As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
Nymphadora Tonks was sufficiently well versed in Muggle culture that she was easily able to play the role of a medical supplies courier. In this case a courier from one of London's smaller general clinics with a package of recently drawn blood needing immediate analysis. True it was late in the day. But the hours of operation of this particular up and coming lab had been a deciding factor in its choice. That and the fact that it was not the regular lab the used by the clinic Dr Granger was associated with. The possibility of a new account was not one the laboratory wanted to dismiss and so they were almost eager to take on the job.
The (now brown haired) courier, Tonks, lazily watched the night shift personnel come in while waiting for the receptionist to find her pen (it had been just right in front of her a moment ago!) in order to sign for the delivery of the blood for testing. She made her choice very quickly and, amazingly very shortly, after that the receptionist uncovered the missing writing implement under a small pile of folders. The woman grinned sheepishly and signed the receipt. She was not at all concerned when the courier asked for the ladies room and directed her without a second thought. Indeed, her thoughts were on the impending close of her shift.
Tonks hid out in the Ladies for a sufficiently long time that shifts had changed and surely the woman had long since left. But the woman who had gone in was not the one who came out. Rather, it was a stouter almost mannish woman with a faraway expression of intense rumination, dressed in trousers and linen blouse topped by a crisp white labcoat, badge clipped professionally onto the jacket collar. She went back into the inner domain of the lab and no one said anything if they noticed at all. As long as she looked like she belonged, no one would say anything. People were like that. It seemed a universal trait and good thing for her it was. She let herself into an unlit office and was content to bide her time.
Much, much later, Tonks opened her eyes to find that darkness had long since settled and she had fallen asleep in the not altogether uncomfortable chair behind the desk. She got to her feet, pausing to stretch out the kinks that had set in. "Lumos," she said softly as she held up her wand. A faint light resulted and she was able to read the time from the clock on the wall. Two O'clock, it said. More or less. She extinguished the light and hid her wand up her sleeve, then left the office, heading back out to the front desk, an expression of mild annoyance pasted on her face.
She found a uniformed guard manning the post now. The front doors were locked, so that anyone coming would have to use the doorchime to be let in. The guard looked bored and he was reading a paperback book with a great deal of intense concentration. The older, mannish woman walked up to him and cleared her throat. He looked up, somewhat contrite to have been caught less than completely alert.
"Has the Granger file come out yet?" She asked schooling her voice to a slightly bored alto.
"Erm..." The young man scanned through a short stack of folders, pulling one out, "Yes..." and as the woman was holding out her hand, promptly gave it to her without question.
Tonks let her wand slide into her hand raising it toward the somewhat startled man. "Obliviate," she whispered and then returning the wand to its hiding place and tucking the folder under her arm, bid the young man a loud and friendly 'goodnight' as she left the building.
Hidden by night she transformed back into herself (or as close to herself as she was wont) and, smiling in self satisfaction, disapperated.
Grimmauld place was dark and quiet. As run down as it had become, it had yet to degrade into a slum full of bars and derelicts. It was poor but had once been quite posh. She mused occasionally that it was probably number 12 which had precipitated the decline. She walked down the street stopping at a point which seemed as devoid of life as a vacant lot. She turned away from the street and looked hard. Then she walked up the steps that had suddenly solidified into reality and slipped inside the house she knew was there and could only really see if she willed it.
Silence reigned. Even the portrait of Mrs Black was silent as if in sleep. She didn't really think anyone would be up and about, and not wanting to leave the report laying about, she decided to leave it in Snape's room. In his condition there was bloody little chance he'd even notice it, much less read it.
Halfway up the stairs she heard a voice floating down to her. She halted and strained to hear it. "... traitor like you, eh. Think this will take care of..." Mad-Eye. But who was he talking to? In Snape's room, yet. She ran up the stairs and in so doing accomplished a feat few else could manage. She tripped up the stairs. Skinning her knee she barked out a cry of pain and the talking ceased. Then Moody's head poked out of the room and he glared -- what nerve! -- at her.
She blushed. "Wotcher Moody" she greeted pretending nothing at all had happened as she finished climbing the stairs.
"Tonks."
They stared at one another for a few moments.
"So." She said. "You're on Snape watch, then."
"Somebody needs to."
The young Auror snorted. "As if he'd go anywhere."
"Constant Vigilance, Miss Tonks," the old grizzled man reminded her sternly, the way a teacher would a student.
"Yeah."
"That the results of the Muggle tests, then?" He nodded toward the folder under her arm and reached out his hand.
Her eyebrows rose.
"Madame Pomfrey--"
"Will see them in the morning."
Tonks shrugged and handed over the file. Mad-Eye flipped through the pages, his frown becoming increasingly more irritated with each page he moved past. Tonks grinned to herself briefly, quickly wiping it off in favor of a more studied expression. "Can't read it?" She asked innocently.
He growled. "Of course I can read it. It just isn't English. Blasted Muggles!"
Tonks stifled a laugh. "Just leave it for Poppy." She took it out of his hands and walked past him into Snape's room. The room was not completely dark, several candles were burning, giving off a dull yellow glow. In the right setting it would have been conducive to rather different an ambiance than the eeriness that permeated this room. The Potions Master was surely asleep, as his quiet breathing, shallow and regular, so indicated. She watched in silence wishing she knew what was going on in Alastor Moody's mind. But he wasn't going to be forthcoming, that was obvious. He was going to just stand there waiting for her to leave. She sighed and turned about. "I'm going home. I have to report to the Ministry in a few hours and I'd love some sleep first." She didn't want to stay here. The house never failed to stir up unwanted thoughts of murder and mayhem. Sirius would have done better to raze the place and the Order could do with a more positive location as its headquarters. "Good night, Alastor."
Nymphadora Tonks went home to bed never knowing that a second copy of the report existed and had been placed on the supervisor's desk, specific passages marked in highlighter yellow. Nor could she know that he would forward yet other copies to a special office of the National Health Service and that they, in turn, would forward copies to certain, very specific offices of the Mi5 and Mi6 and that word would trickle down to Dr Margaret Sellinger that someone was analyzing the very special drugs and chemicals she had developed to break the will of even the most powerful wizard.
Tonks actually made it to work on time the next morning, arriving just ahead of another Auror, a senior Auror not quite as old as Mad-Eye, but he'd been around since before the first war. He barely nodded to his younger colleague before striding down the hall to an office he shared with three other seniors.
Said senior rarely Auror paid any attention to his somewhat clumsy younger colleague. He'd decided that the main reason she was part of the force was her metamorph abilities. (He always thought it a shame that talent had been wasted on such an ungraceful witch. Oh well, one couldn't argue with nature, he supposed.) He was the last of the four to arrive at their shared office, the others already having tea and discussing their personal case. He'd just come off tailing Mad-Eye Moody; he was tired and more than a bit out of sorts. He'd followed the retired Auror to Grimmauld Place. And lost him. He was angry with himself for that; he was not some novice, but an experienced and more than capable agent who could tail any wizard, even one as talented and paranoid as Mad-Eye. So how had he lost the old codger? He knew with absolute certainty that he had not been seen. How had he managed to lose Moody? And why, after several hours, had he been unable to find any trace of the wizard?
The conversation died as the others watched him fume, practically slamming his mug on his desk. No one wanted to ask what was wrong no matter how curious they were. They waited with studied patience.
"I lost Mad-Eye," Merritt said instead of a standard 'good morning.'
"Ah." Raoul said.
"It happens," Nyssa shrugged.
"Not to me!"
The others rolled their eyes. No one dared say the obvious. In fact, no one said anything for several minutes.
"Whereabouts?" Traverse finally asked.
"Grimmauld Place."
"Hm."
"I say, didn't I follow old Mundungus over that way the other day." Raoul said thoughtfully.
"You think Amd-Eye is interested in something Fletcher is up to?" Nyssa asked clearly unconvinced.
"What else could it be? Mad-Eye might be paranoid but he's not a fool."
"He's suppoed to be retired," the witch wore a disapproving scowl.
"Lucky for our side retirement to Mad-Eye just means more time to follow up leads and not have to bother with writing reports," Traverse grinned.
"I'll talk to Moody." Merritt volunteered. "If anyone knows anything about Snape it will be Mad-Eye. He was almost as furious as I was, when Dumbledore manuvered that bloody Death Eater out of Azkaban."
"Just remember, Mad-Eye did refuse to help Margaret Alice. He'd not necessarily approve of our doings."