May 1997

When the smoke clears, they can tell it's all over.

Her body waits until they get into the Hogs Head, now abandoned at this late hour, until it stops pretending things are okay. The sobs are starting around her stomach and moving their way up, choking her with their intensity. Dawlish is there, arms around her waist, before she can finally get anything out and it's just a long wail, a cry of anger and pain and fear and she collapses into his arms. They both tumble to the ground and she presses her face in his neck. She doesn't care if he's just a colleague, not when she feels dampness on her forehead and the heaving rhythm of his chest.

Twenty-eight is too young to die, but the Death Eaters who struck Rowena did not seem to take that into consideration.

It is Moody that pulls the two of them apart, snarling something about constant vigilance before looking Tonks straight in the eye and demanding a question. She is startled but asks him about what he did in the Durlsey's kitchen and after a demonstration that brings a sad smile to her face, he Apparates her out of Hogsmeade and to her London flat.

"Take a shower and get yourself together," he tells her. "The Order will be here in half an hour."

She obeys meekly. The hot water does nothing to stop the chill as she leans her head against the cool tiles.

It could have been her but it was not. It could have been any of them, or none of them, maybe a townsperson or a student or an Order member. It could have been anyone.

She's never lost a colleague before in the line of fire. Sure, she lost Sirius but she was unconscious for most of the aftermath and whatever she couldn't handle with alcohol she handled by shagging Remus, which isn't going to happen now. Besides, Sirius didn't die from an i Avada Kedavra /i to the chest. His eyes didn't go wide as the words were spoken in silent plea for help which wasn't going to come soon enough.

He died peacefully, for all they know.

There is a knock on the bath door, and a few words and then a voice, loud and clear in the steamy room.

"Tonks," Remus says, "people are starting to arrive."

She peeks around the curtain, surprised to see him. He's holding out a towel, averting his eyes from the curtain.

"Molly's not here yet, and I think they figure I've probably seen you naked," he says and she can see a small smile play on the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks," she says, taking the towel and quickly wrapping it around her body.

"I hate to ask but do you mind if I –" he gestures to the shower, and she notices the dirt on his face which is growing darker the longer he stands in the steamy room.

"Of course," she says and he smiles as she walks out, into her room.

There will be no end to shocks today, she thinks. No end at all.

She dresses, and curls up on the bed for a moment, staring at the wall. There are a lot of ways to deal with death, they taught her. But right now, her head's swimming with all these ways, trying to figure out which ones will fit her. She's tired, and her head feels like a jumbled mess, and it's not until she feels a tap on her foot and turns to see Remus in the doorway, wet hair pressed against his forehead, that she realizes she's been staring at the wall for at least ten minutes.

He says nothing, smiles, and leaves and she sits up, brushing damp hair from her face. Rowena likes to tease her about – liked. Liked to tease her. Fuck.

Molly and Arthur look at her with sad eyes, and Bill and Fleur do not look at her at all. Kingsley holds a class out to her, which she takes. She's so distracted, she doesn't know it's firewhiskey until the sharp, acidic aftertaste fills her mouth.

"Fuck," he says, and she nods, and then he hugs her. It surprises her, since Kingsley's not affectionate – it's not very manly, she assumes – but she's grateful for the gesture.

"First year out," he whispers in her ear, "my best mate from training got killed. I know how it feels."

She smiles weakly, and Molly gestures for her to come and sit down on the plush sofa next to her. She's not sure where all these chairs came from. They must be conjured. Molly holds her hand and then Dumbledore and Snape arrive. Dumbledore gives her a sad look, and sits down. Remus sits next to him, but his eyes never leave Tonks' face.

"There has been an attack in Hogsmeade," he says, but they already know.

"The Dark Lord," Snape says, "has been keeping an eye on the village of Hogsmeade as a foothold, if need be, to Hogwarts. The attack today was one of several that may come in the next few days as they begin to test it's defenses, see how strong the Aurors are, and whether or not they can make any headway. It wouldn't have to be much – several Poly-juiced men and women, or several under the Imperious curse – but it would provide a problem."

"I'll talk to Scrimegeour," Moody says, "see if we can't get more Aurors there."

"He'll probably want to anyway," Kingsley says.

"How many were there, Nymphadora?" Dumbledore asks quietly. He is the only one, save her mother, McGonnagal, and on rare occasions Remus, that can use her given name without eliciting scorn.

"There were five," she says. "We should have been able to handle-"

"No," Moody cuts in. "Now is not the time for that," and looks to Dumbledore. "What now?"

"The Ministry will add more Aurors. They will worry about Hogwarts, as well they should." He shifts nervously. "We will need to be on our guard."

She is grateful that they do not ask questions of her, and is interrupted by an owl post fluttering at her window. It is a note from her mother. Thankfully, Moody thought ahead to let Andromeda know her daughter was safe, sparing her from a howler.

Rowena's mother must be receiving a completely different letter, and maybe a visit. Maybe more.

She hears movement behind her but does not turn to look until she hears clinking glass. She's left with Remus, who stands awkwardly near the chair.

"Care for another drink?" he asks, glancing up at her. She shrugs.

"Might as well. 'm not goin' in tomorrow."

He smiles and goes into her kitchen, returning with a bottle of whiskey.

"You have a tendency to stare into space these days," he remarks, filling up her glass and then adding some to the one he's holding. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She doesn't, at first, though two glasses later they're sitting side by side and she's babbling to him about how much Rowena meant to her, how she's never had a close girl friend before ("no pillow fights, then?" he remarks, earning him a smack) and it was nice, for a change. She talks about how she's afraid of death, and dying, and how she can't feel anything but feels everything at once.

"That's how I felt," he says, "when James and Lily – "

"Yeah." She squeezes his hand, and he lifts them to his face and kisses her knuckles.

There's something about Remus when he drinks that makes her always want him so much more. Something about the way his eyes light up and his face gains some color and before she knows it, she's kissing him.

Kissing him is comfortable. She never wants to give this up again, and when he pulls back she says "Please. I just want something other than being sad" and he agrees, willingly, pulling her into his lap and running his hands up her sides.

Everything is familiar and so much better than she can ever remember it as he lifts her up and takes her into her bedroom. There is skin on skin – i oh how she missed this and she can't get enough of his hands on her body, lips pressed against her throat tracing a path down to her collarbone, knees and thighs brushing. She's drowning in all of this, head spinning from the alcohol and she's loud, so loud the neighbors would be pounding if there weren't enough charms to keep noise in. He's rough but she wants it that way, pushing his shoulders into the mattress as his fingers dig into her hips, urging her on and on.

She throws her head back and sighs, feeling her lips tremble before she falls forward and he's kissing her like she's the elixir of life or something, kissing her until she can't breathe and then holding her to him until she feels like she's burning up from the alcohol and body heat.

She rolls over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. When she was a child she cut stars out of paper and placed them on the ceiling. Her mother made them glow at night and she'd trace the constellations with her finger tips while pondering her destiny, or when she'd kiss a boy, or things like that. There are no stars on this ceiling, and Tonks desperately wishes for something other than Remus to look at.

They shouldn't have done that, she knows, but she cannot help the fact that he was here and she needed something to forget, just for a moment, that death is on her doorstep, that things are horrible and may never be right again. She wanted a vessel to store up her bitterness and she has chosen him, not entirely unjustly. She has used him as he had used her, because it was the way of things. Mobius strips and karma and circles, all coming back to haunt you.

Shit, she's drunk.

She notices his breathing evens out, and wonders if she should stay here tonight. She thinks it would be a mockery, in many ways, of what they had (but can it be any more ridiculous? Probably not). She should go back to Hogsmeade, since she has to work tomorrow hangover or not. Hopefully there will be more Aurors.

Honestly, she doesn't want to wake up next to him tomorrow morning. She wants to hurt him in ways only she is capable of the way he's hurt her, because the universe is not fair and neither is Nymphadora Tonks.

She gets up, and dresses, pulling her hair back from her face. She thinks she can Apparate without splinching herself, hopefully. She packs up some spring clothes and her old ones in a bag.

There's movement under the sheets. "Where are you going?" he asks, groggy from sleep. She smiles, sadly.

"You can stay the night here. Lock the door on your way out."

"Dora – Tonks – what – ?"

"You didn't think we'd actually cuddle after that, did you?" she asks, anger and sadness giving her a power she's never known before. "I'm going back to Hogsmeade."

"I can leave."

She smiles again, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "No. It's my turn."

Dawlish is sitting at the kitchen table when she arrives, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. He looks at her warily.

"What did you do at the Auror commissioning ceremony?" he asks. She grimaces.

"Tripped over my robes on the way to get my badge," she says. "When did we first meet?"

"Your second week on the job, at the Leaky, when Marian took us all out for drinks after that Gina Smith case."

She slips into the chair across from him.

"Scrimingeour wants us to take a day or two off. They're sending some new Aurors in."

"He's being nice for a change," she replies, reaching for the bottle. The nice haze she had going has been clearing on her way over here and now that's she's home –

Home. Remus. Fuck.

"Where's Savage?" she asks, and Dawlish sighs.

"London, where I thought you were going to be, Moody dragging you off like that." He pauses. "Order business, right?"

She has forgotten, these past months, that Dawlish was at the Ministry that night. It has been a gradual thaw back into genial colleagues but now, she thinks, everything's broken again.

"Yes," she replies, passing the bottle back to him. He takes another drink.

"Must be nice, to have something like that." She thinks he doesn't understand what the Order is, and what it does, but she could be wrong.

"Sometimes. It's not like we're safe. I mean – Sirius died last year. People I care about are always in danger," she says. "Like us."

He hands the bottle back to her. "Like us."

"Did," she starts, "did someone go tell Rowena's parents?"

"Scrimigeour," Dawlish tells her.

"Good."

There's silence, as the full weight comes down on Tonks' already-burdened shoulders. There will be no more good times in this kitchen, no more laughing in the hall or girlish confessions in booths at the Hogs Head. There will be no more Rowena, because she will be dead and buried like they all very well may be.

"She was a damn good Auror," Dawlish says. Tonks nods.

"To Rowena," she says, taking a drink from the bottle.

"To Rowena," he echoes.

Her mum fusses over her the next night, making all her favorite food and hugging her until she can't breathe.

"Dangerous times, Dora," her dad says and she smiles wearily. She did not sleep last night. Instead, she dreamt of Remus, and when she woke she felt oddly guilty, like she had betrayed Rowena in some way.

When she returns, there is an owl perched on the porch rail.

Can we talk? the message asks and she rips it up. She does not think she needs to give him any response.

Kingsley stops by, and then Moody, and they ask how she is doing and bring biscuits that Molly has made for the now seven Aurors that are stationed here.

Rowena's parents arrive two days later and collect their daughter's things, and both Dawlish and Tonks tell them how much she meant to them. Tonks can't help but hug small, pretty Mrs. Proudfoot, whose blue eyes are filled with unshed tears and ringed with red.

"Be strong," she whispers to Tonks. "We can win, in the end."

"We can," Tonks agrees.

There is another owl the next day from Molly, asking how she is doing and saying that Remus left her a letter, should she forward it or would she like to come round for dinner tomorrow night instead?

She comes round, and does not read the letter but places it under a pile of books in her bedroom. The days grown warmer but she does not open her window for fear of stray curses. Every day, they change the protective wards around the village, and the castle and one day on a patrol of the school grounds, she spies Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter snogging near the lake. She smiles and moves on, invisible under her cloak.

"Tea?" he asked, placing the hot liquid in front of her on the table. She looked up, smiling at him.

"Thanks. You're up early."

"Never went to sleep," he said softly. "Can't sleep some nights."

She nodded, and he sat in the seat opposite hers. She sipped her tea, flavoured exactly as she liked it, and tried to formulate words. She has just finished her shift – her second, as she was pulling double duty these days - and Remus had been the only one up when she stumbled in. She wouldn't have it any other way, not with the new development of things. She had talked him into dinner one night which had turned into two more dinners and a walk around a park where he let her hold his hand.

She was still waiting for the fallout.

"Remus," she said softly, and he looked at her. "What are we doing, exactly?"

"You're drinking tea," he said with a soft smile, and then said, "I'm not entirely sure. It probably shouldn't go on."

"Any reason involving me, personally?" He shook his head. "All about you, then?"

"I just – there's a war going on, and people die and – I'm a werewolf."

She shrugged her shoulders and finished her tea. "And I'm going to sleep. If you have no plans for the morning beyond some light cuddling with a twenty-something girl who thinks you're wonderful, werewolf and all, you might want to join me."

She started towards the door, feeling his eyes stare at her in shock until she heard the slow scrape of the chair against the floor. She continued up the stairs, and when she went to close the door to her room he was in the doorway.

"It would be rude to turn down an invitation…" he trailed off, looking a bit nervous but with a bright fire burning in his eyes. This would be a slow process, she realized, but she had a feeling she'd enjoy it.

"Of course," she responded, and she closed the door behind him. She walked to the bed, sliding beneath the sheets and arching her eyebrow for him to join her. He curled up behind her, a bit awkwardly, his arms coming to wrap around her chest and she was surprised how well they fit together.

"Now, just a nap as I'm exhausted. No funny business. Keep your hands above the waist and we'll be fine."

He laughed, exhaling as he did, breath tickling the hairs on her neck and she shivered. If she wasn't so tired, she might not get any sleep but as his breathing turned deep and even – now that she was home, she knew – she found it wasn't so hard to fall asleep.

Waking up would be the best part, anyway.