Different

Why is Tonks crying by the greenhouse? And what is Remus so angry about?

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1. Dora

Crash! Smash! Clatter! Bang! Ted Tonks came out of his greenhouse and tripped headlong over his daughter. The tray full of potted plants he had been carrying went everywhere: pots smashed, soil spilled, seedlings snapped and broke. Ted himself slammed into the greenhouse wall, the wizarding part of his mind thankful for anti-shatter charms while the muggle-born part panicked for fear he would go through the glass.

Nymphadora didn't move.

Ted, about to say something rather cross about not sitting in stupid places on paths where people were bound to fall over you, paused and looked more closely. Loud crashes and smashes were fairly common around his enthusiastically clumsy daughter – but usually to the tune of 'Let me help!' or 'Oh no, I'm so sorry!' Uncommon, in fact, unheard of, was for Dora to just sit there – with tears running silently down her cheeks. Ted registered the dull brown hair, the little pale face and snub nose, and the whole hunched, miserable posture.

"Dora?" he asked anxiously. "Whatever's the matter?"

For another moment, she didn't move; then Dora's pale blue, 'very upset' eyes were turned up to him, huge and brimming with tears.

"I went over to play with Calypse and Hannah," she sniffed, lower lip trembling. "And they'd got two lace shawls from their gran and were playing brides, and – and they said I couldn't play, 'c-cause I'm different... 'C-cause I'm – my hair changes... and my nose … and face … they said no-one would ever want to marry someone a-as odd as me...!" The last bit came out as a wail, and Dora buried her knuckles back into her eyes.

"They said it's unnatural to have p-purple hair! Or a pig-snout nose to m-make people laugh! And they said I was just too d-different for anybody to ever fall in love with, so I'd never get married...!"

"Oh, Dora..." Ted sank down on the path beside the sobbing lump of misery, and put his arm round her for a comforting hug he felt he needed as much as his eight year old daughter. As much as he and Dromeda would have liked Dora to have a wider range of friends than her mother had been permitted, Dora's – talents – as a metamorphmagus made that difficult. All muggle children were out of the question; Dora's hair colour cycled through all shades of the rainbow whenever she was happy. In the wizarding community, everybody seemed to divide into either those who wouldn't let their children play with her because her mother was a Black, or those who wouldn't let their children play with her because her father was, well, not.

There would be friends for Dora at Hogwarts, of course; and Ted had to admit Dora was certainly very good at making friends with anybody of any age, but she still needed some company her own age. The Calypse and Hannah of this afternoon's tragedy were the two daughters of a witch and her muggle husband who lived a mile away – ideally situated, Dromeda had said. Ted had agreed on that point, but he'd somehow felt that while their parents were happy, the girls didn't actually get on too well.

He sighed, and hugged Dora tighter. "Of course you're different, Dora. Everybody's different! There's more than one flavour in a box of chocolates, isn't there?"

At that, she nodded, but the tears were still trickling. Ted racked his brains. "You know," he said gently, "I think it sounds like Calypse and Hannah were being really unpleasant this afternoon. But what they said isn't true, Dora. People..." He searched for the right words. "Sometimes people get extra silly when it comes to weddings and getting married. They say all sorts of things." His memory skimmed over the many, many things the Black family had said when he and Andromeda had got married, but they weren't quite appropriate examples for cheering up Dora.

"My cousins used to say I wouldn't get married, 'cause I went to what they thought was a posh boarding school," Ted ploughed on. "And look at me now. I've the most wonderful wife in the world, and the most wonderful, one-and-only daughter in the world who can make Daddy laugh by turning her hair purple!"

He ruffled the dull brown mop. "And so your old Daddy knows something, you see, that those silly girls don't. I know there's a young man we don't know yet, somewhere out there-" Ted waved his hand towards the lawn and the trees on the common beyond "-who'll meet you one day and think you're different; different in being the prettiest and kindest and funniest and most caring girl in the world. And all the Calypses and Hannahs will just look to him like, er, like those two ugly sisters at the panto we went to last Christmas."

At this, Dora finally giggled, and the dull brown mop changed into the bee-hive hairdo's of the Two Ugly Sisters from the Cinderella pantomime. It was a feat Dora was rather proud of, ever since having done it in the theatre itself. Fortunately in the dark, no-one had noticed.

"That's it," said Ted earnestly. "Much better. And Mummy and I will see what we can do about … everything. But in the mean time, when I've picked up these plants, do you want to come and help me plant them out?"

Dora scrambled instantly to her feet, her hair shifting effortlessly to the usual green curls for working in the garden. "Let me help! I knocked them down, I'll pick them up!"

Ted stopped his hand on the way to his wand for a Reparo charm. A few more squashed plants and dropped pots was definitely worth it for Dora cheered up and smiling again. Dora – a gift – and she was. A gift of joy and laughter and all such good things of life.

He smothered another sigh. He envied that young man.