Tonks shivered. It was cold out here.

It was round about then that she realised quite what was happening. She was on the roof of the Hogs Head. Why was she on the roof? She had the feeling she should probably know.

She gulped a few mouthfuls of cool air; it cleared her alcohol fogged brain a bit. Ah, yes. She was on the roof to try to stop Snape from jumping.

Good god, really?

Her memory asserted that yes, that was really why she was here. The Firewhiskey told her it was feeling lonely down in her stomach. Mentally, she promised it the company of some butterbeer before she went home.

Now, where was she?

Oh yes, Snape. Tonks looked around for the tall, thin figure. She couldn't see him on this side of the rooftop, and began clambering up to look over the peak of the triangle that made up the roof. It was rather steep going.

A tiny voice in her head wondered if it was really a good idea to be climbing over rooftops when she was pretty well on her way to full drunkenness. The Firewhiskey told it to shut up.

Peering over the rooftop, she could make out the bat like figure on the far edge of the roof, standing with his back to her. He had one foot in the guttering, and was teetering dangerously over the precipice. Tonks sighed and began climbing towards him; this was certainly not what she had planned for her evening. She didn't even like Snape- he had been cleared of all charges of murdering Albus Dumbledore thanks to a great deal of evidence that the hero's death had been arranged beforehand, but… She still wouldn't trust him. Even if he wasn't a murderer, she was perfectly entitled to hate the man on the grounds of his personality.

That statement alone told her she probably wasn't the person to be talking him down from suicide.

Close up, Snape was not looking good. His black eyes were puffy and hooded with fatigue; his skin a shade of grey Tonks thought was normally reserved for corpses. The characteristic greasy hair was worse than ever- before it had at least been combed. Now it hung like a lank, unkempt curtain around his sallow face, black and tangled.

Tonks was at loss for what to say. She hadn't known what she would feel when she saw the potions master again after so long- hatred, perhaps, At the very least dislike. But the feeling she felt surging through her was neither, it was…pity? Yes. Pity.

And the sight of Severus Snape, the half blood prince, reduced to this, was indeed pitiful.

Not having a great deal of experience in suicide (or how to prevent it,) Tonks floundered for something to say. Snape seemed to notice her for the first time, and glared in her direction, black eyes with malice.

"Coherent as usual, I see." His voice, though slightly slurred, was still silky.

"Um, don't jump?" Tonks tried. Snape didn't dignify that with an answer. She couldn't say she blamed him.

"Look," she tried again. "You've had quite a bit to drink. You're not thinking straight. Maybe you should come down and reconsider this in the morning?" When I'm not here. "Or actually, maybe not. You're gonna have one hell of a hangover."

Snape sneered rather impressively. "Alcohol, regrettably, does not cloud my head- the same cannot be said to you, judging by your voice, though I suspect your head was cloudy enough already."

"You're a nasty drunk." Tonks murmured.

"I am not a drunk."

"Yes, you are."

"I refuse to argue with you."

"Excellent."

Snape glared. "I have introduced so much alcohol into my system merely to give myself enough strength to do what must be done. It has not worked."

"No. You're still a coward when you're drunk."

"Do not call me a coward.

"You're a nasty, drunken coward."

"My life is worthless."

"So is your hair."

This wasn't quite going how Tonks had planned. It was hard to convince somebody not to jump when you happened to agree wholeheartedly with all their statements. And Tonks was a bad liar even when she was sober.

"But you shouldn't jump." She added unenthusiastically.

"Why not?" Snape hissed. "I am a leech, a parasite- I took the life of a great man. I should have been left to rot in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters who survived. I never asked to be alive. I should not be alive, after what I've done, all the people I've killed!"

"You know," said Tonks conversationally, "I think that's the most I've ever heard you say."

Snape shot her a look of utmost contempt, and readied himself to jump, ridiculously bat like as he perched in the gutter.

"Please don't jump!" Tonks grabbed the edge of his cloak.

"Why shouldn't I? It's not like anybody will miss me."

"Don't do it!"

"Let go of my cloak."

"No."

"Let me go!"

"Not happening."

Snape cast her a sly, sideways look, his black eyes glittering.

"Why are you trying to stop me? Run along and go back to wailing for your departed mongrel of a husband, will you?"

Tonks sat down on the tiles with a bump, and an exclamation of shock escaped her lips before she had time to think. The pure malice and ferocity in his words hurt her.

Nobody had mentioned Remus in her hearing since the funeral- a solitary affair, only Tonks and some of the Order of the Phoenix- well, what was left of it. About a dozen mourners and a priest who had mispronounced Remus's name.

Tonks raised her hand and found to her surprise that there were tears running down her cheeks. She gazed in shock at her damp fingers, and looked up at Snape beseechingly. He met her gaze unflinchingly, face expressionless. There was no remorse or pity in his dark eyes, only, now she looked for it, blank pain. Somehow, they reminded her of a wounded animal- Tonks has seen a fox once, caught in a snare, and its eyes had had the same cloudy sheen of fear and resignation.

She had released the fox, with many muttered oaths on the cruelty of muggles. Somehow, she didn't think Snape would be quite so easy.

Perhaps he didn't deserve to be rescued. On the other hand, it would make him happy to kill himself, and Tonks couldn't have that.

"You do know that just because you're having a mental breakdown, it doesn't give you the right to be such a bastard? You're not the only one suffering." Tonks snapped.

Snape said nothing, just turned away and stepped out into space.

"Oh no you don't!" Tonks pulled him back sharply by his cloak; he staggered and very nearly fell on top of her.

"Let go of me, woman!" he snarled, showing sharp, crooked teeth.

"You bloody idiot!" Tonks hissed by way of reply, tightening her hold on the hem of his cloak.

Snape narrowed his eyes and drew his wand with a flourish and an air of grim finality. Tonks gulped. After the unfortunate incident of the Weasels and the Oyster Soup, she had avoided using magic when she'd had a drink or seven… She certainly wasn't up to a duel with Snape.

So she grabbed him by his stiff collar, and kissed him.

At the time, it seemed a logical course of action. Not that she found Snape attractive, the very thought was ludicrous, but she did feel a kind of mildly disgusted empathy with him. And she panicked.

Actually, in hindsight, the panic - not to mention the Firewhiskey- was the main reason.

To her shock, Snape didn't immediately pull away. It might have been something to do with the fact that he was balanced on the very edge of a rooftop, but after the initial stiffening of surprise she felt him relax, and shockingly, he actually kissed her back. Even more shockingly, he was good at it- especially considering he couldn't possibly have had much practice.

They parted after what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds- hopefully the latter- and Tonks felt horrified surprise crashing down on her in waves. Had she really just kissed Snape? Bloody hell. Things were worse than she'd thought.

Snape's face was completely, utterly blank. Without his customary sneer, he looked strangely vulnerable, almost childlike. Slowly, his face still empty, he keeled over. Backwards. Tonks lunged desperately for his robes, but the Firewhiskey hadn't helped her reflexes much, and she grabbed at thin air. Snape landed with a worrying crunch on the deserted pavement.

"Oh, bugger." Said Tonks, peering down at the unmoving figure in the street below.

She really hoped he was only unconscious from the large amount of alcohol, rather than injury from the fall, but he was completely out of it in any case. From this height, he looked like he was breathing. She hoped. Really, as a suicide plan it was very badly worked out.

"Bugger." Tonks said again. This was turning into a really rotten evening.