The ragged breathing was wearing on his nerves, but Remus kept a stoic face. He cast healing spells on the deep gash on Gideon's chest, and with every spell, Gideon bit his lip to keep from screaming. Remus' throat was closing up, and it seemed a momentous task to utter the spells through his locked jaws.
He raised his wand in another attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the wound, when Gideon put up a shaking hand.
"Don't... leave it... 's no use," he said, in raspy voice.
"No," howled Remus, tears now rolling down his scarred cheeks. Nonetheless, he stopped casting spells. "When Moody comes, we can get you to St. Mungo's," he mumbled, wiping his face in the sleeves of his robe.
Gideon stared mutely at the sky, drawing shallow breaths and coughing. Remus watched his face. It was becoming calmer, his eyes were clear, the pain in them slowly dissolving. For a moment Remus felt a dash of joy - the spells might be working, but Remus knew too well and had seen too much to believe it. He had seen, so many wizards die in front of his eyes- that same glazed look in their eyes, as if they could see the other side. And the other side was so beautiful, so lovely, they felt peaceful that they were leaving behind this burning world and all the pains it represented.
Gideon turned his head a little to face him. "Any word... on Fabian?"
Remus shook his head. Gideon turned his gaze back to the sky. "See you there, brother," he whispered. Remus bit into his fist to keep himself from breaking down.
After a while, Gideon whispered in gravelly voice, "Not a speck of cloud.. We'll - lose all the crops - in Farrow Brook... A year without rain."
Gideon was ranting, with gasping pauses. Remus realized time was running out for Gideon, and he should stop him from wasting his little left energies in meaningless prattle, which soon lost coherence. Remus couldn't connect two consecutive words Gideon was uttering and he placed his hands over his ears. After a while, Gideon stopped talking - he just mutely stared at the sky.
Remus was lost in thoughts until a sudden rustling sound behind them brought him back to the cold reality. He got up on his feet, wand at the ready.
The bush parted, and a heavy cloaked figure stumbled out.
"Alastor!" cried Remus, in relief. "Oh, I am so glad. Come on, you take charge of this alley, I'll take Gideon to St. Mungo's," he added urgently.
He rushed to Gideon's side, and tried to heave him up. Gideon's eyes were fixated at the stars and Remus whispered, "Come on, mate. We'll get you all fixed up."
But Gideon's body was too heavy for him and Remus struggled to prop him up. "Come on, Gid, you have to stand up, or else I can't Apparate you."
"Remus.."
"No, Moody, just help me get him straight," cut in Remus, every part of his mind shouting to defy what Moody was trying to say.
Moody gripped Remus' shoulder, "Calm down, Remus. We have to get out of here fast, we have to get to the headquarters now."
"NO!" howled Remus. "I am not going without Gideon!"
Moody's magical eye swivelled inside his head while the other eye was fixed on Remus in a stern, but serene gaze.
"He wouldn't want you to die trying to take his body back."
"He's just passed out, he's NOT BLOODY DEAD!" cried Remus, clutching Gideon's body.
Suddenly there was a crack nearby, which echoed in the silence of the night. Moody's magical eye spun to the left.
"Remus! The Death Eaters are here. Leave him, now!"
He tried to wrench Remus off Gideon's stiffening body, but the young man clung on to him with his dear life. He whimpered, and Moody clamped his knobbly fingers on his mouth.
"Shhh.." he hissed urgently. "Remus, let go. We have to go!"
"No, no.." Remus' cries were more quiet and submissive now, but he was still sitting staunchly beside Gideon's body. Moody bent over to close Gideon's unseeing eye and Remus broke into sobs.
The night was too quiet to mask the sound of Remus crying.
"Who's there?" shouted someone, a few feet from the bushes covering them. Moody put his arm around Remus' neck and hauled him up.
Remus felt a sudden jerk under his navel, as Moody Apparated. He reached out his hand, in one futile attempt to drag Gideon's body with him. But he couldn't - a last glace at his still, bloodied form blurred into a blend of colours until they landed on the floor of The Burrow with a thud.
The kitchen was well-lit - Dumbledore, Sturgis Podmore, Elphias Doge and Frank Longbottom were sitting at the table, all eyes on the newly arrived guests.
Remus was tempted to stay on the floor, where he had fallen, and not get up. But Moody dragged him up and towards the table. Remus felt too numb to be bothered about the attention that was now on him - he stared blankly at a glass of water on the table. He hoped none of them would try to soothe him. He did not want to be soothed. He did not outgrow the grief that was building inside him, ounce by ounce as everyday someone he knew died. Someone he knew slaughtered in the name of a better world. He felt bile rise up in his throat and he was tempted to spit at the cause - the glorious cause!
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, Remus turned his head around to see it was Dumbledore. Immediately, some invisible force spurred a maelstrom of anger inside him. This man! This man and that psychotic megalomaniac - their vendetta was ripping apart the whole world! Why on earth did he still speak like nothing happened, like victory was just around the corner? Why on earth did he sit still and sober when so many young lives were lost in the battle he had waged?
Remus turned his eyes back to the glass, afraid he might strangle the old man if he looked at him.
"We lost Fabian," said Dumbledore non-chalantly, as if declaring there is a chance of rain in the next few days.
Remus sat still. Of course, what was he expecting? Good news never made its way past him - death was the only news he heard these days. 'He fought like a hero'... 'They fought till their last breath'... 'She was taken down by none less than six Death Eaters'. The empty words of consolation, of fame a little too late, a little too meaningless. But nonethess, that was all he heard these days. One would think he had got used to it, but every time he heard of another early demise, he felt like just running off to the jungle, transform forever and never come back. Living like a beast was better than living like a man sorrounded by dead bodies. At least those happy faces would not haunt a beast's mind or chase away its sanity.
"Did you tell Molly?" asked Frank Longbottom, and Remus heard the trace of his own emotions in his voice.
"No, I haven't, yet," replied Dumbledore.
Remus smiled bitterly. Of course you haven't, you old coward. Of course you don't have the belly to tell a mother-to-be the last of her family has been killed in one night, or that her husband might very well be in mercy of some bloody Death Eaters.
Remus distracted himself from Frank and Dumbledore's conversation. He just couldn't bear talk of next attack - plans of killing more people.
Suddenly Moody growled, "Molly is coming down."
Remus saw Moody, who was sitting quietly at the end of the table was looking at them, but his magical eye was pointing up towards the staircase.
They waited in their own anticipation, as Molly appeared at the head of the staircase, wrapped in a yellow robe.
"Frank, I thought I had told you to keep it down. I am going to bear twins in two months, I need my rest," she said sleepily.
Frank did not answer, but looked resolutely at his hands. Moody seemed much occupied with a pouch.
Dumbledore seemed unabashed. "I am sorry, Molly. I hope we have not woken you up."
"No, that's quite alright. I will warm some milk, you know how Gideon loves a warm cup of chocolate. He should be back anytime now," said Molly walked into the kitchen.
A lump formed inside Remus' throat, and he was not quite sure which of the Prewett siblings he was sad for. He didn't have the word to describe what Molly might feel when she learns, so he looked expectantly at Dumbledore, who made no motion whatsoever to tell her. Dumbledore seemed to pointedly avoid his eyes.
It was then, Remus knew. He knew the cost bothered Dumbledore as little as it bothered Voldemort when one of his followers died. They were both the epitome of their ideals; the casualties of their ideals were not of much consequence to them. He did not know if Dumbledore had conditioned himself to this apathy, or if it had been as fundamental in him as his counterpart. But Remus knew he was not part of his grand scheme. He was an ordinary wizard, who had chosen good, because the other option is evil. If he had his way he would have chosen neither. And he was not going to offer Molly condolence. He stood up and his chair scraped. He was going to cry with her today, assure her that it hurt him as much as it hurt her. That he could not see the bigger picture.
Molly heard his chair scrape and looked around. "Oh, Remus. Oh good to see you already back from your shift. Let me fix up something for you, you must be hungry," she chattered happily.
As much as it pained him, Remus walked up to her and caught her hand.
"What is it, dear? Are'nt you going to-... Remus?" Molly searched his damp eyes, knowing something was very wrong.
Remus seemed to have lost his power of stringing together words in a sentence. He gasped, "Fabian... and Gideon."
Molly gulped. She trembled as she looked around to see the other three men in the room, all of whom looked away. She looked quite lost and tears started falling as shock gave away to grief. Remus gently pulled her into his arms. He pressed his cheek on top of her head, as Molly sobbed into his chest.
"Not them, please not them..," she cried, her voice muffled.
Remus echoed her words silently. Not them, not us, not anyone anymore.
Dumbledore had stood up, and was serenely looking at Molly. Remus gently guided her to the table. She stopped crying after sometime, and just stared impassively out of the window.
"Molly," started Dumbledore, with that patronizing tone that Remus so hated.
"What?" he snapped, before he could stop himself.
"Remus, I merely wanted to tell Molly to try and find solace in the fact that her brothers are true heroes."
That was it. He had done it. Remus sprung up from his chair, "Very comfortable to say that, right, Dumbledore? I bet you have said that so many times, you know it by heart, don't you? Fighting the holy war. The holy sodding war!"
The other men of the room edged towards them, eager to catch every word. Molly still looked lost.
"Please clam down, Remus. I understand tonight has been hard for you, and I do not blame you. You have lost two very dear friends."
Remus kicked his chair. It rattled away, coming to a stop after hitting the kitchen sink. "No, you don't understand. You never will. You have seen too many people come and go, it's very ordinary for you. But you know something? You are so delusional, to think that you can defeat Voldemort, you can wipe evil off the face of earth, you are leading young unsuspecting wizards and witches to their death. Oh, yes sir, we know your big dream is too noble. But hear me, old man. A young wizard of twenty, with eyes full of dream, hopes nothing more than to take the girl he likes out for coffee, or wake up at ten next Sunday, or win a bet of five Galleons in the next Quidditch League match. They might not be dreams that make history, Dumbledore, but everyone deserves to have a chance to fulfill their dream. No one has dared telling you, but you are forcing others to fight your cause. Oh, don't worry, I am not quitting the Order. I am not quitting because I am not going to sit back and watch my friends die, one after the other. I'll wait, we'll all wait our turns," cried Lupin, forcing a jagged laugh. "Oh great wizard, morituri te salutamus. We who are about to die, salute you."
They all sat in shocked silence. For once, Dumbledore was lost for words, and for that Remus couldn't be more proud of himself. He watched the astounded faces around the kitchen with bitter satisfaction, and stooped down to pick up the upturned chair.
A dazed voice, broke the silence. Molly spoke softly, "Clouds are gathering. They may be able to save the crops at Farrow, after all."
Remus looked at her divinely calm face – she looked at peace with her crumbling world.
A few drops of rain fell on the dry flower bed, soothing, but not quite quenching its thirst.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for prompt Prompt for Wednesday 15th September: A year with out rain