Any Day But Tuesday ~ Chapter 1
7 Ficlets written for 7spells
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Any Day But Tuesday
Characters: Harry/Tonks
Prompt: Look Over There (Chapter 1)
Rating: mild R, I guess, for a couple four-letter words, mention of depression type ‘issues’, and some adult relationship stuff.
Word Count: 700 apprx.
Summary: Harry’s just trying to find himself, Tonks is just trying to find Harry
Author's Notes: this story is in numerical order, to read in sequence, see Prompt Table
Chapter 1
:LOOK OVER THERE:
“You still can’t account for Tuesday afternoons?” Moody growled.
“No, sir,” Carlson replied.
“Does it really matter?” Tonks asked uncomfortably. “It’s his own business, isn’t it? If he wants to - I don’t know -” she waved her hands about, “- go sit in the zoo and watch the blooming giraffes, do we have to know about it?”
“Must we have this discussion every week?” Carlson sighed. “If he’s at the zoo, fine. We just want to be sure he’s alive long enough to eat his cotton candy. “
“Harry can take care of himself,” Tonks insisted. She could feel the tips of her hair turning a sullen green in protest. “It’s just not right, you spying on him.”
Moody leaned over his desk and fixed her with his disconcerting stare. “If you want to be helpful, Tonks, why don’t you follow him? In fact, I’ll make you a deal. You find out if he’s taking all the necessary safety measures and not doing anything dangerous or self-destructive, and I’ll leave it off the books, all right? I’ll also leave it up to you to talk to him about the situation, whatever it is, however you see fit. Will that do, Miss Tonks?”
“Fine,” Tonks said reluctantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She didn’t like it, but she supposed it was better the matter be handled by a friend than some patronizing git like Carlson.
The following morning Tonks watched Harry carefully as he moved about the staff room preparing his breakfast. If he was meeting a woman on Tuesday afternoons, as one theory went, then there was no sign she was doing anything to make him very happy on Tuesday nights. In fact, Tonks considered, Harry’s entire demeanor this Wednesday morning was one of slow, plodding, determination, as though it were an effort just to be here. He was clearly trying not to be surly to people, she’d heard him dish out three semi-convincing “Good Mornings” on the way in. Tonks wasn’t fooled. If he were a metamorphmagus, she thought, he’d be looking pretty bedraggled right about now.
Harry looked up from measuring out his coffee. “Something wrong, Tonks?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I was just going to ask you how your friends are doing.” Perhaps he was going out with the old crew, perhaps that was bringing him down.
Harry poured half a carton of cream into his cup before he answered her. “No idea. You saw them the last time I did.”
Blimey, she thought, that was Christmas.
“Did you forget to bring breakfast again?” he asked her, clearly trying to change the subject.
She let him. “You know I can’t look at food before ten.”
“You should eat something in the morning. Come have some of this, I think I made enough to feed half the Order.” He tapped the plastic Muggle-made container with his wand to reheat it to its original state.
It might have been a bit early for Tonks, but she wasn’t going to refuse an invitation to share a meal. He might be inclined to talk to her, and then trailing after him next Tuesday might become completely unnecessary.
Tonks eyed him across the table as he poured her a cup of coffee. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the mischievous boy she’d known for so many years. She wondered when he’d been replaced by this solemn young man who wore a white shirt and a black tie to work every blessed day, and seldom smiled any more. He was only twenty-one years old, for goodness sake. He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Vanquisher of Dark Lords. He should be happier than this.
Harry said very little while they ate, refusing to be drawn very far into conversation.
But the casserole was divine, and Tonks told him so in no uncertain terms. “You’re going to make some young lady very happy one day,” she teased, indicating her plate with a wave of her fork.
Harry got up for more coffee, but not before she saw that the compliment had flustered him a little. Tonks managed not to laugh.
But just barely.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Any Day But Tuesday
Characters: Harry/Tonks
Prompt: Look Over There (Chapter 1)
Rating: mild R, I guess, for a couple four-letter words, mention of depression type ‘issues’, and some adult relationship stuff.
Word Count: 700 apprx.
Summary: Harry’s just trying to find himself, Tonks is just trying to find Harry
Author's Notes: this story is in numerical order, to read in sequence, see Prompt Table
Chapter 1
:LOOK OVER THERE:
“You still can’t account for Tuesday afternoons?” Moody growled.
“No, sir,” Carlson replied.
“Does it really matter?” Tonks asked uncomfortably. “It’s his own business, isn’t it? If he wants to - I don’t know -” she waved her hands about, “- go sit in the zoo and watch the blooming giraffes, do we have to know about it?”
“Must we have this discussion every week?” Carlson sighed. “If he’s at the zoo, fine. We just want to be sure he’s alive long enough to eat his cotton candy. “
“Harry can take care of himself,” Tonks insisted. She could feel the tips of her hair turning a sullen green in protest. “It’s just not right, you spying on him.”
Moody leaned over his desk and fixed her with his disconcerting stare. “If you want to be helpful, Tonks, why don’t you follow him? In fact, I’ll make you a deal. You find out if he’s taking all the necessary safety measures and not doing anything dangerous or self-destructive, and I’ll leave it off the books, all right? I’ll also leave it up to you to talk to him about the situation, whatever it is, however you see fit. Will that do, Miss Tonks?”
“Fine,” Tonks said reluctantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She didn’t like it, but she supposed it was better the matter be handled by a friend than some patronizing git like Carlson.
The following morning Tonks watched Harry carefully as he moved about the staff room preparing his breakfast. If he was meeting a woman on Tuesday afternoons, as one theory went, then there was no sign she was doing anything to make him very happy on Tuesday nights. In fact, Tonks considered, Harry’s entire demeanor this Wednesday morning was one of slow, plodding, determination, as though it were an effort just to be here. He was clearly trying not to be surly to people, she’d heard him dish out three semi-convincing “Good Mornings” on the way in. Tonks wasn’t fooled. If he were a metamorphmagus, she thought, he’d be looking pretty bedraggled right about now.
Harry looked up from measuring out his coffee. “Something wrong, Tonks?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I was just going to ask you how your friends are doing.” Perhaps he was going out with the old crew, perhaps that was bringing him down.
Harry poured half a carton of cream into his cup before he answered her. “No idea. You saw them the last time I did.”
Blimey, she thought, that was Christmas.
“Did you forget to bring breakfast again?” he asked her, clearly trying to change the subject.
She let him. “You know I can’t look at food before ten.”
“You should eat something in the morning. Come have some of this, I think I made enough to feed half the Order.” He tapped the plastic Muggle-made container with his wand to reheat it to its original state.
It might have been a bit early for Tonks, but she wasn’t going to refuse an invitation to share a meal. He might be inclined to talk to her, and then trailing after him next Tuesday might become completely unnecessary.
Tonks eyed him across the table as he poured her a cup of coffee. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the mischievous boy she’d known for so many years. She wondered when he’d been replaced by this solemn young man who wore a white shirt and a black tie to work every blessed day, and seldom smiled any more. He was only twenty-one years old, for goodness sake. He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Vanquisher of Dark Lords. He should be happier than this.
Harry said very little while they ate, refusing to be drawn very far into conversation.
But the casserole was divine, and Tonks told him so in no uncertain terms. “You’re going to make some young lady very happy one day,” she teased, indicating her plate with a wave of her fork.
Harry got up for more coffee, but not before she saw that the compliment had flustered him a little. Tonks managed not to laugh.
But just barely.