Noxius

Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work

Warnings: Character death and slight language.

Part Three: Recovery

"He's going to make it." These simple words resound in my head even hours later. He – my Harry – is going to live. Nothing else in my life, which seems to have recently hit rock bottom, could possibly make me as happy as I am now. The simple fact that the very last of my family – other than my parents – will live is joyous news, but somehow it is still filled with bitterness.

I sit here, on his bed, next to the still unconscious Harry, his hand is grasped in mine. I sit here and stare at his pale face, willing him to wake up. I sit here with my little brother, and all I can really think about is how there should be two more people here with me.

Sirius and Remus should both be here. They should be here when Harry needs them the most. But they aren't. One isn't here due to a blunder, an oversight of Dumbledore's… where he thought it best not to tell anyone anything. The other is dead due to his own … well, I haven't quite figured out a word for it yet. Nonetheless, it is still his own damn fault – and maybe partially mine as well. He was just too consumed by grief, madness, his own guilt that he had to blame someone … anyone … even someone he loved.

But I, of course, am the only one who knows this. Everyone else thinks that Remus was killed during a Death Eater raid on Privet Drive. Everyone else thinks that he died bravely, protecting Harry. Everyone else thinks that Remus Lupin was a fine, upstanding man.

Well, everyone else is wrong.

Yes, Remus was once a good man. Yes, Remus was kind and responsible and dignified. Yes, Remus was all this and more … once upon a time.

But grief changed all this. Blame changed all this. He blamed Harry for something that was his and Dumbledore's – and hell, even Sirius' fault. He let all the guilt consume him. The guilt that he felt for first betraying Sirius – the whole Azkaban/Secret Keeper fiasco; then, for leaving him to rot in a house filled with nothing but hurt and painful memories; and, finally, for ensuring that Harry knew nothing – and, therefore, had every reason to go to the Department of Mysteries.

Or maybe… he was just jealous. Perhaps he was jealous that Sirius loved Harry more than he loved Remus. I know that Siri loved Harry more than he ever loved me, but you don't see me getting upset about it. Such a thing is only natural, parents are supposed to love their children more than anything else – up to and including their own brothers and sisters.

They, the Order, didn't see Remus in his last moments like I did. They didn't see the madness. They didn't see the grief. They didn't see what he did to my Harry. They didn't see any of it.

I could tell them the truth. I could fix all of their mixed perceptions… but I won't. I can't do that to the good Remus that I once knew. I can't do it to the Remus that was my friend, to the Remus that I loved. He – not the grief-stricken Remus – deserves to be remembered even at the expense of the truth.

I owe Remus this much. I owe him for denying him the chance to ever redeem himself. I owe him for never allowing him to make it up to Harry. I owe him for so very many other things that I will probably spend my next three lifetimes paying him back.

But what I owe Remus doesn't even compare to what he owes me or what he owes Harry. Nothing he could ever do would make it up to us. Nothing could equalize being forced to kill someone you love or having someone you love try to kill you.

So I guess that maybe I don't really owe Remus anything. Maybe it is Harry that I owe. I owe him for not recognizing the signs earlier, for not stopping Remus in any other way. I owe Harry for denying him the chance at normal, the chance he had with Remus…

I turn to look at the young man lying there next to me. He looks so peaceful in his sleep because he has no idea that Remus is dead. He has no idea that Remus has betrayed us. He has no idea that the family he loves so much seems to be constantly shrinking. He has no idea that his other maybe-father is now dead at my hand. He has no idea – or maybe he does – that the one thing he needs most in this world, a family, seems to be the one thing that he will be denied.

I am barely a decade older than he is… but maybe; just maybe I could be what he needs. Maybe I could fill the void that both Sirius and Remus left; I could not be the sister but the parent. Great Maker help me… the mum.

But to do that I must first force myself to grow-up, which is an odd thing for an adult to do.

And, yet, as I look at him again I think that I could do it. I could do this. I could and have done both worse and better things for Harry, so why not step-up and take responsibility for him also – well, as much responsibility as any teenager is willing to let you take.

Why couldn't I do this? Nothing is stopping me; nothing is standing in my way …other than Molly Weasley, who wants the roll as well. But she can't have it; I'm taking it.

I've never had children before, and I honestly thought that I probably never would. I always figured that I would be horrible at it. But if Sirius – as not serious as he is – can be a parent then so can I!

But first, I just have to figure out how.

Days later and I am sitting, brooding, in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place as I have been forced out of Harry's room by one mollycoddling Molly Weasley, who demands that I eat something. Just as I am shooting dark looks at the back of her oh-so red head, a somber Mad-Eye enters followed by an equally solemn Kingsley enter. Both of them approach my chair, hesitating Kingsley places a hand on my shoulder, and I glance up.

His dark eyes just look at me. "He… Harry wants to see you."

I merely nod, dread filling my belly. I haven't talked to him yet, not since… Well, I just haven't talked to him yet. I have sat with him, but that was always while he was asleep. It seems like fate has been conspiring against me in that regard.

I again nod, showing Kingsley that I heard and understand. But I make no movement to get up.

Kingsley squeezes my shoulder. "If you want, we can go with you." It is a statement not a question.

I shake my head and stand. I leave the kitchen and head upstairs to the bedroom where Madam Pomfrey moved Harry when he began to recover. I knock hesitantly on the door before entering. Harry is lying in the middle of the bed and is so pale that I swear he must be pure white. I know he is a teenager, just barely sixteen, but somehow he manages to look very tiny while lying there swathed in blankets. Whatever spells Voldemort and his Death Eaters used before we, the Order, arrived must have been the very worst of the worst.

Not even the Cruciatus Curse makes someone look this bad.

His eyes are open, and he glances at me when I enter. "Wotcher, Tonks." Both of us attempt to smile but it just doesn't work.

"Wotcher, Harry. How do you feel?" I ask him gently, and I watch as my once good as cousin/brother – and now my possible son, if all goes to plan – tries to answer.

"…Better." And it's the truth. I saw him earlier, before Madam Pomfrey did her magic.

I give him a genuine smile then and move to sit down on the bed. For some strange yet very fathomable reason I lay down beside him and loop an arm around his waist. With my still free hand, I begin to stroke his brow.

"I know you are better." I inhale and fight the lump in my throat. "I was so very afraid that you wouldn't make it. I was scared that I'd lose another loved one." I didn't intend to say the last bit, but I still manage to say it. I glance at him and see that the last two words meant more to him than anything else I have ever said.

After several speechless moments, he looks at me, emerald eyes shining with tears. "Thank you, Tonks… for everything." He places special emphasis on the word, letting me knew how he feels without actually having to say it. He clears his throat and continues, "Thank you, for saving me as well."

The last part catches me off guard. I can't breath, I can't speak but somehow the words still come. "…Any time." I know, deep in my heart, as I say the words that they are nothing but the truth. One would do anything for those they love, for their children. One would lie, cheat, steal, betray. One would do every horrible thing imaginable to save those they love... even commit murder.

Noxius: culpable, guilty, responsible, blameworthy

Ever Hopeful,

Azar