Negotiation

Tonks could have dressed herself with a flick of her wand, but it wouldn't have been as cathartic as tugging on tights and flinging things around the room in search of something that wouldn't make her feel... feel what? Like she wanted to kiss him and kill him at the same time? That was part and parcel of the way they operated.

"This is what comes from starting a relationship in the nutters wing," she muttered to herself. Not that madness had left any of them untouched, but she and Harry had been bad off.

"Him longer than me, that's for sure." She was glad no one witnessed the lie. She was no more 'cured' than Harry, but she was better at hiding it. Still, he had always been the quiet one, which is why his sudden appearance in her parlor had been so startling. It had also been refreshing, though she'd hardly tell him so.

She tripped over a pile of discarded clothing and barely kept herself from pitching headlong into the wall. The cloth wrapped around her ankle turned out to be one of her favorite skirts. It was an inch (perhaps two) shorter than her usual, but chances were good it would throw Harry off his game almost as much as her being wrapped in a towel had. She sometimes thought he would never grow up entirely. As irritating as she found that trait in others, remaining boyish only added to his appeal. She dropped a shirt over her head and went to check on her son.

Teddy was asleep on what had once been a giant stuffed dog. He hadn't needed magic to change the way the toy looked, just the creativity and will of a child. And a fair amount of frustration. Giraffe spots covered the front half of the creature, while zebra stripes covered the back. Several markers lay on the floor, open and drying. The tail was missing entirely, though it had been replaced with a stuffed snake. One of the former dog's legs lay in the corner, stuffing bulging obscenely from the top. Teddy's hand was buried to the knuckles in the dog-body hole, his head resting against the neck of the toy, drool slowly soaking one canine ear. She heeded the old adage to let mangled dogs and underage vivisectionists lie. It seemed the safest course of action. There was plenty of danger waiting in the parlor.

Harry sat in the worn armchair, legs stretched out before him, head tilted back. He did a very good impression of someone who was completely relaxed, but she knew he watched from under mostly-closed eyelids, and his hand twitched toward the pocket where he kept his wand. His attachment to the tools of magic wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't so intent on rejecting the world of it.

She could not imagine life without magic. She even slept with her wand beneath her pillow. At the moment, it was in her hand. She lit candles around the room and watched Harry pretend to not notice. She set the fire ablaze. "Lighting is so important for a proper row, don't you think?"

He opened one eye at that. "Are we still arguing? I thought we'd move to negotiation."

"Call it what you will, the process is much the same."

"I prefer other methods to diffuse a situation." The edges of his mouth quirked up, so quick she almost missed it.

"You're not the one setting terms," she countered.

"Fair enough." He sat up straight, all business now. "I need your help creating new charms to ward Dudley's house."

She snorted, then realized he was serious. "Tell him to get a dog. That will do to keep out most Muggles."

"He's worried that some rogue wizard will decide to attack his house to get to me."

"Seems a lot of effort to track down a Muggle who spent most of his life tormenting you, on the off chance you might like him enough to care."

"Not so difficult to find my childhood home, is it?"

She recoiled. "He's going to live there? What on earth for?"

"For the same reason Sirius went back to Grimmauld Place, I suppose. He doesn't have much choice. There's likely more to it than that, but we're talking about Dudley, so I'd rather not delve too deeply into his psyche. It's hard enough living with what I know of my own."

She stifled the urge to slap his head, only partly because she doubted he'd let her. "Leaving aside your amazing capacity for self-degradation, why do you want to go back to that place?"

"He's family, and I'm fresh out otherwise. Also, he's almost human these days."

"And?"

Harry sighed. "And he won't leave my flat until I help him out."

"Why come to me?" she asked.

"You hate him slightly less than most." Truth, but not why he'd picked her. "And because you're my friend."

"You've a world of friends, Harry, even though you choose to ignore them. Sending a single owl to the Ministry would result in a crew of witches and wizards descending on the house to protect it from every possible threat, including natural disaster."

"Yes, and everyone would notice and wonder why. Publicity would defeat the point."

She couldn't fault his logic.

"Will you at least look at the place and give me advice as to how to go about it?"

"If I help you, what then?" she asked.

He frowned. "Then the house is made safe? I'm not following."

"No, I don't expect you are. Say I do this for you, and your wretched cousin feels secure, what happens next?"

He looked perplexed. "Um, everyone goes home."

"Right then. " She doused the actual flames to make way for the Floo. "Get out."

He stared at her blankly.

"Are you deaf? I suppose so, since you ignored me when I told you to stay away. Let me say this a little louder." She filled her lungs. "Bugger off! Now!"

He did not move. "So, this is about before."

She laughed, hard and bitter. "Did you expect me to ignore it and just do whatever you asked of me?"

"Not really, but I had to try." He stood. "If you want me to leave, I will. If you want to have a row, we will. If you just want to scream at me until you feel better, that's fine. Just let me know which path we're taking so I can prepare."

She stared at him. "I think I could learn to hate you."

"From what I understand, that's not difficult. I'm fairly sure it's still a requirement to get into Slytherin." Humor warred with pain, a brief struggle before he masked his features with calm.

"When did I ever take the easy road?"

He finally smiled, a real one. "Never. One of many things I like about you."

"What, that I'm thick?"

Once again, he looked her up and down, gaze lingering on cleavage she'd not meant to show. She really did need to work out a good laundry spell. And maybe one for organizing her clothing, so she didn't accidentally pull on a low-cut shirt.

"Not thick at all," he said.

"You're a pig." Her heart was not in the insult.

He shrugged. "Despite what you insist on believing, I find you beautiful."

"So you've said." She stared into the corner so she did not see the look in his eyes.

"What do I need to do to convince you to help me?"

When she turned to answer, she found he'd stepped in, a little too close. Instinct told her to lean into him, let him hold her up for a while, but she could not afford to give in. "I will think about it."

"Should I beg?" He sank to his knees and looked up at her.

She swallowed hard and fought the urge to thread her fingers through his hair and tug, ever so slightly. His shoulders had widened, and his chest, too. Nothing about him resembled the frail young man who'd spent too long in the bed next to hers. Nothing but his eyes. He never had been able to hide what went on there, not from her. The raw need for something so much more than he professed to want had been her undoing the first time. To see it undiminished was almost more than she could handle.

She shook her head and willed her hair to shift from red to near black. "No, you should let me think on it. I will send an owl, and you will accept it, or that's an end to the whole thing."

"Send it to Little Whinging, the back entrance, if you don't mind."

"As you like." She held out her hand.

He took it, pulling her closer as he stood, but not closing the distance entirely.

She should have known better than to touch him. Memories skipped over her skin, through her blood, pooling warm in places left cold too long. She should know better.

They both should.

He let her fingers slide from his grip and stepped back. "Best I get home. No telling what Dudley's done to my kitchen."

She nodded, mute.

"Have a good night, Tonks." His gaze lingered on her like a promise.

"You too." It came out soft, husky.

He tossed the Floo powder and disappeared into flames a shade of green that had nothing to do with anger.

For itchyfoot, who has been very patient.