I do not own Harry Potter and I make no profit from this story. Harry
Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
It was summer and Nymphadora Tonks was alone in her room. She had the day off. She'd intended to go shopping or maybe hassle Moody but when it came down to it she really didn't feel any desire to do anything.
Instead she lay with her feet on her pillow and her head at the other end of the bed, trying not to think. Trying not to think of whose house she was in or what charming prankster had maybe slept in this room. Trying not to think of the favored cousin who didn't throw spiteful comments in her face that she was only half as good as the rest of the family. The cousin who hadn't laughed and sneered when she tripped, who had sometimes let her help him pull little pranks on the rest of the family, who had beat up Regulus when he made that comment about her metamorphmagus abilities.
But she couldn't forget. A bit of pale watery sunlight fell into the room from the window above the bed and stretched in a rippling square across her turned back. It fell across the black Black hair she'd fashioned for herself today, the arm curled up to her heart, and across the distant eyes that would not cry. And even lying in that summer sunshine she was cold. She wondered if she could ever be warm again.
It was summer and Nymphadora Tonks was alone in her room. She had the day off. She'd intended to go shopping or maybe hassle Moody but when it came down to it she really didn't feel any desire to do anything.
Instead she lay with her feet on her pillow and her head at the other end of the bed, trying not to think. Trying not to think of whose house she was in or what charming prankster had maybe slept in this room. Trying not to think of the favored cousin who didn't throw spiteful comments in her face that she was only half as good as the rest of the family. The cousin who hadn't laughed and sneered when she tripped, who had sometimes let her help him pull little pranks on the rest of the family, who had beat up Regulus when he made that comment about her metamorphmagus abilities.
But she couldn't forget. A bit of pale watery sunlight fell into the room from the window above the bed and stretched in a rippling square across her turned back. It fell across the black Black hair she'd fashioned for herself today, the arm curled up to her heart, and across the distant eyes that would not cry. And even lying in that summer sunshine she was cold. She wondered if she could ever be warm again.