So... Yes... I have no idea where this came from, but it's the first time I've ever written angsty stuff, so I am kinda proud... I own nothing. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this.

And then Harry's gone, speeding out the room after Bellatrix, and Remus makes to follow him before it hits him like a speeding Hippogriff.



He turns towards the veil in a disjointed movement. It's a weird feeling – complete isolation, and the knowledge that that is it, they are gone, he is alone.


It's a funny word. A beautiful word. A terrible word.

His brain isn't even making sense anymore – it's all just echoing breaths that mock him (ha, you're still here, and they're all gone) and a strange, unsteady drumbeat (oh, wait, is that his heart?) and the ghosts of laughter he will never ever ever hear again. There are voices behind that veil, and if he listens carefully enough (because what else can he do anymore?) he can make out James, and Lily, and Sirius...

And oh he's never been so alone.


And then there's a flash of green light, and he hits the ground.
"No!" she screams. "NO!"

No one's there to hear her heart break, and as she flings herself to the floor next to her husband, her hair fading into black, the world drowns itself out, and she's wallowing in misery.

Because what else can Tonks live for? They're going to lose, and he is dead, and...

"Don't die on me," she growls, shaking him, although his heart has not beat for a full minute now. "Don't you dare. Remus bloody Lupin, don't you dare." But the anger stops within seconds, and she slumps over him. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

And oh she's never been so alone.


And then she scrunches the paper into a ball and throws it into the waste paper bin, because empty words and vacant apologies won't bring her daughter back, or her husband, or (if it comes to it) her cousin.

Andromeda sinks into the chair she vacated when the doorbell rang, and pulls at her hair. The house is so very quiet (wasn't it always whenever Dora left?) and it won't be loud again for a very long time.

Grief pulses through her, burning a path up her throat, and her heart is thumping a funeral march somewhere in her stomach. She had cut herself on the parchment, and tiny drops of crimson are pooling on her thumb, but she doesn't go to wash it off, because she just doesn't care anymore.

Upstairs, the baby cries.

And oh she's never been so alone.

Er... Yes. OK... Review?