In her second year, Tonks came across a book called Morphology in the Hogwarts library. Mistakenly thinking it was about Metamorphmagi, she checked it out. It was, in fact, about English, and Tonks read the entire thing from front to back.
She became obsessed with words, and syntax, and etymology, and grammar. Language, she mused, was the one thing that connected Muggles and Wizards. She had some lofty ideas about using that as a bridge, but nothing substantial.
It was in Tonks's third year that she first became aware of the fact that anti-Muggle sentiment existed. A nasty Slytherin had called Cynthia the M-word, and Cynthia had hid out in the Come-And-Go Room and cried her eyes out, missing four classes in the process.
"It's not even true," she'd insisted when Tonks came by to comfort her. "My mother's a Muggle, but my father's just a Squib; everyone else in his family can do magic just fine."
Tonks tried to explain her theories about Language, and Unity, to Cynthia, but she must not have made any sense.
"Tonks," Cynthia said slowly, "you're not making any sense."
"I know that. I wish I was more eloquent. But I'm as clumsy with words as I am with my bloody feet."
Cynthia sniffed. "You are very, very clumsy."
Tonks sighed. "You know, Mark Twain gave some advice – I mean, writing advice – and said that once you finished a story, you should go through and strikethrough every instance of 'very' because it's a dreadfully useless word."
"What is?"
"Very."
"Very what?"
"Never mind, Cyn." Tonks furrowed her brow. "But English in general is filled with useless words, isn't it? We use modifiers and fillers and all that all the time, don't we?"
"I suppose," Cynthia said, but she could not have sounded less sure.
"And most spells ... Granted, they're all psychologically-based. That's why they use Latin bases and whatnot."
"Right."
"And people judge you ... They judge you based on your words, just like they judge you based on your hair color. And they use words to hurt you. Like calling you a Mudblood."
"But I'm not a Mudblood!"
"... I know, Cyn."
Tonks was on a path to something, she knew, but she had no idea what.
It was in Tonks's fourth year that Charlie Weasley invited her to sneak out with him and practice Quidditch. It was midnight, and October.
It was very, very, very, very cold.
Tonks was Keeper. Charlie threw balls at her. He made a lot of goals. Tonks was miserable.
He asked Tonks to fly up and look at something.
The stars were gorgeous.
Tonks was going to make a joke, about how a sight like that could make a girl fall off of her broom, because she was so clumsy, but she was far too cold.
Charlie asked her to come closer, and then he kissed her.
Tonks was shocked. She felt like it had happened while she was out.
She wanted to ask what the hell that was. She wanted to ask him if he fancied her. She wanted to ask him if he thought that Hufflepuff even stood a chance against Gryffindor. But nothing came out.
She was so very, very cold.
He said, "Let's go inside, I'm hungry," which was not what Tonks expected the first bloke that kissed her to say afterwards, but somehow, she nodded, and she followed him to the ground, and she put the school broom she was using back in the broom cupboard, and Charlie put the Quaffle back into the box, and they walked back to the castle, and Tonks was very confused.
They went to the kitchens and the elves gave them chocolate cake. Tonks kept looking at Charlie out of the corner of her eye. Did he want to be her boyfriend? She didn't know. She didn't know what she was supposed to do next.
"Boyfriend" itself was such a heavy word, with a heavy connotations, and heavy implications, and Charlie Weasley was, frankly, the most popular boy in school. Maybe he had just wanted to snog her. Maybe, she thought, I'm so bad at kissing that Charlie pecked me and then changed his mind.
Merlin, she hoped that that wasn't true.
When they finished their slices, Charlie said, "I'm not looking forward to sneaking past Filch to get back to Gryffindor tower."
"I could set off some Dungbombs as a distraction, if you'd like."
Charlie smiled very handsomely. "No, thanks. I'd rather you not incriminate yourself to save me, noble cause as it may be. G'night, Tonks."
"Good night, Charlie," she said. He left her all alone, in front of the entrance to her dormitory.
It was in Tonks's fifth year that she started wearing her hair in neon colors. Before that, she had always experimented with her looks, but when she was fifteen, pink became her signature, especially since she found that she could now hold her shifts longer than ever before.
She also tripped over her feet, constantly. Her motor skills were getting worse with age, and several people noticed, including Peeves the Poltergeist, who seemed to go out of his way to trip her up. Sometimes she swore he would hide out in the armor and wait, just so he could hold out a leg when she walked past.
The Fat Friar told her that he had asked Peeves to leave her alone, but that just made him more determined. Tonks didn't blame the friendly ghost, and told him as much. "It is quite, all right, kind sir; your intentions were pure. Many courtesies. You are a swell gent."
Tonks had started circling every phrase she liked in classic literature, and tried to implement them in her daily life. This often brought laughs from people, especially when Tonks grew a black, handlebar moustache to accompany the dialogue. There was just something inherently funny about a girl with long pink hair and a handlebar moustache talking like some 18th century reject.
Except to Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Tonks," she said, looking up from her desk to where Tonks stood in the doorway.
"Wot cheer, my dear lady. Might I enquire about my summons?"
McGonagall didn't smile. "If you would take a seat, Miss Tonks, I will tell you why I've called you to my office."
Tonks sat, and tried to look dignified, but fear outweighed any semblance of dignity in her body. Her shoulders slouched, and her leg began jiggling nervously. Her moustache itched.
"Miss Tonks, the reason that you are here is because you have grown increasingly disruptive in my classroom in the past few weeks. You fancy yourself something of a clown and a prankster, but, I assure you, the only person you're amusing is yourself."
"I wouldn't gather that from the laughs," Tonks said. McGonagall glared at her. She closed her mouth.
"Miss Tonks, I have dealt with plenty of troublemakers in my time. If you want to go toe-to-toe with me, you will lose."
Professor McGonagall had never sounded so menacing.
"I wasn't really trying to disrupt. "
"Your intentions hardly matter," McGonagall said, though she now sounded less harsh. "I also wished to talk to you about your marks."
"Yes?"
"Yes. I have here your latest essay." McGonagall pulled a piece of parchment out of the top drawer of her desk. Tonks recognized it as hers – she had spilled syrup on it while rushing to finish it at breakfast before class. She guessed she didn't do very well on it.
"Would you read the grade at the top, Miss Tonks?"
Tonks peered at the paper and gasped.
McGonagall sighed. "This is one of the most poorly-constructed essays I've ever read, Miss Tonks, and I've been teaching for quite a while."
"I ..."
"Miss Tonks, you're hardly incompetent, and you're obviously gifted at language." McGonagall gave the essay a wry look. "You managed to fill up twenty inches without even addressing the question at hand."
"I'm sorry, Professor, but maybe I'm just not talented at Transfiguration. That's hardly the end of the world, is it?"
McGonagall gazed at her shrewdly, and didn't speak for several moments.
"Miss Tonks, do you want to be the first Metamorphmagus in the history of Hogwarts to not receive an 'O' on your Transfiguration O.W.L?"
Tonks blinked. "The first? You mean ... all the others ...?"
"Yes, Tonks. All the others."
"But ... I mean ..."
"I didn't want it to come to this, Tonks, but I will be very difficult with you if that's what it takes to get through your head."
"Difficult?"
"First, I want you to re-write this poor excuse of an essay. I will accept no less than an Outstanding one, and if so, I'll give you a grade of Acceptable for the assignment. Anything less, and you fail. I will also insist that you spend one night a week in my office with me, to work on your assignments for this class."
"Now that's not bloody fair!"
"Two points from Hufflepuff for language. And what isn't fair, Miss Tonks?"
"You're doling out detentions when I haven't done anything wrong! How vexing!"
McGonagall's top lip quirked up. "Miss Tonks, as I have just told you, you've been very disruptive in my class. I also know for a fact that you've snuck out after hours several times. I declined to refer to our weekly meetings as 'detentions' before, but, if the terminology suits you, then, by all means, go ahead."
Tonks sat there, flabbergasted. "Professor Sprout ..."
"I've already consulted with your Head of House. She agrees with your punishment." McGonagall gave Tonks another piercing look. "Whether you want to look at it as punishment or tutoring is up to you, Miss Tonks. But your skill level is far below your classmates'. I've overlooked it until now, but I simply cannot any longer. If you wish to continue onto your N.E.W.T.s, you will be in this office, every Tuesday at five o'clock."
"But Quidditch ..."
"The Hufflepuff team practices on Wednesdays, Miss Tonks; however, if, for some reason, you have practice on a Tuesday, feel free to talk with me beforehand to reschedule. I am not trying to be unreasonable."
Tonks couldn't help but feel that McGonagall was being very unreasonable. She wondered how she knew that she wanted to take Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s, she wondered if Professor Sprout told her that she wanted to be an Auror. If so, that was a complete and gross invasion of her privacy, Tonks thought. It didn't even matter that Professor McGonagall would have found out eventually.
And was she really so far behind her classmates? Tonks had to admit, she had taken to not even trying in class. She'd wave her wand once, and when the goblet didn't turn into a rat or what-have-you, she'd just read her books and forget where she was.
"But Cynthia said I'm good at Transfiguration."
"You are good at it. You refuse to learn how to do it, but you've obviously got the ability for it. Miss Tonks, do you think I was lying on that first day of class, when I said Metamorphmagi were talented in this field? Do you think I am lying to you right now, when I say that every other Metamorphmagus that has attended Hogwarts has obtained an 'O' on their O.W.L.? Why you are so resistant to this subject in particular, I have no idea, but if you want anyone to take you seriously at all as an Auror, you will come on Tuesdays."
Without even meaning to, McGonagall had hit on Tonks's sore spot. She had spent the last Christmas with the Moon family, and when Cynthia's mum had called her quirky, Tonks had quickly corrected her, "Idiosyncratic," because that was a much more serious word.
Tonks felt the tears in her eyes before she even knew what to do about them. She didn't know how Professor McGonagall would react to someone bursting into tears in her office, so she just spoke quickly. "I'll be here on Tuesdays, Professor."
McGonagall nodded. "You're dismissed."