28: Found and Lost
The Ministry of Magic was in uproar.
Nymphadora Tonks winced at the blast of sound that struck her forcefully as she stepped out of the restricted floo connection into the familiar cubicles of the Auror division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Everywhere, her colleagues and friends were in frantic motion, snatching at papers, grabbing their wands and racing here and there in a distinctly headless-chickenish manner. Contradictory orders were hurled back and forth, bellows of possible leads, the grabbing up of interview transcripts, the rustling of files. She caught a glimpse of Robards hurling files over his shoulder, of Dawlish shouting commands at anyone who moved nearby, of Savage and Proudfoot grabbing their wands as they raced passed her and dived out of the door. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She loved the Auror department, even at its worst, but after so many previous years of false leads and lunatics in white face paint with pet boa constrictors, her workmates did have a tendency towards the excitable where genuine cases of dark magic was concerned.
And Bellatrix Lestrange was as dark as they came.
Her thoughts lingered for a moment upon her Death Eater aunt. That she was a nutter of the highest order was indisputable, that she was evil and delusional was unquestioned by anyone. But she was also vindictive and vicious and dangerous with it; that she had been captured at all was quite a coup.
And it was a relief, a personal relief, for Tonks. Her parents had been living in fear of Bellatrix ever since her escape the year before. Now perhaps, her family could get back to normal.
Whatever normal was.
A yawn assaulted her. Tonks stretched her jaw with a shake of her head, trying to fight of the fuzzy headed tiredness that was strangling her brain, a lethargic dopeyness that a night of barely a few hours sleep on a hard floor had hardly succeeded in denting. Mind you, if Remus hadn’t insisted on her getting even that small amount of rest, Merlin knew what kind of state she would be in…
Pain, sharp and bitter pierced the fog of her mind. She clamped down on it viciously.
Don’t think about Remus! You’ve got work to do, Tonks, and he’s a distraction. Sort yourself out!
Determinedly, she hardened her jaw, forcing herself to ignore the gaping black hole of wounded pain that swirled around her heart. There was no point in thinking about it, no point in dwelling on it. He had turned away from her kiss, refused to return her feelings and as far as she was concerned, that was the end of the matter. She was a professional “ she was not going to allow some stupid rejection to interfere with either her job or her work with the Order. It was his bloody problem, not hers, and she wasn’t going to get herself all worked up just because he was a repressed, frigid…
“Tonks?”
The hand on her shoulder startled her violently “ her head whipped to find the sympathetic eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt staring down at her. He smiled slightly.
“It is you,” he said, a hint of surprise evident in his eyes. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”
Tonks fixed him with a long, slow glare. “Kingsley, how long have we worked together?”
Kingsley’s smile widened. “Too long. And in all that time, I’ve seen you walk in every morning with some new shade or shape of outstandingly gaudy hair. I hardly recognised you with something so subdued.”
Subdued? All right, perhaps black wasn’t exactly her usual shade of pink or green or orange, but it was hardly subdued “ rather bewildered, Tonks reached up and plucked a nearby hair from her spikes for brief examination.
She stopped dead.
It was brown.
Mousy brown. Wispy brown. Her father’s brown. Her natural brown.
The brown she had hated and hidden for as long as she had been able to.
So what the bloody hell was it doing on her head now?
It had happened before, once or twice, an unplanned appearance by her natural hair. She remembered that she had been unable to change it for a week after Grandpa Tonks had died. When her kitten had escaped at the age of eight, she had been brown all day until Dad had found him and brought him back. And then again, when Callum McAllister had dumped her in sixth year for someone who was always tall and blonde…
Dumped.
Oh no…
Kingsley’s smile had faded at the look on her face. “Tonks? Is everything all right?”
A part of her longed to scream no but there was no way on Merlin’s misty earth that she was going to stand there and admit that she was hurting like hell over Remus Lupin turning her down when there was important work to be done. Furiously, she forced herself to smile.
“I’m fine, Kingsley,” she said, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “I’m just knackered. Up all night, remember?”
“Ah.” Kingsley glanced around furtively, his own voice barely a whisper. “Yes. Sorry I missed the briefing with Moody, by the way, but they’d already called me in by then. How much sleep have you actually had?”
“A couple of hours earlier and then about forty minutes between me getting back to my room in Hogsmeade from Grimmauld Place and being woken by the emergency owl from the office. But after Moody told me about Bellatrix, I was kind of expecting it.”
Kingsley sighed. “I’m really sorry. I put off sending for you for as long as I could get away with.” Abruptly his volume swelled. “It’s unfortunate we had to call you in off sick leave, Tonks, but it’s all hands to the pumps today. Don’t worry, I won’t be sending you out chasing Death Eaters down alleys though. I’ve put some files in your cubicle. You can work on those for me.”
“Paperwork?” Tonks opened her mouth with the intention of informing her friend exactly what that prospect did for her but before she could launch herself into a sentence, the iron-haired Dawlish strode over with a stern expression on his face.
“Yes, Tonks, paperwork,” he cut in sharply, slicing the wind out of his younger colleagues sails quite effectively. “Officially, you’re still on sick leave and I’m not having anyone out in the field who isn’t at the top of their game. If you go out and make a mess of a mission, Scrimgeour would have my guts for garters and that would make me annoyed. So stop moaning, get to your cubicle and get on with it.” Without even a pause, the older Auror turned sharply on his heel and strode away, muttering to himself about the weak constitutions of the young and how if he’d had his guts sliced open, he’d have been back on the job the next day and been happy about it. Tonks and Kingsley watched him go.
“He’s in good humour,” Tonks remarked at length.
“Must be the excitement.” Kingsley shrugged easily. “He’s right though, you’re on paperwork whether you like it or not.” He lowered his voice slightly. “I haven’t given you anything of earth-shattering importance to do. So if nothing else, you can always grab some sleep at your desk.”
Tonks flashed a wan smile. “Nice to know my skills are in such high demand. Come on mate. Lead me to my bed of files.”
Her cubicle was much as she had left it the week before, apart from the waist high stack of files and scrolls that had been placed on the already rather disorganised surface of her desk. Wearily, Tonks dropped into her chair, snatching a convenient chocolate biscuit from the box to one side and munching on it therapeutically. Kingsley grinned but waited politely until she was done. Chocolate was not something to be interrupted.
Finally, Tonks swallowed and span to face her friend. “So, what I am doing with this wonderful pile of hearth fodder then?”
Kingsley leaned down over her desk and flourished a scrappy piece of parchment with blackened edges and a scorched surface. “This is the reason we have Bellatrix Lestrange in custody,” he stated frankly. “Yesterday evening, this note was thrown out of the public floo downstairs, wrapped around a stone. When the watchwizard who took it in the head regained consciousness, he brought it straight up to us. Here, take a look.” Carefully, he handed the blackened scrap to Tonks. “It’s a tip off,” he explained as Tonks ran her eyes over the dusty writing, barely legible beneath its film of soot. “It told us that Bellatrix Lestrange was planning an attack on a Muggleborn member of the Wizengamot last night in York. Dawlish was convinced it was a hoax or a trap but Scrimgeour was adamant it should be followed up and so he sent me and Dawlish out with a team to keep watch at the location. And lo and behold, Bellatrix showed up right on schedule. Dawlish was so shocked he almost forgot to arrest her.”
Tonks smiled slightly as Kingsley grinned. “And so you brought her in?”
“After a hell of a fight, yes.” Kingsley’s grin faded as he settled himself on the only part of her desk not strewn with papers, mugs and random half-forgotten snacks. “But we were lucky and we had the element of surprise. There were no fatalities, although Williamson and Sparrow will be in St Mungos for a while. Proudfoot, however, excelled herself. She pulled off one heck of a well-timed expelliarmus and gave me the chance to hit Lestrange with a stunner. Dawlish has put her up for a commendation.”
“And not you?”
Kingsley chuckled. “He doesn’t fancy me. Thank Merlin.”
Tonks snorted. “I don’t think Esther Proudfoot does either. Williamson saw her with John Savage at the Leaky Cauldron a few weeks ago, firmly lip-locked.”
“This is not the time for office gossip.” Kingsley’s tone was sardonically prim. “You’ve got work to do.”
Tonks flourished the blackened letter. “Which is…?”
“Thrilling and exciting.” Kingsley pushed himself upright. “The charms division have been over that letter inch by inch but getting scorched in the floo has effectively wiped off any traces of magic we could have used to track down the author. Thanks to Eric’s unconsciousness, the floo connection was cut off before it could be traced back and we haven’t found a known match on the handwriting. But Dawlish is convinced it had to be another Death Eater who turned her in and he wants to know who. So he asked me to ask you to go through these files and pick out some likely candidates “ Death Eaters who might have a grudge against Bellatrix or a protective streak regarding her intended victim, that sort of thing. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, I know the drill.” Tonks pulled a face. “This is drudge work, Kingsley. It’s not even likely to be any use.” Her voice took on a vaguely plaintive note. “I could have been in bed.”
Kingsley sighed deeply. “I am sorry. But if it’s any consolation, I do have something that might spark your interest a little more.” Reaching into his robes, he drew out a small scroll daubed with red ink, a document easily recognisable within the division as a Missing Persons Report. “This came in a few hours ago. No one paid it much notice with all the Lestrange work going on, but I knew you’d want to see it. A Mr Felix Goldstein of Castle Road, Scarborough reported his wife Rebekah missing as of last night. Somewhere between leaving the Feral Institute and their family home, she seems to have gone astray. No one’s seen her in hours.”
“What?” Tonks snatched the scroll sharply from his outstretched hand, her sluggish mind sharply electrified. “But that can’t be right!”
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason why not?”
Tonks breathed deeply, hauling in her raging thoughts. “Because she’s a polyjuiced Death Eater,” she stated with soft discretion. “Or at least we’re pretty sure she is. Remus…” Business... “...and I found Polyjuice potion and a lock of her hair in the drawer of her desk.”
Kingsley’s eyes widened. “Are you sure it was Polyjuice?”
Tonks shrugged slightly. “As sure as I could be. Remus has taken it to Snape for checking.”
“Snape?” Kingsley frowned. “Snape’s downstairs with Dumbledore. He arrived maybe half an hour ago to advise about Bellatrix…”
Bellatrix.
Rebekah.
Oh no. Surely not…
Tonks’ eyes fixed upon the report in front of her. Rebekah Goldstein had last been seen at twenty-five past seven.
“Kingsley.” Though her voice was soft, its tone caught her colleague’s instant attention. “What time was it when you arrested Bellatrix?”
Her fellow Auror frowned in mild confusion but he did answer the question. “Just gone eight o’clock last night. Why…” His voice trailed away. “Uh, oh,” he breathed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Assuming that you’re thinking that Bellatrix may have been our fake Rebekah.” Tonks closed her eyes as she allowed her mind to skate across her various memories of Rebekah, searching for some small hint, some word or gesture that might bring to mind her Death Eater aunt. Apart from a general air of nastiness, nothing specific sprang to mind. “It’d make her a better actress than I’d give her credit for but we can’t rule the possibility out.” She allowed herself a brief smile. “If it is her, though, that tip off may have just solved our problems at the Feral Institute.”
Kingsley chuckled slightly. “It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? What do you reckon? Shall we nip downstairs and tell Dumbledore about our theory so that he can ask the charming Mrs Lestrange about it in person?”
“You go.” Carefully, Tonks placed the Missing Persons report onto the top of her only mildly dishevelled in-tray. “I’ll stay and get on with this.” At Kingsley’s quizzical look, she grinned. “Well, I don’t know about you, but if our theory is correct, I’m a bit more interested in who sent us that tip-off than I was a few minutes ago.”
“Good thought.” Kingsley nodded briskly as he made towards the corridor once more. “You should contact Remus too. Let him know what we’ve found.”
Her heart contracted painfully once more at the mention of his name but she carefully insured that no hint of her distress touched her face.
“I’ll do that,” she stated blandly. “See you in a bit, Kingsley.”
“See you in a bit, Tonks.”
As Kingsley departed, Tonks fought back the urge to slump face first into her paperwork. She’d been doing so well…
“Don’t dwell,” she told herself sternly. “You’re a professional. Do your job.”
Sending Remus a message at the moment did not seem wise, however. It would be hard to resist the urge to scribble intense personal questions regarding his behaviour the night before in the margins…
Later. I’ll write to him later. When I’m not so tired. When I’ve had a chance to think. After all, there’s hardly any rush.
It’s not as though he’s going anywhere…