Undesirable #1

Wanted: Nymphadora Tonks. Metamorphagus. Kill on Sight.

"No, no, no! Stop! Stop that at once!"
Ailsa and Callum, two of the muggleborns they'd rescued, froze guiltily in the act of building a massive dungbomb sling at the top of the stairs.
"You're doing it all wrong," Sirius explained. "It's the wrong kind of material. Not nearly stretchy enough, see?"
They gaped at him. He frowned down at what they'd done so far, testing it.
"It just won't do," he decided. "Here . . . " He juggled the tray for a moment while he got his wand out. "Attendo!" He pulled on the fabric again. It now stretched like elastic. "There, try that and let me know how it goes. I might want a turn with it later."
"Yes, sir!" A wide eyed Callum saluted him happily. Ailsa was testing the new abilities of the sling for herself, eyes dancing with calculations.
Sir. Sirius still wasn't used to that.
Lupin, with the same stealth that had made him invaluable at pranks during their school years, had come up the stairs behind him. "You do know you're supposed to be pretending to be a responsible adult right now, right?" Remus muttered.
"I am being a responsible adult! They're shoring up the house's defenses."
A ghost of a smile flickered over Remus's face. "If you say so."
Sirius stepped over the contraption carefully and left the children to their test runs. With a dozen Death Eaters running around in the yard, booby trapping the house seemed like an excellent idea. Besides, it kept the kids busy, and considering all they'd seen . . . Well, busy was good. Sirius knew that first hand. Who knew? Maybe this project of theirs would excite Ailsa enough to get her talking again.
He continued on past the landing and up to the second floor before knocking on the door that led to Tonks' room. She could walk around some now, but she got dizzy if she stayed up for too long, something even Tonks' best efforts hadn't been able to hide.
"Come in," she called grumpily.
Sirius pushed the door open. Tonks was sprawled on the bed and holding up a mirror. The skin on her face twisted as she gave herself a pig snout, a beak, and what looked suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore's nose in quick succession before popping back to normal.
Unfortunately, the scars that raked the left side of her face weren't so easily left behind.
She looked over at him. "Food!" She leaped to her feet but swayed slightly and had to grab the bed frame. "Ugh. You'd think I'd be over this by now."
"You were in bed for nearly a month. Take it slow."
She narrowed her eyes. "When did you get possessed by the ghost of Madam Pomfrey?"
Sirius grinned. "Not possessed. Just lots of experience. Between my own injuries and visiting the other Marauders, I think I spent more time at Hogwarts in the hospital wing then out of it."
She'd grabbed the sandwich off the plate, but she toyed with it instead of digging in. "Were any of those injuries . . . you know . . . Full moon related?"
"Some of them," Sirius admitted.
She nodded slowly. "How'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
She waved the sandwich. "Get Remus to get over himself."
Sirius blinked. "What?"
She scowled. "He won't talk to me. And since I still haven't been able to find my wand that somebody," she glared at him, "hid to keep me away from the battle, I can't corner him with a Body Bind Curse so we can sort this out like normal people."
It was probably a sign of her Black heritage that she considered that problem solving for normal people.
"What did you say when he came to talk to you before the battle?"
She frowned. "I asked him how his arm was." She crossed her arms somewhat defensively. "I panicked, all right? I couldn't get to my wand in time, and I'd been slicing up the meat - " She cut herself off. "Why?"
"Something he said made me think . . . I don't know. That you hadn't forgiven him yet."
She blinked. "It wasn't his fault."
Sirius grinned. "Finally. Someone who understands. Welcome to a very exclusive club. And when I say exclusive, I regret to say that I mean it doesn't include Remus."
"He blames himself."
"And will to his dying day. Instead of blaming, for instance, the person whose fault it is that the werewolf got loose in the first place."
"Not you too."
"Whatever you want, cuz." He frowned. "To answer your question, our old defense whenever one of us got hurt was denial - not that he believed us, but once we healed up, he got over it. Any luck with the scars?"
She shook her head in frustration. "I'm trying. I can get them to move around a bit - " She demonstrated. "But I can't take them disappear entirely."
"I was afraid of that." He considered. "You could try hitting him over the head," he suggested. "Maybe some cognitive recalibration would help."
She threw a pillow at him. "How's Harry? What's going on?"
"Harry's fine." Hopefully. "River's still running Potterwatch. And . . . We might have a few Death Eaters in the front yard."
"Fun. I want my wand back."
"I don't know if that's - "
She threw her plate at him.
"Under your bed, between the slats."