HP: Man of Archives

Returning home with money felt deeply satisfying. Naturally, I wasn't about to rush off and boast to Hermione and Fleur about my newfound earnings. There was no reason for them to know that I now had enough funds to finance a moderately-sized war on the European continent.

That said, I was fully aware the money hadn't been earned through entirely honest means. I even suspected it might somehow be connected to the recent appearance of demons in major European cities. For that reason, I wasn't eager to deposit it in a goblin bank.

When I returned home, I was surprised to find Fleur and Hermione practicing their French together.

"Oh, Hermione, have you decided to pick up another language?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm helping Fleur improve her English pronunciation. It's a win-win for both of us."

"Got it—sounds great," I replied. "Alright, be ready. After lunch, we're heading to Diagon Alley for some shopping."

"Diagon Alley?" Fleur repeated, sounding puzzled. It might seem strange to her, but not to us Brits.

"Yes, it's kind of a place…" Hermione began explaining as I headed to my study to think things through.

Earlier, while collecting payments, an intriguing idea had struck me: what if I could be in two places at once? That way, I could conduct a super-analysis of the information stored in my head while still fulfilling my role as a director and teacher for Hermione and Fleur.

Sinking into my chair, I pulled out a scrap of paper and began jotting down my thoughts, occasionally doodling random shapes—squares, crosses, circles, and squiggly lines. In theory, I had everything I needed to successfully create a doppelgänger of myself. The problem was, the duplicate wouldn't be able to use magic unless I equipped it with an artifact imbued with a specific spell.

Of course, the duplicate didn't necessarily need to be magical, but it had to be intelligent enough that I wouldn't have to worry about some minor oversight derailing everything.

Failing to reach a definitive conclusion, I set the paper aside and delved deeper into my thoughts. How could I achieve the desired result? Perhaps I could try creating a miniature copy using a personality matrix and then transfigure a body for it. However, the challenge was that such a body wouldn't function like a normal one. Additionally, I'd need to frequently update the spells to ensure everything worked as intended.

"Alright," I sighed, vanishing the scrap of paper with a flick of my wand.

Lunch with Hermione and Fleur went smoothly, free of any surprises. The two of them chatted happily, which could only mean one thing—they were getting to know each other better, something that would undoubtedly make my life easier in the long run.

"So, what's the plan now?" I asked as we finished eating. "We're heading to Diagon Alley, and I want to buy us new brooms. Hermione, I've heard Potter has a Firebolt. Is that true?"

"Yes," she replied with a nod. "I'm not sure who sent it to him. The professors were concerned at first, but after inspecting it, they found nothing dangerous about it."

"And you've seen how it performs in action?" I pressed further.

Hermione nodded again.

"And what do you think of it?"

"Overall, the Firebolt is an incredibly impressive broom," Hermione said. "It outperforms all others the way a goose outperforms a rooster."

"How so?" I asked, slightly puzzled.

"Well… the Firebolt is like the goose—it can actually fly. All the other brooms are like roosters; they can only jump."

"Got it," I said with a nod. "So, here's the deal. You've probably guessed by now that I plan to buy us Firebolts."

"But they're so expensive!" Hermione exclaimed, her surprise evident.

"You don't need to worry about that," I said with a smile. "Consider it my gift."

"Well… alright," Hermione sighed, reluctantly agreeing.

After transporting us to Diagon Alley, I was taken aback by the sheer number of people. The alley was bustling. Among the English wizards, I could hear other languages and broken English. It seemed many of those who had fled from the demons hadn't returned home—or had no intention of doing so.

On one hand, this influx was beneficial; more wizards on the island could strengthen the community. On the other, it would inevitably increase competition in various fields, leaving only the best to thrive.

"Stay close and don't get separated," I cautioned Hermione and Fleur.

Both girls stuck close as the crowd was indeed dense, and getting lost would have been easy. In hindsight, I should have transported us directly to the broom shop—or better yet, ordered the brooms from a catalog instead of dragging us into this chaos.

Outside the broom shop, a small crowd of children and adults had gathered. They gazed longingly at the brooms displayed in the window, their expressions a mixture of admiration and longing, as many of the brooms were simply beyond their financial reach.

I pushed the door open, a faint breeze brushing past. Like most shops in Diagon Alley, this one was much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. Shoppers moved about freely without bumping into one another, scanning shelves filled with brooms and accessories.

"Sir, may I assist you with anything?" A short man approached, his badge reading Manager.

"Hmm," I replied thoughtfully. "Thank you, but not yet. We'd like to look around first."

"Of course, of course," the manager said. "If you need assistance, just call for me, and I'll be happy to help."

I gave him a polite nod.

We began wandering among the large glass displays showcasing an impressive variety of broom models. Many were considered classics, having been in use for decades. Particularly rare models were accompanied by enchanted photos of Quidditch players or notable wizards and witches who had once owned them. There were also unique, limited-edition brooms with hefty price tags and the added requirement of extensive maintenance to stay in prime condition.

The Firebolts held the place of honor, naturally drawing the attention of nearly every visitor. For added marketing appeal, the display featured enchanted images of famous riders—Harry Potter among them—alongside other renowned Quidditch stars and celebrity wizards.

"Manager," I called out. The man appeared almost instantly, as though he'd been waiting nearby the entire time.

"How can I assist you, sir?" he asked, his tone as polite as before.

"I'm interested in the Firebolts," I said, nodding toward the display. "What modifications do you offer?"

"Modifications…" The manager paused thoughtfully. "Honestly, there aren't many. The manufacturer doesn't allow for much customization. The only options we offer are cosmetic."

"What kinds of cosmetic modifications?" I asked, curious.

"Oh," he said, his enthusiasm rising. "We offer a variety of shafts, engraved text for the broom's tip, and several designs for the tail guard."

"Can you create a custom design?" I inquired further.

"Of course," the manager said with a nod. "Allow me to invite you to my office, ladies and gentlemen."

The manager's office was relatively modest, its walls adorned with small models of various brooms, posters of Quidditch players, and generic advertisements. However, the most intriguing item in the room was an artifact tucked away in the corner. With a wave of his wand, the manager brought it to the center of the room and inserted a key into it.

Energy coursed through the artifact as it activated.

"Alright… Firebolt," he murmured, half to himself. "Let's see, let's see."

A soft light appeared, and above the artifact, a half-sized broom hovered—a basic model, as far as I could tell.

"Which of the ladies would like to go first?" he asked, looking between Hermione and Fleur.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione stepped forward.

"What color would you like for the shaft?" the manager asked her.

I settled into a nearby couch, prepared for a bit of a wait as Hermione began working through her choices. Let me tell you—she spent a solid half-hour customizing her broom, ensuring every detail was perfectly tailored to her preferences. The manager, ever the professional, was more than happy to assist, offering suggestions and explaining the options in detail.

"Anything else?" he asked once Hermione appeared satisfied.

"No, I think that's everything," she replied, looking pleased.

"Wonderful," the manager said with a nod. "My staff will begin preparing your broom immediately. Now, let's move on to the next lady."

Fleur's customization process was more complex but also quicker than Hermione's. She wanted her broom to complement her silvery hair—a sleek shaft with a silver-engraved tip and a subtle silver finish on the twigs. In short, Hermione's and Fleur's brooms couldn't have been more different—like night and day. Yet, the manager handled her order with impressive efficiency.

"Now, let's take care of your request, Mr. Jody," the wizard said, turning to me. As I'd suspected, he knew who I was.

"Alright, let's do it," I said with a nod.

"What do you plan to use the broom for?" he asked, starting with the most fundamental question.

"What for, what for…" I repeated, feigning deep thought. "I need it for crossing large bodies of water—like those separating islands and continents."

"So, it needs to be comfortable and stable," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "And, as I understand it, you don't intend to fight sea or air creatures while using it, correct?"

"Probably not," I replied with a faint smile.

"In that case, a more maneuverable option would suit you better," the manager concluded. "Let's move on to the cosmetics. What kind of overall design are you thinking about?"

"It should look simple and understated," I said. "The longer it takes someone to figure out what kind of broom it is, the better."

"Understood," he said, nodding again. "We can make that happen. The shaft and twigs will be slightly lighter for added maneuverability, and we'll include a minimal tail guard to keep it inconspicuous. How about a small design touch, like an engraved tip with your name?"

"I'll pass on that," I said with a sigh.

"Understood," the wizard replied. "Your brooms will be ready in about twenty minutes."

"What's the price?" I asked.

"Five thousand Galleons," he stated plainly.

Fleur gasped softly. It was a hefty sum, but I had the money—far more than that, in fact. This wouldn't be a problem. To keep things moving, I quickly wrote him a check. With one stroke of the pen, I was five thousand Galleons lighter—not that I even felt the loss.

We were offered tea and biscuits while we waited. The manager made polite conversation, often steering the topic toward the idea of making an investment. I found it intriguing, though I refrained from committing to anything immediately.

"Mister…" I began, realizing he hadn't introduced himself yet.

"Bortnikov," he replied with a slight bow. "Andrei Bortnikov."

"Mr. Bortnikov," I said, "your proposal is interesting, but I can't commit to a discussion just yet. Let's arrange a meeting in the near future to go over it in more detail. How does that sound?"

"Very well, Mr. Jody," he nodded. "When would be most convenient for you?"

"How about October or November?" I suggested. "By then, I'll have time to review your proposal properly."

"Mid-autumn?" he repeated, surprised. "Alright, Mr. Jody. I'll prepare some interesting documents about our company for you by then."

At that moment, three large, elongated packages were brought into the office, their contents unmistakably brooms. The silver-wrapped package was handed to Fleur, the brown one with golden lines went to Hermione, and I received a plain gray one.

"Excellent," I said with a nod.

"In addition," the manager added, "on behalf of the store, I'd like to include three broom care kits." He placed three small boxes on the table.

"We won't refuse," I replied, giving him a small nod. With a wave of my hand, I shrank the boxes and slipped them into my pocket. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your purchase," the manager said warmly. "And yes, I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Mr. Bortnikov," I said, shaking his hand.

Fleur and Hermione shrank their brooms, and I followed suit. With everything neatly packed away, we left the office and exited the shop. A few curious glances followed us as we emerged from the manager's office, but no one approached or tried to engage us in dull inquiries.

"What's next?" I asked the girls. "How about some ice cream?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed with a nod. Fleur shrugged, likely unfamiliar with the offerings in Diagon Alley. Shops like this were probably scarce in France, but her curiosity was evident. We decided to explore further, letting the streets guide us to something interesting.

Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was bustling as usual. Renowned as one of the best ice cream spots in the country, it drew wizards from all over—and today was no exception. With the influx of newcomers, finding a table was nearly impossible for the average visitor. The parlor had become a hub for anyone eager to sample a little taste of magical England.

But being a known wizard, even if not widely so, comes with privileges. My reputation alone affords me certain advantages, as became evident the moment Fortescue himself rushed out to greet us.

He was a short, elderly man, exuding a fresh, milky aroma.

"Mr. Jody, ladies," he said warmly, his tone full of hospitality. "Delighted to have you visit my parlor. Would you like a VIP table?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fortescue," I replied with a nod. "Yes, I'd like to introduce my friends to your finest ice cream."

"With unicorn milk?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Then allow me to escort you to a table reserved for our VIP guests," he said, gesturing for us to follow. "I'll pass the order to the kitchen in the meantime."

"Thank you. I see business is thriving?"

"Indeed," he nodded, signaling to a nearby waitress. "Alice, please prepare Ice Cream No. 00 for the VIP table."

"Of course, Mr. Fortescue," she replied, giving our trio a curious glance.

Both Fleur and Hermione drew significant attention from the men in the parlor. I could practically feel their racing hearts as they watched the two women. Meanwhile, their girlfriends and wives were visibly displeased with their partners' wandering eyes. Though no one had dared to approach me yet, I suspected that lingering here much longer might increase the chances of an incident.

Fortescue led us to the second floor, where several empty tables were reserved for VIPs. These tables were positioned near large windows, offering a stunning view of Diagon Alley and the bustling crowds below. We chose one and sat down, the lively scene outside providing an enjoyable backdrop.

"If there's anything else you'd like to order," Fortescue said with a warm smile, "just call for me, and I'll gladly make the arrangements."

"Of course," I replied.

With a polite nod, he left, giving us some privacy.

"It's amazing how people who know you treat you," Hermione remarked, glancing at me. "I don't know any wizard, besides Dumbledore, who gets treated with such respect."

"Well, obviously," Fleur said with a slight scoff. "Considering Timothy's achievements, it would be foolish to ignore the chance to promote their restaurant or shop—or simply to establish friendly relations."

"I can't disagree," Hermione admitted with a thoughtful nod.

The two of them soon began chatting about the wizards and witches they could see through the window. Their conversation was punctuated by soft giggles and whispered observations. Meanwhile, I leaned back, allowing my mind to drift as I enjoyed the calm atmosphere.

When our ice cream arrived, I waited expectantly for Fleur's and Hermione's reactions.

"Wow," Fleur said, her eyes wide with delight. "I've never tasted anything like this!"

"Mmmmmm!" Hermione moaned, her expression blissful. "This is incredible! I've never had anything so delicious."

"Agreed!" Fleur added enthusiastically.

The girls practically squinted with pleasure, savoring every spoonful of the magical dessert. I joined them, allowing myself to indulge. Ice cream made with unicorn milk truly was unparalleled.

We quietly enjoyed the heavenly treat, each lost in the rich, enchanting flavors. Once our plates were empty and scraped clean, Fortescue returned to check on us.

"How was it?" Fortescue asked, his smile warm and genuine.

"It was absolutely amazing," Hermione replied enthusiastically.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said with a pleased nod.

"By the way, Mr. Fortescue," I began, addressing him, "you only hire witches to work here, don't you?"

"Yes," he replied proudly. It was clearly a point of pride for him—hiring wizards would have been more costly than using spells to serve food or even employing house-elves.

"I'd like to suggest a redesign for your uniforms," I said with a playful glint in my eye, feeling a touch mischievous. "I think you'll love it—it's a little something inspired by Fioran fashion."

Intrigued, Fortescue nodded. "Alright, I'll bring over one of my best employees." Even if the idea didn't particularly interest him, he couldn't refuse such a small request from me. Reputation and influence carry weight, after all.

A moment later, he returned with a young witch. She was quite pretty—not in the same league as Fleur or Hermione, or even Isolde or Tonks—but certainly attractive in her own right.

"Mr. Jody wants to demonstrate a new uniform design," Fortescue explained to her. "Would you mind being the model?"

"Not at all," the witch replied, her expression curious as she glanced at me. "What do I need to do or wear?"

"Nothing," I said with a slight smirk.

I stood up, a wand appearing in my hand.

"Don't worry," I said, reassuring the waitress as I noticed a flicker of nervousness in her expression.

Gray smoke swirled around her, enveloping her from head to toe. With a few deliberate waves of my wand, I began making adjustments to the design. Since I was the only one able to see through the haze, I carefully tweaked every detail until it matched the vision in my head. By the time I was done, the result was nothing short of striking.

When I dissipated the smoke, the waitress stood revealed in her completely transformed look.

"Heh-heh-heh," Fortescue chuckled, his eyes practically glued to his employee. However, as I observed him more closely, I caught a glimmer of regret in his expression. Curious, I delved a little deeper and realized he'd been cursed, robbed of his masculine vigor—a truly unfortunate fate. "Heh-heh," he chuckled again, almost wistfully.

"So that's what you like," Hermione muttered under her breath, thinking I hadn't heard her. I pretended not to notice.

"Uh…" the waitress murmured, glancing down at herself.

And there was certainly plenty to see. She now wore stunning red heels, sheer black stockings, and a red corset-style swimsuit that accentuated her figure. Her shoulders were entirely bare, and to top it off, a white headpiece with bunny ears sat perched atop her head.

"I like it," Fortescue said, almost dreamily. "But I'll need to hire security to ensure no one gets handsy. Yes… I really like your idea, Mr. Jody."

"Then it's yours," I said with a nod. "You can call it the Jody Style."

"Jody Style," Fortescue repeated, closing his eyes as if savoring the name. "It's a deal."

"By the way," I added, "I'm willing to invest 500 Galleons toward proper costumes and potions for your waitresses."

"What amount?" Fortescue asked eagerly.

"A thousand Galleons."

"Agreed," he replied almost instantly, his excitement palpable. "All my staff will wear these uniforms. Are there any other variations?"

"Well, you could swap the bunny ears for cat ears," I said with a smirk.

"Ho-ho-ho," Fortescue chuckled, his laugh carrying a slightly perverse undertone. "Agreed."

I wrote him a check for a thousand Galleons—no contract, just trust. I doubted he'd try to cheat me, especially since he seemed genuinely thrilled by the idea and likely would have implemented it even without my investment.

Of course, I paid for the ice cream, but considering my wealth, it was a trivial expense. Overall, the trip to Diagon Alley for the brooms had been a complete success. Without stepping outside the ice cream parlor again, I apparated back home with Fleur and Hermione. The crowded streets had lost their charm, and I had no desire to navigate them further.

Back home, it was time to test the brooms, and we wasted no time in doing so. The Firebolt was unlike any broom I had flown before. Its control was impeccable, the flight smooth and comfortable, and the braking mechanism truly outstanding. Most impressive of all was its mobility—far better than I had anticipated. It was a genuine masterpiece of the broom-making industry.

Afterward, we transitioned into studying—or at least, Fleur and Hermione did. They immersed themselves in the theoretical material I had provided, while I turned my attention to a project I had set aside for some time.

The data from my earlier analysis was spread out before me. Before diving back into it, I decided to recheck all the readings I had collected. Since my last examination of this ingredient, my strength and knowledge had grown considerably. Ideally, I would have conducted a Super Analysis for deeper insights, but that option wasn't yet within reach.

For now, I could confidently say that the initial review confirmed most of the data to be accurate. Some details required adjustments for greater precision, and I incorporated new information that hadn't been accessible to me before. This fresh insight revealed that the fruit emitted faint energy waves within a unique spectrum—detectable only through highly specialized approaches to magical arts. Without the knowledge and abilities of that draenei, I would never have uncovered this discovery.

Dinner was a quiet affair with Hermione and Fleur, as the day had clearly worn them out. Fleur, however, seemed to have energy to spare, finding the time and enthusiasm to spend hours with me later, her voice unabashedly betraying her delight.

By morning, Hermione didn't appear especially pleased, in contrast to Fleur, who was positively radiant.

With no major plans until my date with Nymphadora later in the day, I spent the morning focused on Hermione and Fleur. Given their differing skill levels, I tailored my lessons to their needs. For Fleur, I gave a concise lecture on Charm creation and demonstrated a spell for her to practice. With Hermione, we concentrated on the fundamentals of Transfiguration, delving into finer details of technique.

At the appointed time, I apparated to Nymphadora's house. She was already waiting, and as I approached the door, it swung open to reveal her.

Nymphadora stood there in a simple, light-colored dress adorned with delicate frills, her face lighting up at the sight of me.

"Hi, Timothy," she said warmly, wrapping her arms around me. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Nymphadora," I replied, returning her embrace. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," she said with a smile.

We apparated to the entrance of an upscale restaurant where I had already secured a reservation. The establishment catered to a mixed clientele of wizards and non-wizards, both of whom paid equally high prices for the experience—too steep for the average person to afford a night here.

"Good evening," the doorman greeted us, dressed smartly in a black suit. "How may I assist you?"

"I have a reservation under the name Jody," I said calmly.

He nodded and quickly flipped through a leather-bound ledger, running his finger down the list until he found the entry.

"Timothy Jody?" he asked, looking up for confirmation.

"Yes, that's me," I confirmed with a polite nod.

"Excellent," the doorman replied, gesturing toward a nearby waiter. The young man, a well-dressed Black waiter with a professional demeanor, approached us with a hint of curiosity, his eyes briefly flicking between me and Nymphadora. "Abundale will escort you to your table."

I offered a simple nod in acknowledgment.

"This way, please," said Abundale, his tone courteous.

He led us to a small, elegantly set table tucked away in a secluded corner of the dining room. The location offered privacy while still providing a clear view of the stage and several other tables, where distinguished gentlemen dined with their companions.

"As you may have guessed, my name is Abundale, and I'll be your waiter this evening," he said with a friendly smile. "May I start you off with drinks? Is there anything specific you'd like to order?"

"Let's start with just water," I suggested, glancing at Nymphadora. "What about you?"

"Water works for me too," Nymphadora agreed.

"Excellent," Abundale said with a nod.

The service Abundale provided was impeccable. The food was delicious, the music pleasant, yet there was an odd, unsettling atmosphere hanging in the air. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't pinpoint the source of the discomfort. It lingered at the back of my mind, unresolved and inexplicable.

Despite this, the conversation with Nymphadora flowed effortlessly.

"I've just been hired as a full-time junior Auror," she said, her face glowing with pride. "Now, all those years of hard work are finally paying off."

"Oh, congratulations," I said with a nod. "How do you find the experience? Do you enjoy being part of the Ministry structure?"

"Well…" she said, drawing out the word as she considered her answer. "Overall, yes. I'm surrounded by wonderful people with diverse perspectives and fascinating life stories. Not all of them became Aurors straight out of Hogwarts like I did. Some had completely different careers before joining."

"Interesting," I replied thoughtfully. "I've had a bit of experience with Aurors myself recently."

"And how was it?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, her curiosity evident.

"Not exactly satisfactory," I admitted, shaking my head. "I was having a meeting with Lucius Malfoy at the time when your colleagues decided to raid the house for a search. It wouldn't have been an issue if they'd stuck to searching, but they also tried to make off with a few items—including money."

"Steal?" she exclaimed, her expression one of genuine surprise. "I can't believe that. Every Auror signs a contract explicitly stating they won't steal from other wizards."

"I don't know what kind of contract they signed, but I saw it with my own eyes," I said firmly.

"Maybe you misunderstood something?" Nymphadora suggested, her tone cautious.

It was then that I finally understood the source of the strange atmosphere. Nymphadora wasn't entirely at ease. Respecting her boundaries, I refrained from probing her thoughts further and instead focused on her emotional aura. It felt like she was wearing an ill-fitting jacket—tolerable, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Maybe, maybe," I said with a nod, letting the matter rest. Although I was confident in my understanding of the situation, I chose not to create unnecessary tension. It seemed to me that Nymphadora was still looking at the world through thick rose-colored glasses, and shattering them wouldn't be easy.

The conversation shifted naturally, steering away from Aurors or the Auror Office.

"By the way," she began with a hint of pride, "Headmaster Dumbledore recommended that I train with his friend Alastor Moody this summer. I've already started."

"Really?" I replied, genuinely surprised. She hadn't mentioned this in her letters—perhaps she didn't think it was particularly noteworthy. "I remember Alastor accompanied me during the Transfiguration Olympics in Zurich. We had some… interesting moments back then."

"Yes, he's a brilliant Auror," she said with an enthusiastic nod. "And an exceptional wizard. It's no wonder you managed to win with his support."

"Perhaps you're right," I acknowledged with a small smile. "It's remarkable how much you've grown in just a year. You've become a full-fledged Auror—even if junior—and you're training under Moody. That's impressive."

"Thanks," she said, her smile widening.

"Have you ever thought about traveling with me in the future?" I asked, testing the waters.

"No," she replied quickly, her answer firm. "I feel like part of a big family in the Auror Office, so I don't think I'd want to leave anytime soon. Have you ever considered joining the Aurors yourself?"

"I haven't," I admitted. "I'm currently the headmaster of Beauxbatons, and I don't have any desire to become an Auror."

"I see," she said with a nod, her expression thoughtful. Then I felt it—a subtle shift, as though she'd made some kind of decision. "Well, Timothy, I have to run… things to do."

"It was nice seeing you, Nymphadora," I replied, sensing that our relationship had just taken an unexpected turn.

"Wishing you all the best," she said before leaving.

I remained at the table, a faint tinge of loneliness settling over me. The sympathetic glances from a few Muggles nearby left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I couldn't tell if I was overthinking things or if something truly had changed between us. Who knows…

After paying for the meal, I returned home and went to bed. That night, I slept alone.

The next morning, I woke up alone as well. Hermione and Fleur had decided to sleep in a bit longer. Sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, I noticed an owl glide into the room. It circled gracefully above the table before landing directly in front of me.

The owl extended its leg, waiting patiently for me to take the letter it carried. There was no need to ask twice; I retrieved it immediately. The letter was light and carried only the faintest trace of magic—likely just a preservation charm to protect it during transit.

It was from Nymphadora. A sinking feeling settled in my chest as I examined the envelope. As the owl flew off without waiting for a reply, I realized it wasn't expecting one.

***

Dear Timothy,

I hope you enjoyed dinner as much as I did. It was a lovely evening, but there's something important I need to address. I struggled to say this in person, so I decided to write you this letter instead. I hope you can understand and won't be upset.

I want to be upfront: despite your efforts, we cannot be together. This decision comes down to me, not you. You have incredibly high standards—for both wizards and women—and I don't feel comfortable trying to fit the image I think you prefer. I'm just an Auror, while you're the headmaster of a prestigious magical school. If you had chosen to become an Auror, perhaps we could have found a way forward, but you have your own vision for your life, and I respect that.

I truly believe that things will be better for you with someone like Isolde than with me. Goodbye, Timothy, and please don't be angry with me for this decision.

Sincerely, and with the hope of remaining your friend,

Nymphadora

P.S. Please call me Tonks—it's what I'm most comfortable with.

***

I can't say the letter didn't upset me. A brief flash of anger surged through me, growing into a wave that rippled across the room, leaving minor damage in its wake. So that's what I had been sensing yesterday—it all makes sense now.

After calming down, I took the letter and burned it. Dwelling on it wouldn't do me any good; there were more important things to focus on. If she doesn't want to be with me because she feels she can't live up to my standards, that's her decision. It's not my place to judge her for it.

Well, I can put things into perspective now. If I had wanted to extract every possible benefit from our relationship, I could have done so long ago. But I didn't. I'm confident she would have gained more by staying with me than with the Auror Office, but so be it. The decision was hers.

"Is everything alright?" Fleur's voice broke into my thoughts, her tone tinged with concern.

"Yes," I replied with a faint smile. "Everything's fine. Just got a little angry over a letter."

"Something serious?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Not really," I said, shaking my head. "Just learned that someone and I no longer share the same path forward. It annoyed me a bit."

"That happens," Fleur said thoughtfully. "Of course, I'm not the best person to give advice, but I don't think it's something worth dwelling on."

"It's not anymore," I exhaled, letting go of the lingering frustration. "Alright. Let's have breakfast and wait for Hermione. We need to start planning our little trip."

"Of course," Fleur nodded, then smiled mischievously. "Maybe I could help cheer you up?"

"Oh?" I smirked, raising an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you do that?"

"By doing something you like," she said slyly, tying her hair into a ponytail. It was clear where this was going. She delivered, with enthusiasm, a spectacular blowjob that indeed restored my mood for the entire day.

When Hermione joined us later, she didn't seem to notice anything unusual—though part of me almost wished she had. But no matter… life moved forward.