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“Why are we stuck completing this?”
Slouched over one desk, Nymphodora Tonks eyes Penny Haywood. The other woman hums quietly to herself, running one hand down the length of a blonde braid before she turns her eyes on the vast array of notes spread across the table.
“We do have the least field experience and, given how Not-Rigel gave us that horrible wake up call in the lake—“
“Still doesn’t mean that the best use of our time is putting all the clues together,” Tonks grumbles. She reaches for the first slip of paper, inspecting the scrawl of Dawlish. Given Head Auror Potter has been too busy tracking down the real Arcturus Black (and then his own daughter once everyone found out the Black Heir had been in America the whole time) the first few formal write-ups had been done by the second in command.
‘Pupil formally known as ‘Rigel Black’ was proven to be a halfblood at the finale of the Triwizard Tournament. The imposter exhibited clear recognition of his crimes and fled the scene when Headmaster Dumbledore relaxed the Hogwarts wards so that the criminals could be detained. The imposter retrieved his belongings and escaped during this window through unknown means following a confrontation with the Malfoy Heir.’
“And we’ve got to put all these notes into some kind of coherent order. It means we’ll have all the relevant information when we finish so we will be able to go into the field with a clear head.”
“Weird how Crouch Jr kicked the bucket in his cell,” Tonks mutters, inspecting the scrawled report from the poor sod who’d had to check on the detainees yesterday. That’s suspicious as it is; Crouch Jr was young and fit, magically stronger than average and reportedly quite clever. He shouldn’t have died, certainly not in Auror custody where there’re a good few wards in place to warn if a prisoner is in life threatening circumstances. It means he was either cursed before he was detained (not outside the realm of possibility given the black magic that’d been aiming to use the imposter who went by Rigel as a jacked up battery) or... or someone has killed him off to keep certain secrets quiet.
Either way, Moody hadn’t been happy.
With Crouch Jr being a member of the SOW Party and an inner circle one at that... well, her mum’s always been suspicious of Lord Riddle. Perhaps rightly so. Even if he is a bit of a dish to look at. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with an older guy— Penny’ll agree with her. But, speaking of Riddle being an absolute snack—
“Hey, Pen—" Tonks knocks her foot against Penny’s under the table, reaching for another scrap full of scribbles to begin transcribing onto the official report. It’s the interview with her berk of a cousin, all about the life debt that the imposter called in. “—what do you think to the cauldron spawn?”
“You mean the one that was the spitting image of Lord Riddle?” Penny smacks her lips together, a low hum vibrating away in the base of her throat. She reaches for another note, thinning her grimace out into a fine line. “There were certainly a lot of physical similarities— here, take a look at this one.”
“I wonder if that smoke was held in place by wandless magic. There was a lot of bared flesh but there are things interested parties couldn’t get a good glimpse of—“
“Wanted terrorist, Tonks. Wanted terrorist who will undoubtedly end up in Azkaban. That’s if Lord Riddle doesn’t make the ones responsible for ruining his precious blood tournament mysteriously disappear first.”
Tonks grunts, accepting the note Penny passes over to give it a quick scan. Tch, Lord Riddle is too busy navigating the furious political waters to try hoisting his younger lookalike by the petard. Or is it his bastard?
‘—the being produced by the cauldron and vampire joining appeared to suffer a seizure similar to those subjected to magical resonance. The flavour of the magic was slightly off, as if it had been artificial adjusted to produce the effect which is why the sufferer did not perish outright—‘
“The hell is this on about? The flavour of magic?” A quick look at the source of this statement answers that question. Pandora Lovegood. Doesn’t a Lovegood run that whacky magazine Moody’s certain is written in code for Grindlewald supporters? Merlin, it’d only had one instance of the old symbol in it and even then it was in relation to the Deathly Hallows.
“Never mind that; the higher-ups have already said that’s a dead-end. Did the Malfoy Heir have anything useful to say?”
“Ha, not a chance. They didn’t dare try and push with a life-debt wrapped around his neck.”
“And the prisoner?”
“Jordan’s conscious but he’s useless; he’s been cursed and sealed to the high heavens. Only thing we could get out of him was a name.”
Voldemort. The desk-jockeys are putting together any information they can find on the name, but Tonks is relatively sure they’ll be coming up empty.
Scraping a hand through her hair, she turns her attention back to the notes.
From there, it’s a continuous blur of words. Statements from anyone and everyone and there’re still tips coming in via owl. Headmaster Dumbledore’s, while claiming to be just as bamboozled by the rest of them, shows a clear support for the imposter. With any luck, he’ll use this as political movement and use it to stoke some kind of Halfbloods for Hogwarts initiative or something.
Is Tonks bitter about not getting to attend her mother’s Alma mater? Maybe so.
‘—statement from Potions Master Severus Tobias Snape is to be considered subject to bias. Successful application of Veritaserum was used during testimony [provided by Master Grindel]. Master Snape is an acknowledge potions master— chances of resistance to truth serum are significant & there have been reports of mastery in the mental arts, though this is as of yet unconfirmed. Master Snape has shown clear favouritism towards the imposter—' Well, that’s bloody helpful, ain’t it?
“So, when were you gonna tell me you’ve got Marcus Flint sniffing around?”
Tonks chokes.
Hunched over and with her hair an undoubtedly mortifying shade of orange, she wheezes and gasps for breath. All the while Penny —the cow— just sits there and continues to work as if she hasn’t just fired an Unforgiveable into friendly conversation.
“How do you even know about that?!” Tonks snaps, slamming one closed fist —with Cho Chang’s witness statement now unsalvageably crumpled between her fingers— on the desk. Penny doesn’t so much as flinch at the noise, tucking the whip thin braid that contains her bangs behind her ear with all the poise of Tonks’ damn aunt. The posh one, not that crazy cow Bellatrix.
How can she even possibly know when the extent of it is that Flint —who Tonks has spoken to a grand total of three times in her life— only swung by to chat with her two days before the Triwizard catastrophe?
“Well, Matilda Sparrin was at Madam Malkins and she overheard Brucie Vane talking to his little sister about how Marcus Flint has took a day off work next week and apparently Larenzo Zabini told Brucie that his cousin on his mother’s side —not the side of the famed Lady Zabini but the other branch of the tree— had taken a booking for the Flint name at that charming little pizza tower down in the eating place. The one you took me to and said was your favourite. So, Matilda told me that Brucie’s little sister thinks it sounds like Marcus Flint is gearing up to take a girl out on a date. And that girl is you.”
Penny beams, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth— Tonks isn’t certain that it wouldn’t to be honest. All she can do is stare.
Marcus Flint, arsehole extraordinaire wants to ask her on a date? Sure, the rumours that he hates his dear old pureblood dad have reached even her ears, but there’s nothing special about Tonks. Well, barring the obvious and there’s no guarantee her gift will ever appear in her descendants.
He’s not too horrible to look at though. If one squints in a dark room. And, in truth, while Tonks can admire a pretty face, the grumps are what she truly finds attractive. Huh. Maybe if this rumour of Penny’s is true —and she’s pretty sure it is given Moody wanted Penny on the Auror team simply for her ‘gossip’ network [it’s a spy network, Moody’ll go to his grave claiming that]— she might actually say yes. If he pays the bill that is.
“TRAINEES!”
Tonks screeches, leaping from her seat and face planting the floor when her boot gets caught in the chair leg. Penny’s no better off, having thrown the notes she’d been organising into the air.
There’s a worn shoe in front of her. Tonks slowly looks up to find Moody staring the both of them down. Damn that creepy eye, they’re not both in a normal human being’s line of sight.
“Constant vigilance,” Moody barks, slamming his staff down on the floor before scowling. “Too busy nattering— you never know when a criminal will appear! With that damn bastard on the loose—" Well, the peace was nice while it’s lasted.