Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius were up to something, Oleandra was certain of it. They had spent two whole days holed up in Sirius's old bedroom, emerging only to eat whatever she'd ventured out to scavenge from the nearby Sainsbury's the day before, or to skim through the newspapers delivered daily by owl.
As a Metamorphmagus— and supposedly elite Auror— Oleandra was their best, and only, link to the outside world.
And speaking of the outside world…
Every time Oleandra drew the curtains to glance at the street outside, she counted more Heliopaths and more Death Eaters posted on the pavement across the road. Unless she was prepared to use the Tree-Portation spell, there was no way she'd be able to sneak out any more. With that many people out there, Islington, where Grimmauld Place was located, was now quite possibly the most populated borough in London.
Indeed, the once-bustling metropolis had become a city of ghosts, devoid of human life save for Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and the underground Ministry of Magic. But even those streets, once alive with magic, had lost what truly made them magical— the people. Most shopkeepers, terrified for their lives, had shuttered their businesses, leaving the place looking more like 2025 than 1997.
There wasn't much Oleandra could do now except wait for the Gryffindor Trio and Sirius to finally leave their room and set whatever plan they were plotting into motion. It was the safest course of action— especially now that Kreacher the house-elf had done an inexplicable about-face and was now firmly on Harry's side, despite having once greatly preferred serving her over Sirius, his actual owner and master.
But it wasn't as though Oleandra lacked company while she waited. Viviane's ghostly outline was growing more defined by the day… and more importantly, she had the Resurrection Stone. It had taken her a day or two to work up the nerve to use it, but she needed to be sure she had the genuine article.
Oleandra closed her eyes and turned the ring in her hand.
One, twice, thrice.
But before she could open her eyes, a hoot echoed from downstairs.
Oleandra's eyes flew open. She burst out of the master bedroom (which she had claimed for herself) and raced down the stairs to find four owls on the kitchen table, impatiently waiting to be lightened of their burdens. She quickly untied the envelopes tied to the owls' legs and stuffed the one bearing her name into her pouch.
"Well, if it isn't my favourite niece," Sirius yawned, coming down the stairs with the others trailing behind. "What's got you all jumpy so late in the evening?"
"Wotcher, Sirius. Letters from Hogwarts for everyone except you," said Oleandra, smiling weakly as she passed out the three envelopes. "Book lists."
If they had seen her true name on the envelope, the jig would have been up there and then.
Oleandra inwardly grumbled about the seemingly arbitrary dates Hogwarts chose to send its students their supplies list. In her first year, it had arrived the very day her magic awakened; in her second, it had been early August, just like this time around. Sometimes, however, it came as late as late August, and in her fifth year, the letter had been especially delayed, arriving on August 31st.
"Might as well throw 'em in the fireplace," said Ron, who was rather looking forward to not having to do any homework. "I'm supposed to be dying of Spattergroit, after all."
Hermione happily read through her booklist. When all of this was over, she'd read through them all.
Oleandra had read in The Daily Prophet that attending Hogwarts had become mandatory for all school-age Wizards and Witches, which still included her, even though she had become an adult a few months ago. She wasn't certain if she'd attend herself— and besides, she hadn't even finished her sixth year yet.
"Do… do you maybe want to talk, Tonks?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "About what we spoke about the other day?"
Luckily for Oleandra, it seemed Tonks had already been feeling under the weather before she'd stolen her face, which made her more silent demeanour appear less suspicious— at least compared to the usual, chipper and chatty Tonks. That being said, she hadn't the faintest idea what sort of girls' talk Tonks and Hermione usually shared, and the last thing she wanted was to get exposed.
"I'm hungry," said Ron abruptly. "Is anyone else hungry? I could go for a sandwich."
"Make it yourself, then," snapped Hermione. "We've literally just had dinner."
"I grabbed a few sausage rolls when I went out earlier," offered Oleandra, eager to change the subject. "You might want to heat 'em up a bit before you eat them, though."
Hermione grabbed Oleandra by the hand and led her into the hall while the boys helped themselves to the expired sausage rolls in the fridge. Once they were out of earshot, she let go and planted her hands firmly on her hips.
"Are things not going well with Professor Lupin?" she asked. "How long are you planning on staying here? He must be worried sick!"
Oleandra was taken aback. Tonks and Lupin couldn't be together, could they? Maybe the age gap wouldn't seem so dramatic if Tonks were older, but she was only twenty-four!
"You could say that," said Oleandra tentatively. "And as long as it takes. My place is here, with you four."
Where else would she find such a miraculous Invisibility Cloak?
"But what about the baby?" Hermione insisted. "You shouldn't go outside any more, it's too dangerous."
Oleandra froze.
Tonks was pregnant? What had she done!? She'd left the real Tonks's face completely featureless, like a smooth eggshell! There was no possible way she could have escaped the wedding, struck dumb, blind, and deaf!
"Tonks?"
Mistaking Oleandra's stunned silence for quiet reflection, Hermione took her gently by the hand and guided her back to the kitchen to rest her weary feet. But for the first time since destiny had forced her hand and guided her onto a one-woman crusade against the entire world, doubts were starting prickle at the back of Oleandra's mind.
Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much,
For a gift is always rewarded,
And a boon always demands a return.
Better not to offer than have to slay too many.
Was the suffering caused by her actions really worth it?