The house at 12 Grimmauld Place was old and looked as if someone had tried a crude attempt at recreating a Victorian building or a haunted house. And at the peak of the roof was a flat walkway with a low, spiked fence around. Not much to it, but it served as a place to escape to.
And Tonks liked to take full advantage of its deserted nature.
There was something about night skies and stars that she found absolutely breathtaking. Maybe it was the fact she'd done miserably in Astronomy all through school, the fact that due to Divination, she understood even less about what they meant, but whatever it was, she found her solace underneath them.
The house below trembled now and then from someone stomping up one of the flights of stairs directly below, voices booming, echoing, laughing. Almost the entire Order was there tonight, most had not left after the meeting, and the house was teaming with life. Usually, that was the way she liked it. But tonight she found herself suffocating between the shouts of, "So what do you make of that, eh Tonks?" and "Oh, Tonks, can't you stick to a more inconspicuous hair color?"
Next door, a stereo was playing loudly and the music drifted through open windows and to her spot on the roof where she lay, flat on her back, staring at the black-velvet ceiling.
I'm never alone, I'm alone all the time.
She hadn't the slightest clue who the song was by, never was too familiar with Muggle groups and such, but she liked this one, she decided.
It was soft, mellow, but would rear up at times in suppressed anger. Then would pass that anger off as something, anything else.
She did that a lot, too. Keep her anger in. Her sadness in. Her tears in. Always smiling for the sake of everyone else, shit someone had to smile at times like these. So she took it upon herself.
So many times had she wanted to scream at Kinglsey for treating her like a child, pummel Remus with her small fists for being so calm in every situation, laugh at Moody's paranoid tendencies, and throw herself to the floor with grief and pain.
They were all so quick to forget that she'd lost what she'd only just found: someone who understood. She'd lost Sirius, too. But she wouldn't say it, would just comfort the others and stay strong.
They were quick to remember how young she was when it came to responsibility and denying her any. But they forgot easily when it came to dealing with death and reality.
Never did she think that emotions could hurt this much, that reality could cause her the worst punch to the stomach. She wondered if exposure to it so young would harden her, make her cold, unfeeling. She didn't much care if it did, though.
At least then the pain would stop.
But if dying meant that you were living at some point and hurting meant you had been feeling, she supposed things couldn't be too bad. Maybe the pain was supposed to remind you that you're still alive.
"Tonks?" came a soft, slightly-hoarse voice from the stairs leading down to the attic.
"Hmmm?" she rolled over to look at the stairs and saw a head with tousled, brown hair and amber eyes staring out from the middle of the roof.
"Hi Remus," a small smile.
"Are you alright?" his voice concerned, but casually so.
"I'm fine," smile, "how're you holding up?"
He faltered, then covered the rest of the distance between the stairs and her sprawled body, and sat down next to her.
"You up for listening?" he asked hesitantly.
"I always am."