“There’s hardly anyone staying,” said Aggie. “What are you going to do here?”
“Study, I expect,” replied Tonks with a faint note of disgust in her voice. “I’m hoping Professor Snape will let me use the dungeons for my project.”
She kept the smile off her face as she remembered her rather hurried explanation to Snape in yesterday’s class.
“Um, well...” she’d stuttered, “I’d like to do a complicated potion, Professor, and I’d also like to do one that could help certain sections of our society.”
“I think you’ll find the vast majority of those afflicted by Lycanthropy do not wish to be helped,” he’d replied. “Furthermore, it is so expensive that, even if they possessed a conscience, they’d never be able to afford it.”
“But if more witches or wizards could make it then it needn’t be that expensive, need it, sir?” she’d asked.
Professor Snape’s eyes had bored into her and she’d felt uncomfortable. She’d heard a rumour that he was versed in the art of Legilimency. She’d rather hoped he hadn’t seen the image of Remus bitten and clawed that was swimming at the back of her head. Concentrating firmly on not letting it through, she had done the first thing she ever did when she was under pressure “ she’d changed her hair to pink.
“I thought I told you that pink is not an appropriate colour for my class, Miss Tonks,” he’d said firmly.
“Is this better?” she’d asked.
Snape’s eyes had widened as it had changed to the first colour she'd thought of “ red.
“Just sit down, Miss Tonks, I’ll let you know about the Wolfsbane,” he’d said quietly.
She’d completed the rest of the lesson without any further comments from him about her project - or her hair - and successfully brewed a complicated pain relieving potion, which was so concentrated that only a few drops were required for anaesthesia. She'd bottled it carefully and presented it to him.
“Poenaserum,” she’d declared as he'd examined her efforts.
“Very commendable,” he’d said dryly. “First Wolfsbane, now this. Anyone would think you were thinking about becoming a Healer. I take it you’re still set on the Auror Department?”
“Yes, Professor. You did say we could do anything,” she’d replied. “I think Poenaserum could be useful in the field.”
He’d looked at her again but didn’t seem to be able to look as penetratingly as he had before.
“You may go, Miss Tonks,” he’d said and then turned back to the pile of parchment he needed to mark.
She walked outside with Aggie to wait for the horseless carriages. It was a cold day, and the morning frost still lay on the ground causing the grass to crunch beneath their feet. Tonks had left her cloak inside so she was hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm whilst she waved her friend off.
“Don’t think much of your victory dance, Nymphadora,” said the voice of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. “It’s just as well you won’t need it.”
“Get lost, Oliver,” she said cheerily and then turned to face him. She’d always got on quite well with the fourth year Keeper, respecting his talent and his love of the game, but suddenly he was looking at her differently. There was a coldness in his eyes.
“Don’t go messing with Charlie’s head,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t need the hassle.”
“Who the hell are you to lecture me, Wood?” she exclaimed angrily. “A snotty, fourteen year old who thinks he’s Merlin because he can defend a hoop or three.”
“What’s going on here?” said Charlie, who was levitating his trunk towards them. He could see the furious expression on Tonks’ face and wondered what on earth Oliver had said.
“Nothing,” replied Tonks steadily. “Oliver was just trying to psych me out, that’s all. See you at the match, Wood. You won’t see me though because I’ll be the one flying so fast, I’ll be invisible!”
“Not if we stop you first,” said Fred who’d approached with George.
“What is this, a Weasley attack? OOOOH, I’m scared!” she mocked.
The Twins scowled but Charlie laughed. “Boys, we need to load up. Where’s Percy?”
“Probably in the library," said George.
“I’m coming,” shouted Percy. He strode towards them carrying a huge pile of books and a small box. Fred, unable to resist annoying his pompous brother, stuck his leg out and tripped him. Percy dropped the books and the box went flying. It opened and something small and brown fell out. Tonks caught it. She smiled; it was a rat, quite an old, sleepy looking rat. It opened an eye then tried to wriggle away from her hands.
“Don’t worry, little one, I won’t hurt you,” she crooned. “I’ll just put you...OW! He bit me. Godric, Percy, what’s wrong with him?”
“My rat, Scabbers. Give him here, he must be frightened,” said Percy.
“I caught him, the little git. He didn’t have to bite me,” she moaned. Her finger oozed with blood.
“Obviously doesn’t like you, Nymphadora,” said Fred.
“Shows great taste,” added George.
“Oy!” exclaimed Charlie. “Don’t be so rude. Help Percy with those books and then get in the carriage.” He looked at Tonks. “Can I have a quick word “ in private?” he asked, glaring at his brothers and Oliver.
She nodded and they stepped back behind a pillar.
“Sorry about that. Scabbers is usually so dopey we have to bite him to wake him up,” he joked.
“That’s all right, Charlie,” she said as she sucked her finger. “I’m...err...sorry about everything... you know...about us.”
He looked at her, a touch sadly. “Don’t apologise. You can’t help what you don’t feel.” He sighed then took her hand and sat down on the stone floor with her. “I want to know if you’re still going to see this Lupin guy over the holidays, because if you are, then... I’ll come with you...I’ll help.”
Tonks suddenly became very interested in her feet.
“I’ve already seen him,” she admitted. “That day I finished the Veritaserum.”
“You went alone,” he said in horror. “Tonks, anything could have happened! You know nothing about this bloke. Were you okay?”
“It wasn’t him,” she said bleakly.
He was silent for a while then put his hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to be right.”
“I haven’t exactly given up yet, Charlie, but.....” She stopped, deciding to change the subject. “You’d better go; your brothers are glaring again.”
Standing, they exchanged an awkward hug then Tonks gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She failed to see the scowl that Oliver was directing her way.
“See you next year, Charlie,” she said.
He got in the carriage and smiled. It wasn’t his usual beaming smile but it was a start.
As Aggie had predicted there were very few students staying at Hogwarts this Christmas. Tonks, for once, didn’t mind the solitude in the dorm. She was able to let her mind drift dangerously to that kiss with Remus and what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled away. It was, though, presumptuous of her to assume anything would have happened. He was at least thirty and she was only seventeen. Plus, she sighed to herself, she wasn’t the least bit beautiful, not like her mother. The only bit of Black in her were her dark eyes.
She looked in the mirror and began changing her hair and her face. Perhaps he liked blondes or brunettes, maybe he preferred girls with razor edge cheekbones or full dark red lips. She practised for a while then laughed. It was all very well her being able to change her appearance but it wasn’t permanent, she always reverted to the same girl after a while, the one with the pale heart shaped face and sweet smile. It had never bothered her before, but now she wondered if her ordinariness was the reason he’d stopped.
Tonks hadn’t lied to Aggie about studying; she just hadn’t mentioned that most of the books she would be looking at concerned Lycanthropy. There had been scant research for cures as most wizards considered werewolves beyond help, she was outraged to learn. The old superstitions were rife; they were to be shunned and forced to live on the very edges of society.
She wondered how on earth Remus managed to live but suspected he merely existed. She’d been shocked at how spare his body was, despite the muscular frame that was common to all werewolves. She blushed at the thought; she really must stop thinking about his body; it wasn’t helping with her project and was disturbing her sleep far too often for her liking. She turned back to her books. Wolfsbane was a very recent invention “ none of these books mentioned it but she was positive that Professor Snape would be able to help.
“In the library again, Miss Tonks,” said Professor Dumbledore.
She jumped up suddenly. “Oh, good afternoon, Professor, yes, it’s my Potions project. Bit of research.”
He picked up one of the books studied it. “Lycanthropy, Miss Tonks,” he said. “I never knew it was a particular interest of yours.” He looked at her through his half moon glasses. His blue eyes seemed especially piercing today.
“It’s...um...a recent interest because of my project. I want to brew Wolfsbane,” she said. She could feel herself blushing and seemed unable to disguise her rosy cheeks from the Headmaster.
“I see,” he said and then he put the book down and began to walk away.
“Professor Dumbledore,” she said suddenly. “You knew Sirius Black, didn’t you? You knew my cousin?”
He stopped walking but did not turn round. Achingly long seconds passed before he looked at her.
“Yes, Miss Tonks, I knew him well. At Hogwarts “ and later,” he said, sighing.
“Will you tell me about him?” she asked. “Please."
He sat down opposite her. “I have been waiting nearly seven years for you to come to me, Nymphadora. I have wondered at your lack of curiosity.”
“I’ve never been interested in his ‘guilt’, Professor, and that’s all anyone talks about. He’s been ripped off photographs in the Gryffindor common room,” she hesitated, knowing she shouldn’t have known that, “er...or so I’ve been told. It’s simple really, I’ve never thought he did what he’s been accused of and I’d like to know what the people who knew him, who really knew him, thought.”
“Why do you think he’s innocent?” he asked gently.
“Because I met him once, long ago and I met his friends. I met Lily and James, and Sirius loved them. Lily had just found out she was pregnant and Sirius was overjoyed...” She sniffed at the memory and was horrified to find tears spilling onto her parchment as she retold the story. “I cannot believe that man would ever have betrayed his friends.”
“And yet,” said Dumbledore sadly, “as I’m sure your mother has told you, he was their Secret-Keeper and only the Secret-Keeper could tell Voldemort where they were.”
“Could someone have forced it out of him? If the Cruciatus curse...”
Dumbledore put up his hand to stop her. “He was found after Peter Pettigrew’s death unharmed. The Cruciatus curse leaves marks, maybe not visible to the eye, but the scars are there. Besides,” he paused, wondering whether this was the right thing to say, “Sirius was one of the bravest young men I ever knew. They would not have been able to torture it out of him and leave him alive.”
“So, you think he was brave,” she said, her eyes alight with new hope.
“The Sirius Black I knew, Miss Tonks, was brave, loyal and reckless “ perhaps it’s a family trait,” he smiled directly at her, a touch sadly. “But war alters people and loyalties change. The best of people waver.”
She shook her head but said no more. Professor Dumbledore had been her last hope and she felt the tears sliding down her cheeks again. After a long while he got up from the table.
“Don’t work too long, Nymphadora,” he said softly. “The Christmas Feast is tomorrow and I can’t wait to see you do something festive with your hair.”
She had a restless night. Tortuous images of James, Lily, and Peter kept appearing whilst Sirius floated above them, laughing manically. He didn’t look how she remembered him. It wasn’t her Sirius, the grey eyes were dead, his face a waxy yellow and his hair was matted. This wasn’t the man she’d known. She woke up drenched in sweat and sobbing. She hadn’t closed the curtains properly and the moon shone through highlighting the empty beds around her. She wondered, as she did every time she saw the moon these days, how Remus was. She slept fitfully after that but had no more nightmares.
It was odd being alone in the dorm and being the only year seven Hufflepuff. Hearing some movement downstairs Tonks wandered down to the Hufflepuff common room to see two first years, a boy and a girl, and a third year lounging around on the cushions.
“Wotcher, guys!” she said, grinning at them. “Merry Christmas.”
They looked up at her. Tonks was something of a legend in Hufflepuff; she was good at Quidditch, bright but not big-headed. Continually falling over her own feet, she had no pretensions and was always the first to laugh at her ineptitude.
“You all had breakfast?” she asked. They nodded.
“There aren’t many people here,” piped up the third year, a girl Tonks thought might be called Rosy. “Two Gryffindors, four Ravenclaws and no Slytherins.”
“I’m glad there’s no Slytherins here,” replied one of the first years. “They’re all so mean.”
“Not all Slytherins are mean,” said Tonks sharply. “My mum was one.”
The girl blushed.
“The ones in our classes all seem to be,” added the boy. “And Professor Snape’s horrible.”
“Professor Snape’s fine,” said Tonks. “He appreciates hard work, that’s all. Hufflepuffs are good at hard work, aren’t we?”
She went to the door.
“Well, if you guys have eaten; I shall go to breakfast by myself,” she said.
“I think breakfast’s over, Tonks,” said the third year girl.
Tonks grinned. “That’s okay; I know where to get some food.”
When Tonks had first started at Hogwarts her dad, Ted, had given only two pieces of advice.
“If you’re ever hungry, Dora, then tickle the pear on the painting of the giant fruit bowl and you’ll get into the kitchens but,” he’d added, “make sure you’re nice to the house-elves. They probably still remember me and I can’t have you letting the Tonks name down!”
“Thanks, Dad,” she muttered to herself as she entered the kitchen.
All around her, little house-elves were busy preparing the Christmas Feast.
“Wotcher,” she said to them. A few turned round to greet her, and then turned back to carry on with their work.
“You’re all very busy. I thought you’d have less to do as there’s so few of us here.”
“We is still busy, Miss Tonks,” said her favourite house-elf, a female called Frinkle. “We is wanting to make this feast the best it can be.”
“Oh,” said Tonks. “Well, can I help?”
The house-elves stopped what they were doing and nudged each other. Then they all gave Frinkle a knowing look. Frinkle straightened her tea towel and walked up to Tonks.
“If you’ll be excusin’ us, miss, but we is not needin’ any of your help. You is our guest and we would not want to put you out,” she said quickly.
“Frinkle, really, it’s no trouble. Tell me what I can do.”
The other house-elves turned back to the table and began chopping things. Tonks was aware they were listening.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” began Frinkle, “but the last time you helped...”
Tonks chuckled, remembering that the last time she’d helped; she’d knocked over a vat of pumpkin juice that went over all over the floor. House-elves had been sliding all over the place and the food that night had been distinctly pumpkin flavoured.
“I take your point, Frinkle,” she said. “Can I get myself some breakfast, though? I’m absolutely famished!”
The Christmas meal, thanks to Frinkle’s intervention, was not pumpkin flavoured. It was wonderful. Because there were so few students staying, Professor Dumbledore declared that the students could sit up at the big table with the teachers. Tonks found herself sitting down one end with a Gryffindor on one side and the Muggle Studies professor on the other. As the Gryffindor, no doubt on Oliver’s instructions, refused to enter into a conversation with her, she found herself listening to the other conversations rather than chatting. Professor Quirrell was talking about a planned trip to Albania. His stutter was turning a simple story into a saga. She could see Professor Snape trying to stifle a yawn and she giggled.
He looked across at her.
“Your hair, Miss Tonks,” he said, cutting across Quirrell’s ongoing story.
“It’s Christmas, Professor Snape!” she exclaimed. “Besides, the Headmaster practically ordered me to do something festive.” She tossed the silver and gold curls out of her eyes and scowled at him.
“I was going to say, it’s very...inventive,” he said and almost smiled.
Tonks snorted. From Snape that was a compliment. She could hear Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout near her. Both appeared to be quite flushed in the face.
“Yes, he’s from Puddlemere United,” she said. “He’s coming here especially to see the match or rather Charlie Weasley, I should say.”
“The match on the sixth?” asked Professor Sprout. “The match against Hufflepuff?”
“That’s right,” said Professor McGonagall. “I hope your team can put up a decent fight this year, Pomona. I wouldn’t want Charlie to catch the Snitch too easily.”
“Well,” said Professor Sprout, a touch waspishly, “I’m sure my Chaser over there will do her best!”
“What?” said Tonks, not wishing to get drawn into an argument over Quidditch. “Oh, we’re all raring to go, Professor McGonagall. We won’t make it too easy for you.”
The Gryffindor boy next to her stiffened; the irony in Tonks’ voice, which Professor McGonagall had missed, had not escaped him. She noticed that Snape appeared to be enjoying the contretemps.
“Be nice to see a Hufflepuff victory, Miss Tonks,” he whispered.
“You’re only saying that, sir, because we have no chance of overtaking you after you thrashed us,” she said. “If we beat Gryffindor it would, more or less, hand you the Cup.”
“True,” he agreed. “But wouldn’t it be satisfying to beat a team of such stars?”
She shrugged. “If a scout’s coming to see us play, it might be nice to make a game of it.”
“No chance!” muttered the Gryffindor boy next to her but she ignored him.
On the morning of the sixth of January, Tonks woke up very early. It wasn’t really nerves, she told herself, she wasn’t too concerned about the match, after all what was a scout to her? But it would be nice for Charlie, she guessed, and that must be what the butterflies in her stomach were for.
She hadn’t really seen Charlie since he got back last Wednesday. Classes had barely begun and both teams were practising hard. Realising it was too early for breakfast she turned over in her bed and tried to get back to sleep.
She woke again when Aggie shook her.
“Wake up! Wake up, Tonks,” she cried. “It’s ten to ten and you must have breakfast.”
Washing and dressing quickly the two girls rushed into the Great Hall. The instant she entered, Tonks knew there was something wrong. The chatter had stopped and all eyes were on her. She could see the Hufflepuffs looking at her nervously and trying to hide something. The Gryffindors, however, looked cock-a-hoop. She studied the table “ none of the Gryffindor team was there. Frowning, she found a seat next to a first year at her table. The first year was trying to sit on something.
“Give,” she ordered imperiously.
The first year blushed and handed over a copy of The Daily Prophet.
“Tonks,” said her captain, a large florid boy called Digby Stone. “Don’t look at that. It’s nonsense.” He tried to grab the paper from her but she was too quick. She opened it up and gasped. There on the front cover was a large unflattering picture of her. The headline read:
by Rita Skeeter
“What the...?” she whispered then hurriedly scanned the article.
We spoke to the person that knows her best, her former boyfriend, Charlie Weasley, a future Professional Quidditch player. Obviously broken hearted, he refused to give us details of their split but could not deny that her family background loomed large in their relationship. He walked out of our interview, in distress, when pushed further. His parting remark, however, was a telling one.
“Nymphadora Tonks is masquerading as a Hufflepuff.”
She could not read anymore. She felt physically sick. There were pictures of her alongside the photograph of Sirius being dragged away to Azkaban. Then the proud face of her aunt mocked her.
“How could he?” Tonks cried. “How could he?”
“It’s rubbish, Tonks,” said Aggie firmly. “Tomorrow’s chip paper. Don’t read any more.”
“Do you believe this?” she said to Digby.
He looked her straight in the eye. “No.”
She gazed again at the paper then slowly screwed it into a ball. “Let’s get a move on. We have a Quidditch match to win.”
As a team, they strode to their dressing room. Her team mates, all boys, surrounded her, protecting her from the curious looks of the other students. But there would be no protection on the pitch. She entered the dressing room with her lip trembling, wondering whether she should play. Once in though, a sound changed her mind “ laughter. She could hear Charlie, next door, laughing that infectious chuckle with his team. A cold, hard fury built up inside her. She walked outside and, grabbing a copy of The Prophet from a nearby student, stormed into their dressing room.
“Hey, Tonks,” said Charlie cheerily. “Can’t you knock?”
How can he still be smiling? she thought, noticing that even his brothers and Oliver had stopped laughing. A new player, a girl Tonks thought might be called Angelina, looked at her then hastily looked away.
“Saw your interview, Weasley,” spat Tonks. “Tell me one thing, how much did they pay you to slag me off?”
“W-what?” said Charlie. “I never...Tonks...please, what are you talking about?”
“Your interview in The Prophet, Weasley. The one where you told the reporter how evil my family was and how I’d broken your heart.”
She threw the paper at him. Charlie picked it up and quickly scanned the article.
“Tonks, please,” he said in shock. “You have to believe me, I said nothing like this to her. This Skeeter woman came over to ask me about the Puddlemere United scout that’s coming here. I said we’d been out once or twice, but I swear I barely mentioned you.”
“Yeah, right,” she said scornfully. “What’s all this ‘Masquerading as a Hufflepuff’ crap then?”
Charlie sighed. “She was talking about the opposition, saying that Hufflepuff should be a pushover and I said it was unlikely because they had you playing.” He paused for breath, knowing this sounded lame. “I said you were as brave as any Gryffindor and it was a mystery why you were in Hufflepuff, that’s all.”
“That’s all! That’s all!” she screamed at him. “You think Gryffindors have the monopoly on bravery? You think Hufflepuff are really so useless we can only win if we import Gryffindors?”
She turned from him and noticed for the first time that the Twins and Wood were smirking. Slowly, she took some deep breaths. She’d said her piece and should now be getting back to her team but something stopped her.
“One more thing, how come every single student in Hogwarts seemed to be reading this article? The Prophet has never been that popular.”
She heard a sound coming from Fred and George and stared at them. Charlie looked at them.
“Boys,” he said in a quiet voice, “did you have anything to do with this?”
“Well,” said Fred, “we might have...err...”
“Duplicated a few copies,” finished George.
“And distributed them,” muttered Angelina, clearly uncomfortable with the story.
“Why?” said Charlie. He glanced across at Tonks whose face seemed to be set in stone.
“She hurt you, Charlie. You were playing like a constipated house-elf and...” explained Fred.
“We thought if we could unsettle Nymphadora...” said George, looking down at the ground, clearly embarrassed.
Charlie turned to Oliver. “You knew about this, didn’t you? That’s why you got me to go down to breakfast alone with you. It wasn’t to pick my brains at all, was it?”
Oliver nodded mutely.
“Not worthy of a Gryffindor, Oliver,” said Charlie dangerously, “and certainly not worthy of a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. You should be in Slytherin.”
The instant Tonks reacted; Charlie knew he’d made a dreadful mistake.
“My mother was a Slytherin, you arsehole!” she yelled at him. She looked at them all. “You’re going to need all you so-called bravery today; I’ll make sure of that.”
Back in the Hufflepuff dressing room, she turned to her team mates.
“Potter’s record,” she said. “I want it!”
Oblivious to the drama going on between the teams; the Professors entered their box. The Puddlemere United scout sat next to Professor McGonagall who was extolling the virtues of her team. Pomona Sprout raised her eyebrows and caught Filius Flitwick’s eye.
“Where’s Albus?” she asked him.
“He’ll be along later; he had a visitor,” replied Filius.
There was a loud roar as both teams walked onto the pitch. Tonks looked up to the Hufflepuffs decked in yellow and saluted them fiercely.
“You do realise, Oliver,” said Charlie to his captain, "Tonks is so fired up after your stunt that she’ll play out of her skin.”
“One person, Charlie,” replied Oliver, “she can’t do it all herself.”
“One very popular person and she has a loyal team behind her,” added Charlie. He flew off into the sky leaving Oliver to guard his hoops and feeling guiltier by the second.
“What do you mean by Potter’s record?” whispered Digby to Tonks.
“Fastest one hundred, Digby,” she replied. “James Potter set the Chaser record in 1977 against Hufflepuff. He scored one hundred points in thirty six minutes. I want to beat it!”
“Okay,” considered Digby. “How do we do this?”
“I need to be the one scoring goals. I need the Quaffle when I’m in front of goal and the others on our team can’t score. It has to be me alone...” She stopped, then carried on. “Digby, it’s an incredibly selfish record. It’s not really worthy of Hufflepuff but...”
He shrugged. “D’you know something, Tonks? I get a bit fed up with our ‘good losers’ tag. Let’s do this. I’ll tell the guys and we’ll protect you as much as we can.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”
After ten minutes of the match, Gryffindor knew they were up against a different Hufflepuff team. Spearheading the charge, Tonks rapidly scored three goals to put them thirty “ nil up. Lee Jordan, in the commentary box, could barely believe the action.
“Is this the same team that lost so disastrously to Slytherin?” he asked the crowd. “Come on, Gryffindor. Put up a fight!” he screamed as Tonks’ fourth goal flew into Oliver’s left hand hoop.
“Ready for more, Wood?” she yelled at him.
The Hufflepuffs in the stands were screaming for their team. Rejuvenated by their lead, they cried with joy as her fifth and sixth goals were scored by the twenty minute mark.
“Come on, Gryffindor,” yelled Lee. “Tonks is winning this single-handed.”
Lee looked down at his Quidditch through the Ages book which he kept by him in case he needed to find statistics in a hurry. There was something about the speed of these goals that caught his attention. He noticed, moreover, that the other Hufflepuff Chasers were deliberately not scoring when they had the chance. It was true that Tonks was playing out of her skin, but they were clearly giving her all the opportunities to score. Something clicked in his memory as the seventh goal was scored.
“Potter’s record!” he shouted to the crowd. “I do believe that Nymphadora Tonks is going for James Potter’s fastest one hundred. This could be a day for the record books.”
Two men entered the commentary box. Snape moved slightly to let his Headmaster in. The sight of Gryffindor being humbled and the thought that Potter’s record may soon be broken made him smirk. He watched as Tonks narrowly missed her eighth goal.
“Twenty five minutes, everyone,” said Lee. “She has eleven minutes left to claim the record.”
Wood tried to signal for a time-out but Charlie glared at him. He swooped down on the Keeper. “Don’t you dare, Wood. You and my brothers got us into this, I’ll try and get us out by catching the Snitch, but don’t you dare ruin her momentum!”
Professor McGonagall looked at the man who’d sat beside Professor Dumbledore.
“Merlin’s Beard!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here, Remus Lupin?”
Snape whipped his head round to see an old enemy the other side of Dumbledore.
“Lupin,” he snarled. “Why are you here?”
“He’s here as my guest, Severus,” said Professor Dumbledore calmly. “Oh well done, Nymphadora!” he said as she scored her eighth goal. Then he turned back to Snape. “I trust you will be courteous to my guest.”
Snape glared at Remus but nodded all the same. Both men focused on Tonks who had just sent the Quaffle once more into the hoops, straight under Wood’s legs this time. Professor McGonagall had her head in her hands whilst Professor Sprout was leaping up and down. She joined in the chants of the Hufflepuff Supporters.
“Tonks! Tonks! Tonks!” they cried.
“It’s the thirty minute mark, everybody,” said Lee. “Tonks has six minutes left. Can she do it? Can she score the final goal?”
Suddenly from nowhere the Snitch appeared. Benjy Hunt, the Hufflepuff Seeker, saw it in the corner of his eye. He knew he didn’t have the speed or class of Charlie Weasley. If he reacted now, Charlie would beat him to the catch. He turned his broom in the opposite direction and sped off quickly, praying that Charlie would follow.
“Has Hunt seen the Snitch?” shouted Lee. The crowd were in uproar. Would the Hufflepuff Seeker catch it before the great Charlie Weasley? Would he ruin Tonks’ chance of the record?
“No, it’s gone again,” said Lee, sighing. “Three minutes to go.”
Tonks, momentarily distracted by Benjy’s dive, retrieved the Quaffle from Digby and sped off again towards the Gryffindor goal. The Gryffindor players chased her, determined to keep the record in-house, but she was too quick for them; she was too quick for anyone today.
So like Sirius, thought Remus. His eyes sparkled as he watched her catch the Quaffle again. Fred and Georges’ Bludgers rained down on her but she flew like a hawk, whipping between them as her own Beaters batted them away. She looked up and saw, for a fleeting moment, the look of resignation on Wood’s face as she powered the Quaffle into the middle hoop.
“Sorry, James,” she yelled, and she lifted her face to the heavens, “but that one’s for Sirius!”
“Thirty four minutes,” shouted Lee. “It’s a new record! Nymphadora Tonks has scored the fastest one hundred Hogwarts has ever seen. She has smashed James Potter’s record by two minutes!”
“What are you thinking, Remus?” asked Dumbledore, as he noticed his former pupil laughing with exhilaration.
“I’m thinking how very like Sirius she is,” he said, without thinking, “although he couldn’t fly like her.” He heard all the Professors gasp and saw Snape’s eyes boring into him.
“You can’t deny her courage,” he said boldly. “Even James would have found Tonks hard to beat today.”
Snape looked at him strangely, Remus realised he’d used her nickname and hastily tore his eyes away to watch, instead, her celebrations on the pitch.
“You don’t think he’d have been annoyed to see his record go?” said Dumbledore.
“Of course not,” replied Remus. “He’d have been cheering her all the way.”
“Before getting on his own broomstick to try and recapture it!” said Professor McGonagall wryly.
Remus grinned. “Yes, he would have wanted it back but he wouldn’t begrudge Miss Tonks her moment.”
Digby called a time out so that she could receive the applause from her House. The crowd stood to clap the new record holder and one by one, under Charlie’s urgings, the Gryffindors stood to cheer her. Tonks ripped off her helmet. It was a gesture she usually did at the end of every match to show her House her canary yellow hair.
But this time it was different. She stopped in front of the Gryffindor stand. This is for the Gryffindor Black, she thought, as she screwed her face up and turned her hair his colour. It fell in waves to her shoulders and she swept it off her face, arrogantly. Remus gasped, as did Snape. She did a speedy lap of honour and then flew over to the commentary box to see Professor Sprout. As she approached, she faltered.
Good Godric! she thought, What on earth is Remus doing here?
Tonks shuddered to a halt. She noticed he was smiling at her, cheering her. She grinned back and, taking both hands off her broom, she raised her arms up high.
Distracted by his smile, by the sheer joy she was feeling at seeing him again, she missed the sound of the Bludger heading towards her. She didn’t hear it whizzing behind her but she felt its force as it knocked her off and she fell down, down, down towards the earth.