The Shape of Me

Chapter Five

Bones

Here's the silhouette, the face always turned away

The bleeding colors gone to black, dying like a day

Couldn't figure out what made you so unhappy

Shook your head to say "no, no, no"

And stopped for a spell, and stayed that way

Oh well, okay...

I don't know if I had expected some great, sweeping change to descend upon our household after Mum's revelations, but none did. Nothing changed in the slightest, which both irritated and relieved me. I was a study in conflicting emotions then, so mixed up that I couldn't have one reaction to any given situation that didn't contradict a couple others. Mum had the right instincts to keep everything normal, but at the time I thought it was patronizing- even if I didn't know what the word meant.

So I went about the usual routines in sullen silence, a stranger to myself, until we were right upon the eve of my next class at the Ministry. And as conflicted as I was about everything else, I was adamant about not wanting to return to classes with Sully. He would be a glaring reminder of the events of the previous week, and while I had thought of little else recently, the last thing that I wanted was to hear what he had to say about the whole ordeal.

Sprawling on the rug before the fire that afternoon, I was idly flipping through a book when I heard Mum comment to Dad, "They still haven't returned my owls asking about a trial."

"Andromeda," my dad said, in a weary tone.

"Ted, look at the others who got a trial. They were easily as bad; they were worse! Maybe there is an excuse for his behavior. Maybe it was Imperius..."

"Andromeda, darling." I glanced over my shoulder and watched as my dad got up and went over to Mum, putting his arms around her and stroking her honey hair gently. "Can't you leave this alone?"

She let herself relax on his shoulder for a minute before straightening up and gently disengaging herself from his embrace. "No, I can't. I'm sorry, but I need to go down there and straighten this out."

"What about Nymphadora?" Dad turned to me, with an eyebrow raised. "Nymph, can we trust you to be good for an hour or so whilst your Mum and I Floo over to the Ministry for a bit?"

I sat up, a surprising feeling of eagerness suddenly flowing through me. "Yes sir," I told him, trying to look sincere and trustworthy, but not like I was trying to look that way. He considered, and then turned to Mum. "What do you think?" he asked.

She turned a face filled with concern to me. "Will you be okay sweetie? If there's anything you need, just Floo over to Grammy's house- you know that we still have her tied into the Network for now. We won't be long, I just need to clear a few things up."

I wanted to ask what sorts of things she needed to clear up, and whether or not this meant that Sirius wasn't a bad person after all, but I just gave all the appropriate responses and soon they were stepping into the fireplace, disappearing in a bright flash of Floo powder. Which left me in the house, alone.

It was the first time that I had been alone, really alone, in a while; ever since the day that I went mad at the Ministry, I had been treated like a dragon's egg that could crack its shell at any moment. The freedom of the empty house made me realize how stifling it had been until then, and I laughed out loud, reveling in the noise that filled our small sitting room. I even did a silly little dance, one that ended up with a terribly undignified tumble- backwards, no less- over the ottoman and into a bookcase, which toppled a pile of books onto my head. Grumbling, I was getting up to tidy the books when I saw one that had fallen open on the floor nearby.

Familiar faces stared out at me and figures moved about on its pages; it was one of the old family photo albums, one of the books I usually avoided. But that day I didn't slam it shut and hurriedly put it away, like I normally would do. Instead I pulled it into my lap, my gaze running over the photos almost hungrily. These were the Blacks, the family that had produced my Mum and Sirius, and frightening Aunt Bella and elegant Aunt Narcissa. There was Regulus, the one that Mum had never done more than mention, and his and Sirius' father, my Great Uncle Aegeon, looking fierce and angry. I pored over them, using all of my newly acquired skills from the Ministry classes to study each aristocratic face, seeking myself in them as I thought again about Bellatrix' comment.

Page after page...I could see my features on other faces, and gradually I could ascertain the distinctive stamp of 'Black' on each of my relatives. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, though; the Snapes have that unfortunate nose as a House trait, while the Malfoys have borne white-blonde heirs for centuries, but the characteristics of the Blacks are subtler. I think it's more in the basic proportioning of the face rather than one feature, like the Snape nose or the Weasley hair.

After about half an hour I finally put the photo album away, finished tidying the books and went upstairs to my room, all of my earlier elation dissipated. Slumping down before the mirror at my dressing table, I let my mask slip away until the natural me was staring back out of the glass. It only took a minute or two before I saw it, the arrangement of features that carried the imprint of that Ancient and Most Noble House. Bellatrix was right. I did look like a Black.

In fact, I looked rather a lot like Sirius, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by me at the time, and a flicker of rage began to burn within me. I didn't want to be like Sirius, or Bellatrix, or any of those other bad people to whom I was related. Neither did I want to be like my Mum, who I perceived at that time as being weak, although my views have changed somewhat since then. All of my confusion fed the anger that was steadily building, focusing on my Black heritage.

"I don't want to be like you- like any of you!" I hissed at the face in the mirror. I shifted faces quickly; changing my appearance to that of an apple-cheeked, golden-haired girl I had seen a couple days earlier at the market. But even through my mask I thought I could still detect traces of the Black face.

I growled and shifted again, and again I was sure that some hint remained, some damning clue that proclaimed my ancestry as clearly as Big Ben tolling the hour. Face after face I went through, trying desperately to rid myself of the face of my family, the Dark, betraying family of which I had found myself a part. But the image- real or imagined- remained, mocking me.

That was when I remembered the bones...

I wish, I just wish that for once I had listened.

Staring hard at my face in the mirror, I concentrated on changing it, changing the basic shape, the contours of my skull. Despite Sully's comment that bones couldn't be altered, I was certain that he, like everyone else, was lying to me. Or perhaps he simply wasn't able to do it. It didn't matter; one way or another, I was determined to be a Black no longer.

It was horribly difficult; I was so accustomed at that point to the ease with which my body would respond that the sluggishness of the reaction irritated me, making me push harder. My body was deeply resistant to the change that I was forcing upon it, which in turn spurred me to greater efforts. Despite the ache that was spreading across my face, I was determined that I would change its very foundations, and eliminate the trace of the Blacks within me. I closed my eyes, straining with the effort to alter, to transform myself...

The sudden, sickening crack that filled the room startled me, but not for long, as I was immediately struck with an indescribable, hideous pain that seemed to fill my entire head. I drew breath to scream, but passed out before I could make the first sound.

~*~*~

The reason that Metamorphmagi can alter their physical appearance is because their skin and connective tissues are all imbued with a certain degree of magical elasticity and control, as well as chameleon-like qualities. It is actually a far more physical process than most people imagine it to be, and not without a degree of strenuousness. I think that I have mentioned before that learning to shift faces was very much like exercising a muscle? Well, it's like that, only to be more accurate you'd have to understand that almost our entire bodies are that way- like a muscle, I mean.

But not our bones. Throughout all of our shifting our bones remain intact, holding the entire structure together. But when a Metamorphmagus concentrates their collective muscles- muscle, skin, ligament and tendon- when these are all focused on altering a fixed, immutable bone, well...

All things considered, Mum and Dad were very calm and collected when they came home to find their daughter unconscious in her bedroom with a badly fractured skull. I understand that they were able to get me to St. Mungo's within ten minutes of finding me, and in less than twenty minutes I had been admitted and was being examined by the Healers there. Of course, I knew nothing of this until I woke up in my hospital room three days later, with the mother of all headaches.

Mum and Dad weren't there, which struck me as distinctly odd given that I had no idea whatsoever where I was- I didn't know that I had been rushed into the hospital. All that I knew was that I was in a stark, dimly lit room, and my tutor was sitting in a chair at the foot of my bed. So of course I was defensive, to say the least.

"What are you doing here?" I snarled at him, or tried to. What came out was more along the lines of "Whurngnger?" My skull was back to proper shape by then, but I had really done a number on the muscles and tendons of my jaw, straining them both from the exertion against the bone and the subsequent fracturing that occurred, so my speech was rather, erm, sloppy, let's say. If you can avoid it, try not to wrack your head out of shape, because the rehabilitation is a real bitch.

Sully scooted a little closer, so that he could more easily look me in the face. His dispassionate eyes didn't make me any more comfortable about my surroundings, especially when his first words to me were, "Had to try it, didn't you? And you don't do things by halves, either; you landed yourself in St. Mungo's and nearly cracked your head open in the process." There was some measure of commiseration in his tone of voice, very faint, but recognizable. It took a minute for me to realize that he was actually trying to be sympathetic, for by the time I grasped it, his next words had taken me off guard.

"Your Mum and Dad are half convinced that you are suicidal; I had to do a lot of talking to reassure them that, more likely than not, you weren't actively trying to kill yourself. You weren't, were you?" He raised an eyebrow inquiringly at me, and I shook my head forcefully in denial, immediately deeply regretting the action as my jaw swung like a dead weight suspended by rubberbands. I groaned slightly, grabbing my face to still it.

He nodded, as if he had expected no other answer. "So, why the hell would you want to alter your skull?" he asked me bluntly, and I stared at him in amazement. It was all rather surreal, going from the teensy, fleeting snatch of memory that I have of breaking my skull to awakening in a strange place with no parents in sight, and a nosey tutor for a proxy. Sore, with a monstrous headache, and very cranky, I was in no mood to be cooperative just then.

So I glared at him, and mumbled, "Mum," which came out surprisingly coherent.

The eyebrow climbed back toward Sully's hairline. "Are you blaming your mother?" he asked me, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"Nghr! Whur?" I gabbled, trying to force my mouth to work properly. I wanted to know where my parents were, and I gestured broadly, trying to communicate that intent to him. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as though in disbelief.

"I told you that they thought you were suicidal; that means that you were noted for a mental evaluation upon your return to consciousness. I asked your parents' permission to be the one to speak with you first when you awoke, rather than the councilor that you would otherwise be assigned to help you deal with your 'problems and issues'." His voice took on a high, mocking tone, and there was a tinge of bitterness that passed across his face and away so quickly that at the time I thought I must have imagined it. "I managed to convince them that you were most likely just pushing the envelope on your abilities, and not actually intending to harm yourself, and they agreed to let me act the role of the councilor.

"But just because you weren't trying to crack your skull like an eggshell doesn't mean that you still weren't upset over something. Why the hell would you try to reshape your skull, anyway? I can't see why you'd want to do such a thing."

I thought that his query was rhetorical, but after a minute he gave a loud snort. "Well?" he demanded. "Do you plan on keeping me in the dark or answering the question?"

I pointed at my face, indicating the slackness in my jaw. His hazy eyes bored into mine, and he sniffed dismissively.

"You're not going to get better just sitting there mute," he said. "You'll have to exercise the muscles back into proper condition, and there's no reason not to start now. I want you to tell me why you landed yourself here at St. Mungo's."

I rolled my eyes, and he frowned slightly.

"Miss Tonks, I don't plan on leaving until you provide me with an explanation. If I don't get one, they will only send in someone else, and that good witch or wizard won't have the slightest concept of what it is to be what you are, and the strain that can put on your life. You aren't going to find a more sympathetic audience than me!" he growled. That was reassuring, let me tell you.

"Lughud be!" I yelled at him - softly, I wasn't willing to hurt myself just to be temperamental! "Uh duhwanggha lugg lagh dih!" I pointed at my face frantically; as if the stabbing gestures at my cheeks and eyes, and the unintelligible garble that I was spewing were things that could possibly be translated by him. I was actually willing at that instant to tell Sully that I didn't want to look like me anymore, but it was obvious that he couldn't make heads or tails of my speech. And if he couldn't make that out, there was little reason to believe that he would understand what would be the much more involved explanation about my Black family ties. So as quickly as I had made my mind up to talk, I decided that it was all pointless and futile, and closed up to him again.

His expression softened somewhat as he took in my furious reaction, and he gave me a tentative, unfamiliar smile. He stood and put one foot on the edge of the bed, pulling his robes up to expose his calf. There were thin white lines traced over it, almost like a jigsaw puzzle. The scars were faint, but I was still surprised to see them there at all; Metamorphmagi don't tend to scar, since our bodies are so malleable anyway. To see even this evidence meant that the damage must have been terrible. Meeting my eyes, he nodded slowly.

"When I did it, it was my legs," he told me. "I was a tall kid, really stood out, and I wasn't one of the popular crowd. Just the opposite, really, and I was teased and taunted mercilessly by my classmates. I wanted to be smaller, so that I wouldn't attract as much attention. So, I tried to shrink my bones...and essentially splintered both tibiae and fibulae. Because I had been in such a hurry to do the shrinking, the accident tore apart my left leg, and nearly destroyed my right one entirely, and I might have bled to death had my sister, who was studying to become a Healer, not been there to stabilize me until I could be taken to the hospital. I ended up in Gretzky Memorial Hospital for six days, while the shattered bones healed and the Healers mended the shreds of my legs." He sighed softly, as though the memory was a burden that he was releasing. "I did tell you that it was the most excruciating experience of my life. Believe me now?"

I nodded cautiously, finally getting it through my idiot head that perhaps he did have some inkling of my woes. But, I reminded myself then, he still couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be a Black. C'mon, you remember what it was like to be a poor, persecuted child, don't you? When no one could ever understand the troubles you have, since no one in the history of the world has ever been in as confusing a spot as you?

Yes, I thought so.

Anyway, while I was waking up to the fact that maybe I could relate to Sully a bit, he shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm coming across strong because I've been worried about you ever since I found out what you had done. You've been through a lot recently, and you really don't need this first thing upon awakening." I was in shock from his apology- Sully never apologized, for anything- as he straightened, putting his foot down and adjusting his robes primly. "As long as you are not suicidal, I don't think that there is any need for extra precautions, though I expect that the Healers will wrap you in wards anyway. I'll be back by in the morning, after your Mum and Dad have seen you, and we'll start up our classes again."

I gaped at him, an expression that I could pull off very well, especially with the bum jaw. How could he suggest shifting? My entire face began to ache at the very thought of forming a mask, and he chuckled dryly at my expression.

"No, no, not faces," he said. "I would think, from recent events, that we are overdue to get back to the ethics studies on which Ms. Teadle started you."

I couldn't help it; I groaned aloud. I hated those lessons, with the moronic little Ministry axioms: 'proper faces in proper places', 'you may imitate, but not duplicate' or some other such nonsense; I really can't recall. I spent a lot of time tuning those things out; the 'proper faces' one only stuck because it was Ms. Teadle's favorite, and she droned it constantly.

Sully smirked at me, with absolutely no pity at all. "You didn't really think that you were going to get out of class that easily, did you? Miss Tonks, you are nearly nine years old. In less than two years, I have to prepare you for Hogwarts or whatever other wizarding school will have you, and if we don't complete the obligatory ethics curriculum, then you may not even be deemed acceptable to attend Muggle schools.

"My dear, you- in and of yourself- could cause a serious breach of Ministry security, were you to shift your face before a Muggle. You know the secrecy that surrounds our world. Not only that, but the abilities that you possess give you options that most people do not have. And in the aftermath of the war with You-Know-Who, there is a lot more emphasis on security. The Ministry has a certain preemptive nature that has manifested itself recently, and I can't imagine that you would be exempt from their scrutiny- if anything, I expect that you will be more under their gaze than you might have been at another time."

I couldn't help it then; I spat out, "Bleck,"

He furrowed his brow, but comprehension suddenly dawned on him, and his face darkened somewhat. "Perhaps," he conceded, "But they will be more likely to watch you simply because you are what you are- a person who is capable of appearing as anyone you want to be. Other than the NullMorph Potion, I know of no other way of forcing a Metamorphmagus to their true form, and that is only temporarily effective. In a nutshell, the Ministry can't be completely sure of controlling you, so they are nervous. But understand," he said, shaking a finger at me sternly, "it is not on account of who you are, so much as what you are. Why else do you think that there is actually a textbook?"

I shrugged irritably, and rolled over on the bed with my back to him. He muttered something under his breath that I couldn't quite make out, and then raised his voice to a level that could be plainly heard. "When I first met you, I told you that you ought to show your real face more often. I didn't mean that just for our classes; I meant that as a general rule. Now is a very good time to start, and it will hopefully make a good impression on the Ministry caseworker who will undoubtedly be checking in on you later." There was a pause, and then he said, "You shouldn't hide from who you really are."

He finally left then, and Mum and Dad came in shortly after that. They were both upset and relieved, and much more accepting of my lack of speech than Sully had been. Mum chattered nervously, Dad sat by the bed and held my hand, and both of them were shooed off by a green-robed Healer after about an hour. She gave me a potion to help with the ache in my head, and then left me to get some rest.

Not that much was forthcoming. Despite the potion dulling the worst of the pain, I was still rather uncomfortable. Plus, all the things that Sully had told me had to be replayed over and over, as I puzzled through what he had said about me being watched with extra care by the Ministry. His last comment was eerily like Bella's, I thought. You shouldn't hide from who you really are- I invested that simple statement with much more significance than it actually had. So I lay there, aching, with all of these thoughts churning around in my brain, trying to sift out something that was true and real. Something that I could rely on, that wouldn't change, or leave me, or tell me lies. Something that would make my world solid again.

And there it was. In Bella's comment, and in Sully's, was the answer. In my mind, they had as good as said, "You are a Black." And after all, that was who I was, right? That untrustworthy little Metamorphmagus from the Evil House of Black. And I wasn't supposed to run from that truth, so all that was left was to embrace it. There in that hospital room, I decided that if that's what they wanted, that's what I would be. I would bow to the inevitable. I would be a Black.