Random Harry Potter One-shots Sickfics

Tonks - Anxiety - 6k words

Thank you to the lovely @maraudersmxplife for the suggestion! I can only apologise that it took so long, writer's block hit hard.

Stock-still, Tonks looked up at the corpse with wide, pale blue eyes. She knew her cover would be blown if she looked too afraid, but she couldn't help it. A woman, a young woman, turning around like a rotisserie chicken, her pale grey scarf flapping around her neck and then dropping down again. She couldn't move to push it away with her arms bound to her sides. Her scarf clearly wasn't her main priority, with her boots solemnly dripping blood on the table, fat, wet droplets that splattered inches away from her hands. 

Come on, remember your training, she thought miserably. Madeye trained you better than this.

Biting her lip, she tore her gaze away from the sickening sight and forced herself to look Voldemort in the eye. He was only a man, after all. Well, barely. His lack of nose should have been comical, but she found herself compelled to look away from the heavy slits in his face, which pinched together his brows and sharpened his cheekbones menacingly. His cat-like eyes only served to terrify as well, as you got the alarming idea that you were always within his line of sight, a nameless mouse waiting to be devoured. Not that she was allowed to look him in the eye, or look at him at all. He was an idol to be admired or a figure to be feared, that was all.

Fussing with the hem of her sleeve under the table, she twitched suddenly. Her large, club-like hands had shrunk slightly, imperceptive to anyone else, but she recognised them as the back of her own hands. Struggling to keep her expression empty, she strained to change them back into their masculine state. Her disguise was infallible, it was the main reason she was so highly regarded by the Aurors, after all. They'd done the hard work, they'd captured McNair. She simply had to step in and fill his place.

"McNair, perhaps you have an opinion you'd like to share with the class."

Tonks looked up. The group was staring at her, some in dislike, some in envy. She coughed slightly, then fought to remember what he'd been talking about. 

"My Lord," she replied, her voice heavy and full of gravel. For all the hours she'd spent monitoring him, studying his body language, she ought to be able to replicate his deep tone. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

She could hear the silence, a dozen or so held breaths, as the other Deatheaters waited for their master's response. Voldemort's grip on his wand tightened, the knuckles on his bone-coloured fingers alabaster. "Pay attention, McNair," he said quietly. "What is the situation with the Minister?"

Ah. "He is surrounded by his people," she replied carefully, looking at the table in front of her. "It would be unwise to go after him at present."

"I have heard different, my Lord," someone on her left interrupted. She didn't recognise his face, he was one of many lower-ranking men in the room. The table was grand, but only sat around twenty people. There were his usual favourites- Snape on his right, Lestrange on his left, with both Malfoys, Yaxley, Knott- sat at his sides, with Greyback sat a few spaces away. The rest of the group were who she presumed were the other people involved in the mission they were discussing, her men. They were sat further away, as though they weren't worthy to be in his presence.

"I believe that he can be accessed if we are smart about it," he continued, smugly. He had thick bushy eyebrows, hair sticking out of his ears like a man much older than him. "His men, are in fact, quite weak. They are mere advisers, not security."

She felt the familiar feeling of panic rise through her veins, pulsating dangerously. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she focused her attention on the situation at hand, forcing herself to think about Madeye's training.