You Won't Drown
He had lost her, somehow. She had left him speechless, and he had been so careful to keep an eye on her. But McGonagall or one of the others had distracted him with some trivial logistical matter, and she had snuck out unnoticed. Stupid, stupid, how could he have let her go now?
He had no choice but to find her. He fled down the staircase, down to the ground floor, with long strides that sent his torn robes fluttering behind him. There was no reason for her to be in the building any longer, so he made his way through the Great Hall and out the grandiose carved doors. It had begun to rain, ever so slightly, as if the sky were weeping quietly for Albus Dumbledore. The castle grounds were eerily still. He had hoped to find her out here, but he sensed no movement save for drops of rain lightly striking the surface of the Great Lake.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his too-short pants and walked around the grounds, the wet earth clinging to his scuffed shoes. At last he saw a figure, a slender shadow of a person walking away from the castle through the lawn maybe seventy meters away from him, following no path. He knew it was her instantly, and his suspicion was confirmed when her leg collided with something and her quick gait was interrupted by a stagger. He hurried toward her quietly. Sneaking up on an Auror was dangerous business, but he didn't want her to hear him quite yet.
Her outline grew fainter as she drew away from the castle. He drew his wand and whispered, "Lumos", so that its tip glowed just brightly enough that he could see his feet below him. As he drew nearer, he saw that her arms were wrapped tightly across her chest, her wand was clutched in her left hand, and she was shivering.
"Nymphadora?" he called, when he was close enough to see her face if she turned. She stopped instantly and whipped around, wand drawn. He took long strides toward her and she didn't move.
"Don't call me that, Remus," she said, in a voice so weak it was almost like a cruel parody of the way she used to chastise him.
He willed his light stronger and it grew, illuminating both his face and hers. The light danced in her eyes. She wasn't shivering; she was crying.
He felt his heart drop again, and he wondered how many times it could fall like this in one night before it hit the bottom and shattered into millions of pieces. If it did reach breaking point, he supposed he would have to gather up the pieces and lock them away with everything else, chained up deep inside of him. He closed the distance between them until he was close enough to touch her, but he didn't yet. He held the lit wand between them.
Before he could say anything, she blurted, "I'm sorry."
"What do you possibly have to apologize for?" he said softly.
"For this!" she said, wiping her sleeve furiously across her eyes. "For – for being a selfish prat. Making this about me and not D – Dumbledore. For you – seeing me like that. Seeing me – like this." She bit her lip and stared at the ground.
"I'm worried about you," he said.
"That's it, though!" she said, her voice thick and high-pitched. "You – you should be there, with all of them. Talking about important things. You're a professor. But you're h – here, because I'm selfish, and weak, and naïve."
"I was a professor," he said quietly. "Now I'm just a werewolf."
"Stop saying it like that!" she cried, her head snapping up and her eyes locking into his. "How many times have I told you –"
"I know!" he said, wrenching his eyes away from hers. His voice was angrier than he'd intended, and a sob escaped her throat. The rain fell lightly around them. She begged him with full, silent eyes to look back at her, and he resisted, keeping his gaze at the ground.
"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I'm so sorry." Slowly he lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting her glistening black ones.
"I'll forgive you," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "if you'll forgive yourself."
She stood there, her hair limp and pressed against the side of her pale face, her arms stiff at her sides, her cheeks wet with rainwater and tears. His heart sank further. He closed the gap between them, wrapping his thin arms tightly around her narrow shoulders. She laid her head on his chest and cried.
He held her close, resting his cheek on her wet, brown hair, wishing he could instantly make it colorful again. But these things would take time, he knew. Time was nearly all that he had left to give her. Time and trust and love were all that was left of the broken things he had managed to salvage. He let her cry, for Dumbledore as much as anything – Dumbledore, who had trusted everyone and loved unconditionally. It was unreal to think that he was gone. It would take him days to come to terms with it. But not her. She was keenly aware of his absence in ways none of the rest of them would realize for quite some time.
"What are we going to do without him?" she finally said.
"Life will go on," he murmured. "We'll be all right."
She sniffed. "Nothing will ever be the same."
'The war isn't over," he said. "He would have wanted us to keep fighting. We need to keep soldiering on."
"I miss him," she whispered.
He ran his fingers through her hair. "It's been an exhausting day, love. We should go home."
She looked up at him. "Where's that?"
"Hartfield Drive, I believe," he said, the traces of a smile on his face.
"You remember," she said.
They walked together to the boundaries of the school, his right arm around her shoulder. Silently they Apparated, arriving together at the front doorstep of a fifth-story flat. She unlocked the door and invited him to go first, though he refused.
When he woke up in the morning to her mousey hair tickling his shoulder, he vowed that he would never again lose her, and never again would he let her go.