WITHOUT HER

By nycgrl

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters, and the talented Harry Nilsson owns the song "Without Her".

I spend the night in a chair thinking she'll be there
But she never comes

He woke with a start, a terrible fear gripping at his heart. The kind of fear from not knowing where he was, not knowing where she was. Shakily, he touched the tips of his fingers to his cheek, and found it moist from tears of his dreams. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the feeling that he couldn't breathe.

And I wake up and wipe the sleep from my eyes
And I rise to face another day
Without her

As his heartbeat started to quiet, he felt for the first time the searing pain in his neck and back. It didn't take him long to realize he had fallen asleep in the aged, parlor chair by the window again. He sighed softly, briefly glancing out the open window at the pink sky of sunrise. The light, yellowing curtains fluttered tranquilly in the summer breeze. He turned away from the window, and tried to stretch out his cramped legs. He brought the sleeve of his old robe to his face, rubbing furiously to dry the old tears.

He waited every night for her, and every night, she did not come.

He glanced over the edge of the chair, and reached over to pick up his book, which had dropped as he slept. The gold lettering glinted in the swelling sunlight. He suddenly felt a deep hate toward this book, these useless pages protected by a righteous leathery-hide and adorned with its mocking, dancing engraved title. It was so stupid, so fucking stupid. He gripped the book in his hands until he was overcome by rage, and he started tearing and scratching at the book angrily. He ripped off each disgusting letter of each disgusting page until remnants of paper floated in the air around him.

But it's ended now
And it sounds like a lie

He growled in an animalistic manner, growing frustrated when he couldn't destroy the two binding covers of the book. He finally flung it across the room as hard as he could. It hit the bookcase with a loud thud, and dropped to the carpeted floor. He pressed his teeth hard against each other, feeling filthy, repulsive. Good, he thought, I'm a monster, good.

Letters on the tabletop caught his eye. He strode toward them, all the We're sorrys and We understands and Let her gos. He crumpled each one in his hands, and let them fall to the floor. Screw Harry and Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore and their good, beating hearts. Screw them all.

He was panting again, like when he woke up. He ignored the blurriness in his vision, and staggered out the parlor. He wandered into the hall and toward the staircase, dark because there were no windows. He gripped the banister of the stairs so tightly, his knuckles were turning white, as he slowly jabbed his feet, step by step.

Finally, making it to the top, he walked to the first door, and flung it open loudly with one arm.

It's just no good anymore when you walk through the door
To an empty room

He hadn't touched anything since that morning. The sheets were rumpled, clothes strewn about the floor. She didn't know what to wear that morning to match her hair… he remembered as he yelped in surprise when she flung, shirt after shirt onto the floor. He looked at the plump, white pillow on the floor. He threw it at her to get rain of clothing to stop. She leaped out of its way, only to bang her shoulder against the dresser. He jumped off the bed and ran to her, crouching down to look at her shoulder.

It's bruised, he had said, don't go to work today.

I've had worse, she had smiled, I'll be all right.

Don't go, he had said, just stay.

I'll see you tonight, kissing him. I love you.

He squeezed the doorknob tightly as he looked at the room, without realizing it. "I'd rather die than live without her," he whispered. Please, please, please. Don't let it be true. I love you too. Please, please, please, I need to tell her.

We burst the pretty balloon took us to the moon
It's such a beautiful thing

She giggled. "What are you doing, you skeevy old man?" She laid her cheek on his chest as they danced slowly in their pajamas.

The glowing half-moon shone through their window, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine blew into the room.

He grinned, laying his cheek in her soft, brick red hair. "Wooing you," he said lightly, laughing afterwards. He took his head off her for a second, and twirled her, spinning her out. She spun back to him, her bright-green toenails reflecting the moon as they danced across the bedroom floor.

"Who's the child, now?" she murmured, burrowing her face in his sleeve.

He smiled faintly. "I can't go on without you, Nymphadora Tonks," he whispered. He kissed her forehead.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes twinkling and her cheeks pink. "Quit it, Remus," she slapped his arm lightly. "You stupid romantic." She turned her head down, as if observing her feet, but he could tell she was smiling.

He laughed out loud again. He started to sing in old Muggle song, which sounded so sad to him at age 13, but sounded perfect now.

"Can't go on without her," he sang softly into her hair. "There's no song without her." He started to singly more loudly, and he lifted her up into the hair. She squealed in protest, and then started laughing. "Remus, put me down!"

He laid her down gently on their bed. He leaned down so that his face was close to hers. "It's all wrong without her," he sang in a low voice. "Can't go on without her." The last line faded under his breath as he brought his lips down to hers.

I love you.

I spend the night in a chair thinking she'll be there
But she never comes

He waited every night for her, and every night, she did not come.

All he could do was wait. Nothing could go on without her.

END

I miss doing angst, and who better to inspire a comeback than Harry Nilsson? Nothing would be better than your review :)