The day they caught her father was the day that saw her worlds collide.

She and Lucius came down the grand central staircase, drawn by a commotion, to find Voldemort goading a man on the ground.

He'd just been dragged in - she knew that because Scabior and Fenrir were there, and they'd have scarpered as soon as they'd received a reward - and oddly for Voldemort, he seemed to be singling out the man for special treatment. It was not normal for Snatchers to bring a would-be victim to the house.

"Ted Tonks," Voldemort was saying, and Tonks flinched. Lucius closed his hand tightly around her arm and kept walking. In cold, dumb horror, she schooled her features and did the same. "I know you. A defiler of the great House of Black, I think?"

Her father spat at the Dark Lord's feet - the only part of him he could reach. "You defile it. You defile everything. Dromeda is the only Black to stay pure."

Oh God Dad don't say that he'll kill you please -

"Pure!" Voldemort said scornfully. "Pure! You don't even know what the word means! Muggle filth dares to speak to me of defilement!" He aimed his wand squarely at her father's head.

She raised her hand. Imperial. She commanded, "Stop."

Voldemort looked up in complete astonishment, as did all around them. Lucius was staring at her, panic in his eyes.

She directed her words to the Dark Lord, choosing her tone carefully. Her chin was lifted to just the right angle, she hoped. Too high and he would kill her. Too low and he would kill her father.

"My Lord," she said, "forgive me. However, this man stole my beloved sister. He brainwashed her and tainted her with his filth. Fathered an abominable half-blood on her. He owes me a debt. I have a prior claim. Let me deal with him. I assure you, he will know the full weight of your wrath, as well as my own."

For an awful, tense moment, Voldemort didn't respond. Didn't even move. Her father looked on her with terror even greater than his terror before, and that wounded her beyond measure. She stared him down, not as Tonks, but as Narcissa. Imagined nursing rage against him for nearly thirty years. Inside her, Tonks was splintering, crying out in pain.

The moment passed. Incredibly, Voldemort stood back, giving a little bow. "Dear Narcissa. I didn't think you had such admirable mettle in you. Far be it from me to take what is yours," he added sardonically, as though he had not taken her son and her house and most of her husband's spirit.

She bowed her head. "My Lord," she said, "I will not forget this kindness." She lifted her gaze to Lucius. "Darling, if you'd be so kind? The stables, I think. I wouldn't like to disturb the household with his screams. It is, after all, going to be a very long night." She dropped her gaze rather cruelly to Ted, and it seemed to her that he was really just another very remote figure from another life.

Voldemort spoke. "Certainly, you may play with your new toy to your heart's content later, Narcissa, but having deprived us of killing him, the very least you could do is let us watch a taste of it now."

She hesitated, and knew it for the mistake it was before she'd done it.

Lucius intervened. "Forgive my wife, my Lord. She has the most curious modesty, as you know. We have always appreciated your indulgence in allowing us to keep our pleasures...private."

Her mouth felt dry, but she found it in her, somehow, to speak. Failure could be the death of them all. "Yes, my Lord, I quite forgot myself. I certainly didn't mean to be selfish. It would be my pleasure to...to entertain you."

Voldemort gave a broad smirk, and clapped his hands. "Splendid, Narcissa. Since you insist in keeping your passions for your husband, you shall spare no passion in entertaining us tonight. Begin."

God, could she do this?

If she did not, it was death for them all. There was no other choice.

Severus was there, and she held him in her gaze as she raised her wand. He was looking at her with gentle eyes, all rancour forgotten. He had done this, and had it done to him, too. If he could survive it with his mind intact, then she and her father could, too.

Lucius was at her side. "My love," he said gently, "he hurt us all. Your pain is my pain. We will do this together." His arm slipped around her and held her wand with her. For a fleeting, cynical moment, she wondered if it was so she wouldn't lose her nerve, but his hand was gentle, not harsh. She nodded as he kissed her temple. "For Andromeda, darling, who was lost to us all. A terrible loss to the Blacks and the Malfoys alike."

She nodded. "For Dromeda."

Lucius said, "Crucio," and she said it with him, not knowing which of them had done it. In that moment, the part of her that was Tonks and nothing but Tonks loved him. Loved him for taking just a little of the horror and guilt from her shoulders.

Her father was screaming, she could see it, but she couldn't hear it. Suddenly realised that everything around her had gone silent. Only Lucius and his Crucio - their Crucio - could be heard. He must have cast a whispered Silencio for her when he kissed her temple.

At last, Lucius released her hand, and she dropped her arm. "That will do," she said grimly. "For now."

Voldemort clapped his hands once more. "Very nicely done, my dear. Enough to hurt, but restraint enough to keep him alive for more. You show a true gift, for one who has exercised it rarely."

She knew him well enough by now to know it was a compliment, not a threat. He considered women too weak in will and strength to share regularly in the excesses of their husbands. Always excluding Bellatrix, of course. "My Lord is too kind."

He bowed his head in mock politeness. "You may go." He was in an oddly jovial mood tonight, as close to good humour as she'd seen him; it had worked in their favour.

Lucius bowed his, too. "Thank you, my Lord." He cast the Petrificus, then levitated Ted's collapsed form before them, holding his arm out to her. "Come, my love. The night is young."

"Thank you, darling," she said, tucking her hand into his elbow.

They paraded out of the hall, her head held high, her bearing autocratic, her mind schooled into emptiness. Dimly, she heard Severus making his excuses. They descended silently into the grounds, along the path, like some insufferable Pureblood couple out on a courtly walk. Her chin wanted to tremble and she put everything she had into keeping it still.

When they reached the stables, Severus was already there, his cloak off, laying out dittany and salve. He must have Apparated to beat them there. Lucius lowered Ted onto the hay and hurriedly cast the wards. She only realised that she was still gripping his elbow for dear life when he gently prised her fingers off.

When he let go, cast her adrift, her control left her. She dropped down awkwardly onto a bale of hay, breaking out into braying sobs, folding her body over and rocking as though in physical pain. Ted was staring at her, eyes haunted and bewildered, and she covered her face. Couldn't face him. Not after what she'd done to him.

Lucius sat down beside her. Awkwardly rubbed her back in gentle circles. He said urgently, "Severus. There has to be a body. Even with torture as an explanation for the delay, he will expect our guest here to be dead by morning."

Severus was working methodically over Ted's wounds. He didn't look up. "There's a big Muggle hospital in Salisbury. It will have a morgue. Can you handle it?"

Lucius hesitated. "I'm not the best person for that. I don't know their world."

"You're not the best person at healing, either. I'm needed here. Just don't be seen. No theatrics."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Gave Dora's shoulders an awkward little squeeze, and let go.

She was still weeping, but the shudders were subsiding. She rubbed her eyes and wiped her face, all wet and cold. Caught Lucius' hand as he rose.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He held her hand for a moment, giving her a tight, grim little smile, and he left them.

She watched him go, then turned back to Severus. Ted was still laying there, prone but horribly aware. Hesitantly, she got on the floor beside him.

"Severus," she said tentatively, "can we-"

"No," he said peremptorily. "His wounds are deep. Lucius was right to cast the Petrificus. It's keeping his blood still along with everything else. If we don't seal them before we cast the Finite, he could bleed to death." She drew in a shaking breath, and he spared her a single, penetrating look. Resuming his work on Ted, he said, "You did the right thing. I hope you know that."

"The right thing?" she blurted with tears anew. "He's my father!"

Terrible, ghastly understanding flooded into Ted's eyes. He stared at her with some dreadful mix of confusion and horror. She stroked back his hair; he stared up at her hand as if she was a stranger.

Severus looked up. He said softly, "You've had a terrible shock, Dora." He produced a draught from his lined-up potions. "Drink."

She took it without question – she would only have done that for him – and she collapsed into a sudden, deep sleep before she could ask what it was.

---

When she woke, her father was asleep.

Severus was sitting there, smoking. She hadn't seen him smoke in years.

"Those things will kill you," she said weakly.

"I hardly think cigarettes are my biggest problem right now."

"How is he?"

"Better. He'll sleep til morning. I told him you were on the side of light, and that you'd been brave, and that you'd explain. I don't know if he understood. He seemed to, but it might have been just shock. We might have to explain all over again tomorrow."

She nodded sombrely. "Lucius?"

"Still gone. Salisbury isn't far, but he'll have to wait for shift change. There's a handover meeting. The morgue is empty then." Clearly, Severus had switched corpses before; she wondered how many people he had managed to spirit out of the Dark Lord's clutches. "It's just gone nine. Handover goes from ten til ten thirty. He shouldn't be long."

She nodded. Began to get to her feet, and stumbled.

Severus caught her. "I should have warned you. The Crucio can be rather debilitating. Voldemort and Bellatrix thrive on it - no one else."

She slid down to sit by him. Her gaze fell on the bundle that was her father; he was at the far end of the stables on fresh clean hay. He was facing away from them, snoring in a deep yet fitful slumber.

"How did you cope, Severus?" she wondered. "After Dumbledore, I mean?"

He looked away. "The two circumstances don't compare. I had his explicit instruction to do what I did. The man was dying anyway. And he wasn't my father."

"He was the closest thing you had," she retorted.

He blew out smoke, not answering. It was a herb, and the smell was mild and comforting, less jarring than Muggle cigarettes. It enveloped her and calmed her. Somehow, suddenly, it felt right to let the matter rest. To let him rest, and to rest with him. So she didn't press him. Just leaned her head against his arm.

He looked out, away from her, his gaze trailing out the window into the night.

They were silent for a while. Then, just as she was starting to drift off against him, he said hesitantly, "Dora. You and Lucius. Are you...?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He stiffened against her, just a fraction, and she felt the need to explain herself to him. His jealousy was one thing, but she couldn't have borne his disappointment. Not now. Not when he was all she had left.

"It's been so confusing," she said. "For both of us. Sometimes I'm so far in her head I lose sight of myself. And when I'm her, I want him. The way she did." She shook her head again, letting out a resigned sigh. "The stupid thing is, I don't think Dora even likes him. But sometimes she doesn't get a word in edgewise."

Severus jerked away from her, leaving her to catch herself before she could fall. Suddenly his hands were on her, gripping her shoulders hard. "Stop talking like that," he hissed, his voice harsh and brutal.

"Like what?" she said. Like a child. More bewildered than angry.

"Like you're not Dora. Like she's someone else." His grip was harder; he was almost shaking her. "Change back, dammit. I'm sick of seeing you that way."

She did. Felt her eyes grow dark and her cheekbones fall back and her flesh become younger. More supple. Felt her hair take on its natural texture and wave. Stared at him, her lips parted, breathing heavily. The anger, the indignation was there, but it was remote. She was too numb to feel it properly. Mostly she was just picking up on his tension. It wasn't really her own.

He stared at her for a long, long moment, his eyes searching hers, and then he was taking her face between his hands and kissing her. Firm and possessive. She sat there unyielding, not reacting. Not even really absorbing it. Like it was happening to someone else.

He pulled away. Dropped his hold on her shoulders, as though recognising suddenly what he had done. Put his hands up off her, holding them stupidly in the air.

It was his absence that did it, the abrupt feeling of warmth taken away. Suddenly she was herself - really herself - and the enormity of it was starting to sink in. What she'd done, what she'd become. The man she'd married and the man she was with now.

"Dora," Severus was saying, "I'm sorry-"

She grasped his shoulders and kissed him.

He was as unmoving as she had been, just for a moment, but then he was with her, feasting on her lips. A low growl of hunger rose up out of his throat, vibrating on her lips as it escaped him. He muttered between kisses, "Dora - are you - sure-"

She nodded, releasing him just enough to speak. "You know me," she whispered against him. "You know who I am."

He nodded. "Dora. You're Dora, you're my Dora," he breathed as their lips met once more. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth a moment, like swooning. This was what it was like, to want something, to want it for herself. Not as someone else.

She tugged him down. Didn't question the impulse. It occurred to her that this might be a way to hang onto herself - to hang on to him. He pulled away from her long enough to blurt a Muffliato before capturing her into a deep, bruising kiss, his hand deep in her hair, firm and demanding. In a way it reminded her of Lucius, but in a way it was nothing like him.

"It goes both ways," he said softly as he laid her down. "You know me. You're the only one left who does."

As they joined in the dark, she wondered if love was just knowing another person, and not looking away.

---

When it was over and they were sitting together, sharing his cigarette, she said, "Severus?"

He looked at her. His expression was a question.

She said hesitantly, "I don't want Lucius to know." A shadow came over his expression, and she went on hurriedly, "Whatever this messed-up thing is between us, it seems to work. I don't want to put it at risk. All our lives could count on it."

He nodded slowly. His expression was grim, but he said, "All right."

She took his hand. It was hard and unyielding, and she forced his fingers to twine with hers. "I can't be Dora all the time. You of all people know that the face we give to the world isn't always our own."

He looked away. "I know that," he said impatiently. "But you're deliberately splintering yourself, Dora. It's dangerous. You have to keep the real Dora intact. It's the only way to hang onto yourself and what you're here for."

"I know what we're here for."

"You do now. But double agents have turned. I'm not the only one Dumbledore had, you know. But I'm the only one who stayed."

"What made you different?"

"I had a reason," he shrugged. "One that meant I could never, ever turn."

"What was it?" she said softly.

He breathed a long draw on the cigarette. With assumed casualness, he said, "Lily Evans. I had it rather badly for her, I'm afraid."

She wasn't fooled by his easy admission. Sadness filled her on his behalf. "Oh, Severus."

He shrugged. "I was an idiot. We were best friends. I could probably have had her if I'd been smarter about it. But I never thought with my head when it came to her."

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

"Don't be. I don't deserve it. I have my own share of blame in what happened to her. I didn't do it, but I passed on information that led to it." He looked at her head-on. "You were right before. I do know what it is to do it to someone you love. And I don't know how to live with it. I never really have. I've lived in spite of it."

"Maybe that's the how," she mused. "Just that."

"Maybe."

They fell silent a while.

"Lucius is suffering, isn't he?" he said after a while.

"Yes," she agreed. "Living without them is like living without air for him, I think." Just for a moment, she remembered him, ravenous, his hands on her, calling her by another woman's name.

He nodded. "It shows. Fortunately they all think it's because of Draco. They don't understand it, but they accept it. I think they think it's quaint. Death Eaters never were much for family solidarity."

"No," she said grimly.

"He doesn't have to know," he said after a moment. "I trust your judgment."

She knew – thought she knew – something of what that cost him. "Thank you."

"I am curious, though, to know if your concern is about him being jealous, or something else." He said it formally, a little stilted, as though they were not discussing the man who shared her bed and her other life.

Tonks considered this. Said slowly, "It's more that I think it will unsettle whatever sort of peace he's made with losing Narcissa by having me there as a substitute."

He nodded. Frowning.

"It isn't about me for him, Severus. It isn't."

"And for you?"

She took his cigarette and drew on it. Breathed out slowly, watching the smoke dance and vanish. "It isn't about me for me, either."

He was looking at her, something indescribable in his face.

"Just stay whole, Dora. Not for me. For yourself."

She leaned in and kissed him. She did it gently.

It was easier than saying she didn't know what whole was.

---

"You what?"

Andromeda was trembling.

It could have been from being abducted unceremoniously from her home by Severus, or from being confronted with the sight of her very-much-alive daughter, or being made to sit on the couch at Tonks' abandoned flat while they explained.

It could also be from the news that her daughter - her daughter! - had married Lucius Malfoy.

There was an equally good chance it was from the news that Dora had used the Cruciatus on her husband.

Ted was sitting beside her, silent and withdrawn, staring watchfully at Tonks. He'd flinched when she'd tried to touch him that morning.

"The Dark Lord believes your husband is dead," Severus said, neatly sidestepping the many sources of her mother's horror. "He believes Narcissa killed him. He'll kill Nymphadora and Lucius if he finds out otherwise." He placed a money pouch on the coffee table before them; it was from Lucius' vault and bore the Malfoy coat of arms. "This will keep you quite well until the war is over. We suggest you go to Spain or Italy. France is too close."

Her father said bitterly, "I will not accept charity from the Malfoys."

Tonks said, "Then call it reparations for injury. It's money to which you're entitled. And that way, no spell in the world will call it any less than yours."

Her mother said, "You're not entitled to make that contract."

She drew herself up in her seat and said, "I am. I'm a Malfoy."

Her father said coldly, "So you are."

Severus spoke from his position by the mantle. "Mr Tonks, I understand that you've been through a lot - better than most. I've suffered the Crucio myself. But your daughter has done brave and dangerous things that might win us the war. You're being unfair."

Ted said scornfully, "Mr Snape, I would not expect you to understand. You've obviously been some kind of double agent for a long time. So long that you believe the compromises you make are acceptable, to the point where you killed your own dear friend for it. I blame Dumbledore for that, by the way. He talked a lot about the greater good. But we did not raise Dora to do the greater good. We raised her to do good. To marry a monster, to share a home with monsters, to torture people - these are not things we raised her to do." Heat and salt were rising in her face, gathering around her nose and spilling over her eyes as he spoke. Her chin quavered and she wept silently under her father's gaze.

A chill fell over Severus' voice. "Your daughter is worthy of respect. If you cannot give it to her, I have enough for the three of us. Will you take the gold and make your escape, or will she have endangered herself for naught?"

With a look of disgust, Andromeda snatched up the pouch. Ted began to protest, but she said firmly, "They're right. We have to go. The Dark Lord does not tolerate being thwarted. This money is our due, and we'll need it." She glared at Severus, then passed her gaze onto Tonks; softened slightly, but not much. "We'll leave you to your...endeavours. I won't wish you luck, Nymphadora, but I hope you live long enough to reflect and learn from the choices you've made." Her tone made plain that she held little hope; her mother had already written her off for dead. And why not? She'd done it to the Blacks before her.

Her father only nodded, silently, jerkily, and got to his feet. Her mother did the same.

Severus stepped aside from the hearth so they could go to the Floo. He motioned to two vials on the mantelpiece. "Polyjuice," he said. "The red one is for you, Andromeda, and the blue one for Ted. It will last long enough for you to get to the Dover Floo junction and change for a Portkey to Calais. Once you're in France, the risk of recognition will be minimal."

"Thank you," Andromeda said grimly. Ted said nothing, only took his, and drank. Transformed into a nondescript elderly wizard before their eyes, while Andromeda morphed into a rather elegant young witch who could have been his daughter.

They stepped towards the fireplace. Took a little Floo powder in their hands.

Tonks cried out in anguish, "Daddy."

Ted only turned and locked those Polyjuice-aged eyes on her, shook his head a little, and turned away.

Her knees seemed to buckle under her as they Floo'd away, and Severus was beside her, he was catching her, leading her to the couch as she wept. Tugging her against him and murmuring nonsense sounds into her hair. "Oh, Dora," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

After her hysterics had subsided, he made love to her. He said that they were wrong, they didn't understand, but he did, and he was proud of her.

But she wasn't proud of what she'd become, and when it ended, she wanted nothing more than to be with Lucius, and be Narcissa for him, and leave Dora behind.

---

"Severus?"

Lucius said it casually as they lay facing one another in bed. He was stroking her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. She wondered whether he had adored Narcissa this completely and continually before the switch, or whether it had been prompted by losing her.

She said carefully, "Dora and Severus have found each other. It has nothing to do with us." She wondered if that was true; wondered if the distinction meant anything to anyone but her.

He seemed to grasp what she meant. "All right," he said quietly. His eyes were grave.

She scooted over closer to him. Threaded her hands up in his hair, tangling it and drawing him in for a deep and urgent kiss. "I'm Narcissa," she whispered, "I'm your Narcissa."

He groaned into her mouth. "Oh - God. Narcissa. Fuck." Let her tug him on top of her. Found her warm and wet, and filled her, gasping out that name that wasn't hers, and she gave herself up to it gratefully. Submerged herself in the memories and deepest thoughts that were not her own.

She remembered a long-ago wedding night and the way he took her dutiful, unwanted virginity and the way he made love to her when they discovered she was expecting their son. Remembered the way her heart would seem to burst sometimes when he locked eyes with her. Could feel her heart bursting now, surrendering completely to her husband, the man she'd been promised to and quite unexpectedly loved her whole adult life. She couldn't seem to take him deep enough, couldn't seem to get close enough. He was her world and he was filling her completely and she still couldn't get enough of him.

Tonks, and what she had become, was mercifully far away.

She was glad.

---

It happened fast.

She would look back on it later and try to reconstruct it, but she never could. Even during her mercifully brief trial, even under threat of Azkaban, she couldn't. Her carefully-honed Auror's senses abandoned her. All there was for her in that final battle was fighting so hard she couldn't even see, and the stables going up in flames behind her, heat and wind pushing her forward, Severus guarding her back, Lucius out of reach. She didn't know where Voldemort was, and she hardly cared. There was no plan, no strategy, just ducking and weaving and praying to God to make it out alive.

It went on like that for hours, or so it seemed. (She would learn later that it was only forty minutes, and she could never quite reconcile that in her mind, even when she was an old, old woman). Her world narrowed to fight and flight and the man beside and the man behind.

And then, as flames parted, she saw him. Not in the fire, but behind it, hair spilled out around him on the ground.

"Lucius!" she screamed. "Lucius!"

And then Severus was with her, his hands were on her, around her waist, holding her back. "No," he hissed.

"No, I have to see him, I need to see him!" she blurted, fighting him ferociously.

"Yes, but be smart about it," he growled. Loosened his hold and took her by the hand. He said more gently, "I'll help you. Come on."

She dragged in her breath. Nodded. She gripped him tight enough to hurt.

She felt the familiar pull, and they Disapparated.

---

He was dying. She had seen enough death by now to know its approach.

He lay there, his hair spread out on the ground around him, alive, terribly aware, but with a huge wound spreading out at his belly. It wasn't a hex, but a dagger. Bella's dagger. It protruded from the sodden, crimson mess that was his stomach.

She dropped to her knees at his side.

"Lucius," she whispered helplessly. "Oh, Lucius."

"Nymphadora," he said. His eyes were closed. They fluttered, like he wanted to open them but it was all too much effort.

It wasn't so much a decision as a change of heart, a change of self, an utter metanoia. Wordlessly, instantly, she transfigured her clothes – different colour, different cut. "It's Narcissa, darling." Severus, kneeling beside her, looked up at her, startled.

Lucius opened his eyes. Just a little. "Cissa – how-"

"It doesn't matter how," she said gently, taking his hand. "Darling, you've been so brave. You've made us safe."

Silent tears slipped out over his cheeks, down into his hair. "Draco-?"

"A fine young man. He reminds me of you." She stroked back his hair. "You've fought so hard, my love. It's time to rest."

He reached up and cradled her face. "I missed you."

She could feel warmth and tears gathering around her nose, and those weren't Narcissa's. Not at all.

She whispered brokenly, "I know you did."

"Stay with me?"

Her throat was closing and her heart was tight and cold and barely beating in her chest. "Til the end."

Severus was staring at her still, his look mingling doubt and compassion, but he held his peace. Took her hand and held it gently.

They were still like that when he died.

---

"I loved him," she whispered.

They were sitting in the Malfoy drawing room. Lucius lay on the long, low coffee table before them in his finest clothes. His face was peaceful and his hair was brushed. There was a spray of white flowers on his chest. They had seen to his body together.

Now, Severus looked at her, his scrutiny intense yet oddly gentle. "I know."

"I love you, too," she said softly. "I don't know how those two things fit in the same...the same time. But they do. They do."

"I know," he said again. Leaned in and kissed her temple.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked. "Lying to him like that?"

He nodded. "I think so. It was a kindness."

She nodded. Fell silent a while.

He broke the silence. Said softly, "I'm leaving, Nymphadora."

Her head jolted up. She grasped his arm on reflex.

"I have to," he went on. "I'm a war criminal. It doesn't matter what side I was on. I let people die."

"No," she said, fighting down panic. "Severus, please. Give them your memories. They'll have to find you innocent."

"I don't want them to find me innocent," he said quietly. "Evil rose up in our society because we allowed it. Because enough of us accepted that the end justified the means. I won't be part of rebuilding that belief all over again."

She stared at him. "Where will you go?"

"Ceuta," he said. "It's a little province in North Africa, occupied by Muggle Spain. There's a small Wizarding community there. Not many know of it. It's a good place to heal."

"I don't like to think of you hiding," she said softly. "It doesn't seem right."

"It's not hiding," he said. "Not really. It's just...resting in peace."

She shivered. "Don't say it like that," she said, her gaze falling on Lucius' repose.

"Come with me," he said urgently.

She shook her head. "I promised Lucius I would take care of Narcissa and Draco. I can only do that by staying here. I have to stake my claim to his estate as his wife."

"That means admitting you lived here as his wife, and asserting the validity of the marriage. There's no one to vouch for your allegiance, except me, and my word is worthless. You'll be tried."

"There's the Baron. And Lucius left memories. He knew what he was asking of me. He did what he could to protect me."

"It might not be enough. You're risking Azkaban."

She said simply, "I promised."

He nodded. His expression was grim.

"I'm not choosing him over you," she said urgently. "But I have to finish it. Please-"

He cut her off. "It's all right. I understand. Truly." He took her face between his hands. "You wouldn't be my Dora if you didn't." He was smiling, but she thought the smile was rather sad and hurting.

"I'll come to you when I can," she whispered. "I promise." They both knew the promise was almost meaningless; whether she could was a matter for the Wizengamot, not for her.

The shadows seemed to lift then, and his smile grew wider and softer. "I know. I know who you are."

"And I know you."

He kissed her, just once, deep and long and slow, and then he went to the Floo and left her.

---

Narcissa and Draco arrived in time to help her bury him.

They returned from the graveyard in the southern corner of the grounds, just in time to confront a raiding party. Tonks was unwillingly impressed. She had thought it would take at least a few days after Voldemort's downfall for the Ministry to get its act together for that. She had underestimated the desire for Death Eater blood.

Kingsley broke through the stunned Aurors and came to an abrupt halt. "Auror Tonks," he said in astonishment. "We thought you were-" he broke off.

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," she said calmly. "And my name is Nymphadora Malfoy."

It was the first time she'd paired those two names together. It rolled off her tongue like glue, both foreign and familiar. She was Tonks and she was Narcissa, but Nymphadora Malfoy, the amalgamation of the two, was a stranger. A stranger who had committed a bizarre sort of adultery. A stranger who had tortured her father.

But she was a stranger who must be accepted and proclaimed. Nymphadora Malfoy was the spy who might – might – have a defence against Azkaban. Nymphadora Malfoy was the widow with a claim on Lucius' estate.

Now, Kingsley's brow creased as his gaze flickered back and forth between Tonks, Narcissa, and Draco. "What?"

"Lucius Malfoy was my husband."

"But - Narcissa -"

"Lucius and Narcissa Handparted a year ago. The Parting, and his Handfasting to me, were performed by Severus Snape. The records are in his office."

"You've been here all this time? As Narcissa?"

"Yes," she said. "Lucius still cared for Narcissa and did not wish to see her endangered, as she would have been if Voldemort had known that she had left. And I had my own reasons for wishing to be close to the Dark Lord. It was my Patronus, Kingsley, that has been informing to you all this time."

Kingsley nodded slowly, mentally accommodating this new twist. "Very well. If you'll allow me to inventory Lucius' assets, I'll take your statement after that."

Tonks shook her head. Drew a breath. This was her trump card, and it was her promise, but it might be her downfall. "Oh, no, Kingsley. Lucius had no assets. They all passed to me on the marriage. It's with the Handfasting records, and I have copies. It was his dowry to me."

"His dowry?"

"Lucius knew I would be in a very poor position after the war. He knew I would be disgraced by association and would probably never make another marriage if he died. And as I am, I assume, accused of no crime, the Ministry has no claim."

"You committed no crime while infiltrating the Dark Lord's camp, then?"

"With one exception, nothing of a nature requiring reparations."

"And what exception was that?"

"My father, Ted Tonks, was tortured here. I participated in order to get control of him and get him out of the house. Severus and Lucius and I healed him and led the others to believe we had killed him. I made him and my mother a financial settlement for reparations when I sent them into hiding. They have no further claim." Her smile belied the terrible rift between them that might never be mended.

Kingsley's eyes narrowed. "I take it, Auror Tonks-"

"Madam Malfoy," she corrected sharply. Foreign or not, Nymphadora Malfoy was the means by which her promise to Lucius would be kept, and she would defend their strange union to all who would question it.

"Madam Malfoy," he corrected grimly, "I take it that this marriage was part of an arrangement between you and Lucius Malfoy? An exchange of benefit?"

"That's correct."

"The gifting of a dowry is only binding for a valid marriage."

"It was a valid marriage. People marry by arrangement in our world all the time. What makes ours different?"

"Was it consummated?" he demanded, one eyebrow raised, his gaze half on her, half on Narcissa behind her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Consummation was normally an issue only if the couple themselves sought an annulment. Only Severus had believed the Ministry might make an issue of it, and both she and Lucius had privately thought he was being ridiculous. Of all the things that had driven them together, protection of the dowry had not been one of them.

She said tightly, "Yes, it was."

"You sound hesitant to admit it."

"Have some decency, Kingsley," she said, nodding her head in Narcissa's direction.

He drew his wand and pointed it at her head. "Show me."

She made a sound of resignation. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, unless you wish to forfeit the estate. I have people to answer to, you know." He added, "I'm not in the business of prying into people's bedrooms unnecessarily. You know that. It's in your own best interest."

Grudgingly, she nodded. Rifled through memories. Considered the implications.

"Fine," she said at last. "But I will choose the memory."

Kingsley paused at that. "Why would you choose one and not another?"

"Because you and I both know this will leak, and I would rather give Lucius and Narcissa whatever dignity I still can." She was staring straight ahead, not looking at Narcissa.

Narcissa spoke. "I would rather," she said tightly, "if you would do it by Pensieve, and allow me to accompany you."

Tonks turned to face her, head on. "Narcissa. No. Please."

"If everyone else will know, then so will I. And I would rather know the truth than whatever tawdry version eventually reaches my ears."

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, but she nodded. "Kingsley?"

"I have no objection."

Her heart pounding, she turned away and opened the cabinet by the fireplace. Lucius' Pensieve floated out. She raised her wand to her head and drew out the memory of that first time with Lucius, the time he said You're so much like her and this is driving me crazy and cried out Narcissa's name when he came. The time - one of the times - he wept into her hair when it was over. Emptied it into the Pensieve and stood aside.

Kingsley and Narcissa were only in there a few minutes (had it really been that quick?) before they emerged together. Narcissa's eyes were red and soft when they locked on hers, but they weren't angry.

Kingsley said reluctantly, "Well, it fits the letter of the law, if not exactly the spirit. I expect the Wizengamot will try to hang Lucius' crimes on you, but if you make it through trial, I will recommend the estate be protected from reparations."

Tonks felt the tightness in her chest let go. "Thank you."

"Don't go anywhere," he cautioned.

"I won't."

They watched as he turned away and instructed his subordinates to stand down. Watched as they left in bewilderment.

Narcissa was looking at her.

Tonks closed her eyes, bowing her head, and opened them so she could see only Narcissa's hands, twisting and turning and fidgeting.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was never once as me. It wasn't about me. Ever."

"I know," the older woman said softly. "I won't say it doesn't hurt, but...I know." Then, choosing her words carefully, she said, "I'm glad...he wasn't...alone."

Narcissa wept then, suddenly, brokenly, and Tonks went to her side and comforted her, because she knew this grief, knew it inside out. Knew her inside out.

And as though grasping this, Narcissa allowed herself to be comforted.

---

Her trial was brief.

It was an exercise in humiliation for the Malfoys, mostly. Narcissa and Draco could not be touched – Harry had never mentioned Draco's presence in Astronomy Tower the night of Dumbledore's death, and Narcissa had always stayed well out of her husband's less savoury affairs. Draco's only other crime was taking the Dark Mark, but none of the surviving Death Eaters thought to testify that this had ever occurred, apparently viewing the Malfoy boy a mere footnote to the war.

So they put Tonks on trial. Ostensibly it was to explore any crimes committed by Lucius while she lived as his wife, and whether she had participated or enabled them. Generally these were misdemeanours; Lucius had been little more than a punching bag by the time she had entered the picture. The torture of her father was excluded on the basis that it had been privately settled.

The question of Severus' involvement and current whereabouts was raised, but mostly as a curiosity. Dumbledore had left proof that his killing was pre-arranged, equal parts mercy killing and strategy, and had accepted a token sum from Severus in reparations before his death – another private settlement that removed his death from the scope of the Wizengamot. While this did not clear Severus of every crime to which he had been a witness or reluctant participant, it reduced the Wizengamot's interest in pursuing him to a trickle. As long as Severus intended to stay gone, it seemed, the Wizengamot was willing to let the matter rest.

No, the primary focus was in making Narcissa and Draco squirm. They were compelled to attend every day – ostensibly, in case they were required as rebuttal witnesses.

The humiliation was aimed at her, too. Sexual mores were loosening – had been for some time, and more so in the current post-war exuberance – but Tonks was viewed as a glorified Mata Hari, a wife for hire, and that was only one step up from streetwalker. The Ministry was battling to restore civil order, and Tonks was to be made an example of, that wartime compromises and vigilantism were not to be condoned or emulated in peacetime.

Was it true that she was paid a dowry as part of her arrangement with Lucius? Yes, she was. And their eventual Handparting was anticipated, so she would take sole ownership of his assets whether he lived or died? Yes, that was correct. Had she been intimate with Lucius? Yes, she had. So, she was his whore? If they called relations with her husband being his whore, then yes, she supposed. And on it went.

Narcissa sat there with her head held high every day, and made a point of sitting with her during the adjournments, talking unconcernedly as though nothing at all had occurred. In an odd way, Narcissa's forgiveness of what she and Lucius had done seemed to balance out her parents' fury about…well…all of it.

She felt the wound of her parents' dismissal and absence begin to close.

The headlines were ugly, and they triggered an editorial war with the Quibbler. Slut-shaming, Hermione Granger said – that was apparently the Muggle term for it – slut-shaming was a misogynistic practice that reflected on the shamer more than the shamed. But this post-war world was about adults re-taking control of their lives, and no one cared very much about the political ramblings of an opinionated girl – not even one to whom they owed their miserable necks.

She withstood it all, grimly, bitterly sometimes, but in the end, she rationalised, it was ephemeral. Her parents, so far as she knew, were still in Europe, too far away (and too estranged) to be shamed. She herself had no intention of remaining in Britain, if she got out of it with her freedom at all.

Finally, it was over.

She was released, cleared of all crimes, but dismissed with scathing looks from at least half the Wizengamot – some of them people she had admired and believed had admired her before her marriage to Lucius. She lifted her chin, holding it high, and made her way through the flashbulbs and the reporters, in a way that would have done Narcissa proud.

Draco and Narcissa were waiting.

By unspoken agreement, they Apparated back to the Manor. She handed over the house and the elves, divesting herself of them as their legal owner. They could no longer pass to Narcissa, thanks to the Handparting, but they could pass to Draco.

There were other things to hand over, too. A lock of Lucius' hair, which she snipped while preparing his body for burial. Memories for both of them. A memory of her own, too, of assuming Narcissa's form to comfort him as he died. Narcissa had wept watching it in the Pensieve, had grasped for Tonks' hand and squeezed it compulsively as she swallowed heaving, sighing breaths.

Their goodbyes were brief, and a little tearful. Vague promises to keep in touch, mostly for form's sake (though there was precious little protocol for their situation). Tonks didn't think they would, and found that she didn't mind. That chapter of her life was over. She was Tonks again, and it was right that she should leave Nymphadora Malfoy behind.

She didn't Floo or Apparate away from the Manor. She left on her own two feet. The Muggle village of Bradford-on-Avon was only a few miles away. And today, she needed to walk. It was raining, but she didn't mind. Not at all.

And after that? After that, there would be a Muggle airport, and a little after that, a ferry.

After that would be Ceuta.

With each step, she found herself feeling lighter. It was as though she was breathing out Narcissa and breathing in her own self. The world was beginning to right itself again.

She remembered Lucius touching her, remembered him loving her. Loving the person she had become for him, just for a little while. She found that it was a warm memory, as warm and as right as it had once seemed all wrong. It seemed that the end of the war had brought about an end to her own inner war, as well.

She and Lucius had been kind to each other, she realised now; she by letting him take comfort in her, he by accepting her relationship with Severus with grace. And Severus had been kind too, never pressing her, holding in the jealousy he must have felt as best he could.

Perhaps, she reflected, their kindness for one another had been the only thing to hold all of them tethered in a world that was splintering around them.

She could love the other she had been, and still be who she was. And she knew who she was. She was Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror, a half-blood, a Black, a Metamorphagus, a Hufflepuff. She loved Severus and she loved Lucius, two prickly conflicted Slytherin men, and they'd loved her back, in whatever ways the madness around them had allowed. She had made compromises, and she knew not whether her father was right, knew not whether she was wrong, but the compromises were hers and she could own them.

There were also other things, though the life they were from was not her own. She knew what it was to be loved by someone for all of his life, and to love equally in return, more so than she had ever known was possible. She knew what it was to stare evil in the face, and hold love in her heart, and let it give her the grace to endure. She knew now that surviving war was not only about drawing breath, but about finding a love, a life, that made survival worth the cost. These were things she had learned as Narcissa Malfoy - as Nymphadora Malfoy - and they were hers by right of the life she had taken on to help and to save.

She knew all of these things, was all of these things, but she also transcended them. She was more than the sum of her parts. She felt herself expanding, taking up her rightful space in the world once more.

She was Nymphadora Tonks, and she was whole.

---

She watched him from outside the café.

It was one of those Spanish bar-cafés (or café-bars) that didn't know quite what it wanted to be, but as long as it was elegant and open til the wee hours and there was alcohol in everything, no one seemed to mind.

He was dressed in Muggle clothing. She hadn't expected that, but it was a mixed community. Ceuta was small.

She'd seen him in regular clothes before, of course, but somehow the absence of his gentleman teacher's robes made her swallow hard. It felt to her like equal parts grief and joy. Grief that he'd left it all behind. Joy that…well…he'd left it all behind.

As for her, she wore her own face, with his dark hair. Visible and deliberate signal that the madness was over – that she was his.

Otherwise, she was a chameleon here, a European Muggle woman of leisure, outrageously attractive and stylish, elegance in every line of her, every gesture. She could carry it off quite well, now; some of Narcissa's gracefulness had stayed with her.

She wasn't trying to hide from him – she wanted to see him – but she wanted to watch him first.

Of course, he'd always known her, and this time was no different. It took a while – sign that he was healing – but once he'd folded up his paper, distraction put away, his jaw had tilted and he'd glanced around. Found her unerringly. Rose and came outside. Stood beside her on the promenade as the breeze rolled off the water.

She felt something catch in her throat, somehow. "You always did know who I was," she said lightly. Then, more softly, "Even when I didn't know myself."

Something flitted over his features, something hurting and sad, and then it was gone just as quickly. He stood beside her, looking out over the marina, half-facing her. Said gravely, "Don't. It was war. You're here. It's enough."

She shook her head. "No, it isn't. I need you to know I'm not here just by default. It isn't just because he died and you lived."

That hurting something was back, springing fully-formed on his face, and she knew then the price he had paid. That it was higher than hers – higher, in its way, even than Lucius and Narcissa. She and Lucius and Narcissa had all known they were loved, really loved. Severus had only her divided love, and he had accepted it. He'd accepted everything all the way through the war, every compromise, everything that was not enough but would have to do. He'd accepted it for her and for everyone. He'd accepted it for the world.

"Severus," she whispered. "I'm your Dora. Just Dora. And Dora was always yours."

His lips were suddenly pressed together into a line. She'd opened an old, old wound – nothing had ever been his, ever – but she knew, somehow, the wound had to open for him to let her in.

"It's over," she said. "The madness is over. It's just us." She drew closer. Took his face between her palms. "Severus."

The lines of his face were deep and soft. "Nymphadora," he said softly. Hesitantly, he leaned in. Kissed her tentatively. His eyes were grave; his fingertips brushed her cheek, feather-soft.

This wasn't her soldier, she realised; this was the man who was left when the days of being a soldier were gone. He was the man she knew but he was changed, too. They both were.

Perhaps that was best.

"It isn't just because I know you," she said. "It's because I want to know you. I always did."

He summoned a small smile at that. "You stumbled into my classroom and I thought you were going to kill yourself within the week. But you had a healthy respect for saving your own skin. I liked that."

"I had a healthy respect for you. I trusted you to keep me safe."

"And I trusted you to keep yourself safe." There was an odd note in his voice, and suddenly she understood why he'd let her into his heart without protest, against what she supposed was every one of his instincts.

He'd trusted her to get out of the war alive. He'd trusted her not to leave him. Despite everything. Despite Voldemort. Despite Lucius. Despite the madness of it all.

The realisation was like swooning.

"I hope I'm worth the wait, Severus," she said. Awkwardly. Totally unable to express her bittersweet gratitude at his faith in her. "I really do."

"You are," he said. "I know who you are."

She nodded. "I'm your Dora." Then, tentatively, "Kiss me?"

A smile lit on his features, and he kissed her there in the midday sun.

END

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

The plot twist about Lucius giving Tonks his estate as a dowry was inspired by my time in Northern Morocco, where a man gives a woman a dowry in recognition that she is unmarriageable once her virginity is lost. The dowry is quarantined from any future divorce settlement and from her family. It is for her to support herself if anything happens to him or if he leaves her. For the same reason, it is considered a sign of love for a man to shower his wife with extremely valuable gold jewellery throughout the marriage (it is similarly quarantined). It shows his commitment to her welfare and desire that she always be taken care of, no matter what happens between them. The medinas in Morocco have scores of highly-priced jewellery stores - far higher-priced than is normal in a Western shopping precinct - wedged between low-cost everything else. There are knock-on effects from this - it essentially means that poor men can't marry, creating a whole underclass of unmarried, unmarriageable men. However, it's quite a different social context for virginity, money, marriage, and the protection of women than we in the West sometimes associate with Islamic society. It was one of many things that intrigued me during my time there and I've played with it a couple of times in my writing since.

Oh - and another nod. Ceuta is a Spanish-held territory on mainland Morocco. (The Moroccans call it Sebta). Not a deliberate tie-in, just serendipity.

I hope Andromeda and Ted's reactions to Tonks don't seem too unfair here (in the characterisation sense, I mean – I think they were unfairly hard on Tonks). I think when you've severed ties with a toxic family, you acquire a certain self-preserving harshness that probably looks quite incomprehensible to people who've never had to do it. For Andromeda – and Ted by proxy – although they talked about the morality of Tonks' actions while undercover, I think what really pushed them over the edge was the way she'd returned to the Black world by posing as Narcissa. That's why they couldn't find any kindness for her, even when it was all over (although I'd like to think they stayed away in order to avoid complicating her trial rather than for any other reason). To them, she'd chosen a camp, and it was a camp Andromeda could not have anything to do with and survive, emotionally speaking.