Author's Note: Alright. I just finished HBP. And, after staying up more than 24 hours what with chores, going to Borders, waiting for hours, and then reading the book, I'm dead tired. But for those of you who have read the book, you'll understand why I was in such a state of shock, that I couldn't sleep. So I wrote this. First chapter of what I hope to be a long story of the HP characters and their reactions to the war and...other things...which I shall not name for those who have not finished the book. To those souls I say only this. READ IT! DON'T READ THIS FANFICTION ANY FURTHER! EVENTUAL CHAPTERS HAVE SPOILERS!

This chapter takes place DURING the 6th book...you'll get it, those who have read...

The Hog's Head. Not the most inviting tavern in the world, but then again, Nymphadora Tonks wasn't up for a rousing drinking song and loud companions this night. And so, the Auror, stationed in Hogsmeade to watch over the school, and most importantly, to her at least, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The last link she had to her cousin.

Although, that wasn't exactly true. There was another. But she gave an involuntary shiver at that thought and took another long drink of the fire whiskey in front of her. That door…wasn't quite open. She could hear his voice ringing in her ears, clear as a bell, and, despite the fact that she knew the words she imagined were scolding, she took comfort in the thought of his voice.

"I'm too old for you Tonks," he would say. "It would never work. I'm dangerous."

"The only thing dangerous between us is me about to hex you if you don't listen to your heart…" she muttered in a low voice, though the bartender was too sleepy and busy to hear her anyway. "It would work. If you would just let it. I know you feel the same way…I know it…"

She slammed the glass of fire whiskey on the table in her anger, the bartender glancing up in slight alarm. Tonks glared at no one in particular and drained the rest of the glass, threw a few coins on the table, and stormed out of the pub, hands in her pockets.

She walked. And walked. To nowhere in particular. She soon found herself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, looking out at a depressing, run down old house. The Shrieking Shack.

Back in her own days at Hogwarts, the shrieking shack had been a place she visited on every occasion possible. Her friends and her had thought it funny, creepy, and quite an adventure. That is, if any of them had ever dared go closer than the front gate. But still, it was a dream, a shining star to wish upon when she was an innocent, naive teenager.

Although, it wasn't as though she was much less of a teenager now. Going on her fifth year out of school, Nymphadora Tonks could hardly be called a teenager now, and yet, she didn't seem to register as an adult either.

She knew she was just as good as any other adult…just a bit, different. Yes, she was childish at times, and extremely clumsy, and even her jokes were immature to a point. But still…She was an adult.

Hadn't she suffered the same loss as him? Hadn't she lost her cousin, won of those only Blacks who were not ancestry-concious? And he had lost his best friend. So weren't they equal? At least in that aspect. But why was she so off subject? After all, that wasn't why he had said no. But still, in her mind, the barrier between her and him was her childishness. She was sure of it.

And yes, she understood what his being a werewolf meant. But little things like that (despite that they were not that little), didn't bother Tonks. No, as it was, they merely made her more determined to make it work.

"I know he feels the same way as I do," she said quietly, barely audible enough for her own ears to hear.

She placed a hand on the gate, looking up at the tall, creaking house. Years ago, from this very spot, it had looked frightening and menacing. But now, she saw only sadness, a house as broken as she.

Doing something she'd never dared to do in daylight, surrounded by friends, she lifted the latch on the gate and let it swing open with a loud creak. She paused before walking forward, the sound of old, broken hinges reminding her so much of where it had happened. Number twelve…

She sighed and walked forward down the path to the Shrieking Shack. Or at least what had once been a path, for there was no trace of stones, only grass slightly less living than the rest of the yard, for there seemed to be old pieced of paving stones lost among the tall grass, matting down bits of it.

Struggling through the grass and weeds, she found her way to the rickety front porch. From a distance, she had always thought to herself that the Shrieking Shack must have once been a fine house, but its reputation for ghosts had seemingly chased away all those interested in living there. And yet…it didn't seem quite right now. Yes, the porch was old and rickety, but it didn't seem to have ever been stable, nor always have every plank in place. And the porch swing was broken, but how could a swing break down the middle like that? So perfectly?

Mulling over these things, she nearly forgot her reason for being there. But as soon as this thought came to her, all ideas of the Shrieking Shack vanished and she was left once again with the empty feeling of before.

She ran a hand through her mousy brown hair, sighing. Was it truly never meant to be? Was everything she had learned to depend on going to crumble and fall? She shuddered, swallowing a sharp sob. But then again, who was there to see her cry.

And Nymphadora Tonks, hugging her own arms against the night chill, cried.

Author's Note: So...first chapter, next will be Remus!