Casualties of War

Draco found Remus walking along the edge of the cliffs, far outside the boundary of warm weather that kept the Farmhouse habitable. He fell in step silently beside the man that he'd never quite stopped thinking of as his professor, and they walked together in comfortable quiet. Draco liked being on the cliffs; the crash of the waves on the rocky beach below blocked out all other noise and brought back comfortable childhood memories of holidays on the Isle of Wight. The sky was a lovely grey that Draco had always loved; it was his mother's favourite weather. She had been known to say that any weather that made your cheeks pink couldn't be spoken ill of.

Remus leaned heavily on his cane these days, and whenever they came upon loose stones underfoot, Draco offered an arm without thought. Sirius would have recognized the impulse; they had much in common when it came to manners. The Blacks always had excellent manners. Draco's mother had always blamed the Malfoy side of Draco's heritage for his temperament. Remus accepted wordlessly, allowing Draco to steady him as they made their way across Remus' land.

Remus settled unsteadily onto his favourite boulder. It overlooked the ocean from a particularly lonely vista, which appealed greatly to him in his more melodramatic moods. The waves crashed against ancient rocks and sent a fine, heady spray into the air. He watched the water swirl back, a quick pause before another wave, and tried to catch his breath. The icy wind from the shore dried the sweat on his face, and he shut his eyes gratefully as he tipped his head back. Draco sat next to him without a word, his thin arms wrapped around himself, shivering slightly in the cold.

Smiling, Remus pulled his wand from his pocket, casting a Warming Charm on them both. Draco quirked a grin at him.

It was August 12th, and Harry and Draco's fifth year would begin in a little more than two weeks. Remus had spoken with Albus that morning, discussing bringing the boys back to school. Voldemort's whereabouts were still unknown, and they knew little more about the curse that was laid upon Draco then they had at the beginning of the summer, but Albus had pointed out that they could hardly be safer anywhere else. Harry was excited about the prospect of returning to school; Draco was non-committal. Sirius was probably still talking with Albus, negotiating how often he and Remus could visit.

Remus hadn't had the will to ask how Severus' research was coming.

Draco had scooped up a handful of pebbles and was tossing them one by one off the cliff. He glanced at Remus surreptitiously now and then from the corner of his eyes. Remus kept his gaze fixed on the ocean, fighting a chuckle.

"Pansy had a crush on you in third year," Draco offered, at length. Remus blinked.

"Did she?" Remus laughed softly, blushing a bit.

Draco reached down for another handful of pebbles. "She would always make fun of me for being so ... obsessed with Harry. She said I liked him, that I was like a little boy pulling on the pigtails. She never put up with me saying bad things about you, though."

He lapsed into silence. Remus watched a pair of gulls, specks of colour against the rocks, play against the shore.

"Does it ever get any easier?" Draco asked. His voice was wistful.

"Does what get any easier?" Remus said. He tilted his head towards Draco.

"Missing them," Draco replied softly.

Remus sighed, and shifted closer to Draco, until their shoulders touched. Draco leaned into him without appearing to notice that he was doing so, unconsciously seeking comfort.

"No," Remus said quietly. "It doesn't really ever get easier."

Draco nodded, his eyes downcast. He twisted a pebble between his fingers. "I don't - don't want -" His face twisted, and he fell silent abruptly. "Professor Snape will save you," he said firmly. Remus didn't reply. He watched the wind whip the trees that dotted the shore as Draco choked on - tears? Frustration? Remus didn't know. He gave Draco the space, the respect, that he needed. Eventually, Draco quieted, straightening. If there were any tears on his face, the wind had dried them by the time Remus turned to look at him.

"The reason," Remus said carefully, holding Draco's gaze, "That stores of gillyweed are so closely watched is not because students might go and accidentally drown while using it, but because gillyweed causes hallucinations, or an ... altered state of consciousness if smoked, or," here Remus coughed slightly, "baked into something like cookies or brownies."

Draco looked interested.

"I was at school during the seventies, which you might know was a very, er, interesting time to be young." Remus paused. "You won't go breaking into the Potions stores when you return to Hogwarts, will you?"

Draco shook his head emphatically, looking affronted.

Remus smiled. "Well. In that case, I believe you've been asking to hear a certain story."

Draco grinned broadly, and Remus couldn't help but grin back.

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They had a roast that night, and Draco insisted on calling it 'roast beast' throughout the dinner no matter, or possibly because of, how hard Harry laughed. Draco was in fine form that night, trading juvenile Muggle jokes with Sirius and regaling them with tales of horror from the Slytherin dungeons. Harry choked twice on his mashed potatoes from laughing too hard, and on the second time they were promptly annexed by Draco and claimed as part of Dracotopia. Dracotopia then went on an orgy of nation-building, invading the peaceful lands of Moon Island, devastating the armies of the Republic of Dogbreath, until it was fought to a standstill by the brave warriors of Pottyland, which immediately renamed itself as the Kingdom of Harry, only to be mocked for lack of imagination. Afterwards, Remus doled out a good supply from his chocolate hoarde as the spoils of war to all participants, in a fit of generosity.

They retired to the den after Harry and Sirius cleaned up the dinner dishes, and the boys squabbled over what music to play while Sirius built a fire. Remus sat patiently on his ancient couch, surveying the room with his hands folded in his lap and a quiet gleam in his eyes, feeling rather like a king. The sounds that serended him ran the spectrum of his record collection. Harry and Draco compromised on Charles Mingus ("With a name like that, we have to listen to it," argued Draco) not a minute before Morrison Hotel was discovered and declared to be superior. Sirius sat with Remus on the couch in a warm silence, his fingers twined with Remus' own. He fetched mugs of cocoa (and tea for himself) when Surrealistic Pillow was put aside in favor of Rubber Soul, and when Billie Holiday was settled on, he asked Remus to dance.

Harry was lying stretched out on the floor by this time, his empty mug forgotten on the hearth. Draco was curled over piles of records next to Harry, the two of them pressed together in a quite incidental way. Draco's bandaged hand rested lightly on Harry's bare foot. Harry's arm curved around Draco's hip. Remus and Sirius had been concerned at first, when they had gone outside one morning to see the two boys in a rather compromising position.

Remus had taken it rather more calmly than Sirius, who demanded answers to embarrassing and personal questions, which Draco refused to answer on principle. Harry, who turned so red that Remus had thought the poor boy would simply keel over from embarrassment, patiently let them know that no, they hadn't gone any further than kissing, and yes, they would come to one of them if he or Draco had questions. They each found time to speak to the boys separately that day: Remus sequestered Draco to ask if he was alright even being in a physical relationship. Draco stared at the ground and replied in a hard voice that he hadn't had the chance to find out yet, but he'd consider letting Remus know when he did. Sirius fared better in his interrogation of Harry, and enjoyed a rather amusing conversation about first kisses.

"I asked him what it was like," he had told Remus later that day. "He said to me, 'wet.'"

That had been three days ago, and Remus was surprised and pleased to observe that not only did a youthful romance not seem to be doing Harry and Draco any harm, it actually seemed to be rather good for them. Sirius, oddly enough, was quite pleased. He had become quieter in the past few days, since Remus had told him the bleak truth he had been hiding. He touched Remus often, and when they made love it was as though decades of fear, loneliness and resentment had been stripped away, and Remus felt more vulnerable and more loved than he ever had in his life.

All in all, Remus thought contentedly as Sirius took his hand and led him to the center of the room, clearing space for them with his wand, there wasn't much else he could wish for.

Sirius was warm and familiar in his arms. He was shorter, broader in the chest than Remus was, as he'd been since puberty joined their band of friends. Remus had been the tallest of their group, followed by James, gangly and boney and always looking slightly malnourished. Remus' arms went around Sirius' shoulders, and Sirius' arms went around his waist, and they swayed together as Billie Holiday sang of heartbreak and loss behind them. He rested his cheek against the crown of Sirius' skull, sinking into Sirius' smell with the faintest hint of a happy sigh.

"Love you, Moony," Sirius murmured against his neck.

"I love you too, Padfoot," Remus whispered back.

"Dumbledore says we can visit on Hogsmeade weekends, but that's all," Sirius grumbled. A hand stroked restlessly down Remus' back. "We don't even get special privileges for Draco - although he did admit that we should set up some sort of alert, in case there's trouble."

"Mm," Remus said, running his nails lightly over the back of Sirius' neck. Sirius let out a surprised, happy bark of laughter. "Don't tell me you won't love having the house to ourselves again - without those noisy little beasts hanging about?"

"I heard that," came the haughty reply from the floor. "You're dirty old men, both of you. That's all."

"Guilty as charged," Sirius replied, smiling into Remus' eyes. "And proud of it."

Remus laughed and swung Sirius into an ostentatious dip, heedless of the aches of his body. Their lips met on the way back up, pressing warm and soft, the slightest touch of teasing tongues.

"Yuck," was the laughing response from the peanut gallery. "Get a room."

"Draco," Sirius said patiently, "Shove it."

A swift pain in his chest prevented Remus from making a witty retort, but he masked his involuntary, shocked pause with a twist of his hips and a kiss. The thought flashed bright across his mind: Is this it? He pushed the thought away immediately, holding Sirius tight in response. The fire roared happily on the hearth, and against everything he thought possible, he was surrounded by people he would be proud to call his family, and nothing was going to intrude on that.

Pain grew and shifted inside his torso, a wet, wrenching discomfort, and as Remus closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the man he loved in his arms, the sleepy chatter of their boys, the fire at their back, his only chance to live through the night drifted away on Billie Holiday's mournful voice.

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It was over quickly.

Sirius was awakened by Remus' breathing. Remus had pulled away from him during the night, and was curled in on himself on the opposite side of the bed. His pyjama bottoms were soaked with sweat. His breathing was labored, thick, painful to hear. Sirius reached for Remus and almost jerked his hand back when he felt how cold the other man's skin was. "Moony," Sirius whispered, panic flaring to life in his chest.

Remus stirred. Sirius reached forward again, sitting up at the same time he turned Remus over, gathering the other man into his arms. "Moony," he said again, his throat tight. Remus opened his eyes.

His eyes shone in the moonlight, disconcertingly serene despite the glaze of pain across them, the way he struggled to breathe. Sirius pressed a hand to Remus' cheek.

"I'm here," he said softly. "Just breathe. You're alright. You're going to be just fine."

Remus grimaced. His body contorted in silent spasms. He drew in hideous, wracking breaths. "Padfoot," he rasped. "I - will -"

"Shhhh," Sirius said. He pulled Remus gently upright, manipulating his limbs as easily as those of a sleeping child. He pulled Remus up against his own body until they were sitting back to chest, Remus sprawled between his legs. "Breathe with me. Can you feel me breathing?"

Remus sucked in a long hiss of air, his shoulders twitching against Sirius' collarbone. Sirius lay his cheek against Remus' clammy skin. His mind raced, hurtled through ideas and remedies and the knowledge that he had never seen Remus like this before. Remus' fingers tightened painfully on his legs, and Sirius winced.

"Easy, Moony. Do it with me. In. Out."

He could feel Remus struggling to comply, his chest rising bare centimeters before hitching, breath stalled before it could do him any good. Remus shook with the effort, his thin body twisting helplessly.

"I've seen you beat worse than this," Sirius whispered. "You can get through this. I know you can. It's ok. It's ok. In and out. In and out. You can do it."

Remus' ribs fell beneath his hand and stopped. Sirius' heart seized, and didn't unclench when it finally rose. He's going to suffocate if this goes on.

He shifted Remus again, gently, letting his left arm bear most of the other man's weight while his other hand turned Remus' face towards his own. Sirius dipped his head and pressed his lips to Remus', sealing their mouths together. Slowly, his fingers still pressed against Remus' unresisting jaw, he breathed out, feeling Remus' lungs fill with his oxygen.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Over and over. Remus' fingers twitched against his leg. There was no sound save the muted, panicked rush of air between them.

It was on the ninth breath that the blood came, Remus choking and Sirius jerking back in shock before he could help himself. Blood was in his mouth and dripping down his chin, and Sirius gagged. Remus gasped, able to breathe again but with blood bubbling past his lips and down his body.

"Oh god," Sirius said, and Remus looked at him, eyes unwavering, unafraid. "Please no," Sirius said. He reached blindly and pulled at the sheet beneath them, wiping away blood that was far too bright, too vivid in the moonlight. "Oh, Moony," he whispered, and Remus reached trembling fingers to touch his face.

"I will walk with you," Remus whispered, his voice raw, "always."

"No," Sirius moaned. He pulled Remus close, awkwardly, Remus' long legs akimbo atop his own, stroking Remus' back and neck. "Please, Remus - I can't lose you. I'm not ready for it. Just - stay with me, I know you can beat this. Hold on. Snape - Snape will think of something."

Remus only looked at him silently, his eyes creased at the corner in the barest hint of a smile. Sirius sucked in a long breath and placed a hand on Remus' chest, over his heart. "I can't," he said softly. "I can't let you go. I couldn't survive without you - oh Moony - please ... hold on ..."

Sirius could have talked for hours, meaningless words spilling from his lips and falling like rain onto Remus' upturned face. He sang, old songs that he pulled from the dusty corners of his memory, songs that had meant something to Remus when they were young, when they were Marauders and not just Remus and Sirius, alone. His voice trembled and broke, humming and skating over random Led Zeppelin melodies, the lyrics immaterial anyway. Words failed him as the light in Remus' eyes faded, but he held on grimly, giving everything to keep Remus with him ... just a little while longer.

"I'll shoot the moon, right out of the sky, for you baby -

"I'm here Moony, you don't - don't have to be scared because I won't let you go, not ever - for, for you baby -

"I'll be the pennies on your eyes, for you baby ...

"I won't let you go ... you looked so gorgeous tonight, did you know that? I couldn't help looking at you ... I love you so much that it hurts sometimes ..."

"I want to take you, out to the fair ... here's a red - red ribbon for your hair ..."

Words cannot halt the passage of time; they cannot hold back life. The moon passed unheeding overhead, gold eyes dimmed, and slowly, inevitably, only silence remained.

Some events, regardless of the anticipation, how long you eagerly await or dread them, and in spite of any desperate efforts of prevention, arrive suddenly and can cripple in their wake, maim in the echo of a whimper reverberating through a house that would ever after feel empty and bereft.

Harry had still been awake when that single cry seemed to shake the Farmhouse down to its foundations. He would think, later, that it had. It was a soft sound that nevertheless drew every nerve in his body to attention, praying that his first thought had been wrong. In his own bed, Draco shot upright, his eyes wild and overbright. They looked at each other without speaking.

Years later, when the pain and confusion that closed his summer with Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Draco Malfoy had faded and become distant, it was always that moment that stood out in Harry's mind, frozen in his memory: when Draco looked at him through the hurt puzzlement of being abruptly jolted from sleep and grey light filtered through their window in a way that looked nearly tangible. What came later became a series of staccato images, bloody and blinding, and it was weeks before he stopped moving long enough for the weight of grief to catch up with him.

Draco's mouth opened, hesitantly, and a look of understanding began to dawn on his face, and Harry looked at him and thought how stupid he had been to ever think that Draco's eyes were silver: they were the palest of greys, the colour of the fog on the waves that morning he had gone with Remus to hunt for murtlap, soft and almost warm in the moonlight.

They heard Sirius hit the wall as his heavy footsteps stumbled towards their bedroom, and Draco jumped. Sirius loomed in the doorway, his frame a darker shape in the shadows of the hallway. Harry swayed towards him, involuntarily, feeling the muscles in his thighs jump.

Sirius said nothing. He didn't need to.

Draco cried out, a low, animal-noise of physical pain. Harry knew his mouth hung open, and his eyes were locked with Sirius'. Sirius' wasn't crying either, his clear eyes in a place beyond shock or emotion. Draco cried out again, a hiccoughing sort of sob this time.

Remus Lupin was dead, and nothing they had done made any difference.

Harry didn't see Sirius leave. He turned towards Draco and opened his arms. Draco crawled across their beds to him, stiffly allowing Harry to draw him into an embrace. "No," Draco whispered fiercely. "Professor Snape was going to save him. He can't ... he can't just ..."

Harry watched, distantly, as rage and anguish washed over Draco's features, and wondered if he'd ever feel anything but numb to death. Only months ago, he had sat in stunned silence after Cedric's death and his battle with Voldemort, and watched one of the only adults he'd ever come to trust transform back into Voldemort's most loyal follower. He almost felt like there should be some sort of coda, some explanation from Dumbledore to draw the curtain on another life given to The Cause.

But Remus didn't die for anything great, Harry thought furiously. He had only been unlucky enough to live through their first losses, and if it hadn't been for Snape he would have died anyway, alone and in agony. Remus was given a second chance only to have it all taken away again.

It wasn't fair, Harry thought, and struggled to keep from yelling it aloud. Draco was breaking before him, his fury giving way to shock. They drew together almost unconsciously, sinking back onto Harry's bed as the first angry tears appeared in Draco's eyes, pulling closer and closer, tangling limbs and words as skin met skin and there was no space for grief between them at all.

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Draco lay with his face buried in the crook of Harry's neck and thought that maybe if he stayed perfectly still, the world might stay the way it was. He hadn't slept. His face felt puffy and sticky with tears. His left arm had gone numb long ago underneath Harry's waist, and his right was a pulsing ache against his chest. Their legs had tangled together, and his toes were cold, but even in sleep Harry's arms were tight around him and Harry's neck was warm and real against his cheek.

It was with no thought in his head that he carefully untangled his limbs from Harry's. He sat up slowly, running his tongue over his teeth, and it was a long moment before he could collect himself. Harry shifted in his sleep, reaching out blindly for Draco. Draco pulled the blankets over him instead, and stood on unsteady legs. Distantly, his eyes unfocused, he shrugged on the weathered, moth-eaten robe that Remus had brought to him in the woods, weeks earlier. Around his neck went the scarf that Professor Snape had given him.

Sirius was sitting with his head in his hands at the foot of the stairs. He raised his head when Draco approached, and they stared at each other across a gulf of silence. There wasn't anything to say. Sirius didn't ask if Draco was alright, and Draco didn't ask if Sirius had slept at all. And so, after a pause, Draco moved on. He drifted outside, conscious only of the wind against his face and the sounds he couldn't help but listen for: the rustle of pages being turned, the murmer of the tea kettle. The silence settled heavily in his stomach. He swayed, scowling up at the sky, muffled under drifts of snow, as serene as though nothing important had happened during the night, nothing at all.

Mindlessly, he moved forward, stumbling. He was barefoot, and the swift pain of the long grass cutting the thin, unblemished skin of his ankles and feet was almost a relief. He paused at the edge of the Farmhouse's wards. The sun beat down cheerfully on his back. Millimetres from his nose, snowflakes drifted by. His breath was visible on the other side. Draco closed his eyes as he stepped through.

He always expected to feel something whenever he left the Farmhouse's enclosed atmosphere. Some tickle of magic or gentle shock. Some of the rooms of Malfoy Manor would shock a person a bit, the wards around certain objects adjusting themselves to whoever had entered the room. His mother had charmed her fireplace to light and the phonograph to play when she entered her rooms. Leaving Remus' home had no affect, no change, and Draco felt almost disappointed as he stared up into the sky that was as real as the one he had just left, blinded by snow, the hem of his robe turning damp as his bare feet sunk into the snow.

Draco wrapped his arms around himself, shivering violently. He had lost weight, despite all efforts, since arriving at the Farmhouse. His hair whipped carelessly about his face. A few yards away, buried nearly to its shoulders, a Dingwall Gin raised its head and turned its mournful eyes on him. Smoke drifted from its nostrils. Draco stared back, uncomfortably reminded of the dull emptiness in Sirius' gaze, sitting alone on the stairs as irrevocable hours passed. When the Gin turned away, Draco took a half step towards it and faltered, and that was when his heart broke.

A sharp cry escaped him, and for a moment his shivering stopped, his body frozen in shock that he could actually feel his heart breaking and running like melted wax down his body. Even as stinging pain raced up and down his spine and his fingers and face turned numb, he curled in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest, his mouth stretched wide in a silent, agonized howl.

This is it, he thought incoherently. This is the end. Finally. His eyes slipped closed.

And this is how it ends:

The world held its breath. In that pause, aware somewhere in his mind that all sound and scent and feeling was gone, pain so sudden and intense that his breath was literally stolen away lanced up his right arm. As the world breathed out, Draco did as well, a shocked expulsion of air escaping his lungs. The agony of his burned arm was worse than when Pansy was burned alive, clutching the same hand even after death took her. It was worse than the beating and rape that had come before it.

But even as his eyes blurred with involuntary tears, he felt the rush of displaced air against his body, heard the sharp crack of several people Apparating, and even agony worse than he'd ever imagined possible was overwhelmed instantly by terror.