Remus loved watching Tonks sleep.

She was a very peaceful sleeper, and that made him feel peaceful too, contented, somehow, and every morning he woke to her pink, fluffy hair on the pillow next to him, he couldn't help starting the day with a smile.

He loved the way she curled up next to him, trying to get into whatever pocket of warmth she could find, and the way she let out little whispered, fluttering snores tickled at his heart.

He spent hours, sometimes, wondering what she was dreaming, whether he could presume to be a part of it, however faint, however indistinct, however minor his role might be, and he never felt it was time wasted, time he spent watching her sleep, because he knew that he was the only person in the world who got to see her like that.

Sometimes a smile would creep over his face as he thought about what they'd done the night before, or what he thought they might do when she woke up, and sometimes he'd play with her hair, or find a stray feather from his pillow and tickle her nose, watching it wrinkle up in irritation. Whenever he woke her up like that, she'd greet him by punching him sleepily on the shoulder, but her annoyance never lasted long, and they'd dissolve against each other in a barrage of kisses and giggles.

But today was different.

Normally, she was in his bed, or he in hers, with his tatty, worn sheets or one of her cheerful throws pulled up to her chin, not crisp white sheets with the words 'Property of St Mungo's' stamped on the corner in glittering gold lettering.

Normally she was smiling, dreaming, happy – her face wasn't frozen, expressionless, taut.

He clutched her hand in both of his, thinking that today, all he wanted was for her to wake up.

He clutched her hand tighter, frightened by how cold it was. He desperately wanted to make it warmer, rubbing her skin gently beneath his, begging for her small hand to warm underneath his fingers. He just wanted to do something to make her better, and at the moment all he could think was that if he could just make her hand warm….

He told himself not to be ridiculous. If he really wanted to make it warm he'd put it beneath the covers, but he couldn't bear to let go. So he clung.

Please don't leave me, please don't leave me.

The words had been rattling around his mind all night, beating themselves against the front of his skull, his silent mantra, a prayer he couldn't help but keep repeating.

Please, don't leave me.

The voice in his head was imploring, but he knew that if he wanted her to listen he'd have to say the words out loud. Whenever he tried, though, they got stuck in his throat.

He pawed uselessly at the sheet beneath his fingers, straightening out a couple of wrinkles before placing his hand back over hers. Guilt had his stomach in a vice.

He should've kept a better eye on her, protected her.

He felt sick that he hadn't.

He hadn't saved Sirius either –

At the thought, his throat tightened.

Please don't leave me. Not you too.

He couldn't bear it – he knew he couldn't. Not them both. Not to her. Not today.

In the aftermath of the battle, everything had happened so quickly. Dumbledore had appeared, and Harry had taken off, and Mad-Eye had called for his help – and that was when he'd known. He'd known before he'd seen her crumpled on the ground that it was bad – Mad-Eye wouldn't have had that paternal twinge in his voice for anyone else or anything less, and his heart, his body, his mind had frozen at the thought. He hadn't wanted to see – but he'd had to look, to help, to do whatever he could.

Everything between then and now was a blur. He thought he'd given orders, and people had obeyed – he'd hurried here with her in his arms, demanded that the healers listened to him as he told them which spells he thought she needed….

And now he was just waiting. Waiting for good news, or for bad, or for her tiny hand to warm up and give him some indication that somewhere deep inside she was fighting, that she knew he was here, that she wasn't going to give up, give in, leave him.

He closed his eyes, clutching her hand in his and raising it to his chin.

She must know – she must – that he couldn't take this.

Not now. Not her as well.

He dropped his head onto their twined hands, closed his eyes, and listened intently to the sound of her breathing, because there was nothing else he could do.

There was a gasp behind him, and Remus started.

He turned in his chair to find an oddly familiar, yet utterly strange, pale oval face and dark eyes staring at the bed, horrified, and he knew instantly that this was Andromeda, because even though she had a haughty expression he never thought he'd see Tonks wear, the similarity in their features was striking. Beside her stood a man, a few inches shorter, who had a fraught, but kind, expression, and far too much dark hair.

Remus never did find out whether the gasp was for the sight of their daughter lying unconscious in a hospital bed, or for the fact that someone they didn't know was sitting at her bedside, clutching her hand in his.

The chair legs scraped across the floor as he reluctantly stood, nodding with a politeness he didn't really feel to both of them.

"How is she?"

"What happened?"

They both spoke at once, anguish written into every syllable they uttered.

Remus shook his head. He didn't know what to say. He was sure the welcome witch must have told them what to expect, or someone must have given them details when they were Flooed, but still, they deserved an answer. "She's breathing but she hasn't moved," he said. "The healers think all she needs is time."

"What happened?" Andromeda said.

It was the last question he wanted to answer. "She fell," he said, and as the word left his lips his face crumpled at the same time as his insides heaved. He raised his fingers to his face and pressed them, hard, into his mouth to try and contain the feeling. "She got hit with a spell, and she fell."

Saying the words again didn't do anything to alleviate the problem. But it wasn't the time. Him falling apart wasn't helping. It wasn't what she needed – not what they needed.

He gave himself a quick mental shake, and cleared his throat. "She hit her head."

He closed his eyes as the images flooded back, trying desperately not to give in to the urge to fall to the floor and stay there indefinitely.

"What have they said?" Andromeda said, pressing closer to the bed. "Do they think she'll – "

She let whatever words she was going to finish the sentence with hang in the air between them, her eyes desperately searching Tonks' pale face. "They couldn't offer any guarantees," Remus said. "But they were cautiously optimistic. Mad-Eye – Alastor – Moody gave her first aid at the scene and we got her here quickly – they seemed to think that would help."

Relief washed over Andromeda's face, and Ted touched her lightly on the elbow, Conjuring her a seat on the other side of the bed and indicating that she should sit.

But sitting seemed the last thing on Andromeda's mind, and she started bustling about the bed, saying that the sheets weren't a good enough quality and that how could anybody be expected to make a recovery surrounded by such inferior linen? She transfigured them deftly into something softer and more homely looking, and then turned her attention to the bedside cabinet.

She quickly Conjured a vase of impeccably arranged, multi-coloured gerberas and placed them on the small cupboard, jabbing the stems with her wand until she was utterly satisfied with their arrangement, and then re-tucked Tonks' covers, pulling them up to her chin and folding the ends of the sheet in neatly.

Only then did she give the bed a faint nod of approval, and sink into the yellow and orange deckchair Ted had Conjured for her.

Remus raised a questioning eyebrow at Ted, vaguely gesturing to the chair close to the bed which he had Conjured for himself. Ted shook his head, Conjuring an identical deckchair next to Andromeda's and sinking into it, scrabbling for his wife's hand on the arm rest. "She'll be fine," he said, with a conviction Remus was sure he didn't feel. "Constitution like an ox."

Andromeda nodded, smiling slightly, and then she closed her eyes, dropped her chin and shook her head in what he would have assumed under any other circumstance was weariness. "I knew something like this would happen. We never should have let her – "

"As if we could have stopped her."

Andromeda let out a soft breath of hollow amusement, and then she surveyed the room, her eyes fixing on Remus as if she'd only just realised he was there. He swallowed – he didn't know what – if anything – Tonks had told her parents about him, them. He supposed he should have asked her about it when he'd had the chance.

Now he came to think about it, there was so much he still didn't know about her, so many questions he wanted to ask. Why were sunflowers her favourites? Was pink her favourite colour – is that why she chose it so often for her hair?

"Forgive my rudeness," Andromeda said. "I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Remus," he said, extending his hand across the bed. "Remus Lupin."

Andromeda took his hand briefly, and then he turned to Ted, who clasped his hand rather more enthusiastically and introduced them both, rather unnecessarily. Their elopement had been quite scandalous and Sirius – he closed his eyes as thinking his name stabbed him in the chest – had taken great pleasure in showing them all the scrappy wizarding photos of the happy event and proclaiming how over the moon he was to be related to such a woman. He resisted a bitter laugh at the thought that they were probably almost as notorious as he was.

Andromeda's eyes swept him, taking in the details, and if she registered the name, it didn't show on her face. "Are you a colleague?" she said. "Someone from the Ministry..?"

"No. She's – "

Everything to me.

The words made his insides feel on the brink of collapse. Remus swallowed, balling his fists tightly at his sides to steel himself. "Nymphadora is a very dear friend."

"She must be, if she lets you get away with calling her Nymphadora," Ted said, and Remus smiled at him faintly across the bed.

"I wouldn't say she lets me get away with it," he said, his eyes darting back to Tonks' unmoving face.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ted smile in faint realisation and understanding, but he kept his eyes on Tonks' face, willing her features to move, her eyebrow to raise in some kind of derision for his worry, her lips to curve into that familiar smile that never failed to light up his insides.

He felt the overwhelming urge to do something. "I should – erm – " He stalled, and Ted met his eye questioningly. "I mean – I'll go and get her healer for you. You'll want to talk to him yourselves."

Ted smiled. "He's on his way, they said," he said.

"Oh." Remus swallowed. "I could fetch you both a cup of tea? I'm sure they're still open…."

Andromeda shook her head, a gesture that Ted echoed. "Sit down," he said, gently. "I'm sure she'll want you here when she wakes up – if only so she can tell you off for calling her Nymphadora."

Remus did as he was told and sank back into his chair, reaching for Tonks' hand without giving it any thought. He cradled it in his, stroking her thumb gently, and not caring whether her parents thought it strange for him to do it or wished he wouldn't.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Andromeda's pale face turned to him. "Who was it?" she said quietly. She cast a furtive glance around the ward, but its three other occupants were in various states of unconsciousness too and it was far too late – or early, he couldn't really work out which – for scheduled visiting hours. "Death Eaters?" she whispered.

Remus nodded. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the bed, and pressing the fingers that weren't entwined with Tonks' into his mouth. "She was very brave," he said, annoyed with himself for letting his voice crack. He rubbed at his jaw distractedly, and squeezed her hand a little, taking as much comfort in its presence in his as he was trying to offer. "Too brave."

"Who..?"

Remus met Andromeda's eye, wondering if she really wanted to know. Her expression was imploring, and there was something in her eyes that said she was just waiting for him to confirm her worst suspicions. He pressed his lips together for a moment in consideration, remembering all too clearly how news of this kind of betrayal felt. "Bellatrix," he said, his voice little more than a hush.

Andromeda blanched, and at her side, Ted stiffened in his seat, his fingers tightening on his wife's wrist. She leant back in her chair, pressing her immaculate oval fingernails into the crease between her eyebrows. She rubbed her forehead for a moment, her jaw shifting from side to side with anger, or indignation, or disbelief – he couldn't tell which. He thought, perhaps, it was a mixture of all three. "Her own niece," she said, her voice almost a hiss of disgust. "Did you catch her?"

Remus shook his head, glancing down at the expressionless face on the pillow in front of him. " We will."

Andromeda nodded and leant forward, pulling the sheets a little higher, smoothing them out over Tonks' shoulder. Silence seemed to envelop them like a slow, creeping mist, and they all let it take them. There really wasn't anything to say. This wasn't the time for pleasant – or otherwise – conversation with the Tonkses about who he was and why he was holding their daughter's hand – how long things had been this way or what his intentions were – all the things he'd idly thought might be involved in meeting them. And it wasn't the time for chit chat about the weather, the headlines in The Daily Prophet, the latest Quidditch scores.

And so they just sat, and waited.

Remus held Tonks' cold hand in his, wondering when it would feel warm again, responsive to his touch. He'd never realised how much he would miss the simple curl of her fingers around his.

He tried to focus on the image of her sitting up and laughing at him for being such an old worry wart, but every time he started to picture it, it faded. He'd have to tell her. He'd have to tell her what had happened to Sirius, and he knew that when she woke up there'd be relief, but not laughter.

As he sat, running his fingers over hers, his mind wandered. He thought of the last evening they'd all spent together, with Tonks curled up at his side, his arm around her shoulders, and Sirius gently mocking them with a gleam of approval in his eye that well and truly gave the game of his words away. It didn't seem entirely real that so much could have changed in so little time – that Sirius was gone, and Tonks was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, when mere hours ago they'd been chatting and making fun of each other.

He wondered what was happening at Grimmauld – whether a meeting had been called to notify everyone of what had happened – and at Hogwarts – how the children were. His heart gave a painful tug on his insides as he thought of Harry, hell-bent on rescuing Sirius, and how he must be feeling.

He had no idea what would happen next.

He squeezed Tonks' fingers. The only thing he could really be certain of was that the Veil had taken Sirius, and there was nothing he could do about it, but if he had anything to do with it, it wasn't having Tonks. Not today.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. As this whole out and out angst thing is a bit of a departure for me, I'm especially keen to see what you all think of this latest instalment – so I'm offering a Remus to tuck you in and feed you grapes to anyone who reviews ;).