This is where it all began, thought Tonks as she stared at the vacant writing bureau that sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place.
Activity levels in the house had long since dipped from the crazy days of the Weasleys' residence. Silence reigned, affording her the much needed opportunity for introspective thought.
She could picture him, sitting at the desk, head bent over whatever book or parchment held his attention at the time. For many months she had returned from the Ministry late at night, looking forward to catching a glimpse of him on her way to bed.
It had taken her some time to muster up the courage to approach him. No matter how many times she'd told herself that she was being silly, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted this man's good opinion above any other.
She'd gone down to the kitchen one night and made two cups of tea and then, with painstaking care, ascended the stairs to offer him refreshment and company. Much to her surprise and pleasure, he had eagerly accepted both. They'd stayed up until the small hours that night, talked of everything and nothing. She'd discovered the tantalising tingle of future promises.
Excepting mission and moons, it became their nightly ritual, an hour or two of comfort and companionship, a blissful break from the gravity of the responsibilities they shouldered.
Each night, they'd move their chairs slightly closer, fleeting touches lingered for longer. Until one night, their gazes had locked, he'd taken her hand, pulled her into his lap and kissed her. Even a thousand kisses later, the memory of the first caused her tummy to launch into somersaults.
A month later, their lips immersed in heated kisses; his hand had worked its way inside her top and she had asked him to take her to bed in a breathless, whispered request. The intimacy they'd shared that night served as a signature as she transferred ownership of her heart to him.
Seven months later, he'd sat her down in the very chair she sat in now and explained in agitated tones that he was going away, that no, he wouldn't be returning and even if he did, by some small miracle make it away alive, he wouldn't be returning to her. She deserved better, he'd been teasing himself with the idea that she could give his life a semblance of normality.
This room, this chair, that desk, had been silent witnesses to both her happiest and darkest of moments. The slow realisation as love dawned on them, the euphoria of their first kiss, her stunned silence as she'd listened to his excuses for leaving her and the dry sobs that had been wrenched from the bottom of her soul as she'd watched him turn and walk out of her life.
Lost in memories both bitter and sweet, she started when a hand gently grasped her shoulder. She lent her had on the arm it belonged to and closed her eyes as another hand swept gently through her hair, sending shivers the length of her body.
This time, she pulled him into her lap. This time there was no doubt between them, they were together and they were free. The war was over.
They were free. The war was over.
Grief was a heavy weight that lessened over days as they shared it though vocal and physical expression.
To realise freedom, to live unfettered by the experience of war would take time, but they had made a start down that road and each day delivered them further from the horrific constraints of the last few years.
She kissed him. It would be for the last time in this place. They had come to collect the bureau; Harry had acquiesced to her request that they take it as a symbol to memories both good and bad, a reminder of troubles past.
Life now would be different; they could finally look past their dedication to the war effort and concentrate on their life together. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
A he kissed her back, beautiful words such as marriage and children flashed through her thoughts. They could do that now. Be.
War had halted their lives but neither could regret becoming entwined in its path. They'd lost so much during the journey of this battle. In selfish moments, she thanked the stars for the war, for the opportunity to meet him, this feeling quelled almost instantly by a guilt that tasted so sour.
The bureau shrunk and sequestered in a pocket, they joined hands and walked to the front hall. For the last time they walked though the doors of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. They would recall that room fondly forever more, but the house belonged in the past. So much had begun and ended in this place, the alluring beckoning of change called to them.
They followed.
AN: this is the last chapter in this series. As I said before, there are a number of drabbles that accompany it. They are posted to RTChallenge if anyone is interested in reading them.
If you have enjoyed the series, please do take a moment to leave a review. It'd be good to know if people have enjoyed reading it.
Thanks must go to mrstater for beta-ing this.