I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 53

Chapter 53

9th of September 1991

Dumbledore Manor, England

Nymphadora Tonks leaned over the balustrade, her wine glass dangling precariously from one hand as she gestured wildly with the other. “I’m just saying, Harry—if I were half as cool as Dumbledore, I’d retire right now. Imagine topping that.”

Harry, chewing thoughtfully on his fifth petit four, blinked up at her. “I think the dragon was overkill.”

Tonks let out a snort. “Overkill? That’s the point! No one’s topping Albus ‘Dragon-Wrangler’ Dumbledore. Lucius Malfoy’s probably back there plotting his next move with a manticore and a mariachi band, just to keep up.”

Harry’s face split into a grin. “Manticore’s not bad. Add some synchronized Boggarts, and you’ve got a real showstopper.”

“Careful, Harry,” Tonks warned, wagging a finger. “Give him ideas, and next thing you know, he’ll bring in Voldemort’s boggart to scare half the Wizengamot to death.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Tonks. You’ve got enough flair to match him. Tonight, at least.”

Tonks’s smile faltered for half a second, and she tugged at the shimmering sapphire gown that clung to her figure like a second skin. “Flair, huh? I feel like I’m auditioning for the role of ‘most likely to hex someone for stepping on my train.’” She sighed, glancing down at herself.

For once, the punk-rock Auror was nowhere to be found. Celia Andersen had made sure of that. “You’re a Black, darling,” Celia had hissed earlier, as she practically forced the gown over Tonks’s head. “And tonight, you’ll prove it. No one remembers combat boots at a gala, but they’ll never forget a Metamorphmagus with a legacy to flaunt.”

And flaunt, Tonks did. The gown flowed like liquid starlight, hugging her tall, athletic frame and emphasizing every curve with unnerving precision. Her chest, full and firm, was highlighted by a neckline that bordered scandal, the gentle swell teasingly showcased without crossing into gaudy. The gown flared slightly at the hips, accentuating her long legs and the toned muscles honed from Auror training.

Her face was almost too beautiful for its usual mischief. High cheekbones framed piercing multicolored eyes that shifted in hue with the lantern light—emerald, violet, and molten gold swirling like restless galaxies. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curved into a smirk that dared anyone to underestimate her. But her hair was the real showstopper tonight: a cascade of shimmering black waves that gleamed with an almost otherworldly sheen, loose and free down her back.

For all her outward confidence, Tonks couldn’t help but feel a knot of discomfort. She didn’t belong in this polished world, no matter what Celia or her mother said. She was here for Dumbledore, for her mother’s reintroduction to society—not for herself.

The sharp chime of the metallic orb interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

“Welcome, Adrastia Zabini and Blaise Zabini. Affiliation: Zabini Family. Access Level: One.”

Adrastia Zabini entered with a strut that defied reason, logic, and propriety. Every step was a performance, her hips rolling with an exaggerated grace that dared anyone to look away—and no one did. Her dress, blood-red and daring, hugged her impossibly hourglass frame as if stitched by a particularly perverse deity. The neckline plunged low enough to leave nothing to imagination and yet somehow made you want to imagine more. Her full, high breasts rose with each purposeful step, threatening to spill out of the sinful fabric like a miscast charm.

The narrow waist of the dress exaggerated the swell of her hips and her stomach, perfectly taut with the barest hint of muscle visible through the sheen of her enchanted fabric. The hem flirted shamelessly with her upper thighs, baring long, bronzed legs that seemed endless, every muscle defined and purposeful. When she turned slightly, her ass was a showstopper—round, firm, and shifting like it had its own gravitational field. The smooth expanse of her back, exposed down to the curve of her spine, showcased a gleaming tattoo of entwined serpents, their fangs meeting in a perpetual duel at the base of her neck.

Her face was no less devastating. Her lips, painted a wicked crimson, curled into a smirk that screamed danger and victory all at once. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline framed eyes that seemed to glimmer like polished obsidian, scanning the crowd as if she were cataloging her next conquest. Her hair, jet black and impossibly lustrous, spilled over her shoulders in loose curls that accentuated every movement of her head. A faint sheen of oil on her skin caught the lantern light, glistening like she’d been sculpted from molten gold.

Tonks’s heart skipped a beat—not just because Adrastia was unfairly gorgeous, but because of what she was. A whispered name in Auror circles. A serial killer, they said. A predator in high heels, untouchable because she played her games in shadow. Tonks felt her Auror instincts bristle, her pulse quicken.

And then came the self-consciousness. Adrastia’s presence didn’t just command attention—it demanded it. Tonks straightened, feeling her shoulders pull back and her chest rise, her body responding instinctively, almost defiantly. Her breasts, already highlighted by the gown, seemed to perk as if to say, Fine. You want a competition? Let’s go.

Harry, blissfully oblivious, lit up when Blaise Zabini appeared at Adrastia’s side, his dark green robes impeccably tailored. “Blaise! You’re here!” he called, waving with unguarded enthusiasm.

Adrastia’s gaze swept lazily toward Harry, offering a faint, dismissive nod before sliding to Tonks. Her smile sharpened like a blade catching the light. She raised a single, perfectly arched brow, her lips curving in a predatory smirk. “Well,” she purred, her voice smooth and cutting, “someone’s feeling daring tonight. Did you borrow that confidence, or is it on loan from your mother?”

Tonks stiffened, the heat rising to her cheeks more from anger than embarrassment. “Confidence isn’t a crime,” she shot back, her voice steady, though her fists clenched at her sides.

Adrastia stepped closer, her movements unhurried and deliberate, her crimson gown trailing behind her like a tide of fire. Her eyes swept Tonks from head to toe, lingering pointedly on the subtle rise of her chest beneath the shimmering fabric. “Of course not,” Adrastia said sweetly, her tone dripping with condescension.

“Though it’s fascinating to see it expressed so… enthusiastically. Did they teach that in Auror training? Or is that just the Black blood showing off?”

Tonks’s jaw tightened, her multicolored eyes flashing dangerously. Harry, halfway through another petit four, blinked between them, his face a mix of confusion and unease. “Wait, is this… normal? I feel like I’m missing something.”

Blaise Zabini, standing a step behind his mother, shifted uncomfortably. “It’s normal,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze flickering toward Tonks apologetically. “Unfortunately.”

Tonks refused to back down, her chin lifting. “Coming from someone who’s spent a lifetime walking tightropes, I’ll take that as advice from an expert.”

Adrastia paused mid-turn, her lips curling into a slow, predatory smile as she looked at Harry. “Harry,” she said, her voice dripping with faux gratitude, “thank you for extending the invitation. Blaise and I are ever so honored. It’s a rare thing to see kindness wielded so... generously.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard, but managed a polite nod. “Uh, sure. Blaise is my friend. Wouldn’t feel right without him.”

“Of course,” Adrastia purred, her gaze sliding to Tonks like a knife slipping into a sheath. “It’s nice to know some of us don’t have to scrape to get in.”

Tonks’s smile froze for a split second before returning sharper than ever. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about scraping, Adrastia. If you weren’t invited, I’m sure you’d have convinced some poor noble to drag you along as their handbag for the night.”

Adrastia tilted her head, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. “A handbag?” She gave a soft, almost pitying laugh. “How quaint. Then again, not everyone can thrive on their own merit, can they?”

Tonks didn’t flinch, her smile widening. “Speaking of merit, it’s nice to see you finally arrive. Showing up after the Department Heads…quite the confidence in your own status."

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Adrastia’s eyes—a flash of irritation, quickly masked by a slow, deliberate smile. “Oh, darling,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Timing is everything. Though some of us don’t have the luxury of simply... piggybacking on a host’s goodwill.”

Tonks arched a brow, her voice turning icy. “I wouldn’t know. My mother is hosting this party with Warlock Dumbledore. But I’m sure you’ll find someone to latch onto by the end of the night.”

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Adrastia’s face, but she recovered with a cutting laugh. “Andromeda hosting?” she mused, as if tasting something bitter. “How ambitious of her. I do admire the... persistence required to claw one’s way back into relevance.”

Tonks leaned forward, her tone deceptively light. “Funny thing about Blacks, Adrastia. We don’t claw. We simply reclaim what’s ours.”

Adrastia’s smile faltered, just a hair, before returning sharper than ever. “Touché, darling. You’ve certainly mastered the art of... putting on a show. And…you identify as a Black, now?”

With a final, pointed look, she turned on her heel, her crimson gown swishing as she glided into the crowd. Blaise lingered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s... like that.”

“Like what?” Tonks quipped. “A harpy in heels?”

"Hey, that's still my mum!", protested Blaise.

Harry, still piecing together the exchange, frowned. “Do people always talk to each other like they’re in a duel at these things?”

Blaise snatched a petit four from a passing tray, chewing lazily as he smirked. “Only at the fun ones, Harry. Stick close, and you’ll survive. Slytherin 101.”

Tonks was about to retort when—

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

She screamed, nearly throwing her wine glass as she spun around, heart pounding. There stood Mad-Eye Moody, grinning—or what passed for grinning—under his scarred face. His magical eye whirred ominously, scanning everything and everyone like a lunatic bird of prey.

“Merlin’s saggy—Moody!” Tonks snapped, clutching her chest. “Are you trying to make me drop dead before dessert?”

“Constance Vigilance, Black,” Moody growled, his voice pure gravel. “Yes, Black. I just heard that cozy little chat with your snake-loving knife-happy poison-loving friend. Fascinating.”

Tonks flushed so red she might have outshone the floating lanterns. “I—Moody—it’s not like—I mean, I wasn’t—what are you even—”

Blaise, halfway out of the danger zone, paused and raised a hand. “Hey, for the record, she's still my—”

Moody’s electric-blue eye whipped around, locking onto Blaise with the force of an Accio curse. “Zabini,” he barked, “how many of these fancy shin-digs have you been to?”

Blaise blinked, visibly rattled. “Uh, a lot?”

“Good. Then answer me this.” Moody leaned in, his real eye narrowing, his magical one spinning furiously. “How many people here would sell their wand arm for a favor?”

Blaise blinked again. “I mean… plenty?”

Moody grunted. “Right. And how many of those would sell you for half the price?”

Blaise opened his mouth, then shut it. “I… uh…”

“Exactly.” Moody straightened, giving Blaise a clap on the shoulder so hard the younger man flinched. “Think on it.”

Harry watched in fascination as Blaise—Blaise Zabini, his best friend, cool incarnate—mumbled, “Sorry,” without even knowing what for.

Satisfied, Moody turned his attention to her, his real eye narrowing to a near squint while his magical one swiveled madly. He jabbed a finger at her. “Stay sharp, Tonks. And remember: constant vigilance. Pay attention.”

“Uh… right. Of course,” she stammered, her usual wit taking a nosedive.

Moody nodded sharply, then stomped off, his wooden leg thumping rhythmically against the cobblestones.

Blaise rubbed his shoulder, wincing. “What the hell just happened?”

“I think you got scolded,” Harry offered helpfully.

“For what?” Blaise asked, genuinely baffled.

Tonks crossed her arms, leaning in with a smirk. “Probably just existing in his line of sight. Classic Moody.”

Blaise shook his head. “You people are insane.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from someone raised by Adrastia Zabini,” Tonks shot back, her grin widening.

Harry, still watching Moody disappear into the crowd, tilted his head. “So… what do you think he meant by that?”

Tonks blinked. “Meant?”

“Yeah, you know. All that constant vigilance stuff.”

Tonks shrugged, adjusting her gown with an exaggerated flourish. “I don’t know. Keep an eye on Adrastia? Beware the potatoes?”

“Beware the what?” Blaise groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is why people drink at these things.”

Tonks patted him on the shoulder as if he were a wayward puppy. “Relax, Zabini. If you’re lucky, he’ll forget about you by dessert.”

Harry frowned. “Are you actually going to follow them?”

“Obviously,” Tonks said with a grin. “If Mad-Eye Moody says anything, you either listen, improvise, or pretend you didn’t hear him. Tonight, I’m feeling adventurous.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Merlin help us all.”

“Constant vigilance, Blaise,” Tonks called after him, watching as he disappeared into the crowd, grumbling under his breath. “And next time, maybe bring something stronger than that smirk!”