Nymphadora Tonks is eleven years old, her hair is long and lilac today, and at the moment, she's collecting funny colored mushrooms and herbs with her cat Athena for their potion.
Or rather, she likes to call Athena her cat, and it's not actually a real potion. Athena is a stray that often comes to play with Nymphadora, mostly because she bribes the little black cat with milk, but Nymphadora likes to think it's because of her charming personality. The potion is just another one of their experimental concoctions.
Andromeda Tonks had hidden the potions book from her daughter ever since the time the young witch came home with half her face covered in hideous boils.
Despite the fact that Nymphadora insisted it didn't hurt at all, that she just wanted to see if it worked, her mother seemed to know that her child had nefarious plans to use the final product on Hubert Henry Hodgkins, an obnoxious boy who lives down the road and always makes fun of the young metamorphmagus.
Ever since, Athena and Nymphadora have been on their own in regard to recipes.
The only problem now is Nymphadora has to keep waving Athena away from her basket, because Athena keeps playing with all the good mushrooms and breaking them. Nymphadora's holding the basket on top of her head as she forages in the woods when an owl comes swooping dangerously close. She ducks, spilling the whole basket all over the ground and Athena pounces, but Nymphadora doesn't even try to save her ingredients once she sees where the letter has come from.
.
She's barely torn the Hogwarts seal on the envelope open and skimmed through the scrawled lines before she's dashing around her room, trying to decide which of her favorite books she wants to take and which photographs she should leave behind. Athena is scratching at the window, but she can't be let in because Nymphadora's dad has threatened to take her straight to the Muggle animal shelter the next time he catches her inside the house.
There is still well over a month before the term actually starts, but the excitement has overwhelmed Nymphadora so much that she doesn't even consider til halfway through shoving her best robes into her trunk that she's going to have to use most of these items for a good while before she actually leaves.
Fortunately, her room had already looked like this before she began packing, so it's not as if it's any worse.
While the thought should halt her, the young witch merely starts organizing her things into tidy little piles inside the trunk (and outside, and all around the floor) for easier access.
"Nymphadora!" A voice calls and suddenly Nymphadora registers that her mother has called her name several times.
She shouts back at the closed door, "Yes?"
"Come on now, it's ten past already!"
She checks the clock on the wall, and sure enough, it's ten past six and she's late to dinner. She's been in her room tossing her belongings around for over an hour and a half.
She sighs as she opens her door and trudges downstairs. Her mum and dad are already at the table waiting for her expectantly. She slides into her seat. Her dad gives her a long look and then stabs his fork into his food. Nymphadora and her mother follow suit.
"How many times do I have to tell you that we shouldn't need to call you more than once?" He says, slightly muffled by the mouthful of potatoes.
She keeps her eyes on her plate and say nothing; the chicken tastes a little burnt.
Ted Tonks is a Muggle-born wizard, and because her mother married him, Nymphadora has rarely been able to see any of her extended wizarding family members. They're allowed to spend birthdays and Christmas together, but other than that, Mr. Tonks keeps a tight watch on his wife and daughter. Doesn't want them tainted by the Black philosophy and prejudice.
Ted Tonks is also an angry man, who hits his daughter when she doesn't always flush the toilet because of the scary sounds the ghoul in the pipes likes to make, or when she forgets to turn off the wireless when she leaves the room.
She supposes that not all Muggle-borns are like her dad, but she certainly doesn't care enough to find out.
"Well? You gonna answer me?"
She looks up then and see his face turning red like it does when he gets angry. She lowers her eyes again.
"I'm sorry. I was just —"
"So are you sorry or are you gonna give me an excuse?" Silverware clatters. She doesn't look back up but she can see him lean forward out of the corner of her eye.
"I'm sorry," she says in a small voice.
Her father's voice just gets even louder, "See, I don't think you are."
Her hair subconsciously fades from soft lilac to a darker shade of violet and she swallows her next bite with difficulty. No longer hungry, she wishes she could be like those kids who get sent up to their room early without supper. She's supposed to clear off her plate before being allowed to leave the table, even when she is feeling ill or not hungry, or she gets disciplined.
"If you were really sorry, this wouldn't keep happening. Yet here we are, day after day, the same problems."
Nymphadora glances over at her mother, but she seems very interested in her salad. Nymphadora takes a bite of her own. She can't taste her food anyway, arugula can't bother her now. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Next time, I expect you to answer the first time you are called. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," she responds promptly.
Her father is seemingly satisfied by her compliance and the table falls uncomfortably quiet. She tries to keep her silverware clinking against her plate to a minimum, but everything seems amplified in the little dining room.
"Your mother says you got accepted into Hogwarts today," her dad says finally, breaking the silence after a few minutes.
She briefly recalls having shouted "I got my letter! I got my letter!" earlier as she had torn up the stairs to her room when she returned from the woods.
She nods, having just shoved a forkful of chicken and potatoes and lettuce into her mouth. As hungry as she is not, she really wants to finish her food quickly.
"Well, let's hope you're a little more receptive to the teaching there than you are at home, eh?"
She feels her face grow hot and her stomach turns uneasily.
"Ted," her mother finally speaks imploringly but she's suddenly cut off.
"No, don't Ted me, Andromeda. You know well as I do that no school, magic or not, can do anything for a kid that's stubborn and refuses to listen." He tears a bite of steak off from his fork and jabs his knife angrily, pointing it in Nymphadora's direction, "You don't wanna listen to what we tell you here at home, you think you're gonna wanna listen to a bunch of old codgers tellin' ya how to turn a pot of dirt and water into magic soup?"
It takes everything in her not to snap back that first of all, it doesn't work that way, and secondly, yes, as a matter of fact, she would rather listen to some old codgers over an angry middle aged man who still doesn't know how to finish chewing his own food before speaking.
Instead, she glues her eyes to her plate, counting the pieces of chicken that she has left as she fights back the burning sting in her eyes, pushing her potatoes and chicken around and mashing them together while her insides burn white hot with anger and frustration.
"I'll tell ya what," he goes on, pausing to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, "if you can make it even one year without dropping out or getting expelled, I'll be so impressed, I'll buy you your own broomstick."
Nymphadora looks up and feels her hair tingling a tad brighter again. Her dad notices, but he only smirks, leaning forward once more on his elbows and saying, "That's how much I know you ain't gonna make it. Now finish your food."
She does. But she throws it all up in the toilet later.
She flushes.