Disclaimer: Owning Harry Potter is JKR's job, not mine.
She can feel Tonks flowing away, the blood normally spiked with youthful energy flowed sober now, and Nymphadora reigning, meek brown hair and empty Black black eyes.
She's pregnant and he left.
She loved him and he left.
He loved her and he left.
She stood, barely, and made her way to the fireplace. She took a handful of ashes, squeezing them hard in her fist, internally debating where to go. She couldn't go to her parent's, it was too late at night, and they had been quietly apprehensive about her relationship with Remus for the beginning.
As she had chosen where to go she threw the ashes into the fireplace aggressively and stepped into the embers when the glowed green, trying to see straight through tears.
She fell to the hardwood floor of the Burrow. She didn't have the strength, physically or mentally, to lift herself, but as Molly hurried out of the kitchen to see the ash-streaked, tear-stained face, lit with the orange ghost of light from the fire, she felt no need to stand whatsoever.
Molly sat down beside her and laid Nymphadora's head on her shoulder, wiping the tears and smudges from her face gently with her thumb.
"Dear, what's wrong?" She whispered, stroking her ashen hair. "Dear, where's Remus?"
Nymphadora swallowed a sob and closed her eyes hard.
"He left," She whispered, "I'm pregnant, and he left, but he can't leave forever, right?"
Molly looked shocked at first. The Remus she knew would never leave his wife, his pregnant wife.
"No dear," She reassured, "He can't leave forever."
Nymphadora simply opened in her eyes and brought her hand to her stomach. His baby, her baby, their baby.
"Dear, why don't you stay here the night, and wash up?" Molly looked down at the younger woman, who nodded solemnly and sniffed back another sob, "The children are all in bed and Arthur is still at work…can you believe they are making him work so late?"
Although Nymphadora had agreed to wash-up, no initiative came to lift herself from the ground or Molly's warm embrace, enhanced by the subtle heat of the fire.
So they sat there, Molly continually flattening out Nymphadora's lank hair, Nymphadora shedding the occasional tear and listening the steady crackle of slightly damp wood at flame.
'Polar opposites, yet each have the quality to be just as deep, love and hurt. Both heart stopping, both irrational, both unforgiving. Physical and mental.
Skeptical, are we, of the aching need for both? Yes, both.
And now you realize that your life is nothing short of a miracle. That just the possibility of feeling such deep things is a wonder, a myth maybe, in itself.'
(A/N) Gosh, this one is sad, and I'm not overly proud of it. As always, I must dedicate it to someone, so here it is, to Mrs. Lancia, who doesn't make fun of me for writing fic as her vocabulary assignments.