Cavorting with Death

2

Just a heads up for those who haven't heard: The schedule for this story is set for a new chapter once a week. I will try my absolute hardest to hold myself to that :)

Enjoy...

CwD

July 3rd, 1996

Tonks sighed.

"Harry, the last time I tried sneaking you out, Molly did my absolute head in when the Order found out. If I do it again, Merlin knows what she'd do next. She'll probably start pestering me to start seeing Bill even though she knows he's with that hot Veela." She moaned as she placed her cup on her coaster.

Hearing no response, she curiously looked up at him and saw his expression change from acceptance to raw determination.

"Why?" She asked just before he was about to speak, as she caught on to the shift in mood.

Harry closed his open mouth with a snap and after blinking owlishly at Tonks for a second or two, stood up, scraping the chair he sat on. He pushed it behind him and turned away from her before looking out the window to the pristine garden he had worked on the day before.

"Why am I here Nym?" He asked after an uncomfortable silence.

She frowned at his question.

"You are here because it is the safest place for you right now before you head back to Hogwarts." She replied easily as this was what she was told by Dumbledore.

Harry turned his head and looked at her, with the same fire in his eyes but this time, there was a slight hint of anger in them.

There was a small pause before he replied.

"Let me guess, Dumbledore told you that?" He asked slowly, his words dripping with venom at the mention of the old man's name.

Tonks slowly nodded, piecing together that Dumbledore was still a very touchy subject. She had been briefly told of Harry flipping out in the old Headmaster's office at the end of the last school year and it was clear that he was still less than amicable with the Leader of the Light.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his damp, messy, raven coloured hair.

"Nym, what do you know about Blood Magic?"

CwD

A buzzing sound could be heard before a set of giant double doors, at the farthest end of the first floor of the Wizarding Bank, opened.

A small, elderly figure emerged from the set of doors and made his way through the large hallway. Dressed in the finest acromantula silks that money could buy, with a silver cane made from goblin-wrought silver of the highest grade in his hand, he took measured steps as he traversed towards his destination.

He had a wrinkled face with a deep, blackened scar, vertically cut from the middle of his left grey brow, stopping at just above his cheek. A goblin-wrought monocle sat comfortably on his right working eye, hardened by countless battles but, only fools could deny the wisdom and power that it held.

As he walked, the guards stationed outside the double iron doors made to follow but he quickly rebuked them with a wave of his hand, and they instantly obeyed.

The echo of his cane striking the pristine floor, bounced off the walls as he lost himself to his thoughts.

Business for the Goblins has not been pleasant as of late. Since the re-emergence of the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort, the influx of gold has been growing shorter for everyday that passed, and this did not agree with the time-worn Goblin.