Disclaimer-JKR/Bloomsbury/WB own the rights, I just play with the characters for my own and other's amusment.

Notes:Notes: This is a pretty experimental fic and even though there will be romance and all that goes along with it, it will deal with the aftermath of war and people learning to live again after such fucked up events.

Someday You'll See The Stars.

"Cos all of the stars are fading away

Try not to worry, you'll see them someday

Take what you need and be on your way

And stop crying your hear out."-Oasis

Chapter 1-Dulce Decorum Est

Harry walked carefully through the run down mansion that had once been the proud Malfoy Manor. He wanted to rush into the library and destroy the last of the Horcruxes that Draco had explained would be there, hidden behind a wooden panel guarded by a suit of armour that would cut off your head if you didn't know the exact pattern of the marble tiles to walk on. He wanted to lift the gloom that had fallen over his world so desperately that he was physically itching to get it and finish it completely.

It wasn't going to be as easy as his mind was making it out to be. After all, it was more or less expected that he had to fight Voldermort and bring him down by his own hands. The horcruxes were the first step in doing so, but he wasn't willing to bet that Voldermort would simply keel over once the last piece of his soul was destroyed. A battle was waiting. His friends and allies were waiting. It felt as if the whole world was holding its breath in anticipation and he was dawdling.

He was tempted. Sorely tempted, but he didn't want to make a rash decision. Not when he knew all too well how dear of a cost he would pay if he did. He already had lost Sirius due to his rash stupidity, he wasn't going to fuck up ending the war simply because he couldn't wait.

Harry also knew, although he wouldn't voice it, that he wasn't about to let the patiently gentle man outside down. Remus already had to suffer so much in his life that Harry was damned if he was going to add to that. He wanted to add something else to his life and pain wasn't going to be it. He had to smile a bit tightly as he wondered if Remus would finally put down his objections and let him in. He had seen what happened with Tonks and wasn't really holding his breath for it, but he was going to try.

Just like he was going to try and not get himself killed off by doing something stupid.

He almost didn't keep the resolution. Despite Draco's map and his explicit instructions, he was still unable to find the hidden chamber until he had tried seven times and his patience had been shredded to its finest ends. And even then, he had to steel himself to finally take the steps required to not be decapitated by the scythe the black armour held in its gauntlet.

By the time he had reached the bloody horcrux, laid out in what was supposed to be a casually careless gesture on a dusty table, he was dripping cold sweat and felt an overwhelming bone-crushing weariness sweep over him where he stood. It was only after closing his eyes and reminding himself that Remus was outside waiting for him that he finally mustered up his reserves and destroyed the fragile box that held the last piece of Voldermort's soul.

He almost didn't make it out in time when the sounds of battle exploded outside. The backlash of the horcrux had caught him unaware and had hurled him backwards. He remembered his back thudding painfully against the armour and the loud din it created when it smashed against the wooden panel and how he rolled onto a soft, plush carpet.

He had only a few seconds to wonder about that as he quickly recovered and got to his feet. He would have forgotten the incident if it hadn't been for the pitiful whispering voice that sighed out his name.

He would have stopped, but the cries of the battle and the fury of Voldermort reminded him that he still had his duties to perform.

"-saw him fall over here...keep on looking through all of the bodies until you find him.." The voices were what brought him out of unconsciousness. His eyes flickered futilely for a few moments before he finally was able to open them and see a sky that was orange rather than grey or midnight black.

Remus blinked up at what he assumed was the night sky. He wasn't sure if it was due to the bright orange tinge it reflected back at the watcher. Liquid dripped down into his eye then and he had to blink to keep it from going into his eye. Reaching up, he wiped it away and frowned at the tacky residue it left on his fingers. Blood. Of course it would be blood. He wasn't in the middle of a battle for nothing.

The battle!

He sat up and tried to get to his feet, but as soon as he even put the slightest bit of pressure on his legs, he collapsed back down on what he knew to be something other than ground. He chose to ignore the feeling of plasticized and unmoveable flesh underneath him and looked up at the sky.

He didn't hear anything that would signal that the fight was still going on or which side had won. The only sounds that reached his ears were the crackling and popping of wood burning and the far off yells of others searching for specific dead and the living that still lay on those blood-spattered fields.

Remus had only a brief time to register the fact that for all intents and purposes, he was helpless until someone stumbled upon him. And that could possibly be for days if he was right about the amount of carnage that had taken place.

Wincing at the possibility of that happening, he forced himself to sit up despite the pain that was flooding through him. He could see shapes in the distance and tried waving, but no one saw his attempts to get their attention. Sighing, he looked around for his wand and saw that it was lying about five feet away. Resigned, he forced himself to crawl over there, pushing the fact that he was more or less dragging himself to it out of his mind. Humiliation had no place when it came to fighting for survival.

He had to keep telling himself that when Harry and Bill Weasley came to his aid and could barely hide the horrified looks on their faces as they cast several spells on him. Normally, he would have closed his eyes and tried to ignore them. Right now, he was too tired with the effort of getting help and the pain of his injuries to care. Or to even keep awake long enough to talk to them. Not that it mattered, since if Harry was alive and among the ones combing the battle fields, that was a sure sign that Voldermort was gone and life could be rebuilt.

Harry sat outside the tent that had been set up as a temporary field hospital smoking a fag from a packet he had filched from one of the dead bodies on the field. It wasn't as if the woman needed them. Especially not when her neck had been slashed so deeply that her spine glinted dully in the orange light from the gaping wound.

He shuddered and took a deep drag, enjoying the burn of the nicotine as the smoke went down into his lungs. He had managed to stop coughing after the second one and was now smoking like a pro. He felt slightly ashamed that he had started smoking, but he figured it was better than getting drunk. It was easier to hide the guilt, since he knew that he wouldn't have picked up the packet if he had found Remus earlier.

Harry spat on the ground and shook his head as he tried to clear the memory of Remus lying on top of corpses, his lower body twisted and mangled so badly that it was hard to recall he had stood beside him not even an hour before. Bill had been sympathetic when he had retched right outside the tent. He couldn't bring himself to go in and see him, not until he was sure that he was going to be completely healed. He knew he wasn't being fair and that he was being childish, but he couldn't make himself go.

He couldn't face the guilt that would surely sweep over him if he had to look at those gentle amber eyes and only see warmth and graciousness. Not when he wouldn't know for sure if it was temporary or not.

And if it was...he shut his thoughts of with a mental click. He was not going to think about that. Not now. Not ever. Remus was going to be fine and...

"Fuck." he muttered as he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, the only part of his body, it seemed, that was not blood-splattered. He should have gone and cleaned up when people were dragging him to do so, but he couldn't stand the idea of being feted and overwhelmed by well-wishers high on the euphoria of finally being able to take a breath without the spectre of Voldermort hovering above them.

Besides, he still hadn't gone back to the Manor to find out who or what had called out his name...

"Shit!"

He rushed off, hurling the fag to the ground so hard that it bounced a few times before finally coming to rest in a puddle of blood where it lay, the orange tip glowing like a malevolent eye for several seconds before it finally fizzled out in the blood.

He didn't have the trepidation or the weight on his shoulders that he had the first time he had walked there. This time, he literally sprinted through what was now undoubtedly a ruin. Briefly he wondered whether Draco would mourn the loss of his house. The thought was banished when he recalled that Draco had other things to worry about at that point. Like hoping that the healers would be able to restore his eyes, which had been melted by a particularly nasty curse that one of the LeStranges had thrown out.

Shuddering despite himself, Harry resolutely blocked out the memory of that event and skidded into the once elegant library that was nothing more than rubble and charred books. It was so bad that for the first few minutes, he couldn't tell where the hole he had rushed out of was. All of the panels had holes in them and the rubbish was covering the armour, the only reliable clue he had.

He snorted in anger at the predicament and spent ten minutes either kicking or blasting debris and dodging the occasional ricochets when he finally found the right entrance. Logically, there was no point in him doing all of that. After all, he might have just imagined the voice. He had been pretty nervous. He might as well just go and clean the blood and have a drink. He didn't listen to the voice and simply kept on destroying more things, since he knew that part of him needed the release. He was sure that after everything calmed down, he would never be fully able to vent his anger, his anguish, his grief. So it was actually a big surprise for him to actually find the exact location. He had nearly forgotten about it and he found it only because he had tripped over the staff of the scythe after dodging a piece of what had once been an ornately carved armrest and landed on that soft, if somewhat dusty carpet again.

He sneezed a few times as the dust he had inadvertently kicked up and waited until it had settled down before raising his wand and casting lumos.

He found himself inside a chamber that despite the heavy and lush furnishings, had the distinct feel of being the source of deep pain and dark acts. He moved around, wincing at the grotesque carvings on the walls and occasionally looking away at some of them when he finally found what looked like a coffin lying in the far corner of that chamber of horrors. It was closed and there was a small puddle of dried something beside it. Something that despite the light of his wand, he couldn't make out.

For a split second, his steps faltered and he was very close to simply running out and chalking the whole experience to nerves before the battle.

In fact, he had just turned to go when the voice called out again, this time stronger than that breathy whisper he had first heard. Swallowing thickly, he crept to the coffin. After several minutes struggling with the lid, he pushed it off and looked inside.

Only to look away again as his stomach roiled and he was once again on his knees vomiting up everything that he hadn't brought up the first time.