A/N: Writer's block… It sucks. So that's why I'm doing the OTP Boot Camp Challenge. I will do my absolute best to update at least once every day or, if not that, every other day.

Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I wouldn't need to write fanfiction, would I? Alas, I have not written a best-seller series, I have not changed countless millions of lives for the better, and I am not one of the richest women in the world. I have a cat, though.

OTP: Remus/Tonks

Prompt Word: Acrid (1/50)

The stench was revolting; it pulled at Tonks' stomach, tying it into knots and twisting until it got so bad she wanted— needed— to stop, daring her to press on into the battle before her. The smell of blood, death, and sweat was thick in the air, choking her. But still…

She had to go on.

Her husband was here, somewhere in the mass of swishing cloaks in the blend of blues, purples, reds, and greens.

There were too many green streaks of light. She knew what it meant, knew when a curse like that hit its mark. There was no screaming, no cries of horror before death. People fell soundlessly, men, women, and children alike. This spell did not discriminate— death claimed who it wished.

The smell of the battle was getting to her.

The piles of rubble, the burnt patches of grass, flames casting glimmers of shadows onto the faces of the brave fighters— it made her eyes itch with tears that would remain unshed.

She was an Auror.

Aurors did not cry.

An explosion rocked the grounds of her beloved school, and bits of what had once been a castle wall exploded outward, shards of stone and rubble raining down on the crowd outside.

It was a wonder she didn't trip, it was so damn dark.

Tonks hated the dark.

Darkness meant silence, darkness meant death.

She couldn't see much anymore, save for the occasional glow of a spell being sent her way.

Sweat dripped down her nose, into her eyes. The saltiness stung them.

Still she fought and ran, jabbing spells into the darkness, avoiding the bodies that lay askew on the ground, yet to be touched by the living. She looked down and her stomach coiled sharply. A boy, too young to be in the fight, lay unmoving on the patch of grass, his eyes wide open and face contorted in an awful, soundless scream. His pale hand still clung to his wand, which had been snapped in two.

Was Harry okay?

Of course he was. He was the boy who lived.

And he would soon be the man who conquered the Dark Lord.

That was what she prayed for every night, at least. Swiping at the tears and sweat on her face, she shook her head, pushing past clustered groups of fighters, listening as they battled.

Tonks ran on, weaving in and out of the crowds, dodging jets of light, the ground muffling the sound of her pounding feet. Streaks of light were coming at her faster than she could deflect them, and she didn't have time to stop and battle every Death Eater she saw.

Red. Duck

Blue. Sidestep.

Green. Protego!

She repeated this, again and again, stopping only when she saw him. Near the edge of the lake, close to the Whomping Willow, she watched as Remus fought. It was poetic really, the way he moved.

Fluid, swift, and light on his feet, just like a dancer.

Oh, what a dancer he was.

But this was no ballroom.

This was life or death.

She saw it in his eyes.

Her husband's hair was matted to his forehead, sweat shining on his forehead. His teeth were bared and his knuckles were white as his hand locked around his wand.

She drew her wand, her hand trembling. One wrong move… She froze as Remus faltered, and she knew it was over. His wand was sent flying out of his hand. Tonks made to move forward, to shout, to distract his attacker, but her feet were immobile and her voice jammed in her throat— it was as if her boots had sunk into the earth, as if her voice was gone.

She sent a jet of green towards Dolohov, but it was too late. Tonks watched as Remus fell, soundlessly, just like a doll, limp, his limbs contorting as he landed with a soft thump beneath the pitch black of a starless night sky.

She knew then.

She would not leave here tonight. She would die here, with her husband, his name on her lips. Tonks ran to his still form, kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair back neatly, and poised herself defensively in front her dead husband, ready to defend him with her last breath.

"I love you, Remus." she whispered to the night.

Tonks clutched her wand tightly, watching intently as her aunt, sheathed in black, walked towards her.

"Hello, Nymphadora. Good to see you, dolly."

Tonks stood rigid, her face unforgiving and cold, and cast the first spell.

They fought, no niceties about it, sending curses shooting towards each other.

Tonks sent spell after spell at her aunt, waiting for the right moment, the right move. Bellatrix danced around her spells like a maniac, swiftly moving from one place to the next.

Then, with a flick of Bellatrix's wrist, with the acrid odor of sweat, battle, and blood lingering heavily in the air, it was over. Tonks fell to the ground next to her husband, her empty eyes staring up, unblinking, at the inky night above.

Around them, the battle raged on, but somewhere, tucked away in the countryside, was a house by the sea where a grandmother and her infant grandson awaited the return of the couple.

It would never come, for even in death, they remained together.

A/N: Now, they won't all be this depressingly canon, but for this particular word, this scene wouldn't leave me alone. As angsty as it was, I hope you liked it, though! Leave a comment!