The café they chose was small, tucked discreetly between a pair of antique shops that only seemed to exist to fill space with dusty relics. Harry and Tonks sat across from each other at a window booth, a warm, golden light haloing their table, casting their faces in a soft glow. It was a perfect spot for a private conversation, away from the usual wizarding haunts.
Tonks, for her part, was staring. Hard. Her gaze was intense, sweeping over him with the precision of an Auror and curiosity. She took in every detail of his current appearance, brown hair, brown eyes, a soft oval face, and a small button nose. Absolutely average. Too average. The blandness itself was uncanny.
She tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing her brow. "So… what exactly did you do?" she asked, her voice low, a genuine question, devoid of her usual teasing.
Harry raised a brow over the rim of his steaming tea cup, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
She rolled her eyes, a familiar exasperation. "I'm serious, Harry. What kind of charm is that? I've never seen a spell like that before."
"Glamour charm can't you notice," he countered smoothly, taking a sip of his tea.
"Don't get clever with me, Potter. I'm an Auror. My job is to notice things. And I've never seen anything like this."
He smiled, enjoying her genuine confusion, but Tonks wasn't done. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing.
"This isn't a glamour charm. Not transfiguration. Definitely not Polyjuice Potion, you haven't sipped anything, and there's no trace of it on you. You're not a metamorphmagus either, I would know, and you don't have that unique 'feel' that comes with it from when I met another like me." She listed off her observations, clearly baffled.
This was new she hadn't seen anything like it before.
Harry hummed a low, amused sound. "Well, that leaves a mystery then, doesn't it?"
She leaned in closer, eyeing him with curious intensity, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's too smooth. There's no ripple, no double-layer shimmer that comes with most illusions, what others call the 'plastic face' effect, like wearing a mask over your original features. It's… real, like a second skin, or like you truly are this person. What kind of spell is it, Harry?"
"A special one" he replied simply, sipping his tea.
That didn't help. Tonks stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Still, she gave him a wry look, a reluctant acceptance, letting it go for now. "Alright, fine. I can see you're not going to tell me."
Their food arrived then, filling the table with steaming warmth and delicious aromas—a pot of Earl Grey tea for Tonks, a mug of hot chocolate for Harry, a plate of assorted cakes, buttered bread, and two generous portions of shepherd's pie. The scent of roasted meat, savory herbs, and sweet pastry curled into the air, a welcome distraction.
"So Fifth year," Tonks said, spooning some soup from her pie. "Excited to be back in the grind, surrounded by all the wonders of Hogwarts?"
Harry shrugged, taking a bite of his pie. "As excited as one can be when surrounded by annoying teachers, pink toads, and brainless teenagers."
She snorted, a laugh bubbling up. "Fair enough. So, tell me, Mr. Fifth-Year. Met any girls? Snogged anyone during your little… sabbatical?" she teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
Harry blinked, genuinely surprised by the directness of the question. "What?"
"Come on," she insisted, leaning forward playfully. "Fifth year. Teenage hormones. Don't tell me there's no cute girl you've been eyeing. Surely someone has caught the Boy-Who-Lived's attention?"
"Tonks."
Tonks grinned, her hair momentarily flickering to a cheeky bright yellow. "So? Want an older woman instead? I'm volunteering."
He leaned back, a slow, confident smirk spreading across his face, meeting her gaze with a knowing glint. "You volunteering, Auror Tonks? That's a bold offer. Maybe I'll take the offer."
She flushed faintly, a subtle pink coloring her cheeks, but she laughed a bright, uninhibited sound. "Cheeky, Potter."
"Only when tempted," he countered, his eyes holding hers.
They both chuckled, the lingering tension easing further, a comfortable, almost flirtatious banter settling between them. It was a welcome change.
Harry took another bite of his pie. "What are you doing out here anyway, Tonks? Thought you worked at the Ministry now, chasing Dark wizards and filling out paperwork."
Tonks's grin faded slightly, a more serious expression replacing it. "I do. Officially. But Dumbledore's been calling in favors from anyone he trusts in the Ministry. He's in a full-blown panic—sent me and a few others out to look for you specifically, after the chaos you caused with your disappearance."
Harry blinked, in mock surprise. "Why? Last I checked, he was too busy ignoring my existence, pretending everything was fine. Why the sudden concern?"
Tonks shrugged. "Well, some students and teachers are swearing you've been seen around Hogwarts, just glimpses, flickering in and out. Others say you're completely missing from the castle. The conflicting reports are driving everyone mad. Dumbledore wants eyes everywhere, trying to make sense of it."
He smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. "Funny that right."
She narrowed her eyes, studying him, a flicker of understanding dawning. "How are you doing that? All those sightings… What a trick if it's fooling even the teachers."
He winked. "Trade secret, Tonks."
"Arse," she muttered, trying not to smile, but a genuine grin broke through. He liked Tonks, she was fun to be around.
Then, his tone shifted, becoming more gentle, more probing. "Earlier, when I first saw you, before… this. You looked irritated. Was it a guy?"
Tonks raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What are you implying? That I'm having boy troubles?"
"I meant—was someone annoying you? A male someone. You looked really fed up."
Harry gave her a pointed look, his eyes hardening slightly. "I'm guessing a certain wolf, perhaps? One with a chronic case of self-pity?"
She sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and slouched back in her seat, her hair dimming to a dull grey. "Remus. He's being… Remus."
"Stubborn as a stone, and just as emotionally dense," Harry agreed, his voice low, a bitter undertone creeping in.
"I've made it very clear I'm interested, Harry," Tonks muttered, frustration evident in her voice, running a hand through her hair. "I practically wear my heart on my sleeve. And every time I get close, every time I try to talk about it, he pulls away. He makes excuses."
Harry sipped his drink, his gaze distant, remembering how many times Lupin had done exactly that in his past life, "He's a coward, Tonks."
He remember how this dude almost ran out on his own kid. Hell, not almost he did run.
Tonks stared at him, genuinely shocked. "Harry! That's a bit harsh, isn't it? He's been through a lot."
"It's true," he said, his voice firm, devoid of pity. "He hides behind his curse. Uses it as an excuse to push people away, to deny himself happiness, to deny those who care about him. He acts like he doesn't deserve love, doesn't deserve help, doesn't deserve a family, that a werewolf isn't allowed to have fun. But the truth is—he doesn't truly try. And I'm tired of pitying people who wallow in self-loathing and never reach for what's clearly in front of them, even when happiness is staring them in the face."
There was a bitter undertone in his voice, a deeper resonance. This man was supposed to be one of his so-called father's best friends, his so-called brother, and Harry's supposed uncle, a figure who should have been there for him.
But Harry only knew him because he came to teach at Hogwarts, and even when he was there, he didn't even tell Harry who he was, just hid and kept his distance. If not for Sirius's attack in third year, Harry doubted this man would have ever said anything to him, never offered him a word of comfort or acknowledgment. It's why, even if he didn't outright hate Remus, he no longer liked or trusted the man, the fondness had long since withered.
Tonks looked at him, quietly, absorbing his raw honesty, her own expressions shifting, clearly affected by the intensity of his words.
"You're being unfair, Harry," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
He looked her dead in the eyes, his emerald gaze unflinching. "Then tell me, Tonks. If he's not a coward, if he's trying so hard, why doesn't he try for anything? Why does he refuse to get a steady job, even in places that accept werewolves? Why does he constantly refuse help when offered? Why doesn't he ask for help, but always rejects it? He could have a life, a family, a career, but he refuses to pursue it. Why doesn't he try?"
The silence between them stretched, heavy with the undeniable truth of his words.
Finally, Harry sighed, his expression softening slightly, realizing he had perhaps gone too far, pushed too hard. "Sorry. That was… a bit much. My apologies. You shouldn't mind me, I'm just a little bitter with the man, and it's not fair to project that onto you."
Tonks reached across the table, her hand finding his, brushing it lightly, a gesture of understanding and empathy. "No… it wasn't. You're right. It was… just honest."
He gave her a small, grateful smile, a flicker of the old Harry returning, softened by her unwavering empathy. "Let's change the subject before you start crying on me. My emotional support quota has been filled for the week."
She huffed a light, relieved sound, her hair flickering back to its bubblegum pink. "As if. I'm tougher than you, Potter. And I never cry. At least not in public."
"You wish," he teased, a playful glint in his eye.
They finished their meal in lighter spirits, the heavy topic fading as laughter slowly replaced frustration, a comfortable rhythm of banter re-establishing itself. As they stepped out into the open streets, the fresh air cool on their faces.
"Keep what you saw today to yourself?" he asked quietly, his voice low, a hint of seriousness in his tone.
She sighed a playful, exasperated sound. "You're lucky I like you, Potter. You owe me."
He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "I'm always lucky, Tonks. And I'll consider it a standing debt."
"But if I catch you sneaking out again," she warned, her finger wagging playfully, "the next 'date' better involve fire whiskey and dancing. And maybe you'll tell me a real secret."
He laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound that carried on the breeze. "Deal. I'll hold you to it, Auror."
They parted with a smile and a wave, Harry slipping back into the crowds, his illusion still in place as he headed for Hogwarts.
Back in Hogwarts, tension simmered in the headmaster's office, thick and oppressive, a stark contrast to the brief sunshine outside.
Most of the professors were present, excluding Umbridge, thank Merlin, a small mercy. The air was thick with whispers and growing apprehension.
"The tremors… that power," Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, murmured, her face pale, her hands still trembling slightly, when she remembered what happened. "What in Merlin's beard was that?"
"It nearly shattered the protective wards over the Astronomy Tower," said Flitwick, concern etched deeply on his tiny face. "I had to reinforce them myself, the energy surge was immense. It was unlike anything I've ever felt emanating from the grounds."
"I felt it even in the dungeons," Snape muttered, his voice a low growl, unusually subdued, his greasy hair clinging to his face, his own discomfort palpable. "A raw, blinding force."
The students had been excused from lessons for the past 2 days because of it, with how the teachers were freaked out.
Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, raised a hand, his usual twinkle gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling weariness in his eyes.
"Calm yourselves, my friends. I have received word from one of our global contacts, a trusted source within the Mage Association… it was a battle."
"A battle?" McGonagall repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. "A battle that could cause that kind of magic?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said gravely, his gaze sweeping over their anxious faces. "Between a Campione and a Heretic God."
Gasps rang out, loud and sharp, echoing in the confined office. Several professors turned pale, some visibly recoiling as if struck. The very words seemed to carry a weight of ancient, terrifying truth.
"Campiones are real?" Professor Sprout whispered, her voice barely audible, her face white. "I always thought… they were just stories. Fairy tales for impressionable young wizards."
"They've always been real, Pomona," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with ancient regret. "Just… forgotten. Ignored by our kind, dismissed as mere myth. Most Winx believed them to be fairy tales, cautionary tales, nothing more concrete than dragons. more so to get people to not cause trouble by involving us with them." He paused a long, troubled silence.
"But we felt it," Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed, a grim comprehension dawning on his face. "That magic was blinding. A raw force of power. No Winx or Magician alive, no matter how powerful, could possibly do that."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his gaze distant, his mind clearly grappling with the implications. "A new Campione rose in Italy only days ago, silencing a Heretic God. Another battle, almost immediately after, followed shortly in Scotland. The proximity and the frequency are… unprecedented."
His eyes were shadowed, filled with a deep, unsettling foreboding.
"I suspect we've been blind to the truth for far too long. The world is changing, and we are ill-prepared."
There was silence before Dumbles changed the subject.
"What of Harry Potter? Has anyone seen or heard from him?"
Silence.
He didn't want to admit it—but even he no longer knew where the boy had gone.
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