Balloons

Balloons

It's the 15^th of June, again, and I'm here, again. Waiting for someone I know won't come. Why? Because 20 years ago I watched her die, just like that. Gone, and never coming back. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping. We all thought she was at first until we couldn't wake her up. It was an ordinary Order meeting, monotonous and dull, but occasionally interesting, and she just dropped her head to the table and closed her eyes. She never woke up. The healers say she had a tumour pressing on her brain - impossible to spot. I was in shock, so some of the information didn't go in properly.

Her funeral was held the next week at her parent's house. All her family and friends came, even some of our old teachers from Hogwarts. Everyone was very quiet, including Gilderoy Lockheart who usually won't shut up, although he did occasionally ask, very quietly, "What's going on? Where's Tonks?", making it sound as though he thought she'd just gone on holiday or something. Actually, I'm not quite sure what he was doing there. There were no flowers, and the house was very bare with only the usually funereal decorations taking their place. She didn't like a fuss. Our private wake was held at Grimmauld Place, only the Order members were there. Her parents had some sort of do at their house, but we felt that we should do something that was just us. The kitchen was very small and cramped, but no one seemed to mind. I couldn't stand it - there were so many memories in such a small room. I went outside to clear my head but the memories followed me and changed into different ones. Tonks laughing at one of George's jokes, Tonks reprimanding me yet again for calling her Nymphadora, Tonks and me after that awkward first date. I have a picture of that somewhere; she's sitting near one of those Muggle photo booths, laughing. I'm not in it, but I'm behind the camera.

I remember walking a short distance and standing in the middle of the patch of grass outside, with a glass of Firewhisky. I stood there for what seemed like hours and probably was because someone came to find me. I don't remember who it was or when he found me, but he came up to me and just stood there with me. In the end it was time to leave and we reluctantly vacated our spot on the grass. Tonks and I had been seeing each other for a little less than 2 months, but I loved her with all my heart.

When we were alone we would often go a park a few minutes away from Grimmauld Place. I think it was called Stamford Park. We would go and lie on the grass and talk for hours. It was our own special place.

Two weeks after she died all of the Order met up somewhere near Hogsmeade. We all had bright red balloons filled with helium, on the end of a piece of string. Albus said they were meant to represent Tonks, her life and our grief. We had to let the balloons go, let her go. We must have been there all day. Everyone sat on the green summer grass and talked and talked about Tonks, about everything and about nothing. Every so often someone would let go of their balloon. There would be silence for a few minutes and then the chatter would gradually start up again. One by one the balloons floated up into the clear blue sky, until mine was the only one left. I never did let that balloon go.

I didn't go home alone; there was just me and my balloon, me and Tonks. I could see her sat with us on the grass, walking next to me on the way home. She's been with me ever since. Every time I look over my shoulder she's there, guiding me in every move I make.

Five years ago today I was sat at home, listening to the news on the wireless.

"It's one o'clock on the 15^th of June and here are today's top headlines..."

That date stirred something in my memory. Had it really been 15 years since that fateful meeting? I rose like I was in a dream. I put my coat on and went out. I lived in the middle of London at the time, in a small flat that I rented from a friend, so when I finally realised where I was going I was already there, in Grimmauld Place. I walked in the direction of the park and once again I was in a dream.

My feet put themselves in front of one another, without me having any say in the matter. I saw Stamford Park ahead of me, and I finally regained control of my feet. I paused before entering, and walked around the park until I found a secluded spot. Sitting down on the grass, I felt a tear slide slowly down my cheek. Although in my mind Tonks was there, sitting beside me on the grass, she wasn't really there. I couldn't help but feel angry. This was supposed to be our special place, and she wasn't there. I knew I couldn't blame her, after all it wasn't her fault she was dead. I sat there for about an hour. When I got home I sat on the floor and read over some old letters and notes. There were pictures as well, but I couldn't bring myself to look at them just yet. I didn't even remember the balloon until it was too late, and by the time June came again it had been forgotten.

A few days ago I was going through a some old things when I came across a battered shoebox. It wasn't labelled, so I had no idea what it was. I opened it and there was her face staring at me. Happy, thoughtful, cross-eyed, laughing. Lots of different expressions on lots of copies of the same face. Peeking out from under the photos was a piece of red rubber. I brushed the pictures off it and froze. It had been so long that I'd forgotten I'd kept it. It was the red balloon, the one I hadn't been able to let go. When I got home after that day at the park I had deflated the balloon and kept it, along with the string, in a shoebox. Gradually the shoebox was filled with photographs and other bits of memorabilia - letters, birthday cards, that sort of thing. It was placed on the top shelf of my cupboard, right at the back. I had completely forgotten about it. As I though about it something stirred in my mind. I saw myself and Tonks sitting on the grass in the park. I was saying something to her, and whatever it was must have been hilarious because she was laughing so hard.

I glanced at my calendar. It was the 11^th June. I had been going to Stamford Park on the 15^th June for the past 5 years now, but this year would be different. This year, I would have the balloon.

So that's how I came to be standing in the middle of a park on a Friday morning, clutching a bright red balloon on a piece of string. I can hear her whispering in my ear. Go on, she says, you can do it. Let the balloon go. And I do, just like that. As I open my hand I watch as my red balloon floats up into the clear blue sky, and amazingly I don't shed a single tear. In fact I don't even feel sad, just empty. I turn around and I can't see her anymore. She's gone. When I look back up at the sky the balloon is also out of sight. With a sigh, I start to walk away. No flood of memories enters my mind, like I was expecting, no voices from the past. Then I realise why. I've done it; I've finally let my balloon go.