Master of Death, Lover Witches

Nymphadora Tonks's life's was not turning out the way she expected.

Ever since she was a girl she had been full of big ideas. Easily distracted, her mother called it. And that was true, but only because her head was so stuffed with dreams.

She practically lived off the old fairytales her father used to tell. They were stories he'd learned when he was her age, muggle tales full of dragons, knights, and great heroic kings. Tonks listened with wide eyes for as long as he would talk, and that's when she decided: she was going to be a hero.

Of course, life doesn't have a habit of treating the dreams of little girls well. Tonks reached Hogwarts and went straight to Hufflepuff. Everyone knew that if anyone was going to be fighting dragons, it was going to be a Gryffindor, not a freaking badger. Still, it was only in her fourth year that it sunk in fully, on the day she asked the professor how many O.W.L.s you needed to make it as a hero.

The professor had laughed at her. He assumed she was telling a joke.

When he finished laughing, he told her the requirements to join the Aurors, as if that was what she asked. Doing her best not to slip up and cry, Tonks noted down every word.

She didn't like these Aurors a particular lot. They struck her as the sort of people a hero would wave to work around, not with. Half their time was spent bodyguarding stuffed-up politicians, and the last time one fought with a dragon was in 1642. Tonks had looked it up: the Hertfordshire Incident.

But it was the closest she would get. So she worked her arse off, graduated from Hogwarts with six N.E.W.Ts, saw off loads of competition to lock down a spot as an Auror trainee, and felt all around that she'd done the best she possibly could have.

And then she found herself here, begging wizards to take off skirts.

That wasn't all she'd done today. In addition to informing stubborn wizards how muggles truly dressed, she had: picked up trash, healed a child's scraped knee, been laughed at by Irishmen for telling them to piss off with their obviously magical fireworks, been invited for a drink by those same Irishmen, cleaned up after a flock of pixies got loose from some sod's tent, and spent two hours overseeing a designated apparition point. She didn't even get to watch the quidditch, too busy keeping overweight wizards from hurling themselves off the upper stands when the veela came out.

It was a right mess, and she'd been beyond tired when she finally got to her tent and managed to shut her eyes.

Seconds later she was being shaken awake. Dawlish, one of her superiors, barked something that sounded very serious about dark wizards and riots, then swept away before Tonks's brain came online. When she stumbled out of the tent, her clothes askew and her wand in her hand, all she could see was running bodies.

There was a great stampede hurrying away from something, and when Tonks tried to push her way toward whatever it was, a large fat wizard ran straight through her, knocking her facedown in the dirt.

Nobody stopped to help her. They barely had the presence of mind to go around her, leaving the twenty-three-year old witch lying there dazed, exhausted, and confused, wondering when exactly it first went wrong for her.

Just as she felt about ready to cry (which would have been a tremendous embarrassment. Big strong Auror cries in public? Whoever heard of it?) the crowd suddenly parted.

They were still running, but they gave her a wide berth, splitting and offering her plenty of room to collect herself. Tonks gaped. Had they spotted her badge? Did she even have her badge right now?

But it wasn't her they were avoiding. A man had appeared beside her, extending his hand to help her up.

He was also completely naked.

The only things on his body were a pair of sturdy shoes, two white socks, and a very muggle black ski mask. He had a lithely muscular body that in other circumstances would've been worth stopping to stare at. But Tonks found herself mostly focusing on his flaccid penis hanging directly next to her head, stained with what seemed to be smeared lipstick.

"Come on then," said the man. "Up and at 'em now, Auror Tonks."

Deciding she had nothing left to lose, Tonks accepted the naked man's hand. 

"Indecent exposure is a crime, you know," she informed him.

"So is rioting with dark magic, but it's not stopping those lot."

The masked man waved a hand toward what was beyond the fleeing crowd. Gazing between the sea of heads, Tonks thought she could just make out the flashes of spellfire. Her face lost its color rather quickly.

"That's what's happening? You aren't joking?"

"I wouldn't joke about this," said the man. "I haven't thought of one funny enough to tell yet. Anyway, they're off thattaway, hoisting the muggle camp manager and his family a few dozen feet in the air."

Tonks's blood boiled. She hated supremacists with a passion. They reminded her of family.

"The ministry will stop them," she said, pushing up her sleeves. "Speaking of, I ought to be going. An Auror can't let this kind of thing stand."

She wasn't going to let the fact that she was a trainee stop her. Real, honest to Merlin villains had appeared, up to proper no-good! This was what she joined the force to deal with. It was exactly what she'd been chasing, like a reward for her day full of menial chores!

But when she'd taken only a single step, the naked man said, "You'll never stop them working with those lot."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tonks asked.

"Ministry officials are already swarming them," he said. "Just look."

Finally, mercifully, the crowd was clearing. Tonks got her best view yet of what was really going on. When she saw it, she could do nothing but stare.

A pack of dark-cowled wizards and witches marched through the center of camp. They hurled out curses like candy, leaving destruction for the sake of it. Four figures floated high above them. It was too far to make out, but if the naked man spoke the truth, those would be the muggles.

What Tonks couldn't understand was what the rest of the wizards were doing. They unmistakably wore ministry robes, yet none would cast more than a shield. They ought to be taking a stand! So why were they just puttering along, following the criminals like a nagging mother?

"They're worried about making an incident," said the naked man. "It would look terrible in the Prophet if a muggle fell to their death here. So terrible, that the high-ups have forgotten they're wizards too, capable of casting a cushioning charm. They won't use an offensive spell the entire night if they have their way."

It made Tonks feel sick, to be honest. Because she believed him. It was all too easy to imagine after her short time in the ministry.

"All the same," she said, "I think I'll go and do what I can. Risk management is better than nothing."

"But that's not what you really want, is it?"

Again, Tonks stopped before she'd gotten more than a step away.

"Aren't you talking a bit too much like you know me?" She frowned. "Come to think of it, how do you know me? Were we at Hogwarts together?"

From the sound of his voice he wasn't far off her age. She just couldn't recall any streakers from her time in school.

"You want to stop them, don't you?" the man said, ignoring her entirely. "What you want is to save the day. Swooping in, taking down villains and rescuing innocents."

"That is typically what Aurors are supposed to do, yes."

"But even being an Auror isn't what you're after. You're only doing it because you settled in life. Picture this: Nymphadora Tonks— hero."

He said the way Tonks always did in her head, with plenty of reverence and a helping of gusto. She was struck unresponsive quite like she'd been hit by a stunner. The man held out his hand.

"Help me," he said, "and we'll do it. Together, we'll stop them the way only we ever could!"

The offer was so appealing that the ends of Tonks's hair turned bright blue just thinking about it. This would be everything she wanted. It would be what she longed for in life!

Well, you know, if any of it actually happened. The rush wore off, and she found herself staring at a naked man in his shoes and a mask and nothing else, looking quite ridiculous no matter how respectably hung he might've been.

"Afraid I'll have to pass," Tonks said. "You seem to know quite a bit about me — a disturbing amount, if I'm being honest — but it takes a lot more than that to stop fifty armed wizards. If you really want to help, volunteer with the ministry officials. Feel free to take your time, though. Find some robes first."

The man looked down at himself, as if remembering again that he was missing something.

"I don't know," he mused. "I think this might be a good distraction tactic. Especially for the dark witches in the crowd."

Tonks shook her head and turned to the rioters.

Only to find that in the time they had been talking, some had come to them.

Small groups were splintering off of the main pack. Two or three would break away here or there, swing around to burn the further-off tents and spread an extra bit of carnage, then meet back up with the others before they could be caught.

One such group was directly in front of Tonks and her nude compatriot. There were four of them, all broad and stocky beneath their long hooded robes. She noticed the traditional Death Eater masks were missing, but it hardly mattered when their faces were shadowed like they were. What was far more important was the wands they looked more than ready to use.

The men spotted her red Auror robes. They saw her alone, without backup, and raised their wands eagerly.

Tonks wanted to be a hero, but she wasn't stupid. She'd cast a shield and turn tail. One against three wasn't called chasing glory, it was called suicide.

"Run!" Tonks whispered urgently at the man beside her.

Instead, he walked forward. Tonks blinked, feeling like rubbing her eyes.

Had he always been holding a wand in each hand?

"Hullo chaps!" he said happily. "Would you say that my cock distracts you?"

That got the dark wizards' attention. Their confusion was palpable… but not enough to stop them from casting a curse apiece at the clothless man.

Tonks just managed to get a shield up in front of him. Four nasty-colored curses splashed against it. The man himself looked unphased.

"I'll count that as a no." He sighed, coming to a stop just in front of them. "It's because there were no witches with you. That must've been the problem."

The figure on the right said, "I'm a witch!"

"You are?" said Tonks.

"You are?" said the naked man.

"You are?" asked her companions.

The figure growled— which didn't do her any favors, for the sound was as deep and low as a troll's snore.

"Either way," said the naked man quickly, "my grand strategy seems to be a failure." He hung his head, only to perk up a moment later. "I'm still going to stick with it though, because it's funny. Now if you chaps — sorry, and lady, no need to growl at me like that again — want to throw down your wands and turn yourselves in, that would be lovely."

"And what'll you do if we don't?" the one in the middle asked nastily.

"Confringo."

Tonks didn't see him move. She was pretty sure the dark wizards didn't either. In a blur, the naked man had raised both wands, casting perfect blasting curses either side of the head of the wizard who'd spoken. They flew so close they nearly clipped his ears. And they kept flying, and flying…

Spell range was one of the first lessons an Auror trainee got. Theoretically, a spell could keep traveling forever. But it needed power to do so. Tonks could stun a target at a hundred paces, and that was good for her age. But someone like Albus Dumbledore could knock out a bear three miles off.

Tonks watched her naked acquaintance's spells strike the side of the enormous stadium in the distance.

The sky lit up.

Great twin plumes of fire lit the horizon. Rubble and plaster erupted into the air. Thousands of tons worth of stadium tore away, a massive chunk falling to the field, shaking the ground on impact as if an earthquake had hit.

The dark wizards didn't even need to turn around. The flash and the noise were enough to have all four dropping their wands.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" said the man.

He reached up, patting the head of a dark wizard like a child who'd obediently pulled their hand out of the cookie jar.

"Hey, so…" Tonks started, her mouth feeling dry. "What were you saying about a plan to be a hero?"

He turned toward her fast enough to make his flaccid penis flap.

"You're the one that's going to be the hero," he said. "Tell me, Tonks— how familiar are you with Narcissa Malfoy?"

O-O-O

Harry was overjoyed to discover that these rogue Death Eaters had bigger bollocks than he feared they would.

When his spells did their number on the stadium, the entire group stopped and stared. Some looked only one step off Disapparating away on the spot. But they rallied, convincing themselves it must have been a coincidental bit of carnage (caused by their compatriots, if anything), and marched on their way again, back to tossing spells this way and that.

They kept on going and gallivanting, right up until they noticed the mostly-nude boy standing in their path.

Meaning him, of course.

At first, Harry heard sniggers. They seemed to think he was a panicking visitor who crawled out of his tent naked and froze from fear. He supposed he had crawled out of a tent, just not his own. And fear was the last thing on his mind.

One in the middle seemed to be leading them. There was no giving orders to a feral bunch like this, but he at least seemed to be choosing the direction in which they marched. He was the closest of them to Harry, and he lazily called out, "Levicorpus."

Harry grinned. He recognized the voice. It belonged to just the Death Eater he was hoping for. 

Jerking one Elder Wand, he summoned the right boot off of a Death Eater, pulling it into the path of the dangling jinx aimed at him. At the same time, he touched his throat with the other Elder Wand. When he spoke, his voice was as loud as Ludo Bagman's had been during the final.

He laughed maniacally. Villainous cackles grew out of a sinister chuckle. More spells flew at him from the crowd, but he deflected these with a single strong shield.

"Look at you!" Harry boomed. "Minions of a failed fallen Dark Lord, crawling out of the dank shadows into which they slunk. You think you look intimidating, gallivanting about with your weak skills and weaker ideals, but you cannot handle the truth. You are a pathetic embarrassment to wizarding kind."

Dozens of the nastiest spells available were hurled at him then. Harry conjured a thick wall of earth, watching as it crackled and corroded. When the last spell had sputtered, he allowed the wall's remnants to break apart into dust.

The crowd had been given pause. Whatever they expected tonight, having their combined might stymied by a single nude man was not it.

"Who are you?" asked the leader.

"I'm glad you asked." Harry treated them to another long, evil laugh before going on. "I, you sick sods, am the pinnacle of what a wizard can be! I am what Hogwarts' founders dreamed of when they pictured those who would walk its halls! I am the one who wields power like no other, and the one who will shape the fate of not just this country, but the entire world! I am… Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

Cowled heads turned to each other, checking with their neighbors if that rang any bells. There was lots of shrugging. Only the leader reacted differently, recoiling and gripping his wand more tightly.

"You assuredly are not!" he cried.

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow, even though none could see it beneath his mask. "And why would that be?"

"Because Tom Riddle is—"

The leader stopped abruptly. His friends turned to him, eager to hear the rest of what he had to say. But he had caught himself, and he only snapped, "You just can't be!"

"A very convincing argument," Harry said condescendingly. "But your mewling will not change facts. It is I, the son of Merope Gaunt and the muggle from whom I take my name! I am not like you sniveling in-bred fools. Marrying your siblings for centuries has watered you down into addled knock-offs of true wizards and witches."

"Mudblood lover!" spat an unnamed witch from the crowd.

"Hah!" barked Harry. "You think I have love for those fools? Magic runs in their veins, but they have no pedigree. They were spat out of the filthy bodies of muggles that went their whole lives without even the simplest of charms. They have no culture, class, or decorum. I snub my nose at Mudbloods everywhere!"

"Do you stand for nothing?" demanded the leader.

Harry hurled out his arms, tilting his head back.

"The half-blood!" he said with relish.

A moment later he began to pace, waving animatedly as he spoke.

"The perfect hybrid," he declared. "Fresh blood that washes away the vile taint of a crisscrossing family tree. Yet they come from our world, raised in it their whole lives. They understand our ways. Mudbloods and purebloods can't compare. You—" and here he jabbed a finger at not just the Death Eaters, but the nearby ministry workers as well "—are about to enter an era of half-blood supremacy. And I, Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior, greatest of all half-bloods, will be the one to bring it about!"

It was quite impressive, really. Harry's bold declaration was met with complete crickets. He had actually managed to silence a riot, and he used nothing but confusion to do it.

The only thing that could've made him happier was if he got to see Voldemort's face when the man heard of this stunt. Few knew the Dark Lord's true name, and fewer still out of those were still alive and sane. 

Voldemort would have two choices— allow the name Tom Marvolo to become synonymous with half-bloods everywhere… or reveal his own identity, and admit to all purebloods that Lord Voldemort was the dress-up persona of the son of a muggle. It was genius, really, or at least Harry thought so.

Alas, Voldemort was not here now, floating somewhere far away as nothing but a spirit. Tonight, Harry would have to content himself with the lieutenant in front of him.

"I don't know who you are really," the leader said quietly, "but I will make you regret the moment you dirtied that name with your mouth."

"And how are you going to do that?" Harry asked. "You can't even protect your own family, Lucius."

The leader turned rigid. His head whipped to either side as if searching for his wife and son. It wasn't until one of his subordinates cried out that he looked in the correct direction: up.

Mr. and Mrs. Roberts had disappeared along with their children. In their place, suspended just as high off the ground, was a platinum-blond woman and her son with the same hair.

"Cancel the spell!" Lucius screamed. When nobody answered, he added, "NOW!"

Death Eaters jerked their wands, but the floating pair didn't move any closer to the ground. Harry aimed his wand up, waving it in odd shapes. Draco zoomed through the air with his entire body stiff, as if he were a remote-controlled broom.

"This is fun," said Harry.

Right then he turned Draco a tad too sharply. The boy's robes slid off his body, fluttering to the ground, and perhaps the boy had crawled out of bed recently himself, for he was just as naked as Harry underneath.

Unfortunately for him, there was far less to see. In particular, the largest difference was between the legs, where Draco had about as much going on as Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in the winter, if you caught Harry's meaning.

"Oof," Harry winced. "The fangirls are not going to like this one."

A flash went off somewhere behind him, accompanied by a tell-tale click of a camera. That one was ending up in the prophet one way or another.

Lucius Malfoy's wand whipped up. "Avada Kedavra!"

The green bolt fired toward Harry, who casually transfigured a metal ball out of nearby grass, levitating it into the curse's path. The two canceled each other out in a profusion of sparks.

Harry flicked his wand again, and this time it was not Draco who moved. Narcissa Malfoy turned upside down, her robes falling down over her head— coincidentally, in the exact same way the muggle Mrs. Roberts's nightgown had in another timeline.

With all due respect to Mrs. Roberts, however, that view had nothing on this one. As a professional trophy wife, Narcissa had a lovely tight stomach and slender figure, and an awful lot of it was on display now.

She wore an elaborate system of lace under her unassuming robes. Apparently, she and her husband had been of a mood to celebrate when they got through rekindling their youth with an enthralling night of terrorizing the less fortunate.

"Behold!" Harry cried. "I give you, the pinnacle of the pureblood witch!"

Narcissa's body floated about in different directions, still suspended upside down, giving everyone around a view of her.

"Beautiful, yes," said Harry. "But, for a moment, imagine if she were a half-blood, rather than a pure-blood. Why, I daresay the result would be something like this."

A new woman appeared in the air above him. She looked an awful lot like Narcissa, down to a similarly-scandalous set of lingerie as her only clothing, although this witch was floating the right-way-round and blushing up a storm. Her arms clutched at her chest, but they were helpless to shield that much cleavage.

Because where Narcissa was slender, with small breasts and a shapely-yet-tight backside, this Narcissa was enormous in both departments. Her breasts were nearly too big for her build. Her ass extended inches out from her lower back with a perfect, athletic shape. To put it simply, she was Narcissa, but better.

Lucius Malfoy took one look at her and passed out on the spot.

He simply fell backward, his brain overloaded by the sight in front of him. Harry watched him fall, shaking his head.

The man had just short-circuited lusting over his own niece. It was like purebloods were trying to give themselves a bad name.

Oh, yes. This new and improved Narcissa was, of course, none other than Nymphadora Tonks, the woman's Metamorphagus niece. It was a wonderful talent, being able to change your appearance however you liked. Without it, beautiful plans like this one couldn't exist!

Seeing their leader unconscious and with their pea-brains thoroughly overwhelmed, the dark wizards had taken to standing there quite stupidly, doing nothing at all. A ministry wizard shortly put two and two together, noticed there were no more muggles to worry about making fall, and fired a stunner. Carnage broke loose in short order. Cloaked figures were Disapparating, others were falling to the ground unconscious, and a select few fired nasty spells back. But the ones who chose to stay and fight were quickly outnumbered.

"Fall!" Harry cackled. "Collapse before my half-blood might!"

He was interrupted when at least six red beams flashed toward him. With one set of maniacs dealt with, it seemed the ministry was moving on to the next insane target.

"Time to go!" Harry said. "Catch!"

Tonks, still in her Narcissa disguise, plummeted toward the ground. Before making contact she slowed rapidly, causing her enormous chest to bounce vigorously. She landed directly on top of a mousy young intern, cushioning her fall. The boy probably came out of it with a nasty concussion, but considering it ended with Tonks sitting directly on his face in nothing but her underwear, Harry thought he'd done the lad a favor on the whole.

He swept his arms out, enveloping himself in his invisibility cloak. Leaving behind two floating purebloods, shocked cries, and the last few bits of spellfire, Harry slipped away into the night.

O-O-O

Five minutes later he ditched the cloak alone in the woods. He loved his oldest hallow dearly. Who else could make a quick escape like that one at a casual walking pace? All he had to do was turn invisible and walk off. Job done.

"Freeze!"

The voice behind him stopped him. Looking back, he found himself staring into the tip of yet another wand.

In contrast to him, Nymphadora Tonks was breathing hard. She had mostly returned to her own appearance, but in her rush to chase him hadn't bothered to revert her assets or add any more clothing. She was sweating, and her non-wand hand was on her knees to support her.

"Tonks!" said Harry. "Incredible to see you!"

"Shut up," she moaned. "Don't act like we're friends. You lied to me!"

"Me? Lied? Never."

"You said we'd be heroes," she wailed. "What was that? I feel like a stripper now. And you used hostages, went on a supremacist rant, and even declared world domination. You're a villain! An awful, stinking, naked villain!"

"Exactly!" said Harry. "And who catches villains?"

Tonks froze, her wand still aimed at him. Her eyes widened. Harry held out his hands, waiting to be cuffed with a smile.

"Come on," he said. "Catch me, hero."