No Bravery
defying stars
Summary: This generation drenched in hate sat, side by side, and tried to dry up their sorrow.
Disclaimer: Of course, not mine; characters and whatnot belong to J. K. Rowling, and this is based upon James Blunt's 'No Bravery. ' Enjoy!
Remus blinked around at the children. Students and professors alike were pointing their wands to the air, muttering incantations in an attempt to rid the darkened sky of the Dark Mark. Remus himself was huddled behind some rubble, away from the crowd and the memories and the pain and the image of Lily leaning heavily on James and Sirius wincing as Poppy reattached his leg and Peter whimpering in some corner, his blonde hair matted with blood.
He absentmindedly healed a particularly gruesome cut on his arms and surveyed the scene.
Some people were crying. They had lost too many in the attacks; the Head of Hufflepuff had been reduced to ashes protecting some wondering fourth years, and a sixth year Slytherin had died, hit by a stray piece of rubble. A few villagers from Hogsmeade hadn't made it, either.
Remus knew that this was the real life version of the stories they had heard about; Voldemort rising. He had been here.
He stood, and made his way through the Great Hall. The majority of Hogwarts was, miraculously, still standing, but a few ceilings had collapsed along the way and suits of armour lay in tatters in the corridors. The sister of a dead Ravenclaw had been clawing her way through the wreckage, trying to find her brother's grave.
The wife of one of the villagers was wailing to their Divination Professor, trying to find her husband, the father of her children. From what Remus had heard, she had found nothing.
Remus stumbled past a few huddled second years and a fifth year who was rocking slowly. He didn't think to comfort them.
Voldemort or Tom Riddle as Dumbledore insisted he would be called, and his followers - so called Death Eaters - had wrecked havoc on their school, three weeks into February of 1978. Thankfully, the professors had enough sense to hide most of the students under seventh year. Some didn't make it.
"Remus."
He looked up to see Lily bending over him. Apparently, he had fallen to the ground a few minutes later. James was still holding Lily's hand.
"Remus, it's okay. We're all safe. We promise." Then why did Lily look so sad? Silly girl, Remus thought to himself bitterly, standing up and wiping the dust and the carnage from his knees and from his mind. Silly, stupid girl, he thought as he followed the two of them back out into the courtyard, where most of the damage had been done.
The sister of the dead Ravenclaw looked up at him. She had moved location, and was now clawing at the steps leading into Hogwarts. She looked wild and unkempt, like an overgrown garden.
There wasn't any hope in her eyes, he was surprised to note. Only frail, tired sadness that seemed to consume her entire expression. Her lips moved silently in a wordless plea, and Lily smiled blearily down at her. She didn't take any notice. She had eyes only for Remus.
"Help me?" She asked.
Remus shook his head and stumbled away, words of apology falling automatically from his mouth. The repugnant spell of death was in the air, as well as the dull, bronze metallic smell of fear. He choked.
A piece of fallen timber was still aflame in the middle of the courtyard, burning brightly in the damp, dark setting of post-battle scenery. Remus watched it, melancholy and contemplative, as the girl begged on. He ignored her, if only to keep his own sanity.
The woman weeping for her missing husband in despair was shaking people hysterically now, giving descriptions of how tall and so on. Nobody could help her.
"Please," she said suddenly, coming up behind James and tugging on the sleeve of his robe. He gently removed her fingers. "Please, he's been here. You know who. He's taken my husband. He had been here." And then she fell to her knees, and began to cry.
As she did so, the Dark Mark still lit up the sky, signalling that it was another family's turn to die.
"Moony," James whispered, tugging at his friend's elbow. Remus looked up at the sky - it was a waxing moon in the sky. He sighed, and followed his friends.
A small Gryffindor boy, only a first or second year, was being comforted by Professor Slughorn, who looked suitable uncomfortable. He patted the boy's shoulder and declared in a loud, booming voice, "It'll be alright, son."
"He's been here," the kid whimpered, as though he was afraid to even cry out. Remus saw none of that foolhardy Gryffindor courage in his eyes. Only sadness.
Still, though, children and professors stood with their wands pointed to the sky, charms and curses and hexes and spells flying through the thinly veiled stars to attempt to rid Voldemort's mark from Hogwarts; in vain.
Nobody asked why. It was normal; routine, even. Eventually, a good combination of not-so-regulation magic pulled the Dark Mark from its place above Hogwarts, and after that, medical teams properly saw to the healing, the dying and the dead, and people came to clear the rubble away as if it were that easy.
Nobody asked the question why. It wasn't necessary; this was.
Old men, old fighters of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts alike, knelt down in the dust and the ruins as if to accept their fate. Maybe they were praying to somebody higher than Merlin; maybe they were trying to let the ground swallow them.
Wives and daughters sat bleeding, desperately trying to mutter healing charms through their shield of tears. This generation drenched in hate sat, side by side, and tried to dry up their sorrow.
"He has been here."
But maybe there was a little hope in the gleam of people's eyes, and there was definite determination as those who stood with their arms raised concentrated hard. Maybe there was more than sadness, but there was fear there, buried deep in the foundations of their mourning. There was no bravery in those who lived.