New fic: The Reconstruction of Harry Potter Harry/Tonks, R
Title:The Reconstruction of Harry Potter - Chapter One
Rating: Adult (will be)
Warnings: AU in that Tonks survives. Non-epilogue compliant. A good chunk of it takes place in America
Summary: Life has not gone according to plan since the war ended, especially not for Harry Potter. However, a new case, an old friend and a terrifyingly familiar enemy might be just the thing to set it all to right.
Featured Characters/Pairings: Harry/Tonks. Harry/Ginny and Remus/Tonks mentioned
Word Count: 1601
Author's Notes: This was written for the fantastic queenb23more , who generously bid for a fic at help_haiti . It will be updated regularly and I expect it to be less than ten chapters.
Isn't it amazing how life can completely change so quickly? I suppose I ought to be used to it by now. I mean, it's been happening since I was a year old, hasn't it? Bam! You're an orphan. Bam! You're a wizard. Bam! You're a champion for a contest you didn't even enter. Bam! You're a criminal. Bam! You're a hero. Bam! You're an Auror. Well, that one I had been expecting, or at least making plans for, but it did happen rather suddenly. Most Aurors actually finished school, then took years to qualify, rather than months. But their ranks had been so decimated by both the battle and the numbers that had thrown in their lot with the other side that they were quite thrilled to allow me to learn on the job, so to speak. After all, it's what I'd been doing for years.
Yeah, I made some pretty stupid mistakes in the beginning, but the Ministry was so desperate to keep people thinking that everything was 'fine, thank you very much' that they were willing to keep my ineptitude under wraps. No one was allowed to tarnish their golden boy. I don't know what I would have done if not for Ron. Ron can always be counted on to be the person to say what everyone else is thinking but is too afraid to say out loud. And when I was feeling uncertain, I could bounce ideas off him and be sure they'd come back to me sharpened by him. And if that didn't help, there was always Hermione, who wrote to us both every day from her Scottish exile (well, perhaps she wrote a bit more to Ron--hell, Pig used to stagger under the weight of her letters) but I seriously doubt it was all advice to him about his caseload. She even wrote to us from her desk at the Ministry two floors above. I'd imagine that she got to be a champion parchment airplane folder. That or she got a lot of paper cuts.
But this particular day, Ron was missing, too. He and Hermione were off on their long-awaited honeymoon. And I was feeling sorry for myself, wondering how they had managed to keep things going for the five years since the battle when Ginny and I had only lasted three. It didn't make sense that they--who still fought like Crups and Kneazles--were still at it like rabbits. Ginny and I could barely stand being in the same room for ten minutes at a time, and we'd hardly had any fights. I suppose I just didn't live up to her expectations of me.
It would have been fine if I hadn't practically been adopted by her family. I didn't want to give up the Weasleys, I loved every single one of them, including Percy the Prat. Hell, I even loved Ginny when she wasn't looking at me as though I'd crawled out from under a rock. I was just a mess. I didn't know how to be what everybody wanted me to be. I'd saved the world, but I was a mediocre Auror. I'd been the gallant knight who slew the dragon, but I was a crap boyfriend. I'd been the Boy-Who-Lived, but I didn't know how to live.
The wedding had been hell for the most part, happy as I was to see them happy. And now, feeling left out and left behind, I was wallowing in my misery. I was on the most boring case in history, looking for idiots trading illegal potions. Dark Wizards were rarer than Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in England these days. The ones left had gone off to the far ends of the earth, knowing that if they were caught in England, they would be lucky to only get a Dementor's kiss.
But there I was, going through piles of paperwork, so bored that I thought I would go mad. And that's when I saw something on the report that brought a horrifying face to my mind. Greyback. A face that still brought chills to the back of my neck. I'd faced the fucking devil incarnate but it was that face that still gave me nightmares (that and Crabbe's burning body, but that's another subject entirely). I'd never forget the way Greyback smelled--like an animal, all musky and sweaty with a bit of eau de rotting meat thrown in for good measure. I'd never forget the gleam of madness in his eyes. Voldemort's eyes had been empty, but Grayback's burned with hatred.
And it wasn't just thinking of him that gave me the willies. It was what he'd done, too. Bill's horribly disfigured face. Lavender's ravaged neck and chest. (Considering the shortage of perfect breasts in the world, it really had seemed a crime to ruin hers. I mean, she wasn't my type and all, but damn, she had fantastic tits. Just saying. Still did, actually. Only--with scars. Which were still sort of hot, actually. But I digress). And, perhaps most of all, Remus, who had looked perfectly normal, (if not a little dull) but inside, he'd been filled with sometimes infuriating self-loathing.
Maybe it was because he'd killed him. Remus, I mean. It was a horrifying thought--if Greyback considered everyone he'd 'turned' as his family, how could he have been so savage about killing him?
Anyway, the potions dealer in question had referred to a 'Leidolf,' which had been one of Greyback's aliases. Leidolf was a common enough name, (in Germany, anyway) but it got the little hairs at the back of my neck sticking up. Five years on the Auror squad had managed to stifle a lot of the instinct that had got me through seven years of people trying to kill me. Now, most of the time, I ignored those little hairs, which used to accompany a burning on my forehead. But this feeling was so strong that I couldn't bring myself to ignore it. I read the report again, this time analysing every word, which was why I looked twice when I saw the name Meloni. Meloni had been one of the personas of Ranallo, one of Greyback's favorite 'children'. Who'd happened to be something of a potions genius. One of Snape's few and far between apprentices, one who'd had to drop out when he'd been attacked by a particular werewolf shortly after his seventh year. So, there was a Meloni and a Leidolf and potions smuggled in from New Orleans. And my gut was telling me it wasn't something to be ignored.
Following procedure, I brought it to the attention of Gilbreath, the least imaginative man since the birth of Percy Weasley. He thought it was all rubbish, of course. And he sent me looking for a Welsh connection that turned out to be a series of dead ends, but I couldn't stop thinking about the Death Eater/werewolf angle.
I approached him again, asking if I could just take a few hours to look into some of Greyback's previously known associates. I got turned down flat. As I sat at home alone that night, with only Kreacher and a bottle of Ogden's for company, I stewed about it. They'd never found Greyback's body. It was assumed that Neville had actually killed him, but even he'd said he hadn't used a killing curse, that he didn't have it in him. Or rather, he would have had it in him if it had been Bellatrix, but she'd already been taken down by my almost-mother-in-law.
There had been a lot of blood, especially when Ron had stomped on his nose for good measure. And the curse Neville had used was nothing to sneeze at, having been taught to him by his Grandmother during the Christmas hols that last year. It was old magic, almost dark, but technically legal. Eyewitnesses said he'd howled in agony, frothed at the mouth and went very, very still. But no body. There had been so many bodies to deal with, and not all of them had made their way to their family's resting place of choice. It had been assumed that someone who'd loved someone who'd been turned by him had taken him home to do terrible things to his corpse.
Could he have survived? Probably not. All those rumors of Snape having somehow survived had come to nothing in the end. But then again, at least one person whom I had presumed dead had ended up walking out of St. Mungos on her own two feet six months after the battle. And that person happened to live in America these days. I was no expert on North American geography, but it certainly looked on the map as though she wasn't that far away from New Orleans. And she'd certainly be interested to hear that her husband's killer was alive and well and doing his part to corrupt Britain's magical youth.
The following morning, I impulsively requested a leave of absence from the Auror Department. Gilbreath wheezed and sputtered and threatened to sack me, but I just looked him dead in the eye and said, "Go ahead."
I could see it written all over his face--all the political fallout for being the Head Auror who'd lost the saviour of the wizarding world, the one person that had everyone sleeping better in their beds because they knew that he was out there protecting them. And with a sigh, he signed my request. Within 36 hours, I had set foot on foreign soil for the very first time in my life. It was the lightest I had felt in years.
Chapter Two
Rating: Adult (will be)
Warnings: AU in that Tonks survives. Non-epilogue compliant. A good chunk of it takes place in America
Summary: Life has not gone according to plan since the war ended, especially not for Harry Potter. However, a new case, an old friend and a terrifyingly familiar enemy might be just the thing to set it all to right.
Featured Characters/Pairings: Harry/Tonks. Harry/Ginny and Remus/Tonks mentioned
Word Count: 1601
Author's Notes: This was written for the fantastic queenb23more , who generously bid for a fic at help_haiti . It will be updated regularly and I expect it to be less than ten chapters.
Isn't it amazing how life can completely change so quickly? I suppose I ought to be used to it by now. I mean, it's been happening since I was a year old, hasn't it? Bam! You're an orphan. Bam! You're a wizard. Bam! You're a champion for a contest you didn't even enter. Bam! You're a criminal. Bam! You're a hero. Bam! You're an Auror. Well, that one I had been expecting, or at least making plans for, but it did happen rather suddenly. Most Aurors actually finished school, then took years to qualify, rather than months. But their ranks had been so decimated by both the battle and the numbers that had thrown in their lot with the other side that they were quite thrilled to allow me to learn on the job, so to speak. After all, it's what I'd been doing for years.
Yeah, I made some pretty stupid mistakes in the beginning, but the Ministry was so desperate to keep people thinking that everything was 'fine, thank you very much' that they were willing to keep my ineptitude under wraps. No one was allowed to tarnish their golden boy. I don't know what I would have done if not for Ron. Ron can always be counted on to be the person to say what everyone else is thinking but is too afraid to say out loud. And when I was feeling uncertain, I could bounce ideas off him and be sure they'd come back to me sharpened by him. And if that didn't help, there was always Hermione, who wrote to us both every day from her Scottish exile (well, perhaps she wrote a bit more to Ron--hell, Pig used to stagger under the weight of her letters) but I seriously doubt it was all advice to him about his caseload. She even wrote to us from her desk at the Ministry two floors above. I'd imagine that she got to be a champion parchment airplane folder. That or she got a lot of paper cuts.
But this particular day, Ron was missing, too. He and Hermione were off on their long-awaited honeymoon. And I was feeling sorry for myself, wondering how they had managed to keep things going for the five years since the battle when Ginny and I had only lasted three. It didn't make sense that they--who still fought like Crups and Kneazles--were still at it like rabbits. Ginny and I could barely stand being in the same room for ten minutes at a time, and we'd hardly had any fights. I suppose I just didn't live up to her expectations of me.
It would have been fine if I hadn't practically been adopted by her family. I didn't want to give up the Weasleys, I loved every single one of them, including Percy the Prat. Hell, I even loved Ginny when she wasn't looking at me as though I'd crawled out from under a rock. I was just a mess. I didn't know how to be what everybody wanted me to be. I'd saved the world, but I was a mediocre Auror. I'd been the gallant knight who slew the dragon, but I was a crap boyfriend. I'd been the Boy-Who-Lived, but I didn't know how to live.
The wedding had been hell for the most part, happy as I was to see them happy. And now, feeling left out and left behind, I was wallowing in my misery. I was on the most boring case in history, looking for idiots trading illegal potions. Dark Wizards were rarer than Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in England these days. The ones left had gone off to the far ends of the earth, knowing that if they were caught in England, they would be lucky to only get a Dementor's kiss.
But there I was, going through piles of paperwork, so bored that I thought I would go mad. And that's when I saw something on the report that brought a horrifying face to my mind. Greyback. A face that still brought chills to the back of my neck. I'd faced the fucking devil incarnate but it was that face that still gave me nightmares (that and Crabbe's burning body, but that's another subject entirely). I'd never forget the way Greyback smelled--like an animal, all musky and sweaty with a bit of eau de rotting meat thrown in for good measure. I'd never forget the gleam of madness in his eyes. Voldemort's eyes had been empty, but Grayback's burned with hatred.
And it wasn't just thinking of him that gave me the willies. It was what he'd done, too. Bill's horribly disfigured face. Lavender's ravaged neck and chest. (Considering the shortage of perfect breasts in the world, it really had seemed a crime to ruin hers. I mean, she wasn't my type and all, but damn, she had fantastic tits. Just saying. Still did, actually. Only--with scars. Which were still sort of hot, actually. But I digress). And, perhaps most of all, Remus, who had looked perfectly normal, (if not a little dull) but inside, he'd been filled with sometimes infuriating self-loathing.
Maybe it was because he'd killed him. Remus, I mean. It was a horrifying thought--if Greyback considered everyone he'd 'turned' as his family, how could he have been so savage about killing him?
Anyway, the potions dealer in question had referred to a 'Leidolf,' which had been one of Greyback's aliases. Leidolf was a common enough name, (in Germany, anyway) but it got the little hairs at the back of my neck sticking up. Five years on the Auror squad had managed to stifle a lot of the instinct that had got me through seven years of people trying to kill me. Now, most of the time, I ignored those little hairs, which used to accompany a burning on my forehead. But this feeling was so strong that I couldn't bring myself to ignore it. I read the report again, this time analysing every word, which was why I looked twice when I saw the name Meloni. Meloni had been one of the personas of Ranallo, one of Greyback's favorite 'children'. Who'd happened to be something of a potions genius. One of Snape's few and far between apprentices, one who'd had to drop out when he'd been attacked by a particular werewolf shortly after his seventh year. So, there was a Meloni and a Leidolf and potions smuggled in from New Orleans. And my gut was telling me it wasn't something to be ignored.
Following procedure, I brought it to the attention of Gilbreath, the least imaginative man since the birth of Percy Weasley. He thought it was all rubbish, of course. And he sent me looking for a Welsh connection that turned out to be a series of dead ends, but I couldn't stop thinking about the Death Eater/werewolf angle.
I approached him again, asking if I could just take a few hours to look into some of Greyback's previously known associates. I got turned down flat. As I sat at home alone that night, with only Kreacher and a bottle of Ogden's for company, I stewed about it. They'd never found Greyback's body. It was assumed that Neville had actually killed him, but even he'd said he hadn't used a killing curse, that he didn't have it in him. Or rather, he would have had it in him if it had been Bellatrix, but she'd already been taken down by my almost-mother-in-law.
There had been a lot of blood, especially when Ron had stomped on his nose for good measure. And the curse Neville had used was nothing to sneeze at, having been taught to him by his Grandmother during the Christmas hols that last year. It was old magic, almost dark, but technically legal. Eyewitnesses said he'd howled in agony, frothed at the mouth and went very, very still. But no body. There had been so many bodies to deal with, and not all of them had made their way to their family's resting place of choice. It had been assumed that someone who'd loved someone who'd been turned by him had taken him home to do terrible things to his corpse.
Could he have survived? Probably not. All those rumors of Snape having somehow survived had come to nothing in the end. But then again, at least one person whom I had presumed dead had ended up walking out of St. Mungos on her own two feet six months after the battle. And that person happened to live in America these days. I was no expert on North American geography, but it certainly looked on the map as though she wasn't that far away from New Orleans. And she'd certainly be interested to hear that her husband's killer was alive and well and doing his part to corrupt Britain's magical youth.
The following morning, I impulsively requested a leave of absence from the Auror Department. Gilbreath wheezed and sputtered and threatened to sack me, but I just looked him dead in the eye and said, "Go ahead."
I could see it written all over his face--all the political fallout for being the Head Auror who'd lost the saviour of the wizarding world, the one person that had everyone sleeping better in their beds because they knew that he was out there protecting them. And with a sigh, he signed my request. Within 36 hours, I had set foot on foreign soil for the very first time in my life. It was the lightest I had felt in years.
Chapter Two