Black Shield

Wrapping her robe tightly around herself, she stumbled from the apartment with tears running down her face. She'd thought he was different, she'd thought he was more interested in her than… But she always thought the next one was different. And none of them ever were.

She'd find her prince someday. No matter how shabby or frayed around the edges he may be, she would find him. She knew he was out there. Nymphadora Tonks had always believed in fairy tale love. After all, look at her parents. They were a modern day Romeo and Juliet if she'd ever seen one.

Only, without the whole tragic-death-thing. Which, really, wasn't much of a loss.

But really, her mother had run away from her parents, denounced her heritage and their politics to marry a muggleborn man. Her mother, one of the Black daughters, had run away to marry a "mudblood".

Her sisters had married into the Death Eaters.

But here she was, nineteen years old, and she still hadn't found her prince. She still didn't have the fairy tale. And every guy who approached her was after only one thing.

Glaring angrily at her bubblegum pink hair, she desperately willed it back to its ordinary mousy brown. There were times when she hated her ability, hated what it made people see when they looked at her…

…wouldn't anybody ever just see plain old Tonks?

No. All they ever saw was Nymphadora.

Ignoring the shouts from the apartment behind her, Tonks strode out of the building, her mind working furiously. She was tired of being the protected. She wanted – had always wanted – to be a protector. Not the shielded – but the shield.

But there was no way.

Nobody would ever see her as anything but a Metamorphmagus and a –

Well. She wouldn't go there. Not even in her own mind.

She knew she had nothing to complain about. Never matter that she had nearly been raped no less than six times in as many years. Never mind that she had been tricked into more meaningless relationships than the more promiscuous girls in her school had sought out on their own. She wasn't in Azkaban. She still had her freedom. She wasn't married to Lucius Malfoy and raising his bratty pre-teen.

And that was more than dear Aunties Bella and Cissy could say, now wasn't it?

She knew she was lucky. She still had her conscience. She still had her soul. She still had her freedom. And she still had parents that loved her.

So why did she feel so worthless?

As she slammed through the apartment building's front door and into the pouring rain, she heard a sudden commotion behind her. Spinning on her heel, she narrowed her eyes as Worthless Prat #11 came running after her.

"Nymphie, wait!" he shouted in his annoyingly desperate voice. "Wait!"

Her eyes narrowed further. Who the hell did he think he was, calling her 'Nymphie' like that? Ugh. To think that twenty-four hours ago, she would have been thrilled to hear him calling her his "little wood nymph".

She ought to swear off males altogether.

"Nymphie," the man said pleadingly as he came to a halt in front of her, panting quite a bit for someone who had only run down two flights of stairs. "Nymphie, darling, please come back upstairs. We can work things out! Especially," he added, his eyes gleaming brightly as he licked his disgustingly thin lips, "if you take that brunette form you used earli–"

Not allowing him to finish that though, Nymphadora Tonks, her father's pride and joy, swung her arm and punched Worthless Prat #11 square in the nose.

She allowed herself some momentary satisfaction at the sound of his pained scream and watched as blood coated his face before turning yet again and walking off.

But she got no more than a dozen paces before someone called out to her.

"Nice hit!" a man shouted, and Tonks spun around yet again to see a tall, bald-headed black man grinning at her. She studied him carefully, eyes taking in the single gold hoop on one ear and the somewhat hardened quality of his eyes before replying sharply.

"I'm not interested, thank you," she said curtly before turning to walk away yet again.

"Whoa. A bit sure of yourself, aren't you?" the man grinned again, amusement flashing in his eyes. "I wasn't propositioning you, Miss Tonks," he continued. "We've been investigating you for quite a while, and your application has been processed. And accepted, pending your interview."

Application? Interview? Tonks stared at the man even as the rainwater started to seep into her robes. "You're an–"

"Auror," he agreed cheerfully in his deep and slow voice. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Miss Tonks. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Staring at Kingsley Shacklebolt dazedly, Tonks accepted the hand he offered her and shook quickly, letting go almost immediately as she continued to stare at him. "Did you say – accepted?" she asked blankly.

"Pending your interview, yes," Shacklebolt replied. "Is tomorrow afternoon, say around one, suitable for you?"

Tonks didn't remember agreeing. She didn't remember accepting Shacklebolt's business card and Floo address – "in case something comes up and you need to change our appointment". She didn't remember walking the rest of the way to a safe Apparition point and appearing in her parents' foyer. She didn't remember tripping over the coat rack and splitting her lip.

But she remembered the feeling that followed her home that day, the feeling, the sense that she had never felt before, and would never again be without.

Nymphadora Tonks finally had a purpose.