SD:CH136 - The Party

With a pop, Nymphadora Tonks appeared in front of the large building with the word Excelsior engraved upon it vertically downwards. It was not the first time she was coming to Harry Potter’s building, but the nasty flipping in her stomach didn’t lessen even slightly because of that. 

Especially after everything that had happened recently.

Taking a deep breath, she took a step through the wards, feeling the tingling sensation as the ward scanned and registered her, verifying her against several set parameters. She’d not be surprised if there was one that sensed hostile intent, like the one that Madam Bones had set up in her castle, and no doubt, there were quite a few nasty surprises in store for her in case the warding system disagreed with anything. She wouldn’t be surprised if those included pre-emptive lethal measures.

Tonks didn’t panic. Panic got you killed. The last time, she had reluctantly agreed to ignore Potter’s stint with Necromancy, choosing to believe that Hestia and Emmeline had not totally lost themselves in Potter’s lustful haze, or whatever form of imperius he had them under.  She didn’t think they’d attempt to kill her brazenly, but that hadn’t stopped her from taking precautions.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at herself. It was a glorious teal one-piece, complete with fuck-me heels, looking every bit of the party girl that she was dressed for.

The door opened, and this time, it was Granger that stood before her. Flashes of the silver-furred werewolf rose in her mind. It should’ve been enough to make her go for her wand out of sheer instinct, but she also knew that if not for said werewolf, she wouldn’t have been alive now.

And neither would Charlie Weasley.

Memories of Hermione Granger in her bestial form weaving through the spellfire, stamping, slashing and killing the other werewolves while she rained spells upon the Death Eaters that had come for the Weasley family came to mind. Bill had been cursed heavily, and it was unlikely he would be able to continue being a cursebreaker any longer, and would likely settle for a desk job at Gringotts London, close to his family, something she was certain Bill liked as much as having to leave Egypt.

But at least Charlie was safe. 

Safe from that killing curse that would’ve definitely killed him if not for Granger
 Hermione snapping the Death Eater’s neck from behind.

That alone was enough for Tonks to give Harry Potter a chance to explain himself. Because Hermione Granger believed in him.

“Auror Tonks,” said the girl with a soft smile. “Please, come in.”

Tonks did not swing the other way, but even she had to admit that the girl looked far different than the first time she had eyed her. Her bushy hair had been tamed straight and was flowing down her shoulders. Between the sex, the innate strength and the ferality that came with lycanthropy, Hermione Granger was oozing sex appeal. At the same time, there was a strange darkness marring her features, like a feral predator choosing to stay domesticated but could just as easily crush your neck at a whim.

“I hope I’m not too late
” she trailed off. “Here,” she finished oddly, handing over a bottle of Ogden’s Finest. It was frankly a bit too pricey for her  salary, but this party would be quite the crowd, and she didn’t want to end up feeling cheap.

Granger graciously accepted the bottle, and walked her into the interiors. As they made small talk, Tonks noted the incredible combination of charms that were out into effect inside the building. It lacked the spacious and momentous feel that walking in an ancient wizarding manor filled you with, but it definitely made up in the sophistication category, ensuring best of both magical and muggle worlds. While other muggleborns would definitely be in awe of this building, Tonks only felt her suspicion grow. After all, Harry Potter was the wizard kid that was supposedly sent to live with his muggle relatives for the summer, people that could be best described as middle class.

The foyer was already full of people. Tonks recognized most of them, some from her profession, some from the events of the past few months, and some from her jaunts at the Ministry. None could be trusted. 

For a moment, she feared that Potter had so many high-ranking people charmed, but then she realised that this wasn’t just a gathering for Potter and his sycophants, but respectable people from all over Britain invited to a private celebration of his ascension to the mantles of Lord Potter and Lord Black.

“Ah, Auror Tonks,” came Harry Potter’s voice from behind.

Speak of the devil, thought Tonks, feeling a shudder run down her spine. She controlled herself and turned around, spotting the Boy-Who-Lived. He looked clean-shaven, wearing a dark pair of pants and a white shirt, with the top button undone. Classy. He approached her, and she him. She offered her hand, as was custom, and he gave her knuckles a quick kiss but not breaking eye-contact.

“Welcome,” he said. “To Excelsior. I wasn’t sure if you’d accept the invitation but I’m glad you did.”

He was still holding her hand, staring at her with an intensity that was beginning to unsettle her a little.

“Is there something on my face?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, uh, sorry. I just
 I’m grateful you listened to Hestia and Emmeline and didn’t prevent me from
 saving the Director.”

“We had a common enemy,” she said stiffly. “And I’d rather believe that two of my most trusted people have not completely lost their minds and hearts to their lust.”

He chuckled lightly. 

“Mind you, I have questions, Potter. And I’m not leaving without them tonight. If you refuse, I will tell Professor Dumbledore, and then you’ll have to answer to him.”

More chuckling. “All good points. But you’ll have to wait for the end. Like you, there are others that have questions of their own. I am hoping to settle everyone’s doubts during the afterparty.”

The afterparty?

“Now, please feel at home. Perhaps I can pour you a drink?” He pointed at the bar counter to her right. 

“No, no thanks. Later?”

“If you are sure,” said Potter, and slid away, easily slipping into the crowd that was too eager for his attention.

The next hour passed in a sort of easy transition from one conversation to the other. The Weasleys were all invited, and she could spot Molly chiding Harry about the sheer expense in maintaining such a fantastic construction. The twins were chattering excitedly with their friend Lee Jordan, while three other girls, who were reportedly on the Quidditch team with Potter being shown around by an enthusiastic Ginny Weasley. Charlie spotted her, and was quick to pull her into conversation.

“And this is Auror Tonks,” said Susan Bones, who was also part of the hobnobbing crowd. “She saved me during the attack. If not for her, I’d probably have been eaten alive.”

“Oh no, it was nothing like that,” Tonks laughed lightly, while Hermione leered at the red-haired girl with mock disdain.

“Now come on, Susan,’ said one of her classmates. “What’s going on between you and Potter?”

“Yeah, what’s the Gryffindor Golden Boy doing with the Hufflepuff Dorm Mom?” asked another.

Susan mock glared at both. ‘It’s —”

“Don’t say it’s nothing,” said a third. “Everyone at Hogwarts knew you hated Potter’s guts. And then Hannah said how Potter waltzed over to you at Fortesque to flirt.”

Susan glared at her friend who blushed.

“My uncle’s at the Wizengamot,” said the second one again. “He told me how your auntie is now the Potter Regent. Like, what’s going on, Susie? Next thing we know, you’ll be an item.”

“We might,” said Susan seriously, making all of them gape. The red-haired Bones heiress laughed at their expressions. “Look, our families share history, alright? And that includes my aunt. I was annoyed at Harry for ignoring me— us, over the last three years, but he came to our place, and we discussed —”

“Discussed? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” asked the first.

“Shut up, Gamp. And you were there when Potter came over to our table at Fortescue, Ernie.”

The second, Ernie, grinned.

“I was surprised too,” Tonks put her two knuts. “I mean, you didn’t exactly feel close at the DMLE when we last met, so I was just curious, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry, we get along pretty well now.”

“I heard he visited her aunty directly,” said the third, a girl with violet pigtails. “I heard  the entire thing on the Wireless. Something about meeting her and giving documents proving Draco’s dad’s guilt.”

“A right scumbag, that one,” murmured Ernie.

“Language,” Susan chided. 

“I’ve heard it too,” Tonks pitched in again. “It was surprising. I mean, I had never seen her take a holiday, ever, and then she took two days off, and now this news of her becoming the Potter Regent
and she seems quite fond of him too.”

Susan smirked. “Bitter much?”

Tonks instantly backpedalled. “No, no, I mean, I have nothing to — I was just curious, that’s all. Sorry if I crossed a line.”

“Aunty and Harry share a special relationship,” said Bones conspiratorially. “Enough to make me jealous at times.”

Now all by herself, she considered raiding the bar and pouring something strong for herself. Maybe she would have, if not for the fact that she didn’t like being drunk. Not among these people anyway. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t get any more charming that way. More amusing perhaps, though not in a good way. There was music, and even though she could spot several familiar faces, they were all engaged with high-level Ministry personnel and social climbers alike.

“It is you, Nymphadora, isn’t it?” came a familiar voice from behind. Nymphadora spun around, her instinctive declaration of not addressing her by her first name forgotten at the sight of the person standing there.

It was the face of someone that had your best interests at heart, alongwith a voice that filled you with genuine warmth and joy as it spoke to you. It was also a voice that Nymphadora had learnt to loathe and fear ever since she was little.

“Lady Malfoy, uh —”

“Oh, certainly not anymore. I go by Narcissa Black now.” She smiled. “I was wondering if I could talk to you. As Lady Malfoy, there were rules I had to follow, rules about people I could and couldn’t interact with. Now that I’m a Black again, I was looking forward to talking to my only niece. Tell me, how is my dear older sister?”

Tonks felt her stomach flip. Her mother was full of stories about both her sisters as well as the entire Black family, but one thing that stood apart from any other was her description of her younger sister.

Never trust Narcissa Black. She has a hundred reasons for doing what she does. Ninety nine of them, at least, are malevolent.

She spotted Hestia chattering animatedly with several people, a little distance away, and wondered if their mutual distrust was worth more than using her as an excuse to skip interacting with Narcissa Mal- Black. A little further, she could spot Emmeline Vance talking enthusiastically with Dennis Hawthorne, who Tonks recognized was working in Wizengamot Administration Services. There was Shelly Barebone, and Harold Crawford, both Hit-wizards, and finally, Amelia Bones, the DMLE Director. She looked utterly sensual and lively, a far cry both from her usual stiffness and being
 well, dead.

She had talked to Emmeline before. The woman had made an act of being ‘introduced’ to her, while Madam Bones only drew a speculative eye at her presence. There was Penelope Clearwater, whom she recognized from the fiasco at Diagon Alley, who she had heard was working for Potter ever since. She was being constantly bombarded with questions from various reporters and was enthusiastically basking in the recognition, freely chattering about the newest developments in Potter’s company that she was working on. 

Then she realised that Narcissa Black was in fact, staring at her, waiting for her reply.

“Err, Mum is fine. She mostly stays busy with her work.”

“And your blessed father?”

“He’s engaged in business. With the Abbotts.”

A glint of recognition flashed in her eyes. “Not Gideon Abbott, surely?”

“The same,” said Nymphadora, wondering what the other woman’s angle was. “Madam —”

“Call me Narcissa.”

“Madam Black,” Tonks insisted. “Can I ask you something? Why would you choose to support Harry Potter over your own son for the Black Lordship? I mean —”

“My son Draco is many things, but he doesn’t have the temperament of a Black. He has always been raised by his father’s ideals, considered himself a Malfoy above everything else.”

“And Potter does?”

The woman smiled. “He is the Lord Black, is he not?”

‘He —”

The rest of her words died in her throat as she heard Madam Bones call for Potter who excused himself from Augusta Longbottom and her grandson, and waltzed in, joining her conversation with the Minister of Magic and an official that Tonks couldn’t recognize.

“Ah, Lord Potter, I wanted you to meet someone,” said Madam Bones. “Allow me to introduce you to Hector Fawley, the current Lead Liaison Minister for Wizarding Britain.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. Why did that particular title feel so familiar?

“I have been wanting to meet you for a while, Lord Potter,” said the man. He was an old, balding fellow, and looked close to retirement. 

“Harry, please.”

“Harry then,” said the man. “The Boy-Who-Lived often came up in international trade talks, you know. Often, from their variation of the Department of Mysteries. But recently, all that the other representatives can talk about is you. Tell me, is it true that you roped the Bulgarian Minister into accepting the Triwizard deal by offering him a seat at the private auction of basilisk parts?”

Both Potter and Bones looked sharply at Fudge, who coughed loudly. “Err, let’s postpone the official business until later, Fawley. It’s a party. Let it remain as such. Uh, Harry m’boy, perhaps I could get some Ogden’s Finest for me again? I think Madam Greengrass wanted to talk to me earlier about something.”

Both Potter and Bones exchanged an amused smile.

The Boy-Who-Lived regarded the man thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, just what does the Lead Liaison Minister do?”

“Mostly deal with the representatives of other nations,” said the man. “I work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, under Barty Crouch. Well, Barty’s assistant does the reading, Barty does the worrying, and I just go ahead and do the actual stuff.”

All three of them laughed.

“Then you must have worked really hard on the Triwizard,” said Potter.

“That’s one way of putting it,” said the man with a grimace. “I won’t admit it out loud, but working with Barty is a chore. That man has his head too deep into legislation and pointless trivia to do any of the actual work. I actually miss seeing that young female secretary of his. Bright and charming and downright talented, that one was. Too bad she was a halfblood.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes from afar at the insinuation. 

“I imagine that must hurt when dealing with purists out there,” said Potter offhandedly.

“Not really,” said the man, shaking his head. “International Magical Cooperation doesn’t work that way. The real problem comes with getting your point across. Those out there won’t really value you if the ones in your house don’t.”

“But I hear she’s working for you now. You got lucky, son.”

Potter grinned. “Sure did.”

“That said,” Fawley went on. “I wanted to meet you personally to thank you, son. I’m retiring in the next three months, and it’d be catastrophic to see a year's effort go down in flames. We really need the PR that the Triwizard can give us. And after that attack
” the man shivered. “I had a nervous breakdown even, stayed at St. Mungo’s for two damn days. France, Ireland, Bulgaria, the others
 forget hosting the Triwizard, I was afraid the other nations would just drop us from the entire thing. But then, you brought forth a miracle.”

Tonks arched an eyebrow.

“You should visit the ICW sometime. Sebastian Delacour is absolutely impressed with you. As are the Irish, Italian and Bulgarian Ministers. Your little stunt with that private auction also caught many interested eyes. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Delacour has nominated your name for the La Croix Magique, Deuxiùme Classe.”

“It’s the French equivalent of the Order of Merlin, Second class,” explained Bones. “Given to individuals for significant acts of bravery and heroism. The winner gains a single seat at the Tribunal Magique, their version of our Wizengamot.”

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”  whispered Narcissa Black in her ear, her voice as seductive as the devil itself. “Thirteen years of living with magic-hating muggles. Three years of socially inept behaviour, left at the mercy of a polarised media. And now look at him, hobnobbing with Fudge and Bones and Fawley like a born politician. One might think he isn’t Harry Potter at all.”

Tonks tried to suppress her shudder. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I still think he’s an imposter.”

“I think you’ll find that hard to prove,” whispered the demoness of the Black family. “He took the Potter and Black seats.”

“And yet I don’t find Professor Dumbledore among this crowd.”

“Of course not,” said Narcissa. “He wasn’t invited for tonight’s event.”

“And that doesn’t strike anyone as odd?”

“The funny thing about people,” said her aunt. “Is that people often look at the changes in people, but never at their own actions that might’ve led to those changes.”

Nymphadora regarded her best friend who was still engaged with others. Hestia was truly in her element, and it was easy to see that. 

Tonks looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Fine, then as cousins, how about we stop mincing words and get things straight. Why has Narcissa Malfoy, who looked at halfbloods and muggleborns like they were worse than scum beneath your pricey shoes, bends backwards to support a halfblood? What did he offer you to leave Lucius? You can’t tell me it’s just because he’s a ‘better’ Lord Black!”

“Is it the part where you accuse me of manipulating him?”

“Are you?”

The woman threw her head back. “I like you. Collected, but clearly disdainful. Impressive, for one raised by my elder sister.”

Tonks crossed her arms. Had this been any other place, she wouldn’t have done it, since it would inhibit her access to her wand quickly, what with having to untangle her arms first. 

“All I want is a straight answer.”

“Alright, here’s straight. I’m a Slytherin, and we support the winning side.”

“And that is Potter?”

“Who would it be?” Narcissa whispered, her tone gaining a slight edge. “That old fool Dumbledore, who’s held all the cards yet allowed the world to stagnate? Or perhaps the Dark Lord, when he returns to set everything ablaze?”

For a few seconds, Nymphadora stayed deadly silent. Emmeline had told her something similar back at the World Cup. Both women seemed absolutely certain that despite the irregularities, and despite the Necromancy he was performing, Harry Potter was truly himself. She didn’t even stop Narcissa when the woman leaned in slightly, getting into her personal space as her edge in height made her loom slightly over Tonks.

Only, she wasn’t quite looking at her, but rather, at Harry Potter.

“Harry is important,” she whispered. “He is doing great things. Will do great things. If you have the sense, and I know you do, you have seen it. You have felt it. He is already Lord of two Noble and Most Ancient families, and has the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones in his pocket. And soon
”

“And soon?”

Narcissa smirked. “You think he will stop there? You think a guy like that sticks his head out, deals with crooks, dabs in the dark arts, fights monsters like werewolves, dementors, basilisks and my former husband, and stops right after? Look at what he has accomplished in just a summer of hard work and tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Tonks felt a strong surge of irritation wash through her. She knew exactly what Potter had done. He had twisted two of the best women she knew and turned them into his personal sycophants. He had performed necromancy on the DMLE Director, and was currently politicking his way into gaining more political power for himself. And if those animated discussions between Hestia and those businessmen and women were any clue, economic as well.

“I thought we were keeping things straight.”

Her aunt frowned, the first hints of anger showing in her expression.

“The straight point, dearest niece, is that you are, quite frankly, a loose end. I don’t like loose ends. So my advice is, get onboard, or be crushed beneath his wheel.”

The words shook Tonks, and it took her a few seconds to organise her thoughts. 

“Is that a threat?” Tonks snapped, perhaps with more venom than she intended. “Did Potter put you up to this, now that I am a potential enemy?”

She expected the woman to sneer, get angry, or even potentially insult her. Instead she threw her head back and laughed. “It’s funny you put things that way. Why, just yesterday, Potter said that he has friends to talk to, acquaintances to know and deal with, and then there is the rest of the world. And at the end of the spectrum, there are targets. Never enemies.”

Tonks pursed her lips, inwardly seething at her words. 

“So no, not a threat. An advice. For some moronic reason, Potter assumed responsibility to keep you sidelined and safe. I imagine it is this recklessness that makes him a Gryffindor. No, girl, I believe Potter would just want you to either join him, or he’d just let you fall behind. But me? The others? We won’t be that forgiving if something happens to him. Because of you.”

She pulled back, and ran her fingers through her hair. 

“You should go try the drinks. Mind you, I’d suggest keeping yourself sober enough to attend the afterparty though. Harry has promised me it will be
 enlightening.”

And then she turned around and left.