The night before Tonks's eleventh birthday, she had her face pressed against the bay window in the parlor while her parents talked quietly in the next room. Tonks really wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but for some reason she wanted to be nearby while they discussed her.

She knew that was what they were talking about, of course. She was set to go to Hogwarts in almost exactly a month, and her powers were still all over the place. Every young witch and wizard had incidents and accidents, had moments where their emotions got the better of them and things just seemed to go wrong, or, at least, that was what her parents said. But Tonks knew in her heart that things didn't usually go like this. Most witches her age probably weren't dyeing their father's skin red over a stupid row about Quidditch. Or maybe they were, but not this often. That was the problem, Tonks mused. Not the scope of the spontaneous acts of magic, but the frequency.

Every day, something happened. Yesterday, Tonks had given her mother tentacles. It was that which caused her mother to remark that Tonks had a knack for changing people's appearance, and Tonks figured that was only fair, since she still didn't have hers down.

She tried not to think about that, but the thought wormed its way through her brain, stopping at her stomach, leaving her nauseous and nervous. She still couldn't control her morphing. Her hair, her eye color, her height – Tonks never knew what she was going to see when she looked in the mirror. She usually looked like a little girl, and there was a consistency to that appearance. Her face, her lips, her eyes were usually the same shape. But her nose changed often, and so did her ears. And Tonks hated to think about that week when she was eight, when she looked like a little boy for some reason.

Her body didn't morph much, either. Her legs usually looked the same, and her feet were a wonderful constant. But sometimes the weight shifted and sometimes she could see her ribs more clearly than others. One time, while playing out with her dad in the yard, Tonks had twisted her ankle. Her father had gotten down on his hands and knees to inspect the damage, and when he pulled up her jeans leg and pulled down her sock, they both gasped at the way the bone was pressing against the skin.

"I can put it back," Tonks said, feeling strangely confident at nine.

"It looks like a nasty break," her father said, ignoring her comment.

"I didn't break it," Tonks said, and she didn't know how she knew that, but she did.

"You didn't?" her father asked. Tonks nodded.

"The bone just moved on its own. I felt it."

"That's called a break, sweetheart."

"I didn't break it, Dad. I shifted it somehow on accident. Look." And then Tonks squeezed her eyes shut, and somehow thought of that bone, and she felt it pop back into place. When she opened her eyes, her father was still holding her ankle, but it looked normal now.

"That's a handy trick," he said. "And you're lucky, because I'm rubbish at Healing Spells."

Her father helped her up and walked her inside, and Tonks felt proud at that moment; for the first time, she felt as if she truly knew how to deal with her morphing.

But she hated to think of what the kids at Hogwarts were going to say when they found out she was a Meta... When she thought of the things the little old witches said when her mum took her out shopping...

She was distracted from her thoughts by something moving in the yard. She squinted and cupped her hands around her eyes to get a better look at things. It wasn't often that she saw animals out in the field. Her mother's wards kept everything out but flies, her father had once said, and Tonks agreed.

Whatever it was, it was slithering around the base of the oak tree. After staring at it for several moments, Tonks concluded that it was a black cat.

A cat.

Tonks grinned. She'd always wanted a pet. And now, out of all the places in the world, a cat had shown up in her yard.

She looked toward the kitchen, the door slightly ajar, and she could make out her father's shadow and the flickering light of a lamp. She didn't know how to convince her parents that she deserved a pet. Every time she brought it up, her father had seemed to be on her side, but her mother was always steadfastly against it.

But the Hogwarts letter had said she could bring a familiar, and besides, what her parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them. This way, she thought as she ran upstairs to her room, she could ensure that she would have at least one friend at Hogwarts.

She opened the latch on her window. The branch stretched right to her, a beckoning hand. She took a wobbly step onto it, and when it seemed to hold her weight, she wrapped her arms around the body of it and began to crawl. She looked down; she could see the cat in the shadows, staring up at her with beady, yellow eyes.

"Hello, kitty," Tonks said. "Would you like to be my pet?"

The cat meowed. Tonks grinned.

"I knew you would." She crawled a bit more, and then gasped when she lost her balance for a bit. "Ahh!" She tightened her grip on the tree branch.

The cat meowed again. Tonks tried to move, but ended up falling upside down. She hung there for almost a minute. "Hurry, Cat," she said, spitting hair out of her mouth. "Go get my parents."

The cat just looked at her.

The bark was making her fingers burn, and Tonks didn't know how much longer she could hold on.

She shut her eyes, and let go.

She hit the ground and heard her ankle crack. Her head bounced against a rock. She groaned.

She heard a meow, and felt the cat kneading her shirt, and then she heard the door open.

"Nymphadora!" her mother exclaimed.

Tonks tried to open her eyes, and she saw a sliver of moonlight, but then everything went black.

The Auror trainees were anxious as they followed Mad-Eye Moody down a hallway at the Ministry. They walked past the cubicles where the current Aurors worked, and a few stuck their heads out and looked at them.

There were only five of them left now – Tonks could barely believe it. Maybe, she thought, if I just hold out, I'll make it into the program by default.

It seemed a bit optimistic, but Tonks had made it to field training; she was allowed a little optimism.

"Hurry up," Moody said irritably. Tonks couldn't tell if he was in a worse mood than usual.

He was leading them out of the Ministry and down the street. The cars drove past, and the Muggles paid them no heed, which Tonks found a bit surprising, given the way they were dressed. She knew that most Wizards didn't even care, but Tonks also knew that Muggles could be observant. Like her Gran's friends, who had started asking how her son's family always managed to arrive less than a minute after they told her they were dropping by.

Tonks also noted that Moody was wearing a hat over his eye, so he was at least exercising some caution. And then, as if he were reading her mind, he said, "Don't ever underestimate Muggles. They may not be able to do magic, but they're far from stupid. And they're far from safe."

Eckles, another one of the Auror cadets, chuckled next to Tonks. "He's absolutely barmy."

Tonks frowned. "I think he's right."

Eckles gave her a look, but then shrugged.

"We're going to be taking a Portkey to our training session." Moody stopped in front of a rusty can, lying on the sidewalk. "Here's as good a time as any to tell you about Portkey laws. They're very extensive, and complicated, and illegal Portkeys are almost impossible to prove once they've been used. There's proof in the Trace Office, but good luck getting the files. That place is a bloody mess."

Tonks couldn't hide her smile. She loved when Moody talked bluntly about the Ministry's flaws.

"You should also check any Portkey before you take it. Unfortunately, there's no way to tell exactly where a Portkey's supposed to take you. Only trust Portkeys you make yourself, that's what I say. Also, you may want to test any object you find to see if it's a Portkey."

"Any object we find?" Akim, another cadet said, shocked. "Isn't that a bit overzealous?"

Moody narrowed his eyes. "Would you rather be overzealous or dead?"

Tonks held up a hand. "I know which one I would pick!"

Moody grunted at her, but went back to the can. "Portkey travel is unreliable in the sense that placing too much importance on an object can be dangerous. If this can were to disintegrate, the Portkey enchantment would wear off. If you're trying to get somewhere, it's best to Apparate, but, then again, you can't do that if you can't picture the place, and that includes being there, so if you need to go somewhere, you might as well just place a ruddy Portkey there while you're at it.

"It's also worth noting that you should put as many unnoticeable charms on your Portkeys as possible. The last thing you want is for a Muggle to accidentally take it."

"What happens if they do?" Eckles asked.

"They die," Moody said curtly. "Muggles' bodies can't handle Portkey travel or Apparation."

"Why is that?" Tonks asked.

"Don't know," Moody grunted. "I'm an Auror, not a magical theorist."

"Are there such things?" Tonks wondered. Moody gave her the stink-eye, and Tonks could tell he was losing patience.

Still, he said, "Not by trade."

"Why not?" Larkin, another trainee, asked.

Moody slammed his foot down. "Because you can't make any bloody money at it! Now everyone grab the Portkey, and let's go!"

"Should we, though?" Tonks asked, because she couldn't help herself. "I mean, we didn't make it ourselves, did we? Is it trustworthy?"

Moody's regular eye stayed glued on something indiscernible in the distance, but Tonks could imagine his mad eye spinning wildly under his bowler hat. And then he rounded on her, and she swore he was going to hex her, or at least dismiss her from the lesson.

Instead, he motioned his wand over the can.

"Do the tests, Tonks. See if it's secure."

Tonks named her cat Babou, at her father's suggestion. She was old, her black fur more a faded grey, with a large chunk missing out of her right ear. Tonks's mother said she appeared to be a wild cat, and she worried that she wouldn't adjust to life with an owner.

Her father said that if her mother thought that cats truly had owners, then she didn't understand cats at all.

Babou came with Tonks on the Hogwarts Express.

Tonks wasn't nervous during the ride to King's Cross. Her father was driving his car, ecstatic that her mother had allowed him to take it out. "Isn't she incredible?" he asked, rubbing the dashboard tenderly.

Her mother was gripping the passenger side door handle, and her eyes were screwed shut. "I don't understand these contraptions," she said. "I don't like them one bit."

Tonks sat in the backseat; Babou sprawled across her lap, not at all phased by the bumps of the road. "I'm not nervous," Tonks said, looking down at her, straight into her yellow eyes. "Not even a little."

Babou nudged Tonks's nose with her own before yawning and putting her chin back on her knee. She went to sleep.

"Are we almost there? I'm afraid I'm going to be sick."

"Come now, Rommie. You can ride a broom, but not in a car?"

"Yes, Ted. I can ride a broom, but not in a car. How did you guess?"

"You must not be that sick, if you can still be sarcastic."

"I'm going to be sick all over you, if you don't shut it. Now turn that cool air on me before I faint," her mother said, never opening her eyes. Her dad chuckled, but still did as he was instructed.

Tonks wasn't doing very well.

She missed every target.

She tripped over her shoelaces.

The boggart made her freeze up.

It was hard to see, with all the tears in her eyes.

"Tonks!" Shacklebolt shouted. "Tonks, get over her now!"

Tonks dragged her way over to him.

"What's the matter, cadet? I would've thought that an obstacle course would be right up your alley. You're good at thinking on your feet."

Tonks didn't even register the compliment. She stared at the ground. Her hair was long and black and getting in her eyes.

"What the matter, cadet?" Shacklebolt repeated.

"It's nothing," Tonks said listlessly. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound very fine. Look at me, will you."

Tonks did. She sniffed.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Do you need to go home?"

"No, sir."

"Then what's the matter, cadet? If something's affecting your work, you should let me know what it is."

Tonks tried to blink back the tears, but she didn't completely succeed.

"It's ... It's stupid."

"What's stupid?" Shacklebolt seemed to be growing irritated.

"My cat, sir."

"What about it?"

"She died."

"Died?"

"Yes."

The corner of Shacklebolt's mouth twitched.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Tonks looked back down at the ground.

"Will you be all right?" Shacklebolt asked.

Tonks nodded.

"All right, then," he said hesitantly. "You best get back to training."

"Yes, sir."