DISCLAIMER: Don't own HP, I'm just borrowing these lovely characters.
I actually saw a story much like this somewhere else on here and was inspired to sort of try my own version. I always thought of Tonks as a female version of Sirius and now I kind of wonder what other Black traits she has and how that would affect Andromeda.
Enjoy, and reviews are much loved!
You're eleven the first time she says anything.
It's a rather nice summer day and you leap down the steps (falling down the last three or four), feeling pretty good and letting your appearance do whatever it pleases. Andromeda is standing at the stove making breakfast. You lope over, toss your arms around her and yawn into her shoulder. "Wotcher, Mum. Is that bacon? I'm starving."
"You eat like a dragon, Nymphadora," she says amusedly, turning around to hug you back. And then she freezes, her expression flashing afraid-angry-shocked-hurt.
"…Mum?" You draw back, rather scared, as if you were playing around with magic and accidentally wounded her. "Mum, what's wrong? What'd I do?" When no answer comes forthright, you start panicking. "Mum?"
Her hand lifts, gently slides over your hair (long, thick black curls, you notice with some surprise) and somehow the gesture is so sad it makes you want to cry. "You have Bella's hair."
She leaves then, all but bolting out the door, and you look over to see your father staring at you sadly. "What? Who's Bella? Dad—" And you run to him, throwing yourself into his arms, because somehow you know you have just breached a forbidden wall and entered into a world of darkness, secrets and shadows. "Dad, what did I do?"
"Nothing, Dora," he whispers into your ear, reassuringly stroking your hair (hair you now hate because something about it causes her pain). "You did nothing wrong."
The next time it happens you're fourteen.
Ever since that incident three summers ago you're careful to keep your hair short and some hue that would make even a colorblind person cringe. Neons are best, you find out, and so every day is new: Lime green, electric blue, bright pink. Shorter is easier anyways; quicker to wash and dry and doesn't get dirty nearly as fast.
"….so I told him to sod off. What a git, right? Honestly, Flint has the brains of a troll," you laugh, flashing her an unruly grin.
When Andromeda gets the look again, you know what to expect. But this time it truly terrifies you, because you know now who Bella is and what she did, and you don't want to look like a cruel monster. However, the name that slips from her lips this time is painfully familiar.
"Merlin," she whispers, thinking you cannot hear her, "why do you have to have Sirius' smile?"
It takes some careful experimenting, but by the next morning your mouth shape is entirely different and your smile is not your imprisoned cousin's.
At sixteen you're in the last year of Hogwarts and almost ready for Auror training. Your relatives are visiting (Dad's, of course; Mum's wouldn't come for all the Galleons in Gringotts) and you've headed upstairs to put on something "that doesn't have any holes, if you please" as Andromeda had put it. On the way back down conversation floats toward you.
"Nymphadora's growing up to be such a fine young woman," says your Aunt Janet fondly. "You must be very proud of her."
"Good-looking too, just like her dad," teases Grandpa Tonks, and you can picture him throwing your mother an aggravating wink.
Her response stops you in your tracks, and you see that god-awful look in your mind as she replies: "Yes, she's beautiful; I just wish she didn't have Cissy's face."
It takes a few moments before you're ready to descend the rest of the way downstairs again. As you come back into view fixing a smile on your face (not Sirius'—your—smile, hasn't been for two years now), Aunt Janet eyes you curiously. "You look different."
"I decided I didn't like the way my face looks," you reply with a casual shrug. "Thought it was too angular. This suits me better, or should I make it look like Bulldog over here?" You motion to your grandfather and yelp in mock terror as he grabs you.
You try to ignore the way your father is looking at you, like he knows exactly why you changed.
It never went unnoticed. Every time her hair shifted color, when she smiled or even looked at me—I knew. I knew why she changed, that she was trying to make it easier on me. Trying to make me forget she was part Black.
But I didn't care, and I hate myself for making her think I did. Yes, sometimes it hurt, but she was my daughter, my little girl. I shouldn't have ever for a moment made her think that she had to change something about herself for me to love her. I feel like such a monster as I drop to my knees in the grass, leaning forward until the crown of my head touches cool stone. "I'm so sorry. You were wonderful, Black traits and all. I love you so much. Please forgive me."
Nymphadora Lupin nee Tonks
1974—1998
A brave Auror
A beautiful daughter
A loving wife and mother
