The Package

"Bloody hell, it would have to be raining," Nymphadora "Don't call me Nymphadora" Tonks muttered under her breath. Ever since she was a little girl, the young Auror had detested rain. If she wanted to get wet, she'd take a shower, thank you very much. She wouldn't be huddled bitterly in the shadows across the street from Borgin and Burkes' Dark Arts shop waiting for the arrival of a Death Eater that might not even show up.

Teeth chattering, Tonks glanced up the street apiece to where her fellow Order of the Phoenix member Dedalus Diggle was likewise wrapped up in the shadows. He was well hidden, Tonks had to give him credit, and a normal witch or wizard wouldn't even know that he was there, but Tonks was hardly a normal witch. She was a Metamorphmagus, meaning that she could change her appearance at random. She could even transform herself into animals or inanimate objects, even though this took a great deal more concentration. At the moment Tonks was using her ability to transform her eyes into those of a barn owl and she could see old Dedalus, clear as day, standing there next to a rain gutter and looking decidedly miserable.

Despite herself, Tonks gave a slight smirk and returned her gaze to Borgin and Burkes and to Knockturn Alley in front of it. She noticed that the old wooden sign that hung in front of the shop was in bad need of repairs and would probably fall off its hangers in the near future if some kind of maintenance wasn't forthcoming. She imagined, with more than a little bit of satisfaction, the old sign snapping free of its signpost and landing right on top of Theodus Borgin's dirty head.

No great loss, she thought bitterly. I'm surprised the Ministry hasn't shut this place down. It was common knowledge amongst those in London's wizarding community that Borgin and Burkes was a popular hangout for dark wizards and other persons of dubious scruples. It was also well known that Borgin offered various goods for sale that were just barely on the good side of legality. He also had several items on display in his shop that weren't. She had heard a story from her good friend and fellow Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt that cemented this as fact.

As the story went, about six months earlier, Kingsley and another Auror by the name of Dawlish had received an order from the powers that be to go down to Borgin and Burkes and investigate a claim sent by anonymous owl that Theo Borgin was in possession of a Hand of Glory. At this point, Tonks had shuddered. A Hand of Glory was a dark magic artifact used in the not so magical arts of thievery and robbery. To wit, a Hand of Glory was the preserved hand of a hanged man. You remove the hand from a hanging corpse and preserve it. Then you dip the hand in a variety of illegal potions. Once the hand is prepared, you take it with you to the location you wish to rob. As you enter the house, you light each of the five fingers on the hand with a simple Incendio spell and if you have brewed the potions and prepared the hand properly, all inhabitants of the residence will fall into an enchanted sleep...allowing you to loot and plunder at will.

Needless to say, possession of one is illegal. If you are found guilty of possessing a Hand of Glory (classified as a Class Four dark artifact) you can be fined up to two thousand galleons and sentenced to three years in Azkaban.

And they'd deserve it too, Tonks thought with a grimace. Any nutter who would use magic that had to do with taking a hand off of a corpse deserved to be locked away somewhere.

So, anyway, Kingsley and Dawlish had gone down to the Ministry lobby and instantly Apparated to Knockturn Alley. They found Theo Borgin sitting nonchalantly in his store reading a Daily Prophet and casting half interested glances at an enchanted broom that was in the process of sweeping the floor. The two Aurors hadn't gotten two steps in the door when they spotted the Hand of Glory. It was in a glass case by the door with a card that read DO NOT TOUCH in blood red ink hanging from the middle finger.

At the entrance of the two Aurors, Borgin had put down his paper and gotten as far as, "Good day gen-" when he noticed the two men's Auror badges. The false, predatory smile disappeared from his face so quickly it might have been slapped off. He rose to his feet shakily as Kingsley and Dawlish walked up to the Hand of Glory and examined it briefly, and then looked up at him. At this point, Kingsley had later explained to Tonks, Borgin's eyes had gotten as big as bowls and he looked like he wanted to cry. Kingsley picked up the case containing the Hand of Glory as Dawlish took out his wand and muttered an incantation.

"Don't even think of Disapparating, Mr. Borgin," Kingsley told him calmly. "My associate, Mr. Dawlish, here has just cast an Anti-Apparition spell. If you try to Disapparate you will suffer temporary brain damage. Do you understand?"

Borgin had nodded miserably.

At that point, Aurors Shacklebolt and Dawlish had arrested Theo Borgin and taken him to the Ministry to await trial for one count of possession of a Class Four dark artifact. After a miserable weekend in a holding cell at the Ministry, Borgin was tried before the Wizengamot but things had taken a negative turn. Three of London's most affluent wizards, namely, Lucius Malfoy, Thomas Nott and Albert Goyle, had testified on Borgin's behalf. That, and the fact that Borgin had no prior record of arrest, signified a light sentence. Borgin did not go to Azkaban and when it was all said and done, he only had to pay a seven hundred galleon fine. And because the Hand of Glory was the only thing signified in the written warrant, nothing else in Borgin's shop could be entered into evidence....or even touched.

"And so, here we are," Tonks grumbled miserably to herself. "Cold and wet and planning to jump one of You-Know-Who's ickle play pals." She glanced at her watch: Eleven forty-five. "If the bastard ever shows up," she added. Borgin and Burkes closed promptly at midnight. She decided to kill the time by thinking hateful thoughts about Severus Snape. After all, wasn't it HIS report to the Order two nights ago that made it necessary for Dedalus and me to be here? Wasn't it Snape who had told them that one of the Dark Lord's servants would come here tonight to pick up a package? Wasn't it Snape who basically made life miserable?

"Sodding git," she whispered.

As the time ticked away, other thoughts popped up. Who, exactly would You-Know-Who send to receive this package? What the Hell was it? These questions had been put to Snape at the meeting, but the Slytherin slimeball couldn't answer them. Only the Dark Lord's most trusted servants knew that, and with Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban (at least for the time being), that left Bellatrix Lestrange and Wormtail as the only lieutenants he had. She began to muse quietly. Aunt Bella is a wanted woman, surely the Dark Lord won't send her on this mission. Wormtail would also be a bad idea. Wormtail, aka Peter Pettigrew, was supposed to be dead. It wouldn't very well do to send a dead man out in public, now would it? At the thought of Wormtail a quick surge of hate flared up.

Wormtail, the traitor. The man responsible for Sirius spending thirteen years in Azkaban for a crime he never committed.

Sirius...

She could feel the tears start to form and she pushed them down by sheer force of will. Now was not the time for grief. She couldn't afford to put down her guard, now, when she had to be on the very top of her game. With a great effort, she returned her train of thought to the Death Eaters. There's not a lot to choose from anymore, she thought smugly. Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Tyrus Mulciber, Augustus Rookwood...they're all back in Azkaban. Armand Crabbe, Walden Macnair, Thomas Nott, Donald Avery...they're in Azkaban, too.Hmm...Igor Karkaroff? Not likely, unless the Dark Lord was keeping himself amused by using Unforgivables on old Igor, the chances were good that he was buried in a shallow grave somewhere.

Who will he send? And what exactly is in that package?

Off in the distance, a church bell rang. Tonks gave a start.

It's midnight, she thought, and a Death Eater never showed. I swear to Merlin, I am going to murder Severus Snape. She stretched and gave a soft yawn. Great, the rain's starting to let up. Just in time to be too late, her father would have said. Thinking of her father made her smile. Maybe I'll call on dad tomorrow, she thought, see what he's up to. She knew that Ted Tonks would like nothing better than a visit from his 'baby girl.' She had just opened her mouth to call out to Dedalus...

...when the black robed figure appeared at the mouth of Knockturn Alley.

Tonks swore under her breath and pinned herself flat against the brick wall. Had the man seen her? She didn't think so. She squinted hard at the figure. It was dark and he had the hood of his cloak up, but Tonks noticed several things at once. It was obviously a man. She judged this by the fact that the man was quite tall, well over six feet, and had extremely broad shoulders. Common sense told her that there was no way the Death Eater was a woman, not with this physical structure, and indeed this was confirmed two seconds later when the man stepped forward...right into a streak of moonlight.

She could see the man's face now. Dark, cruel eyes that were so brown they looked almost black sat over a slightly piggish nose. In the midst of a trimmed black beard sat a mouth that Tonks could instantly tell had never known a smile that wasn't directed at someone else's misfortune. The man stood stock still, enshrined in the moonbeam for only a couple of seconds and then, as if to illustrate Tonks' point, a cruel smile lit up the man's face and he started toward Borgin and Burkes with an air of complete haste.

It was Albert Goyle.