In Memoriam

 

 

Chapter 1: Dangling (Levicorpus)

 

 

In the fall of 1997, Ted Tonks left behind his cherished wife of twenty-six years and a grown daughter who was about to have a child of her own.  At forty-four he found himself a refugee in his own country, a fugitive from the Wizarding world. 

 

It was a shock to know his life was gone.  That he might never wake up beside Andromeda again, never lace her boots, never hear the thump of falling objects as his daughter burst into a room, knocking things over.  It was a shock, yes, but no surprise.  Ted Tonks had always been an exile, neither wizard nor Muggle.  He was not surprised that his life was over, only that he had led it at all. 

 

After three weeks on the run, he quite literally stumbled upon a fellow outcast--a tall, gangling black kid named Dean Thomas who’d left something out casting a cloaking spell and wound up sleeping out in the open.

 

“You’re lucky it was me who tripped over you and not Snatchers,” Ted said.  “Maybe we ought to stick together, look out for each other.”  Dean had nodded gratefully.  He was only seventeen and still believed that adults automatically knew what they were doing.  Ted tried not to shatter his illusions.  The boy had been through enough already.

 

Dean had escaped from the Hogwarts Express.  The train had been stopped on its way to the school, and Ministry of Magic officials had pulled off all the Muggle-born students. 

 

“They had Dementors guarding us,” Dean explained, “but I can call a Patronus.  Harry taught me fifth year.  Four of us got away-- Me, Orla Quicke, who’s a Ravenclaw, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Geena Wren, who’s just a second year.  We got separated by Snatchers last week.  I know for sure they got Justin, but I think the girls got away.”

 

“Damn,” Ted muttered.  “So, they’re going after little kids now.  This whole thing has gotten way out of control.  You’re not going to be safe as long as you’re in this country, Dean.  You’d best get out while you can.” 

 

“No, sir,” the boy said, shaking his head.  “Harry Potter’s my mate, and they say this is going to come down to him against You-Know-Who.  When it does, I want to be here to help.”

 

“Noble sentiment, bad plan.  I suppose you’re a Gryffindor?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

 

 “Well, no use me trying to change your nature.  Stick around if you like, it’s your funeral.”

 

“What about you, Mr. Tonks?” Dean asked.  “Why haven’t you left the country?”

 

“My daughter, Dora, is an Auror.  Or she was before the Ministry got hijacked.  She’s determined to stick it out even though she’s due to have a baby in the spring.  Then there’s my wife, Andromeda.  She’s staying put for Dora’s sake.  Her sister’s a woman by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange; she’s a Death Eater…”

 

“I’ve heard about her.  She’s not just a Death Eater; she’s the worst of the Death Eaters.”

 

“Can’t argue with that.  Apparently, Lestrange has it in for Dora--thinks she’s brought shame on the family name or some such rot--but she won’t touch my wife.  They were close once, before Andromeda married me, and apparently Lestrange hasn’t forgotten.  After the Ministry changed hands, Andromeda and I were hauled in to answer some questions about your friend Harry Potter.  Not a pleasant experience.  Basically, they ended up torturing us, but Andromeda’s interrogation was stopped very abruptly, and she was released.  She thinks her sister had something to do with it, couldn’t bear to see her hurt even after all these years.  Andromeda’s hoping that if she stays near Dora, Lestrange will leave her alone.  It’s a long shot, but it’s all she can do to help at this point.  As for me, I can’t be with them because of the damned Muggle-born laws, but I plan to stay as close as I can.”

 

Dean cleared his throat, stifling a smile.

 

“Hufflepuff were you?” he asked.  Ted Tonks laughed.

 

“Through and through, apparently,” he said.  “Funny how we’re both making the same mistake for different reasons.” 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: A locked Door Opens (Alohomora)

 

 

            They camped on a wild hillside overlooking the North Sea.  On the distant horizon, before the sunset, Ted could just make out Azkaban.  Who was prisoner there now that the Death Eaters were free? 

 

The chill of autumn was in the air--winter was coming. 

 

“Did you ever think it would come to this?” Dean asked him that night.  They’d shielded off a campsite, built a fire.  They’d eaten well enough because Ted wasn’t hesitant to steal.  It was a matter of their survival, and he’d stolen far more than food for reasons not half so good.  He’d always considered himself something of a bottom feeder.  He couldn’t afford lofty ideals or high moral standards.  Dean, who was far more scrupulous, protested on a regular basis but tucked in when it was time for dinner.

 

“I remember second year at Hogwarts, there was a lot of trouble,” Dean went on.  “Muggle-born students being attacked and there was stuff about Mudbloods written on the wall, but it seemed like it kind of blew over.  Most of the time it didn’t seem to matter all that much if you were Muggle-born or not.  I never thought things would get this bad.  Did you?”

 

Ted stared into the flames. 

 

He was remembering a spring night in 1971.  He was eighteen years old.  It was a few weeks before he would have graduated from Hogwarts.   He was kneeling in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.  Twigs sharp beneath his knees, then the cushioning of a thousand years of fallen leaves.  He couldn’t see very well; it wasn’t just the dark.  His glasses were gone.  No, not gone.  Still on his face but shattered.  A taste of blood in his mouth.  A wand was pressed to his temple.  Someone was holding his arms.  Someone else had a hand in his hair, yanking his head back.  It was hard to think; he was still groggy from a combination of spells and physical blows.  Someone was in front of him, their face obscured not just by his vision but by a mask.  Still, he knew damned well it was Avery. 

 

“You think you’re going to get away with this because you’re wearing a mask?” Ted Tonks had snarled. 

 

“No,” Avery said.  “I’m going to get away with this because I’m from one of the oldest, purest families in the Wizarding world, and you’re nothing but an upstart piece of trash.  I’m going to get away with this because no one cares what happens to an ugly, big mouthed little git like you.  And I’m going to get away with this because you’re not going to want anyone to know what we’re going to do to you.” 

 

Then a blow across the face, choking, trying to breathe, his throat obscured by Avery’s cock, fighting as hard as he could just to breathe, but they held him down.  It seemed like it went on forever; finally, Avery was done, and Ted was retching till a hand clamped over his mouth. 

 

“That’s pure, you fucking cunt.  You swallow it.”

 

“Bloody hell, Goyle, go easy.  You’ll asphyxiate him.” 

 

“I’ll ass fix him all right…”

 

Ted was hauled to his feet.  Was it over?  No.  Someone pushed him over a fallen tree.  Rough bark against his cheek.  They were holding him down again.  How many of them were there?  At least he could breathe. 

 

His trousers were yanked down.

 

“You’ve been begging for this for a long time, Mudblood.”

 

“No…”

 

It was far from over. 

 

It was October, 1997.  Ted Tonks was forty-four years old, a fugitive on the run.

 

“Did you ever think it would come to this?” Dean Thomas asked him.

 

“If you really want to know, kid, I’m amazed it didn’t come to this a whole lot sooner,” Ted answered. 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, really.”

 

Ted took a vial out of his pocket and let a few drops of a potion drip onto his tongue.  As it took effect, the icy tension in his stomach relaxed, and the pound of his heart receded into the background.

 

“What is that?” Dean asked.

 

“It’s called Terpeometus.  It’s a potion made with St. John’s Balm.  It takes the edge off.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?  Out here like this, won’t having that edge help keep us alive?”

 

Ted shrugged.

 

“Maybe that’s the way it works for most people,” he said.  “But if I’m going to get up in the morning, the edge has to be blurred.” 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: Drifting (Wingardium Leviosa)

 

           

            As fall turned to winter, Ted and Dean found themselves part of an unlikely group that included another Muggle-born wizard, Dirk Cresswell, as well as Gornuk and Griphook, a pair of Goblins.  As the Snatchers grew more and more aggressive, it was no longer a question of if they would but caught up when.  Five of them together had a better chance of fighting it out than just two or three. 

 

            Ted knew Cresswell remotely.  There had been a few years overlap in their schooling, and later, when Ted was a reporter, he’d occasionally covered stories dealing with the Ministry of Magic’s Goblin Liaison Department, which Cresswell headed.  Cresswell had always been a go-getter--one of those Muggle-borns who was about three times the wizard as the average pureblood, and whose name always came up when someone was arguing that the Muggle-born were just as good as anyone else.  Ted had never quite been on that level.  He wasn’t much of a wizard. 

 

            Cresswell was shaken by his abrupt reversal in fortune but remained optimistic.  So far as Cresswell was concerned, their exile was temporary.  Each day brought the hope that the Wizarding world would rally and overcome You-Know-Who.  Ted couldn’t help but see this as a sort of denial, but it kept Dean’s spirits up. 

 

As for Ted Tonks, he found that trying to imagine the future would freeze him in place.  Even the happiest possible scenario—Voldemort falling, being reunited with Andromeda and his daughter, meeting his grandchild—filled him with a horror at his own helplessness and stopped his breath.  The future was too vast, too unknowable; it felt like drowning.  And so the future, like the past, was off limits to him.  When the merest shadow of memory or anticipation crossed his mind, he took a dose of Terpeometus and returned to the moment, focused on the requirements of the rough fugitive life they were leading.

 

They tried to move as often as possible, avoiding wizards and Muggles alike.  Each new place they stayed had to be carefully warded with hiding and protective spells.  They had to keep a constant watch for Snatchers and scrounge for food.  Cresswell was as naively scrupulous as Dean and disapproved of stealing.  Luckily, the Goblins had no such qualms and proved a great help in this respect. 

 

However, for the most part, they were difficult to deal with.  Their sense of humor was particularly cruel.  They enjoyed finding weak spots in their companions then goading them without mercy.  They reduced Dean Thomas to tears on more than one occasion, speculating on what the Death Eaters may have done to his mother after he disappeared.  When Ted came to Dean’s defense, the Goblins amused themselves for weeks afterwards with crude innuendos about Ted’s relationship to the boy.  Still, Cresswell knew how to relate to the Goblins and, for the most part, was able to keep them in line.  Even so, Ted was careful around them and made a point to reveal as little as possible about himself and his situation.  Terpeometus or not, he was fairly sure he’d get violent if they started taunting him about Bellatrix Lestrange eating babies.

 

As the weather grew bitter, they could no longer camp out and had to seek more substantial shelter, mainly in abandoned buildings.  Health became a concern as well.  Cresswell was a lifelong smoker, and all through November he was plagued by bronchitis.  None of them were particularly skilled at healing, and by December he’d come down with pneumonia.  His illness was severe enough that they were forced to spend several weeks, encompassing Christmas and the New Year, holed up in an ancient stone barn.

 

It was during this time that Dean stumbled onto a wireless broadcast of Potterwatch that gave them, for the first time in many months, news of the Wizarding world. 

 

Overall the news was grim. There was no sign of Harry Potter, and Voldemort’s power seemed stronger than ever.  Yet, contained in the Potterwatch broadcast was the best news Ted Tonks could have hoped for. 

 

“Now we’ll hear from members of the Order of the Phoenix,” the host, River, said about fifteen minutes into the program.  “Romulus and the very expectant Polychrome.”

 

Polychrome.

 

Ted immediately recognized the name.  Polychrome was the daughter of the Rainbow in L. Franks Baum’s The Road to Oz.  It had been one of his daughter Dora’s favorite books when she was growing up.  He hardly dared hope it was her.  Then he heard her voice, and he knew that it was. 

 

Nymphadora Tonks was still alive, still carrying her child. 

 

The man called Romulus was his son-in-law, Remus Lupin.  Lupin had left Dora not long before Ted himself was forced to leave.  Apparently, he had returned, and they were together again.  Ted had hated Lupin for deserting Dora, but now he felt shamed by his son-in-law.  Werewolves had it just as bad as the Muggle-born, but Lupin was sticking it out, fighting, protecting the people he cared about.  Ted was the one who had run, who was hiding, and who had left Dora and Andromeda to fend for themselves.

 

This disgust with himself and the joy of knowing that his daughter was all right struck Ted Tonks from either side.  Shame and hope hitting him with equal force.  He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

 

From what seemed like a great distance, he heard Dean’s voice.

 

“Mr. Tonks, are you all right?  Is something the matter?” 

 

He couldn’t answer, couldn’t move; he was frozen in place.

 

“What’s the matter with him?” Griphook asked, at once curious and sneering.

 

“Give him a shake, he’ll snap out of it,” Gornuk suggested. 

 

“He’s overwhelmed is all,” Cresswell said, taking the situation in hand, a diplomat through and through, weakened as he was by his drawn out illness.  “It’s just too much for him.  Dean, be a good lad and find that potion he takes…” 

 

“What is wrong with him, sir?” Dean asked softly, frightened. 

 

“Some people,” Cresswell said hesitantly, searchingly, “some people have things happen to them they never quite recover from.  Some people have a difficult time getting through life.”

 

“I don’t understand…’

 

Their voices drifted away.

 

It felt like being lost in darkness.  It felt like vertigo.  It felt like dying, to live. 

 

 

Chapter Four: Pain Memories (Crucio)

 

 

            Ted Tonks was never anyone special.  He grew up in a dismal public housing project.  His parents were working people who were not always working.  Neither of them had too much love for each other or their four children.  Ted was a scrawny, unattractive child with weak eyes who needed glasses from the age of six on.   Specs were generally considered something you wore if you were smart, but Ted didn’t do well at school.  He had trouble focusing, couldn’t concentrate, so he was put in with the slower children.  In their midst, his nervous sensitivity immediately marked him as vulnerable.

 

Everyday at school he got his worthlessness pounded into him with words or with fists.  That was his life … then, a miracle.  On his eleventh birthday, a man in robes with a strange, brightly feathered bird on his shoulder came to the Tonks’ door and explained that there was a whole different world, a world of magic, and that Ted Tonks of all people would be a part of it. 

 

“I always knew there was something off about our Teddy,” his mother said with a sigh. 

 

His parents, his brothers and his sister never knew what to make of him after that.  On holidays he was a stranger in their home. 

 

Hogwarts didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms, but that didn’t matter.  He had been nothing, but now he had magical powers.  No one was ever going to stomp on him again. 

 

As a teenager, Ted Tonks was known mainly for having a big mouth, for not knowing when to shut up, especially when it came to the issue of the Muggle-born.  He’d argue with anyone who said that purebloods were better, and ought to have special rights and privileges.  He didn’t let the fact that he wasn’t exactly top of the class deter him from telling anyone who brought it up that the Muggle-born were as good as anyone. 

 

His outspokenness on this particular issue earned him a lot of enemies, and the fiercest of them all was his classmate Andromeda Black, the queen of Slytherin.  She’d never lower herself to arguing with the likes of him, but day after day she glared at him, her dark eyes flashing.  Knowing she was watching him, he went further and further.  She couldn’t intimidate him with her distain, her haughtiness, her regal beauty.  He wasn’t going to be silenced by the fact that he was in love with her.

 

He was in love with her.  Sometimes it seemed like there was a crackling energy between them.  It seemed so real he could almost believe that she felt it too, but he knew he was imagining it.  He knew miraculous things were possible, but he was pragmatic enough to realize that Andromeda Black was way out of his league. 

 

Still, as his time at Hogwarts neared its end, he became even more reckless and inflammatory, speaking out when he ought to have kept his mouth shut, never backing down from an argument.  To keep her angry eyes fixed on him, Ted was willing to incur the hatred of some very dangerous people. 

 

He found out just how dangerous that spring night in the Forbidden Forest. 

 

Glasses shattered, bent over the fallen tree, his worthlessness was reaffirmed, pounded into him more brutally than it ever had been, more brutally than he had ever dreamed possible.  He tried to fight it, struggled against it as hard as he could, but he was held by hands, by spells that held even when his body broke.  He dislocated his shoulders, his hips, fractured his bones trying to get away, but he was held fast.  All he could do was scream, but even that made no sound.  Someone had cast a silencing charm.  Silencio.  He screamed silently till his vocal chords ruptured inside him.  It made no difference. 

 

How many of them were there?  It couldn’t have been more than five or six but it felt like so many, one after the other spitting on his face, forcing inside him, taking up a space that couldn’t contain them, tearing him open.

 

“Say you love it, Mudblood.” 

 

He had no voice, but he said what he was asked.  His lips moved mutely.

 

“I love it.  I love it.”

 

“Say you’re an ugly piece of shit.”

 

“I’m an ugly piece of shit.”  He was in shock; he couldn’t even mouth the words anymore, only repeat them in his mind.  It wasn’t good enough; his assailant smacked him across the face for not answering.  Why couldn’t they accept the blood pouring from his mouth as his answer.  “I’m an ugly piece of shit.”

 

How many of them were there?  Was it ever going to end?

 

And then among the grunts and curses and Ted’s terrible silence, a girl’s voice rang out.

 

“Leave him,” she ordered. 

 

It was Andromeda Black.

 

Part 2/2