Chapter 9

High and Solid Walls

Tonks trusted that, with time, she would learn to balance her two jobs.

For now, everything was a whirlwind of comings and goings: mornings at the office, afternoons of training, and meetings late into the night. She had barely had a chance to visit her parents, and if she added the night shifts, it felt as though she only slept in snatches of minutes.
Still, it was worth it.

She hadn’t even been in the Order for a month, yet already it felt as though she’d been there all her life.
Grimmauld Place still struck her as a gloomy, outdated, and cold place, yes—but there were two reasons why that dark old house seemed brighter and more welcoming.

On the one hand, the members of the Order.
When Moody first told her about the Order of the Phoenix, Tonks had imagined something stricter, almost military. She had pictured solemn meetings, rigid strategies, and solitary missions.
But the reality was very different.

She had found far more companionship and support than she ever expected.
Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and Emmeline Vance dropped by often, their mere presence bringing a sense of community that eased the exhaustion. No matter how tense the meetings were or how dangerous the missions, there was always a timely joke, a word of encouragement, or a shared laugh that made everything more bearable.

To her surprise, at one of the meetings she ran into Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprout. The latter greeted her with a warm hug, which the young Auror returned with enthusiasm. She had been her Head of House in Hufflepuff and, though she had scolded her more than once for her constant accidents in class, Sprout had always shown her genuine affection.

Of course, not all interactions were so pleasant.
Severus Snape, for example, still looked at her with the same disdain as in her school days, as if her presence in the Order were a personal affront. Tonks rolled her eyes the first time they crossed paths in the house, muttering to herself that some things never change.

It was on one of those days that the appearance of a new face lightened the atmosphere.

“This is Bill, my eldest son,” Mrs. Weasley announced proudly, casting a fond look at the young man. “He works for Gringotts in Egypt, but he’s asked to be transferred to London so he can join the Order.”

Bill turned toward Tonks and gave her a dazzling smile.
She vaguely remembered him from her days at Hogwarts. He was only a bit older than she was, though they had never really spoken.
Now, seeing him up close, he struck her as handsome and self-assured. Tall, solidly built, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, he wore a studded robe that Tonks thought looked rather stylish, paired with dragon-hide boots that seemed to have been worn on adventures she could only imagine.

Mrs Weasley excused herself with an unconvincing pretext, as though encouraging them to talk.

“So, Gringotts,” the Auror said, breaking the silence. Her tone was light, but her eyes held genuine curiosity.

Bill nodded as he lifted a teacup to his lips.

“Yes, I was in Egypt most of the time. I’ve worked on some of the most complex protective enchantments in ancient tombs. Fascinating work, though it can be dangerous if you’re not prepared.”

“I can imagine. Curses? Magical traps?” Tonks asked, leaning forward with interest.

—Exactly. One day you might be dismantling an eternal-sleep charm, and the next, dodging an explosive curse,” Bill replied with a grin. Then he added with a wink, “Though probably not as exciting as being an Auror. I’ve heard you work with Mad-Eye Moody.”

She laughed heartily and leaned back in her chair. Molly, pleased with how the conversation was going, poured Tonks another cup of tea with a satisfied expression, her eyes sparkling with hope.

“Yes, he’s my mentor. Though ‘exciting’ isn’t always the word I’d use to describe working with him. The constant paranoia can get exhausting.”

Bill let out a soft chuckle that made his face even more charming.
“I can imagine. Does he make you check your tea for Amortentia or something like that?”

“Don’t give him ideas,” Tonks replied with a grin. Then she added, “But seriously, he’s a good teacher. Demanding, yes, but you learn to be ready for anything.”

—Well, that explains why you didn’t knock over the umbrella stand in the hall. That’s an achievement in this house,” Bill joked before taking another sip of tea.

—Oh, believe me, I’ve knocked it over. You just didn’t see it.”

Bill laughed, and she joined in, enjoying the conversation.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Tonks,” Bill said at last, standing up and adjusting his ponytail. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other around here.”

“Likewise, Bill.”

He gave her one last smile before leaving the kitchen.
Tonks followed him with her eyes until his silhouette disappeared through the doorway, lingering a moment in silence with a half-smile still on her lips.

The other factor that clearly contributed to her feeling so at ease in the Order was the presence of the Weasley family at Grimmauld Place.
Gone were the days of shadowed hallways and dust-covered rooms, where the only sounds were the creak of old wood and hushed murmurs of conversation.
Since their arrival, the Black family house had come alive.

Laughter echoed through the corridors, the constant bustle of footsteps broke the long-standing silence, and the aroma of home-cooked meals rivaled the stale smell that lingered everywhere.
Molly Weasley—or rather, Sergeant Molly Weasley—had put everyone to work, moving furniture, shaking out curtains, and airing rooms until sunlight and fresh air managed to seep into every corner.

Always noisy, always full of energy, the Weasleys disordered as much as they organized, filling the house with their good humor and, every so often, with the odd explosion.
Lupin had been right: Tonks fit in perfectly with them and had endless fun at their side. She had always wanted to be part of a big, close-knit family, and the Weasleys were all that and more.

But there was something else—a third reason why she always found herself making time to stop by Grimmauld Place.

Sirius and Remus. Two unexpected companions whose presence had already become indispensable in her life.

Sirius always greeted her with his characteristic lopsided grin and some offhand joke that seemed capable of lifting the weight of her routine

Tonks loved spending time with him, listening to his stories—biting and fascinating in equal measure—about the very honorable and at the same time utterly despicable Black lineage they both shared.
She appreciated his way of facing life, that ease with which he stripped gravity from things, as if for a moment the coming war and Voldemort’s return did not exist. As if he had never spent twelve years in Azkaban.

Their bond was forming slowly, built on the ruins of a bloodline that had tried to set them apart.
And by one of those ironies of fate, it was in that very house Sirius had once fled that they now found each other again. Not as cousins, nor as heirs to a name, but as allies, as friends… as family, in their own way.

But the one who surprised her most was Remus.

As the days went by, Tonks began to realize that her first impression of him hadn’t been fair. She had mistaken his silence for arrogance and his discretion for indifference.

She soon understood that Remus was not, at all, a surly or unapproachable man, but rather someone deeply cautious and reserved. He chose carefully when to speak, and when he did, every word seemed considered, as if each one mattered.

Even his voice carried the weight of someone who had lived much. Someone who understood the burden of a world that had left deep marks on him, both emotionally and physically, visible in the scars that crossed his face—which, far from diminishing his appeal, gave him a striking presence

And yet, what drew the eye most was not his scars, nor his calm demeanor, nor his measured eloquence, but something deeper, hidden behind the amber of his gaze. A quiet sorrow that seemed to be part of him, which he tried to mask beneath a gentle expression. As if his soul had walked through shadows it could never quite dispel.

Still, that melancholy did not overshadow the warmth that radiated from him. He could offer a steadying look, a word of wisdom, or a serene smile that reached his eyes and softened, for an instant, his usual expression.

Remus was not someone who let himself be known easily.
Nor was he easy to define, and Tonks still didn’t know what to make of him.
He was rarely the one to start a conversation, nor did he seem to seek out the company of others.

In fact, he almost always appeared absorbed in his reading or his thoughts, as though his mind were a place he had no wish to leave. But the more time she spent with him, the more she found herself drawn to the man beneath that austere exterior.

Sometimes Tonks tried to break the silence with a lighthearted joke or an unexpected remark. At times, he replied with a monosyllable, in quiet courtesy; other times, she managed to coax from him that faint smile she loved so much.
Now and then, a trivial conversation would take shape—something Tonks welcomed with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

One night, after a meeting at Grimmauld Place, Tonks said goodbye to Hestia Jones and, as she turned, she saw him.
Remus was in a corner, absorbed in his reading, the warm light of the lamp highlighting the lines of his face. Without thinking too much, Tonks walked over, her usual curiosity in tow and a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Always this quiet?” she asked, dropping into the chair beside him.

He looked up and arched an eyebrow with irony.
“Always this direct?”

Tonks chuckled softly and poured herself a bit more tea from the dented pot at the center of the table, while Remus carefully closed his book, marking the page with a scrap of parchment.

“What is it you’re always reading with such interest?” she asked, nodding toward the volume.

He handed it to her without a word. Tonks took it and noticed the worn cover… and the faint watermark on one corner.

“Is this the book I nearly murdered with my water attack?” Tonks asked with mock drama, running her fingers along the aged spine.

Remus let out a low laugh.
“The very same,” he nodded, leaning slightly toward her. “Though I must admit, it survived with remarkable dignity.”

“Thank goodness,” Tonks said, feigning relief as she leafed through the pages with caution, as though still afraid they might fall apart in her hands. “That would’ve been an unforgivable crime.”

Remus leaned back against the table, watching her as she continued to examine the book.
“I suppose I should count myself lucky you didn’t cause a greater catastrophe,” he said.

Tonks pursed her lips in a mock-offended grimace, then spoke again:
“How many times have you read this relic?” she asked, curious, eyeing the yellowed pages.

“Not enough to stop finding something new in every reading,” he answered simply.

Tonks skimmed through a couple of pages. She realized it was a collection of poetry and short stories, all Muggle. She frowned slightly and glanced again at the title on the cover.

“Muggle poetry? Now, that I wasn’t expecting.”

Remus smiled sideways and sought her gaze.
“Why not?” he asked, amused.

“I don’t know…” Tonks closed the book and propped her chin in one hand. “I didn’t take you for the romantic type. I thought you’d be more into advanced potion manuals or treatises on ancient spells. Something more… academic.”

Remus let out a brief laugh.
—Even I need a break from the academic now and then. And it’s not about being romantic. There’s something about the way Muggles capture life with words that I find… fascinating.”

Tonks watched him in silence for a moment, catching the warmth in his voice.

He paused, as if hesitating, but finally went on:
—And there’s something about secondhand Muggle markets… you never know what you’ll find.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued.
“You stroll through Muggle markets?”

“Whenever I get the chance,” he admitted with a light smile. “It’s a small pleasure.”

Tonks set the book back on the table, still looking at him with a mix of intrigue and amusement.
“I’d never have guessed. Remus Lupin, the taciturn scholar, rummaging through dusty books and Muggle trinkets.”

He looked at her briefly, with that restrained expression he seemed to reserve for revealing moments.
“That ‘scholar’ part you just made up,” he said with a slight shrug. “But yes, there’s something special about those places. Forgotten stories waiting to be found.”

Tonks held his gaze for a moment before picking the book up again, running her fingers along its worn spine.
“And what’s your favorite forgotten story?”

Remus tilted his head, as though weighing the question, before pointing toward the book with a faint motion of his hand.
“There’s a poem in there I always come back to. It’s about a wandering wolf, crossing forests and mountains, and though he knows he can never settle anywhere, he leaves a part of himself in every place he passes through.”

Tonks frowned slightly, thoughtful.
“Is it a sad poem?”

Remus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took the book with the same care as before, as if it were more than paper and ink in his hands—something that belonged to him in a deeper way.
“It depends how you interpret it.”

His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it, an echo of thoughts that dared not fully surface.

Tonks studied him, fascinated by that blend of warmth and reserve, by the way he always seemed suspended between closeness and distance.
“You’ll have to read it to me someday,” she said at last, with a crooked smile.

Remus held her gaze for a brief moment before inclining his head in an almost imperceptible nod.
“Perhaps someday.”

“Deal,” Tonks replied, raising her cup in an informal toast, as if sealing a pact.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but one of those silences where words aren’t needed.

Tonks finished her tea slowly, savoring the sense of having pried loose another small piece of the enigma that was Remus Lupin. With every chat, every fleeting exchange, she felt she uncovered a little more of him.

But she also saw something else. Beyond his serene composure and his reserved air, there was something more: an invisible barrier, like high and solid walls. They weren’t hostile, but ancient. Tired.

And, without meaning to, she had already begun searching for the cracks.

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The air in the interrogation room was heavy, thick with a silence that seemed to weigh as much as the words just spoken.

Tonks leaned against the table, reviewing the parchments she had filled with every detail of the statement. Across from them, a young man of no more than twenty shifted uneasily in his chair. He had arrived at the Ministry with a studied air of indifference, almost defiant, but now his shoulders sagged, and his hands trembled slightly as they gripped the edge of the table..

“These are the charges,” Kingsley said in his usual deep tone, placing his hands calmly on the table. “Collaboration with Death Eaters. Concealment of illegal activities. Possession of Dark artifacts. Do you understand what that means?”

The young man didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the table, and Tonks noticed his jaw tighten as though he were trying to contain some emotion.

“If you don’t start talking,” Tonks added, forcing firmness into her voice though she felt a pang of pity, “this won’t get any better for you. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in Azkaban? Because, trust me, they don’t care how young you are there.”

The words cut through him like a knife. The boy, who at first had maintained that mask of arrogant indifference, let out a shaky breath. When he lifted his eyes, they were filled with a mix of fear and resignation.

—I… I didn’t know what I was getting into,” he whispered. “They just wanted me to keep some things. They told me it wasn’t anything… dangerous.”

Kingsley and Tonks exchanged a look. Kingsley folded his arms, leaning forward slightly.

—Did you know who they were? Did you know who they worked for?

The boy swallowed hard, his hands now visibly trembling.
—Not… not exactly. But I suspected. What was I supposed to do?” His voice rose, as if trying to justify himself. — Say no? You have no idea what they do if you refuse…”

Tonks felt a knot in her stomach. She had heard that story many times, in different tones and with different nuances, but it always ended the same: fear, desperation, excuses. It was hard not to feel some empathy, though she knew that, in the end, choices were what mattered.

“What they do doesn’t excuse what you did,” Kingsley said, his voice firm but not cruel. “If you cooperate with us, we might consider recommending leniency. But you need to tell us everything: names, places, everything you know.”

The boy nodded slowly, sinking into his chair as though the air had been sucked from his lungs.
“All right,” he murmured, barely audible. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

Kingsley straightened, giving a brief nod.
“Good. You’d better.”

When they left the room, Tonks let out a heavy sigh, smoothing her hair—now dyed a dark brown, more discreet for official operations. She was carrying a roll of parchments with the day’s interrogation notes.

“Poor kid,” she murmured. “He wasn’t a saint, but at his age, he should be worrying about his N.E.W.T.s, not defending himself against charges of aiding Death Eaters.”

“Choices have consequences, Tonks,” Kingsley replied in his grave tone. “And he’s not the first to pay the price for following the wrong path.”

They walked down a straight corridor and began climbing a staircase.

“Seems they’re recruiting younger than ever,” she remarked, glancing at Kingsley as they reached the upper hall.

“And more desperate,” Kingsley answered with the faintest grimace. “Those kids think they have no choice—and the Death Eaters know it.”

Tonks nodded, though her chest still felt tight. Sometimes she wondered how much of that desperation was real, and how much was just convenience. She was still turning the thought over when they rounded a corner—and without warning, she collided head-on with someone coming the other way.

Her parchments scattered across the floor. As she looked up, she found herself staring into the pale, haughty face of Lucius Malfoy.

“Ah, Nymphadora Tonks,” Lucius said, drawing out her name with deliberate slowness, savoring each syllable with disdain. “What an… unpleasant surprise.”

The auror pressed her lips together.
“Tonks,” she corrected automatically, bending down to gather her parchments.

Lucius made no move to help. Instead, he simply watched her with a cold smile and eyes heavy with superiority. Tonks’s hair, a blend of dark brown and red, fell in slightly untidy strands across her forehead; her crimson lips stood out against her pale skin, and her outfit—a loose-cut men’s shirt paired with dark tailored trousers—struck her as more rebellious than professional.

Malfoy tightened his grip on the serpent-headed cane.
“How pathetic. Still so clumsy. I wonder how someone like you ever managed to get a position at the Ministry.”

Tonks clenched her teeth, but before she could answer, Kingsley—who had bent to help collect the parchments—straightened. He stepped forward, placing himself between her and Malfoy with calm authority, though there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

‘’Curious, isn’t it, Malfoy?” Kingsley said with a restrained smile, one that didn’t quite soften the edge of his words. “That someone like Tonks earned her place through talent, hard work, and decency. I imagine that must be difficult for some to understand.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes, his face barely tightening, but the sting to his pride was evident.
“Always so eloquent, Shacklebolt. Though I suppose eloquence doesn’t guarantee better company.”

“Nor do riches guarantee integrity,” Kingsley retorted evenly, holding his gaze as a cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But then, that’s not something you’d understand.”

Lucius tilted his head, as though weighing a response, but in the end he chose silence. He inclined his head just slightly, as if conceding a victory, and turned with elegant precision, striding down the corridor and leaving behind an air thick with tension.

Tonks let out a breath as she picked up the last parchment from the floor.
“You know,” she said, taking the stack Kingsley handed her, “sometimes I wonder if his face hurts from stretching it like that.”

Kingsley let out a brief chuckle as they started walking again.
“Best to ignore him, Tonks. People like that feed on reactions.”

She nodded, though her expression still showed a mix of frustration and disdain.
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t help it. He gets under my skin.”

Kingsley shot her a look of quiet complicity but said nothing more.

As they walked down the corridor, Tonks let her mind wander. She thought about the Malfoys—their arrogance, their constant contempt for anyone outside their world. For all the criticism and scorn the Weasleys faced, branded as blood-traitors and looked down upon in certain circles, she knew perfectly well whose side she would rather be on.

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The heavy door of Grimmauld Place creaked shut behind Tonks, its echo reverberating through the dark hallways. She was still brooding over the run-in with Malfoy, but her bad mood was quickly interrupted.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the silence.
Tonks turned just in time to see George—or perhaps Fred; she still couldn’t tell them apart—leaning against the frame of the drawing room door.

—Well, Tonks, that look definitely leaves an impression — he said with a mischievous grin, raising a hand for a high five.

Tonks beamed and raised her own hand, slapping his palm with gusto.
—Thanks, handsome. I knew someone here had good taste.

The twin opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance. Molly Weasley burst in from the kitchen like a whirlwind, hands on her hips.
— Fred Weasley, behave yourself — she scolded, giving him a light smack on the back of the head.

“Ow, Mum!” he protested, rubbing the spot and casting a wounded look at Tonks. “Why is it always me?”

“Because I’m never wrong,” Molly replied with a satisfied smile before turning to Tonks. “Oh, Tonks, dear, I’m glad you’re here.”

Tonks followed her into the kitchen and dropped into her usual seat beside Alastor Moody, ready for the Order meeting. Her gaze wandered around the room until it landed on Lupin, who—as always—was in his corner with a book. But he quickly looked up and gave her that subtle smile of his, the one that never failed to sweep away the last of her foul mood.

“Balthazar Greaves,” Moody growled, slamming his scarred hand against the table. “I’ve been digging through some reports, and though the information on him is more censored than a Dark Arts book at Hogwarts, I’ve discovered why he was thrown out of the Ministry.”

The silence in the room thickened.

“Apparently, Greaves became obsessed with a secret chamber in the Department of Mysteries. Room 14.”

Tonks raised her brows with interest, folding her arms.
“And? What interest would Rookwood have in him?”

Lupin, who had been listening with a furrowed brow, spoke up, looking at Moody.
“You think Rookwood’s interest is precisely that Room 14?”

Moody narrowed his magical eye, which spun in its socket before fixing on Lupin. Kingsley, standing by the fireplace, crossed his arms.

“That’s what it looks like. It’s said that Balthazar Greaves understood the importance of whatever rests inside, but his obsession went too far. He grew paranoid, started asking questions he shouldn’t, and began acting erratically. In the end, they had to dismiss him—for his safety, and for everyone else’s.”

Tonks drummed her fingers on the table, thoughtful.
“But Rookwood works in the Department of Mysteries, doesn’t he?” she said skeptically. “Why would he need a former employee to talk about that room?”

Kingsley nodded slowly.
“Because of what happened with Greaves. After his dismissal, the Department tightened its security. Each area is even more compartmentalized. Rookwood has no access to that section, and if he wants to know something about Room 14, who better than the one man who once obsessed over it?”

Tonks drew in a breath.
“All right, if we assume Rookwood’s after Room 14, what we need to do is find Balthazar Greaves and question him. Do we know where he’s been lately? Maybe we can detain him and interrogate him,” she suggested, glancing at the others.

Dedalus Diggle and Emmeline Vance nodded in agreement, but Moody shook his head.
“That’s not a good idea. We don’t want to draw attention. We don’t need Greaves, just his information.”

“Greaves isn’t on anyone’s side,” Mundungus explained with a shrug. “He deals in objects and information. If you want something from him, you’ll have to play by his rules. He doesn’t care if you’re Order or Death Eater, as long as you pay the right price.”

Tonks snorted, crossing her arms in frustration. The thought of stooping to bargain with a scoundrel like Greaves was unbearable.
“Then we need a lead on him. Know where he’s moving, how to reach him. Arrange a meeting.”

Mundungus gave a low, unpleasant chuckle.
“That’ll be tricky,” he said, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “He’s always been unpredictable. No patterns, no schedule. Works that way on purpose. But…”

He paused, savoring the suspense he had created.
“Maybe someone knows something.”

All eyes turned to him. Mundungus leaned back in his chair, glancing at Moody, who hadn’t taken his magical eye off him.

“The One-Eyed,” he said, almost conspiratorial.

Tonks frowned.
“The One-Eyed?”

“Yes,” Moody cut in. “A former Ministry worker. He overlapped with Greaves. If anyone might know what Greaves knew… it’s that damned Toby the One-Eyed.”

The group exchanged glances.
Whether they liked it or not, the next step was clear: get information out of this One-Eyed man.

And Moody already knew exactly who he was going to send after it.

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Author’s Note:

Hello everyone!
In today’s chapter we’re diving into a sort of thriller I’ve been weaving within the wizarding world. You know—dark, damp alleyways, flickering street lamps, steam rising from the sewers, mysterious figures… basically the whole atmosphere I want to give to the Order of the Phoenix missions. Because honestly, in the entire fifth HP book it never felt clear to me what they were actually doing. So, little by little, I’ve been building what I imagine they must have been up to as an organization fighting for a single, just cause—though always outside the law.

That’s why I think the Aurors’ role is so important too: they bring both sides of the coin. By day, they work at the Ministry. By night, they move through the city’s underbelly. But always for the same purpose: the protection of the wizarding world.

I think I already mentioned that in my version I’m not assuming the Order knows Voldemort is after a prophecy. That’s something they’ll gradually uncover, because I find it more interesting to develop the investigation and everything that stems from it… including the Department of Mysteries, among other threads.

I hope you’ll enjoy this plotline! 😉
As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading this far!