Et Nulli Miseretur

"Where will you go now?" Arthur asks quietly. Remus shrugs, he hasn't spared one thought on the matter so far. Obviously, he can't go back to the other werewolves; by now, Greyback would have informed them all that Remus has shown his true colours. It doesn't matter, his mission has been a failure anyway. But nothing really matters anymore, does it? Without Dumbledore, they don't stand a chance to fight Voldemort.

He looks around; Minerva has left with Scrimgeour and the other Ministry wizards, Horace Slughorn has volunteered to be the Head of Slytherin House for the time being and scurried away to talk to the students. Hagrid has gone to the Gryffindors, Flitwick and Pomona Sprout have returned to their own Houses, too, so the only ones left in the Infirmary are the still sobbing Molly, Madam Pomfrey, whose face is as white as her neat coat, Arthur and his soon-to-be daughter-in-law, dabbing her fiancé's wounds, and Nymphadora.

He squints over to her. She has settled on a bed close to Bill's, drawn her knees up, leaning her face against her knees, and judging her constant shaking, appears to be silently crying, too. He feels the compelling urge to go over to her and embrace her, for her comfort as much as his own, but he must not give in to that notion. They mustn't start with all this all over again.

"Come to the Burrow," Arthur says tonelessly, absent-mindedly patting his wife's shoulder. She has closed her eyes and leans heavily against him, her fingers clenched.

"What will happen with Headquarters now -" Remus just can't bring himself to say, 'with the Secret Keeper dead'. He doesn't dare to speak it, as if those words would confirm what none of them dares contemplating. They are lost.

"He's taken the secret with him," Nymphadora says. She hasn't raised her head, and her skirt muffles her voice. "When a Secret Keeper perishes, he takes the secret to his grave."

Molly shudders and gasps, and Arthur strengthens his embrace on her. "I see," Remus mutters. "So - so you think that it's still safe?"

She merely nods. Remus has no mind to go to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place; the house woefully reminds him of Sirius. He has merely asked to say something, to delay his decision what to do now, where to go... He appreciates Arthur's kind invitation, but he isn't sure whether he should accept. Knowing Molly, she will go on wanting to debate his relationship with Nymphadora, and he hasn't got the strength for this.

Neither has he got the strength to resist Arthur's and Molly's urging, so in the end, he returns to the Burrow with them. Nymphadora has come, too, carefully avoiding to look at him though, or to address him personally. Whether she is too badly stirred up by the dreadful events of the previous night, or if she's so quiet because she is cross with him as well, he couldn't say. She has changed so much since last summer...

She has become thinner, serious to a degree that's unsettling - he has heard that from Arthur, Molly, even Minerva McGonagall and Dumbledore have hinted this. Every now and then, he tries to steal a glance of her now, sitting in Molly's kitchen, her face stony and her eyes bloodshot. Is this his fault? Sure, she's anguished with Dumbledore's death, but that her face's so hollow and worn-out must have other reasons. Her hair, that has been so colourful and lovingly groomed then, is now lank and mousy, her skin has lost all its peachiness and she must have lost two stone at least.

Molly has brewed a strong coffee and pours them all a cup; Arthur has added a good shot of Whiskey each. The hot beverage doesn't yield much of an effect. They are miserable and an entire vat of Whiskey couldn't change that. Nymphadora sips her cup, her entire appearance defeated, and asks after a while, "Will Fleur not join us?"

"She wants to stay with Bill," Arthur replies with the shadow of a smile.

"Understandable," she whispers. "If you've found the right person, you don't want to part again, come what may..."

Remus swallows hard, but Molly sighs so loudly, no one would hear him.

"I have been mistaken in the girl's character. I thought - well - I hadn't imagined that she could be so - so -"

"Truly attached to Bill," Arthur finishes the sentence for her, smiling for real now and stroking over her hand.

"Yes... I am sorry that I have always been so cold to her, but I sincerely doubted that they could be serious. I thought it was all just - some sort of infatuation, you know... They're both so young and -"

"What's age got to do with it?" Nymphadora asks with unexpected forcefulness. "Why is it that everyone assumes that you couldn't be serious - couldn't truly love - only because you're still young, eh?"

"I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay. I got what you mean," Nymphadora spats and gets to her feet. She rushes out of the kitchen door and into the garden, and they hear some frightened chicken cluck and flutter around.

"Remus," Arthur says heavily, "go and talk to her, for good gracious' sake. Just look at the poor girl!"

"I have looked at her, Arthur! I don't want to increase her troubles still!"

"Increase them? Listen, Remus, you know that I usually prefer not to stick my nose into other people's business, but this is ridiculous, really! You are very fond of her, are you not?"

Reluctantly, he nods lightly, staring into his cup. Arthur goes on, "So what are you doing here then? She needs you now, can't you see that?"

"Dumbledore's gone and -"

"And what's this got to do with it? Last year, you pleaded that your job with the werewolves kept you from being with her. That's over, you know that, don't you? You can never go back to them now!"

"I like her far too much to do that to her, is that so hard to understand?" Remus cries angrily and gets up, too, glaring at his host. "I am dangerous! I am a werewolf! You've seen what one of my kind has done to your son tonight -"

"Fenrir Greyback is none of your kind, Remus," Arthur whispers. "You might both be werewolves, but that's not the material point. He is malicious and savage, you are not. Just look at it! Even your caution for the girl shows your great kindness. And kindness is all that matters."

He couldn't say what he means by it, but despite himself, Remus finds himself marching out of the back door, too, following Nymphadora to the garden. He'll talk to her, one last time, he'll explain to her what she doesn't want to hear, doesn't want to understand. She must understand him this time and give him up. It is no good.

He spots her sitting under a yew tree, her arms swung around her knees, her eyes shut and silent tears streaming down her cheeks. It breaks his heart, or what's left of it, to see her like this. She must have heard him coming, for she opens her eyes and hectically wipes away the tears. "I'm fine," she says defensively. "You can go back and tell Molly that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

"Perhaps you shouldn't... But in essence, you were right -"

She frowns. "Now am I? I thought you of all persons..."

"Nymphadora, I never - never doubted in you... Or in the depth of your - well, your affection. That isn't the problem. I am the problem. When I spoke about the difference in our age, I only meant that I am too old for you, and that the one point in which I feel being your senior is that I know... I know what this will lead to."

"This? This what?"

He hesitates, closely observing the hazelnut bush next to the tree. "Our love," he mutters at last.

She gives a mirthless little laugh. "You've made sure that it's come to an end, Remus. Our love, since when do you give a -"

"Don't say that! Don't - of course I do care! Because I care - look, during the battle, with all the Death Eaters firing curse after curse, I felt almost paralysed with fear that you could be hit. When Greyback appeared, I was horrified that he could attack you. I - can't you see that this isn't the time for a love affair?"

"And what about my fears? The whole last year - I didn't hear anything from you, and whenever there were news about werewolves, attacks, casualties - my heart would stop beating until I knew that it wasn't you, and it wasn't you to soothe me, but some of my colleagues, unwitting and oblivious what it'd mean for me! Did you care? Did you do anything to -"

She bites her lip and looks away. He sits down opposite of her, clears his throat and begins anew. "Please Nymphadora -"

"Don't call me like that! I hate that sordid name!"

"And I hate addressing you by your surname, as if you were only a friend to me!"

"So what am I to you then?"

"You are my love," he says almost inaudibly, straining to look elsewhere.

"Excuse me?"

"You are my love," he repeats, louder. "As you well know."

"I know nothing! You say you love me? So how can it be that we're not together then? Because I love you, I'm tired and exhausted so much I'm in love with you, but you don't appear to acknowledge this only one bit! Look at me!"

He does, finding her gaze pierce him, and he winces back with the intensity of that glance. There is sadness in it, exhaustion, but also anger and disbelief. "That's not true. I do... Look, I am indeed very sorry that you - that you seem to have taken things so badly -" She snorts indignantly, and he adds quickly, "No, that came out wrong. It's just - I had hoped you'd get over it - over me - and go on to live the happy life that I wanted you to lead..."

"And? Do I look happy to you?" She sneers at him and he shakes his head slowly. "That's because I'm not happy! I feel sore and heartbroken and lonely and let down! If you've truly believed I'd get over you just like that, I'm afraid I've got to tell you that your calculations turned out a complete failure!"

He couldn't argue with that and turns his eyes down again. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity! I don't want it! What I need is you, Remus! I want you! I need you!"

"But we cannot do that, Nymphadora! You must listen to reason! We're in the midst of war, Dumbledore's dead, none of us can be sure to see another day!"

"Yes, I know," she says fiercely. "That's why I think it even more important to be with you. If I die tomorrow, I want to know that I've been happy, and if you were to die, I'd want to take comfort in the fact that we've fully seized the time we've had with each other."

Her look, her words are defeating. He gazes at her blankly, before his resistance crumbles, before all the reasonable objections and hesitations vanish. He leans towards her, reaches out for her cold hands, and in the next moment, she is in his arms, her head on his shoulder, shaken by sobs. She's right, he thinks vaguely, holding her tight. When nothing matters anymore, there is no point to listen to sense and be deaf for the demands of his heart.

Molly and Arthur stand behind their kitchen window, observing the couple in their garden, and when those two close in for a kiss now, Arthur pulls his wife away and gives a heartfelt sigh. "At last," he breathes. "That's good..."

"We're lost, Arthur. We are lost. Without Dumbledore -"

"Shhh, Molly. We will continue the fight, and perhaps there is a chance -"

"There is no chance, Arthur!" Molly can't keep the tone of hysteria out of her voice. "Our names are down on the list of the next victims! Everyone knows that we've been in league with Dumbledore! We will be murdered in our beds, now that -"

"Don't, Molly. We must not despair. Dumbledore wouldn't want that."

"No, he wouldn't. But he didn't want to die either, and still it happened!"

Arthur doesn't speak his mind on this head - maybe it's sheer denial, maybe the exhaustion blurring his perception, he just feels that some things aren't what they seem to be. This wasn't it. It isn't over like this.