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Desperate Times, Desperate Measures	By : Daye Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Tonks Views: 93080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. I make no money from the writing of this.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
Chapter 10: Unfriendly Competition

Returning to classes on Monday morning came as a relief to Harry. The cramped confines of Gryffindor tower now seemed oppressive as Harry had the all too familiar sensation of eyes being glued to him wherever he went. The muttering was back as well; it was the kind of the thing Harry told himself that he could ignore. It wasn’t like this was anything new. First it had been simply because of who he was, and then later because of the many troubles he’d been in.

The fact was, Harry could ignore people, so long as they were talking about him. But the more he caught the tail end of sentences, abruptly cut off as the speaker saw him coming, the name on their lips was not Potter.

It was Tonks.

~0~

Tonks had taken up pacing again. Not wanting to bother Professor McGonagall (or show weakness in front of the Deputy Head Mistress), she had confined her pacing to her own rooms. Not that there was much space for it. Tonks wasn’t usually one for thinking and moving at the same—she had tripped over her coffee table three times before she managed to get it out of her pacing’s path.

On first glance, the choice she was faced with was simple. She could either obey Dumbledore and stop teaching Harry anything beyond the standard Defence curriculum, or she could continue teaching Harry everything she knew in the hopes that he’d better equipped to face the Dark Lord in battle. On the face of it, it was ridiculous: no matter how much she trained Harry or how skilled he became, he would not surpass Voldemort. After all, the dark wizard had at least half a century of experience over Harry and would balk at nothing to achieve his ends.

The only person out there with more experience than Voldemort was Dumbledore and yet here she was fully prepared to ignore his advice. As an Auror, Tonks was not exactly short on self-confidence, but she was worried she would venture in the realms of hubris if she started placing her judgement above that of the revered Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order Of The Phoenix, an organization which she herself had joined in good faith.

That was the rub; the friends she might have consulted on the issue had all joined the Order along with her, and they would undoubtedly tell her to trust Dumbledore. And yet she joined the Order of The Phoenix to stand against the dark arts, to play an active role in the defeat of the Death Eaters and their master. The idea of sitting back and doing nothing was entirely the opposite of what she had signed up for. And there were her vows to consider—she’d pledged herself to Harry. If she didn’t do her utmost to help him, she’d be foreswearing herself, a concept which nearly as repellent as getting Harry killed.

Of course, she’d also sworn to love, cherish and obey Harry and that wasn’t happing anytime soon. Well, she corrected herself, one out of three wasn’t bad for now.

As Thursday and the sixth year defence class approached, Tonks had found no answers that she could decide upon but her marriage vows continued to rattle around her in head. New phrases came to mind, those that referred to marriage as a partnership, a concept she seized in much the same way a drowning person clutched at a lifeline. She couldn’t make decisions about Harry’s life by herself, but she could consult him on them and let him decide whether he wanted the training or not.

~0~

“Please, Professor, could you tell us the difference between a ghost and an inferius?” Seamus asked towards the end of their next Defence class.

“Hmm?” Tonks started and had to ask Seamus to repeat himself, clearly not paying attention. The class looked around at each other in surprise. Tonks had made it clear to them that they were free to ask questions of her at anytime and yet when they did she clearly wasn’t interested. As her husband, though, Harry noticed that Tonks was not so much uninterested as just distracted by other pressing matters. This was not so much that Harry could say they had a close bond but more he had realised that Tonks was basically straightforward and easy to read, her emotions plain in her appearance with Huffpuff-ian honesty. Her hair was something close to its usually spiky style but the colour was only a few shades darker than its naturally mousey-brown state. Clearly, she had other things on her mind than controlling her appearance.

“Well, ghosts are ghosts, and Inferi are zombies.” Tonks said, when the question had been asked again. There was another brief titter around the classroom at the rather vague answer.

“It’s just, I saw this article in the Prophet…” Seamus continued, doggedly.

“Ahh!”- Tonks’ face suddenly broke into a grin- “Yes, but if you read that article more closely, Mr Finnigan, I think you’ll find it was all a case of mistaken identity. A rascal called Mundungus Fletcher in dress-up. Still, good work noticing it. Constant Vigilance, you know. Five points to Gryffindor.”

It was at that point the bell rang to signal the end of class. Harry, as was his habit in DADA, had seated himself right at the front of the class when the lesson had begun. Which, quite aside from the fact it gave him a good seat to listen to Tonks’ teaching, left him in prime position to be the first to leave the room ahead of everyone else at the end of class, and it was also why, when Tonks asked him to stay behind to have a chat with her, everyone was still there to hear it and take note.

If Harry had one character flaw that he would admit to in recent years, it was a short temper. Thus, given his discussion with Ron the previous day, he was all too aware of the impression Tonks was giving his classmates by asking this and he consciously fought against his rising annoyance. There was absolutely nothing improper about this; teachers discussed students’ work with them privately all the time. It was nothing out of the usual and if the others had problems with that then it was their problem and not his. He repeated this mantra to himself forcefully as Ron and Seamus wandered past with stony expressions on their faces.

“What is it, Tonks?” Harry said after everyone had left, unable to keep the edge from his tone.

“Sit down please, Harry.” Tonks said.

Harry’s razor keen senses detected the agitation in his wife’s voice so he did as he asked, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself so as not to start a row with her.

“It’s about Saturday.” Tonks said and the memories caused the corner of Harry’s lips to lift in a grin.

“What about Saturday?” He asked.

“Dumbledore didn’t like what we were doing.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose at that. He shot a quick glance at door before replying in a very soft voice.

“Well, in that case, he shouldn’t have married us, should he?”

Harry’s broadening smile was matched by a grin from Tonks but it faded from her face just as quickly as it came.

“Not that, Harry. He was objecting to the duelling practise we did on the front lawn.”

Harry waited for her to continue but Tonks did not seem in the mood to elaborate.

“Why?”

Tonks shrugged. “He seems to think it would interfere with the workings of the prophecy about you and You-Know-Who. Make it less likely your ‘power’ would prevail.”

“Ah, yes. The power of love.” Harry snorted derisively at the concept. “What do you think, Tonks?”

Tonks was quiet for a long time, apparently considering her words very carefully before speaking.

“Constant vigilance,” –she motioned towards the letters emblazoned on her chalk board—“is not just about being completely paranoid, Harry. It’s also about being prepared, and I’d much rather you knew how to fight and not need it than need to fight and not know how.”

Harry nodded his agreement to the sentiment. It had, after all, been his guiding philosophy during the last couple of years—or rather, Hermione’s, which amounted to the same thing in the end. It had prepared him for the Triwizard Tournament and had led to the formation of Dumbledore’s Army last year.

“But I’m not Dumbledore, Harry. I’m not a hundred years old with a beard down to my knees. I’ve never waged wars on Dark Wizards before. I don’t know what he does.”

Harry gave her an exaggerated look up and down her body, taking in her long firm legs, the delicate lashes surrounding round eyes and lingered noticeably on the curve hugging t-shirt she had on. Then he leaned close to her and said in the airs of one confiding a closely guarded secret.

“I had noticed.”

Tonks rolled her eyes indulgently at him.

“What I’m saying Harry, is that if you ask me to teach you what I know, I will do it, and gladly, but it’s not something I’m going to recommend to you one way or the other.”

And suddenly, Harry had an awful lot to think about.

Not long after, Harry emerged from the class room, feeling pensive and not really concentrating on where he was going. He barely noticed the three lads standing outside the classroom. One of them greeted him by name and he nodded absentmindedly at the fellow in passing. A couple of steps further on, he heard the boy’s scathing tones echoing down the corridor.

“Not good enough for the great and powerful Potter to actually talk to us, then?”

Harry half turned back towards the Ravenclaw and saw that he was being advanced on by Terry Boot who was flanked by his friends Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein. He made a conscious effort to suppress his temper.

“Hello, Terry,” he said, keeping his tone even.

“Hello, Harry,” Terry mimicked. “You’re not looking good. And here we thought you liked Defense classes, again.”

“I’m fine, Terry, thanks for asking. I’m just hungry. So if you don’t mind…” Harry said flatly and turned to leave.

“Then again, it’s not hard to like DADA if you’re getting head from the teacher after every class,”

Harry faltered. Every muscled tensed with the anger that roared in his ears and hammered at his chest. Teeth gritted, he tried to master himself and didn’t turn back towards the Ravenclaw, but he didn’t walk off either, leaving Terry plenty of time to think of fresh insults.

“You’re lucky. It’s not everyone who has the inheritance to manage-”

Harry lost it. And the rest of Terry’s sally was lost to a cry of alarm as Harry whirled on him, took a step forward and swung a fist at his face as hard as he could, twisting to put all his weight into the blow. A pair of colossal cracks filled the air as his knuckles slammed into Terry’s jawline. And Harry took immense pleasure as the git was thrown entirely off his feet. The other crack however had been less pleasurable as white fire flooded out from his wrist. The blow seemed to have crunched all the small bones together there. Harry was too angry to pay much attention, though, and lifted his other fist just as Anthony and Michael moved towards him.

Another crack was issued down the corridor from the open door of the class room, the acrid smell of burnt fireworks accompanied the noise.

“That will do!” Tonks said. Her eyes flashed with anger as her view raked across the Ravenclaws, and remained there when she eyed Harry, who was standing over the crumpled form of Terry Boot, moaning and clutching his face, with a generous splattering of red across his robe collar.

Harry abruptly felt ashamed of himself as his anger fled as quickly as it came. The throbbing pain in his wrist became much more noticeable but it was still barely noticeable next to knowledge of what he’d just done. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. No matter what Tonks did, Terry and his cronies would spread rumours of uneven treatment and undermine her in front of the student body. And it was his fault for rising to the bet.

“You four want to fight, I can arrange for you to go ten rounds with Henbury Hill’s amateur heavyweight champ. And if I see you try it on the corridors again you won’t have a choice!“

And then it got worse. Tonks wasn’t the only teacher to make an appearance. With a fluttering of dark robes and swinging of greasy dark locks, Snape made his entrance, peering down gleefully, over his hooked nose.

“Problem, Professor Tonks?” he said in oily tones.

“No problem, Professor Snape.” Tonks said with icy politeness.

“Only it rather seems as if Potter has started a fight.” Snape continued heedless, “And I thought you might be indeed of some extra authority, Nymphadora.”

“I feel confident that you shall correct me if I’m wrong, Severus, but as far as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students are concerned I have just as much authority as you.” Tonks said still in her coldest but nevertheless civil voice.

“By all means, then, you may handle it.” Snape said spreading his arms in a gesture encompassing the four boys. Even as he did so, Harry realised that Snape just manoeuvred himself into a win-win scenario. Tonks either had to claim full responsibility for Harry’s punishment or accept Snape’s claim to have more authority than her.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor and twenty points from Ravenclaw,” Tonks declared, glaring at them. She couldn’t glare hard enough, though, to stop Terry from giving a sly glance towards the notoriously biased Snape and trying his luck.

“Twenty points?! Come off it, Miss! I shouldn’t lose twenty points just for being punched in the face. Look what he did to me!”

He’d overplayed his hand though as Tonks crouched by his side to examine his face, and Harry saw, with a not inconsiderable surge of pride, that Terry’s busted lips were still dripping blood.

Tonks, meanwhile, told him, in a voice so soft Harry had to strain to hear her words, “Now, Mr Boot, I think you are labouring under the strange delusion that I did not just hear every damn word you said outside my own classroom. Under the circumstances, I suggest I am being fairer than you could hope for. Say, ‘yes, professor’.”

“Yes, professor,” Terry said meekly.

“Better get Madam Pomfrey to look at that, Boot,” Tonks said loudly enough for everyone to hear as she straightened up. “Now, since Harry undeniably struck first, I will give him a detention” –Snape and Terry opened their mouths to speak—“Which I will be asking the Deputy Headmistress to organise for me,” she finished loudly, pre-empting their unvoiced protestations.

While this put Harry in the hands of a higher power, it was one that was known for an iron sense of fairness by all parties. Although Snape was obviously disapproving, he had no real grounds to object on.

“Mr Potter, we best go do that now!” Tonks snapped and practically dragged him off by the arm.

When they were out of sight of the others, she hauled him in an abandoned class room and slammed the door closed.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” She was hissing with anger.

“You heard what he said!” Harry hurled back with as much heat. “He practically called you a whore. What did he think I was going to do?”

“You do realise the trouble this is going to cause?! And…,” she suddenly noticed the way he was holding his arm. “And why are you cradling your wrist like that?”

“Umm…” Harry turned sheepish. “I think I’ve broken it or something.”

Tonks glared at him. Harry quailed at the intensity of it, wondering if she was going to completely blow her top.

“Jesus Christ, Harry! Don’t tell me I have to teach you to throw a punch on top of everything else,” she said disbelievingly.

Then the tension broke and instantly they were both laughing. Tonks pulled out her wand to fix his wrist as their giggles died down to a stop.

“Look, I am sorry, Tonks. I know I’ve just caused you a hell of a lot of trouble.”

But Tonks didn’t seem too concerned.

“Don’t worry about it, Sweetie.” she said and kissed him on the cheek, “You just saved me the trouble of punching Boot myself.”

~0~

“Cor blimey, Harry! Have you seen the size of Boot’s shiner?” Ron said to Harry at tea the next evening. It was the longest speech he had made to Harry in the last couple of days. Harry and Ron hadn’t exactly had a row, which is why they weren’t exactly not talking to each other but Ron had certainly been focusing on Hermione a lot more since Sunday. Which was fine by Harry who from his secure position as a man in relationship, thought that the sooner Ron got on with asking Hermione out, the happier everyone would be.

“Ron! You shouldn’t encourage him!” snapped Hermione from the other side of Harry.

“Come off it, Hermione; I bet he was asking for it. It’s just a pity you didn’t get Corner at the same time.” Apparently being dumped by Ginny did not alleviate Michael’s crimes of going out with his sister. Nor did Ron in his enthusiasm seem to realise that Terry had been punched for expressing much the same sentiments as Ron had been saying on Sunday.

Hermione just harrumphed and changed the subject.

“What I don’t get is why he’s still got a bruise. I mean he must know how to get rid of those with a charm by now.” She said.

Harry frowned. He hadn’t thought of that but it was rather suspect.

“Maybe,” a hoarse voice wheezed behind them, “he just wants the evidence to show the Headmaster what was done to him.”

The trio twisted around in their seats to see the person speaking and found themselves looking up at a smugly satisfied Argus Filch.

“Headmaster wants to see you, Potter. Something about violence in the corridors. Come with me, boy. Now.”

Harry swallowed hard and rose to his feet, uncomfortably aware at the amount of attention he was getting from all sides. He couldn’t think why Dumbledore would suddenly decide to publicly punish him like this. The Headmaster rarely interfered in individual matters like this, preferring to leave it to the heads of Houses, and Harry had already had a very long ‘discussion’ with Professor McGonagall about yesterday’s incident. Unlike previous discussions about the need to control his temper, there had been no offer of Ginger newts. McGonagall, to put it mildly, had not been amused.

Neither, it seemed, was Dumbledore, Harry thought glumly, as he trudged behind Filch to the Headmaster’s office. Each step seemed a great labour as he headed towards another telling off as if his shoes had been filled with leaden soles. At least Dumbledore was unlikely to yell at him, though that never seemed to lessen the sting of any berating from him.

All too soon, they’d reached the great Gargoyle that concealed the entrance and Filch gave the password—“Hairy Heart”—and prodded Harry forward until they got inside the study.

“I have brought the miscreant to you, Professor,” he said, unnecessarily.

Dumbledore did not look up from the great roll of parchment he was reading.

“Thank you, Argus. You may go,” he said coolly.

The door to the office clanked shut with incredible finality.

“Harry, sit down.” He said this with slightly more warmth in his voice and gently indicated the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat in it, back ramrod straight. “You’ve been busy. Two detentions under your belt, as Minerva tells it?”

“Yes, Professor.” McGonagall had added another one on top of Tonks’ original detention, just to vent her displeasure as far as Harry could tell.

“Well, I trust my teaching staff to have said everything that needs to be said on the matter, Harry.”

That was not a question and thus did not require him to answer. Harry decided that maybe if he just didn’t say anything, Dumbledore might speak plainly for once.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I have asked you here tonight.”

Harry remained silent.

“It is because I think it is time I took a greater hand in your education, Harry.”

It was the last thing that Harry had expected to hear.

“You-err-I- what?” he spluttered.

“I wish to teach you a skill you might find useful, Harry—Occlumency, if you will consent to learn it.”

The gears flipped in Harry’s head, prompting his suspicions to rise.

“But you said last summer that I wouldn’t need to learn it anymore. That Voldemort wasn’t going to try to break into my head anymore.”

“There comes a time when even the greatest of minds must admit that they were mistaken, Harry. I think it is better that you learn Occlumency and not need it, than need it and not know it.”

The phrase was so similar to what Tonks had said just a few hours prior that it only triggered more warnings in Harry’s brain. But it was more than that. There was the unspoken offer in Dumbledore’s voice that these lessons would do much more than teach him occlumency. During his lessons with Snape, he had learnt only too much about the man’s temperament and skills, even his memories, and he could forseeably get the same insight with Dumbledore. The questions that had bubbled in Harry’s mind about him for years might be answered.

In short, it was everything Harry had wanted from Dumbledore.

And yet for all that, Harry was shocked to realise that the decision was actually a hard one and he didn’t know what to do.

a/n: Thank you for getting this far. Unfortunately, this proved to be the last chapter of Desperate Times, Desperate Measures. I had not real plan for this fic and consequently this middle section meandered on past my interest with the fic. Sorry, but I can't force myself to write this anymore.

Thanks for reading and I hope to post me fancfiction in HP and other franchises in the future.
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Desperate Times, Desperate Measures