House: Hufflepuff

Class: Herbology

Prompt: [Pairing] Mad-Eye Moody and Nymphadora Tonks

WC: 2454

TW: none

"—you thinking?"

Tonks slowed her frantic pace as she rounded the corner, feet skidding slightly. The raised voice was answered by a quieter one, but she was unable to pick out any words as she drew nearer to the closed office door. A light flickered as she passed it and she paused, a sense of unease crawling over her skin.

Nothing looked different about the corridor in front of her. The walls were the same bland beige colour, but the smell of fresh paint lingered where it failed to completely cover the black scorch marks that marred a section of wall. Beneath her feet, the floor was the same rough uneven brown carpet that covered the lower floors, while the higher-ups enjoyed cold, clear marble. She prodded a section with the toe of her boot, waiting for something to trigger.

Moody's paranoia, his refrain of 'Constant Vigilance!'—lived experience, he called it, and Tonks had seen Shacklebolt roll his eyes at his partner more than once because of that—was legendary in the Auror Department. His office sat at the end of the small corridor, and he requested that she, specifically, come and see him.

She swallowed down the lump rising in her throat, feeling her hair shift for a moment—becoming close-cropped and darker, better to have in a fight—before it snapped back to her usual pink hue.

Moody had scheduled the meeting. She pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket, reading over the imprinted words again: My office. Tomorrow. 9 am.

He wouldn't call her here to fire her. Tonks drew some small comfort of the fact that her mother had sat her down and made her read over Ministry policy until she could recite it in her sleep. It could be her first official assignment as Moody wouldn't (hopefully) call her into his office if it was nothing.

Tonks ignored the small traitorous voice inside her head that whispered he very much would do that, and continued carefully down the corridor, expecting at any moment for the floor to fall away from her feet.

The worry still grew in her chest, gnawing at her ribs as her thoughts tangled together, tracing over each and every minor mistake she had made. Did he know that she had tripped up Mallard in training? Was that what this was about?

She studied the door as she drew closer. No sound escaped from behind the dark wood now that it was closed, and it would have been indistinguishable from any other door in the Ministry, devoid of nameplate or sign, except for a single clumsy drawing of an eye in ink on the doorknob.

Tonks drew herself up to her full height, missing the comfortable security of her well-worn denim jacket and battered boots as she raised her hand to knock. It swung open before she could and she stumbled back, her wand in her hand before she could think.

"Easy," Shacklebolt laughed warmly, holding his palms out flat.

"Sorry!" Tonks blurted out, feeling her hair twist into a riot of red curls before settling back, catching the action reflected in Shacklebolt's dark eyes.

There was something off about him. He was normally so put together—robes immaculate and cut off at the hip to allow ease of movement—but his collar was crumpled as if someone had curled their fingers into it, the top button undone to reveal a thin golden chain disappearing behind the fabric.

"Junior Auror Tonks," he said, eyebrow raised as her gaze snapped back to his face, her cheeks turning as pink as her hair. He bowed to her in greeting, the action fluid and graceful.

"Auror Shacklebolt," she stammered, snapping into a clumsy semblance of being at attention before bowing. She stumbled over her own feet, overbalanced then caught herself. She grinned widely at him, catching a flicker of amusement in his eyes before it disappeared behind a mask of calm professionalism.

"You're expected," he said, inclining his head towards the now-closed office door.

"Thank you, sir." Tonks took a step closer to the door, her wand still clutched in her trembling hands.

"Tonks?"

She turned back to Shacklebolt, her neck beginning to ache from looking up at him.

"Good luck." He bowed to her once more, and turned away, walking down the corridor, head held high and confidence in every step of his heavy-soled boots.

Tonks gulped, feeling the blood drain from her face and leaving her feeling woozy. Before she could lose her nerve again she stepped forward, stretching out a hand to nudge the door open.

It swung open easily. Too easily. The thought had barely crossed her mind before—

"Good reflexes." Moody's voice was barely above a growl. Tonks watched his feet—one brown boot, marked and scuffed with age, and one carved wooden stump—move across the rough carpet to the desk from her position on the floor, her hands burning from the sudden drop and roll.

"Thank you, sir?"

Tonks carefully picked herself up off the floor, flinching as she smoothed her hands against the rough fabric of her robes.

"Hopefully you won't be needing them, but it never hurts to be prepared." The grin Moody shot her way could barely be classed as that, more of a restrained snarl, but it strangely set Tonks at ease.

"We got a mission, sir?"

Moody chuckled, a strange light coming into his eyes. "You've got a mission. I'm supervising."

Tonks tried to keep an impassive face to hide her overwhelming excitement, but knew she had failed to keep her Metamorphmagus abilities fully under wraps when Moody let out a bark of laughter. He turned away, rifling through a nearby cabinet, but the sensation of his gaze pinning her didn't leave.

She knew some of the other trainees found it unsettling: the way Moody seemed to know what they were doing even when his back was turned, or when he wasn't even in the room. He seemed to always be watching with his mismatched eyes, one a normal brown, and the other a prosthetic of electric blue. Tonks refused to let it bother her, standing with her back straight and chin raised in defiance. She was going on a mission of her very own!

"Just a routine investigation and purchase. There's a little shop, a few side streets into Knockturn Alley, that we suspect is operating as a smuggling ring. However, they've been remarkably canny in not selling to any Aurors." Moody paused, turning to set a heavy file on the desk in front of her. There were several pieces of coloured paper sticking out of one side

"You suspect there's a mole, and I need to go because I can completely change my appearance?"

Moody's grin was predatory. "Exactly. Your test scores said you were quick on the uptake." He stood, bracing himself on the desk to do so. "The shop's name is Engelbert's Pharmagics. Licensed to sell minor over-the-counter potions and charms, but from surveillance, it's also got a booming trade in antiques."

"So the usual clientele is young, rich and desperate?"

"Let's see what you've got, trainee."

Tonks had never been able to fully put what it felt like to change to anyone else. Everytime she tried the words would escape her. It was like a tension that she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of, that would immediately release with a sensation of a thousand bugs crawling over her skin. Throughout her childhood, her changing had been treated with amusement and no small amount of wonder. But now, Moody's grin only widened as her appearance changed and Tonks realised it was something to be proud of too.

Moody laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to fill the small room. "This will be fun."

The shop was quiet, a thick scent of lemon lying heavy in the air and the bell above the door chimed a merry tune as Tonks stepped in. She readjusted her grip on the package tucked beneath her arm, palms sweating and fingers aching already.

It was a simple task, Moody's words repeated in her mind as she moved towards one of the shelves, a lock of her long blonde hair falling free from the braid. Act like a nervous heiress, try to sell an artefact, then leave. That was it. He would be tracking her through the runed ankle cuff hidden beneath her high heeled boots as it could record sound as well. It vibrated slightly against her skin whenever she moved.

Tonks wished that some of the nervousness she portrayed was simply an act, but she was terrified. Her breathing sounded abnormally loud in her ears as she stared at a bottle of Pain Away! Potion before taking another step towards the counter.

"Welcome, young madam!" The bright voice made her jump, but the man at the counter only smiled wider, showing off a full set of bright, white teeth. "What can I do for you today?"

Tonks stumbled slightly as she moved closer. The man's hands never moved from where they were planted on the countertop, something that struck her as strange.

"Yes, umm," Tonks shifted her grip on the package again, and the man's gaze snapped to it. " A friend told me to come to you for a special consultation?"

His eyes didn't change—remaining as cold as a snake's—even as his smile widened impossibly. "Of course," he crooned, gesturing for Tonks to follow him into a small room just off from the counter. "Just this way please."

Tonks stepped into the room and fought back the reflexive animalistic urge to freeze. Everything felt muted as if she was looking through a pane of frosted glass. The cuff had ceased to hum against her skin. She was alone, truly alone.

"Apologies for the magical dampeners, Madam. Can't be too careful." He gestured for her to place the parcel on the table, and she did so, hoping that her legs wouldn't buckle beneath her. Her disguise held, thanks to her own abilities, but she didn't want to experience how exhausted casting a spell would leave her.

The man's movements were precise and methodical as he unwrapped the parcel, but Tonks couldn't help but be reminded of a lion ripping into a carcass. It was a passably fake antique silver candlestick, picked up by Moody only a few hours prior from a Muggle charity shop and enchanted with a minor cleaning charm alongside the tracker. It would be muted as she was, but, once it was outside this room, it would still be fully functional.

"You've arrived at a wonderful time." He addressed the candlestick instead of her, turning the silver round and round in his hands. "I can actually offer you a deal."

"A deal?"

He nodded, carefully placing the candlestick back down, fingers slowly unfurling from the metal.

"I can offer you 30 galleons for the candlestick—" Tonks nodded in acknowledgement, feeling distaste twist in her stomach. She may not have been raised in the Black family home, but her mother had been. She knew the value of good silver and that was a pittance. "—Or I can offer a trade."

Tonks has never seen the set of cutlery before—warped with age and almost completely black with tarnish—and yet she would recognise the crest stamped onto every piece anywhere. They were Black family silverware.

In Andromeda Tonks' more maudlin moods, she would bemoan the fact that she had been unable to take anything with her: no childhood trinkets; no heirlooms; nothing but the clothes on her back and the contents of her Hogwarts trunk. And here was part of that lost history.

"Perhaps a deal?" The smile was back, wide and impossibly perfect. "20 galleons and the silverware?"

Moody wouldn't know.

He couldn't know. Tonks was alone here, unobserved. Her hands curled into fists behind her back. She could take silverware and the money, pass it off as the man shorting her and complete the mission while regaining a part of her history.

Moody wouldn't know, but she would.

"No. Just the money, please."

"Of course."

Tonks left as quickly as she could, almost tripping open her own feet as she stumbled out onto the street. It was quiet in the post-lunch hush, but she kept the disguise up as she walked to the meeting place.

"Got the sale. He tried to trade me Black family silverware as well." Tonks pulled a face as she let the change slip, scratching at her scalp as her hair shortened back to its usual pixie cut. "Not sure how much the ankle thing picked up."

"Doesn't matter." Moody shrugged, plucking the coin bag from her grasp easily, tossing it over his shoulder to Shacklebolt. "Leroy Englebert is a crook, no doubt about that, but he's an on-the-take crook."

"Now," he began, turning to Shacklebolt who had been standing behind him, "pay up."

"What?" Tonks felt her stomach drop, staring at Moody in disbelief.

"Thirteen years, we've worked together," Moody crowed, winking at Tonks who couldn't quite shake the feeling she was now in on a joke she hadn't been expecting. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, warmth brewing in the pit of her stomach. "Thirteen years! And he still hasn't learned to not to bet against me."

"Given the subject matter," Shacklebolt said, pointedly, "This is a bet I'm glad to lose."

He passed Moody a note—a Muggle fiver, Tonks noticed in an abstract way—as she fought to pick the right words out of the explosion bubbling up in her chest.

"You bet to see if I would betray you, betray the Aurors, or not?"

"The lad worries too much," Moody said before ducking his head to light the cigarette clamped between his teeth, but Tonks caught the note of fondness in his voice and the slight smile that he quickly concealed. "But yes. Given your family history, we had to know."

Tonks wanted, desperately, to be angry. But she couldn't. "Yeah, that's fair."

Moody clicked his tongue, his human eye casting towards the sky while the magical remained fixed on her. "I know better than most here what can happen after family conflicts. People get desperate."

Something about his words made her pause. "What house were you in at Hogwarts?"

"We are going to go back to the office, you're going to complete your paperwork, but first, coffee."

"Moody!" Tonks called as the man began to walk briskly down the empty street, smoke trailing behind him. "Moody! Wait up!"

"Come on," Shacklebolt said, starting off after him, his stride more than two of hers. "You'll get used to it."

Tonks grinned, allowing herself a moment to be excited as her hair flitted through all the colours of the rainbow, before running to catch up.