You'll also notice Tonks is a whole lot more serious in this chapter. Hm.
It All Comes from Being a Chronic Chocoholic
28th April, 1995
Kitchen, 12 Grimmauld Place
5:57 PM
Ooooooh, I am so going to kill him. Get him where it hurts! Haha, that'll be the ticket.
Though I do wonder what Kingsley's afraid of.
Well, let's see. I know he hates Muggle rollercoasters, for one; once we had a mission involving pretending to be a couple at a Muggle carnival. Unwisely, I asked him to get on the rollercoaster with me - on the first drop he threw up.
And those were my best middle-aged-Muggle clothes, for Merlin's sake!
I doubt he'dtremble in his bootsat the sight of a tiny three-inch high one, though.
Erm, he doesn't like Death Eaters?
No, that won't work.
I heard from Emmeline he doesn't like swimming... Though it's not like I'd sink to the level of Gred and Forge pranking. Besides, I'm not all that tall anyway, and I have no idea where to get a bucke-
Perfect.
5:59 PM
Alright, here's the drill! I've set up a nice trap for Kingsley... muahaha. Every time there's an Order meeting, he comes in the door to the kitchen at exactly six o'clock. This time, I've put a bucket of water up on the door's top with help from Fred (or was it George?) ; when he opens that door, he's going to be absolutely soaked. Hah! Justice served. I knew I was going to come up with a foolproof plan to humiliate and squash that chocolate-stealing man's pride!
Here he comes now!
Closet, Second-floor Hallway, 12 Grimmauld Place
6:12 PM
Oh, for Merlin's sake! Kingsley, of all people, should have walked in that door exactly at the right time exactly how I'd planned. But nooo, he comes with Mad-Eye Moody and lets Mad-Eye open the door.
Bloody idiot.
Mad-Eye got the full blow of it. Yeah, Kingsley got splashed, but that was minimal water damage. Moody got soaked right down to his paranoid socks and feet, all through his leather belt and over his special hip flask.
Erm, that's why I'm hiding in this closet.
6:13 PM
I didn't really give you a proper introduction back then, did I?
Well, since I'm stuck in here 'til someone finds me (or some couple come in here to snog before the meeting), I might as well relate to you my whole life story, from its pitiful beginning to what will be its pitiful end when Mad-Eye catches up to me.
I was born on the 27th of April, 1972, in a Muggle hospital near Surrey. The fool of a woman known as my mother gave me the bloody name Nymphadora Dimentia Crystal, and the fool of a man known as my father was so smitten with me (this is their version of the story, not mine, honestly) he didn't bother to change my name, and so began my existence.
When I was a kid, I wasn't as clumsy as I am now. Of course, that was before I found out I was a Metamorphmagus. How I found out was kind of strange, really. What had happened was that my grandmother had just died - the one on my dad's side, who brought me teddies and dollies every time she came over to visit. After the funeral, at the tender age of six, I'd asked my father why Granny Tonks wouldn't come visit any more, and he'd attempted to crack a joke, saying I hadn't been good enough; at this point, I felt sad and I asked whether I could ever be as good as my favourite doll, Hazel. Unconsciously, I changed my face to look like the doll, white porcelain skin, unnatural pink spots on my cheeks, huge blue eyes, straw blonde hair in two neat plaits. My parents were pretty stunned, I can tell you that much.
After that, my personality changed a bit. I didn't play with my dolls all the time, and I didn't use the tiny china teacups that were made for the dolls; morphing all the time made it hard for me to remember how big my hands or feet were (it's still hard to tell now) so my mum and dad wouldn't let me near anything breakable. I started to climb trees, play on an old broom of my dad's, got a bit more tough with the boys next door. Became more of a tomboy, I suppose. Though my favourite colour's still pink.
Anyway, speeding up to Hogwarts, I was sorted into Gryffindor - it was a choice between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. My mum was proud of me, but I know my dad was sort of disappointed I didn't get into Ravenclaw; still, all through Hogwarts, I did pretty well (except in Potions, where I made what I think was the record for numbers of vials broken - I lost track somewhere around one hundred and thirty two). All the girls had nice names, though. Like Cynthia and Aimee and even Lin and Pat; I hated my name, then my friends started calling me Tonks when the phase of last-name-calling caught on. I guess Tonks stayed on me after the novelty wore off for the others. Since then, I've been Tonks.
I was on the Quidditch team, too, a half of the best Beater team at Hogwarts. Guaranteed, I was prone to slipping off my broom a bit, but what I can do with a Beater's bat made up for it.
When I got out of Hogwarts, I sort of drifted around for two years, travelling around Britain, doing odd jobs. I moved out, then I decided I wanted to be an Auror. I almost failed Stealth and Tracking, but I tell you, I've got a killer instinct for trouble, and being a Metamorphmagus is as good as acing any Polyjuice Potion test.
I guess the rest is it. I joined the Order last year. It's hard to be on "both sides" at once, but there's that thrill of the hunt, you know? It's just... I don't know.
Oh no, I hear steps from outside. Bugger, I think it's
29th April, 1995
Library, 12 Grimmauld Place
3:32 PM
Mmm, Dumbledore saved me. That wonderful old coot. You've just got to love him, despite his rather odd sweet-loving ways.
It's a Saturday today; I get Saturdays off. You'd think Kingsley'd force me into working again, after that (failed) attempt at his pride yesterday, but he rather gracefully accepted my apology, let me keep this day off, and even gave me back half of my chocolate (Though I do wonder where the other half got to).
I just had a talk with Sirius. I can tell he hates being shut up in this horrible house. I can't blame him, really. The closest he ever gets to fresh air is going outside in that tiny courtyard outside; it's overridden with weeds and all these evil plants that want to eat you. Not a pretty sight,I tell you.
I can tell something else, too. He's going crazy in here. Of course, that has nothing to do with the next thing he did.
..Anyway, he came to me in the dining room and asked me if he could talk to me. Sirius, at this point, looked uncomfortable, and asked, rather embarrassedly (I don't think that's a word, but hey, whatever), "Do you fancy Remus?"
..I can't believe I said yes.
Maybe I do.
Fine, I do. But it's not like I can do a bloody thing about it. I'm betting you I'm not even his type, anyway. Remus probably likes those intelligent women who have nothing else to do but spout random phrases from Shakespeare and Poe all day long.
Bloody Emmeline. Knew there was something about her that squicked me.
...I think it's time for Operation F.L.I.R.T (that stands for Find Likenesses of Intelligence for Remus.. to Take?). Not like I have anything to do other than make up acronyms all day long.
Really.