Chapter 14:
Sobriety
-
Tonks sat rigidly at the long, polished dinner table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she gritted her teeth through the pain of her bandaged arm. The lavish Malfoy Manor surrounded her with its gilded walls and decadent decor. A stark contrast to the chaos roiling inside her.
It had been over an hour since she’d been forced into this twisted dinner, and though she sat among the finest of wizarding cuisine, she couldn’t stomach a single bite. The grand chandeliers overhead sparkled with false brilliance, casting their golden glow across the room in a sickly light. The food, the wine, the laughter... it was all a mockery of what this dinner should have been.
Voldemort, who had only hours ago been a hollow, monstrous shadow of himself, now sat at the head of the table. He was handsome, devilishly so. But she had seen the wretched hononculus he had been before taking her blood for that demonic ritual.
His features, once hollow and grotesque, were now sharply defined, almost beautiful. He had a strange boyish charm to his looks, but the same terrifying malice behind those cold, brown eyes that she had imagined. He appeared in perfect health—too perfect. The smile that spread across his face when he glanced at her was so disarming it almost made her forget how dangerous he was.
“Is the food not to your liking, Nymphadora?” Voldemort asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness, almost playful in tone.
He watched her carefully, a cruel glint dancing in his eyes.
Tonks didn’t respond. The mere idea that she could say anything coherent while seated here, with him and his inner circle surrounding her, was laughable. His gaze made her skin crawl, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through her at the sound of her name passing through his lips.
"Picky eater?" Fenrir Greyback said, his mouth full of food.
The werewolf was truly stuffing himself like a pig, and were she in the mood to eat it would have been enough to put her off of the meal by itself.
"Oh Fenrir, just because you've been on the run eating anything you could scrounge doesn't mean other people don't have standards." Lucius said with a fake smile. "She is of the Blacks. She may have more refined tastes."
Tonks ignored their insults and mockery. But she could not ignore Voldemort.
“I really would prefer it if you accepted at least some of my hospitality. You’ve made quite the contribution to my resurrection,” Voldemort continued, his long fingers idly swirling his goblet of red wine, the liquid swirling like blood in his hands. “Your blood, so pure, helped me achieve what was once thought impossible. And now, I am whole again.”
Tonks noticed a dark expression pass over her uncles face when Voldemort said the words "My hospitality" but it passed so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.
Meanwhile, the Death Eaters around the table chuckled, their laughter forced but eager, their eyes filled with twisted devotion and fear. Lucius Malfoy’s platinum blond hair glinted in the candlelight as he straightened his back, a satisfied smile on his face. Walden Macnair, the executioner, smirked grimly, but even he couldn't hide the hint of fear in his eyes. They all knew the power they now served. Grabbe and Goyle seniors were quiet and wore confused expressions.
A short distance away, Fenrir Greyback leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the hunger of a wolf watching prey. His teeth, yellowed and sharp, poked through his lips as his predatory gaze settled on her. He was, as always, an unsettling presence. His snarl echoed in the quiet of the room.
His eyes were on the pink bandages around her forearm where the mysterious rat man had cut her for the ritual.
Tonks resisted the urge to spit at him. But that didn’t mean she was going to let him see her fear.
Voldemort waved a hand dismissively, silencing Fenrir’s guttural growl with a raised finger.
“Oh, don’t mind Fenrir, Nymphadora,” he said with a malicious smile. “He only speaks like that because, in his own way, he respects your contribution. A bit crude, but he means well.” He chuckled darkly before turning his attention back to her. “I, on the other hand, have a far more elegant way of showing my gratitude.”
The others chuckled again, though this time it was more nervous than joyful.
“You’ve done well,” Voldemort continued, his voice no longer mocking but oddly soothing. "You’ll be released, of course. Physically unharmed. Mentally as well."
He paused, his smile broadening, almost warm.
"And while it should go without saying, I will leave you sexually undisturbed as well despite what fears you may have to the contrary." Voldemort said, voicing the concern any reasonable woman would have in her situation.
Tonks still recoiled at teh implication, but she refused to show him more than that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she had any weakness to exploit.
Then the strangeness of his promise struck her.
"Mentally as well? You won't be obliviating me?" She asked.
"Of course not." Said Voldemort. "For one I don't want you panicking with fantasies about what may have been done to you. That whole sexually unharmed promise of mine."
A female Death Eater that Tonks thought might be one of the Carrows laughed.
"Could you imagine? Oh I need the morning after potion! Somebody get me a rape kit!" She cackled.
The men, as in everyone else at the table, were not amused by her jokes. Something she'd learned in her Auror training while shadowing more experienced lady Aurors, it was the men who were more offended by rape and sexual violence than women. Some kind of instinctual rightous anger, even among hardened criminals. It was the women who could make light of it, and of course lie about such things. Working in law enforcement had simultaneously lowered her opinion of her own sex and raised her opinion of men. Even these men. And then done the opposite, and then reversed again.
Law enforcement always showed you things that break and rebreak your world views. Like right now. Voldemort looked like he wanted to punish the female Death Eater, and she looked like she expected him to do so. But he let the faux pas slide.
"Secondly, there is no harm in you remembering everything that happened here. Most people won't believe you, those who will already know of my return and the identities of my followers. There is no possible harm," Voldemort explained. "But by all means, report to the ministry that I've returned. That'll do wonders for your career!"
Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in and the laughter that followed seemed to have genuine mirth for a chance. There was no life to return to. No normality. Not after this.
“Consider yourself a messenger,” Voldemort said, leaning forward, his expression turning deadly serious. “You will carry my story. You will testify to what you’ve seen here tonight. I want the entire wizarding world to know that I have returned. I want them to know that there is nowhere, nowhere, safe from me. They will hear of my resurrection, and they will fear me again.”
Tonks didn't tell him then, but she knew that the world never stopped.
His words hung in the air like a tangible force. Tonks’ mouth went dry, and her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t help but glance around the table again, the faces of the other Death Eaters watching her intently, almost expectantly. A part of her thought it was all a game to them, but they were all far too invested. This was no mere threat. This was a promise.
“I—” Tonks started, but she couldn’t finish. The words caught in her throat.
“Ah, yes,” Voldemort said, sensing her struggle. “You have questions, of course. Let me assure you, Nymphadora, I am not your enemy in the sense you might think. In fact, in a perfect world I would recruit you, but now is not the right time. For now you are a testimony, a witness. And your bloodline is important. You are a rare talent, and taking your life would be a disservice to the world.”
Then, before her very eyes, his face shifted. His hair grew long and pink, his cheeks grew wide and soft, and a smattering of freckles covered his face. A perfect mirror image of her now sat across from her.
"And who knows? I may need your blood again. These are such useful talents after all." He said.
Lucius stood up. Slamming his hands on the table.
Everyone looked at him, none with more surprise than Voldemort.
"Forgive me, my lord, but it is my home and thus my responsibility to show good hospitality. She is also my niece. I have had quite enough of this display." Lucius declared.
The tension in the room was palpable, and the Death Eaters shifted in their seats, exchanging glances as they awaited Voldemort’s next move. Lucius Malfoy leaned in, actually challenging him.
The laws and traditions of hospitality being what they were, her uncle was in the right. This was his home. His dinner. His family.
Voldemort’s eyes flickered toward him, and a twisted smile crept across his lips. To her shock, Voldemort acquiesced, raising both hands in surrender.
"You are quite right. I have overstepped my authority and boundaries. Please, take your niece and see that she is properly attended to. But she is not to be released until the morning." Voldemort ordered.
Tonks sat still, trying her best to remain composed. She had a job to do. A mission. And she would see it through, no matter the cost.
"Come, Nymphadora." Lucius demanded of her.
She stood up in a mechanical motion, every part of her body still in pain from the cruciatus that had immobilized her after that fight in the graveyard. Most notable was the pain in her arm, which throbbed with every heartbeat.
She stiffly marched around to Lucius who already moved to the main door, which he opened and motioned her through. As soon as she passed through it he exited after her and closed it behind him.
The man deflated before her very eyes, all energy leaving him and his face the picture of exhaustion. Then, all of a sudden, she was taken into an embrace by unseen arms.
"Oh thank goodness!" Her aunt Narcissa whispered in a paniced voice she'd never heard from the stoic woman. "Come, come. I'll get you cleaned up. Thank you Lucius. Thank you..."
He bowed his head in something that was a mixture of shame and pride. And then before her very eyes, even as Narcissa dragged her away, Lucius composed himself, put on that plastic smile, and re-entered his own dining room.
Narcissa led her to the master suite, her and Lucius' own bedroom. There, the woman placed one of her own night gowns next to the bathroom door. She then took hold of Tonks own hand and guided her through.
Tonks went limp and allowed the woman to do what she willed. She undressed her and her wound before lowering her into the jacuzzi that passed for a bath tub. She then cast a numbing charm on her injured forarm and turned the faucet on. Tonks was so physically and emotionally exhausted, and so comfortable in the care of a relative, that she just stared off into space during the entire thing.
She was cleaned head to toe, with special care given to her wound. Her aunt finally dried her off, rebandaged her wound, and clothed her in her own night gown. Taking her hand she then led her to the bed, and around now Tonks came back to herself.
"Why?" She asked.
"Because when we were young we needed a monster. He is powerful and dangerous, a revanous beast that fought for us." Her aunt told her. "As you can see, there is a price to be paid for keeping such a beast on your side. Make no mistake, Dumbledore is just as much of a beast, as all men with such power are. You will be left to choose your poison, we already chose ours."
The words didn't get through to her then, she was in too troubled of a state to digest them at that moment.
"What does he want from me?" Tonks asked.
She sighed.
"I think he already got what he wanted from you. Your black heritage. Now he is a parseltongue and a metamorph." Narcissa said. "And maybe some of your brilliance."
Tonks shook her head.
"I mean, what does he want me to do?" She asked.
Narcissa thought on her question for a few moments.
"I don't know. From what I overheard, he laid out your choices for you. Speak the gospel of his return for all to hear, or keep it secret. I think he has plans for both scenarios and will wait for you to make your choice before making his next move." Narcissa said. "For now, just try to sleep and don't do anything impulsive. He already said you will be released in the morning. For all of the danger he presents, he always keeps his word. This is probably the confounding factor that made us choose him."
Tonks actually did understand those words.
Her aunt stood up and walked to the exit of the room. When she reached up to turn out the lights Tonks asked her last question.
"What will you do?" Tonks asked.
She looked at her sadly.
"The same thing I have always done. Protect my family as best I can."
-
The soft, rhythmic hum of the hospital wing was punctuated by the occasional clink of healing magic or the murmured conversations of those who had suffered injuries worse than they’d hoped to survive.
Harry lay in one of the beds, his face still flushed from the events of the day, though his body felt like it had been through a war. He ached in ways that seemed to transcend physicality, the aftermath of the visions through his scar played out in his mind like an endless loop.
Said scar continued to flare up throughout the day and nothing Pomfrey did made it better.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, now leaning against the wall by the far corner of the room, let out a long sigh. Harry imagined there wasn’t much to do when you were missing an arm and waiting for Madame Pomphrey to figure out how to heal something that couldn’t quite be fixed. The deep gash that marred his side was already scarred up from the explosive curse that had nearly torn him apart, and it was surely still causing him pains.
Beside him, Alastor Moody was propped up in a chair, his face grim. Harry's eyes were drawn to his stump of a leg. He had one of those expressions that only came after seeing too many impossible things and surviving them to tell the tale.
And now Snape was also missing a limb, laying in the next bed over and unconscious.
All of these, admittedly powerful, men were now permanently marred and their quality of life forever ruined. And the war hadn't even started. One of them was now crippled on his own behalf. He wondered how he would look by the end of this all.
His thoughts then turned to Ron. And Hermione. And Hagric. And most of all, Sue. His girlfriend who had been avoiding him so thoroughly as of late. He knew she must be planning something, turning some gears she had the power to move.
It still left him feeling alone.
Madame Pomphrey bustled around the room, shaking her head in disbelief as she fussed over them like a mother hen. She was practically clucking, casting spells to check on their recovery while muttering about how reckless they were.
"I told you two to keep to light duty. Now I have to rebandage you Kingsley. And now you're on bedrest Alastor." She declared. "walkin all the way to hogsmeade and apparating all over the isles!"
Kingsley let out a rueful chuckle, “Just another day in the office, Pomphrey. You do your best work, as you always do, and we’ll get by.”
“Getting by isn’t good enough, Kingsley,” she retorted, her voice sharp. “You two have lost a lot. And that’s not even counting what Harry’s been through.”
She leaned over to check Harry’s scar, carefully tracing a soothing spell over the inflamed mark.
“And you—” she huffed, “You’ve been through enough to fill an entire book. Save that I don't know what is ailing you so that I might write it down.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in the bed, the reminder of everything weighing on him. His scar was still aching, and he had the odd sensation that Voldemort was sitting right next to him. He hadn’t expected to feel this vulnerable. His mind was heavy with the constant thinking about what had happened, what was happening, and how it was all connected. It wasn’t just the Death Eaters and cultusts. Voldemort was back, and they were only beginning to see the magnitude of his resurrection.
The tournament now seemed like small potatoes in comparison.
“I really am fine, professor Snape is the one who needs help,” Harry said quietly, glancing at the potions master in the next bed, where he lay unconscious.
"It's not like he's going anywhere." Pomphrey said. "And he's not visibly in pain, unlike you with your gritting teeth and death glare you've been pointing at the ceiling."
And here he was trying not to make it obvious so that everyone else could get help. They all, objectively, needed it more than him.
Kingsley, despite his visible fatigue, turned his head, offering a weary grin.
“You’ve got a lot of heart, kid,” he said, his voice raspy, but holding warmth. “Don’t go thinking you’re not cut out for this fight. But don't go trying to prove himself. You've done enough of that already."
The hat had mentioned something about him having a thirst to prove himself, and now he was starting to believe it.
“Indeed,” Moody added with a sardonic glint in his magical eye. “Can’t have you giving it your all before you’ve even begun. Though I shudder to think what we'll see from you when you do start giving it your all, you shouldn't have to yet. Not with us on your side.”
Harry nodded silently.
At that moment, the door to the infirmary swung open with its usual creakiness, and in walked the one man who didn’t need to knock for entrance. Albus Dumbledore. His usual twinkle was absent from his eyes today, replaced with a quiet understanding. He swept into the room, his robes trailing behind him like the mist of old stories.
The noise had woken up Harry's least favorite teacher, who was fast becoming his favorite.
“Harry, Severus,” Dumbledore greeted, his voice calm, though his gaze lingered on the injured quartet. His eyes flicked momentarily to each of them, as if measuring their recovery before turning his attention to Severus. “I must admit, I did not expect this turn of events.”
Severus, ever the enigma, offered a cool, calculating gaze in return.
“None of us did, Albus.” He admitted, cradling his stump of an elbow.
Dumbledore’s gaze softened.
“Indeed. And that is the crux of it, is it not? The very fact that things have changed, drastically so, in such a short amount of time. I foresaw us having years before Voldemort's return; Clearly I am not so well versed i nthe arts of divination as I thought.” He paused, standing before Harry’s bed.
He glanced between the two, thinking.
“With Harry’s emancipation now complete, your role as a teacher has come to an end, Severus. And with Voldemort making his dispensation with you very clear, the need for you to be a spy has vanished as well.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry mirrored his expression.
Snape had only been a teacher because of him? How did that factor? There was also the other insinuation.
"You're sacking him?" Harry said, genuinely aghast. "After all he's sacrifice?"
Dumbledore gave Harry a truly warm look, the warmest Harry had ever seen from him.
"For him, such a sacking is more of a reward than you will ever know. He was the most onerous of my teachers because he was never meant to be a teacher, or at least not a potions professor." Dumbledore explained. "But he is owed more reward than simply that."
“And what do you suggest, Albus? Shall I return to my Potions dissertation and retreat into obscurity?” Snape
“Well, you could always join the fight as a free agent,” Dumbledore teased lightly. “But I know you’re too stubborn to sit back now. You have skills and knowledge that the world may need.”
Severus sighed, standing up slowly, his movements stiff.
“I suppose that’s one way to see it.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “A teacher turned freelance, with no further obligations to a fool’s errand. I suppose that’s freeing. My life debt is certainly paid, multiple times over.”
Harry felt his neck crack as he snapped to look at Snape.
"Life debt?" He asked.
Both Snape and Dumbledore snorted.
"Yes, I owed a life debt to your father. Which I not only failed to pay but did the opposite. You already know the story actually. When he saved me from Remus." Snape admitted.
"Wait, so you were watching over me beause of a life debt?" Harry asked.
"No, I took on the job as a teacher because of the life debt. Albus hung it over my head, else I would have lived on Privet Drive all these years. It was actually the smarter plan and I did a lot more good here. Now that you are an adult, that obligation is ended." Snape declared.
"I'm confused." Harry admitted. "Are you quitting or being sacked?"
Snape and Dumbledore shared a look, and both shrugged.
Madame Pomphrey had been checking on Kingsley’s bandaged stump, making sure everything was healing properly. Her expression softened when she looked over at Dumbledore.
“Severus,” she added, turning to face him directly, “you’ve not only been a teacher here, but a resource. If you’re leaving, I will have difficulty procuring some supplies, let alone countering dark arts injuries. I can’t do it all, Dumbledore. I’m only one mediwitch.”
Severus shrugged again, as noncomittal as ever if a little more relaxed. A lot more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him, actually. Losing two jobs you hated in one day must have felt freeing.
Albus nodded and turned to Harry.
“And as for you, Harry,” he said, looking down at him with a keen eye, “you are no longer tied to the walls of Hogwarts. You have made a significant choice for your future.”
Harry shifted uneasily in the bed, the weight of that responsibility heavy on him.
“I don’t know what’s next. But I know I can’t do this alone. And I know that Hogwarts is my home. I also have to at least stay here through the tournament.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, his smile reaching his eyes, “and that is why I suggest you take full advantage of the resources at your disposal. I believe, Harry, that it is time to solidify the bonds of loyalty and trust that will carry you forward.”
“Then, as not-professor Snape said, what do you propose?” Harry asked, still feeling the aftereffects of everything.
His mind was sharp, but he was tired—tired of everything.
The weight of Voldemort’s return, the increasing danger, the mounting responsibilities. The idea of being emancipated, of standing on his own, seemed less liberating than it had appeared just hours ago.
“Time to hire your security detail, my boy,” Dumbledore said softly, but with a knowing glint in his eye. “Kingsley, Moody, and Severus are all now without a job. They have each already proven their worth.”
Severus raised an eyebrow, almost smirking despite the obvious weight of their conversation.
“You would hire me, Potter?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, half-amused, half-serious.
He shrugged.
"If my dad's money is as good as anyone else' to you, sure!" He said.
Snape snorted.
"Good on you referring to it as your father's money. I might not have had such a thorny relationship with the man if he called it his dad's money, which it was." Snape told him.
“Well, I mean. It's new money to me, but he grew up with it. I think that’s the least I can do for all the help you’ve given me,” Harry said, his voice resolute. “And as for the rest of you... I already promised to hire Kingsley and Moody once they finalized their resignations from the Aurors and Hogwarts. Gotten their disability approved and all that. Now that I have access to my money I can do that."
Both Kingsley and Moody nodded, exchanging glances. Snape, on the other hand, considered him and his offer for a few terse moments.
"I'll think about it." He said, his old disdain seeping back into his voice.
“It’s an honor, Harry. But more importantly, it’s good to be on your side again. I’m not sure what’s coming, but I’ll fight by your side.” Kingsley said.
“Let’s face it, then,” Harry said with determination, “we’ve had enough down time. Time to get to work.”
Pomphrey didn't stop him as he stood up and walked to exit the ward. She did, however, hand him a cotton-covered bag of ice, which he accepted and helf to his forehead.
Moody and Kingsley stood up and followed him out.