Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in atonksoriginal's InsaneJournal:

Thursday, January 10th, 2008
8:40 pm	FLOO CALL: Lake Cottage I would like to speak to Severus, if you please. (17 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, January 5th, 2008
11:33 am	Theodore Martin Tonks, 1951-2007 I met Theodore Martin Tonks when I had just turned 16. I had absconded from Hogwarts to see a showing of new underground artists in an absolutely ratty little cellar "gallery" in Soho. Oh, what an utter horror I must have been back then -- I knew nothing of the world, but I was so incredibly sure of myself, so fond of declaiming about Art and Beauty and Freedom and Equality, so insistent upon proclaiming myself a free spirit and a bohemian. What nonsense. I was a spoiled, sheltered, snobbish, entitled brat. I detested my family and everything they stood for, but I was such a creature of their making that I couldn't even begin to see it. And I was enamoured of everything Muggle, mostly in order to give my parents fits. But my love for Muggle art was true -- the life, the breadth, the energy, emotion, power and toil behind the work was (and continues to be, I believe) far beyond the scope of anything created in the Wizarding world. Of course, the pieces at the particular "opening" of which I speak were mostly horrendous, but I cared not. I was on my own among Muggles -- how exciting! I was as fascinated by the simplest commonplaces of Muggle life as I was by the art itself, but at the same time I entirely convinced myself that I "passed" as one of them. Then I stuck my finger in a light socket. When I came to, there was a jacket folded under my head and an electrical workman kneeling over me, terrified that I might have been killed. I brushed that off, of course -- it never even occurred to me that a Witch like myself would be far more physically resilient than a Muggle, and I had no idea why he was staring at me like that. He told me I needed a "strong cuppa", and after a few suitable moments of refusal I allowed him to take me next door to a cafe. Well, he was rather handsome, you know, in a rugged, working class Muggle sort of way. How could I resist? Five months later -- five months of the most thrilling clandestine romance, straight out of Romeo and Juliet (how Muggle!) -- I was pregnant. I did it on purpose. It was a shameful thing to do, I know that now. Especially since I had never told Ted about my origins. He thought I was just some rich, possibly titled young thing whose parents would never, ever approve of my liaison with someone so "common". That was true enough, I suppose. But when I told him of my delicate condition, and he said my parents would surely agree to our marriage now, I had to reveal myself. I turned one of his lighting stands into a flamingo, and told him my family would see him as little better than an animal. He married me anyway, and that was when I knew I would love him forever. And that I would never return to the Wizarding world again. Our wedding consisted of a trip to the registrar and a piss-up with his friends at his local, and our home was a tiny flat. I was in heaven, when I wasn't prostrate from morning sickness, weeping from hormones, and horrified at the primitive living conditions. It was my first real confrontation with things such as washing up or cleaning the toilet, and the sheer amount of effort it took to perform the most simple tasks struck me as barbaric. Teddy was a saint to put up with me, truly. I told him so often. He laughed and called me "Princess", but he did so with nothing but love. He was so very good to me. He encouraged my art and supported me in every way. When the smell of oils and turpentine made me vomit, he told me I should take up sculpture. I would be nothing without him. Nothing. I would be -- oh, God, I have no idea what I would be if it were not for him. He was my I would What shall I Oh, God, he taught me to weld
Wednesday, December 26th, 2007
9:30 am	Owl Post: Nymphadora Tonks Dear darling, So sorry for this scribbled note -- I hope it isn't too late to catch you. Your father and I will be brunching today at the Café des Beaux Arts and we thought it would be lovely if you and the babies could join us. We should be there at about 11. We missed you very much yesterday, and we'll have your presents with us if you decide to drop by. Yes, that is a bribe. All my love, Mum
Saturday, October 27th, 2007
9:31 pm	Floo Call: Lake Cottage I would like to speak with Severus, please. (30 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, October 22nd, 2007
9:10 am	I have been to see Sirius, at Remus' request. Regulations prohibit Remus himself from visiting. Not only does he have no marital rights, as his relationship with Sirius is not officially recognized, but it turns out he has no rights at all. Dark Creatures, you see, are not allowed visitation privileges to the 13th Ward at St. Mungo's. I am sure we all rest easier with those protections in force. The myriad, labyrinthine and utterly Victorian rules and regulations surrounding the 1903 Act for Control of Serious Aggression and Dangerous Magical Behaviour nearly prevented me from seeing him at all, as it appears that for the first 24 hours after his admission to hospital for "confinement and evaluation," he is only supposed to be seen by qualified medical and legal personnel. Naturally, I dismissed that idea as being utterly absurd, and having established that I would see him, and that I would see him immediately, privately and without outside supervision or observation of any sort, I was finally escorted to his room. I use the term "room" loosely. Sirius is in a cell which has been mechanically locked, magically dampened and multiply warded, with quilted walls and one small barred window. I informed my escort that I presumed the healers were unaware that Sirius has a profound horror of incarceration in any form or degree, or they would have never placed him in such a confined space. I was told that, on the contrary, the "patient" had already made several violent escape attempts and had to be prevented from doing harm to the staff and ultimately himself, but that he had been rendered "safe". Safe, my arse. The man has been drugged to the gills. I insisted upon receiving a list of all the medication he has been given, and while I am no expert in magical medicine, I know people who are, and shall have this list gone over with a fine-toothed comb. I need not be an expert, however, to be appalled at my cousin's current condition. He can barely make it to the lavatory on his own. His speech is slurred, he has difficulty focusing his eyes, and is unable to hold a conversation without nodding off in the midst of a sentence. He is drooling; I was told that this is a minor side effect of the medication and that I needn't be concerned. I assured my escort in no uncertain terms that I was concerned, I shall remain concerned, and that anyone who had the gall to try to tell me where I should or should not be concerned would soon have full reason to be concerned himself. My escort suddenly remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere, and my cousin and I were left in relative peace. I assured him that no matter what he had done, and no matter what any petty, outdated law said to the contrary, I and his other loved ones would soon see him out of this outrageous imprisonment. He said, "Harry." And he wept. Sirius Black, weeping -- the very thought is unheard of. I have not seen him cry since we were reunited after his return from the Veil. It was like seeing a lion with its teeth and claws pulled. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. Anything at all. He took my hand -- his hands were trembling like a wizard of 150 -- and he said, "Kill me." It appears that the good citizens of the Wizarding world have accomplished what two generations of Death Eaters could not do. Congratulations are in order all around. (Comment on this)