Nymphadora

"'Wotcher'," repeated Harry, taking a chair from a nearby table. "What exactly does that mean, anyway?"

"It's a greeting, of course," she replied, crossing her legs. "My dad's always saying quaint stuff like that - he's from Cheapside, London. I think it's supposed to be a corruption of 'What cheer' or something like that."

"Tonks, there you are!" Hermione appeared in the twilight with a heinously huge book clutched in her hand. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Wotcher," he replied, grinning.

Hermione looked at him oddly and turned back to Tonks. "Listen, I was reading this -" she displayed the cover of the thick book entitled The Protean Complex "- and I was wondering some things about Metamorphmagi. Would you mind helping me?" She pulled over a chair next to Harry and placed the brick on her lap.

"Wow," said Tonks, her dark eyes twinkling, "I haven't seen my copy of that in ages." She put out her hand and Hermione handed her the book. Tonks began flipping through the yellowing pages in silence, and Harry caught Hermione's eye. He gave her a look that clearly read, What do you think you're doing?, and she responded with a look that clearly read, It's interesting, so shut it.

Tonks finally spoke. "This is the 26^th edition, which is getting pretty old. I think next year the 32^nd or 33^rd is due. Somewhere at my parents' house - but don't bother looking, you can't even find Dad in the clutter nowadays - is the 30^th edition, which I got as a birthday present when I was six." She began to look something up in the index.

"Who would give you that book when you're six?" asked Harry, surprised. "I mean, could you even read?"

Tonks laughed. "I was just learning how to read then, but my uncle...." She stopped suddenly for a moment, her face falling. "Well, second cousin...gave it to me, as he worked in a bookstore at the time." She took in a deep breath, shuddering even in the warm evening, and sighed.

Hermione looked confused, but Harry had put two and two together. "Sirius," he said simply. Tonks nodded. "Did you know him?" he asked.

"Yes, actually - I sort of grew up with him. He had a flat with Remus a few streets over when we lived on Cecil Court, so he was always over." She found what she was looking for with a small a-ha! And turned to the page. "See here? Geoffrey Pettigrew, Peter's grandfather." There was a short biography next to a smiling picture of Geoffrey, who had only a hint of Peter's rat-like features. "He died in '78, but Sirius knew him and thought his ability was wicked. So when I first started to show signs, and my mum and dad had no clue what was going on, it was he who put things together.

"What first signs?" asked Harry curious. "How did you know?" He ignored Hermione kicking his chair in exasperation as Tonks returned the book.

"It nearly drove Mum mad," she replied, uncrossing her legs and putting down her drink. "It began when I was five...."

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I spent most of my childhood inside. You-Know-Who was at the height of his power then, and even in broad daylight I was not allowed to go downstairs to Haversacker Haven without Mum, Dad, or Sirius holding my hand. While there were lots of fun wizarding shops in Cecil Court, and Muggle ones too when you wanted a laugh, I could only watch the bustle below longingly from the window in my room. Mum worked in a cauldron shop down the road, close enough that she could come home and check up on me for lunch, while Dad was a security wizard at the Ministry.

Sirius drifted from job to job, wherever he was needed and paid handsomely, and the most memorable was him sweeping up the apothecary across the street. On breaks he would throw a pebble at my window and wave. Of course, the stones were enchanted, but the Muggles walking around with their noses in books on Atlantis and Stonehenge would, if ever theng enough to catch sight of the flying pebbles, cite some mass Martian conspiracy cover-up and continue on their merry way. It was still comforting to know my second cousin, more like an uncle - or maybe even a much older brother - was keeping a constant eye out for me.

Left alone for hours at a time, however, led me to having invent my own games a lot. I can only remember a few of them, most simply versions of the universal "Pretend" game, but one in particular remains clear in my mind. I was imagining I was the famous Quidditch star Tracey Griffith, probably running around the flat with Mum's mop and making a right mess of everything, when I passed hallway mirror and stopped short. When I was young, let me just add, I had my mum's dark eyes and my dad's mousy-brown hair.

But what I had seen as I ran past was auburn-blonde hair and green eyes, like Griffith had. When I looked for a second time in the mirror, it was true - I looked like a cross between the famous Seeker and myself! And, to my astonished eyes, I watched as my frightened features slowly moved back to my original appearance. Seeing someone else's face as it changes is strange enough - imagine your own nose shortening as you watch! Fortunately, though, I was only five at the time, so any initial shock at my own unexpected unnaturalness was quickly overrun by outright fascination.

To be a Metamorphmagus is not such an abnormal, amazing thing, or at least I think so. Of course, it sure isn't common, but nothing to get worked up over like some older wizards and witches have. Although it is a gift, it takes a bit of practice, both to be able to use it properly and to get used to it. I sat my little five-year-old bum down in front of the mirror and tried to get myself to look like Tracey Griffith again, but for some reason it just wouldn't work. For an hour all I did was stare at my reflection, willing my dark eyes to become green or my nose to elongate or my hair to lighten or something! To prove that I wasn't just temporarily loony.

Finally, I closed my eyes in frustration, and thought to myself, What would Griffith do? She was my heroine back then, but somehow the idea that the Harpy wouldn't have the foggiest notion of how to respond didn't come up in my child mind. I imagined myself as Griffith, ready to take on a tough team and win, and when I opened my eyes again I saw her face looking back at me.

That was the key - I knew it then, but only recently have I tried to put it into words. It's basically the premise that I look like whomever I think I look like. Surprisingly enough, or not surprising at all, considering your take on childhood intelligence, it was heaps easier to make myself believe I was someone else at age five. Truly believe, I mean. Some people think all I have to do is imagine myself looking like, say, a porlock to "become" one, but as soon as I try to appear as anything silly like that the first thought that crosses my mind is "This is ridiculous!" It ruins the effect entirely, of course. The same is for humans nowadays. I can imagine and believe myself to be a bombshell or a boffin long enough to appear as one, but as soon as I forget who I am it's back to good ol' Tonks. Not back then, though. Those were the days when the game of "Pretend" was, for me, the game of "Become".

I decided that I would greet Mum when she came home to check on me and prepare lunch, with Griffith's green eyes and Mum's long soft hair, which I loved when I was young. You must remember at the time I didn't know the definition of Metamorphmagus, or could even pronounce it if I wanted do. So I thought that maybe everyone had this knack of mine. I moved a rickety wooden chair from the kitchen into the front anteroom and waited for my mum to come home, reminding myself of my appearance as I heard her undoing the locks outside. She opened the door, lifted the strong Aegis Spell placed over the flat, took one look at the smiling me, and broke into tears.

"Mum, what is it!?" I shrieked, instantly forgetting my disguise.

"Oh, Nympha, I - I was jusd seeing things -" she sobbed, closing the door behind her and grabbing me in a desperate hug.

"All right, Mum?" I asked, confused and afraid. Mum wasn't emotionally repressed, but it took much to move her to such an extreme display of feeling.

"It was just - just on the wireless - at the shop." She sniffed and sat down in the relocated chair, holding me in her lap, which was surprising, as I was already more than half her weight. The chair groaned ominously. "There was - was an attack, and I was so scared -"

"Scared of what?" I asked curiously.

"Scared of someone drying do - do hurd you," she sobbed, and wiped her streaming eyes on her robe sleeve.

"Not your family?" I was still having nightmares of Narcissa and the intangible threat of the Blacks.

"Oh, dear, it's so - so hard do explain," Mum said, cryptically. She sniffed some more and regained some of her composure. "But...your Mum's cousin, Sirius's brother - was killed."

"But that's good, right?" The world is in black and white at that age.

Mum nearly lost it again. "I - I can'd explain. When - when you're older...."

That phrase has got to be the bane of every child's existence.

Later on I asked, discovered, and inferred that day into sense. There had been a Death Eater attack on a half-blood household with Order of the Phoenix ties only a dozen streets away. Regulus Black, Sirius's younger brother, had joined the Death Eaters a few weeks previous, and this was his first serious mission. But when it came to him actually taking out his wand and Avada Kedavra'ing the Muggle husband, he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he played You-Know-Who the fool and let the Muggle escape.

Of course, there's never any deceiving You-Know-Who, and another Death Eater assassinated Regulus shortly afterward. While the Black family mourned, Mum was upset because the Muggle went on the WWN and publicly linked the Blacks with You-Know-Who. All she needed was the nefarious Bartemius Crouch to take an interest and it would be her and Sirius's downfall. Returning to the flat to an unfamiliar face had broken the last defence she held against the dark world.

The rest of the day passed in silence. We ate lunch and Mum returned to work. Sirius threw a rock at the window and I waved. Dad came home, Sirius visited for dinner, and I had entirely forgotten my new-found talent by afters.

It was a heated discussion over cheap custard between the adults. I was starting to nod off when Mum admitted to her cousin her breakdown upon entering the flat. Upon hearing my name mentioned, I perked up and listened to my mum speak about imagining someone else.

"But you did see someone else, didn't you, Mum?" I interrupted rudely.

"Speak when you're spoken to," corrected Mum, tired from the stressful day.

"What do you mean?" Sirius interjected, his curiosity piqued.

"I was somebody else when she came home," I explained, obviously not making any sense to the adults. I read their faces and continued. "See, this morning, I was imagining I was Tracey Griffith, and then I was, so then I saw that I could be anyone I wanted to, it's just like what you told me, Dad, I can be anything I want to be."

"That's good for you," said Dad blearily.

"Healthy imagination," added Sirius.

"No, it's not," I argued. "I can be Mum if I really want to." I thought hard about her dark eyes, her soft blonde hair, and the little lines that appeared between her eyebrows every day after work. Then I thought about being her, and judging from the simultaneous looks of exclamation from the three adults, it had worked.

"Nympha, where did you learn this?" asked Dad, leaning down towards me as if he was trying to hear me in a crowded concert hall.

"I didn't learn it, I just did it," I said, thinking of myself as Tonks again.

Sirius was grinning in amazement. "Andie, you've got yourself a Metamorphmagus for a daughter!"

"A what?" asked Mum, pale.

××××××××××××××××××××

"I don't remember any more of that evening; I probably started falling asleep again at that point," she finished, sipping her drink.

"So it's a conceptualisation magic?" asked Hermione thoughtfully. "I was thinking that maybe it was some sort of outward visual perception alteration, but perhaps...." She began to drift in thought, and Harry and Tonks shared a blank look. "Sorry, it's just so fascinating," Hermione apologised, bringing herself back to the evening at the Burrow.

"Sirius thought so, too." Tonks tried putting the Ogden's on the ground again and accidentally tipped it over. "Mutt's nuts!"