Dedicated to Firedrack05

My cat Hero died a week ago today and I'm still…not really over it. He was my baby and my cuddle bug. So I decided to channel some of my…I can't think of the word. So enjoy the next chapter.

Thank you.

The Statues of Ptah

Harry knew he should be devastated, sobbing along with his duo of Weasleys. Something was cloaking it though, 'Not yet,' it whispered, 'Heal and soothe.' Harry crooned again and nuzzled at George, wrapped his arm around Ron. The two slowly stopped their sobbing, hiccupping as they clutched at the one armed teen.

"Harry. Harry, 'Mione's gone. She's…" Ron's face crumpled, a choked sob forcing its way from his throat unbidden. "Dad too, 'e fell protecting Mum." George's arms tightened and forced a grunt from Harry. "I think Mum is alright. Last I saw she was back to back with Mrs. Malfoy." A small smirk flitted across his face, gone as fast as it came. Harry clicked in vague amusement, nudging at George's remaining ear.

"Oi, I'd like to keep at least one ear, mate. Not so loud, eh?" George's smile was tremulous and his voice watery at best, but the smile was there and Harry smiled back. A hand reached up and ran through the transformed savior's hair. "Wonder what you are. Don't really have hair now do ya?"

And Harry was aware. Aware of the minute trembling of exhaustion from the effort of raising that hand, knew that the earless man was suffering from sitting in the cold and bloody mud. Knew that there was very little will to live left in him and nobody was going to give up on his watch.

Harry ignored the fact that he was completely starker's, the humming veil in his head masking his sheer horror and grief. He heaved himself to his feet, stubbornly dragging the red heads clinging to him so that they were kneeling at his feet and still clinging to his waist. "This is what we need." Harry ignored that thought, running his clawed hand through their hair gently, one after the other. He stepped back carefully, pulled them to their feet as he warbled his encouragement. Ron was first to climb to his feet, George almost falling back to the ground if wasn't for his brother helping him. He coaxed them onward, feeling where there was the greatest congregation of people and tried to ignore the slurry of blood, mud, and decomposing parts he was slogging through. Barefoot. Best not to think of that.

They made it to the Quidditch pitch without incident, picking their way through the corpses. The ground was packed with wounded and Healers in once white robes rushed between the narrow spaces cleared between the bodies. Harry watched grimly as a body was covered and levitated underneath the stands. "Can't be disrespectin' the dead," the Healer explained tiredly as she trudged past,"Best to tuck them away from busy feet."

Ron was now helping Harry support his despondent brother, dragging him to the goal posts where a large potions station was set up. Snape is there, ragged and paler than usual, thick off-white bandages hiding his neck and bare chest. "Get him to drink this and lay him down with the others." Snape is quick and precise, handing a small vial to Ron, his other three arms continuing to stir the many smoking cauldrons. He didn't blink at the sight, just took the bottle and dragged his brother to a clear spot against the one of the seating's wall.

Harry gently eased George down, thrumming as gently as he could to the red head, placing his head on his crossed legs. He carefully opened the clenched jaws, allowing Ron to pour the potion down the reluctant man's throat. George swallowed slowly, breath evening as he was dropped into a dreamless sleep. He ran his clawed hand gently through the dirty red hair, 'This is good,' that voice whispered, 'mark him.' Harry didn't even think about it, he leaned down and gently rubbed his cheek along his hair. A low buzz emanated from the back of his throat as he nosed along the sleeping man's face, a high rattle accompanying and complimenting the buzz.

"Harry? Mate, what are you doin'?" Ron murmured, staring tiredly at his friend. Harry just buzzed louder and patted Ron's face absently. "You look like a bee. Why are you bein' a cat?" He narrowed his eyes at Harry, not really noticing when his eyes slipped shut entirely.

He snaps immediately awake when he feels something carefully grip the back of his neck. Ron thrashes to life, fighting the hold on his neck and bucking at the body that was trying to hold him down. He couldn't get away, they got him and he can't get away nononononono! "Zzztik!" A familiar voice shouts and that's his friend, his brother. His panic eases as he opens his eyes to see the strange creature his friend has become. His messy black hair is now some form of spines or spikes, still somehow seeming haphazard, that are shaking and rattling. The face is blessedly still the same, even with the newer wounds having turned into ropes and lines of dark pink flesh. Harry looks at him with concern gently stroking his hair with his only arm, the expression twisting the scar that extended from his famous lightning bolt and through where his eyebrows were. The skin has turned a light gold with thick bands of black striping his arm and legs, bracketing the shoulders and back; but not touching his neck chest and belly.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!" And Ron now knows exactly what his friends teeth looked like as he screeched in his face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, and jeez you got a set of lungs." The red head winced as he rubbed at his ringing ear. Harry just looked relieved and hugged him as best he could. Ron winced as his sore body protested but ignored it and just clutched him closer. And turned red at realizing his best friend and brother was completely starker. "Uh, Harry?"

"Mm?"

"You're naked."