Nymphadora Tonks and the Liquor of Jacmel

29. Making the Cut

Friday 18^th September 1994

Tonks approached the beauty salon with a slight ripple of apprehension. Her special talents meant that she'd never really needed to set foot in one before, and she wasn't entirely sure how she should behave.

The salon itself was nothing special, just one of the small 'shops' that the owners of the Market rented out - merely a front room for business, and a tiny back room for keeping accounts and other things that customers didn't need to see. Nonetheless, when she looked in through the window the place appeared to be clean and 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 from side to side to show off their elegant manicures and hairstyles to best advantage. She smiled in rueful amusement as she caught sight of a dummy in the corner; every ten seconds or so it was changing shape and hairstyle, presumably to show a three-dimensional view of what the owner could do.

Tonks glanced up at the neatly lettered sign over the door, which read 'Miss Marcella Mascarra, Specialist in Beautifying Charms and Personal Styling'. She frowned; as far as she was concerned, it was all just a bit over the top; and given the amount of dirt on the floor of the Magical Market, she was a little worried that her shoes might leave footprints.

Oh well. No point in hanging about outside. She couldn't actually see Donnacha O'Gregan, of course, but she could imagine that under the Cloak he was probably tapping his foot with impatience. She took her usual deep breath and pushed open the door.

There were only three people in the room, but as the shop was so small it seemed quite full. Portia Blackstock was the sole occupant of a row of four chairs on one side; she was leafing through an old copy of Witch Weekly with a look of polite boredom on her face. On the other side 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 seemed quite good-looking, but her eyes were hard, and she wore an expression of slight disdain that didn't endear her to Tonks. She was obscurely reminded of her aunt.

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

"Oh yes ... Yes." Tonks found herself slipping quite easily into her Mavis role, largely borrowed from Beatrice Easton. "I hope I don't need an appointment ... I've heard of your shop a few times 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 even 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 then 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 smile that didn't quite reach her eyes but which suggested relief at the idea of having someone to talk to instead of reading. Tonks smiled back, being careful to do so rather tremulously. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced over at O'Gregan's wife; Miss Mascarra finished applying a wipe to her face and then casually dropped it towards the floor. Tonks blinked in surprise - the action didn't seem to go with 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 several little bins that opened to receive it, the brush carefully removing any traces from the floor. Neither of the other customers were paying the least attention to this, 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 was told about it somewhere I think, yes," said Tonks cautiously. Actually, she'd never heard of it before, although 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 wonder about marketing my own range of hair-care potions? Things just never worked out that way. Maybe I will one of these days when 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 doing it, whatever nonsense he told Witch Weekly." She scowled at the thought. "Still, could be a gap in the market, he's not going to be a competitor for you, is 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 much as she could manage without disturbing the preparations on her face. "Never trust them, dear," she said harshly. "I learnt that the hard way. Though anyway, why would you even 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 groaned inwardly as she realised she'd never 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. With a brief jolt of panic, her eyes flicked to her left hand; 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, beginning to be rather glad of all the time she'd spent practising being Beatrice. It helped her to keep in character as Mavis.

She snorted again. "More fool you, dear." She spun the chair back round to face the mirror; Tonks smiled as she noted that it was murmuring ingratiating comments and showing an ever-so-slightly idealised version of the woman in front of it. She turned back to Portia; now that 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 some kind of gentle Severing Charm (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, at least if Farley's memory had been an accurate guide.

"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 for 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 what 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 that she had the opportunity to see the style actually being constructed in front of her, she reckoned she had a good chance of getting it right all by herself. It'd go down nicely at the Ministry Halloween 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."

Tonks got the impression that this was an oft-rehearsed little speech. So apparently did Norah O'Gregan, who snorted. "Oh really? 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 the 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. 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. But then, you don't know what I know about Portia making use of it, Norah. I have got to get the conversation onto that subject 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, improvising rapidly. "Really horrible poison, too, by all accounts. I actually know the poor man slightly. He sells magical creatures and I work in that department, you see him quite a lot around there." As it happened, although the Aurors had tried to downplay the arrest, the Prophet's editors had been grateful for it as scandalous relief from the political stories of a slow news day. There was a decent chance the people in the shop had seen it.

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 didn't seem to be 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 watch them in the mirror without letting her customer see. Tonks decided she wouldn't mind at all if this caused her to ruin Norah's hair (and she was sure Donnacha 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, as they gave her an odd look, "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 ..."

"Oh, 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; but on the other hand, if she was going to say anything that might be useful to Rhiannon (and Don), she was all in favour of it.

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. It made Tonks wish she'd studied Legilimency. It would come in quite handy at times like these.

Norah O'Gregan paid for the beauty treatment and added what looked like a fairly generous tip, although Tonks couldn't help thinking it would have been more impressive if it hadn't been for the rather supercilious air with which she did so. As she left, she noticed that Miss Mascarra gave her a look which couldn't quite seem to decide between admiration and distaste, then gave herself a tiny shake and turned 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 potion 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 thought it ahd a point. She watched with interest as Mascarra started to apply the preparation that she'd used on her previous customer.

"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. Another recommendation from the training manuals was: keep them talking - about anything, anything at all. It might lead to them letting something interesting slip by accident. "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, which Tonks couldn't help but sympathise with. "It was really scary, wasn't it? Weren't you going with your boyfriend, Marcella?"

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. I'm very glad I didn't bother now after what happened."

"What did your parents do when it started?" tried Tonks curiously. "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 skin. "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 was watching 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 herself in front of the mirror and giggled at its compliments (it's far more polite than mine, thought Tonks dryly), she added, "Would you like to sit down, Mrs Grindel, er no ..."

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

"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' Tonks was using. Even the mirror seemed to be struggling to find something especially 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. I have plans for that style. 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 19^th September 1994

By the time Tonks met up with 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 as he read a story in the Daily Prophet.

"Anything interesting in there?" she said brightly after greeting him. "Haven't had a chance to do more than skim the headlines today."

"Load of dragon dung if you ask me," he said, shrugging. "The International Confederation have got round to agreeing the final communique from the Stockholm conference, apparently, and half of it's stuff about the World Cup riots. They're all livid at us for not keeping proper security. 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 I wouldn't have met you 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, Tonks, but that staff writer's having a go again. Hang on" - he turned the page and began to read from it in a high-pitched, sanctimonious voice - "'it's 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 can't even keep track of their own staff, and the obsolete dingbat supposedly representing us as Confederation Chairman is unwilling to lift a finger to bring his influence to bear to 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 the conversation, as it wasn't an obvious topic to discuss with a boyfriend.

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

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

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

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

"Oh 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 ... oh all right, 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 through the headlines then skip to the back page for the Quidditch news ... I must have missed it."

Tonks nodded wryly. "Yeah, you probably did then. 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 now 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 mention that they had found some incriminating evidence. When she'd finished, Chesney stared at her speechlessly. "So what do you reckon?" she said eventually.

"Charlie?" he spluttered. "A murderess? Please tell me they can't be serious, Tonks. What incriminating evidence?"

Tonks quickly did a mental survey of how much she could tell him. That was actually quite a lot - the Daily Prophet wasn't a paper that skimped on sensational details unless leaned on very heavily. "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 quickly. "I've got one as well, keep any serious magic stuff out of sight if a Muggle happens to call. Anyway, 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 kill anyone, however much she shoots her mouth off about" - he shuddered slightly - "Death Eaters and the like. Even if you invited her to do her worst to the people who killed her mum and dad ... I don't think she'd actually be able to do it." 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 can't believe that. But even supposing for one moment 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 that was 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 or something ..." He bit off the comment; he seemed to be trying very hard not to accuse the Aurors of being the ones who'd done so.

"It wasn't that obvious," said Tonks uneasily, not sure how much more she could tell him. "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, that they rub her the wrong way. I remember 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. I wouldn't say I know her better than she knows herself or anything, not these days, but 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 ..."

"No, not Azkaban, not yet," said Tonks quickly, although he didn't seem reassured by the not yet. "She's in the ordinary cells at the Ministry until the bureaucracy stop faffing about and w ... er, the Auror Office gets the Veritaserum warrant."

"Veritaserum?" he almost yelped. "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 while she was at it? Cassius' relative unconcern about waiting for the warrant suddenly made a lot more sense. She tried to make her voice seem 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 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 rather crestfallen and uncomfortable. "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 ... er, type would be. Wasn't me, anyway."

"Oh good," said Tonks with a wink, deciding to let the subject drop. "I wouldn't want the competition ..."

The remainder of the evening pretty much followed her intentions.

*****

Tuesday 22^nd September 1994

It wasn't until the following Tuesday that all the team were in the office at the same time and Tonks finally 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, they informed her, 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 when he'd heard her story. "Don't like the sound of all that, but nothing much new there. 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 their faces straight at this less than unbiased view of the situation.

"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?"

"Yes," 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." She ignored his scowl. "Name sounded vaguely familiar, actually."

"It does, doesn't it?" mused Cassius. "Quite a well-known family the Bletchleys, though. I suppose 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 behind him.

"Still, you never know, Don, it might be a good sign. And at least we got a little bit of 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 her colleague was asking. "Oh, did he say anything about Charlotte, you mean?" She ignored the smirks on the faces of Rhiannon and O'Gregan. "Not much. He seemed pretty much convinced she wouldn't do it, actually."

"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. I haven't even heard 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 to them. He can be a little ... prickly, sometimes. I'm just glad he's not my direct superior, because that really would be very embarrassing."

Tonks wouldn't have minded it so much - Rufus Scrimgeour did seem slightly more diplomatic than Egbert Claymore - but then, she didn't have family issues with him. Given the issues she had with her own family, she was hardly in a position to demur. "How did it go with the Caribbean Registry?" she asked, to change the topic.

"Mmm? Oh, the source of supply, you mean? They passed it on to the Haitian Department de Magie, who try to keep an eye on this sort of thing but usually without much luck. They say they heard a rumour someone was doing a favour for an old family friend and had an English buyer. Although they thought someone else actually collected the stuff, so checking international Floo records or Portkey bookings won't get us far, especially if they had the sense not to 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. "Of course, that's assuming they even made any effort to try. It's probably a low priority for them. We may have to go and 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, Spoils all the fun."

***

Wednesday 23^rd September 1994

Preparations for the interview with Charlotte Perks and similar routine administrative work took up a lot of Tonks' time; so, busy as she was the following afternoon, it took a second or two for the ringing of the mirror phone casually tossed to the back of her desk to register. It sounded different from the normal tone, and she grabbed for it with a puzzled expression.

"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? What on earth are you calling me at work using the Muggle phone for ... oh!" The likely reason suddenly hit her, and she found herself unaccountably short of breath all of a sudden.

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