Conflicting feelings: thousands (just about every feeling that exists); things in my room I broke or smeared with food: about 35; things that are still intact: 0; people watching me being humiliated: 23
I can't believe it! Remus just woke me up with breakfast, and everything looked so great, and then he dropped the bomb: He's allowed to go out again. Apparently, he's perfectly healed and able to face the world. I, on the contrary, am still not allowed to leave this dark, stuffy, shitty place where everything reminds me of my dead cousin and my still living relatives that I can't stand, and where people keep going in and out telling me what great things they've done to help save the world, whereas my days consist of too much talk and food and trashy novels and alcohol. I dared ask him if anyone had said anything about me, but he said he didn't know, only that it had to be at least one more week for me. A week! At least! Then I threw my coffee mug at him and yelled for him to get out and leave me the hell alone. He hesitated, and I hit him in the chest with a spoon, so he got out before I could grab the knife. Threw and broke a few more things before flopping down on my bed and crying.
I can't stand it anymore. I hate this stupid curse that came from the same woman's wand who killed my cousin. I hate this house, I hate my situation, I hate this whole goddamn war.
I mean, even without Voldemort coming back to life and starting to mix and mingle, being an Auror would be a dangerous job where I have to deal with evil persons. But at least if there wasn't a war then I'd only be an auror on my working time. After that I could go home and date or relax or have a couple of butterbeers with friends. I wouldn't worry about anything but my career and maybe some love life. As the ancient and sage philosopher says: Life's a bitch.
LaterI've been pretty much left alone for the rest of the day, which didn't really do me any good because it left me time to sulk and shower in self-pity some more.
Occasionally, I heard someone knocking, but I didn't answer.
At about 7 in the evening, it knocked again. This time, not answering didn't help. The door banged open, and an energetic voice boomed across the room.
"Nymphadora Tonks! You will get up now, get down for dinner and act like the adult you are. You have been sulking long enough!" I didn't even consider refusing. You don't refuse orders from Molly Weasley.
Went down to the kitchen in my old sweat pants and "charming witch" t-shirt to find half the order sitting there. It was not embarrassing at all.
Not compared to what happened afterwards.
After dinner, Dumbledore (who had arrived just in time for dessert) asked everyone to stay for an impromptu order meeting. Unsuspecting, I sat down and waited, happy to once again be included in a meeting. Until Dumbledore started talking about me.
"As you all know, our dear Nymphadora has been sick for the past two weeks, recovering from a spell that rehearsed itself. To give her more peace and quiet, she was not only excluded from work, but also from her work here in the order. But we did get the feeling that Nymphadora is growing bored. Which is perfectly understandable for an energetic young witch who is used to having a lot of work and now finds herself locked in this house. We noticed it has become unbearable for her to live in this situation, and for us to live with her. So, Nymphadora, we would like to ask you to officially be an active member of the order again." I desperately wished for a hole in the earth to open up and swallow me.
For a moment, I couldn't say anything. I just stared at the ground, feeling my head getting hotter and hotter until I was sure I could hear some veins popping. I could faintly hear the others applauding and cheering, but I didn't move until someone clapped my back and I heard one of the Weasley twins saying:
"Congratulations! You managed to bully your way back in." I stood up abruptly and stormed out of the kitchen. I had barely made it to the stairs when I heard Remus calling my name.
"Nymph? What's wrong?" I whirled around.
"You ask me what's wrong? I've just been humiliated in front of half of the order. What was that all about, letting me back in? Where did they suddenly get the idea from?" A guilty look flickered over Remus' face, and it dawned on me.
"You did it, didn't you? You told them about this morning. You complained about me!"
"Look, Nymph, I only meant to help you. You wanted to get back to work, so I suggested they let you come to the meetings again."
"Did you tell them about this morning? About the butterbeer accident? Of course you did. I can still hear Dumbledore: "We think Nymphadora is getting a bit bored… it has become unbearable for us to live with her…" He was speaking of me as if I were a spoilt child!" A new look had crept on Remus' face, one I didn't immediately recognise. Until he spoke, his voice piercingly hard and drenched in anger.
"Well, maybe that's because you act like one." I looked at him thunderstruck, and answered stonily:
"Maybe that's because you treat me like one." Then I stormed back up the stairs.
Because, being honest to myself, that's what actually buggered me more than being embarrassed in front of the order. I thought Remus accepted me. I even hoped he could see me as more than a friend, but as a woman, and a desirable one too. Obviously, I was wrong.
That's what this all is: A case of wounded pride.
A/N: The sentence As the ancient and sage philosopher says: Life's a bitch does not come from me. I've read it in another great fan fiction once, and though I've forgot the name of the story, I wanted to use the phrase as a tribute to the person who came up with it.