Disclaimer: Ms Rowling is my hero. Anything you recognize belongs to her, even if I have taken a few liberties... She seems a good sport, though, doesn't she?

A/N: Be patient, dear readers! I promise you that a certain highly anticipated character will make his debut soon, but Tonks has rather a lot going on right now. Well, that and I delight in drawing out the suspense. Muahahahah!

A huge thank you goes out to all the reviewers as well. You guys rock (especially when you're pointing out something I've bollocksed up so I can fix it)!

Virtual chocolate frogs to WiccaRowan for not letting the wankers get the best of her and for her invaluable beta skills. Congratulations on your recent bombshell!

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks
1994-1995

06 June 1994 – Birthday in Six Days!
10:13 Was just banishing some of the accumulated rubbish from around the flat when I happened to glance at yesterday's Daily Prophet. It's a full moon tonight, which means I stand a good chance of getting called in. (What is it about a full moon anyway? And don't say 'werewolves'; I'm not that thick. I mean the non-infected. Why do people seem to go mad during the full moon?)

Am halfway tempted to say sod it and just leave the flat the way it is. I don't want to be in the middle of chores and have to leave suddenly...

All right, I'm lying. I just don't want to clean anything.

Also, it looks like the bass player from the Weird Sisters is getting married. Again. You know what they say: fifth time's the charm!

10:25 Oh, so that's where I left the last samosa.

…ew.

Gods, I'm disgusting.

11:21 Finally, the flat begins to resemble an actual human dwelling instead of the lair of a cave-troll! Have charmed the dishes to wash themselves while I nip out for some groceries. Hmm, Demeter's or Sainsbury's? Sainsbury's is just round the corner (and much less expensive), but Demeter's will have Mrs Skower's and I'm running low on Toothflossing Stringmints. Plus, they have eighteen different varieties of fresh breads and the best selection of farmhouse cheeses.

And I can apparate directly there and back instead of having to lug my groceries three blocks. What? So I'm lazy...

Should probably stop in Fortescue's for a wee sundae. Wouldn't want the poor man to think I've abandoned him now that I'm gainfully employed.

12:07 Right. In future, should probably avoid leaving the flat while dishes are self-washing. Came home to a very poor imitation of the Hogwarts lake in my kitchen. Scrubber and dish soap have buggered off to Merlin knows where.

13:43 Oh, sweet Circe!

I've been trying to read this novel I picked up at Demeter's. It's one of those maudlin heroic-Pureblood-wizard-rescues-daft-Muggle-woman-who-accidentally-wandered-into-Mortal-Danger-and-they-shag-like-crazed-weasels tragic romance novels. It's not too badly written but every time the "hero" starts whinging about his family I want to smack him. Plus, I can't stop giggling at the love scenes. Why are women's bosoms always heaving? Are they having respiratory problems? Is this all just badly-disguised kinky illness smut?

Hmm. I do like the coverwitch's hairstyle though. Maybe I'll practise that one for a bit.

16:14 You know, there's one thing I really hate about having the day off work.

I'm so bored. All my friends are at their own jobs right now or I'd go bother them. (They're so crabby about being interrupted during the workday. Bertram said if I owled him one more time, he'd volunteer me for babysitting duty. Shudder.) I've cleaned everything I'm willing to clean. Caught up on all my correspondence (nearly forgot Grammy Tonks's birthday!), changed the sheets on my bed, washed every dirty piece of clothing I have and bought enough groceries to feed me through the weekend, at the very least.

I even repaired that stack of dishes that's been sitting in the kitchen for months.

Right now, I'm just lying in bed and counting the cracks in the ceiling. Like I haven't done that a million times before.

Maybe I should take a nap? If I get called in tonight, I don't want to be nodding off at the wrong moment. Or any moment, really.

16:21 There are 37 cracks in the ceiling, by the way. Including a group of ten or so above the door which looks like a very realistic dragon. If I close both eyes in sequence, it almost looks like it's flying. Cool.

16:55 Erm, I was just hanging up the last of my laundry when I realized I haven't tried on that Muggle gown yet.

Not sure if I really want to. It's a beautiful dress, sure, but I'm still a little leery of that vision.

17:02 It probably won't fit my unMorphed body anyway. And I'm certainly not going to change to fit it.

17:18 ...

17:36 All right, fine, I'll just try it on so I know if I should chuck it or not.

17:41 It's… Gods!

I'm actually speechless right now. Or as close to speechless as I can get, anyway.

This thing fits like it was made for me! It's even the proper length! And not a bit of magic in it!

I've relaxed everything to normal and I'm just flabbergasted by what I see in the mirror. (The mirror appears to be speechless as well, although I'm fairly sure I heard a teary sniffle.) The colour of the brocade makes my skin glow and even my hair doesn't look as drab as normal.

Wicked.

17:55 Not that I'm putting any stock in that vision. Seeing's not exactly the most reliable discipline.

17:57 Was probably indigestion.

18:20 Okay, nap time! No more mooning about in front of the mirror. I'll just set my wand to ring if I'm called in and lie down with that big fat copy of Goblin Rebellions 1412-1422 - Ten Years, One Hundred Wars I never returned to the Hogwarts library. Am yawning already.

20:25 Nap very, very bad idea. Nasty dream. I can't really make heads or tails of it and my wand is going off, so I'm just going to put it in here with the modified Pensieve charm that we use for witness reports at work. Maybe reading it later will help.

Plus, I don't really want it in my head at full-strength.

memory transfer, N. Tonks, self-administered

I'm standing outside, wearing the wedding dress, in the same scene as the vision I had in the charity shop. Dad is holding my arm, Mum is crying. The sun is shining brightly. I can feel the bite of autumn in the air, smell it in the scent of leaves and wood smoke.

Dad is speaking to me but I can't hear him. Bells are ringing at a distance, and the sound fills my ears.

Bonng. Bonnng. Donnng.

It sounds like cathedral bells.

I look around a bit. We're on a gently sloping lawn facing the edge of a wood. The leafy branches of the nearest trees arch gracefully overhead. It looks rather like a cathedral ceiling, actually: all bark-covered crossbeams and a rainbow of leaves through which the sunlight filters.

It feels calm ... peaceful. Happiness fills my chest until it feels about to burst. I turn away from the wood, expecting to see family and friends and Him, the one for whom I'm wearing the dress.

When I turn, though, Dad's hand slides from my arm. The sun dips behind an iron-grey cloud and the wind picks up, colder now. I'm alone on the grass. I glance back over my shoulder at the trees, no longer welcoming and sacred but dark and forbidding. I reach for my wand and it's not there. I'm completely defenceless, standing here in this beautiful gown – bare feet, bare head, and empty hand.

A voice in my head tells me to run, to run as fast as I can toward the light that still shines on a hill in the distance.

But my feet won't obey the voice. They turn and carry me between the thick, twisted trunks, into the pitch black wood.

There's a barely discernible path winding away into the distance. I follow it, my bare feet sinking into the rich, dark earth. The scent of decay, of death, rises up with each footfall. It's even colder now, the wind howling around me through the trees. Branches creak overhead.

Everything around me is grey or black. I pull a lock of hair forward to check the colour. It's the same mousy brown I was born with, the colour of my father's hair. I try to change it. Try to make my trademark splash of brilliant, vibrant colour in this drab landscape.

It doesn't change. I concentrate on that lock of hair while my feet carry me along the path. I screw up my face and imagine bright purple ink flowing down out of my scalp. It's the colour of the Headmaster's robes on feast days, the colour of laughter and singing. Nothing changes, not a single strand of hair! I reach a hand to my hip again for the wand that still isn't there. What is happening?

Panicking now! My breath comes faster; I can feel the rush of blood in my ears. I start to run, still heading deeper into the forest. Just above the sound of my pulse, I can hear something whispering, chattering. It's beckoning me, inviting me to step off the path and into the undergrowth. Branches reach across the path, tearing at my skin and hair and dress, trying to pull me in...

There's a -

Crack!

- like thunder - and I'm in the middle of a small clearing. It feels off, wrong somehow. The dirt under my feet is grey and lifeless. The trees are bare, but there are no leaves to crackle underfoot. My skin crawls. It feels like my body is trying to shed itself. I can't stay here; it feels like death. But I can't move! I can't get back to the path!

Something's behind me. I can feel its presence, though it doesn't betray itself with any noise. I look down at my feet, trying to understand why I can't move. I can wiggle my toes but can't make my legs respond. It's as if someone has cast a bind on the muscles.

I crane my neck, trying to see what's lurking behind me, but it moves back out of my field of vision. Another –

Crack!

- and I'm standing on the edge of a vast lake. The cold wind still whips around my body but the surface of the water is completely flat. I bend forward awkwardly – I still can't move my legs – and look at my reflection. What I see is truly my worst nightmare...

There is no colour or form to any of my features. There's just this expanse of smooth skin where my face usually is. My eyes are wide and frightened but grey and otherwise lifeless, my nose is just a bump in the middle of my face and my mouth is gone. The rational part of my brain tries to figure out what has happened but is quickly drowned out by the laughter echoing through my mind.

I try again and again to Morph but there isn't even the slightest twitch of a nerve. What is happening to me?

I can hear the laughter now, behind me, and something turns me to face the sound. My body jerks and twists. I can't fight it.

There's an acromantula bearing down on me, venom dripping from its gaping maw, eyes glistening.

I'm frozen in terror. Even if I had my wand, I would be completely defenceless against this monster.

It reaches out with one immense, hairy leg and pushes against my chest. The barbed hairs pierce the gown and scratch my skin. The laughter gets louder, carried by the wind until it swirls around me.

I'm going to die...

Suddenly, the beast whirls around. Something is crashing through the underbrush across from where I'm standing! It breaks through the branches and vines which block the path. It's a man – a wizard, by the looks of the wand in his hand. He charges the acromantula, swings his wand over his head and jabs it down toward the beast's hairy body. He roars -

INCENDIO!

- and the acromantula screams and flails as its body bursts into flame. It lurches wildly past the wizard into the forest, igniting branches and dead leaves as it goes. The laughter has ceased and a high-pitched keening fills my ears.

The wizard walks toward me. He waves his wand and the paralysis disappears. I crumple to the ground, sobbing, but the sound is trapped behind the smooth skin where my mouth should be.

Suddenly, he is standing right in front of me. I can see mud spattered on the hem of his dark robes. He crouches down and puts a hand under my chin, trying to lift my face to his. I shake my head, cringing away from him. I don't want him to see what a freak I truly am.

He thrusts something into my hands. It's a mask of my face, my true face.

Startled, I turn my face up to his and see that he's wearing the same mask. He opens his mouth to speak, but all I can hear is the tolling of bells...

Bong. Bonnng. Donnnng...

end memory transfer

I woke in my bed, coated in sweat, my heart and lungs racing like I'd just run several miles. On the pillow next to me, my wand was ringing.

I've been called in to work.

20:27 And I'm never reading one of those daft romance novels again.

21:18 So, the big emergency that I got called in for? They needed someone to answer the emergency Floo-calls.

Oglesby was doing it, but then somebody got hit with a miscast Furnunculus while trying to subdue a drunk and had to go to St Mungo's, so they pulled Oglesby into the field. Since I'm the only Auror with no field rating and no partner, I get to do desk duty.

It's not that I mind being called in on an off day – at least I'm getting a little experience outside my normal duties – but I'm still on edge from that dream. And I would cheerfully hex my own mother for a strong cup of coffee right now.

It sounds boring but watching the grate is actually fairly exciting. I've had to despatch two teams already on calls! One was to a home in Somerset claiming to be under attack and the other was a report of kidnapping. Technically, though, that one should be classified as a nuisance report since it's just daffy old Gladys Gudgeon crying foul about the "disappearance" of Gilderoy Lockhart. She donates a lot of Galleons to Minister Fudge's pet projects, so we have to pretend to take her seriously when she calls in. Which happens twice a month, usually after she spends an evening toasting Lockhart with a bottle of brandy.

I've also redirected a couple of calls: two to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office (they'll have to leave a message as neither of the wizards assigned to that department is working right now) and one to Werewolf Support Services.

I have a feeling I'm going to have to field a lot of calls about werewolves tonight. Fewer than thirty on the whole island who aren't taking that new potion, but somehow there's a werewolf lurking outside every door. I'm not saying that they aren't dangerous and that people shouldn't be on alert during the full moon, but really. It seems like a little more fact and a little less misinformation would go a long way these days.

Anyway, one of the Auror teams just popped in to fill out reports, so I'm going to head to the ladies' and grab a cuppa on the way back.

Did I mention that I'm on grate duty until the support staff gets here in the morning? Groan.

22:43 Just had a chat with Mr Weasley, the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. I think I remember seeing him at Hogwarts once or twice. He had two sons: Bill, who was in my year, and Charlie, who was two years behind us.

Had to disturb him at home (I hope his wife isn't too angry with me; you should've heard the way she bellowed for him!) after we got a call that someone was interfering with Muggle traffic signals. He seemed terribly excited until I told him about the fatalities that occurred in the resulting accidents. I don't envy him his job tonight.

22:58 Okay, here's the tally of calls I've fielded in the last few hours:

1 Muggle interference, dire;
1 kidnapping, bogus;
1 household under attack, bogus;
1 suspicious death, bogus ("victim" was practicing self-body binds);
2 Dark Mark sightings (both times it turned out to involve fireworks and vast quantities of mead);
4 Muggle interference, minor;
10 misdirected calls;
12 drunk and disorderly complaints, all involving the same, thoroughly soused, individual in Diagon Alley;
17 Werewolf reports, only one so far with any validity;

And the winner: 28 Sirius Black sightings, including one witch who said he broke into her house and seduced her!

Bet Kingsley's loving that one...

Things have slowed down a bit in the last quarter hour. Maybe I'll get a chance to review the International Conference dossier tonight. I've nothing to do with the British delegation, but one should be prepared for any eventuality.

23:21 I'm pretty sure I hate Belgium. A two-day conference and they've sent us no fewer than 200 pages about proper identification, travel papers and security protocols. Gah!

Also, it just occurred to me that I could record some of these Floo-calls. For training purposes only, mind. Perhaps Savage could review how I handled the callers. I wouldn't dream of reading these later and laughing hysterically at the drunken claims!

Much, anyway.

begin transcription, N. Tonks, Grate Duty, 06-07 June 1994
standard privacy charm activated

Auror: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division. What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: Izzat choo, Igby? Whatchoo wearing tha' wig for?

Auror: Sir, you've reached the Auror Division. Are you reporting a situation?

Caller: Oh, fu...

-

Auror: Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division. What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: OH MY GODS! THERE'S A WEREWOLF AT THE DOOR!

Auror: Stay calm, ma'am. Is the werewolf trying to get in?

Caller: WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Auror: Ma'am, I need you to stay calm. The scroll says you're in Chepstow? 151 Laburnham Way?

Caller: YES!

Auror: Okay, I'm despatching an Emergency Werewolf Capture team to your location. Have you sealed all the entrances to your home?

Caller: Yes, yes, oh gods, HURRY!

Auror: The team should be there any moment. Can you see out your window to let me know when they've apparated in?

Caller: ...They just got here. (muffled) Oh!

Auror: Ma'am, is everything all right?

Caller: Yes, it's fine. It's fine. It was just my dog, Balfour, at the door. Sorry to disturb.

Auror: No trouble, ma'am. It's why we're here! Have a pleasant night.

Caller: You too, dear. (muffled) No! NOT ON THE CARPET!

-

Auror: Aurors. What's the problem?

Caller: I didn't realize they were letting children run the Ministry these days.

Auror: (loud thud, crash) P-p-professor! Why are you calling here?

Caller: I see you are still as dense as you are clumsy, Miss Tonks. I am reporting an emergency. Why else would I be contacting you?

Auror: Ahem, right. Er. What is the nature of your emergency? Sir.

Caller: Is there no one else in the Department who can field my call?

Auror: No, sir. I'm the only one here at the moment. You'll just have to trust me.

Caller: Very well. Against my better judgement, I'd like to add.

Auror: Now, listen, you...

Caller: Inform Minister Fudge he is to despatch a team of Hit Wizards to Hogwarts immediately. I have captured Sirius Black.

Auror: (loud thud)

Caller: (muffled) Merlin save me from this dunderhead.

Auror: Did you say Sirius Black? What, all by yourself?

Caller: Yes, Miss Tonks, I did. Now, are you going to do your job and inform the appropriate authorities or do I need to come there to do it for you?

Auror: No, sir, I – Right away, sir.

Caller: We've already sent someone to bring the Dementors in from Hogsmeade, so don't bother.

Caller: Oh, and you might want to call in a Werewolf Capture unit. There is an un-medicated werewolf loose on the grounds.

Auror: A WEREWOLF?

Caller: Do I not speak plainly enough for you? Yes. A. Were. Wolf.

Auror: But, but how did a werewolf get through the wards in the Forbidden Forest?

Caller: Because, you idiot girl, he came from inside the school.

Auror: (loud crash)

Caller: Oh, for pity's sake...

end transcription
record deleted

A/N, the sequel: JKR hasn't told us much about the Auror Division: how it works, the chain of command, which cases it investigates, and so on. My version of the Aurors is kind of a catch-all elite policing authority. They combine many of the tasks carried out by the American Secret Service, the FBI, MI-5 and any Muggle police department. They are on call twenty-four hours a day and, during non-office hours, act as a coordination/command team for some of the other departments of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. In short, when you use the Floo Network equivalent of 999/911, you get an Auror on the other end. (This comes directly from my inability to believe that the two wizards in Muggle Artefacts split shifts so that someone is in the office to take calls at any hour. And I highly doubt that Molly Weasley would take too kindly to having emergency calls directed to her Floo connection!)

The Hit Wizards are a semi-autonomous branch of the Auror Division; their Muggle equivalent would be the United States Marshals. Their job is to take dangerous criminals into custody and transport them to the appropriate facilities. They are semi-autonomous in the sense that they report directly to a superior in the Auror Division, but are authorized to take action as they see fit while in the field.

The Unspeakables, who may or may not show up later, would then be the magical world's equivalent of MI-6 or the CIA. If I told you any more, I'd have to have Tonks give you a Memory Charm.

And thus ends my ridiculously long and unnecessary Wizarding Culture lecture. bows

Tonks flatly refused to have anything to do with it. Says you lot should have been paying more attention in school.