Disclaimer: These characters and their universe belong to J.K Rowling. I just borrow them for my dreams. I make no money off them.

THE TOLL OF WAR

After the Battle

Smoke hangs low over the small Muggle village nestled in the midst of rolling hills and downs. The smell of burning wood and burnt human flesh penetrates everything. Sickening, weakening, unavoidable.

The battle is won. The enemy is dead or stunned; a few have fled. Now come the cruel tasks of the aftermath: sort through the corpses to find the survivors who may still be saved if given immediate treatment. Separate the recent dead that must be buried from the Inferi that must be disarmed with a countercurse so the desecrated bodies won't rise again.

They don't have the time. They must be off within the hour; the escaped Death Eaters may summon reinforcement. Giants are rumoured to be on the move in the not too distant mountains.

The surviving Muggles huddle inside the few houses that are still standing. When the Order arrived at the scene the Death Eaters had already used Confunding spells to render the Muggles helpless, unable to escape or defend themselves. Unable to understand what attacked them. Now the Order must leave them to take care of their own dead. Use their own inferior knowledge to make sense of what hit them.

Their version of events will in all likelihood feature nothing but a ravenous fire spreading through the village. After the Confunding spells have lifted, they will not understand their own blurry memories. Attacking corpses and battling men in robes throwing red and green light beams at each other? Do not compute. Do not exist.

But they will see them again in their dreams and call them nightmares. Nightmares will be the only surplus in this village for many months to come.

If need be, if dangerous talk spreads from this place, someone will have to come back and modify the Muggle memories. But this is not the time to worry about the Statute of Secrecy.

Sirius has come out on top. Again. But this time he's seriously shaken. Not from a few close shaves. But from his first Inferi encounter.

He was paralyzed, not able to lift his wand or move at all. He recognised the attacking corpses; he knew them: The recently killed Prewett brothers. Who welcomed him when he first entered the Order. Who made him feel worthy, grown up, fit to fight alongside them.

Sheer luck is the reason he's still alive. Alastor Moody came up from behind, fended off the dead and slapped Sirius back into action.

He's not hurt. A few scratches is all. And his hands are blistered - he dragged two men out of a burning house. Too late, they were both already dead. But he can heal simple burns. It's OK. He's OK.

His hands tremble as he uses first the right, then the left to tap the scorched spots on his fingers with his wand. The burning pain subsides and his hands are again smooth and supple. Healed. But they do not cease to tremble.

He must find his friends. Must know they are OK.

Peter. Moony. James - he must know James is not down. When he charged in at the ravaging Death Eaters, James was right behind. But in the fray of battle, Sirius lost sight of him.

'You OK, Pads?'

Moony. Sirius spins round to look at his friend. He seems fine: pale, exhausted, dirty, stained with soot and blood - but he stands. He talks. He's not bleeding, not crouching from pain, not disfigured from some unspeakable Death Eater curse.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' Sirius answers. 'You?'

Lupin nods. His eyes seem dead; he sways slightly on his feet.

'Peter's down,' he says.

'No! How - where is he? Where?'

Lupin puts a hand on Sirius' arm.

'It's OK Padfoot, he's not dead. He's breathing. Marlene has him - she's collecting the wounded. Over there,' Lupin nods at the centre of the village.

Sirius sees limp bodies spread out on the ground. Marlene McKinnon and Alastor Moody walk among them, bend down to look at or talk to or try to heal one after the other of them. And then someone comes limping up to the place from the other side of the village, supporting someone at her side.

Lily. Supporting James. Who is maybe wounded, maybe needs help, but walks.

Sirius rushes towards his best friend. He doesn't look back to see whether Moony follows.

James is alive. They are both still here.

When Sirius is up close, James gives him a faint smile.

'I'm OK Padfoot, I'm OK,' he says. 'Moony, hi. Good to see both of you still standing up.''

'James. Lily - are you OK?' Moony breathes behind Sirius.

'Still standing up, too, as you can see,' she says. 'Moody, you must look at his right arm!'

Alastor Moody has come up to them. He makes no comments before he starts to finger James down his injured arm. James flinches, but doesn't give up his strained smile.

Sirius steps forward to help Lily hold him up.

James' right sleeve is shrivelled and his skin exposed. It's revolting: reddish black, raw and pulsing. His veins lie as thin, blue cables down his arm. This is not a burn. This is a curse.

Moody frowns.

'I can't heal this,' he says. 'Your skin's turned inside out. It's a bad curse, one of the worst. You need an expert healer, a curse specialist - and soon, if you're not to loose your arm. Or worse.'

'St. Mungo's,' Lily states, a grim, set look on her face. 'James, can you concentrate enough to disapparate? I'll follow.'

'No!' Moody exclaims. 'Not St. Mungo's! It's infiltrated. None of us will be safe there! Go to Hogwarts. Dumbledore is there and will know - you will be met at the gates as soon as you ring the bell -'

'There's no expert on curses at Hogwarts!' Lily exclaims.

'We'll get one there. Dearborn's got a safe contact at St. Mungo's, he's already gone to alert her and bring her to Hogwarts. They'll set up a makeshift infirmary in the dungeons. Don't argue, get there now. He won't last much longer like this.'

Sirius feels his friend weaken at his side, about to buckle and sink to the ground.

'He's too weak to disapparate!' he shouts. 'He'll splinch!'

'I'll take him.'

Lily shifts to get a better hold on James' good arm. But Moody shakes his head.

'You don't have enough skill for side-along. Neither of you. He's too weak; he won't be able to help by holding on to you. Fail at your concentration one split of a second and you'll lose him. Then he may be worse off than splinching. You may never find him again. I'll take him.'

Moody doesn't wait for arguments. He eases James out of Lily's and Sirius' arms, takes one step forward and is gone.

Lily and Sirius stand empty-handed, staring at each other. Behind him Moony must be in shock; Sirius hears the ragged, gulping breath of his friend. And Lily looks like she's about to buckle herself.

Sirius wants to ask her if she's wounded, too. But then Lily's eyes widen. Terror wells up in her eyes.

'Sirius!' she shouts. 'Look! Look at the sky, you must -'

But she chokes. Sirius pivots and sees the face of his friend against the paling afternoon sky.

Lupin has gone pallid; his skin is blotching. He is shaking; his face is moving, and not from any ordinary twitch. Behind him, a ghostly, whitish globe is about to take its leave of the horizon.

He is changing. It's that time of the month and Lupin has forgotten. Sirius must get him out of here, now.