We Were Soldiers

We Were Soldiers

By Argenteus Draco

Part Five

    There are times in everyone’s life that you just never forget. And I will never forget the day of the final battle of the War Against Voldemort. The Light side had been completely unprepared for the attack. There had been a party the night before; everyone was sleeping in. The hospitals were un-croweded and the nurses were told to rest a while. Several soldiers were put off duty for the time. I was one of them.

    I remember being at home when I heard about it. Several of my friends had been over the night before, and Remus Lupin had spent the night. We were just sitting down to breakfast when he turned on the radio and we heard it.

    The light side base had been attacked. Hundreds were dead already, and more wounded. Still more were fighting the enemy back, and the casualties on the Dark Side were almost as heavy. And I was at home, with hot food in front of me, and in no danger.

    The rest of the day is still a blur to me. I set out immediately, Remus with me. Although he hadn’t truly been enlisted nor had he volunteered, he went. I don’t remember getting there, but I remember seeing the destruction. By the time we arrived the battle itself was over. Several small fights broke out over the next few hours when those surviving members of the Dark Side were found, but nothing more than that happened.

    Remus and I began trying to help in the hospitals. I’ll never forget all those people lying in those beds, crisp, white linen stained crimson with blood. Some of those men were missing limbs, others bore wounds that were strictly non-magical. And so many of them were still only boys. My godson, Harry, who was only twenty two at the time, lay in one of those beds, pale and sweating. I spoke to him when he woke up, but he refused to talk about what he’d seen. He didn’t want to think about it. No one did. I don’t blame him.

    There were other faces that stand out clearly in my memory. George Weasley, who was in all night, having seizures from exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. His twin brother, Fred, who sat vigil beside his bed that whole time, his face pale and sweating. A little boy who couldn’t have been more than eight in the black robes of a Death Eater, fighting for his life after the Dark Mark on his arm was found infected; his left arm had to be amputated.

    We treated both sides in that hospital, not just members of the Light Side. I still feel my insides twist when I remember some of things I saw there. War is not all glory, as Harry so eloquently put it. In fact, there is very little glory in actual war.

    That does not mean, however, that no glory comes with war. And it doesn’t necessarily come in the form of medals and badges. Those things are purely material, and for war to be justified, there must be more than that. Like a man who can go home to find his true love and marry her. The knowledge that you helped save at least one life for each you took.

    A little boy without an arm being adopted into a new family that will love him no matter what, despite what he may believe and what he went through with his first family.

    I have seen both war and glory; pain and happiness. None of my comrades didn’t. Even those who died. Because there are three things we all knew when we marched into battle: that we would die fighting if necessary, what would happen when this was all finally over, and what we were.

    We were soldiers.