Written for Jg Rox's Rival Ships Challenge. This was weird and kind of fun to write. I don't know how anyone can pull off this pairing, but I hope I did with at least partial success.
Tonks stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her room. She tweaked and tweaked, adjusted this color here, scooted her nose up. She pursed her lips, frustrated. She didn't look right. Hair was too dark. Fixed. No, there's something else, still. She tried slanting her eyebrows a bit more, but it just made her look even more wrong.
Of course. She had to look like a Slytherin. She had to turn her chin up and send the mirror a cool glare. Perfect.
Tonks was Narcissa Malfoy. Blonde Slytherin ice queen. She hated the sight of herself.
It was a solo mission. If it failed she would be the sole Auror to blame. Fine by her. Tonks was always noticing things that could have been better executed: A footstep too loud, an inadequate dose of Polyjuice Potion. She only ever said anything if the glitch would cause a legitimate problem. But she noticed every discontinuity. Hers included; she wasn't exactly a stealthy predator herself.
But that particular flaw would not be a problem tonight. She was not Tonks. She was Mrs. Malfoy, who had every right and reason to be in the Malfoy Manor. (The real Mrs. Malfoy would be... conveniently delayed... from her return home. By the time the identity theft was discovered, she would be well out of the place with what they needed.)
With a final icy look at the mirror—at Narcissa Malfoy—Tonks turned on the spot and Disapparated with a pop. She had long outgrown the characteristic nausea in response to being sucked through a quarter-sized hole, but being a whole two inches taller and proportioned differently, it left her slightly wobbly. Mad-Eye noticed and grabbed her arm; Tonks wondered if she looked like Narcissa at all to him. With that crazy blue eye, you never knew.
Arthur Weasley shot her a look that Tonks supposed wasn't meant to be suspicious, but she grinned back at him proudly. If her own side couldn't tell she wasn't Mrs. Malfoy, maybe Mr. Malfoy wouldn't notice either; she hoped dearly that he wouldn't. The grin seemed to baffle Arthur; it must have looked strange on a woman who acted like her wand was jammed up her butt.
"—and now that she's here, we might as well get started." Kingsley paused and looked directly at Tonks. She saw the gleam of distrust there as well, and had to stop herself from beaming again.
"Your eyes just turned green," murmured Moody.
Tonks frowned, swapping them back to a flat gray. She heard Mad-Eye chuckle.
"Tonks, you'll be Apparating directly to the gates of Malfoy Manor. We've verified that this is how Narcissa Malfoy regularly approaches the Manor." She nodded coolly, trying to smother every bit of herself as possible, as her personality seemed to upset minor details of her costume. She was the Ice Queen. "You have only an hour. Stay away from Voldemort at all costs, if he is indeed there. We've reason to think he will be away from the Manor, but there is no knowing. As soon as you can, take Lucius Malfoy's cane and remove the snake head with the wand. You have the replacement." As he watched expectantly, Tonks removed an identical wand and showed it. It was completely fake, of course; the wood was not even a real wand. But Lucius had no reason to know that until he tried to curse someone with it. With any luck that wouldn't happen until much too late.
She was itching to move; this was the worst: The moment on the brink of a mission where you still have a million little formalities to carry out, but you really just want to forge on and get it over with. It happened to her every time, but the feeling was more acute than ever before. It took a conscious effort for her to resume the Ice Queen, and she noticed that her eyes had gone blue this time. Much too blue for an Ice Queen, she noted with disapproval.
"We'll be waiting here for you," Kingsley finished. "Don't Apparate back until you are absolutely positive you can return without company." The distrust had left his eyes; he had caught her accidental Metamorphosis. This stirred only minor irritation in the Ice Queen. But she was far too busy to let it hold her up. With a final regal nod that would have done Abraxas Malfoy himself proud, Tonks Disapparated.
She landed unwaveringly this time and without a pause strode proudly through the gates that closed menacingly behind her. Surely whatever sentry system they had here was human; any magic would have caught her. The thought relaxed her, but she smothered this as well. The Ice Queen hadn't any reason to be relaxed, or disturbed in the first place. She refused to acknowledge with pride the fact that no Metamorphosis had slipped out.
A sudden thought almost made Tonks stop in her tracks, but she forced herself to distantly acknowledge the new problem: Did Narcissa Malfoy have a Dark Mark? Tonks doubted it, but she consciously added one to the concealed skin of her left forearm. If anyone looked for it, it would be there. Of course the Ice Queen was Marked. She was the host.
She entered the Manor without dilemma; for You-Know-Who's most trusted, the Death Eaters sure were stupid. No secret questions, like the Order would have asked, or anything of the sort. The Ice Queen snorted in derision.
But when she saw the "Dark Lord" himself, fear drowned any Ice Queen and very nearly Tonks herself. She could only hope Narcissa Malfoy was as terrified by Voldemort as Tonks, because she knew that terror was the only emotion her constricted chest had room for.
He was at the head of the table, stroking the head of a massive python whose coils were looped protectively around his chair. The thing was… purring at him? As much as a reptile can purr. It was almost as terrifying as its master. Voldemort's skin was a hideous gray-green, a very sick-looking color. Blue veins marbled the skin stretched over his skull. He looked like he would fall over and die any second, and Tonks very much wished we would do just that.
But no. He spoke—to her, no less. The Order hadn't ever had any luck, so Tonks supposed she shouldn't be so devastated at the turn of events, but how could it possibly get any worse?
The one thing that saved her life: He didn't look at her. Voldemort knew and used powerful magic, Dark and otherwise. He was a far better Legilimens than she had the ability to fend off even for a moment. Had he met her eyes, he would have known within the instant that she was not Narcissa Malfoy.
Fortunately, the actual Narcissa had effectively proved her loyalty and constant fearful groveling. His appreciation of the first had long given way to contempt for the latter. It showed in his tone.
"Narcissa," he drawled—as much as you can drawl and still sound terrifically horrifying—"go find your... intoxicated husband." He gestured vaguely to his left, not bothering to look at her. His tone would have made the real Narcissa faint—he clearly meant hostile business with Lucius—but Tonks could not have possibly become any more frightened, and the possible torture of an estranged relative—and not even by blood, at that—didn't concern her nearly as much as her own fate. She immediately started towards the door she thought had been indicated, and cringed as she heard an exaggerated sigh behind her.
"Narcissa," he said again, this time mockingly admonitory. "You're no better than your husband." Tonks eyes would have popped were she not the (albeit terrified) Ice Queen. He thought she was drunk! He must have been in a good mood; either that, or otherwise occupied—because fortunately he made no move to discipline her.
And finally, a bit of luck: Voldemort proceeded to give his host turn-by-turn directions (which were necessary in a home this huge) to her own room. She only hoped she could remember them, and execute them without knocking over something large. (Wryly she realized that she could have done just that and it wouldn't have hurt her charade at all; after all, she was a little tipsy.)
Goosebumps stood out on her skin as she walked with eerily loud steps down the hallway past a plethora of Malfoy family portraits—was it just her, or did they look suspicious?
Tonks barely had time to wrinkle her nose at the smell of alcohol before Lucius Malfoy was there, dragging her up the stairs in a fear-driven haste. Anxiety collected in her stomach—what was he doing? She noticed he had his snake cane with him, and it should be easier to replace the wand, with his being drunk and all, but it didn't reassure her. How was she going to find her way out again? He was moving too fast for her lacking sense of direction to keep up.
Only too late did it occur to her why Malfoy might want alone time with his wife, but they were already in sight of "their" room. Tonks desperately cast about for some reason to stall, ready to take advantage of his less-than-collected state of mind or fake her own. Luckily he didn't have the faculties to force a resistant Tonks anywhere, but he pressed her up against the door insistently.
He tasted even drunker than he smelled, but even with the alcohol he seemed more harassed and strung out than anything else. She felt... sorry for him.
Remember, Tonks, the Ice Queen broke in—she was back now that the fear had retreated. Remember why you're here. The inner voice seemed exasperated, and rightly so. Tonks didn't make any move to interrupt Lucius Malfoy's unrestrained display of affection—she was his wife, after all; she had to kiss him back—but she inconspicuously searched for his cane. The Order had to have it to convict him as a Death Eater. Prior incantatem would reveal any recent shady activity. Her hand closed around the snake head and she deftly removed it and stuffed it into her coat in place of the fake one, which she forced back into the cane.
If Malfoy wondered what she was doing he didn't show it. Tonks doubted he noticed a thing, between the snogging and whatever he'd had to drink. She had to admit, even completely in control of herself, she was quite distracted. She had to sidetrack him before he sidetracked her. ...Which, at the moment, he was admittedly already doing. He was quite a bit taller and stronger than she was, and it wasn't entirely... unpleasant.
She pulled back, and tried to look him in the eyes, but he was too busy looking confusedly at her lips. She almost smirked. But his eyes momentarily cleared when she told him, "The Dark Lord wants to see you." She regretted saying it as fear flooded his cloudy eyes, but the Ice Queen forced it all down as he turned unsteadily down the stairs, and started back the way she thought they'd come.
Tonks thought she'd succeeded for a moment—how stupid. Shouts downstairs were what saved her; a thorough shot of adrenaline turned her hair an alarming bright red, and she had to concentrate to return it to a vaguely blond shade. The scandalized shouts were very quickly coming from all sides but one, which was a window. She was screwed.
Out the window she went. She'd never tried Apparating in midair, and she had a distinctly terrified feeling it wouldn't work, but at least she'd be gone as soon as she hit the ground; then the Order could take over if she broke a leg or Splinched. Surely she wouldn't die...?
A shard of glass seared across her cheek, and Tonks growled angrily. This was not her idea of fun—or remotely safe. She had been on the third floor. The fall dissolved her stomach (good thing she wasn't deathly afraid of heights like Remus) but the actual impact was considerably eased by the split-second Apparition. She'd been lucky. That glass hadn't been all that far away from her eye.
Tonks didn't remain conscious for very long after she heard Mad-Eye shout gruffly, "She's back—and hurt." She supposed she was, at that.