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Alastor pushed the rag into his wife's side, trying to stop as much blood flow from pouring from her abdomen as possible as he waited for Tonks to return with the potion he needed to help (Y/N)'s healing process, to speed it up enough so that she might survive the night.
She had been injured on a mission for The Order of the Phoenix as she had misstepped and alerted the nearby death eater to her location. (Y/N) had never been the type to be overly cautious, much to Alastor's dismay. He was not the type to let people in, but he let (Y/N) into his life, into his heart and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
Alastor never wanted to have someone have such a hold on him. To let someone have the power to destroy him with their loss but he had given that to privilege to (Y/N) but now he might lose her and he couldn't bear the thought of being alone.
They had met when the first war was still young, having been sat together at the first meeting of The Order of the Phoenix and from there, their relationship grew from colleges to something more. They had married when the war was at its peak, and when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was at his strongest, finding a small piece of happiness in the pain, grief and suffering that surrounded them. This happiness is what gave them the strength to win the first war and the motivation to continue to fight in the second.
Alastor pressed the rag tighter to (Y/N)'s chest, watching as her chest softly rose and fell, moving her blood-matted hair along with it. He knew that her recovery would be rough, but he also knew that she needed to fight to stay with him. He knew that his (Y/N) was a fighter, but this would be an uphill battle to survive and Alastor could only hope that she had the strength to come back to him.