20 | THE PHOENIX LAMENT

                                    

                                          


                          
ACT FOUR, grief
CHAPTER TWENTY, the phoenix lament

                          
        "Come on, Harry." said Iris. She placed her hand over his and pulled him up from the ground after he refused to stand up for Hagrid. Harry obeyed her without really thinking about it. She wrapped her arm around him and held him up as she led him back to the castle. They were holding each other and Iris was afraid that if she took another moment to think about how she had failed that she'd go mad with rage and do something stupid, like Apparate off grounds to hunt Cordelia down. Incomprehensible voices battered her, sobs and shouts and wails stabbed the night, but Harry and Iris walked on, back up the steps into the entrance hall. Faces swam on the edges of Harry's vision, people were peering at him, whispering, wondering, and Gryffindor rubies glistened on the floor like drops of blood as they made their way toward the marble staircase. 
                          
"Where are we going?" asked Harry weakly.
                          
"Hospital wing. McGonagall's orders. It's where the others are." said Iris. She could feel Harry shift underneath her grip. "What's wrong?"
                          
"Who else is dead?"
                          
"No one. Just . . . Calypso." said Iris. She knew her mum's body had been taken to the infirmary. She wasn't too sure if she even wanted to see it but she knew they'd want to know what they should do with it. There'd have to be a funeral, of course . . . and Krane Manor would probably go to her . . . Would she have to tell Rania, Alex, and Maverick that Calypso was dead? . . .
                          
"Draco said he stepped over a body." said Harry.
                          
"It was probably Bill." said Iris. "Fenrir attacked him. He attacked Sabina, too . . ."
                          
In all the chaos, Iris had forgotten that Sabina had been attacked by Fenrir. Calypso had come to her rescue and Oliver and Tracey protected her body from the other Death Eaters, but there was no way Sabina or Bill would be the same after what happened.
                          
"But the others . . . There were other bodies on the ground. . . ." 
                          
"Neville and Professor Flitwick are both hurt, but they'll be all right. And a Death Eater's dead, he got hit by a Killing Curse that huge blond one was firing off everywhere — Harry, if they hadn't had your Felix potion, I think they'd all have been killed, but everything seemed to just miss them —"  
                          
Harry stopped walking and turned to Iris.
                          
"What do you mean if 'they' didn't have the potion? Did you not take any?" asked Harry. Iris bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Iris, why wouldn't you take any? You could've been killed!"

                          
"Don't take that tone with me." snapped Iris with a deep frown. "You didn't take any either and I'm not the one injured."
                          
They had reached the hospital wing. Pushing open the doors, Iris saw Neville lying, apparently asleep, in a bed near the door. There was another body in the bed beside him but she couldn't even look in that direction. Ron, Ginny, Oliver, Tracey, Hermione, Luna, Tonks, and Remus were gathered around another bed near the far end of the ward. At the sound of the doors opening, they all looked up. Hermione ran to Harry and hugged him; Tracey and Oliver flooded around Iris with sad expressions but they both knew better than to try and hug her; Remus moved forward too, looking anxious.
                          
 "Are you all right?" 
                          
"I'm fine . . . . How's Bill and Sabina?" asked Iris.
                          
Nobody answered. Iris looked over Hermione's shoulder and saw an unrecognizable face lying on Bill's pillow, so badly slashed and ripped that he looked grotesque. Sabina had long, jagged gash marks all the way down the right side of her face. Her eyes were shut and she looked dead. Madam Pomfrey was dabbing at his wounds with some harsh-smelling green ointment.