Dawn Breaking
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Quirrell/Tonks
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,451
Reviews:
29
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Quirrell/Tonks
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,451
Reviews:
29
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Practical Magic
A/N - Thanks to the beta-licious Kate and my reviewers, whom I adore.
Chapter 3 – Practical Magic
Tonks stood slowly, walked to the center of the mat and bowed to the Sensei. The tiny little Japanese man smiled with utter sweetness and a second later, Tonks was ng tng through the air and landing with a bone-shaking thud. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she gasped for breath.
“Remember to roll, students.” The tiny little man said, still smiling.
Tonks was learning to hate him. She dragged herself back up into a standing position and took her stance again. Two months of walking with weights strapped to her ankles and wrists had slowed her movements and gotten them under enough control that she felt confident about entering glass shops. Two months, however, wasn’t anywhere near enough time to give her any hope at all when facing Sensei Kimibuki, or as she called him in her mind ‘Kick my bootie’.
Once more she watched him close with her, she started the counter-movement that would keep her on the ground, and once more she flew in a perfect arc and landed flat on her back. Bastard never even broke a sweat and it made her sick.
Just once she wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face but she had to admit she was far less clumsy these days; even Alastor had commented. She groaned as she rose and Sensei released her back to her sparring partner, the demonstration over, and Tonks ached everywhere.
She bowed to Vera, the Surrey housewife she was partnered with and took some of her own pain out on the poor Muggle woman. Watching someone else fly through the air was bleakly satisfying. She was tempted at times to hex the Sensei, but that was not only illegal, it was cheating.
Her mind on Ian’s handsome face, she dug in, withstood the clumsy attempts of the breathless and panting Vera to throw her, and gently cctedcted her form. An hour later she was dragging her broken and bruised body back to her flat and crawling into a bathtub. She hoped to Merlin that the world appreciated her sacrifice.
Ian dragged himself from bed with a groan. It had been a huge adjustment to make and if it hadn’t been for Tonks’ gentle coaching he would never have made it. He still wrote the wrong year on most of his teaching assignments but the children were surprisingly kind.
He was happy to be teaching, especially since it appeared, from little comments made by staff and students, the last teacher had been a right bastard. It made the students very happy to see him and eager to respond to his kinder, gentler teaching methods.
From one of Tonks’ rattling monologues, he had gathered that Gilderoy Lockhart had started a dueling club at one point. Thinking that it had probably been one of Lockhart’s few intelligent ideas, Ian had started one this year. It was a resounding success, though the extra work it had made for him was not inconsiderable.
Cleaning up after the botched hexes and misfired curses was a pain but he was carried through it all by the monthly demonstrations with Snape.
Having the opportunity to lay Snape on his back once a month lifted his spirits greatly; it was the most fun he had had in years. Snape was a damn good duelist, so there was an even chance that Ian would be the one getting flattened but the look of surprise on Snape’s face as he had been slammed across the runway had made Ian’s day.
For a Slytherin, Snape was honorable; Ian had to give him that, he didn’t jump the count or use proscribed hexes, but he was cunning and inventive and Ian was kept on his toes. Still, having been possessed by Voldemort for several years seems to have had a sub-conscious impact. Ian was more powerful and far quicker than he had been and Snape was learning a certain disdainful wariness.
Ian ran the image of the hex hitting Snape and the way he had flown end over end before hnt snt splat through his mind once more and then headed off to the shower with a smile on his face.
By the end of the day he was no longer smiling; it had been a grueling day of teaching and series of small disasters at the dueling club, followed by an owl from Tonks telling him she couldn’t make it that Saturday due to Auror duties.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened but somewhere over the last two months, Tonks had become an indispensable part of his life. He was thrown into an instant depression at the thought that he wouldn’t see her for yet another week.
She was irrepressible, bright and irreverent -- all the things his mother would have hated -- but he found her delightful, funny, sweet, caring and unfailingly cheerful. He very much doubted however that such a pretty and vivacious young witch would find a shy and rather straight-laced fellow such as himself the least bit interesting. Her kindness in visiting him was just that, kindness. On this depressing thought he slumped off to bed and another night of tossing and turning and dreaming of bright laughing eyes.
Chapter 3 – Practical Magic
Tonks stood slowly, walked to the center of the mat and bowed to the Sensei. The tiny little Japanese man smiled with utter sweetness and a second later, Tonks was ng tng through the air and landing with a bone-shaking thud. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she gasped for breath.
“Remember to roll, students.” The tiny little man said, still smiling.
Tonks was learning to hate him. She dragged herself back up into a standing position and took her stance again. Two months of walking with weights strapped to her ankles and wrists had slowed her movements and gotten them under enough control that she felt confident about entering glass shops. Two months, however, wasn’t anywhere near enough time to give her any hope at all when facing Sensei Kimibuki, or as she called him in her mind ‘Kick my bootie’.
Once more she watched him close with her, she started the counter-movement that would keep her on the ground, and once more she flew in a perfect arc and landed flat on her back. Bastard never even broke a sweat and it made her sick.
Just once she wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face but she had to admit she was far less clumsy these days; even Alastor had commented. She groaned as she rose and Sensei released her back to her sparring partner, the demonstration over, and Tonks ached everywhere.
She bowed to Vera, the Surrey housewife she was partnered with and took some of her own pain out on the poor Muggle woman. Watching someone else fly through the air was bleakly satisfying. She was tempted at times to hex the Sensei, but that was not only illegal, it was cheating.
Her mind on Ian’s handsome face, she dug in, withstood the clumsy attempts of the breathless and panting Vera to throw her, and gently cctedcted her form. An hour later she was dragging her broken and bruised body back to her flat and crawling into a bathtub. She hoped to Merlin that the world appreciated her sacrifice.
Ian dragged himself from bed with a groan. It had been a huge adjustment to make and if it hadn’t been for Tonks’ gentle coaching he would never have made it. He still wrote the wrong year on most of his teaching assignments but the children were surprisingly kind.
He was happy to be teaching, especially since it appeared, from little comments made by staff and students, the last teacher had been a right bastard. It made the students very happy to see him and eager to respond to his kinder, gentler teaching methods.
From one of Tonks’ rattling monologues, he had gathered that Gilderoy Lockhart had started a dueling club at one point. Thinking that it had probably been one of Lockhart’s few intelligent ideas, Ian had started one this year. It was a resounding success, though the extra work it had made for him was not inconsiderable.
Cleaning up after the botched hexes and misfired curses was a pain but he was carried through it all by the monthly demonstrations with Snape.
Having the opportunity to lay Snape on his back once a month lifted his spirits greatly; it was the most fun he had had in years. Snape was a damn good duelist, so there was an even chance that Ian would be the one getting flattened but the look of surprise on Snape’s face as he had been slammed across the runway had made Ian’s day.
For a Slytherin, Snape was honorable; Ian had to give him that, he didn’t jump the count or use proscribed hexes, but he was cunning and inventive and Ian was kept on his toes. Still, having been possessed by Voldemort for several years seems to have had a sub-conscious impact. Ian was more powerful and far quicker than he had been and Snape was learning a certain disdainful wariness.
Ian ran the image of the hex hitting Snape and the way he had flown end over end before hnt snt splat through his mind once more and then headed off to the shower with a smile on his face.
By the end of the day he was no longer smiling; it had been a grueling day of teaching and series of small disasters at the dueling club, followed by an owl from Tonks telling him she couldn’t make it that Saturday due to Auror duties.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened but somewhere over the last two months, Tonks had become an indispensable part of his life. He was thrown into an instant depression at the thought that he wouldn’t see her for yet another week.
She was irrepressible, bright and irreverent -- all the things his mother would have hated -- but he found her delightful, funny, sweet, caring and unfailingly cheerful. He very much doubted however that such a pretty and vivacious young witch would find a shy and rather straight-laced fellow such as himself the least bit interesting. Her kindness in visiting him was just that, kindness. On this depressing thought he slumped off to bed and another night of tossing and turning and dreaming of bright laughing eyes.