Chapter 10 - Surprise and Disguise

At nine am on the same Friday morning that Remus was considering a detente with Sirius, Dawlish's office door banged open.

"Proudfoot! Tonks! Come here, please!" Dawlish bellowed into the open plan office where the junior aurors worked.

Exchanging nervous glances, Tonks and Proudfoot moved towards Dawlish's office.

"I've just had word from St Mungo's," said Dawlish irritably. "Andrew Jackson's mostly recovered, and he's started remembering things. St Mungo's will discharge him today. I want you two to go to St Mungo's immediately. I want him interviewed - if you have to arrest him to do that, so be it."

As they left Dawlish's office, Tonks caught Proudfoot's uneasy expression. She hoped that he was suspecting Death Eater involvement in the torturing of Andrew Jackson. Proudfoot was not as independent nor as curious as Tonks, but he was honest and fairly bright.

Andrew Jackson informed them that he had no memory of who'd tortured him, he was very grateful to the St Mungo's healers for restoring his sanity and the use of his spine, and he would like to return to his parents' house as soon as possible.

"You're quite happy to go back to your parents' place - even though you've no idea who who broke into the outbuilding and put you under the cruciatus curse?" Proudfoot asked the young man, slightly exaggerating his tone of disbelief.

Andrew muttered something about being sure they wouldn't come back.

"Andrew, the cruciatus curse is rare," said Tonks kindly. "And the one you were subjected to was particularly strong - you had us worried. For a while, it looked like you wouldn't even be able to remember who you are."

"I don't know who it was," Andrew said, ashen-faced and wide-eyed. He looked younger than nineteen.

"Not just anyone could have used the cruciatus curse to cause someone amnesia and spinal damage," said Tonks. "I mean, you don't exactly learn it at Hogwarts, do you?"

"Maybe a hundred wizards and witches in the country could produce a cruciatus curse that strong - and most of them are in Azkaban," said Proudfoot grimly. "We have 'reasonable suspicion' that a very serious crime has been committed - the crime would be the use of an unforgivable curse on you. We also have 'reasonable suspicion' that you are the only witness to this crime. Andrew, 'reasonable suspicion' isn't my phrase - it's a legal term. It's a fancy way of saying that we can arrest you and hold you for up to twenty four hours."

"I…I don't think there's any point doing anything about it!" Andrew whimpered.

"It's out of your hands, Andrew," Proudfoot told him. "The ministry prosecutes this kind of thing, whether the victim wants them to or not.

"We can interview you back at the Ministry," said Tonks placatingly. "And we should be done by lunchtime."

"I won't say anything," said Andrew quietly. "Sorry, but they're scarier than you."

"Are they scarier than dementors?" Proudfoot asked. "Because if you saw someone who'd escaped from Azkaban and didn't report it, that would be aiding and abetting an Azkaban fugitive. It carries a maximum sentence of seven years in Azkaban."

"But the only one who ever got out of Azkaban is Sirius Black!" Andrew squeaked, terrified.

"Exactly," said Proudfoot. "He's one of the few people we know of who could've done that to you."

Tonks knew her colleague was bluffing. She also knew that if she'd seen a similar case earlier in the year, she'd also have suspected Sirius Black's involvement. However, part of her could not help but be disappointed in her friend and colleague, irrational though she knew it was. She'd hoped he would begin to consider the possibility that Voldemort was back, and recruiting.

*****break*****

Andrew Jackson would not have made a good spy. In less than fifteen minutes, he'd told them that his torturers were a big man in his thirties, and a young man of about his age. His descriptions were generic: he'd never seen the young man before, but he was "quite a big lad, but nowhere near as big as the older man" who wore a hood and shielded most of his face with a scarf. The big man was indeed a former Death Eater, and he had shown Andrew the dark mark on his left forearm.

It took only a little coaxing to persuade Andrew to reveal his previous involvement with the big man. A year ago, Andrew's brother Neil realised that several key gang figures met regularly in a private room at the pub in which he worked as a dishwasher. The gang bosses seemed to think the innocuous location afforded decent security; they were careless when discussing the national black market in illegal and heavily taxed substances and potion ingredients.

The Jacksons were quite desperate for money, so Neil and Andrew hatched a plan. Neil used his position at the local pub in order gain intel on the state of the black market - what items were in demand, and who was a good buyer. Occasionally, traders got bold and held a secret market - knowing its date and time could be very lucrative indeed. Andrew, with his O grade Charms NEWT, hunted red caps and forest trolls (their blood was in some demand) in the forests around northern England and Scotland. Neil, who couldn't stun a troll to save his life, stuck to gathering intel.

One night, Andrew tracked a lone, juvenile forest troll. He tackled it and almost killed it, but was overwhelmed when its mother and brother appeared. The mother troll was just about to kill Andrew, when suddenly an enormous blond man appeared and stunned it.

The big blond man told Andrew that he was also a troll hunter, and that he'd been kicked out of a smuggling gang after a dispute over the quality of the troll blood that he supplied. Since then, the big man had struggled to find the times and places of the secret markets, and the profitability of his troll hunting enterprise had suffered as a result. Andrew, grateful to the stranger for saving his life and more than a little awed by his troll-fighting abilities, promised to find the times and locations for him.

But the big man became more and more demanding as time wore on, threatening Andrew if he failed to mention a meeting, and tasking Neil with ever riskier spying tasks. Suddenly, gathering intel at the pub wasn't enough - Neil was also expected to follow one of the gang bosses home. One night, in a fit of temper, the big man called Andrew a mudblood and showed him his dark mark. Andrew (unwisely, perhaps) told the big man that he wanted out - gangsters were one thing, but Voldemort's old henchmen were quite another.

The following night, the big man returned with the younger man. The pair dragged Andrew out to the shearing shed, cast a silencing charm on him and then proceeded to torture him. Andrew said that the big man appeared to be teaching the teenager how to cast the cruciatus curse, and he'd become angry when the boy's curses weren't strong enough. Apparently, he'd also cursed the boy a few times. Andrew was quite sure that the big man was responsible for most of the physical and mental damage that he'd suffered.

However, the real shock came when Andrew revealed that he already knew the date and location of the largest contraband market of the year. It was to take place in the basement of the White Wyvern on Knockturn Alley, starting at 7pm on the last Friday before halloween.

"Tonight?!" Proudfoot and Tonks yelped in unison

*****break*****

They had to use Tonks's metamorphmagus talents. There wasn't time for a better plan, but neither Dawlish nor Proudfoot were thrilled with their agreed strategy. Tonks was to morph into a woman who could pass unnoticed between the mistresses of gang bosses and the prettier prostitutes of the Wyvern. While at the event, she was to gather intel. If she found herself overwhelmed, she was to retreat - Dawlish did not want to risk a duel between himself, Tonks, Proudfoot and potentially seventy contraband traders in the bowels of the notoriously anti-auror Wyvern. Outnumbered seventy to three and on unfriendly turf was an impossible situation.

"Sluttier," Dawlish said, in a bored tone, as Tonks stood before him - a sea-green eyed redhead with taut, delicate curves folded into a pair of leather trousers and a pale blue silk shirt, neckline slashed to the waist.

Tonks gaped. Proudfoot smirked.

"Lose the red," Proudfoot suggested. "In these sorts of places, there's still a fashion for emulating your lovely aunt."

"Narcissa?" Tonks asked, without missing a beat. Her straight red hair became white-blonde.

"No, sorry, the other one," Dawlish said, while Proudfoot winked at her. The latter knew her humour.

Tonks recalled the pensive memories that she'd seen of her aunt's trial and morphed into a woman of Bellatrix's considerable height, with the same famous cascade of shining, dark curls. Her hair is no great crowning glory these days, though, Tonks thought, recalling her visit to Azkaban. She gave her morphed character much broader hips and larger breasts than Bellatrix had ever had, and gentler facial features.

"Perfect," said Dawlish. "Now Proudfoot, I believe you've been to one of these parties before?"

Proudfoot blushed horribly, and muttered something about how he'd been quite the tearaway at school.

"What should Tonks wear?" Dawlish pressed.

"A corset, if she wants to blend in. And the trousers are a good idea - so she can run easily," said Proudfoot, visibly embarrassed.

Tonks transfigured her dress into a corset and was surprised when Dawlish presented her with a silver needle pendant, tipped with a ruby.

"It's an anti-disapparition pendant," Dawlish explained. "You can disapparate wearing it, but no one else can disapparate with you. It has no effect on any anti-apparition jinx that may have been cast on the Wyvern - and you can bet there'll be one - so don't try to disapparate from the basement. It just makes it harder to kidnap you, once you're in Knockturn Alley. Normally, we also equip pendants like this to be portkeys, but this afternoon, we don't have time."

"Right, so I'm basically going into a gangster-and-death-eater hagglefest and sex party alone, armed only with my wand?" Tonks asked cheerfully. "And my emergency plan is 'just walk out'?"

"I'm afraid we can't charm Proudfoot or myself so thoroughly as to be sure a Death Eater wouldn't recognise us," Dawlish said. "And anyway, with He Who Must Not be Named gone, a Death Eater is only a serious threat if cornered."

Tonks privately agreed with Dawlish's first statement. Gangsters in a Yorkshire pub might be fooled by the charms that Proudfoot, Snyde and Dawlish had cast on themselves, but quick changes of appearance generally only achieved moderate alterations - a smaller nose, a different hair colour, a beard. Unlike poly juice potion, or the metamorphmagus's natural ability, charms and glamours didn't change the whole architecture of someone's face. The Death Eaters from the first wizarding war were undoubtedly trained by Voldemort to recognise these charms - and the identity of aurors was a matter of public record. They'd know what Proudfoot looked like, and giving him dark hair and a hooked nose wouldn't stall them for more than five minutes.

"I'll be in the Leaky," said Dawlish. "Unfortunately, we can't risk putting Proudfoot in the main bar of the White Wyvern, so he'll be prowling Diagon Alley."

The whole thing was a revelation for Tonks. She already knew that private parties took place under the Wyvern - debauched affairs, with swingers and prostitutes. However, she'd always thought these were purely for pleasure; at most, personal use quantities of recreational potions and powders changed hands.

However, Tonks had to admit that "degenerate sex party" was a great cover for "contraband marketplace." She was more than a little uneasy at the combination of the two, but assured Proudfoot and Dawlish that she could morph a mean set of genital warts and some 'vagina dentata' if necessary. Privately, she felt sick at the thought of relying on a rape prevention strategy which only came into play an instant before the act would be committed.

Some of the materials that they suspected were changing hands at these soirees were straight-up illegal - unicorn blood being one. However, others - like acromantula venom and web and horned serpent scale - were illegal only by virtue of having been smuggled into Britain without payment of the extremely high import tax. Still more - dragon, troll blood heartstring, aconite and gillyweed - were being sold covertly in order to avoid the high excise taxes which the Ministry levied on the sale of rare materials. Traders could avoid thousands of galleons worth of taxes this way - it was definitely worth torturing a farmer's son. Especially, thought Tonks, if you're a Death Eater and the markets are somehow funding your activities, or supplying you with illegal potion ingredients.

Tonks could not find it in her to get too outraged about the denizens of Knockturn Alley doing the Ministry out of a few galleons' worth of excise taxes. The excise tax on gillyweed - a plant native to the Mediterranean - was justified as a means of protecting a useful natural resource from over-exploitation. The plant allowed a person to breathe underwater and swim more competently. As a consequence, it was in considerable demand by wealthier magical families for use on summer holidays to the seaside.

The tax on dragon heartstring also made sense, as a means of preventing the species from being hunted to extinction. The tax on aconite was introduced decades ago, and was justified on the grounds of the substance being extremely toxic. This had never made much sense to Tonks, as Syrup of Hellebore was not taxed. The Werewolf Registration Act 1994 had doubled the aconite tax. Apparently, this was an effort to push unregistered werewolves out into the open, thus forcing them to register themselves. Tonks felt that it was a spiteful attempt to punish werewolves simply for being werewolves. She wondered if she'd have noticed or cared prior to her friendship with Remus.

And your little crush on Remus, a voice in Tonks's head reminded her. He might be a greying librarian, but you were ogling him last weekend. Was she like that? Did she only care about prejudice if it was directed towards someone she cared about, and/or fancied? Was everyone a bit like that? Certainly her mother, Andromeda, had little issue with anti-muggle and muggleborn sentiment until she decided that she fancied a muggleborn.

*****break*****

Tonks had been deposited in Knockturn Alley at 4pm. Her instructions were to mill around, observe the comings and goings, and ensure that she entered the basement of the Wyvern at 7:05 exactly.

By 4:30pm, Tonks had grown bored. She'd threaded through Knockturn Alley, perused the books in the second-and bookshop, lingered a little too long in Mulpeppers, and enjoyed Mr Burke's sycophantic behaviour towards her morphed and rather imperious character.

She'd been told to remain in Knockturn, but she was hungry and the grocer was only just in Diagon Alley - it was right near the corner between Diagon and Knockturn. Mulpepper's itself was the corner between Diagon and Knockturn, and the grocer's was right next door. She was barely leaving Knockturn Alley.

She entered Mulpepper's through the Knockturn Alley door, and left through the Diagon Alley door, before striding quickly into the grocer. She grabbed a "gourmet" pumpkin pasty, rolled her eyes at the advertising, and was just about to leave when she spied Remus in the vegetable aisle.

Remus's large, long fingered hands were positively caressing an aubergine. Tonks smirked at the image, then spied her reflection in the window and realised that on her morphed face, the expression was downright lascivious. She wasn't sure whether she felt emboldened or exposed wearing this unrecognisable and intensely sexy new exterior. Nor was she sure whether she intended to out herself to Remus, or leave him ignorant of her identity so that she could flirt shamelessly without consequence. She was sure that the muscles of her inner thighs pulsed a couple of times as she examined him palming a vegetable.

Like a fish to a lure, Tonks glided over to Remus. He took a fraction of a second to notice her, intent as he was on his aubergines (is he sure he's not into men? Tonks pondered). When he did notice her, the result was intensely gratifying. He looked up at her, naked want clouding his features. His green-brown eyes darkened (eyes don't actually darken, the pupil just dilates when it sees something it likes, creating a darker effect, the exacting, precise potioneer in Tonks chided her more romantic side), his elegant eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened a smidge. Tonks felt colour rising in her cheeks, as her inner thigh muscles clenched; her pelvic floor shortly followed suit.

And then she realised Remus was eyeing up a woman who looked quite unlike her. He didn't know her stranger - he'd never bantered with the tall, dark haired, big breasted woman. He didn't know what her aptitudes and weaknesses were, he hadn't an inkling of what she did for fun, and he probably did not care about her political views. Despite his sensitive, intelligent librarian persona, Remus was in fact more interested in tits than talking.

Briefly, Tonks pondered why Remus's obvious interest in a beautiful stranger upset her. She knew she fancied him, and rather suspected that her reaction was born of insecurity - much like how she'd felt irritated by Bill's revelation that he was seeing someone, even though she'd never wanted him for her boyfriend. However, she was still wounded by the fact that Remus gazed lustily at her stranger, and regarded her real form with far less hunger. She knew that if she revealed her identity to him, he'd be wildly embarrassed - and that thought was pleasurable.

"Wotcher Remus," said Tonks in an expertly feigned, jaunty tone, before she strode away from the aubergines.

*****break*****

Rapidly disappearing pasty in hand and auror-attitude back on, Tonks prowled Knockturn Alley a few times before returning to Borgin and Burkes. Borgin and Burkes was exactly the kind of place that gang bosses and Death Eaters might visit, before attending the Wyvern. Killing time in Borgin and Burkes would absolutely meet with Dawlish's and Proudfoot's approval - but that wasn't the only reason that Tonks found herself drawn to the shop. She felt as though an irritable, reckless snake was coiling and uncoiling in her abdomen. She rarely spoke about these moods, but there were times when the fact that she had been sorted into Hufflepuff seemed harder to believe than the fact that she was descended from a long, long line of proud Slytherins.

Mr Burke was delighted to see her back again, and eagerly displayed to her his collection of cursed, jinxed and charmed jewellery. She was sorely tempted by a beautiful silver Berber cuff, which apparently allowed the wearer to pass through some fairly simple protective wards, commonly used to prevent entry to dwelling houses.

"Mr Shafiq sold me that one," Mr Burke said quietly. "It had been in his family for generations. The Shafiqs are of Pakistani extraction, of course, however some of them were very successful merchants and had business in North Africa."

Tonks was grateful that she couldn't afford the cuff, otherwise she probably would have bought the dark object. It was beautiful - all ornate, engraved swirls and colourful enamel - and useful for somewhat nefarious purposes. It wasn't as though she had a specific plan for the cuff, and she'd never use it to harm an innocent person - but just the idea of being able to get through most people's wards if she wanted to was intoxicating.

"And these are really very special, despite outward appearances," said Mr Burke, opening his palm to display three concentrically arranged little rings of dull, hammered silver. Apart from the size difference, they were identical.

"What do they do?" Tonks asked, in a tone she hoped was curious rather than wary.

"They're Pictish, from around 500AD, and they ward off dementors," Mr Burke said softly. "Particularly useful for the witch or wizard incapable of casting a patronus. They're hair fastenings - they magically adjust to bind to your plait or ponytail."

Tonks left Borgin and Burkes empty handed, still coveting the hair rings and the cuff. Shyverwretch's was closing - it was nearly six. She decided to skulk for another twenty minutes, and then order a beer in the public part of the Wyvern. Sadly she couldn't drink the whole beer while on duty, but lingering over it would allow her to observe the venue more closely.

At two minutes past seven, Tonks drew the barkeep aside.

"How do I access the market downstairs?" Tonks purred.

The barkeep regarded her skeptically.

"What would you want with a place like that?" He asked.

"Buying acromantula web," said Tonks smoothly.

"And who says you can buy that here?" He retorted.

"No names," said Tonks sharply, wordlessly casting a confundus charm as she did so. "I was directed here by a friend of a friend - a big bloke active in Yorkshire. I'm sure you'd rather not incur his wrath."

The barkeep eagerly led her down into the basement.

The basement was completely devoid of furniture, save for a thin wooden bench, running around the rough stone wall. The room was busy already, with patrons milling around, and a grumpy-looking Wyvern staff member carrying a tray of drinks. Noting most of her fellow patrons were empty handed, Tonks declined. The evening passed slowly, and soon boredom replaced anxiety. She declined the offers of numerous men - usually expressed as price per 15 minutes - and felt sympathy for the women who could not do the same.

One such offer came from Amycus Carrow, whom Tonks had been trying to surreptitiously observe. Obviously, she'd allowed her eyes to linger too long and he'd assumed it was an invitation. She was pleasantly surprised when he took no for an answer, without argument. She was equally pleasantly surprised when he purchased a truly enormous quantity of gillyweed right under her nose. Considering the low price Carrow paid, there was no way the required excise tax had been applied.

She lingered near an acromantula venom trader, who wore a clown mask. His only customers were also hooded, and wore masks depicting giant spiders. Tonks felt these inspired more fear than Death Eater masks. Voldemort should probably get new merch, she mused.

"Haven't bought anything, darling?" Drawled a female voice. "I'd suspect that you were only here to sell, if you hadn't declined my brother."

Tonks froze.

"Well…the acromantula's a bit dearer than I'd like," replied Tonks, affecting nonchalance.

She turned to look at the witch, and her heart sank on seeing that it was Alecto Carrow, Amycus's Death Eater sister.

"So you're not a hooker?" Alecto asked.

"Not tonight," Tonks replied, hedging her bets.

"You're just here to buy acromantula venom, only it's too dear?" Alecto asked suspiciously.

"Something like that - I came for the acromantula web actually, but I'm staying for the gillyweed," Tonks offered a weak smile.

"Web?" Alecto asked incredulously.

Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, thought Tonks. Web was only really used by wand makers - and even then, it was a banned wand core. Venom was used in heaps of potions. She didn't know how 'web' slipped out.

"Yes," said Tonks coolly.

"Why?" Alecto asked.

"I'd rather not discuss it," replied Tonks crisply, deciding it was time to make her escape.

She nearly made it, too. It was only when she was leaving the Wyvern that a hand closed around her bicep. Amycus Carrow sneered nastily, as he tugged at her arm. The sneer was quickly replaced by surprise, and then by anxiety. Tonks realised that Amycus must have tried to disapparate with her.

Amycus's moment of shock gave Tonks enough time to draw her wand and fire a stunning spell, which rebounded off his hasty shield charm. Not immediately having the power for another decent stunner, she sent a disarmer his way, knowing he'd block it but buying time. Amycus returned fire - the stupefy was strong enough to pierce Tonks's shield charm, and she barely dodged it.

Tonks had underestimated the plump, uncouth wizard. This realisation was particularly painful because she recalled having once told Remus she was loathe to assume that just because Amycus seemed unintelligent and barely educated, the man had no interest in nor aptitude for potions. Remus'd found her unwillingness to generalise rather sweet, and naive. Tonks now realised that she had generalised - and hit the wrong conclusion.

Amycus and Tonks circled each other, alarmingly evenly-matched. Tonks wordlessly threw her shield up when she caught a quirk of his eyebrow. She cursed herself, knowing that no one could maintain a shield for long and she'd have to take it down, opening herself up to an attack when she did so. She dropped it sooner rather than later, not wanting to be magically fatigued when she had to face Amycus unshielded.

It was a good thing she did. The icy blue blight of the body-bind curse would have struck her dead in the chest had she not thrown herself backwards at the last possible moment. Brilliant duellists and legilimens like Albus Dumbledore did not need to be fit in order to defend themselves, Tonks reflected. But for mere mortals like her, fitness could spell the difference between captured and free.

On the ground, she used the slither charm for which Proudfoot was so famous. She shot past Amycus, rebounded off the front wall of Shyverwretch's, and sent another stunner his way. She was furious when she saw how easily it rebounded off his shield - since when had her stunners been so weak?

Tonks knew that both she and Amycus were tiring, after being locked in a feign-attack/shield charm battle for minutes. The winner really would have been a coin flip, had Proudfoot not finally appeared, and sent a hefty stunner Amycus's way. He blocked it, but promptly disapparated, presumably because he realised that fresh reinforcements were always bad news.

*****break*****

Tired and slightly injured, Tonks barely held it together through her debriefing and the pensieving of her memories of the night. Dawlish assured her that she could have done worse, but still Tonks felt that she'd fucked up.

If she hadn't roused suspicion, she could have stayed longer. If she hadn't roused Alecto's suspicions specifically, a Death Eater would not have been sent after her. If she'd reacted to being grabbed sooner, she could have stunned Amycus. She hated that Proudfoot had to rescue her.

Tonks felt sore, mildly embarrassed and distinctly frustrated. She decided to go to Grimmauld Place, instead of returning home. Ideally, she'd like to torment Remus in her morphed form. However, her backup plan was to commiserate with Sirius - she didn't care that he'd been hostile when she last saw him. She knew he'd understand.