Chapter 71 - Winter’s End.

It’s not long after the Ball, and delivering the venom to the Greengrass Family, that I’m ending my shift of guarding Harry. This shift was with Tonks, and I’m not surprised to find nothing is happening at all.

“What do you even do when you’re not here, or doing some other Order business? I doubt, very much so, you’re getting anything out of school anymore.” Tonks asks conversationally, and I raise a brow.

Bluntness might be her norm, but she doesn’t usually ask about me - she seems to prefer to ask about tangential things to me, like duelling, defence or random historical battles which she heard about and wants the full run-down. Clearly interested in my hobbies - but not really in me, per say.

Seeing as the guards all know who I am - I see no issues in telling her.

“I train for the next Duelling tournament. This year, I’m fairly sure all of the top 25 will come to prove who’s really the best. Given that I have a Time Turner for my NEWTs - a very restricted one at that - I’m pretty near my physical 17th birthday at this point. Every one of my electives is basically advanced projects and self study, or helping the teacher prove a point. My main courses are all refining my technique with common magic, so I can more adeptly see how others do things, and make counters for them. Aside from that, I do about three hours of extreme physical exercise every day. I usually mix this with duelling practice and advanced spells, so I can work on duelling techniques, when there are many skilled opponents in a large arena with many obstacles. Once per week, I review my aims, revise my schedule and then figure out how I need to spend my time.” I explain, then sigh. “Really, sleeping around six hours isn’t enough, thankfully, I discovered a technique which requires me to meditate. It replaces sleep effectively, and allows me to work on theory or crunch arithmetic equations in my head for spell creations and such which I need to do. I can also conceptualise and figure out the most effective methods to deal with any given issues I see coming up. So really, I don’t sleep. I work for 36 hours or so a day, every day. I need to be ready for the War, and I’ve known I’d need to be ready since before I started Hogwarts.” I add, then give her a look. She’s clearly surprised.

“How could a kid, not even 11 years old, know that, and have the discipline to actually focus on getting ready?” She asks, clearly aghast.

“I had severe spell damage around the age of four. I didn’t remember anything about the time before I woke up, in the 4 year old body, but I never understood why other children couldn’t focus. I was - and am - considered to be the best student who has ever attended my schools, on the Muggle side. I understood mathematics, science and advanced literary things as early as my second year of schooling, and by the time I was going to Hogwarts, I was doing maths and science at a level approximately equal to someone who is ready to graduate from muggle primary education. I didn’t have any friends. No one else was like me - studious, quiet, hard working and calm. My mental damage was healed, but the effects remain. I don’t rise to high emotion easily, and frankly I prefer studying, practising and getting ready for whatever may come my way more than I like socialisation. I would rather make sure people I care about survive, than I would talk with them about their recent meals and the quality of the weather.” I explain, then, I nod a bit heavily as I consider what else to tell her. “The way I knew I had to get ready for a war, was my dreams from before I woke up, not knowing who, where or what I was, were somewhat prophetic, and have so far been absolutely true. It told me who the strongest mage alive was - Albus Dumbledore. It told me Harry Potter could be his equal. It told me Lord Voldemort was coming. It told me I could be pivotal in the war, and it told me, in short, that it wouldn’t end there. There’s worse, and I need to be ready for when it comes. Be it in three, five, or fifty years. I will not stop preparing until I’ve become something so massive that evil won’t think about trying anything until I’m dead and buried. That’s my goal. I’m only part-way there. Most people probably can’t beat me in direct combat, outside of Dumbledore or a few others, but I need to be better than them. The implication is that Dumbledore would be destroyed by the coming storm. I cannot be. If you were my age, this is the point I’d direct your learning to help you get the most mana and control over your mana as you possibly can. Still, I can direct you to control, maximising the damage of your spells, and learning new spells in the types you’re already good at.” I huff, then roll my eyes. “I honestly think it was my family patron who warned me, considering how much he’s helped me otherwise.” I conclude, and look back to her as we stop, outside the wards.

Her eyes are almost the size of a house-elves.

“How did you get that much trauma as a four year old child? And a prophetic vision? I know the divinity of the world interferes with our world sometimes, but to the level you’re describing isn’t really seen, outside of something like the Oracle of Delphi, or someone like the High Priest of Odin. I’ve not heard of any grand prophecies from any of those sources, so that’s really suspect, but also concerning. I can’t really determine if it was to scare you into becoming what you are, or if it was a genuine warning, which means you did need to become what you are. Either way - not very comforting to consider. Of course, there’s more things I have questions about here, but I think those are the more important things. Seriously, it’s not normal.” She grumbles, and I give a nod. I tilt my head, before shrugging.

“Maybe we should just continue this at your place? My house isn’t going to let you through the wards unless I mess with them for a few minutes, and I admit to being curious how you live. Not like Moody or Shacklebolt would invite me over for a cuppa, though I am curious what various people of various professions live like. An Auror - even one recently graduated like you - would be not only interesting, but also better company than others I could look into.” I quip, and merely get a nod.

“Can you handle Side-along apparition?” She asks, and I give a mild sound of agreement. “Good!” She chirps, grabbing my arm and taking me off with a sharp crack.

Tonk’s house, I find when my vision clears from the abrupt teleportation, is much neater than I thought it would be.

Definitely a flat, a glance out the windows tells me we’re in London, downtown, but not in Diagon. Muggle stuff is very obvious outside. I nod, and glance around the house, more fully taking it in.

Nice, marble counters, a good leather couch, oak cabinets, a television, coffee table… she seems to have combined the living and dining area, though there’s clearly room for both. The seating arrangement is a bit odd, which I guess is the reason. And her coffee table - very nice - is huge. Another thing indicating she probably eats there, in front of the television.

Trash isn’t full, either, from where it sits next to the counters. No dishes in the sink, nothing on the counters, other than what is clearly her coffee mug. It’s right next to the coffee machine.

The fridge is a nice, very new looking model, and the other appliances are the same. This is clearly an upscale apartment. She has a short hall, with three doors. One at the end, and one on each side.

“Bedroom on the left for guests, restroom on the right, and my room on the end there. Aurors pay well enough to afford a good place - and a good diet.” She comments, watching me take in the place.

“Cleaner than I thought it might be.” I offer, and get a satisfied smirk in response, so I continue. “One would think as a bachelorette, recently out of school, you’d be a bit messier.” I conclude, and her smirk grows, before she deigns to answer after a moment of making me suffer.

“Yes, of course it is. In Auror training, you stay in a shared, four person and very small home. The people who aren’t clean and orderly are booted, because they can’t be trusted to keep track of stuff, like important files. Considering how much work comes home with us, that’d be a disaster.” She informs me. I look at her in mild shock.

“That’s brutal.” I mutter, then flop onto the couch, and Tonks summons some Butterbeer from the Fridge. I squint, realising this is a higher alcohol content than normal Butterbeer, the kind of things people who are a good bit older than me drink, while the kids drink the watered down version. It’d be like saying this is an alcoholic Root Beer, basically. 12% alcoholic, if I remember right, and I’m pretty sure I do. She pours us large, classic pub style glasses full, then hands one to me.

I raise an eyebrow, and then shrug.

“Before I drink, I’ll tell you a number of the side effects from the mental damage - which my mind healer has no clue about. I tell you so you don’t worry about a minor having alcohol, and because no one will believe you if you tell them. Dumbledore does know, though, and could confirm for you if you have trouble believing me.” I explain, then take a sip.

I can’t taste the alcohol at all, it's perfect.

She’ll be drunk and passed out on the table before I’m drunk, anyways. Her con of 220 is impressive, but mine is nearly 500. And I’m resistant to poisons, and that includes alcohol.

“First, was it damaged enough that my soul fractured, and I remembered a lot of things from my life, or I should say one of them, previous to this one. A good number of skills. I was an elf, and a very good Assassin. I can write, speak and read the full elven alphabet. I was very, very old when I died. This is part of how I know how to train my body. Before you freak out, no, I was not a grandmother of assassins. I stopped doing that after I was around two-hundred. I lived for many centuries afterwards, and was mostly a scholar, searching for ways to stop things from destroying what little virtuous things I could find in the world. No, I won’t explain what changed my mind. It is not a happy memory.” I give the very short version, not explaining my interest in magic. “Mind, this life was so far in the past - or perhaps on a different plane - because none of the lands look at all like what I remember them to look like, though I did find some ruins and things which look Elven when I went to Norway recently, nothing is conclusive how much time - or distance - I’ve been kicked across. I’m old enough to be Dumbledore’s Grandmother's grandmother, though. I was very good at my job, and I was well loved. I served the government and the people in my role for many, many years. I was also a seamstress, and some of the skills translated, though it isn’t as easy as it used to be. I don’t have the muscle memory in this life, so I can do a lot of the patterns, but it takes longer. I can prove that, too. Just take me an hour or two without magic.” I conclude, then give her a smile, before adding in Elvish “While you won’t understand this, I hope it proves my point. I’m sorry you don’t understand the language.” Then I smile. She nods, shakily.

“That’s pretty unbelievable. I assume Dumbledore has proof from you, though?”

“Yes. He’s seen me do - and handle things - like no kid ever could. When I was eleven I was hunting magical pests in the castle, and by last year, I was helping him kill local major threats, like a Dragon. You can ask him about that. I think he still has the hide, along with the majority of the things books and other crap which I didn’t want. Not my place to want anything that beastie had, really. Just cleaning up a mess which was a very looming issue, and no one could really do it alone.” I grunted, and she gave another shaky nod.

“And the vision?”

“That was the interesting thing! See, the thing about my soul, apparently, is the gods can’t help but to fuck with me. In my last life, I distinctly remember three, very evil gods, and a dozen or more demigods trying to break into the mortal realm to claim them as their eternal domain and gain the eternal worship of every mortal alive. They failed, obviously, but yea. I was there. So when I remembered my past life, and I got the vague impressions that ‘things would be hard, even for someone of my skill’ from the universe, or the god who kicked my memories back to me, I knew they weren’t done messing with me yet. So, here I am. Ready to stop some god or force of nature or whatever is here to kill us all. The issue, of course, is my body was pathetic at four years old, and you can’t really start training anything until about eight to ten years of age. So I focused on learning the maths and scientific findings of the world - most of it was exactly as I remembered, so I blew through school, after I mastered reading and writing English. But yea, usually gods saying ‘you’re going to live in an interesting, difficult, and trying time’ you take that to mean ‘bring your best or you won’t walk out of the field’.” I explain then I shrug. “But the main reason I’m telling you any of this is how comfortable you allow me to be. You remind me of a few of my adopted children - and others who I loved greatly in my last life. Your personality is vibrant and lively. You’re not the most graceful of ducklings, but that’s endearing rather than annoying to me. You have a wonderful gift which people would abuse, but you use it with only the best intentions, and of course, you are very, very skilled. Basically, everything I look for in a friend. We’re very compatible. I can’t say the same for Moody or Shacklebolt and myself. Moody is too jaded and Shacklebolt thinks I’m some kind of monster in human form. One on his side, but still, a Monster. Not a person.” I sigh sadly, then drink deeply of my Butterbeer, then refill it. “This is a lonely life I live. I can’t tell almost anyone who or what I am because who would want to be friends with someone older than the country they live in, who ‘stole’ the body of a four year old after their mind and soul were blasted?” I snort, and sadly stare at my drink.

“Well, I think you’re great too!” She cheers happily. “First, well, it’s obvious to me you had to have gone through a lot - just imagining some monster thing calling itself a god coming in from another plane of existence - well I know about the Devils and Angels and stuff, standard debriefing for Aurors. We have to deal with any breaches of that sort. A powerful one of those coming through and declaring itself supreme overlord? Dealing with that, like, fifteen times? That’s super cool! And a Scholar! You must know so much which has been forgotten! Especially about the Elves! They were the best at all kinds of magic, and you probably know the basis - or even things they lost but was better than what they had! It’s cool! Then there’s the fact you went from bad person to good person and that just adds to your ‘bad girl’ vibes, which is SUPER attractive, let me tell you. All kinds of guys - and even a few girls - give me eyes ‘cuz of how ‘rebellious’ and ‘bad’ I am.” She snorts. “But you’re the real deal - the thing all bad girls like me aspire to. The depression stuff though - has to go. We only have happiness and fun in the House of Tonks!” She cheers again and takes a long pull of her Butterbeer.

This is her third. I’m just capping off my second, at this point.

“Kind of you to say that, but really, no need to flatter me. It was quite odd, getting a childhood for once. I didn’t really get one last time, and having proper parents who care about me is a very interesting experience.” I give her a look as I explain that, and she gives me one of those too-sad smiles, which say she feels bad that I have to deal with that, too. Memories of horrible parents and the ‘good’ ones I had in this life, which is highly debatable considering how I came ‘in possession’ of this body.

“At least your life has been productive. Mine isn’t nearly as cool as yours. I patrol a street in Diagon, write a few reports and file whatever things I handed out - tickets, fines, an arrest on a good day. All boring. No one needs - or probably doesn’t trust me - with my actual sub-departments work.” She offers an indelicate snort. “Infiltration.” then rolls her eyes. “Beyond that, I don’t have a mastery, you have three. I’m one of the best Aurors at duelling, but that’s ‘cuz of Mad Eye, not me. Then there’s the fact that you’re probably the strongest mage outside of Dumbledore who anyone in the Order knows.” When I give her a blink of questioning surprise, she suddenly laughs, slapping the table. “Oh! You didn’t know? Mad Eye and Shacklebolt and I have a set of three-way notebooks where we write about things you mention - very casually at that - which we have no idea about the meaning of when we discuss spells and tactics with you. The icosahedral method of entrapment? No records of it anywhere. No one has ever heard of it in the Aurors, Hit Wizards, or even abroad.” She snorts, and I blink at her again. She laughs, again. “You being a super assassin with a billion years makes this more palatable.” She chuckles, and I sigh.

“I can explain all of that stuff if you don’t know what they mean. What haven't you figured out yet? I got all of the stuff I mentioned from this life. There are records - in Hogwarts if nowhere else - which I can get you.” I explain. She nods, and a small journal comes out of a satchel, and I lean over to read as she opens it.

There are seven messages - in red - which fade to black as we stare at the page. Mostly asking if she’s alright and “What crackbrained ideas did she spout this time?” is the most recent question. Tonks summons a pen, and replies with a long list of terms - Idosine’s Greater Spell Formula and the Applications, all the way to The Blanche - which is a formation four people can use to take out a much larger force or equally skilled and armed opponents.

Basically, ambush with big AoE’s before they know what’s happening, use one of your members as bait, and when they turn to face the singular foe, blow them up. It’s very basic guerrilla warfare!

Idosine’s is a much more complex topic, so I pull a notepad out of my inventory, and begin writing all the explanations out for her, and which books to find the answers in, and where she might find those books. Then I write out reference novels in case she isn’t equally skilled as I am with Arithmetic - or Historical - knowledge. Those books I recommend might as well be dictionaries in their fields, not really light reading, and a good bit of it will look like gibberish, without the supplemental stuff. Then I write out, on the next page, after the first page of notes on the first idea, a very truncated version of what it is, then on the third page, draw a diagram to show it off.

I do this for all twenty-two items, then I snatch her notebook out of her hands - getting a squawk of impressed protest - she’s been watching me work about as fast as she can read what I write - and then flip through the book, repeating this for all the other eighty-two remaining mysteries I put out for her and the others.

I’m incredibly surprised Moody hasn’t heard of Grindwell’s Greater Magics, though. They’re staple combat magic ideals! Or they were, back in 1552, when it was written. Of course, it was supplanted, but the ideas there are much more complex, and cover much, much more completely the general things people need to know and do in most situations. The only reason they were replaced was the Reductor and Stunner were invented, which revolutionised combat.

Moody uses neither, so this should be a staple for him!

Further, there was no sign he didn’t understand when I brought it up at the beginning of break! All of his future questions were based on terms and ideology which he would understand if he knew about Grindwell. What an annoying shame.

After the Twenty-Fifth thing was handwritten, I wandlessly force the pen I pulled out to write the rest for me, not caring anymore.

Tonks gasps, almost leaping out of her chair and pointing dramatically at my self-operating pen.

“You… you have a paperwork spell?!” She yells at me. I blink and nod.

“I found it in my first year. It is ‘khud likho’, a spell from India. There are other variations, but this one literally just does things based on what you know, as though you wrote it. Even in your hand. A lot of western versions of the spell look like it was written by a typewriter, not a human hand, and professors will decline the work if it’s not in your hand.” I explain casually. She yells in triumph, summoning an absolutely massive pile of missives, a VERY official looking quill and casts the spell on the quill, and it begins doing her, at least, 100 pages of paperwork. I slowly blink at the pile.

“Can I marry you?” She asks, her voice obscenely sincere for such a sudden question. “For that alone, I’ll do it. You have no idea how much I love you right now.” She continues, and I quietly cast an alcohol removing charm on her glass, and then sip my own, still full of the feel good juice.

“No.” I say, putting the glass down. “I would consider it if you took me on at least twenty dates, and had been in a serious relationship with me for a year, however. These are my minimum requirements. I would much prefer at least two years, and closer to one-hundred dates, but this lifespan will have to do with less proper time to get to know you.” I allow, giving her a look. She nods gleefully.

GLEEFULLY.

“I’ll see you in three days! We’re going to go out to my favourite barbeque and then we’ll catch a movie!” She declares, and I shrug my agreement.

She is very forward, and I find that is much preferable to the normal footsie which kids my age play. I’ll be of-age in a few months, and frankly, I’m already an adult in every way which matters. Even legally. Emancipation, and all. A shame, though, I hadn’t put a boy between the two girls I’ve dated now. I really do wish there was SOME guy around who wasn’t terrified of me, and who wasn’t a total creep.

Then I looked at Tonks. A horrible idea coming to mind.

“What are the limits of your Metamorphmagus powers?” I ask.

“As long as it’s human, within fifteen or so centimetres of my height and weighs about as much as I do - maybe one stone or so in difference - is fine.” She replies.

“No limits?”

“None.”

“You can be a guy one day, a girl the next and neither the third day?” I ask to confirm, and she gives me a savage smile as suddenly her face is extremely masculine, she - he? Grows at least eight centimetres, and their shoulders broaden, as does their chest, even as their breasts vanish, and…

That’s definitely a guy sitting across from me.

“You can hold that forever?” I ask.

He nods. “I could, though I don’t like this form so much. I prefer a more androgenous or female shapes, it’s what I was born with, though for Muggle dating, probably the best if I go as a guy. Lots of fun tricks I can pull, in this form.” He chuckles, then reverts to female form - the normal one I work with - with the more feminine shape and curves - and then she chuckles. “Once, I spent a week in that form. We were in Berlin, for Auror training, and the communal baths were full of hunks.” She nods sagely, and it’s suddenly my turn to gape.

“You use your power, your very, very rare power, to sneak into the men’s bath, and sneak peeks?” I ask, feeling impressed and shocked she has the courage to do that.

“Of course! I needed to see everything so I could mimic it with my powers! I have a few hundred forms I can take from that alone! And I can customise all of them as I see fit! It’s divine! Also, good for a number of patrols in seedier parts of Diagon - and especially for Knockturn. Being a big guy who is muscle bound and scowling will get a LOT less attention in Diagon than a pretty little thing like myself!” She cackles, and I nod.

That makes sense, but still.

“You will tell me everything, and you will not hold back. I must - must know more about the escapades of Tonks - Senior Pervert.” I declare, getting a gleeful cackle in response, as I refill my glass, and she dives into her tale, the sound of pen and quill filling in pages the only other sound.

.*****.

The next day, I bid Tonks goodbye and headed out the Ministry for my weekly meeting, as the head of house Hawthorne. It, at first, looks like any other meeting.

We get a few minor political bills run around the room, everyone raises at least three issues with the various bills, we go to lunch, come back and then hold the votes.

The end of the meeting, however, is not at all what I expected.

“The final proposal is something which we are putting into motion, but will be voted upon in a few months, and then enacted over the summer break. This is a motion to end the Minister of Magics seat early, as we are heading into dark times.” Dumbledore announces, getting some murmurs of appreciation from all sides. Then, as is normal, papers appear before us. I glance at mine, and nod. About thirty pages, with many proofs and, at the end of the first page, a note to send an owl for a copy of the memories of the events recorded in the documents. There is an offer that any memories pertaining to this will be unaltered, and a magical contract can be signed to prove that.

Basically, this is a forced movement. We’re kicking Fudge out, but we have to give him three months to improve what he’s doing as the head of state. If you don’t follow through, when the evidence is this stacked, then the Druidic houses can - and will - kick you out and set you back to the state of merely a magical house.

From the terrified glances from the papers to my seat, everyone knows it. Bones is also getting such a look.

I smirk.

“I second this motion.” I call out, and a few others also back it. Sirius, Amelia and Uriel all stand for it as well, all but confirming the Druidic houses knew of this - and agree it’s needed.

No one would dare vote against this, now.

The question of - why not do this sooner - is mostly due to the fact there was a chance Fudge would step-down of his own free will, and retain his honour. By us initiating this, his career - in any nation in the ICW - will be ruined forever. He’ll not be allowed any jobs in any Ministry or in the ICW, nor in any careers sanctioned by those bodies. Healers, for example.

The only job he can do is work under an independent business, or he can become a Curse Breaker for Gringotts. Really, that’s like saying “He can choose to move to China and live as a Muggle, live off of barely enough to feed himself, or he can choose to die in a crypt.” because there is no way he’d survive the entry exam for the Gringotts Curse breaker positions, and Voldemort will kill him if he stays in the magical world as anything less.

But we all know he’ll never go full Muggle.

Desperate times, however, call for the needs of the many over the needs of the few. He will be removed, his life and family likely ruined, but with this, we may yet save hundreds of families from a much worse fate.

The discussion of this bill has us go over - and we break for dinner before agreeing to meet in a few months to finalise this with a vote.

We’ll probably talk about it every week until that vote.

I sigh, and lean back.

Three months to overcome the wall of evidence, three months after that to train someone to take the reins from him, and then a week at most to hide so well that not even Voldemort can find him.

He has a timeline - and I can only hope he’ll make it. Even if he is useless and corrupt. His death would be useless.

.*****.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this date?” I ask Tonks - I’m all dolled up and ready to go - but it’s still up to her. She gives me a heated glare, and then a nod.

“I told you I’d take you on a date, and I always follow through! Even if I am drunk! If it’s a good one, I might be tempted to take you on another, though that remains to be seen!” She declares, and I give her a small, secretive smile.

“At least you can cheat by getting ready. As I remember it, you promised to go as a guy. I’m holding you to that.” I declare, before flopping onto her couch and twiddling my hair.

She stomps into her room, and comes out five minutes later as a taller man. Something like a well build runner. His features are distinctly Germanic in form, and incredibly handsome. I squint at him.

“Did you steal the form of s model?” I ask, and he laughs, a deep resonating sound which is entirely too pleasant to be natural.

This is Grade A Hacking for my hormones. The cheating is too potent, and I find myself smiling slightly, irrespective of my confused state.

“This was a guy who was a model, but I changed up his jawline, eyebrows and hair colour. I also messed with the Cheekbones, trying to make the perfect face of a Germanic gentleman. I take it, I succeeded?” He asks with that deep resonant voice, I turn my smile into a glare.

“Of course you did. You know exactly what I like in the looks department, I’ve told you about it at least twice while we were on watch together. You’re cheating and it’s not fair. But, at least I can make everyone who sees us together jealous.” I conclude with a grin, before stalking into the bathroom and changing the dress and shoes I’m wearing for a setup which matches his wear better. It takes me all of two minutes. Got to love magic.

I end up in a form fitting black dress with half-sleeves, which loosens at the waist, flaring out slightly, and with a slit from the knee down. I’m also in four-inch black heels. I saunter over and grab Tonks’ arm, leaning into his very nice suit with a sigh.

“Where did you even get the suit, anyways?” I ask, and Tonks, after giving me an appreciative look, smiles.

“It was something I picked up while in infiltration training. It was my specialty in the Auror corps. Every  guy got three suits, every girl got three dresses. I got both, obviously. They’re for infiltrating Muggle operations which have illegal ties to the magical world. This one is the ‘nice but not too expensive’ suit, meant for upper class restaurants, bars, things like that. Something someone who is rich would wear, but not too fancy. It’ll draw eyes, but it won’t be entirely out of place. Your dress, on the other hand…” he trails, and I huff in annoyance.

“Yes, I made this myself. It’s a black dress with fine, genuine gold thread adding highlights to all the right places. I made it for me specifically, so I made sure it was perfect. Really, the value of this is less than your suit, and I would wear this to a number of events. You said we were going to your favourite Barbeque place, right? If I remember right, that’s a very expensive place! I’m not going to dress in a casual Sunday dress which, while nice, isn’t too fancy. Not while you go in a suit!” I tell him, smacking his arm. I get a purely Tonks grin in response.

“That’s fine and all, but I’m pretty sure if you sold that, you’d make more out of the dress than the cost of my suit.” He retorts, and I roll my eyes.

“Maybe, but that’s because it’s a very finely done dress, with genuine gold threadwork. Most people - let alone machines - can do dresses with actual gold thread. It’s pretty hard.” I grumble, poking him in the side.

“Well, that’s fine and all, but I hope you’re able to hold your wine, because the place we’re going is known for serving by the bottle.” He says, giving me a cocky grin. “Be a shame if you spill anything on that fine dress.” He concludes, and I roll my eyes.

“A bigger shame if you tried to apparate home and left your foot and those shoes behind. You have no idea how much those probably cost” I declare, looking at the very nice designer shoes. They look like shoes which cost as much as the average suit.

I wonder if the Ministry just makes magical copies of the real things, or if they buy them for their infiltration experts. The Aurors are basically the special forces, and have a lot of responsibility as a result.

Probably an equally large amount of funding, to be honest.

“Well, I suppose. Does your family have any houses close to the Palace?” Tonks asks a bit sheepishly, and I give a short nod.

“It was a clan home, from back when we had a Squib member of the family who served the Royal family just over a hundred years ago. It’s north, a ten minute car-ride from the palace. I suppose we can return there after the night out. Is this far from the Palace?” I ask, glancing out at the window, and scanning the distance. Noticing, for the first time, the Thames is just visible through two high-rises next to us, on the north end of the building.

“Yes, I’m most of the city away - I live in the eastern end, on the river. Not very close to the palace at all. Over an hour in the car, actually.” He responds, and I give a nod.

Especially on a Wednesday, when we’re going out before rush hour, and probably won’t be done until it’s been going for a while. Dinner at fancy places usually takes an hour or two, and if we take our time, it could be well into the evening. Traffic in central London after 5pm until well into the night is horrible. If we drink and try to apparate back here, well, good chance of losing something or the other.

“My place it is. I’ll just hire a car for us, and have a house-elf clean the place for our arrival.” I tell him, before letting go of his arm and stepping off to call an elf, and giving it clear instructions - and permission to ask for help from the others if needed. I tell them it’ll be two or three hours until we’re expected.

With a bow, the House Elf - Tay - goes off to do as ordered, and we leave, for our reservation.

.*****.

The place is what you would expect from a very upscale ‘Barbeque’. Really, it’s a steakhouse, but I doubt Tonks really cares to examine the exact differences. This place specialises in steaks, and the finer craft of Steak. Not the wider variety of Barbeque, still, the Menu is expansive, and covers things I’m not used to seeing - or just haven’t tried yet, in this body.

Like the Grilled Octopus, for example. Tonks assures me it is quite good, so we agree on that for a starter, and then order a bottle of Pinot Noir, Chardonnay & Pinot Meunier, Taittinger Rosé. Which is a very good wine - recommended by our server when we express that we’re both going with some kind of Ribeye, most likely.

“It’s something the chef highly recommends for the larger steaks, like the Ribeye. I agree, frankly, with his assessment. He’s never wrong.” The waiter assures us, and I give a polite nod, fold my menu and consider the backside, where the side dishes wait.

He understands, and bows, before quietly going off to place the order for our starter, and get our wine.

By the time he’s back, we’ve settled on our meal choices.

“I’ll be having the Ribeye Foie Gras, with a Homemade Black Truffle Gnocchi on the side.” I explain, getting nods as he jots down the notes. “I’ll take the steak in the chef’s preferred level of rarity, I trust his expertise, frankly, and want to see what he can do with a bit of a free hand on the meal.” I express, trying to convey a bit of compliment and challenge with the statement. Usually high end chefs react well to someone giving them free reign, and asking for their best.

Especially in places like this, where most of the patrons are ordering well done slabs of meat, not leaving any of the proper juices or flavour in the meat. Most people at this level cringe when they get such orders. I can count no less than three, from where I sit.

Tonks, then, opens his mouth to order, as the Waiter turns to him.

“I’m having the Tira de Ancho, with the Mashed Potatoes on the side. Can we also get some grilled vegetables between us? Just one portion for us to split.” He completes the order, and I shoot him a smile - not knowing that was really an option. He gives me a reciprocal smile, before completing, “Of course, my steak should be rare, almost medium. I like a bit of blood, but not too much.” And with a final confirmation, the waiter bows, and sets off for the kitchen, and we sip our first glasses of wine for the evening, waiting for the Octopus.

“You never did tell me how you found this place.” I start the conversation, and Tonks offers a light chuckle.

“Me and the lads from the department - Moody’s friends and a few other Senior Aurors come here a couple of times a month to relax with their fellows. I got dragged along with Moody when he came here whenever I was training with him and it came up. He’d subtly try to poison my drinks or do other things and I had to stop him, obviously. Apparently holding off Moody for a year whenever we came impressed some of them, and I come over whenever they come for a meal here.” He explains, and I give him a very fond smile.

“A good story! I wonder why they picked this place though. You’d think people in your line of work would prefer something a bit more informal?”

“Oh, not at all! Most of the upper-echelons are really formal and love the way this place feels. Fancy, formal and exclusive, but not with too much of that superiority or normal trouble places like this can have, with spoiled brats. You’ll notice most of the clientele is in their middle-years, or older. Almost no-one below thirty ever comes here, and if they do, they’re more like us. Quiet couples or people more mature than they have any right to be.” He concludes, and I nod again.

I had thought it was odd. A lot of the time, nicer places like this have a bunch of rich kids who want to get away from their houses and the formal meals with their stuffy parents and personal chefs. They can throw fits - which is obviously not very good for business, but the place makes as much money in vastly overcharging those kids for scratching the private-rooms table as they do from ten normal people having meals. This place has none of that, it’s just… refreshing.

“It is odd, I guess. We’re definitely the youngest people here.” I comment, getting a grin and nod in response, the waiter coming out with our starter, and quickly we lose ourselves in eating, and making small talk about the food.

The next hour and a half are very comfortable and generally nice, just talking about the food, the atmosphere, and how good the place is in service in general. A very comfortable, nice first date.

As it draws to a close, I make a short call on the phone I’d picked up to keep in contact with my muggle relatives, for a private driving company to pick us up, and get us to my London townhouse, as Tonks is rather flushed with her drink, and I’m frankly not sure I know her apartment well enough to apparate us there, and having never been to the townhouse, I can’t exactly take us there myself.

And I’m not going to take them home, in case any of my family is there. It’d be a disaster, and I’m not looking forward to explaining who this is, why I’m bringing them home and other such things. They know I don’t always come home every night. I often spend a night in a friend's house, or I’m awake all night doing work for the Order. They just know I’m ‘working’ - and while I do have Harry Duty tonight in a couple hours, I can get Tonks settled, do a little meditation and then set out, completing the nights meditation after, before seeing them off to work, as is proper.

I doubt they’ll even notice, really, with how much they’ve had to drink.

It’s not 20 minutes later we’re pulling up to the townhouse. Traffic had been good to us, and the driver was very good and a bit lucky with the lights, so the ride had been smooth - if a bit spendy - and we’re stepping out.

My first view of the townhouse leaves me impressed. It’s clearly a nice family home - a bit large - but not anything like a manor. I know the floorplan. Entry, office on the right, reception hall right ahead. Stairs on the left to the bedrooms on the second floor, and the master, along with an extra room for either a nursery or a bedroom for a favored child right across.

I know it’s been converted into a small library, which the family who lived here before - a non-magical branch of the Hawthorne clan who died in the midst of World War 2 - had stocked full of various law texts. They’d been arbiters of the law. Pretty good, if the family records are to be believed. The ‘Basement’ is a garage, and a storage area. Not very large, really, since most of the space isn’t a room - but just a foundation with a few rooms carved in next to it for the aforementioned tasks.

The backyard is pretty big, though. As wide as the house and about three times it’s length. The real gem of the house - even if it had been in the family for a couple hundred years. Land has never been cheap in London.

I give Tonks a quick tour, and she shifts back to her normal form as I give her the largest guest room, with its own ensuite. There are two other bathrooms - not counting the Master Bath, for guests downstairs and for the other bedrooms to share.

Six beds, four baths. Well, three and a half, but it’s basically four. Guests hardly need more than a powder room.

After settling Tonks in - and explaining the rules - no going to the third floor due to the wards and no going to the garage for the same reason - I let her sleep, and go off to do my nightly meditations.

For a first date, I have to say it was a delight. Calm, sophisticated but also fun. I got to know Tonks on a much more personal level, and I can’t help but be a little interested to see where this might go.

After all, I doubt Tonks, of all people, will tell me I shouldn’t have a dangerous job. Not when I can get home with relative ease. There are a number of ways to make rings, earrings or necklaces which take me to a location on demand - though none of my current jewelry do that.

I’ll probably have to translate “Teleportation” from my last life to make it a global effect, and so it ignores wards. It’ll be wholly different, and I doubt many will have the mana to copy my spell, or the items I make for it.

Even if they break after one use. Contingency pieces, if nothing else, will be very useful for putting any partner at ease. No matter my dangerous occupation.

I consider the next two and a half hours, meditating, planning and then deciding.

I’ll give Tonks a good, full, honest try. She’s trying with me, I can tell. She’s interested, and I’d be a fool to not offer the same.

It’s not every day a shape-changer chooses to romance someone, after all.

.*****.

A few days later, I get a letter from Dumbledore, inviting me to attend a meeting in his office - with the other members of Harry’s watch team. 6pm.

I spend the next hour getting ready - taking a shower, getting appropriate clothes and putting my hair right. I suspect this will involve something to do with either warding - or another mission. I pull on my cloak for obscurement last, deciding it may not be just the team and Dumbledore, so it’s better safe.

Then, I’m outside Hogwarts, and shortly walking up the path.

I have 20 minutes, so I can take my time.

The wards are stronger, which is the first thing I notice. The next thing is how it seems like the grounds are being manicured to create a clear line from the walls, for at least 100 feet. A killing field for any invaders. I nod appreciatively, and keep walking.

The next thing which is different is the doors - as I walk through, I feel a secondary layer of wards - identifying me? Interesting, at least. They’re scanning people to make sure people who aren’t supposed to be here, aren’t. And if they are, then the headmaster knows.

The rest of my trip through the school is sedate - I don’t run into anything or anyone. The armour is polished, the portraits are interested in the shadow passing through the halls, but no one stops me. Even the students make way, considering it’s only the winter break.

There’s not many of them, but it’s common courtesy to make way for someone with two masteries - as is clearly displayed on the outside of my cloak.

19 minutes after my entry, I am standing in front of Dumbledore’s desk. He has his fingers laced in front of his face, listening to Amelia Bones ask various questions. The Fireplace roars, and Moody, Tonks and Shacklebolt step out. I get, and give, shallow nods of recognition to each.

“Well, we’re all here, Dumbledore.” Moody growls, and Dumbledore offers a nod.

“Indeed, Alastor. I’ve been asked, by Madame Bones, to furnish her with people I trust to act as an emergency response team, in case the Dark Lord comes after her. We know that before Crouch took his seat, three heads of the DMLE were killed, and she expects our newly risen Dark Lord may seek to match the feat, until he can get someone either on his side - or unconquerable - on the seat. As a result, I’m recommending you all, the best guard detail I know. You won’t have to watch her around the clock, but you will have a ring - a simple silver band - which will let you apparate through any Minstrel or otherwise official ward schemes if needed to help her. This does include Hogwarts - if you’re here with me when something happens. The House of Bones wards are very, very good, so I suspect we’ll have ample warning if there is an emergency.” He explains, sliding a box forward. I take the first ring, and Amelia looks at me - clearly not knowing who I am - with a bit of shock.

First take indicates I’m the most powerful - and the one who needs the ring the most in case she is in trouble.

Alastor, then Shacklebolt, then Tonks take the rings after me. She nods at that order, before returning to eyeing me with weariness.

“Who is this?” She asks, gesturing to me. Dumbledore chuckles a bit… darkly. I’m almost shocked to hear the noise, but can tell with complete knowledge of the situation and of how to position things, that this is making sure it’s evident I am dangerous. Hard sell, then.

“This is the only person I think might be able to defeat me in an actual duel if we both went all-out. They’re supremely skilled, though horribly private. They have bested the Dark Lord in two separate duels, though both were when the Dark Lord was already somewhat drained from prior opponents, and he managed to escape both times, though not without cost…” He trails ominously, and I give a solemn nod.

“May I have your name, then?” She directs me.

“When I’m working, I prefer to go by Kalanast Amaglain.” I say. She nods.

“Old Elven, Daughter of the Rose.” She says appreciatively, and I give an unseen smile and nod.

I didn’t think anyone knew Elven. The translation is a bit incorrect, but close enough.

“Other than this, there’s not much else, unless anyone has questions or needs?” Dumbledore asks, and I am shocked no one has any, so I raise the most important point.

“Do you have a floor plan? I can analyse your place of residence. It would be hard otherwise to prepare properly. The grounds, too, if you can.” She gives me a smile and a nod, happy someone thought of it, clearly. Moody gives me a look, like I shouldn’t have asked. Probably because he already knows, but I couldn’t have known that.

She produces a sheet of paper, probably from something like mine and Dumbledore’s pocket-dimensions, which is impressive, and then hands it over. I analyse it for about a minute, then hand it back.

“Thank you.” Is all I say. She gives me a curt nod, then, seeing there are no other pertinent questions, we depart. I go through the castle, humming a low, slow elven battlesong as I go.

Seeing the students quickly move aside for me does feel quite good, I must say.

Even if her property and manor are a bit large, it just makes ambushing and destroying enemies all the easier.