There was silence in Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t an awkward, stiff sort of silence,

but rather a peaceful sort, as if warm water had filled the room in place of noise. A man and a woman lay next to each other on the couch, and the woman’s head was laid on the man’s chest. The man had brown hair, and wore a small smile on his face, although old scars littering his face told a tale of past hardship. The woman was younger, wore torn Ministry robes, and sported hair in a shade of calm, tranquil blue that matched the peaceful expression on her face.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking up into his face. “The war. For years, everyone has been saying ‘It’s coming,’ but now it’s here.”

The man didn’t seem to have any reply to that, so he simply sighed, and gave a weary nod.

She continued. “I’m scared, Remus. What if we aren’t here in a year? I know that you keep saying that you’re not good enough for me, that I should wait, and see if I still love you in a few years. But a few years from now, we might not be here anymore. We don’t have time to wait. It isn’t fair, but our generation simply doesn’t have that luxury.

The man looked down at the woman staring resolutely up at him, and seemed to see her in a new light. So much had changed during the war, for her, and for everyone. Gone was the carefree, clumsy girl who Tonks had been mere months ago, and in her place was a strong, determined, and, sadly, still clumsy young woman, who knew that she was stepping into a war which may very well take her life, but was prepared to fight all the same. She had grown up so much, much as he had, many years ago, when his life, and those of his dearest friends, had been torn apart.

“I know,” he replied softly. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just scared. I don’t know anymore, and you know what? You’re right. I’ve realize that in the last few weeks. We shouldn’t be spending our time alone, apart, wondering if this is right. We can’t wonder what tomorrow will bring, because tomorrow might not come.”

“That,” the woman put in, is the most poetic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

The man grinned back. “It does happen sometimes.” Then his expression turned serious once more. “But I meant what I said. It’s now or never.” With that, the man reached into the pocket of his robe, and pulled out a box of burgundy velvet. The woman gasped as the man knelt on the floor in front of her.

“Nymphadora Tonks, I would be honored if you would be my wife.”