October, 1995

-

I wasn't planning on writing in my journal tonight. While a pleasant pastime, it is by no means obligatory. The only nightly habit I refuse to break is telling Nymphadora I love her.

Tonight, I am writing because I couldn't sleep.

Three words kept echoing in my mind, prodding me out of bed in the hope that writing them down would release their hold on my thoughts.

Au revoir, Lola...

Earlier, when Nymphadora shared the details of her conversation with Scrimgeour, some impulse made me ask if he had addressed her as Tonks or Lola. She told me he didn't call her by name until she was leaving.

At the time, I only asked out of idle curiosity. I hadn't thought much of it. The words kept haunting me, though. I kept hearing her say, 'goodbye, sir,' and him returning, 'au revoir, Lola.' The voice inflections changed each time. Not hers—she always sounded respectful in my imaginings—but his.

Sometimes he would say the words briskly, others, absently, as though his mind were on the work he'd given up part of a weekend to complete. The disturbing ones were lower pitched and bordered on flirtatious.

It was easy to imagine Scrimgeour's face as he said, 'au revoir, Lola' to my partner. Over a dozen years ago, he had entered the room where I was being interrogated about the deaths of James and Lily Potter and told the Aurors to let me go, that Sirius Black had been apprehended for the murder of the Potters, Peter Pettigrew, and Muggle bystanders.

I still remember vividly the way I proclaimed Sirius' innocence. With the regal indifference of a lion, Scrimgeour had said, "I don't care. That's for the Ministry to decide."

I have long since let go of the anger I felt that day, but I will never forget it.

Now, I wonder if the arrogant man cares that 'Lola' isn't really a sophisticated woman in her thirties. If it matters to him at all that the blonde showgirl is the creation of a young and talented Metamorphmagus who already has a partner.

The critical part of my psyche says that Scrimgeour would consider me little competition. I'm a werewolf with no job, no income apart from the Ministry dole. My age, he likely finds encouraging. After all, if Nymphadora finds someone my age attractive, why wouldn't she go for someone a few years older with power and ambition?

The thought of him trying to get on with his 'escort' brings out my territorial urges. I've been fighting the impulse to pay a visit to the Head of Aurors to warn him off. I've also refrained from asking my love not to take any further jobs as his bodyguard. Neither action would be productive.

Is this what James felt when other boys showed interest in Lily—jealous insecurity?

Strangely, the wolf within me reassures best. It goes deeper than my ego, which reminds me how we love each other, and how good we are together. The certainty is instinctive and primal. She is more than my lover. Nymphadora is my mate.

Such a bond is so profound, at times it almost frightens. At this moment, it brings peace, and the promise of sleep.

-

-

A/N: This 'entry' was written after ch 15, when Tonks went to see Scrimgeour as 'Lola.' The readers who reviewed last week and made continued cold without snow easier to bear were...♥ adrienne06052 ♥ alix33 ♥ Bardlover ♥ BeautyEclipsed ♥ BlueSea14 ♥ Calenmarwen ♥ cupcakeswirl ♥ ElspethBates ♥ Embellished ♥ Fauzia ♥ FNP ♥ Freja Lercke-Falkenborg ♥ Indigoenigma ♥ Io.sono.Emilia ♥ ishandtwofourths ♥ Kileaiya ♥ Ladyofthebookworms ♥ lain ♥ lauraart123 ♥ LolaCherryColaGirl ♥ Machiavelli Jr ♥ MollyCoddles ♥ Moontime ♥ Nethiel Nessime ♥ Operamuse ♥ RahNee ♥ remus R us ♥ rillie ♥ siriuslycoco ♥ Slipknot-3113 ♥ Sophia Loren ♥ sunny9847 ♥ and ♥ UnderworldBabe ♥

(Edited to add, on the day this posted, it snowed...and continues snowing...YAY!)