GENRES: Action/Adventure, Mystery, Hurt/Comfort,
RATINGS AND ADVISORIES: (M)
Violence
Language
Mention of attempted suicide
Substance use/abuse
AU: Tonks was never in the Battle at Hogwarts. I don't go into details of where she was instead.
NOTES:
Written for Madimalfoy's "The Soulmate AU and Random Prompt Challenge" on HPFT
Written also for Starfeather's "Auror's Tale Story Challenge Season 4 Unleash Your Mystery! Challenge" on HPFT.
Chapter 1 written for The Houses Competition, Year Two, Round Five.
Betas: Aya Diefair, Angel of Sorrows, 1917farmgirl, starspangledpumpkin.
1 Coffee Shop
Every day, Nymphadora Tonks stood in the six o'clock coffee line at The Erised Cafe in Carkitt Market, waiting to purchase a Cafe Latte and the morning newspaper. Just like clockwork, she found herself staring at the same broad shoulders of the man in front of her. His flipped up coat collar would normally overshadow most of his face, but today it sagged down on his left side to reveal dark hair and a nasty scar running from his cheek to his earlobe.
On this, a typical Thursday morning, she waited patiently as he ordered the same coffee he always did with a strange code-word title, which sent the barista scurrying to the back for the special ingredients. She never knew why, after weeks of the same man coming in at the same time, this serving witch wouldn't already have his order ready for him like she did with some of the other regular patrons. But if the barista had the forethought to prepare his order ahead of time, Tonks wouldn't have the luxury of standing behind him, listening to the youthful, country twang of his voice.
The sound rolled over her like a warm blanket, and she closed her eyes, imagining the face that belonged to the voice. Not that she'd ever gotten a good look at him, with his head always tucked under the brim of his hat. She usually lingered in the shop for a few minutes to observe the people around her before heading into the Auror's office.
Wondering which one of these people had drawn her here, day after day.
Today, his overcoat stretched taut over his back, hunched and bothered. His voice, not so smooth, not so collected, and held a hint of nervous uncertainty.
Her wrist itched uncomfortably. The large potted plants that flanked the door had been growing a strange, vine-like weed in them for weeks and had started to bloom clusters of white flowers that smelled funny. She'd brushed by them earlier, maybe she was allergic? No. Her wrist itch had turned into a sharp sting. Oh. Oh that. Not an allergy.
Something was wrong.
Not now, she thought to herself. Couldn't she just enjoy her morning first without this stupid mark ruining it for her?
She'd barely had time to process her husband's death when a thin duo of wavy brown lines had shown up on her wrist three weeks after the war, sending her into an inexplicable shock. They had appeared at the absolute worst time, with the Auror Department calling all hands to finish tracking down the remaining Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Remus had been her everything, and then he was gone. He'd been working for a secret organization that had brought down the biggest tyrant of their lifetime, but he'd paid the highest price for it. After his death, she often wished that she had joined the Order and died at his side so at least they could be together forever. She was convinced that she'd never feel the same about anyone else ever again.
If it wasn't for the fancy magic performed by the Unspeakables, she would have been dead within hours. After they explained that the mark was part of a pair, and the two bearers of the marks seemed to be linked – even to the point of death – she'd decided that she had the will to live after all, and made it her singular mission to find this other person and throttle them for almost killing her.
So here she was, in the coffee shop that she had scryed as the location of the matching marks, coming in every morning for two months to get coffee and skim the morning paper headlines, ready to confront a stranger so that she could keep on living.
But she hadn't found the noncepants yet.
She could already see the headlines in big bold letters from across the shop, informing the world (or at least her small part of it) about another rogue group attacking suspected Death Eaters. Tonks predicted that the article would once again point out the failure of the Aurors to put a stop to these outlaws, who they had taken to calling 'Hunters'. It was rumored (also by the paper) that these so-called Hunters were doing a better job at rounding up and 'dealing with' the war criminals than the Ministry. She couldn't blame people for wanting faster closure. A year after the Battle of Hogwarts, they were still trying to track down the remaining followers of Voldemort who had continued to evade capture. Sometimes justice was a long, painful road. Tonks wished she could see the end of it, but the longer the suspects remained in hiding, the harder they were to find.
The man in front of her was finally next in line. He ordered his coffee, waited with a bowed head and hunched over shoulders, and then struggled to retrieve his wallet. His chin crept farther from under the brim of his hat as he almost threw the coins at the wary barista.
"Sorry…" he muttered, in that nervous uncertain tone, setting the hairs on her arms on fire.
Something was definitely wrong. And it wouldn't have mattered except she'd silently watched this man and his special coffee, and all the other regulars at this coffee shop, for months now. She knew them all. Their mannerisms, their habits… who was late, who was early…. Who had a rushed shower that morning and which ones were there because they had nothing better to do. She knew the difference between the loiterers and the career-driven patrons. She knew his morning, and it clearly wasn't going well.
Lots of people stood in line for coffee every day –this was a popular spot– and just because she enjoyed listening to the timbre of his voice every morning, it didn't mean that this was the person she was tracking. She had seen no evidence… she just liked lingering in the unspoken moment before she had to get down to business. That was all it was. Right before she moved on to her everyday job where she was only known as "Tonks" (which was the name she preferred anyhow), she let herself sink into a dream-like zen state where she could enjoy a hot beverage in the presence of a stranger who made her feel whole again.
The man she stood behind in the coffee line couldn't be the one, because that would be too easy. Her mark gave no indication that he was any different from anyone else, and her morning ritual was nothing more than a daydream to occupy her thoughts. She shouldn't care. She had no reason to.
He turned around, too quickly, and his hot beverage sloshed out of the covered cup.
"Excuse me," he said, looking down, not even at her. For the first time, she saw his whole face. She'd expected something young and vibrant, but his appearance struck her as ugly and old, and she drew back in spite of herself.
"Sorry," she heard herself say, and wondered what she was apologizing for.
He had spilled some liquid on his sleeve, and had started dabbing himself with a single napkin. She found herself grabbing more napkins from the dispenser, stuffing them at him wordlessly, not meeting his eyes, just helping out the nameless stranger with the velvet voice. It was what decent people did for each other. He'd rolled up his sleeve so it wouldn't get stained, his hand pink from the hot liquid that had spilled all over him.
Then she saw it. Two broken, wavy lines across the top of his wrist, not pink from the coffee spill, but actually glowing from under his skin. At the same time, she felt her own wrist burn like it never had before.
The marks were shockingly familiar, like the underside of her own arm. They matched hers.
No. It couldn't be this man. There had to be some mistake.
He rubbed at his arm, pulled his sleeve down and rushed out the door, leaving her speechless.
"Miss?"
She whipped around to see the barista staring impatiently at her, all wariness and caution gone, replaced with impatience while the rest of the line murmured impatiently behind her.
"Miss, are you going to order? Or get your daily paper?"
She glanced at the door, still swinging from the stranger's hasty exit, then down at her own wrist, where two marks identical to the coffee-man's glowed unnaturally pink. Exactly like his, except now hers were getting darker and beginning to burn.
"No thanks," she said breathlessly, and ran out of the shop after him.