Your knees are bleeding, as dirt and rock burrow deeply into your skin, but you can't feel anything. Except this deep ache in your chest, that feels like you're having a heart attack, but you know you aren't. You're just mourning. Mourning the loss of the night sky. It was the inky black abyss that you found constant solace in, and now that it's morning, you need it back so bad that you desperately cling to the closest life force around. His features are comparable to the night's sky, so close to that color between the stars that your eyes shy away from the bright crimson that streaks his face and hands.
You refuse to move when he calls your name. So he calls it again and again, but no response registers on your face, and he finally stops. You mew like a goddamn newborn kitten when his hand reaches up to touch your face. His touch gives new life to your deathly pale face, that it's almost like someone was holding you under water, and just let you up to breathe. And you breathe.
He takes you far away from your friends' lifeless bodies, through the forest and apparates away. Away to Spinners End. He holds flasks up to your bloody, cracked lips and whispers encouraging words you never thought you'd hear out of his mouth, much less directed at you. He could be poisoning you, and you wouldn't give a damn, would welcome the thought. But he's not, unfortunately. You sleep for three days.
You wake up with a dull pain in your stomach, and you're not sure it's entirely contributed to hunger. It's Reality, fucking Reality that this war really just ended, and virtually no one is left. Tonks is mourning, so are the Weasleys, or what's left of them. The only thing that's keeping you from going mad is him, and the way he skirts around you like you're an animal at a zoo, leering and cautious.
"Survivor's guilt," he says, because he fucking knows you better than you know yourself. Knows you wish you were dead right now. Knows that if he leaves you alone for any amount of time, you'd try to AK yourself, though you know it'd never work. So he sits by your bedside, nurses you back to health, because truth be told, you're the only one he has, as well.