Death and Smoke

The smoke of battle clogged the sky, a low-slung ceiling of doom and death hanging above the injured and dead. Medi-witches were dotted amongst the injured. The dead lay in horrible disfigurements. Blood oozed from wounds, strange greenish substances oozing out from under heads. Death Eaters and Aurors alike lay, unmoving on the battered ground.

Harry moved amongst them, slowly, his dread pounding in his heart. A familiar-looking dark-skinned Auror was tensed in pain, eyes squeezed shut as a medi-witch attempted to suave a horrible-looking wound with potions and spells. Shacklebolt…alive, but only just. A retired Auror lay on his side, blood pooled on his robes. His magic eye had come out; Harry spotted it not far from Mad-Eye, covered in grime.

"Moody?" he said, picking up his pace in the direction of the fallen Auror. "Moody!"

The young man clumsily knelt beside Mad-Eye, shaking him by the shoulders. Mad-Eye's hair stained by his blood…a bleeding wound crossed his face…another to add to his already numerous scars… Moody's remaining eye twitched under an eyelid. He opened his eyes, revealing a gaping socket in the place where his magic one should've been. His only eye looked glazed, unseeing. His jaw clenched from whatever agony must be seizing him. The retired Auror didn't seem to register the fact there was someone kneeling over him, looking at him with concern.

"Get…medi-witch…" he growled. "Go…"

As though she had heard Moody, a nurse came rushing over. The nurse nodded curtly at Harry.

"I'll look after him." She said.

He nodded, and got up, a searing pain through his chest, where a bladed spell had slashed across it. Not noticing where he was wandering, aimlessly, through the ashes of battle, a foot caught on a body. He sprawled right across its abdomen, head slamming into the ground. Shaken, he hastily got up off the body-and found himself looking straight into a familiar face. His face was paler than usual, almost ashen-grey. However, he still had the grey-laden, brown hair. The man had not reacted to Harry tripping and sprawling over him. But a slight movement, barely noticeable, in his chest meant there was still breath left.

Remus Lupin lay still with blood under his robes, motionless. Fighting back his tears, Harry attempted to raise him into a sitting position. Remus' eyebrows twitched-was he in pain too? His head lolled onto Harry's shoulder, unaware of his comforter. Harry tightened his arms around Remus' shoulders.

"It'll be okay…you'll be fine…" he heard himself say. "Hang in there, Lupin, hang in there…someone will come."

The tears spilled out of his eyes, as he mourned for all those whom had died…his mother, father…Sirius…Dumbledore… He was determined to not lose Lupin as well…nor Hermione, Ron…Ginny…or even Moody….Remus wouldn't die-he was too strong. He'd managed to survive his transformations-why not this?

"Hang in there, Lupin…Remus. Hang in there…" Harry repeated. He wouldn't let Remus die now, not when the battle had just finished, and Tonks was still alive-if she was still alive. Last time he'd seen her, two medic-wizards were leaning over her, as she screamed in torture. As if to prevent Remus' life from slipping away, he tightened his grip even more about the unconscious man.

Where were those bloody medics? One of them should've come over by now! Instead, they were working, wandering about, and oblivious to Remus. His friend was bleeding…bleeding…he would die, surely, if no help came.

A moan came from Harry's shoulder: the ex-professor was regaining consciousness. He shifted, a further groan of pain coming from him.

"You'll be okay Remus, you'll be just fine." Harry told him. "Someone will come soon, you'll come out alive. I trust you will."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced as an extra jolt of pain arrowed through his right arm. He was barely aware of someone comforting him, talking to him…the voice was familiar.

"Who…" he rasped.

"Harry Potter. You'll come through…"

"What…pain…"

"Someone's going to come…"

His hands pushed away from Harry, as a sudden convulsion took hold of his body. Slipping back to the ground, he lay there, shaking. Sweat beaded his forehead. Then, just as suddenly, the convulsion stopped, and he lay still again. Refusing to believe he was dying, Harry seized an arm, as if to comfort him. His other hand mopped the sweat gently from his brow, brushing back tiny strands of hair away. For some reason, his eyes were drooping, a tiredness washing over him, a tidal wave. He was barely aware of medi-witches and wizards bustling about him and Remus, determined to heal the battlers back to as much strength as they could.

Hours later, Harry awoke blearily from darkness, eyes barely registering the room. Grey curtains waved in front of his vision, dark silhouettes moving beyond it. Distant voices whispered from beyond the curtain veiling his bed. A clunk of wood thumped through his headache. Someone swore loudly, quickly hushed by someone else. He cried out as someone poked a head through the curtain beside him. To his relief, he saw it was Nymphadora Tonks. Her eyes were bloodshot and watering, as though she'd been crying.

"Wotcher, Harry?" she said in a voice unlike her usual tinkling one.

"Nymph…"

"It's Tonks, Harry, just Tonks." Tonks moved closer to his bed, and stood beside where his head was. He registered Remus' wife's bloodshot eyes, and immediately feared the worst. A hollow sound pounded in his head, as his eyes burned.

"He's…dead…" Harry mumbled. But to his utter puzzlement, Tonks shook her head, and smiled weakly.

"Remus is alive…but still unconscious. He's in the bed next to you."

Grabbing onto the side of his bed for support, the Metamorphmagus lowered herself into a hard, wooden chair.

"What happened to you? I heard you…screaming."

Tonks explained, with a strained expression on her face, the horror of her duelling: apparently, she had undergone the Crucio curse, and he disconnected her entire left arm, from her shoulder to her fingers. Harry noticed a rising welt on her neck, scarlet and angry.

"Has anyone…from the Order…gone?"

Tonks lent closer to Harry, an elbow resting on the bed.

"Mad-Eye died. He'd lost too much blood…they brought him in…he was a mess." Tonks shuddered. "They covered him with a blanket, so no one could see."

"What do you mean, he was a mess? He already had all those scars…"

She put a hand over her mouth, as though to stop bile rising in her throat.

"I don't know what happened…but I saw what they did…when they took him in here…half his skin had been melted away, showing bones in some places. One of his arms was a mass of blood…"

His stomach turned over as he listened to her words. Tonks' voice caught and she rubbed a hand over her eyes.

"I'll never have thought it before…but I'll miss his paranoia." She said.

There was a slight, sickened pause before he spoke.

"What will they do?"

"What d'ya mean?" Tonks wore an expression of puzzlement.

"His eye, leg…"

"Bury them with him I expect." She rolled her eyes, but only half-heartedly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's just as paranoid when dead."

Harry couldn't even crack a laugh: so that was one more person dead…he'd respected Mad-Eye Moody…now he was, too, gone. A flashback occurred before his eyes, going back to the night when the impostor Moody had been unmasked…the real one had been in his trunk for ten months. Ten months of imprisonment in his trunk, and the Imperius curse. A piece of well-placed advice he'd told him, when he'd been part of the Advance Guard a few years ago: "Don't put your wand there, boy! What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks…" Then Tonks' reply: "Who do you know that's lost a buttock, Mad-Eye?"

He suddenly realized that he'd gotten up, feet on the cold floor. A profound silence hung in the room.

"Where are you going?" Tonks asked. "You're not going to find Moody, are you?"

"See Remus." Harry mumbled. "Even if he's unconscious."

Ignoring Tonks' offered arm for support, the young man stepped through the curtain. Almost shyly, Harry walked to where Remus was lying, eyes closed. His wounded arm lay across his chest, bandaged. He was relieved to see it hadn't been worse-until he saw his other hand…it had two fingers missing. Remus shifted, eyes flickering under the eyelids.

"Remus?" he whispered. "Remus, can you hear me?"

No response. It wasn't like there would be one…wait- what was that. His maimed hand had twitched. He shifted slightly again, as he moved his head over on the pillow. Tonks came around the other side, collapsing onto the bed. She lay her head on Remus' chest, eyes staring up at Remus' face. Harry stared back down at the hand beside him, not wanting to interrupt a private moment.

"Tonks?" said a voice above him.
Harry's head shot up. Remus had woken up, and Tonks had him in a stranglehold, sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder.

"Shh, my love, shhh…" he soothed, his bandaged arm stroking her somewhat dank hair. His expression froze as he reached up his maimed hand.

"Oh, God…" he moaned.

Tonks had let go of him, and was now just wavering on the spot, head in her hands. Even in her sobs of relief, she had realized that Harry was still there, and had decided to leave the passions for another, more appropriate time.

"Remus, it's me." Harry croaked voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes roved around to where Harry was sitting on the bed, staring at him.

"Harry…you're alive…"

"Yeah." He couldn't bring himself to say that Moody was dead. Mad-Eye, after all, was a part of the Order of the Phoenix, and a great Auror-before he retired.

"Moody…Alastor…he's…well,"

"Dead?"

Harry nodded glumly.

Abruptly, everything that had been happening over the past few days rushed at him, including that climatic battle the very morning. The death of stench had hung in the sky, waiting to pour down on their heads. He assumed many were dead, and far many more injured. The tears came again, thick and fast. He hid his face in his hands, as though trying to conceal his sorrow from Tonks and Remus. There was some rustling around him, a movement of sheets beneath him, but he didn't take much notice. But he noticed the arms around him, drawing him close. A three fingered hand smoothed back his hair. Above him, a hoarse, but somewhat soothing voice comforting him:

"Hang in there, Harry. Just hang in there."