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There’ll be no such thing as broken
and all the old will be made new
And the thought that makes me smile now
Even as the tears fall down
Is that the only scars in Heaven
Are on the hands that hold you now
So many. So many of them.
A chaos of noise surrounded her, grief and sorrow unimaginable echoing around the great hall that was normally filled with the lively chatter of young students. There were bodies everywhere, some already passing on, unsavable, and others feebly clinging to their last strings of life. She was up on the raised platform, directing everyone that came in what to do, telling them who was worth saving and – despite it paining her to even think about – who was beyond help.
“Poppy! He’s bleeding out! What do I do!?”
“POPPY! Crucio curse! How do I help?”
“The blood’s not stopping! IT’S NOT STOPPING! POMFREY, HELP!”
These shouts all surrounded her, melding into one big mess from which she needed to pick out individual needs from and answer them accordingly. There were a few professors amongst the wounded, attempting to help in which ways they could, Firenze was among them, but imobile due to a large gash that tore through his thigh.
Don’t think of who they are. Just think of what you need to do. Focus on one thing at a time. One thing at a time. One.
She had this mantra in her head from her years of healing, she replayed it to herself because now, more than ever, she needed to be strong, she needed to focus, and most of all she needed to not feel anything for anyone.
You don’t care about them. You don’t care about them. You don’t care about them.
After performing a healing spell for must have been more than the hundredth time that day, she moved onto someone else – they had lost their hand to a lacero curse – and she healed and tightly bound the remaining stump, even a bandaging charm hadn’t been enough and a small trickle of red was already seeping through the fresh cloth. Nothing more could be done.
Next.
Crucio curse. Draught of Potion for Dreamless Sleep.
Next.
Open wound on the leg. Vulnera Sanentur charm.
Next.
Broken nose. Episky.
Next.
Broken leg. Brackium Emendo.
Next.
The following hour or so went very much like this although there was no telling if that was how much time had really passed – it could have been merely ten minutes, it could have been several hours.
At some point a commotion came from the door as it was opened to let a group of students through and Poppy was horrified to find herself looking into the glassy unseeing eyes of a sixteen year old boy and telling the person cradling him that he was gone and there was nothing to be done. Hairline fractures started to spread their way through her resolve after that, becoming wider as she saw a familiar face come through the door – Fred Weasley. Memories of having to heal breaks and bashes from being a beater ever since he was very young, always scolding him to be more careful (“You need to take more care of yourself, or else, when you're old like me, your body’ll be all stiff”). Now, looking at his battered, yet somehow still somewhat smiling face, Poppy knew he was never going to make it to old age, and his joints would never creak – they would rot under the ground, young, yet drained from life too early.
Shaken from the loss of one of her most regular visitors, the rest of the time managed to move impossibly slower. She thought that it couldn’t get any worse, she thought that nothing today could hurt her more than the death of Fred Weasley – she was wrong. Just as her heart was building up its walls again something happened that tore the walls right down again and stopped the organ in its entirety. A couple of wizards had come through the door. They were carrying someone. That someone was dead. That someone was Remus Lupin.
A scream tore from her throat and she rushed forwards, everyone else’s injuries now seemed mundane to her – irrelevant when compared to the boy in front of her. He was laid on the floor gently and Poppy sank to her knees next to him and swept his hair out of his face. Her hand cupped his cold cheek gently, she softly patted his temple with her fingers in the same way she used to when he was waking up after a particularly bad moon. She felt the tears flooding out from her eyes and down her face as she looked upon the boy she considered equal to a son.
She had constantly found herself – when Remus was at Hogwarts as Professor Lupin – having to remember that he wasn’t a boy anymore, he was a man, but it was hopeless. He would always be that young, moody teenager that would call her “Poppy” and beg her to let him bring books into the infirmary. His face was settled into a peaceful expression and there were no marks on his body that indicated any harm done – she could almost believe that he was just in a peaceful sleep after a particularly strong draught of Dreamless Sleep Potion.
Her thumb traced over that jagged scar that ran across his nose and cheek, remembering how she had healed it up for him and the look of defeat that had flickered across his face when she’d handed him a mirror and he’d seen it. His eyes were closed and part of her was glad for it – she didn’t think she could survive those amber flecked eyes staring at her lifelessly, because Remus was always alive, he had always been so alive . . .
She let her hands rest against where his collar bones would be through his cloak and just looked at him – really looked – drinking in every last feature of his, knowing this would be the last time. It almost felt as though he was still there with her – like she could still feel him – but of course this wasn’t true.
She thought back to a conversation she had overheard between Remus and his best friend, Sirius.
“How do you become a ghost at the castle?”
“Gosh, Moony, in a sullen mood today are we?”
“Just curious, is all.”
“Well, I’m not sure . . . I think you’d have to die here, then you get to choose I guess? I don’t know.”
“It must feel weird, being both alive and not at the same time, mustn’t it?”
“I suppose, but you don’t need to worry about that Moony, you won’t be dying anytime soon, especially not here, not as long as I’m around to stop it. Besides, you need to stay alive long enough for us to get that apartment, remember? With the record player . . ?”
Of course, Remus would never consider being a ghost, not now that it meant he would forever be separated from his best friend. Poppy didn’t think it would be at all possible for the two to exist without each other, and she laughed harshly through her tears as she remembered her futile attempts to keep the other boy away from the hospital wing after full moons and how affectionately Sirius would call Remus “Moony”. Of course, Sirius was gone now.
As she remained kneeling by Remus, another body was brought in by a wizard and a witch. She did not recognise this person very well, but the shock of pink hair she had – still bright despite the dirt and dust caked through it – was enough of an indicator for Poppy to realise that the witch she was looking at was Nymphadora Tonks. She was placed next to Remus and her hand rolled towards his so it appeared that they had died like that, fingers intertwined. Remus was going somewhere peaceful now. He was going somewhere where so many people he loved were. He wouldn’t feel any more pain.
A soft hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality and she glanced up behind her to see Minerva looking down at her sympathetically.
“I’m sorry, Poppy, but they need you.” She went, and she healed, and she felt nothing. She told herself that Remus was okay, okay in the sense that no one could hurt him, never again. Not Voldemort, not Greyback, not Death Eaters, not the wolf within him.
Everyone lost someone that day. Poppy Pomfrey lost her son.
Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth
Do you find it alright, my dragonfly?
Shall we look at the moon, my little loon
Why do you cry?
***
Mother, mother, I wait
Father, father, don’t you fear
The ground is what this blood knows
We simply greet it and rest
And all I ask of you now is to lay me down
Remus was startled at first, it was a bizarre feeling, being alive, yet not quite. Being aware of himself, but at the same time feeling nothing at all. He looked down at the ground and saw himself lying there, eyes closed. He’d never seen himself look so peaceful before, the pale scars that lined his own face looked less visible from where he was.
There was a commotion to his side and he turned to see Tonks dueling with Dollohov and he longed to follow her and help, but he knew he could do nothing now. Was this death? He thought so.
He felt a sort of tug and noticed that his body was being taken by two wizards and it seemed he was still tied to it. He followed, moving his legs out of reflex, but it did not seem that he needed to.
They were taking him (or rather his body) to the great hall and what he saw when they got there would have made him cry if he was able to. He tried to yell but nothing came out, just a wispy swirl of something that vaguely resembled an unformed patronus – it felt like trying to scream underwater.
When his body was brought in, someone wailed, and he looked up to see a woman running towards him. That woman was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother. That woman was Poppy Pomfrey.
She cried for him for what felt like an eternity and Remus wanted, more than anything, to reach out and hold her gently, as she had done for him so many times. She ran her hands over his dead body so caringly, so affectionately – it was reminiscent of a mother comforting her distressed child from a nightmare, except the nightmare Remus now found himself in was not waking and neither would he wake up from it. He was dead.
Remus was about to sink down beside her and sit with her – his ghostly hand was already reaching for her shoulder – but someone had held his arm, someone solid. He turned and didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see the face that met him. Sirius.
Before a second longer of waiting could rip Sirius from Remus’ arms for the third time in his life, he threw himself at the other boy (who he noted looked about twenty again) and clung on so tightly that, if they were alive, he would have been worried about Sirius being unable to breathe.
As they stepped back from each other, Sirius held out his hand and a glowing doorway appeared over his shoulder. It was an offering – remain as a ghost, or go with Sirius and be at peace.
Remus threw one last loving look at Poppy, took Sirius’ hand and then, they faced the door together.
With the comfort of knowing Teddy and Tonks had each other and weren’t left alone, and with one last reassuring squeeze of the hand from Sirius, Remus took a step forwards, then another.
Together, hand in hand, Remus and Sirius stepped into the light.
Beyond the door
There’s peace, I’m sure
And I know there’ll be no more
Tears in Heaven