I'd like to think of this as a one-shot, but I don't know, I just might add to it.
Tonks ran from her aunt, wide eyed and utterly terrified. She spun around once, only to see if she was still being pursued and met the bloodthirsty face of the wild, ferocious Bellatrix Lestrange. All at once, she knew at that moment, the horrible feelings from the cold, stony glare of her aunt and the undying love for her son would be the last things she would ever feel again.
Remus faced his opponent, who at the moment was obscenely swearing at him, calling him names like 'beast' and 'filth'. He was sure he could slay the man, but when he made just a glimpse in the direction of his wife, he became helpless and broken. Dolohov jumped on the chance that had opened. Remus's heart fell at the sight of Tonks' beautiful red-haired head on the floor and her face unmoving, the feeling in the pit of his throat that comes right before he gasps a sob, and the flash of terror that his son would never have a mother or father to raise him were the last things he too felt before Dolohov took his life.
But what about Teddy? The baby lay in his blankets, merely sleeping through the deaths of both of his parents. Oh yes, he had his godfather, Harry Potter, but when he is just a baby, how is anyone going to explain to him why his mother will never be able to come home and rock him to sleep at night? Or why his father will never be able to explain how he lived with the curse that partly enveloped him?
When they would look at the serene bodies of Teddy's parents as they lay in their caskets, blotting their eyes delicately with the corner of a lace handkerchief, they would all ask the same question:
"What about poor Teddy?"
XxX
It was never argued that Teddy Lupin was quite the baby: charming, quiet, and handsome. Everyone who laid eyes on the child knew he would pursue the life of a Marauder. He would reinvent them with the same wit of Remus', now that each legend had perished.
The ones that came to see the child, swaddled in his blankets, mourned for his parents. The ones who stayed away, simply had not heard of Tonks and Remus' deaths yet.
But Harry Potter held the child delicately in his arms. The contrast of the light ivory blanket played so wickedly with the bruises, the cuts, and the scars on his arms. He, Harry James Potter, son of Remus Lupin's best friend, the same Harry Potter who conquered the darkest man to have ever walked the Wizarding world, found no courage in his body to tell this little being that his parents had passed away in a war that had started because of Harry's birth.
Did he deserve this child? He liked to think so. He knew Andromeda Tonks was still unstable with the passing of her husband and her only child; she could never care for a baby. But then again, Harry was only 17 and he had never even held one in his life. When he wrapped the baby tighter in his blankets, when he left Andromeda's home, baby in hand, and when he did not look back after he disappeared into the thick of the night, Harry Potter knew he was doing the right thing.
