Lucius Malfoy was tired. His clothes were grimy, his hair a mess and his muscles screamed with exhaustion. He sat on the steps of the castle, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging limply between. He stared out over the once green lawns, now blackened by spells and blood.
The Dark Beasts had been carted away. The Death Eaters he had been able to affect with Severus' Confundus potion had been captured. A number had escaped, out through the Forbidden Forest, though no one knew their exact number. Bodies – and parts of bodies – still littered the ground. Teams of Aurors and members of the Order were starting to pick them up, but the process was slow going.
Lucius hated the aftermath of battles. The once pristine landscape was scarred and he doubted he would get the image of children's bodies laying limp on the floor of the Great Hall from his mind any time soon.
Draco was fine. The flaunted Malfoy composure that he had prided himself for his entire life had fled when he had caught sight of his child, clothes torn and bloody, but whole and alive in the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey had watched with a smile as he gathered the boy close and held him. He had not let Draco go for a while.
Lucius rubbed a hand across his eyes. He gaze strayed to the Forest and his smile grew sharp. He pushed his aching body to his feet and headed for the shadowy recess.
Retracing his steps was difficult. He found the area where he had lain in wait. He turned and moved further into the dark. He found blood decorating one tree. He found several strips of tacky flesh. But no Bella.
He knelt next to the mass, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. There were no wolf prints – no tracks surrounding the area where she had lain. He stared out into the Forest, a hard knot of suspicion tightening his gut. He rose with a curse and spun away, storming for the castle.
He did not see the black rune shimmer into life, using the blood on the bark and ground. He did not pause for the burst of birds from the trees, their alarmed cries echoing out over the morning. The trees moved, the hissing whispers of their branches covering the lone scream that rose from far away. A shadow passed across the ground, and the trees went silent, their voices fading away, to be taken over by harsh human calls, and the industrial clank of human cleanliness. Lucius never looked back.
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"We need a healer! Quick!"
The voices of panicked Aurors rang across the lawns. Charlie paused, taking a moment to wipe his brow and look across to where the commotion was coming from.
Green-clad healers were sprinting in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. He saw his father sag and then start to run after them. Charlie dropped his gloves, a cold feeling spreading through his stomach.
It didn't take long for his loping strides to catch up with the others. He followed them under the stands and fell to his knees.
Ron's face was unrecognizable. The knitted sweater was the only clue as to who he was. Running sores and blacked skin covered his face. Ron's eyes were little more than a pulpy mass.
Charlie turned his head and vomited. He could hear several others doing the same. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand and tried to quell his heaving stomach.
"Ron? Ron! Let me go! That's my son! My son!" Arthur's anguished voice registered in Charlie's mind. He struggled to his feet and pushed his way outside.
"Charlie!" The now-oldest Weasley grabbed his father, feeling the strong arms wrap around his shoulders. "Ron. Oh Merlin. What did they do to Ron?" The older man struggled against him. Charlie tightened his grip.
"You can't help him, Dad." He moved them away from the stands. "The Healers are with him now. We have to let them work."
"No. No he needs me." Arthur's eyes were wild. "Who could have done such a thing? Oh Ron…"
"It was a Dark spell." A haggard looking Healer stepped from the stands and joined them. Behind him a team of nurses moved a stretcher carrying Ron's body to the castle. "You're his father? Arthur, yes? Arthur Weasley?"
Arthur nodded, but his attention was focused more on the body trailing towards the hill than the healer in front of him.
"I'm Charlie." The head of the Weasley clan offered the healer a hand to shake.
"Healer Fabing. Thank you."
"Ron? He's going to be alright?" Arthur's attention settled onto the healer, his gazing sharpening and his shoulders going stiff. Charlie let his father go, but kept close incase the older man tried to rush the stretcher.
The Healer's expression was grave. "That I don't know. His eyes…" the healer looked away. Deep lines of exhaustion were already etched onto his face. "I'm afraid his eyesight may be lost forever. We won't know for sure until we can get him stabilized."
Charlie's nails bit into the skin of his palms. He closed his eyes and turned his head. His father let out a keening wail and fell to his knees.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Charlie forced his eyes to open. "You're taking him to St. Mungo's?" The Healer nodded. "I'm going with him."
"The head of your family really should be the one…"
"I am the head of the family." Charlie swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders. He looked at his father. "Dad. Dad!" The older man turned blank eyes towards him. "You need to go find Mum and the twins. Come to St. Mungo's when you can. I'm going with Ron now.
The older man began to nod. "Yes. Oh. Oh Merlin." He trembled. "I – I have to find my wife. I need – I need…"
Charlie exchanged a glance with the healer. He nodded and Charlie bowed his head. Healer Fabing bent and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, speaking to him in a soft tone. Charlie turned away and began to follow the receding forms of the nurses carrying his brother's body. One thing at a time, old man. The chant took up a cadence to his steps, reverberating around in his head and pushing out all other thought. You can fall apart later. Focus on Ron for now.
The distance to the castle never seemed so far.
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Seamus sat at the edge of the Gryffindor table, with his head resting on his hands. His elbows were planted on his knees and his chain was almost touching his chest.
The bodies in the Great Hall had been removed. The twisted, tangled limbs haunted his mind every time he closed his eyes. He didn't know how many were dead, nor how many were injured. He could still hear the piercing screams every time he looked up.
The Great Hall was ruined. The high arching windows were gone, exposing it to the elements. The clear spring day was almost an offense to his senses. It should be raining, his laugh was bitter. Overcast or gray. Storming.
"Seamus?"
Sasha's voice made him look up. His breath caught in his throat, unable to get past the sudden hard lump that had taken up residence. The sixth year Slytherin was bloody and her right arm was in a rough sling.
"Sasha." It came out as a whispered croak. Later he would think back, but would not remember getting up nor letting his cloak fall to the floor. All he would remember was getting Sasha into his arms, and feeling her pressed against his chest. He would remember her squeak, and the way her good arm wound around his neck, so tight it almost choked him.
"Sasha," he said again and buried his face in her hair. She smelled like sulfur and ashes. "I thought – I didn't – couldn't find you – when the – when the…"
"Seamus. Seamus." She shuddered and hid her face against his chest. "I'm here. You're here. Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin."
His tears dampened her hair, but she didn't seem to mind.
The coming and going of Aurors and the medi-wizards faded from their notice. The shouted calls of other students and the hysterical voices of the arriving parents didn't register.
"I love you." It was said on a breath, nearly inaudible.
"Foolish Gryffindor."
"I thought I'd lost you."
"You won't, Seamus. I promise. You won't."
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Hermione was in the Infirmary. The apron Pomfrey had given her was two sizes too large, but she'd belted it as tight as it would go. The front was splattered with blood and other fluids. She'd scraped back her hair into a tight bun, but strands kept falling into her eyes and tickling her nose.
She rubbed the troubled appendage with the back of her hand. She was rolling bandages for the nurses, who were taking them as quickly as she could get them done.
She didn't think of the battle. She didn't think about the grown men and women who had fallen, writhing on the ground, from spells uttered from her own lips. She didn't think about the Aurors, who in panicked battle fury, had turned their wands into daggers and had stabbed out the eyes of their enemies. She didn't think about the carcasses ripped open by the werewolves, nor how her feet had slipped and slid in the tacky entrails. She had narrowed her world down to the bandages in front of her and how she needed to roll them up.
"Hermione?"
Her hands stilled. She looked up at Professor McGonagall and blinked. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Hermione." The Transfigurations professor rounded the table and put an arm around her shoulders. "Let us get you out of here, dear. Your parents will be arriving soon."
She resisted the pull of the arm. "I have to finish this." She shook her head and looked down at the table. She blinked when she saw that there were no more bandages to be rolled. "There were still some left…I had a whole pile to go through…where…"
"Hermione." The Professor guided her from the room and down the hall. The wounded lay in neat rows, leaving only a small aisle form them to walk through.
The deputy Headmistress guided her to the Gryffindor dormitory. The Fat Lady was gone and the portrait hole stood open for all to walk through. Hermione stopped just before the opening.
"I can't go in there."
"Your Housemates are all in there. Most are waiting for their families…"
"I won't go in there!" She tore herself from the older woman's hold. "It's all my fault! All of it!"
Professor McGonagall had aged in the hours of fighting. Deep wrinkles lined her face and her eyes were a cloudy gray. "Child that's not true. It was no one's fault but a mad man's. We all did our best. None of this is your fault."
"But Harry almost died and Ron…" She was shaking so hard her teeth rattled. "I put together the petition. I listened to him. If we had just believed in Harry…if we hadn't been so bloody blind…"
"Language, Ms. Granger."
"Forget the language! It's true! We should have believed Harry! We should have never turned out backs on him! We could have – we could have…"
"Hermione." McGonagall took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. "Enough. Dwelling on things we could have or should have done will get us nowhere. True, perhaps, that you should have seen past the lies that filled the school. True, perhaps, you should have stood with Mr. Potter instead of throwing him out. But we all made mistakes, child. I should have paid more attention. I should have stepped in before the House got out of control. But things happened, and we must live with the things we have done. Mr. Potter went into Slytherin. Mr. Potter and the rest of his new House woke up the gods of Voldemort's monsters. Perhaps it was meant to be, the mistakes we made. But there is nothing, nothing, that can be done about them now."
Hermione began to cry, great wracking sobs that shuddered through her frame. Minerva drew her close and rested her cheek against the frizzy hair. "Child, let it go. We have done what we have done. You can only go forward, now."
That was how Hermione's parents found them, some time later. The distraught girl fainted, and her parents carried her off towards the Infirmary. Both muggles looked shaken to the core; their faces were pale and Hermione's father held her tight in his arms as they walked away.
Minerva rested a hand against the wall and closed her eyes. She pushed away the shouted recriminations that were sounding in her mind. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. She opened her eyes and straightened her robes. She had things to do, and no time to rest.
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Neville was up to his elbows in dirt. His shirt was torn at the collar and his left eyebrow was mostly black singe. He'd lost his cloak sometime during the battle. It had caught on fire from a return curse and Blaise had ripped it off of him, and then had been pulled away by the rush of the mob. Neville could do nothing, but turn and continue to fight.
Neville was in the nursery. The medi-witches and wizards were running out of salves and potions for the overflowing Infirmary, so he was harvesting plants for Professor Snape. Professor Sprout was one of the patients in the Infirmary, having taken a blow to the head and hit with a Cruciatus curse. Neville knew there was no one else who was more familiar with the nursery, so he took over the Professor's job, though his heart protested his choice.
He'd seen Blaise once since the battle ended, though they were the length of a Quidditch pitch away from each other. Just the small glimpse had been enough to ease the painful grip that had taken his heart since the other boy had been ripped away from him during the fight.
He was getting low on plants. Two of the hot houses had been demolished in the attack. He'd asked the last medic if any supplies were en route from the Ministry. The older man had laughed and walked away, not bothering to answer.
His body was a mass of aches and pains. His elbow was acting funny, but he pushed the feeling away. He had too much to do and too little time to do it in. His shoulders and knees were trembling, but his hands, however, remained steady as they trimmed the precious leaves from the plants.
He had one last row of plants he could harvest. They were barely blooming seedlings, but that was all he had left. A sudden thought made him go still.
"Rosmerta." His voice was hoarse from shouting curses and screaming. He hadn't told the healers about the curses he'd been hit with. The memories of his parents rose up in his mind every time he opened his mouth, silencing his complaints.
"Rosmerta," he tried again. "Hear my plea. I know it's not right, but the plants – I need more of them and I can't – there's not enough…" His knees gave out on him and he braced his hands against the dirty floor. Cuts and nicks oozed blood into the earth.
"Please. I need your help."
"It is a terrible thing, war."
He looked up. She stood next to him, pristine and clean, with her hair a fiery tribute caught in the rays of the sun.
"There're no more plants I can harvest." He was too tired to get to his feet. "They destroyed the other hot houses. Professor Snape doesn't have anymore supplies."
"No more plants, you say?" She kneeled next to him and touched his cheek. Her eyes were the color of a clear summer day. "I think you need to look again." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Neville Longbottom, for your courage and your heart. Blessings, child, from me to you. Your hands will draw forth wonders this world has never seen." She drew back and faded from his view.
The air grew still in the nursery. Neville shuddered as the magic swept through him. His aches faded and his mind cleared. He climbed to his feet.
All of his plants were in full bloom.
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Blaise's parents had arrived. Both his fathers and his mothers had fussed over him, trying to get him to come home. He had smiled and hugged them, but put his foot down when they had attempted to drag him off.
"I won't leave. Not if Neville stays."
They had argued with him, plead and shouted, but he hadn't budged. Finally they took rooms in the castle, content to stay with their son for as long as they could.
Blaise was glad they were there. His fathers helped with the rubble, their expertise in construction a benefit for the teams of Aurors who were ready to collapse. Night had fallen, but the flow of wizard and muggle parents kept arriving in a constant stream. Pure blood, half-blood and muggle worked shoulder to shoulder, to clean and repair the castle and the battlefield. Blaise had watched the activities for a while, stunned but pleased.
The sudden stream of healers to the nurseries caught his eye. He frowned and hugged what remained of Neville's cloak to his chest.
He made his way to the battered glass building. Aurors had already reinforced the structure, making sure it would not fall and destroy what remained of the precious plants.
He found Neville deep in the nursery. He gazed around at the blooming plants, their heavy, heady scents filling his senses.
"Neville?"
The ex-Gryffindor jumped and spun around to face him. "Blaise!" He put the potted plant in his hands to the side and rushed to the Slytherin. Blaise grunted as Neville threw his arms around him, but held the smaller boy tight.
"I thought the plants had been stripped?" They were the first words out of his mouth and he wanted to kick himself for them.
"They were." Neville pulled back and beamed up at him. He was bruised and seemed to favor one arm, but seemed otherwise fine. The large bruise that covered one side of Blaise's face ached in sympathy.
"But then how…?"
"Rosmerta." Neville's eyes were shining. "She came and helped. The plants keep blooming, even after I trim them! Professor Snape has more than enough supplies now!" His enthusiasm dimmed as he took in the taller boy's face. "What happened?"
Blaise tried to smile, but only managed to get one side of his mouth to cooperate. "An angry giant. I'm fine."
"Have you been to a Healer yet?"
"Have you?"
Neville gave him a mutinous stare. "You could be hurt. We should take you to the Infirmary."
"Neville. I'm fine. My mothers checked me over. They're both trained nurses." Blaise touched the smaller boy's shoulder. "Your arm is hurt, though."
Neville looked away, even as a blush stained his cheeks. "It's nothing."
"Have you been looked at?"
Neville's silence was his answer.
"How much longer do you need to be in here?"
Neville looked at him, his eyes wide. "You're not going to drag me off?"
"Do I look like Draco? No, if you're alright to work, then do what you think you need to. We'll get you checked out by my mothers when you're done."
Neville's eyes shone. "Thank you, Blaise." He seemed to notice the garment that was hanging over Blaise's arm. "You found my cloak."
Blaise swallowed hard. "I found it. Outside." He waved in the direction of the battlefield, still unsure what to call it.
The other boy nodded. "I thought…You were swept away. I couldn't see you afterwards, when all the monsters were running away."
"I looked for you."
"So did I." They met each other's gazes. Neville moved closer to him.
Blaise leaned down and kissed him. The ex-Gryffindor gasped but curled his fingers into Blaise's robes. The Slytherin drew back and folded the smaller boy into a tight embrace.
"I can't believe you found my robe."
"I know."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I will be. Now."
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Bill and Ginny were in the Slytherin dorms. The younger girl would not rest until she had been able to see Harry, but the Healers had thrown them out before they could do so. They had returned to the dungeons in time to see Pansy and Millicent arrive. The trio of girls had collapsed into each other's arms, crying and laughing at turns. Bill had stayed back, content to watch over them and help the arriving parents find their children.
The two fifth year girls were now with their parents in the kitchens. Millicent's parents had wanted Bill and Ginny to come with them, but the Blacks had politely declined. The Bulstrodes head left, but not without promises to bring back food enough to feed the entire House. Bill did not doubt them.
They sat on the couch and watched the crackling fire. Bill had started it when night had fallen, needing the warm light to dispel the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Ginny sat curled up at his side, her head resting against his chest.
"It's like a dream."
Bill smoothed the dark auburn hair under his chin. He said nothing, but held her closer.
"I keep thinking that I'll wake up, and none of this will have happened." She reached out and touched her cane, which was propped against the edge of the couch. "It's – it's – surreal, you know?"
"I know."
"Are we really Blacks?"
"Yes."
"Did the – did the…"
"Yes, Ginny. It's all real."
She drew in a shaky breath. "Is it alright if I pretend that it isn't? Even just for a while?"
"No, Gin. It's all real, even the bad stuff."
"But –,"
"You can't pretend it didn't happen, love. Things like this – it makes it worse, if you do. It'll take longer to get over, to heal. That's why you can't pretend, or let anyone else to either. It's what happened the first time around. We all tried to pretend nothing that happened, that the rise of the Dark Lord was just a dream. It made us weak. It made us forget the lessons we learned the first time around. We can't forget, Gin. Otherwise it'll just happen again."
She sniffed and burrowed deeper into his side. "Is it over, though?"
Bill sighed and stared into the flames. "For now, it's over. But a whole new thing is just beginning. The castle needs to be rebuilt. The dead buried and the injured need to heal. Then maybe, it'll be completely over."
"Do you think people will forget?"
"Only if we let them, Gin. And we can't do that. To let them forget would mean everyone who died will have done so in vain. To let them forget means all the people who were hurt have no way to heal. We can't let them sweep it under the rug, like a dirty secret we don't want to think about. They have to remember, and we have to make sure they do."
"But what if we're tired? What if we want to rest?"
"There will be time for that." Bill rubbed her arm with his hand. "I promise."
"You think Harry will want to remember?"
Bill's hand stilled. "Yes, Gin. I do."
"Why?"
"Because that's who Harry is. He'll remember, probably better than all of us put together. He'll remember the names, he'll remember the faces. We can't let him do that alone."
"It would destroy him."
"Exactly, Gin. We can't let him carry this all on his own. We owe him too much to let him do that."
She reached out and curled a fist around her cane. She drew it to her chest, poking Bill in the process. "Sorry."
"It's alright."
"I'm glad summer's almost here."
"So am I."
"I'm glad Harry's coming home with us. He'll need us."
"Yes."
She turned her face into his chest. "Can I cry now, Bill?"
"Cry all you want, Gin. I'll always be here, anytime you need me to be."
The cane clattered to the floor as she turned to face him. He pulled her into his lap and held her tight to his chest.
The Bulstrodes never said a word when they arrived back at the dorms some time later. They merely put warming spells on the dishes and left them covered for the sleeping pair on the couch.
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Harry opened his eyes. He was in the Hospital Wing, in one of the long beds that lined the main Ward. He tried to move his head, but froze when pain washed through his body.
Swallowing was difficult. He blinked wet eyes and frowned. Something heavy was laying on his right hand, preventing his movement. He managed to turn his head a fraction, and smiled. A blond head had trapped his hand.
Harry's lips formed silent words. He tried a sound, but rejected the idea when a fresh wave of pain swept through his throat. His hand twitched in an effort to get to his neck. The movement woke Draco.
The blond looked up, his eyes hazy from sleep. The gray color sharpened as he noticed Harry's open eyes. "Harry!" Draco sat up straight, his hair sticking out on one side and a crease from the comforter pressed into the skin of his cheek. Draco turned, keeping a tight hold on Harry's right hand with his own, and called for Pomfrey.
The nurse's quick footsteps rattled down the hall. Harry rolled his eyes and tugged at his hand, but Draco refused to let it go. Their eyes met and Harry tried to smile at him. The blond's grip tightened.
Pomfrey's face was pale, and her normally tidy hair was at a disarray. Her cap was tilted to one side, and her right sleeve was stained dark brown in places. "Mr. Potter," her voice was ragged. "It is good to see you awake."
"…how long…" It was a whisper, but it was sound. The line of Pomfrey's shoulders relaxed.
"A day, Mr. Potter. You had us all quite worried." She handed a cup to Draco. The blond took it and offered it to Harry. The water felt good on his parched tongue and throat.
"You almost died." Draco didn't meet his eyes. The blond was staring at Harry's forehead. "You chose to die." Gray eyes sharpened and finally looked at him. There was pain and anger mixed with the relief. "Why, Harry?"
Harry took a deep breath and regretted it. He moved his head to one side, chewing on his lower lip. "There was no other way." His throat hurt to speak, almost too much. "I – I can't…" He moved on the bed, closing his eyes and trying to push away the pain.
"Here, Mr. Potter. Sit up." Brisk hands pulled the pillows so he could sit straight. Cold hands raised his chin and examined his throat. "I'll be right back, Mr. Malfoy. Make sure he doesn't speak."
Harry opened his eyes once he heard the nurse's retreating footsteps. He looked at the blond and reached for him. Draco hesitated, but moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
Harry touched Draco's cheek, tracing the angles with a trembling hand. He let his fingers ghost over the arched eyebrows, down the aquiline nose, and outline the thin lips. He shook his head and made a writing motion.
Draco gave him a pad of writing paper and a quill. Harry's scrawl was shaky, but legible.
"You did it for…me?" Draco's eyebrows pulled together as he read the script. "You wanted to die to save me?"
And everyone else too.
The blond shook his head. "You said you'd never leave me Harry. You promised."
I would have waited. Harry met the blond's gaze. It was the only way, Draco. The only way and you know it.
"No I don't know it, Harry. It shouldn't have been the only way. It shouldn't." Draco gripped Harry's face with is chilled hands and stared into his eyes. "You're mine, Potter. And nothing, come death or the bloody headmaster himself will ever take you away from me again, do you understand?"
Harry reached for Draco again, arranging the blond as he curled into Harry's embrace. No sound escaped him, but the broad shoulders shook and his hands were curled tight into the thin gown the smaller boy was wearing.
Harry rested his cheek against the soft hair and rubbed slow circles onto Draco's back. He stared out over his head, towards the tall windows devoid of glass. I understand, Draco. Harry tucked the thought away and let his eyes close as he felt the room shift. He could still see an imprint of the infirmary behind his eyelids, only now there was a faint glow around the beds that had the curtains drawn around them. He opened his eyes in time to see a dark shape disappear from the windowsill. I understand.
Madam Pomfrey said nothing when she returned. She helped Harry drink the thick potion, jostling Draco as little as possible. The blond had fallen asleep, succumbing to the exhaustion that had created deep circles under his eyes.
Harry moved strands of white blond hair off Draco's forehead, and shifted the boy to his side. He ignored the room shifting in and out of focus and the strange creatures that had gathered at the door. They winked in and out of existence, some coming back to gawk, while others left for good.
The faint caw of a crow sent the critters scattering. Harry smiled at their retreating backs. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the warmth of the boy at his side. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
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The early dawn light painted the school grounds in blues and grays. Ginny stood at the castle's main entrance and watched the sun rise above the line of the trees.
It had been three days since the battle. The grounds had been swept clean of bodies, but the grass was still black in places. Aurors and Healers still filled the halls and the flux of Order members came and went from day to day. She hadn't met up with her former family yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time.
"Ginny?"
The young witch tensed. She turned and saw the remains of her former family gathered in front of her. Arthur had been the one to speak. The former head of the Weasley clan was pale, and had a bruise decorating his chin. Molly hung back, her eyes still wet with tears. The twins hovered around her.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"
"Ginny – I –," Arthur made a helpless gesture. "I don't know what to say. All of this – all of the lies Percy told us…" Arthur's expression was haggard. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes. "I'm sorry. I am so very sorry. I wish…"
"Ginny?" Molly's quavering voice cut Arthur off. Ginny swallowed hard and gripped her cane tight. "Oh Ginny!" Molly rushed forward, scattering the twins and wrapped her arms around the small girl.
Ginny went rigid. She tried to pull away from the woman holding her tight. "Please let me go, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh Ginny!" The older woman sobbed into the auburn hair.
"Mrs. Weasley!" With a wrench, Ginny managed to free herself. She took a few staggering steps away from the older woman and placed her cane between them. "I am not your daughter anymore. Please remember that."
Molly wrung her hands and reached for her. Ginny raised her cane. "Ginny, oh Ginny. I'm sorry, honey. I'm so, so sorry…" The older woman dissolved into tears once more. Fred and George caught her as she began to fall, both of them shooting dark glances at Ginny.
"What's going on here?" Charlie's haggard voice cut the tension. The Weasley patriarch appeared out of the gloom and looked at the gathering crowd. "Forgive me…Ms. Black." His eyes were shadowed and he grimaced. "I didn't know they were still here." He turned to face his family. "The Healers have Ron stabilized at St. Mungos. We're allowed to go see him, now."
Molly's wails grew in intensity until she fainted. The twins fussed over her, as Arthur stared in numbed shock.
"Charlie?" Ginny put the older boy between her and her former family.
He turned to face her. "Yes?"
"Is…" She bit her lower lip. "Is he going to be alright?"
Charlie's shoulder sagged. "They don't know. He's lost all sight in one eye. They think they might be able to save the other."
"But…Ron hates spiders. He always has."
"Yeah. I know." Charlie rubbed a dirty hand over his face. "They don't know how he is mentally. They'll need to keep him sedated until the healing potions can work to try and save his eye. Then…we'll see."
Ginny nodded and planted her cane on the ground. She gestured him closer, out of earshot of the rest. "You'll tell me…if you need anything, right?"
"Gin." Charlie rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't. Really. It'll be alright. You'll see."
"I don't…I don't care about them." She raised her chin and blinked away her tears. "I just want to make sure you'll be taken care of."
"We'll stay in touch." He touched her cheek. The fading light hid the expression in his eyes. "I promise."
"Why are you talking to her?" Fred's sharp tone made them turn. He stood in front of Molly, with his hands clenched at his side. "Don't you see Mum needs help?"
"Mum needs a lot of things right now, Fred. But right now what Mum needs most is to not bother the Healers." Charlie stared down the younger boy.
"Why, so they can focus on the traitorous little bastards like her…"
"Enough!" Charlie seemed to grow a foot taller. "I have had enough of the poisonous lies that have warped this family. I am the patriarch of this clan, Fred. Don't you ever forget that. Father and Mum don't have any say in who I keep and who I exile from the home and name. Don't make me start with you."
"You wouldn't!"
"Try me." The brothers glared at each other. "Apologize to Ms. Black. Immediately."
"No."
"Charlie, really…"
"No. Fred. Apologize."
"But…"
Ginny put a tentative hand on Charlie's arm. Fred took a step forward, causing her to draw back. The older boy watched her movement, and something changed in his eyes.
"You're afraid of me?"
Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I'm a Black. We're not afraid of anything." She raised her chin.
A line appeared between Fred's brows. He glanced at Charlie and then looked back at her. The tense line of his shoulders eased. "I'm sorry." He sounded lost. "I'm sorry."
Ginny sniffed, and tightened her grip on her cane. "I shouldn't accept, but I will. Apology accepted." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and tried to quell the chill that had touched the back of her neck.
"You're right." Fred nodded, still looking at her. "You really shouldn't accept it." He broke their gaze and looked at the ground. "I don't, I don't…" He shook his head and turned away. "How could this have happened?" He knelt next to Molly and helped George get her to her feet.
"Ginny! Ginny!" The older woman struggled against their hold. Sanity had fled from the woman's eyes.
"Ginny Weasley is dead, ma'am." Ginny swallowed hard, but managed to meet the wild eyes. "Let go of her ghost and concentrate on the sons you have left." She straightened her shoulders and turned away. She ignored the howl and rising cry of the woman who had given birth to her. Ahead the castle was beginning to come to life. Lights began to appear in the windows, and somewhere inside she knew there was a father and a brother waiting for her. That was all she needed, nothing more.
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"Harry? Harry!"
"Sirius wake up!" Remus shook his lover's shoulder, wrestling with the furious limbs that tried to fight him off.
"Harry!" The animagus sat up, almost tumbling Remus off the bed. "Where is he?"
"He's fine, Padfoot. He's fine." Remus reached out and took the other man's hands in a firm grip. "He's in the infirmary. He's alive."
Blazing blue eyes locked with his. "Alive." The animagus' shoulders sagged as the tension ran out of him. "Alive. It was a dream. Just a dream."
Remus gathered the other man close. Nightmares had been plaguing Sirius since Harry's heart had stopped on the battlefield, five days before. He had cradled the body close, howling with grief, not letting anyone near the body, fighting even Draco off in his grief. Then Harry had started breathing, and the medi-wizards had all but ripped the boy from his godfather's arms.
They had let no one into the infirmary until they had declared the boy stable. The other wounded had had to be treated in make-shift tents erected outside the school. Their losses were light, compared to the army of Death Eaters. The dead bodies had had been collected and taken to a morgue in Knockturn Alley. No one knew what to do with them.
There had been some surrenders after Voldemort had been vanquished. Most turned their wands onto themselves, unwilling to be captured by the Order and the arriving Ministry officials. An unknown number had escaped, and had yet to be found.
Remus had nearly been taken as a Dark Creature. If it had not been for Sirius' defense and the Slytherin students gathering around him, the werewolf would have been caged and dealt with. Remus pushed the memories of the hard faced Aurors away and concentrated on the man in his arms instead.
"I have to go see him." Sirius pulled away and slid out of bed. He wobbled, but regained his balance. The thin frame had lost too much weight, Remus noted, much to his displeasure.
Remus dressed and followed Sirius to the infirmary. Other beds had curtains around them, giving them some sense of privacy. All of the private rooms were full, and Harry had been moved out to the Main Ward when his injuries had been deemed stabilized.
Harry's blond shadow was no where to be seen. Remus was glad – Draco had not been faring well, and it had taken all of his father's and Severus' might to get him to leave Harry's side even for a few minutes.
Sirius sank down into the chair at Harry's bedside. The bandages around the boy's throat were gone, leaving the angry red scars to the night air. "Harry," the animagus' voice was a whisper. "Oh kiddo." Sirius picked up a limp hand and held it tight.
"He's fine, Padfoot. See?" Remus stood next to his friend and lover, one hand on his shoulder.
"He almost wasn't."
"I know."
"I almost lost him."
"I know."
Sirius bowed his head. "What did Pomfrey say about – about…"
"She said his vocal chords were damaged, but that with time and care he would be able to speak normally again. He may always speak with a rasp, but they are optimistic." Remus let the man's shoulder go and sat at the foot of the bed. He laid a hand on the blanket-covered shin. "Harry's a survivor. He'll get through this. You'll see."
Sirius' head came up. His brows were drawn together and deep lines were etched onto his face. "Bill and Ginny?"
"They're fine, Sirius." The Weasleys' attempt to reclaim their daughter had also added to the stress on Sirius. The animagus loved his new family, Remus knew that. But that they would not leave Sirius was a fear no amount of talking could ease from the animagus' mind.
"Bill's in the Slytherin dorms with Ginny. They won't let Molly or Arthur near them." The Slytherin students had not taken down the added wards around their dorms, even at the direct orders from the Minister himself. Remus had applauded their common sense.
"Good, good." Sirius let out a shaky breath. "I can't wait to take him home."
Remus shifted on the bed. "Which home?"
Sirius blinked at him, his mouth hanging open in a small oh of surprise. "We haven't fixed the house up yet?"
Fudge's crawling apologies had rung hollow to everyone. The heaping awards he had in line for Harry and the other Slytherins had been met with icy disdain, even before the official celebration and awards ceremony had been held. Lucius had wrangled in secret for the remaining ancestral Black houses that had been stuck in the grip of the government. Sirius had tried to thank the man, but Lucius would not hear of it. He had told the animagus to think of it as a present from him to Harry. Then the Malfoy patriarch had turned and walked away. Along with Sirius' House, Lucius had also managed get boons for the rest of the Slytherin students and their families – which was another thing the elder Malfoy would not publicly admit to.
"Which one did you want to take him to?"
Sirius chewed on his lower lip. "The one in the country. Over by the Malfoy estate." He nodded once. He turned his gaze back to Harry and the lines around his mouth eased. "I have a feeling it'll be easier on both him and Draco if we do that."
Remus nodded. "That would be a good thing."
"He'll like it there. Mother," Sirius' voice broke. "Mother took me there once. It's a little smaller than the Malfoy place, but has enough rooms for us all. There's a huge stables there. I wonder if Harry would like to learn to ride."
"I'm sure he would." Remus slid off the bed. "Come, Sirius. Let's go back to bed. Percy's trial is tomorrow. You need to be rested for that."
They'd found the Weasley boy in the Great Hall. He had been sitting at the head of the Gryffindor Table with a bizarre smile spread across his face. He hadn't struggled when the Aurors had taken him into custody. Nor had he said a word as his mother threw herself at him, alternately cursing and crying his name.
"Percy." A dangerous light entered Sirius' eyes. He shook his head and looked down at the silent boy on the bed. "I don't want to talk about him here."
"I understand." Remus tugged on the animagus' arm. "Come along, Sirius."
The lanky ex-convict stood, putting the boy's hand back down on the bed. "Sleep well, kiddo. We'll see you soon." He kissed the pale forehead, over the fading mark that had brought such fame and infamy. The scar was almost gone now – only a pale reminder was left, and even that was fading into unblemished skin.
Their footsteps were loud as they left the room, not looking back.
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The infirmary lights dimmed. From the open windows, flapping wings were heard. The Morrigan stood on high sill and glanced down the long aisle.
She hopped down and stood over the child's bed. She reached out and touched the pale cheek. "Dream child," she said. "Lovely, brave boy you are." Her fingers fell away from the cool skin as she leaned close.
"Dream well, beautiful boy. Heal fast and well. We will meet again, my pet. Under better and worse circumstances, of that I'm sure. You're a good boy." Pale lips touched and she pulled away. "We are all proud of you, Dreamer. Sleep well."
She reached to her hair and withdrew a strand. She laid it across the angry scars. The strand shimmered and melted into his skin. She reached out and caressed the dark hair – as dark as her own – and then stepped away. "Until we meet again, Harry my dear." Her form shimmered and a large crow flapped its wings. It raised its head and cawed, the harsh sound stirring the sleepers in their beds. The form lifted and winged out the window, disappearing into the night.
End Chapter 47