Nymphadora didn't know what her nose looked like. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to curl up like her dad's or stand straight out like her mum's. As a child, she would stand for hours in front of the bathroom mirror carefully testing out each shape, trying to see which one looked best on her face. None ever seemed to fit right.
She had asked her mother what her nose was like when she was a baby, newly born and fresh from the womb. Her mother had laughed and smiled, an odd look on such a stern face but one that seemed to light it up.
"Depends on who you were looking at. You never could keep still, even then."
Andromeda Black had kissed her daughter fondly, but Nymphadora had never felt satisfied by her answers.
As Nymphadora grew up, she chose her own skin. She chose bright pink hair, shining orange eyes, pale freckled skin and a small button nose which looked like neither her mum's nor her dad's. She chose heavy boots, torn shirts, and leather jackets. Clothes which neither of her parents would ever wear (nor anyone in school for that matter). She chose to bounce down hallways instead of walk. Chose to hold her wand in her left hand instead of her right. Chose to speak in hurried slang, filled with nicknames and creative curse words.
Nymphadora chose her whole personality, because somehow she felt as if she was never given one of her own.
When Nymphadora sat under the Sorting Hat, she grimaced at the soft whisper in her ear.
"Hmm, interesting. There's bravery here, that's clear to see. Ambition to prove yourself too. Loyalty, as expected from a Black. And more than a little wit and cleverness. So where to put you?"
Nymphadora sat silently. Her father had been a Ravenclaw, her mother a Slytherin. To follow in either of their footsteps would prove that she really was a part of them. She emptied her head of thoughts, of emotions, wants and needs. She didn't want to choose, she didn't want to have to pick and define another part of her personality. For the first time in her life, Nymphadora just wanted to be told who she was.
"Nothing, eh? Well, perhaps a bit of help and guidance to find your path wouldn't go amiss. The best place for that is HUFFLEPUFF!"
Hufflepuff. Something new. Something no Black or Tonks had ever been. Hufflepuff: loyal, helpful, fair. She could be all of those if she tried. So Nymphadora slid off the stool to her new home, watching as the tie around her neck bled into its new colours.
She wasn't always a good Hufflepuff. Sometimes, Nymphadora wondered if the Hat had gotten her right at all. Perhaps her mind changed as much as her skin did, perhaps she was destined to never truly belong anywhere. She worked as hard as the Ravenclaws for her grades, and she strove just as diligently as the Slytherins to be top of the class. But she was also in detention as much as the Gryffindors for fighting in the corridors.
In truth, the yellow tie seemed as random as the shape of her nose or the colour of her hair. Something she had because it was expected, but something which she could change as soon as she got bored of it. Something that never truly fit her. And just as she had as a child, Nymphadora would stand in front of the bathroom mirror charming her tie different colours to see if any of the other colours would suit her better instead.
When she graduated, the Aurors seemed like the best place for her. A set uniform, a strict set of rules, a list of instructions on who to be and what to say. There was no questioning who she was meant to be or what she was meant to do. Just follow the orders, fit into their mould. It was safe, ordered, and left no room for ambiguity.
And while her colleagues often found the regime claustrophobic, for Nymphadora, it was finally somewhere where she didn't have to worry about choosing who she needed to be. She could simply fall into whatever they wanted.
It wasn't long before Moody tugged her into the office. She liked Moody; you always knew where you stood with him and he never expected anything but your loyalty. An easy man to get along with, once you got used to the yelling.
"You've got a talent, Tonks. We could use a talent like that. How would you like to put it to good use?"
And so, Nymphadora slipped out of the Auror uniform and into something more… chameleon. She was handed photograph after photograph. Given bags of clothes and shoes and stolen wands. And every day, she would slip on someone else's robes, use someone else's skin and walk in someone else's shoes. Nymphadora would hold her head high as she walked into someone else's house, survey the room with someone else's eyes and smile politely at friends she had never met.
It was unnerving how natural spying came to her. How easily she was able to act the part and play the role. She fitted in flawlessly, able to mimic their actions and mannerisms to a tee. Years of growing up with a Black for her mother had taught her all the pure-blood pretenses, even if she had grown up stubbornly ignoring them. She slipped through the Death Eaters like water, conversing and laughing at their gatherings, picking up information that made the gnarled face of Mad-Eye twist into a gleeful smile.
Her work was flawless. Her parents were proud of her. The papers praised her work. It was exactly what she wanted.
Yet every night, she would stand in front of the bathroom mirror and try to shake off the disguise.
And every night, it was as though she forgot a little bit more of what she was supposed to look like beneath it all.
Was that what her nose had been? Or had it been longer? What shade was her hair again? Brighter than this or darker? Was she always this tall, or had she become so used to heels she'd forgotten what it felt like to be short?
And with every mission, Nymphadora lost a little bit more of who she was to the disguises she kept wearing.
She asked her mother once what she was supposed to look like. She had run home in a moment of weakness to her parents' home and curled up on her old, childhood bed. Even though she hadn't lived there in years, her parent's hadn't changed a thing since she had left.
"You look like you, darling. Beautiful, strong and perfect."
She felt safe wrapped in her mother's arms, feeling the soft kisses melt into her forehead. It was enough to send her to sleep. Though, when she woke to the moon hanging silently in the sky, she felt more alone than ever.
There were photographs around her room. Some magical, some muggle from her father's polaroid camera he refused to get rid of. Nymphadora had never really noticed them before. The photos blended into the background of her life, like the wallpaper and the curtains.
She noticed them now, dozens of photos of smiling faces. She was four years old and perched upon her father's shoulders as she reached for apples from the tree outside. A photo of her at age eight, sat at the piano with her mother at her side, frowning in concentration at the keys. Another at age eleven, she beamed with a newly-opened Hogwarts letter in her hand. One at age fifteen, holding the House Cup with her friends by her side. And age eighteen, wearing robes with a golden hem and surrounded by similarly dressed students, all holding N.E.W.T results.
Nymphadora gathered them up and laid each one out on the bed in front of her to survey them carefully.
None of the Nymphadoras looked the same. Some had brown hair, some orange, some purple. Some had a button nose, others a straight one. Some Nymphadoras were tall, others short. They all had different eyes, different cheeks, different skin tones. If she didn't know better, Nymphadora might say they weren't the same person at all.
Which one was she? Which was the real her?
Did anybody know?
She set the photos alight without even realising.
At least they all burned the same.
She rarely came home after that. She lost herself in work, in the people she turned into. She stopped thinking of herself as Nymphadora and started thinking of herself as 'Tonks'. Just Tonks. A common name, shared by hundreds before her. A name without gender or meaning. No uniqueness or identity. Just 'Tonks'.
She happily slipped into the skin of others, letting her face and eyes and nose melt into someone else. She walked more easily in their shoes, letting their words flow from her mouth, playing the part flawlessly. So much so, that often, Tonks was reluctant to let it go. She would keep the disguise on even after she got back to her empty apartment. She would walk around the room in dainty heels and neatly styled hair and gaze into the mirror with the comfort that this was exactly how she was meant to look.
Then slowly, the disguise would slide off, and Tonks would panic as a stranger appeared in the mirror in front of her, looking just slightly different from the last time.
Tonks would hide these fears. She still wore bright hair and a stubby nose. She still wore thick boots and torn leather jackets, hiding behind wild clothes and an eccentric personality. It was just another skin, another disguise to wear whenever she ventured outside.
And people were as fooled by it as they were by every other disguise she ever wore.
The only person who wasn't fooled was the one hiding as much as she was. He had a familiar careful smile, a tendency to keep people at arms length, a schooled politeness to please those around him. He blended into the background as much as the photographs on the walls had done, as though he was trying to hide as much as she was.
Yet, just as Tonks noticed him in spite of his hiding, he saw her too. He would gaze at her at every chance he got. He saw right through her carefully crafted masks, her walls and her falsehoods. He saw that she was terrified, that she was angry and lost and alone.
And when Tonks finally gathered up the courage to ask him how he was able to see past it all, Remus Lupin replied:
"Because you look just like me."
THC
Ravenclaw
Astronomy
Standard
Prompts: [Theme]: Trying to be something/someone you're not. [Prompt]: Object - Photograph
wc : 1804