Ripping Wings off Butterflies

Chapter 1

Tonks couldn't believe it had been a year.

A year since the Final Battle.

A year since Voldemort had been defeated. Hip hip hooray! Orders of Merlin all round!

A year- and this is the part they don't tell you in the history books- since a certain metamorphmagus lost everything.

She had been meant to stay in her parent's house. Remus had made her promise, before he left, to put the safety of herself and their unborn child before anything.

"The battlefield is no place for a pregnant witch, Tonks. Don't worry about me- you know what I'm like, I'll be fine. I'll see you in a few hours, yes?"

Tonks had simply stared, trying to drink him in so that an imprint of Remus James Lupin, werewolf, would stay with her forever. And he had kissed her once, on her forehead, and whispered in her ear;

"Be strong, my love. For all our sakes."

And then he was gone.

She had sat in her parents living room in silence as it grew dark, her arms crossed so tightly her fingernails drew blood, while a thousand deaths flashed through her mind. Remus illuminated in a flash of green light; Remus in the jaws of an Acromantula, Remus struck by a curse, falling motionless to the floor….

She had been paralyzed, by horror and the crippling fear that filled her veins with ice. Her little family in the making- her, Remus, and their unborn child- was so very fragile. The unthinkable would be so easy, likely even, in the battlefield. Human was a delicate thing, so easily shattered in the midst of war. But not Remus. It couldn't be Remus. It just couldn't be.

A backfiring curse. Falling rubble. One of Voldemort's giants.

Not Remus. Not him.

Dementors, Fenrir Greyback, come to finish what he started. Bellatrix Lestrange, who hated Tonks, who wanted to hurt her….

No. Impossible. Impossible.

But she had to check. Just a quick glimpse, she told herself- just to know for sure that he was alright. She wouldn't be in danger, not really…

Nobody had even seemed to notice Tonks appearing in their midst- the enchantments that stopped people apparating in and out of Hogwarts were gone. The Great Hall was in ruins, the air thick with the haze of spells and the heat of destruction. She had caught sight of Minerva and Avery locked in vicious combat, Bill Weasley duelling Fenrir Greyback with a snarl on his face… She had clambered through the rubble, calling for Remus in a voice quickly lost in the clamour of screams and incantations.

And there he was, lying spread-eagled on the floor, his greying hair in disarray. Tonks's heart had skipped a beat as she knelt down beside him, cradled his head in her arms.

"Remus, wake up. It's me, Tonks, Remus… You said not to worry, remember? You said you'd be back soon… Don't go, Remus, you need to be strong. Strong, like you told me… For all our sakes. Remus… Remus…"

He was as light as a bird in her arms, and his face was unmoving as she struggled to sob out words; her throat felt like it had constricted at the sight of him.

"Remus…"

And then Tonks had known, with a certainty that wrenched at the pit of her stomach, that she could call all she liked. But Remus, Remus Lupin, her cherished, her beloved, had gone where he would never hear her voice again.

It had taken her a moment to recognise the cat-wails ripping from between her teeth as her own, and to recognise her grief as her own, as if for a moment she had been a stranger looking on and feeling only pity.

Then a sharp pain lanced through her belly and she felt something inside her tear which instinct screamed should not be touched. The warm, secret place inside of her was cold, and something was falling deep inside- something of herself was fading, as if somebody had taken a knife and cut out a piece of her soul.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone, and she was left as nothing but an empty husk crouched among the shattered pieces of her dreams, too wracked with grief even to cry.

Her child was gone. Her husband was gone. And Tonks was alone again- always, alone.

A year had passed, and nothing had changed The days ground by, each one the same routine over and over… The same places, the same people. When she had lost her job as an auror, Minerva had wanted her to take up Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Tonks had refused. She didn't want to be around children- they reminded her too much of what might have been.

Spring changed to summer, and then to autumn and winter again. Tonks watched the turn of the year without interest. If the weather was bleak it matched her mood. If it was sunny, it was a mockery, the world already forgetting those she had lost. Time meant little.

Gloomily, she took a sip of her Firewhiskey. The Hogs Head was nearly empty, thankfully- nobody to talk to her with the false, sugary cheerfulness she despised. People she knew wouldn't meet her eyes, putting on too wide smiles and pretending nothing had happened. Already, they had forgotten. When they talked of the Final Battle, they used words like glory and triumph- never grief, never suffering. Well, Tonks had more than enough of that for all of them.

There were a few people drinking at the bar, unrecognisable from where Tonks was sitting, thank god. She really hoped she didn't know any of them, as she wasn't in the mood for talking- not that she ever was lately. But tonight she was even more not in the mood, if that was possible. Probably best to get away before any of them noticed her. She drained the rest of her glass in one, stood up, and staggered. Apparently, she'd had more to drink than she thought. Bugger.

Through perseverance and brute force, she managed to force her feet to obey her and make a second attempt at standing up. It was rather hard when the floor gave every appearance of swaying like a ship on stormy seas, but she managed it and focused on stopping her legs from buckling slowly beneath her.

Her efforts were not helped by the appearance of an old man with a beard who seemed to be intent on brandishing a stick in her face. By the look of belligerence on his face, she judged he was shouting, but presently she was having trouble discerning distinct words.

"—I'll not have it, I tell you!" Tonks ears came into focus sharply.

"What?" she asked. Or rather, that was what she was aiming for. The beard man evidently had long years of practice translating the language of people who had had a few glasses too many, and didn't bat an eyelash.

"Nymphadora Tonks?"

"Yeah, that's me." One of Tonks's legs gave way at this point.

"I believe you are acquainted with Severus Snape?"

Tonks shrugged. "I've met him, yes. Haven't seen him in about two years, though. Why?" The words seemed to get lost somewhere on the way to her mouth, but after some searching she found them again and forced them out, rather mangled but alive. Well, pretty much.

"Just because he's had rather a lot to drink, and, well… He's on the roof, lass. Won't listen to a word I say. I'd really appreciate it if you could go up here and talk him down. There's a window in the attic you can get out of."

Tonks frowned.

"What's he doing on the roof?"

"I believe he's planning on jumping, miss…"