A/N: Another one-shot! Like I said earlier, they're kind of my thing now, I guess. If you enjoy this one, please check out my others for Harry Potter, A Forethought, A Tale of Two Twins, His Brother, Letters to Daddy, Son, Therapy, When He Was Twenty (in my opinion, the best I've written), and Where Blame Falls. I'd greatly appreciate any feedback on any of them, along with my Harry Potter multi-chapters, Solace, Damage Control, and Guess Who?
I hate to be advertising, but please check them out and read and review this one. :)
I don't believe it.
But now, faced with a mahogany casket, maybe I should.
I reach for the flask in my belt, the one I'd started carrying around less than a week ago. I down the contents and try to stomach the fluid. I stand in the back of the Hogwarts cemetery, separated from my family and friends. I stay where I am. And I do not make my grief theirs.
Maybe I should. Maybe it would be better to let my tears become their own. For my own shame to burden everyone. For my guilt to weigh down on everybody.
Was I really that selfish?
I shake my head. I'm nothing compared to my brothers and sister. The only one of them I'm better than is Percy. We're all better than Percy. Percy abandoned us when we needed him. Percy left us all to die. Percy isn't worth as much as the paper it takes to wipe my arse. I'm not as selfish as Percy. I'm better than he is.
So why do I feel like a liar to be standing here today?
I see people weeping in their seats, crying, hot tears cutting red lines down their faces. I hope someone cries over me one day like that. Maybe I should've died. Merlin knows Fred was worth fifty of me. Underneath the May sun and Hogwarts trees, it's easy to pretend that I'm just another victim of the past. But I'm not.
I'm not going to cry a tear over that bitch. Not until she's in the ground. Maybe not even then. My tears should be shed over someone I loved, not someone I argued with so heatedly.
I tip the flask up, but nothing runs out. I've drunk it dry.
In Romania, my mates from work can name exotic drinks and exotic women, and know that if you're drunk and need to get sober fast for work, then you should gag yourself, take a cold shower, and try to counter the alcohol effects with coffee. My mates in Romania can name off lists of women they've been with and can recognize every type of alcoholic beverage west of London. My mates from Romania can party and wake up the next morning still drunk and still go out and try to tame a wild dragon.
It's what my mates in Romania do.
I doubt any of my mates from Romania could recognize that Nymphadora Tonks was a hero if I showed them a picture. If I asked them about my Fred, Bryce would probably say, "Pity, he was a lot of fun when I met him at the World Cup." Or if I mentioned Ginny, "You should introduce me to her, eh, Charlie? She's prettier than my wife, and she doesn't have to find out." And if I even said Ron's name, "How is the hero doing?"
She was a Hufflepuff, and a Hufflepuff at heart. Anyone with eyes could see that she lacked the intelligence to be a Ravenclaw, the blood to be a Slytherin, the chivalry to be a Gryffindor. She was a Hufflepuff, weird and eccentric and the girl that no boy ever liked at Hogwarts.
I clench my fists and stare ahead. Harry stands and shakes hands with Professor Sprout before making it way to his post at the podium. His eyes are red. His skin is blotchy from crying.
I'm not like Harry. I'm not going to cry like a sniveling coward. I'm better than that.
I first met Nymphadora on a train to Hogwarts. I had sat with Bill in our compartment and Bill's friends, who brought their little sister, who brought her friend, who was Nymphadora.
"This is my friend, Nymphie."
"Don't call me that!" she exclaimed sharply.
"Fine. This is my friend Tonks. Her real name is Nymphadora Walburga Galia Tonks, but she goes by her surname, if you were wondering. What's your name?"
"I'm Charlie Weasley."
Tonks wrinkled her nose. "That's not a very exciting name."
"No," agrees her friend.
He teeters on his feet for a second, feeling the blood rush to his head. He will not sit. He will not sit until she is in the ground. He's come to her funeral drunk, and he'll stay drunk without using his mates' home remedies. He might be lightheaded and drunk and emotionally drained, but he won't sit until she's six feet under.
Harry clears his throat. "I didn't know Tonks-er, Nymphadora-long." His voice sounds like sandpaper scratching on a chalkboard. The Boy Who Lived. Ha. He's like Percy. He's a sniveling coward who's got no damn right to cry over Fred and Tonks.
"It's a better name than Tonks," I'd countered.
"I met her in my fifth year," Harry goes on. Ginny wipes her eyes. I'm not going to cry. I'm not a coward. "I owe her my life for many different things."
Why am I at her funeral, drunk? Not very good. Not even Nymphadora Walburgia Galia Tonks-Lupin deserves anyone to show up at her funeral drunk. Except maybe Percy. Yes, Percy would deserve so. Perhaps I'll get wasted before his and cause a big scene.
When we had been in our fourth year we had both been on our House Quidditch teams. We had both been Seekers.
"Penalty! Penalty shot to Hufflepuff, for Weasley pushing Tonks off her broom!"
When Hufflepuff had beaten Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup in my sixth year, I remember the two of us shouting at eachother as loud as our throats could possibly muster in the Great Hall.
"Bitch! Just because Hooch couldn't tell that you were fouling me every time-"
"Says you? Says you? You're pathetic!"
"At least I'm Pure-blood! You're a filthy blood traitor! You-"
"Mr. Weasley! Miss Tonks! Detention in my office, tonight at eight!"
"I know that she was a brave woman," Harry stammers. "I know that the Order was her entire world, and that she was a very gifted Auror. And there were two great loves in her life, her husband, Remus Lupin-" At this, Hermione sobs loudly- "and her son, Teddy."
I didn't know Nymphadora Tonks had a son. I'd always assumed she'd never marry.
"Look at her," I sneered to Timothy, a boy who shared our dorm as she walks past. "Look at her. Acting all superior just because she's a Metamorphagus. She's uglier than a hag. I'd rather marry the Sorting Hat than have to sit by her."
"I'd rather marry Snape," Timothy agreed.
Why had we been so rude to her, again? I can't remember.
"She-" Harry pauses, and I finish the sentence in my mind. She was a complete and utter bitch, that's what she was. She was a blood traitor. A filthy Halfblood, too, and a shabby Quidditch player.
Harry swallows back his tears. I'm not going to cry, not until she's six feet under, and probably not then, either. I'm stronger than she was, and that's why I'm still alive. I was stronger than Percy, that's why I'm not a deserter. I'm stronger than Harry, and I'm not going to cry. I'm stronger than Fred, because I didn't die and cause my entire family to cry. And I'm stronger than Nymphadora Walburga Galia Tonks-Lupin, because we were the same age and now she's dead and I'm not.
"She…She showed me what it means to love someone," Harry manages, wiping his face with his sleeve and staring straight ahead at nothing and nobody. "She loved Lupin when everyone told her he was a monster, and she was a sister to me when everyone told her I was crazy. She, uh, she really loved. And she, um, she really lived."
Ha. Lived. How ironic that she's in a casket and I'm not.
"She deserved better than what she got, and she, um, she taught me what it means to be there for someone. Because she was there for me, really, and for Remus."
Ever since Fred died, four days ago, I'd taken to drinking out of a flask. It was easier that way than constantly be at the Hog's Head or Three Broomsticks. George tended to stay in Hogsmeade and drink with Bill. George was here today.
George was crying.
A lump gets caught in my throat, but I try to swallow it. George is crying over Fred, not Tonks. If anyone is less deserving of being cried over, it's Percy and Tonks.
When I'd been prefect, I'd caught her and one of her friends planning to set off Filibuster Fireworks in the Great Hall. It seemed like something I'd be interested in doing, but because I despised her so much, I'd given her two weeks of detention with McGonagall.
"She was a brilliant Auror and I know she should still be here, she should. She, uh, she helped me out a lot. She said something once that I remember very well. It was the night of the Battle at Hogwarts, and Remus was upset that she came instead of stayed with their son, and she said to him-I'll never forget what she said to him. She said, 'He'll sleep till dawn and snore like his father. It's you who needs me tonight.'" Harry swallows. I see Mum crying softly. George stands abruptly from where he sat beside Ron and begins to walk through the rows of seats towards me. His eyes are red and his face is pink.
I'm not going to cry.
"And the thing is, she never worried about the things that she needed. She was so selfless and she had a bigger heart than anyone could ever have. She told Remus that he needed her, but I need her to. I know I need her to be here because her son is by himself now-" Harry's voice cracks with emotion. "I need her to help me do the things I am called to do because she did these things, and she did them by herself. And I can't do them by myself, and she wasn't here long enough to help me."
George stops in front of me. He's got a hangover. He is as good as gone without Fred. He wipes his nose, sniffling. "Have you got no pride, Charlie?" he whispers fiercely.
"Have you?" I return. "Crying like a fool over someone you barely knew?"
"You show up drunk at her funeral, and you ask me if I've got any dignity? She deserves to be cried over, Charlie. Are you even listening to what Harry's saying?"
I scan my memory and try to think of a reason as to why I should cry over Nymphadora Walburga Galia Tonks-Lupin and come up short. Not one. We've never shared kind words.
But I think of the things Harry says. She is a mother.
And I cry. I cry because I am weak, and I do not deserve to be cried over.
A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this, but please review and tell me what you thought.