Remus woke up with the most splitting headache he'd ever had and he'd lived through the aftermath of some terrible full moons. This was nothing g of those, this had to be about a hundred times worse. What had happened to him? He was alive? If he was in this pain then he better damn well be alive.
A grunt escaped him and even that hurt but it didn't hurt as much as the gasp he heard in front of him and then the sudden feeling of being squeezed. Oh, his ribs were sore too, it turned out. Everything hurt.
Suddenly his face was full of Dora. Dora with her rapidly changing colour hair as she didn't know what emotion to feel. Grief. Relief. Fear. Hope. Happiness. Sadness.
"You're alive. You're okay."
"I don't feel okay," he tried to said self-deprecatingly but kt only came out in a lain-filled voice.
"Dolohov got you good," Kingsley said, making him jump.
He hadn't heard him come up behind him.
"We don't know exactly all what he hit you with," Dora said quietly, looking worried. "Your injuries were healed and a few hexes were removed from your body."
That was why he felt like that dull thrombin was blossoming from inside his chest out.
"I'm okay, I'm here," he tried to reassure her, patting her back and trying not to wince and her weight on him.
Had he mentioned that everything ached? And there was a stabbing pain coming from his side.
"What about you?" He asked, taking in her appearance.
Her face was streaked with soot and blood and Merlin knows what else. There was a gash over her lip that looked freshly healed and she was pale, very pale.
"Bellatrix got me," she said quietly. "Went flying. Cracked a few ribs. Apparently, my lung is bruised?"
"I didn't know you could do that," Remus chuckled weakly.
If he didn't laugh, he would cry. Dora was alive. She was here.
"We were worried about both of you for a moment," Kingsley said quietly, a solemn look on his face.
Remus' heart sank. He knew that look. That look had come with Moody's death. With countless others. One of their own had died.
"Who?" Remus asked a feeling of dread rising in him.
He didn't wait for an answer as he scanned the room. Bodies upon bodies upon bodies. Some long, others so very small. His heart ached. So much death.
And then he saw it. Them. The Weasleys. Molly. Arthur. Bill. Percy. Ron. George. No Fred. George looked numb. No Fred.
"No," Remus breathed.
Dora choked back a sob and Kingsley only nodded. No.
He could not see Fred's body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Molly was lying across Fred's chest, her body shaking. Arthur stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.
Fred. Fred was dead. Fred Weasley. The other half the Weasley twins. Dead. How? What? Remus was having trouble processing it.
Then after Fred there were more bodies. More bodies. He found himself counting them and then he had to stop. There were so many. So many.
And then there were the injured. The broken. They were getting healed as best as they could. People were sitting around in shock. In pain. There were people with blank faces, people who were restless, wand held firmly in their hands.
Why did it feel so wrong that he was alive?
Remus suddenly realised that he no longer knew what time it was, nor how much time had passed. Was it morning? Was it evening? Did it really matter anymore? Everything hurt. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. And he was tired. So tired. Tired of everything.
But it wasn't over. Not yet.
"Gas anyone seen Harry?" He asked hoarsely, suddenly realising that he wasn't with the Weasleys, or even in the Hall.
Why wasn't he here? Where was he? Remus scanned the room again, hoping that he'd just missed him or that he'd been sitting down or something out of the way. But he was wrong. Harry definitely wasn't here. He wasn't here.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
He scrambled to his feet, hands searching everywhere for his wand.
"Remus, you shouldn't be up," Dora urged him. "We don't even know the extent of your internal injuries."
"I feel fine," the lie came easily to his tongue.
Dora didn't look like she believed him but he didn't need her to believe him. Not really. As long as she didn't stop him. Which she didn't. Instead, she gave him a hard look and then nodded. Resoluteness on her own face.
He knew he couldn't tell her to take it easy. To stay. That would be hypocritical and he wouldn't want her too anyway.
They both got shakily to their feet, Remus trying to think where Harry would go. If only he knew what Albus' plan was. If only Harry had shared it. Then he would know what to do.
Before they could do anything, Voldemort himself spoke to them, yet again, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the ground, crashing upon Remus' eardrums. He couldn't help but flinch. His ears were sensitive, after all. Not that that mattered with the words that were spoken.
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."
Remus felt something break inside of him. Something fell apart. Left him. Leaving an empty space.
"No," Dora breathed.
"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."
Remus looked around at everyone. Everyone was shaking their heads, looking disgusted, looking lost, looking defeated. This couldn't be happening. Not after everything they'd done. Everything they'd been through. They couldn't have lost. No. No. No.
There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Defiant silence. These were people who were broken and afraid and beaten and bloody. But they were also strong and still hopeful and angry. Anger was so much more effective than hope. It made you ready to fight. To want to fight. To need to.
As one, all who could move went to the Entrance Hall. Remus leaned heavily against Kingsley and Dora limped along, arms wrapped around him.
They were still here. They would still fight. Wouldn't they?
And then they saw it. Him.
"NO!"
The scream was the more terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Minerva could make such a sound. He heard another women laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in Minerva's despair.
"No!"
"No!"
"Harry! HARRY!"
That was Ron's voice. Hermione's, Ginny's. His was also thrown in there, involuntarily. As was Dora's.
Their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters, until - "SILENCE!" cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"
"You, see?" said Voldemort, striding backward and forward. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
"He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.
"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," said Voldemort, and there was a relish in his voice for the lie. "Killed while trying to save himself- "
It was a lie. A dirty, great lie. Remus felt himself grow enraged at such nonsense. Such filth. His fists clenched.
But before he could at on it, though he had no idea what that action would be, there was a scuffle and a loud noise from the front. A lone figure stood in front of them all. Neville Longbottom.
Neville Longbottom, that terrified thirteen-year-old, whose greatest fear was one of his teachers, was standing up to Voldemort. Goading him. Making him angry. This was no scared boy; this was strong man.
But mere strength and anger and defiance was not enough to be a threat to Voldemort. And unfortunately, this was proven true.
Remus couldn't help but shout as Neville was set on fire, the Sorting Hat on his head. Voldemort actually set him on fire as punishment for his defiance. Someone else was going to die right in front of him and there was nothing that he could do about it.
But instead of falling to the ground in one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle - The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet, it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort's mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake's body thudded to the ground at his feet.
They were fighting again.
