This is just the plot bunny at work, inspired by the lovely Ozma333 and her story "Sometimes It Take a While" a real good read.

-ElevenYellowRoses

I sit in the empty corridor, I am alone but I hear my classmates' carefree idle chitchat about the next Quidditch game, or how hard the Ancient Rune's homework was. If I only I could feel that sense of normalcy. The place where I sit is the Second War memorial; which is in the spacious stone hallway leading to the little known (to those who aren't related to me) Room of Requirement.

I visit this place when I feel like the world is an empty, bleak, place where love is for everyone but me. I try not to look but my eyes are drawn as if magnets are hidden in the carved letters, to the names of my parents.

Nymphadora Tonks

Remus Lupin

The two people I love the most, and know the least.

My godfather, Harry, had told me all the stories he knew about my parents and was always able to retell the stories when I asked him. He told me of when he knew they got married, and when my mum was pregnant with me. My personal favorite was when my father had ran in the evening of my birth to my Aunt Fleur and Uncle Charlie's place with the proud news and had asked Harry to be my godfather. I don't know why, but it was happy and it always made Harry smile.

Harry had told me every story, when he knew my mother loved my father. He told me every story besides one, I knew it was missing, but I didn't want to know. I knew when they died, but I refused to know how. I had grown up with my grandmother Andromeda and she was the nicest lady in the whole wide world and always told me stories of when my mother was a child. Those were almost better than Harry's.

Their names were near the bottom, almost at eye level; as if Hogwarts knew I'd spend my sad moments here. I stare and stare until my eyes fog over. I have no reason to cry, you can't when you've lost something you've never really had. My train of thought leads me to the bright spot in my life, Victoire, Victoire Weasley. She's a fifth year now; we've been going out since she was thirteen and I fifteen. I'd like to believe I loved her, wherever she walks on my life, it seemed as though little bright spots followed. My happy feelings had dissolved, and I had to come here.

I had to, I owed them, for what I have, even if I lost them.