(Gilderoy Lockhart)
The lift chimed softly as it reached the Atrium level, its gates sliding open with a familiar hiss of magic. I stepped out, still half-lost in thought, the polished marble floor reflecting the golden glow of enchanted light overhead. The Ministry was louder than usual, voices overlapping in sharp bursts, footsteps hurried, tension hanging thick in the air like static before a storm.
I took two steps forward.
And then…
Wham~
A solid impact slammed into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. Someone yelped, arms flailing, and instinct took over before my mind could catch up. I reached out and caught her, fingers digging in to stop her from falling flat on her back.
Unfortunately.
Or perhaps fortunately.
My hand landed squarely on her backside.
"Oi! Watch your hands!" she snapped.
Her hair flashed an immediate, furious red.
Then she looked up.
Wide eyes met mine, the anger melting away almost instantly, replaced by surprise, then something warmer. Her shoulders relaxed, and the sharp edge in her expression softened into a familiar, crooked smile.
"Oh," Tonks said. "It's you."
I lifted both hands at once in mock surrender. "That was purely accidental, I assure you."
She glanced pointedly at where my hand had been a moment earlier, then back at my face. A slow grin spread across her lips.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "you don't actually have to stop."
I froze.
"…I don't?"
"Nope." She leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to be private. "You can touch all you want. So. Did you like it?"
Well.
That was an invitation I had never been particularly good at refusing.
I let my hand return, giving her an extra, deliberate squeeze. Tonks made a small, startled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a squeak.
"Excellent," I said solemnly. "Just the right amount of bounciness."
She laughed, genuine and bright, the sound cutting through the tension of the Atrium like sunlight through fog.
"I've missed you, Tonksie."
Her expression softened again. "Me too."
Then she sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as reality caught up. "But I don't think I'm going to have time to see you anytime soon. I just got back from Azkaban."
That wiped the smile from my face.
"Azkaban?"
She nodded, hair shifting to a muted, tired brown. "It's a mess. Over half the prisoners escaped. Most of the wards were completely destroyed."
My jaw tightened.
"And the dementors?" I asked.
"They're still there," she said, frowning. "Which is the weird part. We thought they'd bolt the second the wards went down. Or at least start feasting on the souls of whoever was left behind. But nothing."
I narrowed my eyes. "That's highly suspicious."
"Yeah. Moody thinks so too," Tonks replied. "Says something's off, and when Moody says that, it usually means something's very off."
She rubbed her face with both hands and groaned. "And I haven't even had breakfast. I'm starving."
"You haven't eaten at all?" I asked.
"Nope. And I still have to report to Madam Bones first," she said miserably. "She'll probably give me another task right away."
I smiled. Slowly.
"Come on," I said. "I'll walk you up to Amelia. We'll see if I can't negotiate an hour for breakfast."
She eyed me skeptically. "Good luck with that."
A few minutes later, we stood outside Madam Bones' office.
Ten minutes after that, Tonks walked out staring at me as though I had personally rewritten reality.
"She gave me the rest of the morning off," Tonks whispered. "And she actually smiled. What did you do?"
"Charmed her with my personality," I said smoothly.
As we made our way out of the Ministry, she kept squinting at me, suspicion written all over her face.
"You don't have a secret affair with Bonesy, do you?"
I chuckled. "I wish. No, it was just a very generous donation to the Auror Office."
"How generous are we talking about?" she asked.
"One hundred thousand galleons."
Her jaw dropped.
"That's…" She blinked. "That's going to take me decades to earn."
Then her expression shifted. Slowly and deliberately.
Her hair lightened, her posture changed, and she fluttered her lashes at me in a way that would have been ridiculous on anyone else. Her chest expanded a couple of sizes, very intentionally.
"Well," she purred, "how exactly should I thank you on behalf of the Auror Office?"
I swallowed.
Breakfast, it seemed, was going to be delayed after all.
…
As it turned out, it was only slightly delayed.
The old red telephone booth that served as one of the Ministry's entrances had barely finished sealing itself when Tonks surged forward, grabbed the front of my robes, and kissed me like she was making up for lost time. The booth rocked faintly on its hinges, glass fogging almost instantly.
For a brief, glorious minute, the Ministry of Magic ceased to exist.
Then someone knocked.
"Er-hello?" came a muffled, elderly voice from outside. "Is anyone in there?"
Tonks froze.
I froze.
We separated awkwardly, both of us breathing a little too fast, smoothing hair and tugging clothes back into something resembling propriety. The booth clicked open a second later, revealing a small, sharp-eyed witch with steel-grey curls and a look of profound disapproval.
We stepped out sheepishly.
"So sorry," Tonks mumbled.
"Terribly sorry," I added.
The woman sniffed. "Youngsters these days," she muttered, shuffling past us into the booth. "No sense of decorum at all."
Tonks waited until the door shut behind her before dissolving into helpless laughter.
Breakfast followed shortly after.
We found a small coffee shop tucked along a side street not far from the Ministry, the kind of place that survived entirely on strong coffee and the quiet desperation of civil servants. We slid into a corner booth, steam rising from mugs and plates as the comforting clatter of cutlery surrounded us.
Tonks attacked her food like she hadn't eaten in days.
I watched her for a moment, then said quietly, "You need to be extra careful from now on."
She paused mid-bite, glancing up at me. "That serious?"
"Yes."
Something in my tone must have reached her, because she set her fork down slowly. I hesitated, weighing the decision I'd been circling since the Wizengamot meeting.
Then I decided.
"I need to tell you something," I said. "But once I do, you can't unhear it."
She frowned. "That's never ominous."
"I believe this was Voldemort's doing," I said calmly.
Tonks winced instinctively at the name, shoulders tightening. "Isn't he dead?"
"Unfortunately, no," I replied. "He used very dark magic to preserve his life."
She stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head. "Everyone's saying it was Sirius Black."
"Yes," I said carefully. "About that. I believe Sirius Black is innocent."
"What?!" she shouted, several nearby patrons turning to stare.
Then realization dawned.
Her face went pale.
"He's my uncle," she said quietly.
I nodded. "I know."
I leaned forward. "What do you know about his case? About the night he was arrested?"
"Only what the official story says," she swallowed. "That he killed thirteen Muggles and Peter Pettigrew. That all that was left of Peter was his pinky finger."
I tilted my head. "And you don't find that suspicious?"
She frowned. "Suspicious how?"
"Where's the rest of the body?" I asked. "What spell obliterates an entire person and leaves behind a perfectly intact finger?"
Her eyes widened comically.
"…Oh."
"And no one saw anything strange?" I continued. "No witnesses questioning it?"
She shook her head slowly. "But… but there was a trial. They found him guilty."
"That's the thing," I said softly. "There wasn't."
Her breath caught. "What?"
"He was sent directly to Azkaban. No trial. No defense."
Tonks stared at me, disbelief written across her face. "That's impossible. Even my aunt Bellatrix, who's absolutely bonkers, got a trial."
"Exactly," I said.
Silence settled between us, broken only by the clink of cups and the low murmur of other conversations.
Tonks leaned back slowly, processing. "If that's true… then everything about his case is wrong."
"Yes," I said. "And if Sirius didn't do it, then someone else did, my personal bet's on Pettigrew."
Her jaw tightened.
"And if Voldemort's alive," she whispered, "then the war isn't over."
"No," I agreed. "It's just starting."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, the playful flirtation stripped away, replaced by something sharper. Determined.
"Good," she said finally. "Then I'll be careful."
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
Breakfast had started as a joke.
It ended as a warning.
And neither of us was laughing anymore.
…