Harry & Tonks (Ch 1-5)

Harry Potter was absolutely knackered when he trudged through the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive. Proper fucking exhausted, if he was being honest. He'd been laying bricks since six that morning in the blazing heat, his work boots caked with dried cement, his shirt was soaked with sweat, and his back felt like someone had taken a beater's bat to it. But the job paid decent money and kept him busy enough not to think about what he'd lost.

It turned out all that magic Harry thought belonged to him had actually been Voldemort's soul fragment living rent-free in his head. Just like his Parseltongue ability. The moment that bastard died, Harry had lost the ability to so much as light a bloody candle without matches. Every spell, every bit of wandwork, every scrap of magical talent Harry thought was his had belonged to Tom Riddle all along. Seventeen years of being the famous Boy-Who-Lived, and it turned out he'd been a Squib from birth, just like old Mrs. Figg down the road.

Number 4 Privet Drive looked exactly the same as it always had. A neat little suburban house with its perfectly manicured lawn and immaculate flower beds; an exact replica mirroring the houses next to it, stretching down the street in neat, orderly rows. But inside, Harry had filled it with all the "freakish" things his relatives had despised. Wizard photographs moved and waved from the mantelpiece, a magical clock ticked loudly in the hallway showing where everyone was instead of the time, and books on Defense Against the Dark Arts sat openly on the coffee table next to his lunch sandwiches.

The house was dead quiet when he pushed through the front door. All he wanted was a hot shower and a cold butterbeer. He eased off his boots gently and left them at the door. The silence told him Tonks was probably trying to get little Teddy down for the night and he didn't want to wake his godson, or piss off Tonks by tromping through the house.

Nymphadora Tonks. Even thinking her full name made him grin, knowing how much she hated it. She'd been living here for three weeks now, ever since some anti-werewolf nutters had vandalized her mum's place with "WEREWOLF LOVER" painted across the front door in what the Aurors reckoned was actual blood. Andromeda was camping out there now, hoping the bastards would come back so she could have what she called "a proper conversation" with them.

Harry had winced when Tonks told him that bit. Andromeda might not be as completely mental as her sisters Narcissa or Bellatrix, but she was still a Black sister through and through, and could be right violent when someone crossed her. Those vandals had no idea what they'd stirred up.

"About bloody time," came a mutter from the direction of the kitchen, followed by the sound of bare feet on cold tiles.

Tonks appeared in the doorway looking absolutely shattered. She had dark circles under her eyes and that particular look of exhaustion that only came from dealing with a fussy baby for hours on end. Her bubblegum pink hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and she was wearing one of his old Quidditch jerseys from Hogwarts that barely covered her ass.