The (too short) time you spend with him is an unsung symphony of notes that should never be put together but somehow work. For years after, there is deafening silence. When you kiss Tonks, too many years later, in the empty kitchen of Grimmauld Place, with the weight of goodbyes suffocating you, there's a soft sort of sadness that sings a little, an off-key melody in the depths of your soul.
A/N Eh.