Wotcher, Tonks here! (Not Nymphadora, you people really need to get it in your heads. Tonks!)
Today marks the first day of my new resolution. I'm going to learn how to cook, how to clean! Because, you see, I'm dead clumsy. Nothing like Mum. She's brilliant at all this. She could pack a suitcase and even get the socks to pack up, with this little flick of her wand, see? Can't do that, myself. But I'm married, now, so I've got to! It's what all good housewives should do.
I have no idea where to start, though.
And, no, I'm not going to ask Mum. Like I said, she's brilliant at it, but I don't want her to know. I'm going to do this on my own. I rely on her too much, you see. But I'm an adult, even married, for Pete's sake! I can do this on my own.
But where to start?
Well, at least Remus is out. He'd laugh if he saw me sitting around like this, all confused. Oh, look, even my hair's turning colors. Can't seem to make up its mind, either. Navy, black, sickly green, silver, orange.
Hm, I suppose I could get that book out. That's where this entire idea of mine came from, from that book. It's called What Every Witchy Wife Should Know. Top of the Witch Weekly Best Seller List, that's how I found it. It's great. There's a bunch of spells for everything. I pick it out from the bookcase, from where I'd hidden it behind a few other things, and flip to a random section.
"Clean up those dastardly dishes!" is written at the top of the page.
The dishes! Yes, the dishes. Mum used to always do the dishes, after every meal. Let's go!
Down in the kitchen, I put on a lilac apron, roll my sleeves up, and get out my wand. The book says to start with a bit of water. Well, that's easy.
"Aguamenti!"
No, wait.
It says I'll need hot water.
Hm.
I wonder…
"Lacarnum Inflamarae!" A little ball of fire appears in my hand. It floats there, flickering merrily. Then, "Aguamenti!" I aim so that the water spurting from my wand goes through the water but, no, it only puts the fire out.
Well, that didn't work.
Ah, well, using cold water can't make much of a difference can it? Of course not. Cold water it is, then.
I fill up the sink, like the instruction say. Not too difficult.
Soap comes next. I don't use magic for this. Last time I did, I squirted the bottle all over the place. Had to call Molly to clean it all up. She made me sit outside while she did all the work. I just wanted to help! But anyway.
I pour a generous amount into the sink and swirl it in a bit with my wand until a few bubbles form. For the fun of it, I morph into some type of bubble creature for a second. It's an odd feeling, being full of air like that. But then I start floating toward the ceiling, and I quickly change back.
Maybe I'm not as bad at this as I thought. Cleaning, that is.
Then again.
Next, I need to pick a plate and put soap on it. With magic.
"Mobiliarbus," I mutter, staring at the tip of a blue plate that's sticking up out of the water. It immediately shoots out, spraying me in water. I sputter, losing concentration for a moment, and the plate crashes onto the counter.
"Casualties are necessary," I remind myself.
When I try again, I get a plate to hover above the water without a problem. Then, "Aguamenti," again, but, no, the water misses the plate altogether, bounces off the wall in front of me and back onto me.
That's it, enough with the dishes!
What else can I do? What Every Witchy Wife Should Know suggests making a bed. Simple, right?
No. Of course not.
Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. How in the world do people do this every day? The sheets refuse to move for a minute and, when they do, they wrap me in a chokehold.
I try dusting the living room. Instead of blowing off the dust from the top of a bookshelf, I knock the whole thing over with something that looks a bit like a mini hurricane.
…
I'm taking a break.
I trot out to the yard. The sun is just touching the tops of the trees. It's a beautiful, summer's afternoon. I sit on the back doorstep.
I've never been good at it, all that household magic. I can't scrub dishes clean, or make a bed, or dust the top of bookshelves with just a flick of my wand. That's for people like my mum, like Molly. But I can do things they can't do! I'm a Metamorphmagus, after all! Anyone can learn to be a good cook. But us Metamorphmagi, we're born, not made. We're special, rare, different, good to have around. Right?
Isn't it better to be a Metamorphmagus?
Isn't it, though?
I don't know.
When I don't know, I normally ask him. Remus, that is.
But that's just one thing I can't ask him.
He's so kind, Remus is. He'd reassure me whether I deserved it or not, that bastard.
No, there are just some things I don't want him to know about. Not that I don't love an dtrust him, it's just…
I admit, I was angry when he turned me down after all my hints. It wasn't a nice time for me. I cried a lot, couldn't morph properly either.
But then, but then!
Then Bill and Fleur proved that it's possible, loving a werewolf.
He didn't give up easily, though. That idiot. Said he's too dangerous, too poor, too old. As if it ever mattered to me.
Finally, though he admitted. That he thought I was funny, attractive, even. That he loves me. Which is, I suppose, why he tears himself up about the marriage.
Where was I?
Oh, right. Isn't it better to be a Metamorphmagus than a normal housewife?
I honestly don't know.
I think I know which one he'd pick, of course. Remus is so practical. He'd want a good, organized housewife. He wouldn't want a clumsy, messy kid like me.
Oh, no.
I hate it when I start thinking that.
No matter how much I try to convince myself, I can't stop them, the depressing thoughts.
No, no, no!
He loves me! He didn't marry someone else! He married me, knowing already what I'm like!
But, wouldn't he be happier with someone more like him?
Someone more practical? More mature? More suited to this life, the married one, that is?
What would he say if he knew what I was thinking?
He might use it against me, try to make me doubt and leave him. For my sake, of course.
Still.
I… I don't think that would solve anything. Because, we're in love. And I don't think we could live without each other, not now.
Again, I wonder, what would he say if he knew what I was thinking?
I don't want to find out.
I'm so wrapped up in my daydreaming that I jump up when I hear the front door close. The sun has sunk below the trees. I tilt my head toward the house, trying to listen. I imagine that I can hear his footsteps as he walks into the living room and discovers the still overturned bookshelf. But I can't hear any reaction on his part. The footsteps continue to the kitchen. His face appears at the window. He catches my eye and appears moments later in the doorway.
A harsh, barking laugh escapes his lips when he spots the ridiculous apron. But he doesn't say anything.
"Wotcher, Remus," I say quietly. I feel like such a failure. A total failure of a wife, that's what I am. I should just apologize for the mess I've made and get it over with. But I can't do it.
"Gray truly isn't your color, Nymphadora," he says, finally.
"Huh?"
"Your hair."
I reach up and pull out a lock of it to inspect. It's a horrid, old, gray color. Ugh.
"What's wrong?" he asks. His eyes are like liquid amber as they meet mine.
It comes out in a big rush. All of it, everything from the book to my failed attempts to the mess in all three most-used rooms of our tiny house. When I finish, his lips have curled in a crooked smile.
"Nymphadora…"
"Tonks!" I insist.
"Tonks, then. Did you honestly think you had to do all that for me?"
"Well, yeah."
"I'm flattered. But also a little sad."
"No! Don't be sad! I'll clean it all up, I swear. Or I'll get Molly to do it!"
"It's not that."
I stop, puzzled. "Then what is it?"
"Tonks, dearest, you don't have to change yourself. I married you, didn't I?"
"Well, yeah, but it's not like you were happy about it."
"Not happy about it!" he cries, looking almost angry. No, not angry. Exasperated. Yeah, that's the word. "Tonks, you beautiful idiot, of course I was happy about it! I married you, the real you, the you who bumps into chairs and breaks everything in reach! That's the Nymphadora Tonks I loved and married, the one I still love ."
And then I'm sort of holding back a good cry and he's holding me so that my cheek presses into his bony shoulder.
He continues, "Now, if you want to learn how to become a little more like Molly, that's fine with me. But, for goodness sakes, don't do anything that isn't entirely you!"
I nod into his shirt, because words just aren't easy when you're blubbering.
"I love you, Tonks," he finishes, so tenderly that my heart misses a beat.
"I love you more," I say, between hiccups.
"Thanks to the things you've done solely for me as of today, the probability of that statement has increased just a bit. But, no, it's still not true. I most definitely love you more."
I giggle.
He pats my cheek then runs his fingers through my bubblegum pink hair. "Much better," he says softly. For a very long second, we stare at each other and I get this odd feeling that, if I tried, I could see right into his soul. Not that I need to. I know what's there, and I love every bit of it.
Then he clears his throat and takes my hand. "Shall we retire to the bedroom?"
I grimace.
"Is it that bad?"
"The sheets tried to choke me."
"Ah, well. That's unfortunate. But we'll have to figure it out."
As we step into the kitchen, I remember a rule of What Every Witchy Wife Should Know. Always feed your husband when he gets home. "Aren't you hungry?"
"No, I ate earlier. Also, the kitchen doesn't seem to be in shape for any new experiments at the moment."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." For no reason at all, he pounces on me. In seconds, his mouth has found mine and his mustache is tickling my nose. He pulls away, bright-eyed, and drags me upstairs.
My copy of What Every Witchy Wife Should Know sits on the kitchen counter, covered in water and broken glass, and blissfully forgotten.
This is Tonks, signing out for now.
I had fun with this. Tonks is such a brilliant characters isn't she? So funny and confident on the outside, with so much potential for self-doubt on the inside. Plus, she's a COOL Huffleppuff! We Hufflepuffs need more of those. Honest.
I hope you enjoyed reading. Feel free to leave a review! :)
~Willow