She had been at Grimmauld Place when Snape’s owl had flown to them. She had pulled the heavy drapes apart and unfastened the latch, rusty with age, on the window, upsetting the large moss covered bucket of flowers over the wooden floor below the window. Sirius, she remembered, had laughed. However, the laughter had stopped when Remus had read the message “Harry is in danger.
Despite her pleadings and Remus’ impassioned words, Sirius would not stay behind. The months of inactivity, the months spent in the childhood home he’d sworn he would never return to, the unfairness that his criminal status rendered him impotent had surged through him. What did he care if he was caught? What did it matter if he died? Harry was in trouble and Sirius would not let his godson down the way he’d let down James. He had grabbed his wand and Apparated straight there.
The curtain over the arch fluttered as she drew nearer. She could hear voices calling; seductive voices telling her to walk through. Tonks paused only when Dumbledore appeared. She stopped and looked back at him. The white, shining goodness that usually emanated from him had solidified into fury.
She felt relief.
Sirius continued the fight, taunting his mad cousin as she capered around him. Tonks was floating near them, drawing ever closer to the veil and was the first to see the curse that hit him squarely in the chest. She watched him fall backwards through the archway and then she thudded back into her own body.
Mad-Eye was pleading with her to wake up but she did not want to open her eyes, to see what she had already seen. She could hear Remus talking to Harry and she could hear Harry’s anguish, his bitterness and his fury. She heard as Harry ran off after his godfather’s murderer and then Remus called her name. She moved her hand slightly to show she was still alive, and he knelt down beside her. Demanding a stretcher, he began to organise her transfer to St Mungo’s, shouting down the blustering voice of Fudge who had insisted they all stay there to report to him.
“I’m not in your employ, Fudge. You have no authority over me and she’s badly hurt.”
It took Moody’s threats and Lupin’s barely controlled anger to get her out of there, and by that time a simple charm would not work on her shattered bones. Kingsley and Moody, she discovered later, had been discharged almost immediately. Their wounds were not severe; it seemed their experience had proved a better shield than her youth. Briefly Remus’ voice had revived her but, unable to bear the sharp pain of loss, to know she’d never see Sirius again, she kept her eyes shut. She was unwilling to look at him, not wanting him to confirm that Sirius was dead and that it was her fault he’d lost his last friend.
The scent of roses in the air.
She was still drowsy, so very drowsy, but the Healers would not let her sleep.
“Not yet, Nymphadora. Stay with us, dear.”
In the background she could hear someone breathing, so faint, but she recognised the quietest of sounds. Remus had stayed with her and had not gone to Harry.
“Sorry, Remus,” she tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. She could taste blood on her lips. She thought perhaps her head was bleeding but she couldn’t raise her hand to check.
Blood Red.
Further back she could hear another sound, equally familiar “ but that was impossible.
“Tonks,” said Sirius. “Don’t be stubborn. Go back.”
“It’s my fault,” she said to him.
“Why do you think that?”
“I should have stopped her.”
“She’s a strong witch, Tonks,” he said ruefully, and she could now see him in front of her. He rubbed the side of his face; a gesture he used when he was trying to think of what to say.
“I’m younger and faster,” protested Tonks.
“She has knowledge. She knows how to kill,” he replied.
“So do I,” she declared.
“But you haven’t killed, have you?” he stated.
“N-no, not yet,” she stammered.
“She enjoys it, Tonks. You could not have beaten her today.”
“Then I should have stopped you leaving Grimmauld Place.”
He laughed that bark of a laugh. “Dumbledore himself could not have stopped me from protecting Harry.”
There was a long pause. Far away, Tonks could hear Remus questioning the Healers. There is concern in his voice, she thought wistfully.
“Go back, Tonks,” repeated Sirius.
And then he was gone.
The scent of a blood red rose.
She opened her eyes a while later to see Remus sleeping in a chair next to her bed wearing ripped robes and fresh scars. Her gaze flickered to something red on the bedside cabinet - a rose, a beautiful blood red rose. She reached for it, knocking over a glass by its side.
Remus stirred at the sound of the glass hitting the cabinet. “You’re awake,” he said simply. The relief in his voice was apparent.
“Wotcher,” she said feebly. “Ta for the rose.”
“Oh, it’s not from me, Tonks. You must have an admirer,” he said, a touch sadly.
She reached across the cabinet and picked it up. Underneath the rose there was some writing on a scrap of parchment.
‘Like rosebushes, the best houses need regular pruning, Nymphadora.’
Tonks lay in her old bed in her childhood home and blinked at the daylight shining through the half opened curtains. She had no idea how long she’d slept. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be here. She had wanted to go back to her own flat but Andromeda’s formidable expression was not to be argued with so she had agreed to come back here. A sound from the garden came through the open window; she got up to have a look. Strolling outside in old clothes was her dad. He loved his garden and could often be found outside tending to it like a Muggle. Her bedroom door opened as Andromeda entered bearing a tray.
“Good, you’re up. I brought your lunch but if you’d rather eat downstairs...”
Tonks turned away from the window. “Just leave it, Mum,” she said, and then adding as an afterthought, “Thanks.”
Andromeda placed the tray on the bedside table but instead of leaving she sat on the bed.
Oh, bugger! thought Tonks. She has her ‘I want to have a chat, Nymphadora,’ face on.
“Nymphadora, I want to have a chat,” said Andromeda firmly.
Tonks smothered a grin and sat on the bed next to her.
“Sirius,” said Andromeda bleakly. “You need to accept he’s gone.”
“What, like accepting he was guilty?” said Tonks sarcastically.
Andromeda blanched. “We didn’t know, Nymphadora. No one knew the truth.”
Tonks was tired of this conversation. She had gone through childhood living under the cloud of the Black family and her mother's refusal to talk to her about it.
‘He’s guilty, Nymphadora, that’s all you need to know.’
‘We do not speak of Bellatrix, Nymphadora. She is not in our lives.’
But to a young girl growing up with such a background she’d needed to talk and needed to find out why they had done such terrible things.
“You were so willing to believe though, Mum. He was your cousin and you left him to rot in Azkaban.”
“What would you have had me do?” asked her mother, her eyes flashing. “I had to keep my head down for your sake, and he admitted he was responsible.”
“Responsible, Mum, not GUILTY! How could you believe he’d sell out his friends?”
“Because I know what the Black family are capable of,” said Andromeda fiercely.
There was a silence that froze the room. Tonks could hear her dad whistling a light, cheerful tune outside her window. It reminded her of happier times when she’d been much younger.
“Nymphadora,” said Andromeda with a resigned tone in her voice, “that’s not why I want to speak to you. I know I was mistaken about his guilt but I am not mistaken about his death.” She paused then cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and looked directly into her eyes. “Sirius is dead. You have to move on.”
She got up and moved to the door. Tonks heard her leave but was unable to reply. Her parents thought the reason she kept to her room was because she couldn’t accept his death but that wasn’t the reason. She had shut herself in here all week because she knew it should have been her. If she’d kept moving she would have gone on and Sirius would still be alive. Harry would not be alone and Remus... She did not want to think about Remus. She reached under her pillow for the small scrap of parchment from the hospital. She put on a dressing gown and walked outside. Her dad was deadheading roses.
“Hi, Dora,” he said. “It’s nice to see you up and about.”
“Can I do that?” she asked shortly. Tonks inclined her head towards the roses. It was a task she’d always shared with her dad when she was younger. They would giggle together as they raced to see who could pull off the most heads.
“All yours love,” he replied, and then gave her arm a squeeze.
She began to pick off the rose heads.
“Do you remember your Sorting, Dad?” she asked suddenly.
If Ted was surprised at the question he showed no sign.
“As if it were yesterday, Dora,” he replied. “I was terrified. A Muggle-born amongst all those children from wizarding families.”
“And when the Hat put you in Hufflepuff, what did you think?” she asked.
“I was grateful to be at Hogwarts. I didn’t care about the House.” He paused. “What’s the matter, Dora? Are you not proud to be a ‘Puff?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, of course. But sometimes...” She paused and looked down at her feet. “The Hat asked me if I wanted to be in Gryffindor but I turned it down.”
“If you wanted to be a Gryffindor then why did you turn it down?” asked Ted. “There wouldn’t have been a problem.”
“Oh, come on, Dad!” exclaimed Tonks. “Sirius was in Azkaban and another Black in Gryffindor wouldn’t have stood a chance!” She pulled at a rose head and threw it violently onto the ground. “I wasn’t brave enough,” she finished awkwardly.
“You’re certainly brave enough, Dora,” said Ted sharply. “No one can doubt your courage, or your brains, but you’re also loyal and that’s why the Hat put you in Hufflepuff.”
He picked up the sack of rose heads and grass cuttings and walked back to the house, leaving Tonks in front of the last and largest rose bush. Its flowers were the colour of blood.
‘Like rosebushes, the best houses need regular pruning, Nymphadora.’
Tonks brought out her wand and with a swooping motion she conjured a sword. She swung at the bush in a graceful arc, spilling the roses and the branches over the ground.
“There, Bellatrix,” she screamed. “Are you happy now?”
Ted looked at his daughter hacking away whilst the tears ran down her cheeks. She was wrecking his prized rose bush but he didn’t care. Dora was coming back to life as the blood red roses died.