Metamorphosis

    The next morning, when she awoke, the sun was already streaming in through the drawn curtains of the eastward window. A quick glance at the sundial-like object on her bedside table told her it was nearing ten o’clock. Disentangling herself from her sheets as if they had been lit ablaze, she kicked off her boots, tossed her clothes to all parts of the already disorderly room, and disappeared into the closet.

    After a bit of inner conflict, she decided on pale yellow robes and flat-soled shoes to match. The Ministry expected its employees to dress appropriately, whatever their occupation may be. It also expected employees to be on time, and she had but twenty minutes left before that would be an unlikely feat. As she emerged, she tripped over a stray shirt, but caught herself before she hit the ground.

    “Bugger!” she muttered, pulling a face and watching in the mirror as her bubble gum pink hair turned lavender, a color which agreed much better with her robes. She also made the dark circles under her eyes vanish, but that did nothing to ease the heaviness in her head and lids.

    There wasn’t a soul to be seen when she stumbled down into the basement kitchen. Thankful that one particular character was fortunately elsewhere, she set coffee maker to work with her wand. Before long, she had a steaming, yet chipped, mug of aromatic brown liquid in her hands, and she quickly downed it in a few swallows. She then made her way to the parlor to retrieve her files for work.

    Eyes sweeping over the worn desk, she discovered that the letter she had finished the previous night wasn’t where she had left it. Searching around on the floor was unproductive, and after a bit of investigation, she realized it wasn’t in the room altogether. That could only mean one thing- Remus had disposed of it once she had gone to bed. Embarrassment forgotten, she vowed to have a word- many, in fact- with him when she returned from the Ministry. Oh, yes, they would have words. Snatching her files out of an open drawer, she growled something that resembled a curse, and Disapparated with a ‘pop’.

    The Ministry of Magic was bustling with activity when she arrived. Wizards and witches were traveling in and out of fireplaces on either side of the Atrium, a long hall of dark polished wood, and, at the very end, she could see a queue of visitors waiting to pass though to the elevators. Tucking her files under her arm, she skirted past them and around the Fountain of Magical Brethren- “Wotcher, Eric!”- to push the button for an elevator. As she waited for it to appear, she took note of the fact that had she not been a part of the activities a few nights past, she wouldn’t have been any the wiser to the goings on at the Ministry. The damage had been repaired, and everyone carried on as though nothing had ever happened. Of course, she reasoned, to a great deal of them, nothing ever had.

    Almost as if on cue, the elevator in front of her chimed, and out stepped none other than Cornelius Fudge, donned in his favored pinstripe suit and lime green bowler hat, arguing heatedly with a member of the Wizengamot. Upon seeing her he ceased shouting for a moment, snorted in distaste, and the pair of them continued on their way. She sneered, gracing his retreating back with her middle finger, and climbed into the lift, rolling her eyes as the gateway shut.

    Just as she stepped into her little cubicle in the far back corner and set her file on the cluttered desk, an interoffice memo disguised as a paper airplane collided with her head. She unfolded it, muttering about how it would be much easier to just send memos though charmed mailboxes, and went for her second eye-roll of the day: She was expected in the front office in ten minutes.

    Dumping last week’s paperwork into the wastebasket, she cleared a space on her desk for which to place her file. It was a given that they would enquire as to her progress with rounding up an Eyrie Whittaker, Voldemort supporter extraordinaire, and truth be told, she hadn’t even opened the coffee-stained manila folder. Not that they would know that…not if she got a start now on speed reading.

    Drumming her fingers on the desk, she began scanning his profile, when someone cleared their throat from behind her. She turned, ready to give whomever it was a piece of her mind for having the worst timing in the world.

    “’Allo there, Nymphadora!” Otis Lillard greeted, pushing his glasses further up on his pig-like snout of a nose.

    “What is it, arse hole day?” she asked herself, frustrated at even the sight of him. Her lack of sleep and solace, paired with the fact that she had been forced to see both Fudge and Lillard within a five minute span of one another, had driven her to a point of temporary lunacy. Blood boiling and eyes narrowed, she returned to the papers in front of her and continued reading.

    “Pardon? I didn’t catch that.” He stepped closer to her cubicle and leaned his upper body over the short wall.

    The only reason this man had become an auror, unless he possessed some hidden talent, was because he was easily forgotten. You could pass him on the street, then again moments later, and not remember passing him at all. Unfortunately, he would not allow her to forget. Although his cubicle was positioned somewhere towards the front, he insisted upon passing by daily just to see if she was available to beleaguer. Often times, she was. The whole thing made her want to send a Cruciatus Curse or two his way. “I said, ‘Isn’t it a lovely day?’ And don’t call me Nymphadora.”

    “Okay, Nymphie! Say, how are things with the family? I heard about your cousin, Sirius Black. It really is a shame, but he had it comin’ you know, his being an escaped convict an’ all. Talk about bad karma…jeez…” The insufferable little man whistled, shaking his head, and at that moment, she was blinded by fury.

    She spun in her chair, got to her feet, and pointed her want square between his eyes. “Get away from me now, and don’t ever come back here again.” Her tone was clipped and controlled, but she could almost feel her eyes glittering with malice. He had gone too far, and she would not listen to it anymore. This had long since been coming.

    “Hey, hey…I- I didn’t mean nothin’ by it…” he stammered, lifting his hands in the air and slowly backing away. Her little stunt had drawn the attention of every auror on the floor; people had stopped to stare, and heads were poked around cubicle walls. At the moment, she didn’t honestly care.

    “Go!” she snapped, jabbing her wand in the direction of the front of the room. Just then, as Lillard gradually rotated to leave, a deafening crash echoed through the building. The ceiling shook, and sheetrock fell in clouds of dust. She covered her head with her arms, as did most everyone else. Lillard dropped to the floor on his stomach, hollering as if she had hit him with an unforgivable curse. Maybe she had. After a moment of silence, she shook the debris from her hair and peeked over her wall to survey the damage.

    She had not, in fact, hit Lillard, almost to her dismay, or anyone else for that matter with a curse, but as it turned out, she had blown up the cubicle to the left of hers. Kingsley’s cubicle, to be exact. Everyone, once they had realized what had happened, began shouting and chattering and pointing, and some even began laughing. She, however, paid them no heed, too busy watching the paper airplane-memo that was rapidly approaching, mouth agape. She caught it before it could crash into her again, and read silently to herself. It said:

    Nymphadora Tonks, auror:

    Never mind ten minutes- I want to see you in my office immediately. And bring your things with you.

    - Kirk Allen, Head of Magical Law Enforcement

    “Oh, bloody hell!” She was in for it, now.

    “You what?”

    “I blew up an office…” Tonks said timidly, tracing a knot in the table with her index finger.

    “You blew up an office…you blew up an office! And whose office was this, exactly?”

    “Kingsley’s,” she squeaked, burying her head in her hands.

    “Oh, that’s just wonderful, really!”

    There she was, on the verge of a mental breakdown, and all Snape could do was hover over her, bellowing, spewing flecks of spit as he did. At the moment, however, the only thing on her mind was how she could ever look anyone at the Ministry in the face again.

    They already thought she didn’t belong there; a decade or more younger than the whole lot of them, a Metamorphmagus with an out there fashion sense, or lack thereof. Not to mention an uncontrollable and haphazard temper, she mused, massaging the her temples as Snape or Remus often did in times of distress. The day’s previous activities floated back into her mind.

    After an interesting time of getting herself to Allen’s office, she was called in, and flopped herself down in a chair on the other side of her boss’s desk. She then proceeded to begin laughing hysterically, which was the only thing she could think of that would prevent her from bawling instead. When she had finally calmed herself down, he politely suggested she take a break for a while, and not return until she could be sure she was capable of conducting business without blowing anything up.

    “I’m sorry, okay! I was just…Otis Lillard, he…” She growled in frustration, but the sound was muffled by her hands. “Oh, never mind it! I wouldn’t expect you to understand!”

    “I understand perfectly well, thank you. I understand that you are utterly and completely an imbecile! Honestly, I can’t figure out for the life of me why anyone lets you out the front door!” Snape spat, venomously. There was no point in arguing with that man. “And what is it you plan on doing until they allow you back at the Ministry?”

    “What’s it to you?” She retorted, her bold tone not revealing the turmoil going on within her.

    “I’m just curious as to how much more I will have to see of you now that you are…unoccupied.” Oh, she could just strangle him! He didn’t give her the chance, though, because, before she could bring her hands to his pallid neck, he turned and swept out of the kitchen, robes billowing behind him.

    “Hey, wait!” she called after him, “Don’t just walk away from me!”

    He failed to acknowledge her, and a moment later she heard the familiar ‘pop’ of Apparation. Well, fine. She didn’t really want him around, anyway. But what it was that caused him to leave so abruptly interested her, and she stored it away in her brain for later analysis. The only thing left for her to do now was to find something to engage herself in and wait for Remus to return from wherever he had gone. Hopefully she wouldn’t have too long to wait.

    Letting her head drop from her hands, she groaned in exasperation as it hit the table with a thud. She left it there for a moment, then lifted it again and ran her fingers through her short lavender locks. “C’mon, Nymphadora, get it together,” she told herself amidst another groan. She then pushed herself to her feet.

    A persistent screech echoed down into the kitchen, then again, louder in insistence. Tonks could immediately recognize the source of the noise, it residing in the topmost upstairs bedroom. Whether it be a cry of mourning or of hunger she wasn’t sure, but she did know that she had better hurry up there, or the hippogriff was likely to take its anger out on whatever it could first reach.