Marcus took a steadying breath as he stepped forward, his eyes drifting over the names engraved in the memorial plaque. Some were familiar to him, others he had never heard of. How could one go through life not knowing half the names of people they were at school with? He wondered, as he ran a calloused hand over the polished brass, pausing at each name he recognised. Some were students, others professors; members of The Order and Death Eaters listed side by side in the seemingly endless rows of names.

Marcus brushed his hand over the name his eyes gravitated to, the pain in his chest causing it to constrict tightly as he struggled to breath. Tears streamed down his face as his hand clamped down across his eyes. A hand came up across his shoulder and instinctively he turned into the comfort offered as he felt fingers in his hair massaging his scalp.

oOoOoOoOo

It had been a year since the final battle had taken place in the grounds of the school that had been his home since he was eleven. The battle had raged on like a storm cleaving open the landscape, scattering the casualties and fatalities like discarded rag dolls: it had been almost a week before final lists had been compiled.

As the battle had drawn out into the night, Marcus had torn the little cottage apart with his hands, finally falling to his knees surrounded by the splintered debris of a sideboard. Chest heaving, his fingers curled around the neck of a bottle of whiskey, dragging it as he found his way back to the couch. Unscrewing the cap, he lifted it to his lips, hissing as the liquid burned the back of his throat. Listening to the radio, he allowed his mind to succumb to the darkness that was pulling him in.

oOoOoOoOo

Bleary eyes opened, blinking furiously at the angelic face, translucent glory surrounded by a golden halo. Hands reached out, grabbing hold of his shoulder, shaking him.

"Flint!" the angel yelled, taking hold of the bottle and pulling him more upright. Clouds in the sky drifted over the sun, blocking out the light and casting a shadow over the angelic face.

Marcus blinked as the figure dropped, crouching in front of him, yelling his name once more. His eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown as he realised the angelic demi-god before him was mortal and none other than Draco Malfoy.

Draco shook his head as Marcus dropped his head against the back of the couch. Reaching forward he took hold of the sleeve of Marcus's cable knit turtleneck, apparating them both out of the cottage.

oOoOoOoOo

"Drink this," Draco instructed, shoving a small vial in Marcus's hand as they stumbled over rubble, picking their way towards the school. Marcus narrowed his eyes at the label.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Hangover potion," Draco replied simply, as the doors to the castle flew open, light footfalls sounding as a raven and emerald blur flew at Marcus.

Marcus stumbled slightly as his arms came instinctively around the witch's shoulders, feeling her tears soak through the jumper that hung off his once muscular frame. After a minute, he unclasped her hands from around his neck, stepping back slightly.

"Pansy," Marcus breathed, watching as she brushed her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Oh, Marcus. I am so, so sorry," she whispered, shaking her head as Marcus's eyes went wide. He turned to Draco whose mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Tugging Pansy's hands away from where she clung to his jumper, he broke into a run, racing through the castle until he reached the hospital wing. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

"Mister Flint!" Madam Pomfrey cried, rushing from her desk as Marcus came to a halt, his eyes darting desperately around the room.

"Where is he?" Marcus yelled, hands going to his hair and tugging with frustration.

Madam Pomfrey's face softened upon seeing Marcus's anguish, her previous anger dissipating for the time being. Reaching out, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "The headmistress is arranging the burials. There were so many, Marcus," she told him, shaking her head sadly, as she directed him to sit with her in the chairs off to one side of the room. "Your father," she began, as Marcus's eyes snapped up to meet hers, confusion etched on his face. "His coffin is with the others in the Great Hall," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Marcus screwed his eyes shut as he tried to process her words. "My father?" he repeated, the emotion cracking in his voice.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed. "Why, yes, Mister Flint. That is who you wanted to see, is it not?"

Marcus shook his head. "I thought…" he began, his words trailing off. Swallowing hard, he began again. "Malfoy brought me here...he didn't...hasn't…" he choked back tears as his voice broke. "Wood."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Oliver Wood?" she asked, shock evident in her voice as Marcus nodded, trying to ignore the hope that rose like a balloon in his chest.

"Why, he's in the private room across the hall," she told him, her mouth opening ready to chastise him as he tore from the room. Closing her mouth, she thought better of it, deciding to give the man some time to ground his emotions. She understood how overwhelming this was for everyone involved. Sighing heavily she returned to her desk.

oOoOoOoOo

"You promised you would come back to me," Marcus began, his voice cracking with emotion as he made his way across the room.

"He's still unconscious," Hermione's voice drifted sympathetically across the room. Marcus spun on his heel seeing her sat with a book in the corner of the room, her left forearm bandaged from her wrist to her elbow. She smiled softly at him.

"They wouldn't let me aparate, that's why I sent Draco," she explained as she shut the book, holding it out towards Marcus, nodding for him to take it.

Marcus snorted at the ridiculousness of the notion, picturing Oliver taking the book with him to every safehouse, even when other possessions had been left behind. Instinctively, the fingers of his right hand drifted up his left sleeve touching the bracelet, rubbing it back and forth over his wrist. He dropped onto the edge of Oliver's bed, opening the book, finding the poem he had written for Oliver, his fingers tracing over the inked words.

The door to the room pushed open slightly causing Marcus to look up from the book as Draco slipped inside. Hermione leaned into him as his hands found their way into her chestnut curls. Marcus averted his gaze, his heart clenching as Draco dropped a chaste kiss to Hermione's forehead.

"Time for you to take a break and have some lunch," Draco instructed, tugging Hermione's hand. Marcus glanced up as Hermione squeezed his shoulder, silently communicating with him, nodding to them both before they slipped out, Draco's arm wrapped protectively around Hermione's shoulders.

Marcus turned to Oliver as the door clicked shut softly. Reaching forward, he stroked the hair away from where it was flopped across his forehead. "You promised you would come back to me," he whispered, pain in his voice.

oOoOoOoOo

The May sunshine warmed the four of them as they made their way across the courtyard, long stemmed white roses in hand, ready to place them by the plaque. Marcus took a steadying breath as he stepped forward, his eyes drifting over the names engraved in the memorial stone. Some were familiar to him, others he had never heard of. How could he have gone through life not knowing half the names of people they were at school with? He wondered, as he ran a calloused hand over the polished brass, pausing at each name he recognised.

Brushing his hand over the name his eyes gravitated to, the pain in his chest caused it to constrict tightly as he struggled to breath. Tears streamed down his face as his hand clamped down across his eyes. A hand came up across his shoulder and instinctively he turned into the comfort offered as he felt fingers in his hair massaging his scalp.

"Hey, it's okay," Oliver whispered as Marcus sobbed into his shoulder. After a moment, Marcus lifted his head, shaking it as he ground the tears away with the heel of his hand.

"It's not," he swallowed hard, trying to not think about what might have been. "He was a selfish bastard. I should not be mourning him."

"He was still your father," Oliver murmured. "It's alright to grieve."

Marcus chuckled wryly. "Even if they were on the other side of this war?"

"Especially so," Hermione told him as she reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

Turning back to the plaque, Marcus nodded as his hand found Oliver's. Hermione smiled as Draco slipped his arm around her shoulders, her hand reaching out, fingers wrapping around Marcus's. The war had taken a part of each of them, forever changing their lives. But as Marcus stood there with the three people who had come to mean the most to him, he knew they would all survive, together.

FIN

A/N: Much love and thanks to my dedicated beta team without whom this story would not exist xxxxxx