Disclaimer: I dodn't own any of the characters from this fic. Unfortunatly.
Summary: Tonks meets her cousin Sirius at Grimmauld Place where she is going for her first order meeting.
I never did like this house. I've only been here once, but I can remember it like it was yesterday. Even though my mum hated her family, she still attended her aunt's funeral several years back, and I went along with her. Nevertheless, I match my steps to Kingsley's as we walk up the garden path of number 12 Grimmauld Place, for my first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.
As I reach the door of the house, I wonder how the Order managed to get it as their headquarters, Mum always said that the house now belonged to Sirius... I clamp down on that thought quickly. After Voldemort's defeat in 1981, as a 12-year-old, I quickly learnt that mentioning my cousin in others' presence was a bad idea, it induced uncomfortable silences and bitter glares. It was months before anyone bothered to explain why this was, but then and now I had trouble believing that Sirius had committed the crimes he was accused of. Of course, showing sympathies for a convicted murderer isn't a good way to get promoted when one is an Auror, so I keep these feelings quiet, sharing them only with Mum, who agrees with me.
We walk together through the front door and the yelling of a portrait in the hall, and the struggles of two men to close the curtains that cover it pull me from my thoughts.
"FILTHY HALF-BLOODS AND MUTANTS! HOW DARE YOU BEFOUL THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS?" it screamed, and I knew that this was my Great Aunt, Sirius' mum, and I feel a wave of pity for him, wherever he is now.
Once the curtains have been yanked closed, and the men have turned to face us, I realise that one of them is Sirius, that "wherever" is, in fact, here.
I am surprised, and I stop in my tracks. I drop the metamorphagus disguise of bubblegum pink hair, clear blue eyes and short snub nose, to reveal my true looks. I know I look like my mother with my long, black, curly hair, grey eyes and pale skin; and I want Sirius to recognise me for who I am.
Kingsley mistakes this reaction for distress and begins to explain, not noticing that my cousin stares back at me like he has seen a ghost. I am not really listening to Kingsley as I stare. Instead I note that the other man, who has stepped forward and placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder. Remus Lupin, my mind tells me. Sirius used to call him Moony.
"... So, you see, Sirius Black is innocent." Kingsley finishes.
This strikes me as rather amusing. The Sirius Black I knew could not be described as innocent. I snort.
Sirius looks stricken for a moment, but the wide grin that spreads across my face dispels the expression quickly. I snort again.
"You? Innocent?" I ask him teasingly. The crowd (I hadn't noticed it gather) gasps.
"You mean that it wasn't you that charmed all my toy trains to crash every time I played with them? Or my dolls to fly away every time I tried to pick them up? And it wasn't you that dyed my Dad's hair pink because he forgot to post your birthday present?"
Sirius is grinning by this time, and Remus is laughing. Somehow I get the impression that the expression on both men's faces is rare. Everyone else (except the all knowing Professor Dumbledore) wears expressions of confused amusement.
"Or who bewitched our front door so it wailed every time we opened it?" I continue. "And I guess you didn't deliberately send our post in red, howler-like envelopes so that we would wonder who we were getting a howler from?"
I pause for breath.
"And don't forget the time that he transfigured your muggle play dough into a bird and let it fly out the window," Remus reminds me with a laugh. "Or when he cursed all your story books so all the words were in the wrong order."
"No," I agree. "So, Uncle Siri?" I question him, using my old name for him. "You? Innocent?"
He laughs again, and holds out his arms for a hug. I oblige.
"You haven't half grown, Little Dora" he tells me, using his old name for me in turn.
Behind me, Kingsley, who has obviously recovered from his shock, snorts.
"Little Dora, Tonks?" he laughs.
I glare at my cousin.
"Now look what you've done!" I say crossly. "Drop the 'Little', if you please."
He chuckles.
"Only if you drop the 'Uncle'. I'd like to think that I not quite old enough to be an uncle to a 27-year-old."
He grabs my hand, and drags me down the hall. I follow clumsily, tripping over my feet.
As we enter the kitchen, the aforementioned crowd following us, he begins to question me.
"How's Andie? And Ted?" he demands.
I'm happy. And I was right. I can't wait to tell my mum that her favourite cousin isn't a murderer!
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