wife to be. Fleur may have been rude, but that was no reason to wish Fenrir Greyback on anyone...
She may not have been able to convince Remus about anything, nor could she do anything about the troubles or her lack of powers, but a bleeding apology was something that she could do, something that she could set to rights.
She would do it right after work tomorrow.
-------------------------------------------------
In the mornings, when she came into work, there were macabre games that Tonks would play.
At first, she skimmed though The Daily Prophet, making sure to note the names of people who died by Voldemort’s hand. If she had heard of the people in passing, five points, if she had known them personally - like Hestia Jones or Sirius Black- fifteen points. The trick was to try and get to one hundred points within two minutes.
After that game got too boring (depressing, actually, with the number of dead that she counted), setting her mouth in a thin line, she then scanned the papers for any news about Fenrir Greyback and his pack, telling herself that it was her job to do so, knowing that it was the only way she would ever hear anything about Remus’ whereabouts.
That morning, she had a bit of scare, upon seeing the word ‘Fen’ while scanning the pages, and suddenly felt light headed, black snowflakes floating at the edges of her vision, a geyser of acid erupting in the pit of her stomach, the blunt pain of teeth cutting into the flesh of her lower lip.
Whispering a prayer to anyone or anything, Tonks tried turning the page, her eight fingers now becoming ten thumbs, just tearing at the pages instead of being able to turn them. With a little scream of frustration, she whipped out her wand and sputtered a cutting curse, ripping the paper into shreds, because it was too strong.
With shaking fingers, she assembled the second page together, and taking a breath, she read the headline.
Fenwicks Taken Over By The Ministry of Magic
Acting on the orders of Rufus Scrimgeour, the Upmarket Department Store has been taken over the Ministry of Magic, say-
“Hey, Tonks, you’re alright there, mate? You look a bit peaked.” a voice interrupted her reverie. Tearing her mind from the moorings of her musings, she turned to see Dobson leaning against the partition of her cubicle, a cup of pumpkin juice in hand.
“I’m fine,” she rubbed her face with her hand, appreciating his concern, but not wanting him to worry. “Just reading through the papers, that’s all.”
At this his eyes became sober, and he nodded in understanding. “Yes, it’s depressing, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tonks answered with a nod. “It is.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Dobson said with an airy wave of his hand, “we’re going to the Leaky Cauldron after we’ve finished work. Care to join us?”
“No, sorry.” Tonks shook her head. She aimed her wand at the paper, watching it curling in on itself into a ball. With a flick of her wand, it hovered over her desk, spinning until it became a blur and disappeared with a ‘pop.’ “I’ve got to do something else this evening, maybe another time?”
“Oh?” Dobson’s eyes lit up with mischief, “ditching us for a better sort then, Ms. Tonks? Can’t say I blame you.”
“No,” she wrinkled her nose at this, her spirits lightened by his humour. “I have to meet with someone today.”
“Fair enough,” he nodded, “this war is tough on everyone, it’s decent of you to try to make time for those who are important-“
“No mate,” Tonks cut in with a derisive laugh, holding her palm at shoulder height to emphasize her next words, “it’s not like that.”
“Go on, then.” Dobson rolled his eyes in blatant disbelief, “enjoy your evening, I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”
“Yeah, have a nice one.”
“You too.”
______________________________________________________________
No matter how many times she had seen it, Gringotts Bank was awe-inspiring.
Partway down Diagon Alley, near the intersection with Knockturn Alley, it was a landmark in itself - a tall building carved out of blindingly white marble with burnished front doors.
On top of the steps, a goblin stood guard, resplendent in his uniform of scarlet and gold. If this bank had been built in the Muggle world, there would have been postcards, key chains and other gaudy trinkets to distinguish it as a landmark. In this world, it was just another building of business.
People simply hurried on past, trying to get home before twilight.
There was still a bustle of activity, but the noise was hushed, as if the world was wrapped in cotton wool.
Tonks stood at the corner of Knockturn Alley, clad in her anorak and a beanie to shield her head and ears from the sharp chill breeze.
Soon, her patience yielded fruit as the junior clerks burst through the set of brass doors, their robes flapping in the wind, like birds released from captivity. The guard acknowledged their chatter and giggles with a nod or two. From where she stood, Tonks could hear snatches of conversation.
“-are you going to the Leaky Cauldron tonight?”
“No, I have to get on home now, or me mum will be livid.”
She saw Fleur amongst them, her hair silvery bright against the night of her robes. She was all smiles and speaking rapid French to the brunette beside her. Her eyes were warm and open; her hands seemed to be sketching pictures in the air, to the delight of her friend.
Tonks stood where she was, dumbstruck by the change.
During the course of their meetings, she had never seen this animated side of Fleur - quite possibly only Bill had, because Molly and Ginny could not stand her. Although, Tonks had to admit, her own run-ins with Fleur had not been stellar either-there had always been an awkward tension between them. But not today, she thought stoutly, an apology would set things to rights, and they would be able to... well--if not be friends, then at least be civil to each other. That had to be something.
Just as Tonks opened her mouth to call Fleur’s name, Fleur’s head turned, following the finger of her friend; her eyes settling on Tonks, and her features, once lively and warm, froze into a mask of disdain.
“Qu’est-ce-c’est?”
“Personne. Mais je dois aller.”
Fleur responded in tones so chilled, Tonks felt the ice from where she stood.
“Ah. À bientôt?”
“Oui, demain. Au revoir” 1
With that matter settled they kissed each other on the cheek, and with a flick of a wand, her friend disappeared.
“Tonks,” Fleur began, her hands tucked into her robes, “what are you doing ‘ere?” She then made a great show of taking in their surroundings.
“Thees is not Ottery St. Catchpole.”
Inwardly, Tonks cringed. Fleur was not going to make this apology easy, she knew it, and probably she should just go home and-
“Fleur,” Tonks began, realizing that there was nothing else to say it but to say it.
“I’m sorry, what I said was out of line and-"
“No.” Fleur lifted up a hand, palm facing. “Not here, I’d rather speak somewhere else.”
Stymied by this pronouncement, Tonks looked around, wondering what Fleur’s concerns were with their surroundings. Just as she opened her mouth to query this, Fleur shook her head.
“If we are going to speak, I’d rather do eet somewhere warm and private, non?”
Tonks noted the chill of the wind, but then again, it was only March but the mist was heavier now, and people did not tarry outdoors unless they had to.
“Well, we can Apparate to my flat, it’s not far from here.”
The words just tripped out of her mouth unbidden, and dropped between them like little leaden stones. Fleur’s face grew pensive.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Tonks started, trying to retract her invitation, “it’s a bad idea and-“
“I have never been to your flat, and as such, I can’t ‘determine’ where it is. It has Unplottable wards on it and such, I presume?” Fleur’s voice was cool, almost to the point of wintry with seeming disdain.
“Oh. Right.” Tonks stuck her hands in the pockets of her anorak. Her cheeks and ears were burning, and she told herself that it was the cold.
“So, I’d have to side Apparate with you.”
“Yes.”
There was a silence as the wind blew a gust of hair across Fleur’s face, and with a tsk of impatience, she dashed at the offending shock of hair with her hand. She pushed most of it back, but a few stray strands remained across her face, caught in the corners of her mouth. Balling her hands into fists, Tonks tore her gaze away from the curve of Fleur’s lips and studiously looked away to the long avenue of shops.
“Tonks?” Fleur’s voice was soft, questioning.
“Yes?”
“I’ll need to hold on to your arm.”
On a mental count of three, Tonks turned around and faced her. The grounds of their acquaintance had just shifted but she could not put a finger on how or why. But she knew if she held out her arm, it would be a tacit acceptance on both their parts if Fleur placed her hand there.
She nodded at this, slipping her hand from her pocket and held it out, her eyes trained on Fleur. With an answering nod and a bemused expression, Fleur placed her fingers on Tonks’ forearm and together, they Disapparated.
1 - the rough translation of the little exchange is -
what is wrong?
no-one, but I must go.
ah, tomorrow then?
Yes, tomorrow. Good bye
End part 4. Part five is this way