Nym

Second Year

Dear Dad,

I'm fine. Really.

I just wanted to send you a letter and let you know that my second year at Hogwarts is starting off much better than my first did.

Rhiannon and I are still pretty close...I like her much more than the other girls in my House. Who knew that Hufflepuffs---kind, gentle Hufflepuffs---could be so unbelievably catty? I get along better with Rhiannon and a few of the boys in my year than I do with any of the other people in my House.

And Charlie, of course. I'm still friends with Charlie and Bill, and Charlie's very excited because he made the Gryffindor Quidditch team (!!!), which as you know is amazing for a second-year student to be played that soon. He's their starting Seeker, and from what Rhiannon (a completely rabid fan of the Falmouth Falcons) tells me, if he continues the way he's going he could play for a professional Quidditch team someday. Rhiannon says she's going out for Beater next year, and I think she could get it, too. She's not a big girl or anything (she's actually far from it), but she's very, very powerful. I'd hate to be on the wrong side of whatever bat they'd give her...

In other news, nobody here knows about my powers yet. I don't think that anyone will find out anytime soon, though. And believe you me; I'm behaving just like Mum always said to: No outrageously colored hair, no changing of gender to confuse teachers, no pig snouts at the breakfast table...in other words, nothing fun. I've kept to the boring standard Mum told me to when we first found out about my Metamorphmagus...ness: short brown hair, dark eyes like yours, fair skin like hers. But since my stay with the Weasley's I've had more than a sprinkle of freckles across my face...

I hope this letter finds you in good health, Dad. You know you shouldn't be eating all that junk food, even if Professor Dumbledore's brother does get it for free. I still think that man's a little touched in the head, and the way he talks about that goat of his still makes me wonder if he's playing with a full deck of cards.

I miss you, Dad. Please come by Nana and Granddad's this Christmas...I know they'd love to see you, too. Maybe we could even see a movie together?

LoveLoveLove (forever and a day after that),

Nym

~*~*~

The scroll of paper looks small in my hand as I tie it to Pluto's outstretched leg, and the barn owl hoots softly as I whisper "Take this to Ted".

He takes flight from his perch in the Owlry, his great wings spread wide as he soars through the open aperture of the tower and out into the early morning sunlight. I sigh and lean on the stone windowsill, my head propped in my hand as I watch the sun rise over the dark mass of trees that is the Forbidden Forest, the deep orange and gold of the sky lightening to a pale blue with each passing moment.

As much as I love my teachers, my classes, and my newfound friends, I miss my Dad.

~*~*~

"Come on, Nym! We're late enough for Charms as it is!"

Rhiannon is running down the corridor at top speed, both of us late for our fifth period Charms class from the rare daytime Astronomy class Professor Sinistra held on the roof of her tower classroom as we searched the skies for a special comet.

It was harder to locate celestial objects with the sun canceling everything out, and it didn't help that I knocked over three telescopes in the process of attempting to complete the assignment.

Rhiannon is ahead of me, and I can see her blonde head bouncing along the corridor in the sea of black robes, but she's too quick for me and I end up struggling to keep up with her fast pace.

A loose shoelace sends me lumbering into a wall, where I bounce and skid across other people in the crowded third floor hallway until I land on the cold ground. A great tearing sound makes my insides wince, and as I look up from the floor I can see that my bag has split, sending books and blank parchment flying across the stone floor of the hallway. I curse softly as I pick up a shard of glass from my shattered ink bottle and prick my finger (like a fairytale princess on a spindle...), drawing a tiny drop of blood.

"Would you see that? The klutz finally found her place in life!"

"Aw, lookit the little Hufflepuff brat!"

"The Mudblood's on her hands and knees, just like she belongs!"

Slytherins yell out cat-calls and jeers, and although this isn't the first time I've fallen flat on my face in front of a crowd, it is the first time I've been called a 'Mudblood'. The word feels like a hard slap in the face, and although tears prick the space behind my eyes I refuse to acknowledge them.

"Fuck off," I say, not looking at any of the people around me as I rise to my full height. "You lot wouldn't know what common decency looked like if it bit you in your privileged arses."

A few of the people that have formed a circle around me and my torn bag snort derisively, and I feel a small surge of adrenaline begin to pump in my veins. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that the hallway has emptied of everyone but me and the ten Slytherins, but the adrenaline rush cancels out the fear.

"You think you're better than me, Tonks?" says a low and deadly voice. Second-year Evan Rosier steps out from his crowd of Slytherin cronies, his striking features and imperial nature prominent despite his short stature. He crosses his arms, as if he is waiting for me to fall to the floor and beg for forgiveness, and my mind races for a retort.

"Did I stutter, Rosier?" I fire back, the sudden bravery in my voice surprising me. "Or has all the inbreeding your precious pureblood family's done the past few generations passed on hearing loss along with the twelve toes and early baldness?"

His eyebrow arches and his right hand twitches slightly, like he's fighting the urge to run it through his dark hair and make sure it is still all there.

"Inbred, eh? What about that blood-traitor mother of yours?" he drawls coolly. "I know all about her....her family married their cousins. You know, Mudblood, I wouldn't be surprised if she had twelve toes...or maybe idiocy was what was passed down through her family."

I can feel heat rising in my face and my hands involuntarily clench into fists (Breathe one-two-three breathe one-two-three breathe one-two-three oh Bugger it's not helping...). The black and yellow tie around my neck suddenly seems too tight, and a smirk spreads across Evan's face. He senses weakness like hound on a rodent's trail, and the slimy git is using it to his own advantage.

"Stupidity would explain everything; you know...Why else would a prime example of pureblooded wealth and privilege throw her entire life away for a filthy Muggle?"

The Slytherins behind him snicker appreciatively. My nails dig deeper into my palms but I can't feel any pain.

"It probably only took one good love potion, you know...One good love potion to get her in bed with a filthy Muggleborn. Why else would she go for one?" says Evan, his ice-blue eyes locked in mine and searching for flaws.

"What self-respecting pureblood would give up her titles and life for some filthy, no-good animal that doesn't deserve to be in our world?"

A scream rips through my body as I lunge at Evan Rosier and slap him as hard as I can across his pale and pointed face. My hand leaves a deep red mark across his cheek, and as I pull my hand back to hit him again he grabs both my wrists and holds me at arms' length from him.

"What's happening to her?"

"Look at her nails!"

"Look at her hair!"

The Slytherins surrounding us are whispering to each other and staring at me as I struggle and squirm against Evan's surprisingly strong grip, and even Evan's eyes are no longer focused on my face. I follow his eyes to my hands, and to my horror and surprise my nails are turning a rainbow's gamut of colors all on their own. A blue strand of hair falls in my eyes and my heart jumps directly into my throat.

"So....you're a Metamorphmagus, eh, Tonks?" Evan says softly, letting go of one of my wrists to grab at a lock of my still-changing hair. I pull away and break his grip on my other wrist, tripping over the hem of my robes and landing flat on my arse. His gang laughs as I reach for something to defend myself with, and one of the taller boys behind Evan flicks the large piece of broken glass I've hurled at Evan's head away with his wand.

Evan stands there silently, watching me stagger and struggle with a horrible gleam in his eyes, and as I finally gain some sense and reach for the wand that is sticking out of the pocket on my bag, Evan summons it with his own and holds it tightly in his fist.

"Give it back, Rosier," I say through gritted teeth. Evan laughs in my face.

"Since you've forgotten you manners, Tonks, I think it is well within our right to teach you a little lesson in etiquette." The boys and girls behind him giggle and whisper to one another as Evan dangles my wand in front of me. I charge forward and try to grab my wand, but Evan steps aside and I collide with the wall of people around us. They push me back, and I bounce from person to person until I am back in front of Evan, who grins maliciously as one of the taller boys behind me hold my arms behind my back.

"Change for us, Nymph, won't you?" He laughs derisively as he grabs me roughly by the chin. Evan's fingers dig into my flesh and I feel naked and dirty and all I want to do is get away, but he has my wand in his other hand and with the stupid git behind me holding my wrists together I can't do anything but wish that someone---anyone---will help me.

"Leave her alone!" someone shouts. The circle of people surrounding me and Evan Rosier parts, and I can see a flash of red above them as someone makes their way to the forefront of the crowd.

Evan looks up, caught unawares by the sudden change of atmosphere in the crowd, and he lets my face go.

Charlie bursts through the crowd of Slytherins, wand at the ready and his eyes blazing with hatred. Rosier laughs coldly and rolls his eyes, as if Charlie is a small child and doesn't know what he's doing.

"Back off, Weasley," he drawls. "You aren't needed here."

"Let her go, Evan," Charlie says forcefully. If looks could kill, Evan would be dead by now.

"Not in your lifetime, Weasel. Why don't you just run back to class and forget all about this?"

Charlie's wand is drawn and aimed at Evan.

"Don't make me do it, Rosier," he says in a low and deadly voice. "Let her go and nobody will get hurt."

Evan smirks at the gesture, drawing laughs from his little crowd of followers.

"Why don't you just try and hurt me, Weasel?" Evan sneers, twirling my wand in his fingers. "Why don't you just try and---"

"Flipendo!"

Evan flies backwards, caught off guard, and falls into the stone flooring of the hallway. He lies still for a second, and the hall is deathly silent as he pulls himself up. Blood is trickling slowly from a gash in Evan's lip, and as he wipes the back of his hand across it the blood looks like neon across his pale skin.

Evan stares at his hand for what feels like an eternity

There is a sickening crack as Evan's fist collides with Charlie's face, and Charlie crumples to the floor like a rag doll. Evan grabs the collar of Charlie's robes and hits him again, and again, and again, and I scream and scream and Evan's friends are gone; all of them saving their own skin. The one holding my arms is gone, and I scramble towards the spot on the floor where Evan dropped my wand, my mind racing with all the spells I could use against him and save Charlie.

"That is enough, Mister Rosier."

Professor Dumbledore is standing above the three of us, his ordinarily pleasant tone of voice not giving a request, but a command.

Evan lets go of Charlie, who picks himself off the ground and stares at Evan with pure hate in his eyes. Evan stares at his shoes, his face expressionless as Professor Dumbledore instructs them to head straight to the Hospital Wing.

"As for you, Miss Tonks," he says sternly. "I'd like to speak to you in my office. Privately, if you please."

~*~*~

Dumbledore is sitting across from me, the space between us that his desk creates between us feeling more like light-years than the few meters it actually is. I feel awful, not just because Charlie has a black eye and bloody nose that could turn out to be broken, or because I was stupid and showed people my powers, doing exactly what Mum had told me not to. It's not even the fact that I had made myself vulnerable in the most hurtful place I could, and by this time tomorrow every single Slytherin will know what my weaknesses are.

The reason I feel awful is because this kind old man, the one person who took my father in during his time of need and continued to give him a place to call home, is staring at me with the utmost look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Miss Tonks, I'm not going to lie and say that what happened to you was not entirely your fault. Although young Evan and his friends said things that are inexcusable, you let them get under your skin and resorted to physical violence."

I sniff and stare at my hands folded in my lap, the nails no longer turning rainbow colors of their own accord.

"Because of your inability to restrain your emotions, you not only put yourself in a dangerous situation, but the friend who had so valiantly tried to come to your rescue. Your detention will be served with Madam Pince every Friday and Saturday evening in the Library for the next four months, Miss Tonks."

I don't answer and continue to stare at me hands.

"You were lucky that what happened didn't escalate into something worse, my dear," sighs Professor Dumbledore. "What would your father think of this? Of you belittling both yourself and the memory of your mother by letting this boy get inside your thoughts; by letting him know how much his words hurt you?"

I stay silent and blink back the tears that are already welling up in my eyes.

"As awful as this experience was, Nymphadora, did you learn anything from it? Anything at all?"

Professor Dumbledore peers at me over his half-moon glasses; as if he already knows the answer to his question, but is just waiting for me to get it on my own.

"I...I-I don't want to be a, ah, a victim again, Professor. Ever." I talk to the floor, to my hands, to anything that isn't the piercing blue gaze of the Headmaster. My voice sounds thick and like it doesn't even belong to me, and I can feel something wet trailing down my face.

Professor Dumbledore nods seriously and reaches into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a plain white handkerchief.

"Then I suggest you learn about how to be a protector, rather than a victim. You are free to go, Nymphadora, although I expect you to stop by the Hospital Wing so Madam Pomfrey can give you a quick once-over." Professor Dumbledore hands me the handkerchief. "Professor Sprout will tell you when your detention is to begin."

I take the white fabric and wipe my eyes with it, and when I hand it back Professor Dumbledore just smiles and says that I can keep it.

"Bye, Professor," I say as I get up to leave. The great red and gold bird that is on the perch by the door, which according to the brass nameplate at its base is called Fawkes, lets out a low, musical cry that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Before you go, Nymphadora," Dumbledore stands and walks over to the locked door of his office. "That 'twelve-toes' comment you made to Mister Rosier? I found that to be particularly inspiring...especially since his father and grandfather both had twelve toes themselves."

Dumbledore chuckles as he unlocks the door and holds it open for me, and as I descend down the spiral staircase I wonder if what has occurred in the past hour or so actually happened, or if I have just dozed off in History of Magic again.

I must have fallen asleep....That's the only logical explanation for how I managed to get into a fight with the Prince of Slytherin, only to be rescued by both Charlie and the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

It has to be.