Chapter 10

The Broken Claw, the Strange Room and the Dragon’s Snort.

The night was dark, heavy with an oppressive fog that curled through the alleys of Knockturn Alley.
The air felt thicker in that corner of the wizarding world, where the lights flickered with a sickly glow and the shadows shifted uneasily, dancing to the murmur of clandestine conversations.

Tonks walked beside Alastor Moody. His magical eye spun relentlessly, scanning every corner, every shadow, every movement in that dangerous place. The veteran’s boots struck the cobblestones with a steady, threatening rhythm, a sharp contrast to Tonks’ lighter, though equally alert, stride.

They had a clear objective: to meet a certain Toby the One-Eyed, a former Unspeakable, and get information about Balthazar Greaves.
The name had slipped from the lips of Mundungus Fletcher, whose knowledge of the underworld was as reliable as if Dumbledore himself had spoken it.

Despite the gravity of the mission, Tonks couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Passing a grimy mirror wedged into a corner, she stopped and examined her reflection.

“Hold on, Alastor. Give me a second to blend in.”

Under Moody’s watchful gaze, her face began to shift.
Wrinkles cut across her youthful skin, her hair dulled to a washed-out gray, and her teeth twisted into a crooked, yellowed snarl. Even her left eye shut beneath a grotesque scar that gave her a dangerously authentic look.

Moody crossed his arms and grunted, hiding an almost imperceptible approval.

“What do you think?” Tonks asked, turning toward him with a crooked grin. “Do I pass for a London back-alley witch?”

Moody narrowed his normal eye while the magical one kept spinning.
“You make Mundungus look like a model of personal hygiene,” he muttered.

Tonks burst into spontaneous laughter, forcing it to sound rough and gravelly.

With a flick of her wand, the Auror finished the disguise: her usual stylish robe with silver studs gave way to a threadbare, tattered cloak, riddled with holes and stains that looked like stories etched from years of disreputable places.

“Remember, Tonks,” Moody growled, “Greaves isn’t just anyone. He knows how to play in the shadows. Don’t let Toby suspect you. We don’t want him warned.”

Tonks nodded, though her breezy tone contrasted with her mentor’s sternness.
“Relax, Alastor. I’ve got this. And besides, you always have an extra eye just in case.”

Moody didn’t answer, though the twist of his mouth could almost have passed for a smile.

When they reached the meeting point—an abandoned warehouse with a façade smeared in magical graffiti and boarded-up windows—they spotted a familiar figure at the entrance.

Remus Lupin stood waiting, his hands buried in the pockets of his shabby yet neat robe. He raised his head, eyes reflecting equal parts exhaustion and focus.

To Tonks, he looked ill, paler and more hollow-eyed than usual.

“Lupin,” Moody grunted in greeting. “Now we’re all here.”

Remus approached without a word, but his eyes briefly met Tonks’, and she rewarded him with a broad smile, glad to share this mission with him.

“Well, Remus, ever the picture of elegance. Is that robe second-hand or third?” Tonks teased, trying to ease the tension.

He arched a brow, though the faintest shadow of a smile crossed his lips.
“I prefer not to draw attention—unlike some,” he replied, his tone neutral.

Tonks chuckled softly, though her gaze lingered on him a moment too long. Something was off.

Moody spent a minute making sure no one had followed them or was eavesdropping. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“This time, you only watch and talk. We need information about Balthazar Greaves’ former position in the Department of Mysteries. Seems he did something even they couldn’t cover up, and that’s why they kicked him out. According to Mundungus, there’s a bloke called Toby the One-Eyed who might know something. He worked there years ago and knew Greaves. Now he’s half mad and completely drunk, but he sings when the gold talks. Get it done fast and clean. I’ll keep my distance. I draw too much attention.”

Tonks and Lupin nodded before turning the corner, venturing deeper into the winding alleys of Knockturn Alley.
Soon they reached the end of a dark passage, where a sign, barely lit by a flickering charm, marked the entrance to The Broken Claw.

The place had a dilapidated façade, with its windows so blackened with soot that it was impossible to see inside. The stench of stale beer and pipe smoke hung in the air before they had even crossed the threshold.

The inside was worse.

The walls were caked with decades of grime, and the floorboards groaned underfoot as if they kept some filthy secret. The few patrons scattered at the tables seemed more intent on staying hidden than socializing, hunched under cloaks and hoods.

“Charming,” Tonks muttered as she glanced around.

Moody, keeping to his own advice, remained near the door, watchful beneath a wide-brimmed hat that partially concealed his magical eye. Lupin and Tonks slipped into a dark corner near the bar—far enough to avoid unwanted stares, yet with a decent view of the entire dive.

“I wonder if there will ever be a backstreet inn that doesn’t smell of despair and dirty socks,” she murmured, drumming her fingers on the sticky tabletop. Her eyes—mischievous and sharp despite the disguise—missed nothing of the room’s movements.

Lupin, arms crossed and face grave, gave no answer.
His gaze was fixed on one of the few windows that wasn’t entirely coated with grime. Though half-blocked by a cluster of hooded wizards huddled around something, he still had a clear line of sight to the sky.

A cloud slid slowly past, revealing the bright edge of the moon in its waxing phase. Lupin watched in silence, as if that glimpse alone were enough to tighten every muscle in his body.

Tonks noticed his unease. She saw how his eyes swept the tavern—from bar to shadows, from the cloaked figures to the window—and how his shoulders stayed rigid, like a man expecting an attack at any moment.

When Lupin kept to his silent watch, the Auror slapped the tabletop with a calloused hand, drawing the attention of a passing barman.

“A double firewhisky. And don’t skimp on the measure,” she barked, her brusque tone crafted to suit the place. Then she pointed to a battered sign nailed above the bar. “And bring us the house drink. Whatever that is.”

The barman—a thin man with ashen skin and shifty eyes that dodged any direct contact—cast her a sidelong glance. For a moment he looked as if he might speak, but instead he gave a sullen nod and slipped toward the bar, vanishing behind a ragged curtain that separated the service area from the rest of the pub.

Tonks followed him with her eyes for a moment before turning back to Lupin, whose vigilance had not eased. His gaze still prowled every shadowed corner of the tavern with the restlessness of a creature sensing a predator nearby.

“Relax a little, Remus,” Tonks said, propping an elbow on the table with contained amusement, studying him with a mix of affection and concern. “We’ll get out in one piece. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Her tone was light, but beneath it lay something genuine. A signal that, though she joked, she was just as alert.

Lupin tore his eyes from the moon just as another cloud covered it again. Meeting his companion’s gaze, he forced himself to offer a brief, fleeting smile—little more than a shadow at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry, Tonks. This place… puts me on edge,” he replied, his voice calm, almost reassuring, as though he meant to soothe her rather than himself.

It wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the whole truth, either.
What truly unsettled him wasn’t in that dark room, nor in the hooded wizards, nor even in the chance of violence. What gnawed at him was the pressure beneath his skin, the irregular beat in his chest, the echo of the waxing moon already tugging at his mind.

The nearness of the transformation made him more irritable, more vulnerable. And he hated that feeling with a quiet ferocity.

Tonks studied him for a moment, leaning closer with a mischievous expression.
“It’s good you’re on guard, but save the long faces for when we’re in real danger, all right? Come on, give me something to play with.” She raised her eyebrows in mock expectation, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about a sarcastic comment about the menu? I’m pretty sure that pot in the corner has been boiling since the founding of the pub.”

This time, Lupin’s smile was more genuine, and his eyes lit with the faintest spark.
“Whatever’s in that pot should probably be classified as a new species of magical creature,” he replied, with a dry edge of irony that drew a gravelly, sincere laugh from Tonks.

“There it is! I knew there was life under all those layers of seriousness,” she said, cheered by the change in him.

At that moment, the barman reappeared, dropping two glasses onto the table with a dull thud and scooping up the coins Tonks had left on the bar with the speed of someone long used to avoiding questions. He didn’t say a word before vanishing once more into the shadows.

Lupin studied the glasses with curiosity. One held an amber liquid that gave off the unmistakable scent of cheap firewhisky. The other—the one Tonks had ordered out of sheer curiosity—was filled with a murky, uncertain-colored brew that seemed to defy all laws of magical chemistry.

“What’s that?” Lupin asked, leaning slightly toward the stranger of the two.

“Something called The Dragon’s Snort,” Tonks replied, pointing enthusiastically at a faded sign hanging behind the bar. “And I’m going to be brave enough to try it.”

With a dramatic flourish, she raised the glass as if to toast some grand occasion. Lupin arched his brows, torn between skepticism and amusement.

“If you start blowing smoke out of your ears, I’ll make sure Moody records it as a side effect,” he remarked dryly.

Tonks winked at him and took a decisive sip. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, she froze, wrinkling her nose with a grimace of disgust before lowering the glass quickly.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s vile. Tastes like troll soup,” she said, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the flavor.

Lupin chuckled under his breath, nodding slightly toward the drunkard swaying precariously on his stool across the room.

“Let’s hope it isn’t what Toby the One-Eyed seems to enjoy.”

Tonks followed his gaze just as the drunk let out a raucous, off-key laugh and raised his cup in a half-hearted toast to no one.

“If that’s what he’s drinking, I think I understand why they call him ‘One-Eye,’” Tonks quipped with a conspiratorial smile.

The Auror set aside her playful tone—and her dubious drink—and assumed a more professional demeanor, though her disguise as a ragged, filthy witch hardly helped inspire confidence. Even so, there was something about her natural cheek that could disarm even the most suspicious of reactions.

Together with Lupin, she approached the staggering man slumped at the end of the bar. Half-sunk into his chair, with a half-empty tankard in front of him, he muttered to himself with the intensity of someone long lost in his own thoughts.

“Greaves… that cunning bastard…” the man mumbled, dragging his words. “He had it all planned. The strange room… always said the Department of Mysteries had things no one should touch…”

Tonks stepped forward deliberately. Her crooked grin revealed the uneven tooth that was part of her disguise. She leaned toward the drunk as if she were an old acquaintance stumbling across him by chance.

“Strange room?” she rasped. “What are you talking about, friend? Come on, don’t be shy.”

She dropped into a chair beside him, as though her presence there were the most natural thing in the world. Toby the One-Eyed squinted at her, trying to decide whether to trust this ragged witch who seemed to know him. Before he could decide, Lupin moved closer, lingering in the shadows, ready to intervene if needed.

“Do I know you?” Toby slurred, his eyes clouded.

Tonks let out a throaty, exaggerated laugh.
“Of course you do, Tob! I’m Andragora, your lifelong neighbor. Or are you so blind drunk you don’t even recognize your old friends?”

Lupin bit back a retort, cursing Tonks’ lack of subtlety. But to his surprise, the drunk’s face lit up. His grip on his wand eased, and he leaned in, eager not to miss a word.

“Andragora! By all the goblins… good times, yes indeed! Good… very good times!”

“That’s right. But don’t wander off now,” Tonks said, giving him a friendly nudge on the arm. “Sounded like you were talking about something interesting, weren’t you? Come on, friend, spill what’s in that head of yours—I’m listening.”

With a casual gesture, she let two galleons fall onto the table. Toby’s eyes gleamed instantly. He snatched up the coins with trembling hands.

“Bah… nothing. Greaves’ business. You know how he was.” His tone feigned indifference, but there was a nervous edge, as though he knew much more.

“What business?” Lupin interjected calmly, his voice low. He slid another pair of coins across the table, right under Toby’s sluggish gaze.

Toby barked a dry laugh, took a long gulp of his ale, and slammed the tankard down with a dull thud—while, with surprising feline quickness for his drunken state, he pocketed the money.

“Greaves was mad. Said he heard voices. Said the room spoke to him… told him things. Said if he could understand them, he’d change the world. The whole world!”

Lupin and Tonks exchanged a quick glance.

“What room?” Lupin pressed, still composed.

“A locked room. Protected. You can’t get in. Not just anyone, anyway. They said only those involved could enter. And the workers. Greaves thought there was a way—that he could get in. No wonder those who work there end up losing their minds!”

Toby paused for a moment, as if combing his memory. His expression suddenly darkened.

“And did he manage it?” Tonks pressed.

The drunk gave a hollow laugh.
“Manage it? Ha! Not a chance. But he tried. Oh, he tried. That’s why they threw him out. After that, he lost himself among the undesirables, the outcasts, the forgotten… like me.”

Suddenly he lurched upright, swaying.
“I’ve said too much. If anyone hears… I’ll end up like him. Or worse.” His eyes locked on them with sudden clarity. “If you’re smart, you’ll forget all this.”

And before they could react, he stumbled off, weaving through floorboards and patrons alike, and staggered out the door.

They were left alone.

The silence between Tonks and Lupin grew heavy.

“A room that speaks,” Tonks murmured at last, her eyes on her empty glass. “Not what I expected to hear.”

Lupin took a few seconds before answering.
“Not what I expected either. But it sounds exactly like the kind of thing the Department of Mysteries would bury at all costs.”

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Tonks and Lupin rejoined Mad-Eye, and the three of them left Knockturn Alley together, heading back toward Muggle London.
The moon peeked shyly over an abandoned lot between buildings, casting its pale light on cracked asphalt, filthy puddles, and shadows that seemed to swallow everything in their path.

“I’ll call a meeting to discuss what you’ve found,” Moody growled in parting.

With a dry crack, he vanished into the night, his words still hanging in the air.

Tonks rolled her eyes at her mentor’s lack of ceremony. She had returned to her true appearance, her half-length hair, tousled and pink, shining brighter than ever—as if offended at having been forced into the drab, washed-out brown required by her disguise.

The mission’s success had left Tonks with a good taste in her mouth. She felt light, almost buoyant. Her gaze drifted to Remus, searching for some sign of shared satisfaction: a mischievous wink, a complicit smile, a gesture that showed he felt the same.
But no.

His posture remained more rigid than usual, as though some invisible weight had settled across his shoulders. Tonks studied him in silence, trying to read him, but Remus stayed distant, impenetrable—like a closed book.

Determined not to let the silence smother them, Tonks tried something.
“What’s the matter, Remus? You look like a startled crup,” she said with a crooked smile, aiming to tease him with affection.

He turned his head toward her, as though just remembering he wasn’t alone.
His expression barely shifted. His eyes—usually warm despite the melancholy—were veiled by something darker.

“Nothing, Tonks. I’m fine.”

The reply was as brief as it was hollow.

Tonks sighed softly. She knew that with Remus, silences often spoke louder than words. But she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

She tried again, adding a spark of humor that she hoped might light something in him.
“You know, we could grab a drink and go over what we learned. There’s a decent place not far from here. Besides, my taste buds need to forget The Dragon’s Snort,” she joked, wrinkling her nose with a theatrical grimace.

But instead of matching her lighter tone, Remus lifted his gaze to the sky, where the moon slipped back behind the clouds. His features softened for a moment, but what emerged wasn’t relief—rather a mix of sadness and something Tonks couldn’t quite name.

“I can’t. Maybe another time. Good night.”

The tone was curt, almost cold.
Before she could answer, Remus turned and walked away, swallowed by the darkness of the alley. His footsteps, firm at first, faded until only silence remained.

Tonks stood motionless beneath the star-strewn sky, the night wind gently tugging at her hair.
For several seconds, she didn’t move.
She only stared at the place where he had disappeared, as though trying to grasp something that still eluded her.

Her smile had slipped away without her realizing it.
And the moon had hidden itself once more behind the clouds.

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Hello everyone!

Well, here it is—a short chapter, but an important one for the plot. The story is starting to weave itself together little by little. I wanted to give this one a thriller feel: like those detective tales set in cluttered offices, with the stale haze of cigarette smoke, cheap beer cans, and the intrigue of bloodhound sleuths prowling through the underworld. And, of course, a touch of rain, mud, and mediocrity for good measure.

In fact, as I wrote it, I already had the cover in mind—the one I’ve attached here (if the platform allows images; if not, you’ll find it on Instagram 👉 @lagatakafka).

I have to say, I love the combination of Moody, Lupin, and Tonks. Their roles and personalities mesh so well, and they fit perfectly with this darker atmosphere of secrets, shadows, and mysteries where I want to build the main thread.

I hope it’s starting to convince you where the story is headed. And above all, that the time you spend reading it continues to feel worthwhile.

As always, thank you for sticking with me—and see you in the next chapter!