Remus Lupin awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Struggling to catch it, he sat up, rubbing his aching chest. It was dark, and black heaps littered the lawn in front of where he lay. Where had the battle gone? Yes, he knew there had been a fight, he had been in it. It was Hogwarts’s final stand against evil. He had been duelling Dolohov, but where was everyone? The flashes of light, the people locked in a fight to the death, the screams and shouts had all gone. The battle had moved away from the lawns.
How long had he been unconcious? The grounds were silent, so it must have been some time, the fight had been raging in his memory. His thoughts turned to his comrades, how did they fare? Where was Dora? Was she alright? She had been beside him, fighting a masked Death Eater, some unknown terror. He had to find her.
He hauled himself to his feet, wincing with the pain that must have been caused with the spell had hit him, what had it been? Had he been merely stunned, or was it something more sinister? He was sure that Dolohov would not be content to merely leave his victim lying unconcious on the ground. He checked himself, twitching his limbs, nothing felt wrong, he could use his arms and legs, he could stand for goodness sake, and all his senses seemed fine, yet something was wrong. The silence that had been cast over the grounds was eerie, it was too quiet. Had something happened?
What were these bundles heaped like rocks over the grass? He approached the nearest one, and saw with a shock that it was a body, the black folds of robes had fallen across the victim’s face. Or was it a victim? He could not tell whether the body belonged to Death Eater or comrade. He couldn’t bare to lift the material and identify the fallen. He knew he should, but he couldn’t force his hands to work, they wouldn’t obey his brain. What if it was someone he cared about?
Full of shame at his cowardice, he turned away from all the bodies, and walked towards the castle, determinedly not looking down, trying not to see the blank faces that stared up at him. By the time he reached the steps to the Entrance Hall, he was running. Just as he was about to throw open the door, two figures emerged.
‘Time for another,’ one burdened voice said. It was Neville Longbottom.
His companion, who Remus recognised at the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, merely nodded in agreement, head bowed.
They did not see him. It was understandable, Remus thought. They were only young, and had never seen the likes of this before. He watched as they made their way over to one of the bundles that he had been to weak to even look at, and gently uncovered the face. From where he was, Remus could not tell who it was, but Neville shook his head, and he and Oliver left the bundle and went to another. This one, however, they hoisted gently into the air, and carried it across the grass. They were recovering bodies.
He could look no longer, could not bare to see them, so young, doing what he could not find the courage to even attempt. The symbolism of the two youths stumbling amongst the dead, bearing between them a small and petite body, was too much for him to bear. He closed his eyes, and made to turn away, but some other sense was awoken in him. Something was shouting at him, telling him that he was a bigger man than this, that he was braver, more courageous. To turn away, scared of bodies, was akin to something that Voldemort would do, Remus Lupin would not be guilty of such cowardice. The voice reasoning with him sounded like Dora.
Taking strength from her voice, he walked back down the steps towards the boys. Again, they gave no inclination that he was there, too troubled with their task, too intent on maneuvering around the fallen. Eventually, they reached him, and he opened his mouth to speak, but he looked down at the body they bore. It was Dora.
It felt like the world momentarily fell away from him. He was spinning, spinning away from reality, he had been borne away from here, to a terrible aching place, something was tearing at his heart, trying to wrench it from his chest and fling it into the abyss that seemed to stretch before him...
But then he heard her voice again, she was talking to him, calming him, bringing him back to the castle, he would see her soon, she was saying. But for now he had to be brave, be brave and do what Harry needs you to do. Keep going.
His vision swam back into focus, and he saw her again, peaceful in death, not a scratch on her. She could have been sleeping. A small tear leaking from his eye, he reached down and took a hand that was hanging by her side. Slowly, they made their way up the steps and into the Entrance Hall, oblivious to anything that might have been said to him, unaware of the state of the Hall. The silence was deafening now.
The door to the Great Hall was open, and there were a large number of people grouped around something in the middle. Remus dimly wondered what it was, but a crowd of Weasley’s parted when he, Neville and Oliver approached, bearing their slumbering burden.
They lowered Dora gently to the floor, and Remus kept a hold on her hand, smoothing her hair out of her eyes with the other. Nobody had come to him, he was grateful for that. He needed a moment to grieve. His eyes flicked automatically to the body she was sleeping next to, and his tear filled eyes widened with shock and disbelief.
It was him.
He lay there, cold and unharmed, and looked too like he could be merely sleeping. He let go of Dora’s hand, and looked wildly at the group of people clustered near him, wondering what was happening. How could he lie there, clearly dead, yet be here now, thinking and walking and talking? Nobody was looking at him. Was he a ghost? He looked down at his hands, they were substantial, defiantly solid, but he noticed that they were pale, far paler than his skin was normally, paler than those stood about him.
Was he some sort of ghost? A different kind of ghost, a kind of pre-spirit? Or was this the afterlife? Was it heaven? No, he thought. If he was in heaven, Dora would be with him, he was sure of that. Dora, her father, Sirius, Lily, James, they would all be here if he was in heaven. Maybe it was hell. No, he thought. Hell would be worse, much worse. All he felt now was confusion mingled with sadness. Hell would be pain and fire worse than this, worse than even his transformations had been back when there was no Wolfsbane potion, and no friends to help him out.
He stood up, none of the Weasleys who were all grouped next to him, noticed. He peered through their bodies to see who or what they were looking at, and saw with a shock, one of the twins, a long gash on his forehead, both ears in tact.
Fred.
Remus felt a pang of grief as he looked on the youngster’s face, but not nearly what he had felt when he had seen Dora. If he was truly dead, he would see them all again soon. He would see Dora again, and Fred, and all who had lost their life this day, and whose bodies were also lined up here beside his own.
It was strange to think that. Strange that he should be standing here, looking down on his own dead body. He remembered an evening back at Grimmauld Place, two years ago now, when he and Sirius had found Molly Weasley sobbing over Harry’s dead body. Harry had been there, looking strangely down at himself sprawled on the floor. He knew now how Harry had felt, but it had been different then. Harry knew that the body was not real, merely a boggart, but he, Remus, was not sure. He didn’t even know if he was alive.
He thought back to Molly, surely before he had gotten to her, the boggart must have turned into the body of Fred. Now she was living that nightmare. His heart went out to her. He knew what she felt, his wife was dead, and for a while, if only a short while, he had thought that he would have to continue without her, alone once again.
He turned away from them, those whom he could not comfort. He left the Great Hall altogether, and wandered into the Entrance Hall. Oliver and Neville had returned with another body. Remus didn’t look down. He would see whoever it was soon enough, he knew. Just as he would see the others that he had loved and lost. He knew now that he was dead, that he would be off on his journey soon. He could not say how he knew, he just did. It was almost as if a sixth sense was reaching out to him, telling him that it was not his time yet, however. He had some other purpose first, one final task.
A Stone From the Riverbank by Sapphire at Dawn
Chapter Notes: Sorry this has taken so long for me to add another chapter; writing, plotting and planning Shine a Light got in the way. But after reading the wonderful stuff Kara wrote in the reccomendations thread (thank you so much!!), I thought I should probably add another chapter! Thanks once again for katie/harrypotter627 for beta'ing.
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks very much for reading. Reviews make my day! *hint hint*