I do not own any of the Harry potter characters, places, spells, etc. etc.

Tonks' POV:

I hate Rufus Scrimgeour.

He's the type of man who induces worry and panic into my system, even when asking me to do the most simplistic of jobs. He has this presence, as he stands there before you, twirling his wand in his long fingers and looking thoughtful, his voice contemplating and firm as he asks you do file a paper, or write a report, or carry a message, or do some other incredibly dull and mind dissolving task invented only to bore ministry employees to death.

It wasn't only his mannerisms that frustrated me, or the way he stood, or the way he spoke to you like a child. It was his utter straight mindedness and lack of listening skills for those of a lower rank. Mainly, me. When in contact with Scrimgeour he would raise one eyebrow very slightly, and look at you as if to say "well? What can such an insubordinate species such as yourself want with my time?"

I left his office one evening later than was strictly required of my time at the ministry because of some stupid report Scrimgeour had instructed me to complete, post-haste, to be on his desk early that morning and which I had failed to hand in. Miserable and exhausted, I almost ran to my desk, ignoring the "vote Rufus Scrimgeour for minister of magic!" posters lining the office cubicles, to find a "vote RS!" badge perched on a particularly high pile of paperwork.

Glaring at it, I leant down so my nose was inches away from the badge and muttered, "say it, and I'll hex you."

"How very rude!" the miniature Scrimgeour replied haughtily.

I stacked the paperwork in a corner, threw the badge in the bin, and left the office to apparate home.

When I had joined the ministry one year ago, fresh out of training, I had never imagined myself like this: eating lunch in a crowded cafeteria with barely enough arm room to pick up a sandwich, joined by 500 other wizards and witches who equally kept to themselves and yearning for the day to end.

A wizard reading the paper opposite me snorted in disgust and said to his friend, "Look at that! Harry Potter causing more trouble!"

"What's he done now?" his friend asked, putting down his fork and glaring at the front page of The Daily Prophet, where the smiling face of the boy who lived stared back out at him.

"Claiming all sorts of nonsense about you-know-who returning." He said it like that settled the matter.

I clenched my teeth and rolled my eyes. "Hey, ever struck you that the boy might be telling the truth?" I asked lightly with a polite smile. "You think he wants the attention? Poor kid."

The wizard's eyes flicked to my bubblegum pink hair and looked at me in disgust. "Of course he wants the attention. You-know-who is dead."

I noticed several people had stopped eating to watch the conflict, and I felt I owed it to myself to give a good argument. "You-know-who isn't dead. You honestly think a one-year-old kid could kill him? He's probably just in hiding. You know, biding his time."

Many of the other witches and wizards were glaring at me or whispering behind their hands. I barely paid them any attention and willed my hair to become, if possible, even brighter in order to offend as many of the non-believers as I could manage.

"Excuse me," said the wizard opposite, "but you weren't there. You have no idea." He stuck his nose into the air and with his friend in tow, marched out of the cafeteria.

"Neither were you." I said to his empty space. "Or you'd be dead."

I spent the rest of my lunch break in my cubicle finishing reports, and swore never to eat in the cafeteria again.

In the midst of a mind numbing report a small, delicately folded paper aeroplane skimmed through the air and into my office with a swish and a thud. Fearing the worst and knowing I had done something wrong: forgotten something or tripped over something valuable and broke it, I fully intended to ignore the note and pretend I had never got it.

Throwing it aside and into the waste paper basket next to the "Vote RS!" badge (which was still crying out it's slogan half heartedly), I set back to work. Ten minutes later another note landed on my work, and five minutes after that one had met the same fate as it's predecessor, three more speared my report viciously. Figuring that whoever could be this insistent for my attention must have fairly serious intentions, I unfolded the neared plane and read-

"Nymphadora Tonks, you are requested in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office immediately."

I let out a groan. Kingsley Shacklebolt was way above me in the Auror offices and was well known for keeping a strict profile and wasn't too fond of me. I've messed up way too many times to be overly popular with my seniors.

Dragging myself out from my cubicle, I forced myself down the corridor towards Kingsley's office, and had barely enough time to wonder if I should change my hair colour when the man himself burst from the door looking frustrated.

I rocked back on my heels, ready to run and looking up at him, wishing I had responded sooner. He spotted me, and smiled, a warm grin on his face as he beckoned me into his large and extensive office.

"Nymphadora, come on in, we need to have a chat."

That scared me. I would rather he just yelled, threw a report as a punishment in my face and sent me out. It was almost like being at Hogwarts again, except here I never had any fun and the food was a lot worse.

"Yes sir," I said, following him in. I heard the door click shut behind me.

On the walls, there were hundreds of photos of Sirius Black, smiling and glowering at me from every angle. Shacklebolt was the leader of the Black investigation. Perched on the desk, a thin balding man with red hair nodded to me as he wiped his glasses on his shabby robes.

"Sit down, Nymphadora," he said, getting up.

I took his place on the desk, looking between the two men.

Shacklebolt folded his arms, sealed and silenced the door with a spell, and looked down at me. "We want to talk to you about your attitude." He said quite stiffly. "And the disturbance at lunchtime."

It really was like being at Hogwarts again, how many times had I faced detention because of my "attitude"?

I cringed; I should have known this was to come up. I was disturbing the peace of the ministry, sprouting lies and causing people to panic. I felt almost proud.

"Attitude, sir?" I said nonchalantly, wishing I could return to my desk and my safe secure cubicle where no one could see me and I could hide under the desk if need be. Give me a dark wizard over an angry senior any day.

"We heard you were defending Harry Potter," the red head said, looking weary. I guessed he hadn't been sleeping so well lately.

"That's true." I said slowly. So that's a crime now? I was sure a year ago half the wizarding world was worshipping the ground he walked on.

"Why?" Shacklebolt said, leaning forward in what I hoped was not meant to be intimidating but a curious gesture.

"Well the boy's had enough problems in the past without the Daily Prophet on his back all the time. If the boy says what he saw was true, then why not? It could be. I don't think he's vying for attention, we all saw how he reacted when Rita Skeeter sank her claws into him." I finished quickly, desperate to leave and hoping I had quenched their thirst for my stupidity.

"Exactly!" roared Shacklebolt, laughing loudly and patting me on the back, "good girl! You've got it!"

"Uh…" I looked to the bald man who was smiling gently. "Got what, sir?"

"Do you believe that you-know-who has returned?" he asked.

I shrugged and thought for the right answer. I seemed to be doing okay so far… "Well it seems possible."

"Would you be willing to fight him if he does return?" I sensed Shacklebolt was one step ahead of me and I was going to either emerge from this alive and well, or fall into a deadly trap and scar my career for life.

"Of course," I said, "I'm an Auror, aren't I? Pretty sure that's what I'm supposed to do."

He laughed and said, "well then, Nymphadora, we'd like to recruit you under strict secrecy into the order of the phoenix, granted you'd be willing."

I gaped at him and said, "the order of the what?"