The Long Fight of Nymphadora Tonks

Chapter 2: Like Lightning

Why is it that I always seem to want the things that I mustn't have? It's been like this ever since I was a little girl. Mind you, at least then I was allowed the things I wanted in moderation - usually chocolate frogs or Drooble's - even if Mum did claim they weren't good for.me That made it bearable, I suppose. But now I want something more than I've ever wanted anything before. And I can't have it. End of discussion. Not a chance.

Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Ted and Andromeda Tonks, auror and metamorphmagus, stood looking in the mirror. She studied her reflection. The reflection of a young woman in a loose-fitting t-shirt, with big, brown eyes in a pale, heart-shaped face, with tousled hair the colour of the pinkest bubblegum she had ever sneaked out of a sweet dish. She picked up a brush and tried to restore some order to the spikes that currently stood out in all directions, because she had been tossing and turning all night - again.

I don't know why I bother, really. It's not like anyone cares whether I go out the door looking my Sunday best or resembling something the cat dragged in after chewing on it happily for an hour or two. I'm getting fed up with the pink, anyway. About time I tried a new colour. Just because he said the pink suits me. Huh.

With a snort, she stopped brushing her hair and closed her eyes in concentration. She would try red this time. Yes, that was it. The red of roses, the colour of passion - the colour of blood. Her eyes opened again and she looked eagerly at her reflection. The result was so startling that she didn't recognise herself for a moment.

What the ... who ordered mousy brown? Must have got my thoughts in a muddle. That's what comes of metamorphosing on an empty stomach. Well, have to try harder, I suppose.

Closing her eyes again, she concentrated once more. She took her time before opening her eyes again. The result was the same as the first time. Mousy brown, not a hint of red. She tried again, and again, but nothing happened. In the end, she resigned herself to waiting until after breakfast. But even then, when she had partaken of plenty of cornflakes and toast and butter and jam, when she had had a refreshing shower and pulled on her favourite jeans and the Weird Sisters top, she couldn't do it. She stood there with her brush in her hand, her expression puzzled. But only for a moment. Then she felt an annoying kind of prickling at the back of her eyes.

Merlin's beard, Tonks, you're not about to start blubbing!

But she couldn't help it. With a cry of anger and misery, she hurled her brush at the mirror so that it cracked and ran out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom, and flung herself on the still unmade bed, pulling the cover over her, sobbing, sobbing her heart out.

Why do I always want the things I mustn't have?

And why could a man thirteen years older than her, a man who seemed to have no energy, no passion, no apparent enthusiasm for life, a man completely devoid of the excitement and shockingly bright, vivid colourfulness she craved, do this to her? Why could he, of all men, make her heart bound just by talking to her, and send her crying to her bed like a baby just by looking away? Why had things had to turn out this way? They had begun so pleasantly ...

It was the summer of 1994, the year the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts had taken up the front pages of the Daily Prophet week after week, when that dreadful Skeeter woman had spread lies in unprecedented quantity, which sadly only too many people had swallowed as eagerly as pumpkin juice on a sunny day. News of the tragedy that had occurred during the final task of the Tournament had travelled fast, enough versions of it to fill ten editions of the Prophet. The Tournament had claimed a life. Cedric Diggory, by all accounts a handsome, much-loved boy of seventeen, was dead. "An accident," some said. "His own fault," others whispered. "It had something to do with the Potter boy," a few were heard muttering. But not Nymphadora Tonks. She was sure there was more to it than anyone was letting on, and when she came home from work one day to find her mother deep in conversation with the man whose face she still saw plastered on nearly every square inch of bare wall at Headquarters every day, she knew that she had been right.

It still surprised her how little it had worried her that her mother had allowed a convicted traitor and murderer and supposedly the closest supporter ever of the Dark Lord into her living room. Perhaps that was because she knew that her mother had never really believed in her favourite cousin's guilt.

"Black?" she had queried, joining them unexpectedly, standing back to let her mother return the vase she had sent flying on entry to its rightful place, and studying him with interest. "Sirius Black?"

It occurred to her that he had probably looked more shocked and surprised than she was when he saw her.

"Don't tell me," he said in a rough, low voice very like a growl. "It can't be ... Nymphadora?"

She pulled a face. "No. It's not. It's just plain 'Tonks'."

And that had been the manner of their introduction. Sirius, she had learned that day, had never betrayed the Potters at all. It had been Peter Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew, who had faked his own death, and killed a dozen muggles so he could escape in the confusion. And it was Peter Pettigrew who was responsible for the death of Cedric Diggory, not an accident, not Cedric himself, not Harry Potter. Peter Pettigrew and the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort, who had risen again. Sirius had explained that there had been an organisation during what he called the 'First War' that had sworn to fight Voldemort and all who supported him. He had told her that Albus Dumbledore had asked him to call together all the people who had been in this 'Order of the Phoenix' last time, and to contact anyone he thought might be able to help.

Tonks had looked expectantly at her mother, but she had shaken her head.

"Your father and I won't be getting involved in this. We kept out of the Order last time, and we will do so again. I'm sorry, Sirius," she forestalled her cousin's protests. "We're not fighters, either of us. You know that."

"You fought once for what you believed in. You married Ted," he reminded her.

"That was different. I fought for love, Sirius. It was quite another kind of fight - a battle of wills, not powers. I'm not cut out for duelling in dark alleys, looking over my shoulder - maybe one day having to face my sisters. No. I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Sirius had turned to go. But Tonks had made her decision, there and then.

"I'll join the Order," she said eagerly. "I'm not afraid of anything."

Her mother began to object, but Tonks cut her short.

"Mum, I'm an auror. I'll have to fight the Death Eaters one way or another. I'd like it to be this way."

Ignoring her mother's anxious eyes that she knew were on her, Tonks looked hard at Sirius Black. Under the grime and the tangle of hair, he grinned.

"You'd better come with me, then."

"What, now?"

"What's wrong? Got other plans? Boyfriend waiting? Changed your mind?"

"No!" she said with determination.

"Then let's go."

And before her very eyes, without a word of warning, he had transformed into a great, shaggy black dog. Overcoming her initial surprise, Tonks had followed him through the hall, tripped over a rug, and gone out into the street. He had led her straight to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, which had then not yet been placed under the protection of the Fidelius charm, and she had entered his old family home with a mild sense awe and anxiety, and a strong feeling of excitement throbbing in her veins. And then she had been struck suddenly, unexpectedly, by something she had never imagined - like a bolt of lightning.

Notoriously clumsy as she was, Tonks was quite proud of herself for having made it as far as the end of the hall without knocking anything over. Then a voice said Sirius's name just behind her, and she whirled round, cockshyed a table and stumbled headlong into the person who had spoken.

"Oh! Ouch! Oh no! Why do these things always happen to me? I'm sorry, really, I ..."

"It's all right. No harm done."

His voice was gentle, and a little hoarse. He helped her straighten herself up and smiled. Maybe it was because she had fallen straight into his arms, or just his voice alone, or the faint air of sorrow that hung about that smile, the way his light-brown hair streaked with grey hung over his eyes or his eyes themselves, weary but kind - Tonks never knew why, but from the first moment she met Remus Lupin, she felt closer to him than she had ever felt to anyone. It had not been, then, what she imagined people meant when they used the expression 'love at first sight'. It had been, rather, a sense of contentment, of security, of being in the presence of someone who would know just the right words to say at any given moment, and just the right thing to do.

"It's your own fault, anyway," Sirius said gruffly. "You shouldn't have sneaked up on us like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Well," said Sirius, "while we're at it - Moony, I couldn't get Cousin Andromeda to back up the cause, but her daughter volunteered instead, and here she is. Yes, the very same little imp that drooled strawberry sundae all over my best hole-ridden jeans that day at Fortescue's."

"Seriously?" Remus asked, staring at Tonks in amazement now.

"Would I lie to my best friend? So, let's go down to the kitchen, shall we, and get to work?"

"Err ..." Tonks murmured, but Sirius was already hurrying down the staircase, so there was nothing for it, she would just have to ask. "So you are ...?"

"Remus Lupin," he said.

"Oh, so you're the werewolf?!"

The words were out of her mouth before she knew it. She bit her lip, afraid of his reaction. But after a moment's surprise, he smiled again.

"I suppose your mother told you about Sirius and his odd friends? Yes. I'm the werewolf. And you're little Nymphadora."

"Please, do me a favour and drop the 'little'. And the 'Nymphadora', too. Just call me Tonks."

"If that's what you want, of course. But it's a pretty name."

"Whose side are you on?" she demanded lightly.

Yes, it had all begun so pleasantly. She had liked him from the start, and she had sensed that he liked her. If only it could have stayed that way. If only she hadn't gone and spoiled it all by falling for him in earnest.