A/N: Oookay. I really, really have no idea in hell where THIS came from. But it's based off the Tonks I play at a pretty damn spiffy role playing game. ;D She's a bit silly; but a brilliant chick at what she does, anyway. And her hair changes color alot! Go me! Go ... Tonks. o.O Whatever. ^^
Disclaimer: I own everything. Whatever you heard about some J.K. Rowling chick owning it is wrong. (If you didn't catch the sarcasm there, then don't read any further, 'cause you don't seem to have the brain cells it takes to understand my sense of humor!)
On to the story!
(Insert cool intro song here!)
--Early September--
As dear old daft-bat-of-a-mum thinks I should 'exercise my writing talents' more often, she bought me a diary. It's pink. With purple zebra stipes. And furry. I'd pull a cool-thing-to-do-for-people-who-write-diaries-but-are-in-denial thing and call this a journal, or something of that such, but it's too ... well, absurdly effeminate. I suppose I could magic it to nice and black and leather with silver lining or something, but I've always been rubbish at transfiguration. Well, not that rubbish, 'cause I passed the class. But ... well, put it this way. I don't do it much for fear something will explode.
(Note to self: It's bad when things explode. People don't like it.)
Besdies, it makes one's face burnt and icky. Very icky.
Anywho, I suppose that I should 'introduce' myself now. 'Cause, you know, all my miniature grandpeople would be oh-so interested in their Old Grandperson was like when she was little. Not that I'm little. (Not that I can't be, either, but the point is that age-wise, I'm not little ... unless you consider the fact that there are people three or four times older than I am. Eh. Never mind.)
Okay. The name is Nymphadora Tonks. But Nymphadora is a really, really stupid name. So call me Tonks. Nice and short and confuses the hell out of people when someone tells someone else my name, 'cause they don't know whether I'm a girl or boy and then they can't tell me who I am, because I always change my looks to confuse people more. I'm good at confusing people. Heh.)
Alright. 'Tis the month of September at the moment, and all things are rather not too horrible in the Harry Potter direction. This is good. This is an improvement. For the most part. From what Ginny and Hermione say, he's acting like ... well, a git. A damn git, if I'm to believe them. (Which I'm prone to do, seeing as how he acted during when I saw him.)
Not that he's not got a perfectly good reason to be a git. He's been through a helluva lot for a kid like he is, poor thing.
Ah, well. 'Tis best to agree and symphathize with Gin and Mione. They're girls, so, naturally they're going to be thinking straighter in this situation.
Anyway. Back to introducing myself. As I said, my name is Tonks. I'm an Auror, and the youngest member of the Order Of The Pheonix. Well, for a bit, at least. George and Fred will probably join when they get out.
Currently I'm being yelled at for 'writing my thoughts down where anyone could get them and being a possible threat to the Order and my status in it and do I want to do everyone in because I've got an itchy quill hand?'
Moody, of course.
Bloody git.
Pfft. At least I don't go around jinxing everyone I see. Oh, well. He's a great guy, too. And I know that behind the tough-guy-with-various-missing-body-parts-and-a-fake-blue-eye-and-a-need-for-a-new-shampoo-brand image, he's really a softie.
Well, ... sort of.
What do I look like, you ask? (And even if you don't; not that there's anyone who would ask ... This IS a diary, after all. And certainly not one that talks back, because if it were Voldemort in disguise again... Well, let's just said that between a fluffy pink-and-purple-striped diary with a golden heart-lock and my chattering on and on, he would be humiliated and/or annoyed to death.
Though that might be interesting. Tonks vanquishing the Dark Lord with her powers of a freakishly girly diary.
Heh.
Who needs the Boy-Who-Lived when you have Tonks, with her power of writing prowess? Excuse me whilst I have myself an evil chuckle.
Hmm. Moody thinks I'm up to something, apparently. It looks as if he's just tried to curse me. I really have no idea WHAT might be telling me that. Maybe ... just maybe the burn marks rather close to my head on the wall, still steaming (and flaming purple!)?
Naaah.
But I digress.
I'm a metamorphamagi. Meaning I can change what I look like whenever I like. It's a rather nifty little trick to pull on people when you just meet them. And I've done it countless times. Though it just -might've- been a bad idea to do at my job interview to ... accidentally change my looks into those of a portait of a rather lovely woman when said REAL woman-in-portrait walked in to talk to me about starting my career as an Auror.
Well, what can I say!? I was young! I was restless!
I was a moron!
(But I still got the job!)
Again, I ramble.
At the moment, I have bubble-gum pink hair spiked up with Blueburry's Blue Majikk Hair Jel. By hand, too! So you can imagine what a gigantic, huge, rather disgusting mess there was in the bathroom this morning.
Well, maybe you can't. But it wasn't pretty!
... At least, my hair looks cool. Or so said Remus. Not that he used those words. Or said it. Or was there at the time.
But I'm sure he would've said that, if he hadn't been gone somewhere.
Well, it seems that my writing at the kitchen table is causing some trouble; mainly from two people who look oddly like George and Fred Weasley. ("Tonks, you writing love letters?" From Fred, "Tonks ... I didn't know you could read!" From George.) Such clever fellows. Really. If they hadn't ducked out of here after they'd said that, I would've crushed them with my outstanding wit.
Really.
Disclaimer: I own everything. Whatever you heard about some J.K. Rowling chick owning it is wrong. (If you didn't catch the sarcasm there, then don't read any further, 'cause you don't seem to have the brain cells it takes to understand my sense of humor!)
On to the story!
(Insert cool intro song here!)
--Early September--
As dear old daft-bat-of-a-mum thinks I should 'exercise my writing talents' more often, she bought me a diary. It's pink. With purple zebra stipes. And furry. I'd pull a cool-thing-to-do-for-people-who-write-diaries-but-are-in-denial thing and call this a journal, or something of that such, but it's too ... well, absurdly effeminate. I suppose I could magic it to nice and black and leather with silver lining or something, but I've always been rubbish at transfiguration. Well, not that rubbish, 'cause I passed the class. But ... well, put it this way. I don't do it much for fear something will explode.
(Note to self: It's bad when things explode. People don't like it.)
Besdies, it makes one's face burnt and icky. Very icky.
Anywho, I suppose that I should 'introduce' myself now. 'Cause, you know, all my miniature grandpeople would be oh-so interested in their Old Grandperson was like when she was little. Not that I'm little. (Not that I can't be, either, but the point is that age-wise, I'm not little ... unless you consider the fact that there are people three or four times older than I am. Eh. Never mind.)
Okay. The name is Nymphadora Tonks. But Nymphadora is a really, really stupid name. So call me Tonks. Nice and short and confuses the hell out of people when someone tells someone else my name, 'cause they don't know whether I'm a girl or boy and then they can't tell me who I am, because I always change my looks to confuse people more. I'm good at confusing people. Heh.)
Alright. 'Tis the month of September at the moment, and all things are rather not too horrible in the Harry Potter direction. This is good. This is an improvement. For the most part. From what Ginny and Hermione say, he's acting like ... well, a git. A damn git, if I'm to believe them. (Which I'm prone to do, seeing as how he acted during when I saw him.)
Not that he's not got a perfectly good reason to be a git. He's been through a helluva lot for a kid like he is, poor thing.
Ah, well. 'Tis best to agree and symphathize with Gin and Mione. They're girls, so, naturally they're going to be thinking straighter in this situation.
Anyway. Back to introducing myself. As I said, my name is Tonks. I'm an Auror, and the youngest member of the Order Of The Pheonix. Well, for a bit, at least. George and Fred will probably join when they get out.
Currently I'm being yelled at for 'writing my thoughts down where anyone could get them and being a possible threat to the Order and my status in it and do I want to do everyone in because I've got an itchy quill hand?'
Moody, of course.
Bloody git.
Pfft. At least I don't go around jinxing everyone I see. Oh, well. He's a great guy, too. And I know that behind the tough-guy-with-various-missing-body-parts-and-a-fake-blue-eye-and-a-need-for-a-new-shampoo-brand image, he's really a softie.
Well, ... sort of.
What do I look like, you ask? (And even if you don't; not that there's anyone who would ask ... This IS a diary, after all. And certainly not one that talks back, because if it were Voldemort in disguise again... Well, let's just said that between a fluffy pink-and-purple-striped diary with a golden heart-lock and my chattering on and on, he would be humiliated and/or annoyed to death.
Though that might be interesting. Tonks vanquishing the Dark Lord with her powers of a freakishly girly diary.
Heh.
Who needs the Boy-Who-Lived when you have Tonks, with her power of writing prowess? Excuse me whilst I have myself an evil chuckle.
Hmm. Moody thinks I'm up to something, apparently. It looks as if he's just tried to curse me. I really have no idea WHAT might be telling me that. Maybe ... just maybe the burn marks rather close to my head on the wall, still steaming (and flaming purple!)?
Naaah.
But I digress.
I'm a metamorphamagi. Meaning I can change what I look like whenever I like. It's a rather nifty little trick to pull on people when you just meet them. And I've done it countless times. Though it just -might've- been a bad idea to do at my job interview to ... accidentally change my looks into those of a portait of a rather lovely woman when said REAL woman-in-portrait walked in to talk to me about starting my career as an Auror.
Well, what can I say!? I was young! I was restless!
I was a moron!
(But I still got the job!)
Again, I ramble.
At the moment, I have bubble-gum pink hair spiked up with Blueburry's Blue Majikk Hair Jel. By hand, too! So you can imagine what a gigantic, huge, rather disgusting mess there was in the bathroom this morning.
Well, maybe you can't. But it wasn't pretty!
... At least, my hair looks cool. Or so said Remus. Not that he used those words. Or said it. Or was there at the time.
But I'm sure he would've said that, if he hadn't been gone somewhere.
Well, it seems that my writing at the kitchen table is causing some trouble; mainly from two people who look oddly like George and Fred Weasley. ("Tonks, you writing love letters?" From Fred, "Tonks ... I didn't know you could read!" From George.) Such clever fellows. Really. If they hadn't ducked out of here after they'd said that, I would've crushed them with my outstanding wit.
Really.