Chapter 2

That’s Just Who She Was

The alarm went off with a shrill ring, marking the start of a new day.
As usual, Tonks sat up with a jolt, full of energy that didn’t match the early hour.

She stretched with a long yawn and shuffled toward the full-length mirror in the corner of her messy bedroom.
Her reflection greeted her with a flash of vibrant colour in her hair — as always, far from ordinary.

She grinned, pleased.
“Pink again, huh?” she muttered, tilting her head to examine the shade in the soft morning light.

Tonks was a Metamorphmagus, which meant she could change her appearance at will, no potions or wands required. Just intention.

Her skin, her ears, her hair, every part of her could shift into something else. Even animal traits, if she felt like it. She loved testing out wild hairstyles, impossible eyes, pig snouts, insect antennae, duck beaks… even mimicking other people now and then.

Each transformation was a display of both her imagination and her determination to grow a little more each day.

But it wasn’t all as easy as it looked. Since she was young, her gift had been as much a challenge as a blessing.

Her emotions were deeply tied to her magic — and when they spilled over, it showed. Oh, it showed.

If she got angry, her hair flared in fiery tones.

If she was sad, it faded into dark, brooding hues.

Even in her sleep, her dreams could reshape her body — a fact that had startled more than one bed companion over the years.

As a teenager, it had been a constant source of embarrassment. There were days when she would’ve given anything not to be so transparent.
To be more like her mother, Andromeda — always composed, always polished, with a metamorphmagus talent that was as graceful as it was precise.

But Tonks wasn’t like that.

In fact, over time, she had learned to accept her chaotic nature. Even to embrace it.

She liked to think her hair reflected how she felt, even emotions she couldn’t quite name. Most mornings, it woke up bubblegum pink: a loud, shameless announcement that, no matter what, her energy was charged and her good mood was ready to take on whatever the day had in store.

“You see the world through rose-tinted glasses, Dora,” her mother would say with a long-suffering sigh.

“And I love it, Mum,” she’d reply, sticking out her tongue like a child while her father roared with laughter.

So yes — she’d decided her unpredictable, dazzling magic was simply an extension of her honesty.

And though she had far more control now than in the past, her hair still got her into the occasional mess — sometimes embarrassing, often hilarious.

And when it did, she laughed.
Because that’s just who she was.

She liked to laugh at things.

Nymphadora Tonks had always been a whirlwind of energy, optimism, and good vibes.

And her years at Hogwarts had been a perfect reflection of that.

Sorted into Hufflepuff like her father Ted, she quickly made a name for herself. Her loyalty and friendly spirit were undeniable — but it was her mischievous streak and knack for making people laugh that truly defined her.

She was the kind of friend who always knew how to cheer you up, even on the dullest days.
That same attitude, however, had earned her more than a few scoldings from stricter professors — McGonagall, for instance, who once called her (in her own words) “exasperating.”

She also made a mark on the Quidditch pitch, playing as Beater for the Hufflepuff team. Her bold style, uncanny aim, and quick reflexes on a broom made her a player to be reckoned with.

Ironically, she was far clumsier on solid ground — a contrast her classmates found endlessly amusing. Brilliant in the air, yes… but perfectly capable of tripping over a quill.

Still, Tonks wasn’t just a free spirit.
Behind her ever-changing looks and carefree attitude, there was a committed student.

Against all odds, she graduated with outstanding marks, defying anyone who thought fun and academic excellence couldn’t go hand in hand. In fact, her acceptance into the Auror training program had surprised quite a few.
But it didn’t take long for her to prove she wasn’t just talented — she had the drive and grit it took to rise to the challenge.

She stepped away from the mirror and gave her wand a casual flick. Clothes scattered across the floor flew into the wardrobe.
Not that it would last — no matter how many times she tidied up, her room always looked like a Cornish pixie den again within a few days.

After a few moments of indecision, she settled on a pair of worn jeans, a Weird Sisters T-shirt, and her favourite leather jacket. She’d never been too fond of traditional wizard robes — Muggle clothes felt more practical… and a lot more fun.

Barefoot, she padded into the kitchen and made herself a quick coffee, going over the day ahead in her mind.

It was no secret that Tonks loved her job.
Auror.
The word still gave her a little jolt of pride.
Her dream come true.

Every day came with a new challenge — an unexpected lead, a rushed arrest, or some bizarre mission waiting to unfold.
And she thrived on that unpredictability.
Who would they be chasing today? What absurd case would land on her desk this time? And what twisted method would her dear senior use to torture her this fine morning?

It was early in her training when she met Alastor Moody — a formidable figure in the Ministry, as revered as he was feared.
At first, Tonks had found him terrifying. But despite their countless differences, Moody seemed to recognize something in her spirit and took her under his wing as a guide and teacher.

They’d had their ups and downs, sure, but from the very beginning, there was something unique between them — a bond that blended the respect of a student for her instructor, the closeness of a protégé with her gruff godfather, and the unspoken understanding of two people who, though wildly different, somehow got each other.

Tonks downed her coffee in one gulp, slung her cloak over her arm, and stepped out the door with a grin on her lips and the full-hearted intention of living that day like it was the only one that mattered.

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Tonks arrived at the Ministry of Magic through one of the external entrances.
With her light step and ever-cheerful mood, she crossed the atrium, gracefully dodging a clerk locked in battle with an enchanted file folder that refused to stay shut, while throwing friendly greetings left and right.

Noticing a lift about to close, she quickened her pace, slipped inside just in time, and let out a triumphant “Uff”.
She’d made it.

Inside, Dawlish — one of the more senior Aurors — stood with his arms crossed in the corner, wearing his usual look of disapproval.
“Good morning, Dawlish!” Tonks greeted him with exaggerated cheer, making sure her voice echoed in the narrow metal box.

He mumbled a barely audible reply, not bothering to hide his disdain.
Tonks rolled her eyes. It wasn’t that she cared whether he liked her, but the man had a real talent for getting on her nerves.

She knew exactly what he thought of her: “Too young, too pink, too ridiculous to be here.”
But the problem wasn’t her — it was him.
Tonks simply didn’t fit into Dawlish’s rigid idea of what an Auror should look like.

Still, she wasn’t there to meet anyone’s expectations.
She knew who she was, what she was worth, and she didn’t need the approval of Dawlish, or anyone else who judged her by her looks or her personality.

When the lift stopped on the Magical Law Enforcement floor, she stepped out without a glance back, walking confidently down the long corridor. She passed through a pair of glass doors and entered the Auror Department.

The office was divided into two main zones: a central area, where regular Aurors worked in a state of perpetual bustle, and a ring of tidier offices for the higher-ups: Moody, Scrimgeour… and Dawlish.

In the core, organized chaos reigned.
Rows of cubicles, overflowing cabinets and shelves crammed with scrolls, reports, and dangerous magical artifacts of all kinds filled the space.
Urgent voices overlapped with the constant scratching of quills on parchment and the occasional crackle of some seized magical object awaiting examination.

Tonks made her way between desks, nodding at a few colleagues, then flopped into her chair next to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was already reviewing some scrolls with a faint furrow in his brow.

Tonks allowed herself a moment to watch him.

She didn’t usually care what most people thought of her — and Dawlish’s opinion was especially irrelevant.
But there were a few people whose judgment did matter to her.

Moody was one of them.
And Kingsley, without a doubt, was another.

He was the complete opposite of Dawlish.
Professional, composed, and self-assured, with an unshakeable calm even in the tensest situations. His mission record spoke for itself, but what truly made her respect him was his integrity.

She knew Moody didn’t often take young Aurors under his wing — and Kingsley had been his student before her.
He was a man you could trust. She held him in great regard, not just as a superior, but as a colleague and a friend.

To Tonks, Kingsley was a role model. A steady and approachable figure, perfectly balancing authority and warmth.
But he was more than that.
He embodied the kind of Auror she aspired to become.

Without looking up from his parchment, Kingsley raised an amused eyebrow.
“If you’re going to stare at me that intensely, you might as well help me with this mountain of reports.”

His deep, calm voice pulled her from her thoughts. Tonks glanced down — only then noticing the precarious stack of documents that looked ready to collapse.

“Urgh,” she groaned, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know what’s scarier — facing a mountain troll with acne and a bad temper, or this soul-crushing pile of bureaucratic doom.”

Kingsley gave a low chuckle and tapped the desk twice.
“Trust me — paperwork is the real enemy.”

Tonks leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands with exaggerated drama.

Being an Auror wasn’t just about catching dark wizards and tackling dangerous assignments.
It also meant long hours of research, undercover surveillance, endless night shifts — and above all, the mental endurance to write out report after report after report without losing your mind to the Ministry’s paper-fueled madness.

She looked up at Kingsley with a resigned expression and a head full of messy hair.
“Tell me it gets easier with time.”

He gave her a solemn look.
“No. But you learn to delegate.”

Tonks let out a theatrical sigh and reached for the first file with exaggerated reluctance — though a smile was already spreading across her face.

She knew it was all worth it.

Since childhood, she’d felt a deep sense of duty and devotion, as if the values of Hufflepuff were etched into her skin: unwavering loyalty, steady work, endless patience, and a crystal-clear sense of right and wrong.
Tonks was selfless, dedicated — protecting others came naturally to her.

What truly infuriated her, though, were injustice, lack of transparency, and systems that valued fame over merit.

Even if the Ministry’s bureaucracy sometimes drove her up the wall and the eternal night shifts left her drained, she never lost sight of her purpose.

Deep down, she still believed — just like when she was eleven — that kindness could change the world.
And that every signed document, every completed mission, every filed report was one small step toward a fairer, better future.

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During a coffee break, when the office bustle had died down and they were alone, Tonks leaned slightly toward her partner.

“Kingsley,” she whispered, “why are we keeping tabs on Rookwood? I know Alastor doesn’t like him — he growls every time his name comes up — but… what do we actually have against him?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

“His position. And his past,” he replied, his naturally deep voice calm and steady. “Fudge protects him. Claims he’s reformed. But Moody doesn’t buy it. Neither do I.”

Tonks tilted her head, thoughtful.

“Rookwood…” she murmured. “In the meeting, everyone spoke about him like some old acquaintance. I barely know who he is, except that he works in the Department of Mysteries.”

Kingsley let out a short, indulgent chuckle.
“Sometimes I forget how young you are, Tonks.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, half amused. He smiled a bit more broadly, but quickly returned to seriousness.

“He’s not just some ordinary bureaucrat. He was a Death Eater. One of the most loyal ones during the first war.”

Tonks straightened, all trace of humour gone.

“He worked for years as an Unspeakable. And not in some dusty corner of the Ministry — he was part of the inner circle. Passed vital information to the enemy without ever raising suspicion. He was cunning. Very cunning.”

Tonks nodded, absorbing every word. Kingsley continued, his voice now lower:

“He was eventually turned in by Igor Karkaroff, trying to save his own skin. That’s how Rookwood ended up in Azkaban.”

She raised her eyebrows, baffled.
“So… why is he walking free now?”

“Because the Ministry, in its infinite wisdom, struck a ‘deal’ with him.”

Kingsley made a weary gesture, as if he’d told this story one too many times.

“Rookwood swore up and down he regretted everything — that he had no choice, acted under duress. All very moving, of course. Tears and everything.”

He grimaced in distaste before continuing:

“With his influence over top officials and the best legal counsel the Wizengamot could buy, he got away with it. Claimed he just wanted to ‘move on with his life.’ Not only did he avoid going back to Azkaban, but just a few years later, he was reinstated at the Department of Mysteries.”

“They gave him his job back?” Tonks scrunched her nose, incredulous. “Just like that?”

Kingsley nodded, letting out a dry, bitter laugh.
“The timing, quite conveniently, lined up with the beginning of Cornelius Fudge’s political campaign. Nothing was ever proven, of course — but it was one of the major cases Sturgis Podmore tried to investigate. With no success.”

“And Moody, of course, isn’t happy about any of it,” Tonks said quietly.

“Moody can’t stand Fudge. Says he’s a puppet. And that politics is filled with two-faced snakes.

Tonks wrinkled her nose, feeling a familiar heat of indignation rising in her throat.

“Looks like you can get away with just about anything — unless you steal a cauldron. Then the whole weight of the law crashes down on you.”

Kingsley tilted his head, regarding her with a mix of irony and resignation.

“Welcome to the Ministry, Tonks. Land of public apathy, deaf ears in power, and the fine art of looking away to keep your job.”

She let out a sharp, humourless huff.
“Ah yes. The joys of adulthood.”

They sat in silence for a moment, stirring their coffee, until Tonks spoke again.

“But if we really know he’s still with them… why haven’t we arrested him already?”

Kingsley gave her a patient look.

“Because we can’t.”

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice even further.

“Even though Harry witnessed Voldemort’s return, saw the Death Eaters gathered and even heard some of their names… no one at the Ministry believes him. Not him, not Dumbledore. And public opinion isn’t exactly on our side either.”

He ran a hand along the back of his neck before continuing.

“If we act too quickly — arrest someone without solid evidence — they’ll call us paranoid. Whatever credibility we still have will go up in smoke. We need proof. We need to catch them in the act.”

Tonks pressed her lips together, beginning to understand just how precarious their situation was.

“Take pieces off the board, one at a time,” she murmured, nodding slowly. “That’s what the surveillance missions are for. To keep them close. Anticipate.”

Kingsley nodded.

“Exactly. It allows us to track their movements. Every bit of information counts. Rookwood was one of the key players. If he really is still conspiring, still in touch with the Death Eaters, we have to uncover it before it’s too late.”

Tonks leaned forward on the table, thoughtful.

“Has he done anything suspicious lately?”

Kingsley shook his head.

“Nothing concrete yet, but there are signs. He moves cautiously. Avoids any compromising conversations inside the Ministry. He’s up to something.”

Tonks took a sip of her coffee, letting the information settle in her mind.

“All right,” she said with quiet determination. “Then we’ll watch him. We’ll catch him. We’ll prove Dumbledore and Potter are telling the truth. That’s what we’re trying to do, isn’t it?”

Kingsley gave her a small, almost proud smile before rising to his feet.

“That’s right. And when we do, it’ll be a major blow to their side — and a warning to the entire wizarding world.”

That the war had begun.

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That afternoon, after work, Tonks headed straight to the Order’s headquarters.
Moody had asked her to deliver some scrolls, and although she usually found errands tedious, this time the thought of returning to headquarters sparked a flicker of anticipation.
She knocked three times and waited.
A second later, she felt the familiar tingle of the Fidelius Charm recognising her presence. The sound of invisible locks sliding open within the wood made her smile; those advanced enchantments, so characteristic of Dumbledore, never failed to impress her.

She walked down the same corridor she had followed with Alastor the day before.
But then she stopped.
She looked around. In fact, she turned in place, scanning her surroundings.
The dark furniture, the dusty portraits, the unlit candelabras… even the way the dust hung in the dim light, suspended in the air like a memory.

She caught her reflection in a mirror, cracked in one corner.
And for a moment, she had the strange feeling she’d been there before.
She couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t a memory, nor a specific image. It was something more elusive. Like an echo.

But she didn’t dwell on it — voices drifting in from the kitchen broke the stillness of the hallway.

Tonks resumed her steps and peeked through the kitchen door.

There, around the table, sat Molly and Arthur Weasley, chatting cheerfully with a woman she didn’t recognise.

The three of them looked up as she entered.

“Ah, hello, Tonks,” said Arthur, standing to greet her. “I don’t think you’ve met Hestia yet.”

The witch rose smoothly to her feet.
She looked to be in her forties, though the abundance of freckles on her face and a dreamy air about her gave her a younger appearance. Medium height and built solid but nimble, her features had a distinctly Celtic look — evident in the coppery tone of her brown hair and in her clear eyes, which seemed to shift between blue and green depending on the light.
Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, though a few rebellious strands had escaped here and there. Her deep forest green robes bore subtle embroidery that resembled ancient runes, further highlighting her magical heritage. Despite her friendly demeanour, she radiated a calm strength — an implacable energy that Tonks noticed at once.

“Hestia Jones,” she said, shaking Tonks’s hand firmly. “Auror, like you, though we haven’t crossed paths at the Ministry.”

Tonks returned the handshake, feeling an instant and easy fondness for her.

“What section are you in?”

“Control and Defence of Runic Zones,” Hestia replied proudly. “But lately I spend more time in Scotland than in London, watching over magical enclaves that might attract Death Eaters.”

Tonks nodded, impressed.

Their conversation flowed easily from the start, as if they already knew each other. Hestia’s open, relaxed manner immediately put her at ease. She seemed like the kind of person who didn’t stand on ceremony, but who also knew exactly how to command respect when the situation demanded it.

A few minutes later, the witch glanced at the clock and sighed.

“I’d better go. See you at the next meeting,” she said, offering a warm smile before heading out the door.

Tonks watched her go. That unexpected encounter had left a pleasant feeling behind.

Just then, Sirius entered the kitchen.
She approached and handed him the scrolls Moody had given her.

“Here you go — the reports from the last mission. I have a feeling you’ll want to take a look,” she said with a wink.

Sirius took them, clearly pleased.

“Thanks for bringing them over.”

He looked up at her.
“How was your day, Tonks?”

She let out a theatrical little laugh.
“Oh, the usual: chasing dark wizards and dodging homicidal paperwork. The thrilling life of a rookie Auror.”

Sirius chuckled and leaned against the table with his arms crossed, still watching her with interest.

“Sounds like the paperwork might be the more dangerous of the two. Still… you look like you could handle both.”

Tonks gave a crooked smile, but before she could answer, Molly chimed in with enthusiasm:

“Arthur and I have been talking about your suggestion, Sirius,” she said, her eyes shining. “And we’ve decided to say yes. If you’re still up for it, we’ll move in next week to help with the cleaning. We want to turn this house into a proper headquarters.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased.

“That’s what I like to hear. The more, the merrier.”

Suddenly, the kitchen door opened, and Remus Lupin stepped in.

He looked exhausted, like someone who’d spent the entire day wandering aimlessly after a sleepless night. The shadows under his eyes were deeper, and a tight grimace pulled at his face. The old scars on his pale skin seemed more pronounced, as if stirred back to life by some growing pain.

Molly and Arthur greeted him kindly, but he barely looked up, nodding in silence before walking past them and slipping out through the back door that led to the stairs.

The warmth that had filled the room moments earlier vanished.
Tonks felt the air grow heavier, thick with a tension she couldn’t quite shake.

Sirius, sensing her unease, tried to lighten the mood with a calm smile.
“Don’t worry. Remus is just like that sometimes,” he said casually. Then he stood up.
“I’ll go see how he’s doing. Probably just a long day.”
Before leaving, he shot Tonks a final glance and gave her a wink.
“See you around.”

She watched him disappear after Lupin, their footsteps fading upstairs.

Tonks sighed, unsure what to make of it, and turned back to Molly and Arthur.
“You’re moving in here?” she asked, curious.

Molly nodded, rubbing her hands together with resolve.
“This old place had been shut up for years,” she explained. “Just clearing the entry and cleaning the kitchen was an epic task. And don’t get me started on the nasty protective charms we had to deal with.”

Arthur nodded with a grimace, rolling his eyes as if recalling something particularly unpleasant.
“The house is a mess. Dust everywhere, cursed junk in every drawer, and an unbelievable amount of grime.”

Molly sighed, but her smile remained steady.
“Still, we think that with a bit of effort, it could regain some of its charm,” she added optimistically.

“We thought it might be a good idea to bring the whole family,” Arthur continued. “Our children are on summer break — they could help out. They’re a hard-working bunch… when they feel like it,” he admitted with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Tonks raised an eyebrow, amused.
“How many kids do you have?”

“Seven,” Arthur said proudly. “And I’m sure they’ll love the adventure — especially the twins. Fred and George. They’re… creative.”

Tonks grinned, intrigued.
“Creative? That sounds… explosively promising.”

Molly gave a long-suffering shrug, equal parts exasperated and fond.
“You’ll see for yourself. Let’s just say boredom isn’t part of their vocabulary.”

Tonks couldn’t help but feel a little excited.
The Weasleys had a reputation for being a loud, lively family — and that energy might be exactly what this gloomy old house needed. She’d only seen the kitchen so far, but she could already imagine the rest: dark hallways, heavy furniture, dusty corners… and an air of long-held silence waiting to be broken.

Arthur turned to her with a teasing smile.
“So, what do you say, Tonks? Think you can handle being surrounded by my terribly noisy family?”

Tonks laughed and took a sip of her tea.
“Oh, absolutely, Arthur. I love a good challenge.”

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Thanks for reading!

This second chapter continues to explore what I’ve most wanted to tell from the very beginning: the story of the Order of the Phoenix — but from the inside, through the eyes of the adults.

I’ve always felt Tonks deserved more pages, more voice, more life. And since canon only gives us a few clear brushstrokes… the rest is open ground for me to imagine her. That’s why I chose her as the protagonist.

This chapter ended up a little “happy flower,” I know — but that’s exactly how I picture her at the start of the story: full of good vibes, joy, idealism, brilliance… and utterly happy. <3

I’m especially drawn to the dynamic she shares with Moody — intense, raw, but also oddly curious and fun — and to her bond with Kingsley, where professionalism meets quiet camaraderie.

All three of them have so much potential as characters, but in the books they were pushed to the background. And of course, the main story is so strong it doesn’t need to be touched… but there’s still room to fill in the blanks it left behind.

That’s what I’m trying to do here: to give a voice to those who barely had one.

I hope you enjoy the journey.
And if you have thoughts, feelings, or just want to leave a comment — it’ll make me truly happy 🙂