Dumbledore was dead.
Draco and I sat in silence on the front steps of Malfoy Manor, both staring sightlessly, unable to forget what we'd seen that night. He leaned his head on my shoulder, but I just sat stiffly, my knees pulled to my chest.
I remembered then that my flask was still half-full, and necked its remnants. Instead of feeling better, though, I only felt more miserable, and I shoved the flask back into my cloak, tears stinging at my eyes and the burn of alcohol in my throat.
Inside, a celebration raged, the Death Eaters having successfully eliminated their single greatest threat. Dolohov had congratulated me for 'getting' Bill, and I was overcome with fear that I'd killed him, that I had murdered one of the people I'd been trying so hard to protect.
If I had, the Order would surely disown me. And the Weasleys would understandably never speak to me again. With a single flick of my wand, I may have severed my ties to the Order, my only chance of escaping the Death Eaters, and set myself adrift in a violent sea of warfare.
I had to believe that he was alive, that Remus had acted in time to spare him from the jaws of Greyback. That belief was the only thing tethering me to mental ease, to any kind of delicate sanity.
Miles joined us on the stairs after a bit, and the three of us sat without speaking. He pressed a kiss to my temple, but I barely acknowledged it, still wondering if, had I done something, anything differently, if I might have been able to save Dumbledore that night.
Dumbledore had always seemed so eternal, so omniscient, that even though he was old, I never thought I'd see him die. I had never given it much thought, but truly I had never expected him to leave this life, at least not before I was old and grey myself.
He had always been at the heart of the Order of the Phoenix, at the frontlines of the First Wizarding War and arguably the lifeblood of the Order while preparing for the Second. Everything we did, every risk we took, we knew we could because even if we were gone, Dumbledore would remain, and Dumbledore would never let Voldemort win.
But he was gone.
A question kept racing through my mind, a question that both sent chills down my spine and brought tears of terror to my eyes:
How in Merlin's name were we supposed to win this war without him?
With Dumbledore gone, and the Death Eaters invigourated from his death, things were starting to look especially grim; the thought crossed my mind that the Order may lose, that Voldemort might win, and I would end up caught somewhere between the two sides, my fate uncertain.
It would be so much easier, should Voldemort win, to simply switch allegiances and quietly dissolve all ties with the Order; yet as that idea crossed my mind I was filled with a suffocating shame, cursing myself for even considering such a despicably cowardly thing as turning my back on the people I loved most.
Silent tears streamed down my face, and Miles blotted them with his sleeve.
"Don't let them see that you're upset," he warned in a low voice. "Tonight was a victory, remember that."
I nodded, biting my lip. He was right; I needed to get ahold of myself. This anxiety spiral was helping no one, was only clouding my brain and setting my nerves on edge.
I cast a glance at Draco, who looked back at me, his eyes dull with exhaustion. "Do you want to sleep at my place tonight? It'll be quieter there."
He shook his head. "I should stay here. They'll wonder where I am."
I gave a small nod, smoothing a hand over his pale hair. "You completed your task. Congratulations."
Draco showed no signs of being proud of himself, only turning his eyes to the ground once more.
I stood, taking Miles's hand and pulling him along with me. I wrapped myself in his arms, burying my face into his chest, then disapparated home.