Author's note: My apologies for the delay in between chapters -- I'll be posting the rest of the story now to get it finished before Deathly Hallows comes out!

17. Sources of Information

Friday 18th September 1994

Tonks looked through the window of the beauty salon with a slight ripple of apprehension. It was merely one of the small 'shops' the Market rented out – a front room for business, and a tiny back room for accounts and other things customers didn't need to see. Nonetheless, it appeared almost obsessively well-kept. Shelves high on the walls contained orderly rows of cosmetic potions in bottles and jars, and underneath them were perfectly-spaced photographs of beautiful witches holding out their hands and turning their heads to show off elegant manicures and hairstyles to best advantage. Tonks smiled in amusement at a dummy in the corner which changed shape and hairstyle every ten seconds or so, providing a three-dimensional view of what the owner could do. A neatly lettered sign over the door read 'Miss Marcella Mascarra, Specialist in Beautifying Charms and Personal Styling'.

Tonks frowned; as far as she was concerned, it was all a bit over the top, and she was a little worried how the owner might react to her shoes bringing in dirt from the floor of the Magical Market. But she could see why it might attract clients such as Portia Blackstock and Norah O'Gregan. Although the latter's husband wasn't actually visible, Tonks could imagine him tapping his foot with impatience under the Cloak, and quickly pushed open the door.

There were only three other people there. The sole occupant of a row of four chairs on one side was Portia Blackstock, leafing through an old copy of Witch Weekly with a look of polite boredom. Opposite her was a single chair in front of a large mirror; a youngish woman (presumably Miss Mascarra) was gently applying some sort of thick, creamy potion to the cheeks of its occupant. That had to be Norah O'Gregan; she was quite good-looking, but with hard eyes, and an expression of slight disdain that didn't endear her to Tonks. She was obscurely reminded of her aunt.

All three turned to glance at her as she entered, and a slightly troubled expression passed over Miss Mascarra's face as she noticed the marks Tonks' footwear had made. The proprietor was carefully made-up, with her own hair in an elaborate arrangement that seemed to consist of layers of small tubes, but otherwise looked rather washed-out. She smiled vaguely. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Oh yes ... Yes." Tonks felt rather glad she'd spent so much time with Beatrice Easton; borrowing her mannerisms made it much easier to slip into her Mavis role. "I hope I don't need an appointment ... I've heard of your shop and I wondered if you could do something for me ..."

The beautician appraised her. "Yes, I think I can, Miss, er Mrs, ..."

"Oh, Grimble. Mrs Mavis Grimble."

She nodded, frowned, and waved her wand at the floor to remove the footmarks, apparently without realising she was doing it. "That's fine, Mrs Grimble. You don't mind waiting, I hope? I have to finish Mrs O'Gregan here, and Miss Blackstock is next. Um, perhaps you could talk to each other for a bit ..."

What an excellent idea ... "Oh no, I don't mind waiting. There's nothing much I have to do," she added in a plaintive voice. "I'll just sit here, that's fine."

Tonks took a seat next to Portia Blackstock, who gave her a bright if not entirely sincere smile that suggested relief at the idea of chatting instead of reading. Tonks smiled back cautiously. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Miss Mascarra apply a wipe to her customer's face, then casually drop it. Tonks blinked in surprise – the action didn't seem to match the cleanliness of the place – but the wipe barely had time to reach the ground before a dustpan and brush popped out from under the chair and sprang into action; the dustpan quickly sweeping the wipe away into one of a row of little bins that opened to receive it, the brush carefully removing any traces from the floor. Neither of the other customers paid the least attention to this bizarre activity, so Tonks assumed they must be used to it.

"Isn't this place wonderful?" said Portia, bringing Tonks' attention back with a snap. "How did you find it? Did someone tell you about it?"

"Oh ... I heard about it somewhere, yes," said Tonks cautiously. She hadn't, but to judge from the financial status of its current clientele it must have a solid reputation. "I, er, got the impression she was very good?"

"Oh she is, I wouldn't go anywhere else, you know," gushed Portia. "She's amazing. I mean, she does all her own preparations, won't use those tacky commercial products. Will you, Marcella?

Miss Mascarra turned and smiled at her rather tiredly, but with a hint of pride. "Indeed not, my dear. Highly overpriced, a lot of them. You know, I did once dream about marketing my own range of hair-care potions? Things just never worked out that way. Maybe one day if I get a bit of money."

This drew a loud laugh from the occupant of the chair in front of her. "Oh, you'd definitely need more than a bit of money for that, Marcella," snorted Norah O'Gregan. "Unfortunately, a few people like us who know better aren't going to help you outsell Mr Sleekeasy, love. Not with his advertising budget. A couple of dozen sacks of Galleons go a long way in this world, if you've got them. Even that pretty-boy never got round to it, whatever nonsense he told Witch Weekly." She scowled at the thought. "Still, there could be a gap in the market; he won't be a competitor, will he? Good riddance to him, and all the pretty-boys like him."

"What's wrong with pretty-boys?" asked Portia with a puzzled look.

Norah O'Gregan shook her head as hard as she could manage without disturbing the preparations on her face. "Never trust them, dear," she said harshly. "I learnt that the hard way. Anyway, why would you care?" She turned her chair carefully in order to look at Tonks with a kind of resigned amusement. "What about you, dear? Who are you brightening yourself up for?"

"Oh, er, my husband," said Tonks. She hadn't actually invented a name and history for the supposed Mr Grimble, and steeled herself to borrow more of Beatrice Easton's life story if necessary. Her eyes flicked to her left hand with a brief jolt of panic; to her relief, she had remembered to conjure a wedding ring.

Mrs O'Gregan apparently took that as concern. "Pretty boy?" she said shrewdly. "Or was once?"

"I think so," said Tonks primly.

She snorted again. "More fool you, dear." She spun the chair back round to face the mirror, which was murmuring ingratiating comments and showing an ever-so-slightly idealised version of the woman in front of it.

Tonks turned back to Portia; now she was actually face-to-face with the girl, she was uncertain how best to bring the conversation round to topics of interest without attracting suspicion. She watched idly as the beautician worked on Mrs O'Gregan's hair, curling it around her wand, making deft little trims with gentle Severing Charms (the dustpan and brush springing promptly into action each time), and gradually teasing it into an elaborate style that Tonks suddenly recognised as the one that Portia had worn at the Transfigured Toad.

"That's an interesting style," she said cautiously. "Is it very popular?"

Miss Mascarra shook her head absently. "Oh no. Normally I only do it for Miss Blackstock, but Mrs O'Gregan here saw it last time she was in and asked for it ..."

"Of course I did," said her customer. "It certainly impressed me, I don't see why it wouldn't impress other people. You were being done up for some party, weren't you?" she said, trying to catch Portia's eye in the mirror. "Did you get anybody's attention with it in the end?"

"Oh yes I ... oh, er, I mean no, you know, now I think about it, that night I couldn't go, as it happened. I felt a bit ill really so I had to stay in ... It was a pity to waste all that preparation, but ..."

"That's a shame," put in Mascarra vaguely. "The Bletchleys throw very good parties, so I've heard."

Norah O'Gregan spun half-round in her seat to stare at Portia. "The Bletchleys? You mean you were going to go to the Bletchleys' party?" Mascarra made a sort of tsk sound and turned the chair back firmly so that it faced the mirror again.

Portia looked at her with surprise. "Yes, Mummy and Daddy know them."

"But you didn't go? I don't remember ever seeing you there."

"Er ... no, no I didn't, like I told you," she said uncertainly. "It was just that one time, really, you know. Why do you ask ...?"

Mrs O'Gregan relaxed back into her seat, but still looked at Portia suspiciously via the mirror. "They're who I want this for. I'm accompanying Francis Bletchley to their chamber music soiree tomorrow night. Big event, even the Chief Warlock said he might like to come along if he has the time. I really wouldn't want them all to have seen this before. It is exclusive to you, Marcella?"

"Oh yes, don't worry."

Not when I'm taking mental notes, it isn't, thought Tonks wryly. Now she had the opportunity to see the style actually being constructed in front of her, she reckoned she might be able to use it for the Ministry Hallowe'en Ball.

"Good," said Norah, oblivious to this. "I wanted you to do my hair for that one too, but I couldn't get hold of you. There was a note on the door, said you were off gallivanting somewhere?"

"I wasn't gallivanting," said Miss Mascarra with dignity. "I had a private client that evening, Mrs O'Gregan. She wanted the full preparation for that party without anyone seeing it in advance. You must realise, this is only a small business. I can't afford to turn down bookings when I get them just in case someone comes to the shop."

Norah O'Gregan snorted. "You should charge more dear, get yourself bigger premises. But no, I suppose you probably weren't gallivanting, were you? Don't tell me you've split up with your young man again, whoever the latest one is?"

"No, we're ... taking a little break from seeing each other at the moment," she said uncomfortably.

Norah looked disbelieving. "Oh, I see. You do seem to pick losers, don't you? Learn from me, dear. With your talents you should know how to get someone with money, and keep them." Marcella Mascarra said nothing, but Tonks was sure she noticed a very brief look of real dislike pass over her face when her customer looked away.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Marcella," said Portia, in a rather more sympathetic voice, and the beautician smiled kindly at her.

The older woman snorted again. "Better off without him, I'd say. Still, if you looked like her you'd be able to get them where you wanted them, eh? Good job for all of us she doesn't make use of it." Both women stiffened slightly at this, and Tonks couldn't help catching the eye of Mrs O'Gregan in the mirror, who noticed and gave her an ironic look. "Aren't I right … Mavis, was it?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose you are," said Tonks, slightly flustered. You don't know what I know about Portia making use of it, Norah. I have to get the conversation onto that somehow ...

"I'm sure there are more interesting things to discuss than my private life. Mrs O'Gregan," said Miss Mascarra firmly. She maintained an even tone, but Tonks was sure she saw her lips purse and her hand twitch slightly as she worked, as if resisting a strong urge to use a Shearing Hex on the woman in the chair. It gave Tonks her cue though.

"Yes, did you read in the paper about that woman who tried to poison her uncle?" she said in a shocked voice. The Prophet's editors had been grateful for the arrest as scandalous relief from the political stories of a slow news day, so there was a sporting chance that the people in the shop had seen it. She began improvising rapidly. "Really horrible poison, too, by all accounts. I actually know the poor man – he sells magical creatures and I work in the regulation department."

Portia lost her smile immediately. "I ... read about it, yes. It sounded rather horrible."

"Is that the one who worked at that charity your parents get you helping with?" asked Norah with a sharpening of interest. "Did you know her?"

"A bit," she admitted unhappily. "I'm sure there must have been a mistake. We ... used to work together, she wasn't that sort, you know?"

"You mean you actually work at that place, dear? I thought you just hung around and looked decorative."

Portia's lip trembled slightly. "I do do my share, Mrs O'Gregan. There isn't always a lot that needs doing ..."

"Ooh, it must have been very frightening for you to work with someone who might be a murderess," interrupted Tonks, trying to convey both conventional horror and suitably ghoulish excitement. "What a coincidence that we should meet! What was she like?" Norah O'Gregan had half-turned her head to hear the reply, and even Miss Mascarra had clearly been trying to listen to the gossip. Tonks decided she wouldn't mind at all if this caused her to ruin Norah's hair, and she was sure Donnacha and Rhiannon would be ecstatic.

"She ... well, like I said, you know, I mean …" said Portia, stumbling over her words. "I don't know her well, but she seemed nice enough," she finished lamely.

"Sent poisoned choccies from the post office tent at the World Cup, didn't she?" mused Norah O'Gregan. "I suppose either of us might have actually seen her send them, if we'd known. You must have been there, dear, I take it?"

"Oh yes," said Tonks, quickly covering herself by adding, "Oh sorry, did you mean, um, Portia?"

"I don't think I went to the post office tent, you know," said Portia, in a rather huffy voice. "We were only there for the match ..."

"Francis wanted to 'sample the atmosphere', so I spent a day or two there with him," said Norah smugly. "Can't say that I mind the attention."

"Is he the tall thin one with the little moustache?" said Portia curiously. At a nod from the other woman, she said, in shocked tones, "Isn't he a bit ... well, old for you, you know?"

She shrugged. "Well, he's only fifty-three. It's not like we're Muggles, is it?"

"Oh. Is he nice?"

She laughed. "He's rich. And he's from my class. And he's easy to manipulate when he's trying to impress me. And yes, he's decent enough. That'll do me."

"But ... don't you already have a husband?" asked Portia, sounding confused. "Don't you have to do something about him first?" Tonks bit back her annoyance at Norah for diverting the conversation away from Portia, as with any luck she might say something useful.

This time Norah O'Gregan snorted so loudly that the other three women actually jumped. "Him? Oh, I'm not worried about him. Got him right where I want him. No, let him stew in his own cauldron and see how long that little doe-eyed colleague he likes so much manages to put up with him. I'm in no hurry, no hurry at all. I don't intend to make things easy for him before I'm good and ready and have Francis right where I want him too. Oh, are we done now?"

Miss Mascarra nodded; Norah turned her head from side to side assessingly. "Nice. Good job, Marcella. How long will it last?"

"A couple of days, Mrs O'Gregan. It's enchanted, of course, so if you catch it on something or go out in a high wind it'll keep its shape. Would you like me to put an Impervius charm on it as well, in case it rains?"

"Yes, you'd better. Don't want to take any chances." As the beautician waved her wand to perform the charm, Portia caught Tonks' eye and exchanged a tremulous smile with her. Norah O'Gregan paid for her beauty treatment and added what looked like a fairly generous tip, although Tonks couldn't help thinking it would have seemed more impressive without her supercilious air. As she left, Tonks noticed Miss Mascarra give her a look that couldn't quite seem to decide between admiration and distaste, then give herself a tiny shake and turn back to Portia with a bright smile.

"What was it today, Miss Blackstock? A special occasion?"

"Oh no, Marcella, just make me look nice, you know, cheer me up a bit?" she said, taking a seat in front of the mirror, which immediately went into quiet raptures over her appearance. "And that special cream you use, you know, makes your skin smooth?"

"Of course, my dear, though I'm not sure you need anything special to look nice." The mirror concurred enthusiastically.

Tonks watched with interest as Mascarra started to apply the preparation she'd been using when she came in. "Don't you worry about people stealing your recipes and styling charms?" she asked curiously.

Miss Mascarra smiled. "No, no, Mrs ... Gribble? I write all the ingredients down in code, and I don't tell anyone what combinations of charms I use for styling. Money can be tight in this business sometimes, so you can't be too careful, can you?"

"Ah, I see. Oh yes, yes, that's a good idea." Tonks blushed guiltily; she was, after all, planning to copy one of her creations. But I'm not planning on making money out of it, she informed her conscience sternly. She shook herself and returned to business; keep them talking, about anything at all, they might let something interesting slip, as the training manuals said. "So, Miss ... oh, sorry, Portia ... did you enjoy the World Cup then?"

"Ooh yes! Daddy got us some really nice tickets, you know? It was a pity Bulgaria lost, though. I think Ivanova's wonderful, she's my heroine, but she could only get through the once, you know?"

Yes, oddly enough I do know. "Were you not there long, then?" she probed. "I thought everybody had tents in case the match went on for a few days ..." She let herself trail off.

"Oh, we had this really nice tent, quite small, only four bedrooms, you know? We never got to sleep in it properly because of those madmen ..." She shuddered, and Tonks couldn't help but sympathise. "It was really scary, wasn't it? You went with your boyfriend, Marcella, didn't you?"

Miss Mascarra also shuddered slightly. "Not me, dear. He wanted me to, but I didn't fancy the idea of camping out in all that mud."

Tonks fought to control an urge to snicker. "What did your parents do when it started, Portia?" she tried. "Did you all Apparate? I couldn't, I was terrified."

Portia shook her head vigorously, which earned her a weary frown from the woman trying to apply potion to her face. "No – they can, of course, but I've never learned either. Oh, I really really wished I could. It was lucky we were so near the trees. Daddy insisted Mummy get herself away from there, then he got his wand out and led me into the forest. I was really scared."

Tonks bit her lip firmly. "I'm not surprised," she said solicitously. "I thought some of the Magical Creatures we deal with in the Department were scary, but that ... I mean, I'm not sure I'd know how to cope if I found myself among a lot of ruffians, even if it was just ... oh, a party in a rough pub on a Saturday night or something. Would you?"

Tonks watched Portia carefully while she said this and saw her eyes widen in shock at the suggestion. "Oh, no! I mean, I'd never be somewhere like that if I could help it! I never even dared to go in the Hog's Head when I was at school, you know ..."

"I think it's done, Miss Blackstock," interrupted the beautician. She flicked her wand a couple of times to set the hair. As Portia preened in front of the mirror and giggled at its compliments, she added, "Would you like to sit down, Mrs Grindel, er no ..."

"Grimble. Oh yes, thank you." She briefly reviewed her options as Portia paid her bill; she didn't seem to have much choice but to go through with it now. O'Gregan would have to pick up Portia's trail again. Tonks glanced outside, and smiled as she noticed a passer-by turn sharply and look around in confusion, in the manner of a man bumped into by someone invisible.

"How would you like me to do your hair, dear?" asked Miss Mascarra, in a tone that teetered on the brink of disapproval, as she inspected the 'Mavis style'. Even the mirror seemed to be struggling to find something flattering to say about it. "It is a bit long and ... well, I don't think you really make the best use of it, to be honest."

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon ... "Can you do me the same one that O'Gregan woman had?"

"Well … yes, I suppose so," she said, surprised. "Do you want a full facial?"

"Er, no, just the hair." No point in going over the top with the budget, I just want to make sure I've got it right. Tonks grinned to herself. Sometimes it really was very cool to be a Metamorphmagus.

"Very well, Mrs Grimble," she said with slight disappointment. "Just settle yourself comfortably."

"OK," said Tonks, adjusting her position. "Oh! Sorry!" Her elbow caught a bottle on the table next to her, and it dropped to the floor and shattered. The dustpan and brush had swept away the fragments before Tonks even had time to properly apologise.

"Never mind, dear," said Miss Mascarra, through what Tonks felt sure must be gritted teeth. "It's only a cleansing solution. Scourgify."

-----

Saturday 19th September 1994

By the time Tonks met Chesney in the pub the following evening she'd returned her hair to its natural style, albeit in her favourite bright pink. He was already seated in the corner when she arrived, scowling at a story in the Daily Prophet.

"Anything interesting?" she said brightly after greeting him. "Haven't had a chance to even skim the headlines today."

"Load of dragon dung if you ask me," he said, shrugging. "The International Confederation have finally agreed a communiqué from the Stockholm conference, and half of it's about the World Cup riots. They're all livid at us. I mean, come on, what were we supposed to do about it? Well, you know, you were there."

"Yeah. I'm almost starting to wish I hadn't been now. Of course, we wouldn't have met then, so it wasn't all bad," she added hastily, realising how that might have sounded. "What do the Prophet have to say?"

He scowled. "Usual meaningless waffle in the editorial, but that staff writer's having a go again in an opinion piece. Hang on –" he turned the page and began to read in a high-pitched, sanctimonious voice "– 'it is hardly surprising that Britain has been made to look foolish in front of the entire wizarding world. We have a Ministry led by buffoons so incompetent they cannot even keep track of their own staff, and of course the obsolete dingbat supposedly representing us as Confederation Chairman is unwilling to lift a finger to bring his influence to bear and blunt its criticism of our country'. Yeah, right. I didn't see her sticking her neck out to help that night."

"Cow," said Tonks absently. Entertaining though it was to complain about obnoxious reporters and unreasonable foreigners, what she really wanted to ask him about was Charlotte Perks. She simply wasn't sure exactly how to bring her into a conversation with a boyfriend.

"Er, Tonks ... can I ask you a favour?" he said nervously, interrupting her musings.

"Sure, Ches," she said. "What is it?"

"Well you know Charlie – that old friend of mine we met at the World Cup?"

Tonks blinked. Perfect timing again Ches, I could kiss you for that. In fact, come to think of it, I fully intend to before this evening's out. "Er, yes, what about her?" she said carefully.

"Nothing, I hope," said Chesney hastily, "it's just ... I heard she was in some sort of trouble, and I wondered if you knew anything about it through the job. Say if I'm out of order here ..."

She hesitated. "Well ... yes, I know about it. I suppose you saw it in the paper?"

"It's been in the paper?" He grinned rather shamefacedly. "Normally, I just glance at the headlines then skip to the back page for the Quidditch news ... I must have missed it."

Tonks nodded. "Yeah, you probably did. It wasn't that far in, but the first couple of pages were all that Umbridge bint's latest merpeople-tagging campaign."

"What for?" he said, momentarily distracted. "I've never even seen one." He grinned suddenly. "That reminds me, did you hear that one about the troll ..."

"...the hag and the leprechaun who all go into a bar? Yeah, about a dozen times. It's been doing the rounds all summer. Anyway, about your friend Charlotte ..." Tonks hesitated, but realised she was going to have to grasp the Devil's Snare and tell him. "Well, actually, she's been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder."

"What?" he yelped.

Tonks outlined the circumstances as briefly as she could, making sure to emphasise that they had found incriminating evidence. When she finished, Chesney stared at her speechlessly. "So what do you reckon?" she said eventually.

"Charlie?" he spluttered. "A murderess? You can't be serious, Tonks. What incriminating evidence?"

Tonks quickly assessed how much was public knowledge; fortunately, the Daily Prophet wasn't a paper that skimped on sensational details unless leaned on. "Ingredients and method for the poison that was used, tucked away in a hidden compartment under her kitchen floor. Which is a bit suspicious in itself, really."

"No it's not," he argued. "I've got one too, to keep stuff out of sight if a Muggle happens to call. You can't tell me you haven't got anything hidden away that you're not supposed to have?"

Tonks remembered the papers Kingsley had given her and scowled. "Not instructions for how to make a rare poison that happens to have been used on my uncle, I haven't," she said tartly. She took a calming breath. "You don't think this sounds like her then?"

"No! For a start, if I know Charlie, she wouldn't actually be able to kill anyone, however much she shoots her mouth off about –" he shuddered slightly "– Death Eaters and the like." He drew a calming breath of his own. "All right, Tonks, I'll admit, I don't see her all that often these days. She might have completely changed, though I don't believe that. But even supposing she had, no way would she be stupid enough to leave damning evidence just lying around her kitchen!"

"People do," pointed out Tonks. "That was one of the things they drummed into us. 'Never assume they'll be too smart to make mistakes – check anyway.' People get overconfident, they forget, they panic, sometimes they just don't think of something completely obvious."

"Not that obvious. Not someone as smart as Charlie. It's practically a signed confession! Someone must have stitched her up ..." He bit off the comment.

"It wasn't that obvious," said Tonks, uneasy at the implication that the Aurors might have done it. "It was a very cleverly charmed hiding place, and Do – the Aurors who arrested her had to find it for themselves. She refused to tell them about it. Well, she didn't have much option, did she?"

"Yes, but ..." He hesitated. "Look, ever since I've known her, Charlie's been absolutely determined not to take crap from anybody official. I think she got messed around by Ministry bureaucrats so much after her parents were killed that you ... er, they rub her the wrong way. She always used to stick her neck out at school, even with the nastier teachers. If your lot came round laying down the law without a good reason, she wouldn't tell them one damn thing. I'll bet she's refusing to say anything at all, isn't she?"

"Yes," replied Tonks unwillingly.

"I'm not surprised. She always was the sort to hex off her nose to spite her face in this kind of thing. Rather than talk to your boys, she'd sit in a cell and brood …" A horrified look suddenly appeared on his face. "Oh bloody hell, you haven't sent her out to ... to ..."

"Azkaban? Had to, but not the really heavily-patrolled part," said Tonks quickly, although he didn't seem particularly reassured. "Only till the bureaucracy stop faffing about and w ... er, the Auror Office gets the Veritaserum warrant."

"Veritaserum?" he almost yelled. "Oh Tonks. She won't like that."

She shrugged. "I don't blame her, nobody does, but ... that's just tough, isn't it? At least holding her there gives her the chance to think about it." And time for any countermeasures to wear off, she realised suddenly. After all, she's apparently been making a number of strange brews, why not Deception Draught? Cassius' relative unconcern about waiting for the warrant suddenly made a lot more sense. She tried to make her voice sympathetic despite her embarrassment while she asked the key question. "Are you sure you really know her, Ches? I mean, do you know who her other friends are, or what she does, or who she's seeing romantically, if anybody?"

"Well, I suppose I don't know who she's with nowadays ..." he said hesitantly, looking uncomfortable and rather crestfallen. "I haven't heard she had anyone special, anyway – not that if she had she'd tell me or that cousin Mickey, we'd both probably tease her. Although, well, let's say … um, I'm not even quite sure any more what her type would be. Wasn't me, anyway."

"Oh good," said Tonks with a wink, deciding to let the subject drop before it resulted in a full-blown row. "I wouldn't want the competition ..."

The remainder of the evening followed her intentions fairly closely and pleasantly.

-----

Tuesday 22nd September 1994

It wasn't until the following Tuesday that the team were all in the office at the same time and Tonks had the opportunity to discuss her hairstyling experiences. O'Gregan and Cornworthy listened with interest, having taken a break from dogging Portia's footsteps (she was apparently sitting at home like a good little girl).

"So she's not chuffed at the moment, knows Charlotte but seemed uncomfortable with saying so, denied being in the post office tent, claims she didn't go to the party the night Farley's drink got spiked but can't prove it, and seemed quite alarmed when you hinted she might have been there," summed up the Irishman. "Don't like the sound of that, but not much new. Oh, and she likes Ivanova and wanted to see her score more goals, now, rather than someone sensible like Troy or Moran. Bah." The others carefully kept straight faces at this rather biased view.

"What did Nasty Norah have to say?" asked Rhiannon, attempting to sound unconcerned, and not quite succeeding. O'Gregan glanced up with a shifty look. "Anything interesting?"

"A bit," said Tonks, nodding at them both, "I'll tell you later."

"You say that with an evil nod," said O'Gregan suspiciously.

Tonks grinned. "Well, you know how we girls gossip at the hairdressers, eh? Lots of juicy details." She was fairly sure from the look on Rhiannon's face that she'd caught the idea and wasn't taking this seriously, but O'Gregan looked delightfully aghast. She relented slightly. "Although she did mention that she has a bloke taking an interest in her. Didn't sound like she was in any rush to let you off the hook with the hexes though."

"You told her?" O'Gregan asked his girlfriend with a mortified look.

"Oh come off it, Don, everyone else round here knows, why not Tonks?" Cornworthy pointed out in reasonable tones. "Who's the lucky lad then – if that's the right word?"

"Yes, do tell me, Nymphadora," muttered O'Gregan sourly. "It might be someone I thought of as a friend. And if so, I could never let myself rest until I tracked the fellow down, now. It would only be fair to warn the poor spalpeen what he was letting himself in for."

Tonks grinned. "Bloke by the name of Francis Bletchley, if I remember rightly. Rich, posh, gentlemanly – you know, everything you're not, Don. Name sounded vaguely familiar, actually."

"It does, doesn't it?" mused Cassius as O'Gregan scowled. "Quite a well-known family, the Bletchleys. I must have met him somewhere."

"Buys his way out of trouble like Portia's old man, no doubt," said O'Gregan darkly, as Rhiannon rolled her eyes.

"Still, you never know, Don, it might be a good sign. And at least we got a little information out of her," said Cornworthy. He turned to Tonks. "That reminds me, did you have any luck with your young man?"

"What?" It took Tonks a moment to realise what he was asking. "Oh, did he say anything about Charlotte, you mean?" She ignored her colleagues' smirks. "Not much. He seemed pretty convinced she hadn't done it."

"That's all right," said Cassius. "I'm reliably informed that the warrant has been agreed and will be with us in a couple of days. Friends in high places myself," he added at the others' looks of surprise, tapping the side of his nose. "In fact, we might have had it earlier if the system wasn't clogged up with Death Eater investigations again." He frowned. "And you'll notice that I predicted this correctly, because despite all the effort Rufus doesn't seem to have got anywhere these past few weeks. Not even a hint of an arrest."

"Got some avuncular suggestions for him?" asked Rhiannon slyly.

Cassius sighed. "No. To be honest, I don't have any good ideas either, and even if I had, I doubt he'd be inclined to listen. He can be a little … prickly, sometimes."

Tonks shrugged. Given the issues she had with her family, she was hardly in a position to demur. "How did it go with the Caribbean Registry?" she asked, to change the topic.

"The source of supply, you mean? They passed the query on to the Haitian Department de Magie, who try to keep an eye on things but usually without much luck. They reported a rumour that someone had an English buyer – doing a favour for an old family friend – although they thought someone else actually collected the stuff. So checking international Floo records and Portkey bookings won't get us very far, especially if the courier had the sense to not go directly there. I did ask the Haitians to keep an eye out, but they haven't spotted a pattern yet."

"Oh." Tonks frowned in disappointment.

Cassius smiled. "That's assuming they even tried, it's probably a low priority for them. We may have to dig out the records ourselves."

The rest of the team grinned at each other. "Fine by me," said Rhiannon. "I volunteer to go out there and look any time you like."

Cassius smiled back. "No you don't. I pull rank first. But actually, all the files are accessible via the Hall of Records on request. A few hours with one of the search portraits should be enough."

Tonks pretended to sulk. "Damn, you spoil all the fun."

-----

Wednesday 23rd September 1994

Preparations for the interview with Charlotte Perks took most of Tonks' attention the following afternoon, so when her mirror phone began to ring it took a second or two to register. It seemed different from the normal sound, and she answered in puzzlement. "Hi. Tonks here."

To her surprise, the mirror didn't open out, and a clucking sound came from the other end. "I do wish you'd use your first name, Nymphadora. It's such a lovely …"

"Mum? Why on earth are you calling me at work using the Muggle phone connection ... oh!" The likely reason hit her, and she found herself suddenly short of breath.

"Yes, exactly. Now listen to me please, Nymphadora. Your goblin in the portrait has just turned up. He thinks somebody is acting suspiciously at the bank. What do you want to do?"

"Hang on, Mum!" Tonks put her hand over the phone to cut off her mother's questioning. "Listen, everybody! We've got a bite! There's a Gringotts customer there right now who sounds like he might be under the influence of Jacmel!"

Cassius and O'Gregan looked around the edges of their cubicles, then at each other, with stunned expressions. "How the hell does your mother know about it?" demanded O'Gregan. "I thought you said a little pixie had a word in your ear down Knockturn Alley?"

She flapped her hands impatiently. "Never mind, I'll explain later! Hadn't somebody better get down to Gringotts before he gets away?"

"They did promise to check very carefully and insist on signed disclaimers if anyone tried to take all their money out again," said Cassius, jumping to his feet. "Knowing the amount of paperwork the goblins can throw at you, that should give us at least half an hour! Tonks, get a name and description. Donnacha, get down to Gringotts now as quick as you can and we'll send it through to you. Have you still got that Cloak with you?"

"No, Arnie's got it at the moment, he's up in Birmingham …"

Cassius clucked his tongue. "I'll call him back in. Meet him outside the bank, make good use of it. Go!"

O'Gregan sprinted out of the office. Cassius turned to Tonks, who was in the middle of a rapid conversation with a somewhat ruffled Andromeda. "Who is it? Do we know?"

Tonks turned to him, relaying what her mother was saying. It was rather confusing, as she seemed to be doing exactly the same thing with whatever the portrait was telling her. "Hang on. He thinks the man's called … what was that again? Bradley Burton … no, Barton ... About sixty maybe, greying brown hair … overweight … wearing ordinary dark blue robes. Never heard of him ..."

"Neither have I, but I'll stay here and look him up. Wait a minute, he thinks? … Wasn't that … Can your ... mother, is it?" Cassius stopped spluttering and stared at Tonks for a moment or two as if he dearly wanted to know what was going on, then seemed to think better of it. "Can she put him on?" He shook his head when he saw Tonks' look of doubt at whether a portrait could communicate that way. "On second thoughts, I'll pass on that description to Donnacha and Arnold. You just go over there and get more details. I'll meet you at Gringotts."

-----

Her mother looked at her reprovingly as she Apparated into her parents' house a few minutes later. "Nympha –"

Tonks headed her off before she could get into her stride. "Not now, Mum! We'll talk later, OK? Where's this Gringott?"

"Here," said an amused voice from the wall. Tonks looked up to see a portrait of an elderly goblin, dressed in elegant robes of an old-fashioned but surprisingly human style. "May I assume you are Edward's little girl?"

Little girl? Tonks bristled, but now wasn't the time to argue the point. "Yes. Thanks for helping, er – Mr Gringott," she said. "What did you see?"

The goblin smirked at her. "A customer, with the description I gave your good lady mother here, arrived at the counter a few minutes ago and made a request to remove all the money from his vault. That would always be unusual, and as the man in question is a longstanding and valued customer, there seems no reason he should wish to do that. Also, he appeared … distracted, shall we say, very like the previous customer who did this. Does that not sound as if he might be in some trouble?"

"Yes, it does," said Tonks, excited. "Will they be able to tell if anything's wrong with him? How long will it take him to get his money out? How much time have we got?"

He chuckled. "My dear young lady, the man will be subject to as many checks as my ... ah, colleagues can devise. Unfortunately, the bank has limited facilities for specialised testing …"

"Damn!"

Gringott looked mildly disconcerted, but shrugged it off. "Indeed – I always felt it would be worthwhile to invest in a Probity Probe for situations like this. But of course, the Galleons will have to be physically removed from the vault ... and the processes of transferring and counting can be made to take a hour or two. Will that be sufficient for your purposes?"

"More than enough," said Tonks with relief. "Could you keep watch for us and tip us the wink when you see him arrive back at ground level?"

He blinked. "'Tip you the' … oh, I see what you mean. That may not be wise. If you wait inside the building for an hour or two, will it not look suspicious?" She could see him taking in her hair, today a bright lime green that would make the Minister's hat seem understated. "You do understand, I hope, this cannot be an official visit on your part? We certainly wish to prevent a robbery, and naturally would be glad of any assistance you can offer, but it would set a very bad precedent for it to become known that the bank had allowed Ministry interference on the premises ..."

Tonks forced a grin. "No problem. There'll be an Auror inside under an Invisibility Cloak, all you need to do is let him know when your customer gets back. We'll keep all that out of the written reports, promise. No-one but us and the boss will ever need to know he was there."

Gringott raised his eyebrows. "I see. My dear young lady, just how precisely will I know he is there, if the man is invisible? And for that matter, even if he made his presence known, would it not be singularly obvious that something was afoot if I made a signal to him?"

"Erm … " said Tonks, momentarily stumped. "Actually … he can see you, so what if you just leave the portrait you're watching from when the man arrives? We've already got a rough description – thanks for that, by the way – so that would be good enough confirmation, and it wouldn't look suspicious, would it?"

Gringott considered the idea for a moment. "Well, no. No, I suppose that would be efficacious." He looked impressed despite himself. "Yes, I can go along with that. It seems an acceptable strategy."

"Excellent! We may have to send someone in to keep him informed, but I'll do that – I'll keep changing the colour of my robes and my appearance. If you see anyone striking you don't recognise flitting in and out, it'll probably be me." She quickly headed off his question. "I can do that quite easily. Honest. Just give me a few minutes to get there and confer with the team."

Gringott exchanged amused glances with Andromeda and shrugged. "Very well. My pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Mrs Tonks, and thank you for allowing me into your home." He gave a little bow to Tonks and her mother, and walked out of the frame.

"Nymphadora …" Her mother seemed rather put-out by the rapid turn of events.

Tonks gave her a hug before she could get into her stride. "Thanks, Mum. You're a star. I'll explain everything later, all right? Well, everything I'm allowed to, anyway. But I've got to go, OK?"

Andromeda Tonks smiled weakly as she contemplated her daughter. "Of course, darling. It's just …"

"What?"

"I've never seen you quite like this. So … decisive. So serious about something. This truly is what you wanted, isn't it? It hadn't hit me this strongly before."

Tonks felt an annoying prickling behind her eyelids. "Yeah, Mum. It is. Thanks for everything." She gave her a peck on the cheek, turned away quickly, then Apparated to Diagon Alley.

-----

Cassius was waiting for her, standing reading the Daily Prophet near the front entrance of the bank. He immediately seized her arm and steered her aside out of earshot of the uniformed goblin standing on the front steps.

"What's happening, Cassius?" hissed Tonks.

"Our target's gone down to the vaults, so he'll be a while yet," murmured Cassius, glancing anxiously at the bank. It seemed to be tacitly agreed that their conversation should be sotto voce. "Arnold's inside under that Cloak, Donnacha's waiting just round the corner. Now then, Tonks …"

"Er, yes?"

"Would you care to explain to me why your highly respectable mother called you with this tip-off, rather than the dubious denizen of Knockturn Alley we'd been led to believe your contact was?" His expression wasn't quite accusing, but it was undeniably stern.

Tonks sighed. "Fair enough. But can we keep this confidential, please?"

"I'm not sure," he said, slight disapproval evident. "Is there something I should know?"

"I did agree it with Scrimgeour," she said, colouring slightly. "No-one else was supposed to know what the link was. Especially the goblins."

"I see." He contemplated her for a few moments. "All right, Tonks, I think I can guess what's going on. I seem to remember your father works for the bank?"

"Um …"

"He was to contact your mother when he saw something happening, I take it? That was rather risky for him, wasn't it?" He had an expression that she found hard to interpret; it might have been censure, it might not. Regardless, the Kneazle seemed to be well and truly out of the bag now.

"There was a … cut-out, I suppose you'd call it," she said resignedly, and proceeded to explain about Gringott's portrait, with a quick summary of what it had told her. Cassius kept the stern look throughout, but she did hope he was impressed.

"I see," he said again, after she'd finished. "Most ingenious. Gringott's portrait, eh? Well, that explains a lot. I heard he didn't always see eye to eye with today's goblins. I think we need to discuss this again, Tonks, but first things first. So you'll be wandering in and out of the bank with different faces to contact Arnold if needed, yes? You'll start with your own face so he recognises you, I take it?"

"Ah – fair point. Unless you've got another plan?" she said, with a note of contrition. I didn't really like keeping this from you …

Cassius gave the matter consideration for a moment, but evidently he couldn't think of one either. "No, that will have to do for now. Off you go."

Tonks brightened the colour of her hair still further, as far as that was possible, let it grow halfway down the back of her robes so she stood out even more, and strode confidently into the bank. She talked more loudly than strictly necessary when asking the goblin teller for their current interest rate on long-term loans (and blanched when she heard it, hoping devoutly that she never needed one); and sure enough, as she walked away she once again felt someone invisible take her gently by the elbow and lead her aside, into a little alcove.

"Thought I recognised the barnet," said an amused, but very quiet, voice.

"Oh, I thought it was rather understated today," said Tonks, equally quietly and as deadpan as possible. She pretended to read through the sheets of parchment that outlined the new conditions the goblins insisted upon for advancement of credit, while rapidly explaining what was going on in an undertone. Her eyes flicked upwards briefly to the portrait of Gringott on the wall; he looked away hastily, as if he couldn't quite believe her appearance and was wondering if this was a good idea after all. She couldn't help a brief grin but quickly let it drop, as a grin was not an expression anyone reading the goblins' list of penalties for defaulting on a loan was likely to wear.

"Got it," murmured Cornworthy when she'd finished. "When I see this man Barton come back up, I'll make sure we can track him. Cassius has the details, we discussed them while you were at your mum's. And I'm still waiting to hear the story of that, but it'll keep." Tonks winced – this was a perfectly reasonable expression for a reader of the loan clauses – nodded briefly, and returned to where Cassius and O'Gregan were waiting.

"Arnie's got things covered, he says," she reported, with a nervous glance back towards the bank. "What's he going to do?"

"Put an Anti-Disapparation Jinx on Barton, and Tracking Spells on both man and money," replied Cassius. "Actually, he doesn't have an Apparition licence, but it can't hurt to be on the safe side. You never know what he might have been told to try, and without a licence it won't seem suspicious if he doesn't do it. We want to ensure he doesn't get out of our sight."

"Can't we just take him into protective custody when he comes out?"

Both older Aurors snorted. "Don't be daft, Tonks," said O'Gregan. "We want to find out where he's going. If he is under the influence of that stuff, he won't remember a damn thing that would be useful to us, now."

"Oh yeah," said Tonks, deflated. "It's a bit of a risk, though, isn't it? What if he gets away from us? Leaves the Alley by Floo? Or Portkey?"

"He hasn't booked a Portkey," said Cassius reassuringly, "and I'd be very surprised if he knew how to make one illegally. As for the Floo, I alerted the monitoring office as soon as we knew what his name was – if he uses it, Mary Edgecombe will keep a watch for his trace. And remember, we don't know he's under an enchantment. For all we know, he might simply have been alarmed by the Death Eater activity and decided to take all his money and emigrate."

"You think so?"

"No, but it's possible, isn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if a few people have made tentative plans, just in case."

"I see." Tonks glanced around; a nasty thought had just struck her. "What happens if he does what Scarf Boy did, goes through the Leaky Cauldron and out into Muggle London? It'll make it hard for us to use the Tracking Spell without being seen, won't it?"

Cassius raised his eyebrows. "Now that's a very good point. Well, obviously we follow him, but we'd need backup." He took out his mirror phone. "I'll arrange for a little assistance to be available if we require it. Other than that, all we can do now is wait."

-----

Waiting proved to be a lot harder than it sounded. All of them, and Tonks in particular, became increasingly edgy as nothing much happened inside the bank. To ease the tension she wandered in and out a few times in different disguises to confer. The goblins on duty gave her funny looks, but seemed to decide that she wasn't doing anything that suggested a desire to rob them or their customers, and they'd rather not know what she was doing.

Eventually, a very quiet murmur on the mirror phone from Cornworthy alerted them that something was happening. Tonks slipped into the bank again just in time to see a man fitting their target description making his way across the long marbled hall, with a few suspicious-looking goblins in tow helping him carry several large bags of gold. If he was planning to struggle along the Alley with them, he would be nice and easy to follow.

Unfortunately, the goblins had a solution to this problem, and she could just overhear them explaining that the terms of his account entitled him to the loan of a Shrinking Satchel to carry the money home. Tonks raised her eyebrows, impressed despite herself; she knew these were bewitched with a powerful Capacity Charm to allow many things to be stored inside, and in addition enchanted to be feather-light to carry. She'd never been offered one – but then again, her Gringotts balance had hardly been large enough to merit it.

Tonks' positioning allowed her to get a good look at the man's eyes as he passed by with the Satchel slung over his shoulder, and she felt a sudden thrill. They seemed slightly unfocused, just as the briefing notes had said, which in turn suggested that they were right. She concentrated very hard to cast a discreet nonverbal Tracking Spell on him. She was sure that Cornworthy would have already done so, but as Cassius said, one more couldn't hurt. The last thing she wanted was for another lead to get away from her.

They followed Barton as he walked down Diagon Alley at a brisk pace, apparently oblivious to the one invisible and three visible Aurors trailing along behind. They closed the gap when it became clear that he was heading for the Leaky Cauldron, which earned Tonks an approving nod from Cassius. If their target was under the influence of Liquor of Jacmel, he seemed to have clear instructions; he didn't linger in the pub, but walked straight through with an air of purpose and out into the bustle of Charing Cross Road, where he immediately hailed a passing Muggle black cab.

Cassius jerked his head down the street in the direction of another such vehicle waiting at the kerb. Tonks stared at it for a moment, confused, until she realised that the badge fixed to the windscreen bore the Ministry of Magic crest. She smiled. "So this is what you meant by 'a little assistance'?"

He smiled, waving his Auror identification at the driver and opening the door for her. "Yes. Hop in, quick."

Tonks wasn't in the least surprised to find that once they were inside, the front passenger seat was wide enough for all three of them and the driver to sit in comfort. The back door opened and closed, apparently all by itself, then Cornworthy reappeared and threw the Cloak into a corner.

"Shall I do the honours?" asked a grinning O'Gregan as the other taxi pulled away. "You know, I always wanted to say this, so I did. Follow that car!"

The Ministry driver grinned right back at him and drove straight out into the traffic, which jumped aside to make way for them. "How close shall I get, sir?" he inquired.

"Can they see this car?" asked Cassius, with a thoughtful look at the taxi ahead.

He shrugged, twisting the wheel slightly to avoid an oncoming bus. "Maybe not the Muggles, but I reckon a wizard might notice. This thing's charmed for collision avoidance, but it ain't actually invisible."

Cassius grimaced. "Hang back as far as possible, then. Tonks, Arnold, take it in turns to use those Tracking Spells. It's a good job you both did them – easier to catch sudden movements." They both nodded, and began muttering the incantation in relay. She winced; at this close proximity, the wand wasn't just warm, it was hot.

Following their instructions, the driver swung the vehicle down the streets at every turn, with complete unconcern for anything that might be in the way. After the fourth or fifth time this happened, Tonks stopped closing her eyes and bracing herself for impact, and just sat back to enjoy the ride, which turned out to be an extended one. Whoever had administered the potion to Barton had evidently chosen an out-of-the-way spot for delivery of the money. The taxi in front drove steadily right through the heart of the city, and then out towards Catford in the south-east. By this time, the traffic had thinned out a great deal, which left Cassius slightly concerned.

"Won't another taxi following them look rather conspicuous?" he asked the driver.

The Ministry man just chuckled, dropped back out of sight of their quarry for a moment, and tapped his wand on the dashboard. Tonks, glancing through the windscreen, saw the outer appearance of a black cab change into a very ordinary-looking blue Ford.

"Nice!" she said in appreciation.

"Thanks, love," he said, grinning again. "All part of the service."

The Aurors began to tense up again as the taxi in front passed through a series of quiet shopping and residential areas without stopping. They were on tenterhooks by the time it eventually pulled up, next to a large open expanse of playing fields. Barton leapt out, muttered something to the driver who nodded and sat back, then passed through the gates and made his way onto the fields. Tonks frowned as they all climbed out of the Ministry car; there wasn't really any cover out there on the football pitches, other than a few sets of goalposts even a house-elf would have had trouble hiding behind.

O'Gregan was apparently thinking along the same lines. "Lucky we brought that Cloak, then," he said. "Arnie, my lad, can you get close to him and see what he's doing? If anyone's watching, we don't want to all tramp out there and scare them off, do we now?"

"I'm on to it, Don," muttered Cornworthy, disappearing from sight again.

Tonks waited and watched with the others; Barton was walking slowly across the field, stopping seemingly every few yards for no reason that was apparent from this distance. "You haven't got any Omnioculars under the seat, I suppose?" O'Gregan muttered to the driver.

He shook his head in confusion. "No, but I thought you Aurors had some gadget that made things look bigger, like?"

"We do?"

Tonks suddenly clicked her fingers. "Yeah, we do! Magnifying Glasses in those knife things of K's, I remember seeing it in the instruction scroll!"

"You read that?"

"Hey, I was new, it all seemed pretty cool! Hang on …" She rummaged in her pockets, found the gadget, and slid a thin strip of transparent material out of it. "Shield me, will you?"

They moved to either side to hide her as she fixed the strip in front of her eyes, adjusting the focus to watch Bradley Barton. With its help, she could see that the frequent pauses were to read directions off a piece of paper in his hand.

"What's he doing?" said Cassius quietly.

"Following the touchlines – no hang on, he's stopped. Small open area between several pitches. He's got his back to me," she said, frustrated. "Bending down over something – he's got his wand out. He's dumping that satchel somewhere … Watch out, he's coming back …" As Barton made his way back towards them, she got a better view. "There's a small sort of metal thing in the ground where he was, any ideas?"

"Storm drain, maybe?" said O'Gregan. "Wouldn't be a bad hiding place that, you could charm it shut so you'd need magic to open it. Arnie might have got close enough to tell us what spells he was saying. What do we do now, Cassius old son?"

Cassius thought for a moment then nodded to himself, coming to a decision. "Donnacha, if he kept the taxi here he must be intending to return the same way – or at least have it take him to the nearest Floo connection. You take the Ministry car and follow him, use another Tracking Spell. Get Mary to help if he Floos anywhere. If he ends up back home – call the office to check the address, it's down south somewhere – arrest him. Using spells in the middle of a Muggle playing field with no cover will do as an excuse. Get the curse-breakers to see if they can find evidence of Jacmel. They should know exactly what to look for this time."

"Got you." As the man passed by them O'Gregan pointed his wand at him surreptitiously, then jumped back in beside the Ministry driver. Tonks and Cassius moved away and leant against the railings, pretending to chat, as both vehicles drew away.

Cassius took out his mirror phone. "Arnold Cornworthy," he said, very quietly. "Arnold, where are you?"

"Still out on the field, Cassius," came the equally quiet reply. "I thought you'd be able to handle Barton, and I wanted a look at that drain. I heard him enchant it shut, but he didn't do anything else to it. Want me to take a look inside?"

"No. Just keep an eye on it. Donnacha's following him in the car. Stay under the Cloak, start casting Anti-Disapparation Jinxes on the area. I'll see if I can rustle up a couple of Patrol people as backup."

He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to Tonks. "Right," he said briskly. "you, me, and Arnold will have to keep watch here until someone arrives to pick up that satchel. Arnold's got the Cloak, and we should be safe watching from a distance. Whoever did it probably chose these wide open spaces to make it easy to see if anyone was following, but it means we can see what they're doing just as easily."

"Good point," said Tonks. "Where do we hide?"

"My guess is that whoever gave him the potion – and after seeing Barton out there, I'm confident this isn't normal behaviour – will wait until it's fully dark." He waved a hand around vaguely at the autumnal early evening light which was just beginning to fail. "So I think we should take a suggestion from Rufus Scrimgeour, and use a Disillusionment Charm to hide ourselves. How are you with those?"

Tonks shuffled her feet. "Erm … never quite got the hang of them, to be honest. Half the time I either end up sort of translucent, or it's just random limbs that turn transparent. Or bits of clothing sometimes, which is really embarrassing."

"I see," said Cassius, grinning. "Allow me, then." He looked around cautiously, then tapped her hard on the top of the head with his wand, and she felt a trickling sensation along her back. She glanced down and saw … nothing much at all, just a vague hint of a shape moving about.

"Nice one, Cassius," she said, with an appreciative grin he couldn't actually see.

-----

Evening turned gradually into night as the Aurors waited, with varying degrees of patience, for whoever might turn up to collect the money. Tonks, hiding in the shadows of the changing rooms and scanning the area with her Magnifying Glasses, noticed a couple of vague blurs arrive at about ten o'clock, presumably the requested backup from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. They conferred with the other vague blur she knew to be Cassius, and moved to cover the gates.

The playing fields were otherwise largely deserted. A group of teenagers held an impromptu game of football on one pitch while there was still some light, and a few people took short-cuts across the ground, but none went near enough to the hidden satchel of Galleons to excite the Aurors' interest.

By the time midnight had come and gone, Tonks was feeling extremely stiff from a mixture of tension and boredom. So when a dark figure came in through the far gate and rapidly crossed the field, it took a few seconds to register as anything out of the ordinary. She caught her breath once she realised that it was heading directly towards the drain. Very carefully, she slipped away from the pavilion, concentrating hard on not tripping over and alerting their suspect. She slipped into place behind the figure as it passed

The dim shape paused by the drain and bent over, making arm movements consistent with the casting of Alohomora – although Tonks couldn't hear the words, and hoped fervently that Cornworthy had managed to get close under the Cloak in case they needed to give evidence on the point. The figure lifted the cover off and gently eased out the satchel; this time, Tonks could hear a distinct clink of gold and a grunt of satisfaction.

He, or she, threw the satchel over a shoulder and took a long, hard look around; then, apparently satisfied that there were no witnesses to worry about, they turned on the spot in an obvious attempt to Disapparate. Tonks, creeping closer still, could hear a low mutter of surprise and disgust when this failed. The figure shook itself and tried again, with an equal lack of success.

Tonks had her wand ready now. After this second failed attempt, their suspect paused for a moment, then, as if hoping against hope that this was merely a bad dream, spun quickly on the spot in a third attempt. When this too failed, they froze; then whipped out a wand in unmistakeable panic.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" The man – it was definitely a man's voice, and one that seemed both terrified and vaguely familiar – started randomly firing off curses into the darkness, but as he couldn't see what to aim at, none of them hit anything.

There was a cough from behind him, and Tonks glanced over to see Cornworthy emerge from underneath the Cloak. Their target turned to face him with a hex on his lips, but the Auror was quicker, and his Disarming Charm sent the wand flying out of the man's hand.

"You're under arrest, son," said Cornworthy crisply. "Put the bag down and your hands by your sides while I Incarcerate you. It'll be less uncomfortable for you that way."

The man took no notice of this sage advice. Instead, he turned and ran blindly away across the fields, perhaps hoping to lose himself in the darkness; but before he could get very far, a wand-tip flared with light ahead of him. He halted in alarm, allowing both Tonks and Cornworthy to take aim; he crumpled to the ground face downwards as their Stunners hit him.

The Aurors and Patrollers gathered round. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a result," said Cassius in a pleased voice. "Let's see who our thief is, then." He bent down and gently turned the man over.

Tonks looked at the youngish face blankly for a moment, trying to remember where she'd seen it before, and then it hit her. An encounter during her first weeks on duty that had turned out to be surprisingly useful in a number of ways.

"Well, well," she said, grinning. "Look who's gone into business on his own, then."