Nymphadora Tonks groaned and sank deeper into the plush velvet couch in her childhood sitting room, burying her face completely in her hands. She heard the faint, melodic sound of her mother's laughter drifting in from the kitchen, the sound, though familiar and warm, only made her stress-induced headache throb harder.
"Come on, honey, I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Andromeda Tonks called, the amusement barely contained in her voice.
"It's not funny, Mum," Nymphadora snapped without looking up, her voice muffled by her palms. She didn't need to see her mother to know Andromeda was standing there with a large, satisfied grin, enjoying the cosmic irony of the situation. Of course, her mother found it funny. Of course, she did.
The source of Andromeda's amusement was simple,
Tonks's recent boast. A few weeks ago, she had bragged, only a little, only to a couple of friends while tipsy at a pub, about dating Harry Potter. Sarah had been making fun of her for being still single, and in a defensive, slightly competitive surge, the truth had just tumbled out, she was dating the Harry Potter. Her friends had been surprised and had wanted all the details, but it seemed even drunk Tonks wasn't a total blabbermouth. She'd managed to hold back, and her friends had decided to back off.
But gossip, Tonks knew, was a living thing. It finds a crack and spreads like dragon pox.
So imagine her surprise when she had finished teaching a few classes at Hogwarts and had taken a day off to check on friends at the Ministry, only to be swarmed.
She'd been hit by a sudden wave of attention, reporters, co-workers, and absolute strangers, all suddenly wanting to know everything about her.
The atrium, usually a hub of frantic activity, had devolved into a media circus centered on her pink head. She remembered the blinding flash of cameras, the crude, whispered questions, and the way every eye seemed to bore into her. Who was she? How had she gotten together with Harry Potter?
Everyone asked questions, some of them valid, others probing and malicious, but all of them intrusive. One man had even shouted and insinuated that she'd latched onto Potter simply to climb her way back into the favor of the Black Family after her mum's disownment.
The sheer audacity of the suggestion had made her wand arm twitch violently. She had nearly punched him right there and then, regardless of the crowd.
She managed to get away, her friends dragging her through the chaotic atrium, until they finally reached a safe place. That was when they had dropped the other bomb on her.
Harry Potter was a Campione.
Normally, this type of outlandish rumor would be nothing more than a joke, a fun piece of magical fantasy, like Harry Potter slaying a dragon at 4years or rescuing a princess at 7, but a lot of the people in the Ministry had connections to the noble families who had confirmed that it was, in fact, true.
Tonks had sat there in a daze. She knew what a Campione was. Her mother had once used the story of a Campione to scare her as a kid, joking that it was something her own mother had done for her and her sisters.
She remembered not being able to sleep in her own room that night and creeping into her parents' room, earning a laugh from her mum and her dad scolding her mum for scaring her.
The way her mum had described Campiones were as devils, monsters that tore through anything that tried to get in their way, demon lords that cared for nothing but themselves. They were chaos given mortal form, beings above the laws of magic and men.
She tried, desperately, to picture those images and compare them to her dorky boyfriend, Harry.
He was the man who looked like a lazy, sleepy cat when he curled up on a sofa in her quarters when he came over to talk, the one who sometimes whine about class and just wanting to spend time with her and Daphne.
She recalled the soft smile on his face when he was talking to Daphne, the smug, I-know-something-you-don't look he'd give her when he thought he'd done something cool, that sly, predatory grin when they were alone in an empty classroom, and the heady, stolen kisses in broom-closets.
She just couldn't fit the vicious, Demon like image her mother had painted with the earnest, sometimes clumsy boy she had come to love. The creature of myth that didn't like to share a bag of chips and liked talking about Quidditch and magic.
The intense juxtaposition made her laugh, then cry, it made her furious at the universe for being so ridiculous, and furious and pouty at Harry for holding back such a secret.
She wanted to find him and throttle him for keeping the secret and then leaving her to a hundred prying eyes.
She'd left her friends, determined to find Harry, but when she realized she was being followed, someone even tried to follow her into a bathroom, asking questions. She'd changed her appearance, lost her followers, and fled straight to her parents' home. Now, she sat there, relating the absurdity of the last few hours, and her mother was finding it hilarious.
Andromeda couldn't help it. It wasn't that she was cruel, it was the sheer, dramatic flair of the situation, the kind of irony that only life in the magical world could deliver. Just a few weeks ago, her daughter had been complaining about the emotional drama of her previous relationship with Remus.
Tonks had explicitly said that the relationship with Harry felt simpler despite his fame. And then boom, life hits her with a surprise God-slayer tag. It was like watching a comedy drama unfold in her own living room.
"I know, I know," her mother said, finally walking out of the kitchen with a cup of tea and taking the couch opposite her. "But, Dora. A Campione. Of all the things." She shook her head, but her gaze was more fond and proud than judging. "You always did make life interesting. And honestly, this is good in a way, Nymphadora."
After all, what mother wouldn't want the best for her child? And what's better than a goddamn God-slayer? If anyone can find something better, she'd like to see it.
"Mum," Tonks insisted, sitting up and glaring, "it's not funny."
"I know, darling, I know," Andromeda relented, her face sobering slightly as she handed her daughter the tea. She reached out and gently smoothed a stray strand of pink hair from Tonks's face. "You know what I think? I think this is something that would have happened regardless of the Campione news. When the Dark Lord returned, you were already a gossip topic for others. Your connections to your family, your job, and your relationship with him, you were always going to be news. Sure, the Campione thing just raises the stakes to the point of absurdity, but I'm sure it's something you can work out. Or are you regretting your choice already?" she finished, a hint of a challenge in her voice.
Tonks shot up from the couch, spilling a tiny bit of tea. "No!" she yelled, the word bursting from her chest with absolute conviction. Ever since she started dating Harry, she had been happy, truly happy, and she had never regretted it.
"Then why are you so out of character? I thought my girl didn't care for what other people thought of her," Andromeda taunted, pushing her daughter.
"You're right, I don't!" Tonks declared, suddenly finding her footing. She wiped her hands on her trousers.
"Then what are you going to do now?" Andromeda asked, her voice softening back into curiosity.
Tonks felt the anxiety drain away, replaced by a fierce determination. Her mouth tightened.
"I'm going to find Harry and throttle him for not telling me and leaving me to deal with this mess," she said, letting an evil smile grow on her face as she started laughing, a small, bright, and slightly mad sound. Oh, just wait until she gets her hands on him, he'd wish he never existed. Think he can just up and leave this mess for her with no payback, fat chance.
"Good," Andromeda said simply, standing up and walking back toward the kitchen. "And if anyone gives you trouble outside, you call me." She was still a daughter of house black, destroying someone's life for bothering her daughter is a simple thing.
Tonks felt a wave of warmth and love for her mother. The fantasy of finding Harry, shaking him until his teeth rattled, and then demanding a very long, distracting date to catch up was almost real enough to fuel her exit.
At Hogwarts, the Gryffindor common room was a noisy hive of questions. Hermione Granger stood with her arms folded so tightly her fingernails were digging into her arms, trying to block out the endless tide of curiosity from the circle of people gathered around her and her friends.
"Where is he?" Hermione demanded, rubbing her temples, ignoring most of the people around her, her voice low.
Ron Weasley shuffled uneasily, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet telling of the death of Albus Dumbledore and the darklords, yet it seemed that was small news to others compared to the fact that a campione existed and was the famous boy who lived.
"Dunno," Ron muttered, looking uncomfortable at the people who were around them. He was the one mostly answering the questions people were asking, seeing as Hermione was lost in her thoughts.
"He's been gone a couple of days now, hasn't he? Could be anywhere." He cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit.
"But he didn't even tell us!" Hermione whispered, her voice filled with worry and a bit of hurt. "He left without telling anyone again! He could be hurt. He could be…" she trailed off.
She knew she wasn't his keeper, but a simple, 'hey, I'm going somewhere, cover for me' would have been nice, but he just disappeared without warning.
Ginny Weasley cut in, softer, leaning against Hermione.
"Hermione, He's Harry. He'll come back. He always does, he'll be fine." Ginny said, and Neville, usually anxious, nodded, reassuring her.
"Ginny's right," Neville chimed in, looking uncharacteristically serious. "I'm sure nothing will happen to Harry, Hermione, it's who gets in his way you should worry about." After all, Harry was a god slayer, it would be stupid to do something to him.
Around the room, the other students' chatter bubbled. Lavender asked breathless questions every minute, and Dean tried and failed to be consoling.
"I just don't like this," Hermione said finally, turning to Ron.
Ron shot a look at the portrait hole, at the staircases, half-expecting his best mate to come crashing through the frame at any moment. "Yeah," he said, his voice flat with exhaustion. "Me too. Let's just hope he comes back before someone starts asking what the color of his underwear are."
She stared at the common room window and whispered, "Where are you, Harry? Please come back soon."
Somewhere far away, Harry stood in a vast field that was easily twice the size of a football stadium. He looked like he was tired, rubbing his hair, then turned to the space in front of him.
He let out a long, tired sigh. "I'm sure there's nothing I can say for you to just let this go, is there?" he said, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.
A smug, easy voice replied. "Nothing at all, 'little brother."
Harry glared lightly at the man who was just standing there. The man's blonde hair was dazzling, as he sported an amused smile, Sword at his hip.
Salvatore Doni looked like he was practically vibrating with joy..
"Doni," Harry said simply, a mixture of greeting and annoyance.
Salvatore Doni just grinned and let out a loud laugh, "Don't be like that, it's just a little spar."
Harry sighed.
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