Chapter 1

The stolen broom was in poor shape and veered to the left. Its rider would have sighed in frustration had she been able to spare the breath, her lungs the only part of her body which seemed to work, everything else was frozen with cold. Now that she had left the Breton coast she found it difficult to distinguish the starless sky from the sea below. Without the crashing of waves the English Channel reminded her of a glutinous potion, Wolfsbane perhaps, and once or twice she'd failed to notice her proximity to the sea until, startled by the spray on her face, she pulled the argumentative, obstreperous broom upward. She was without luggage and over her uncomfortable Muggle clothing - skinny jeans were in hindsight a poor choice - she wore a cloak badly in need of repair. In her left hand she gripped her wand tightly. Her heart raced as she imagined being parted from it and she shut her eyes against the desperate fear of its loss. After what seemed like hours she saw a large freighter and beyond it Southampton. The traveller had never much liked commercial docks, preferring the history and pomp of the Royal Navy at Portsmouth to Southampton's mercantile hub, but her spirits lifted as she climbed higher to speed over the town. Although the sight of England, in all its urban sprawl and light pollution, filled her with a rejuvenated zeal for home she also felt a prickly terror at a land made so unfamiliar, a place with more foes than friends.

The attack, when it came, was unsurprising. With less than a mile to 12 Grimmauld Place the tangle of twigs which made up the back of her broom caught alight. A childish prank, the sudden heat made her numb and 'Aguamente' was whispered more in irritation than fear. She zigzagged and rolled the broom mid-air forcing the old stick into manoeuvres it resisted. Her evasions protected her from three curses, bright greens and silvers and she heard the whoops of joy from her pursuers. With a lurch of her guts she realised they were toying with her. Pounding in her head she heard advice given long ago: Rage drives out fear. As the thought came to her the roiling tongue of the Dark Mark appeared from above. White anger fuelled her as she nosedived the broom toward the orange streets below. Taken surprise by her pelt toward Muggle London her two pursuers hesitated and as she looped round she roared 'Petrificus Totalus' and one of the Death Eaters fell to the earth with a crunch. As the traveller careered away from the remaining foe Bellatrix Lestrange's voice echoed across the night sky: You dare attack the Dark Lord's servant? I shall enjoy your death, mudblood. The stolen broom, damaged by fire and rough use stuttered and shook. Bellatrix cackled gleefully. The traveller, worn to exhaustion from her journey and the ravages of her mission jumped from the broom and twisted to apparate. Before the world dissolved around her she heard 'Incendio Tergum!' and was thankful she had escaped in time.

The glass broke her landing. The dank alleyway from which she could see Grimmauld Place was home to shattered beer bottles which sliced the arm she had used to shield her head from the fall. The lacerations made her whimper and she attempted to breathe normally. Cuts on glass are unpleasant, but preferable to Bellatrix's homemade curse. Someone at the Order would soon patch her up, and then bed, and long deferred sleep. She just had to get across the square and all would be well. For the first time in months the young woman felt giddily happy, or as happy as one can feel when there is glass in one's arm. As she began to stand, using the slimy wall for support, she thought distractedly about that final curse. 'Tergeo' is to clean and 'Incendio' was the pyromaniac's favourite. To clean with fire? She had taken but one step when two things happened almost simultaneously. Firstly, a small but persistent itch around her navel began to intrude into her consciousness. Furthermore, she recalled that 'Tergum' was Latin for skin. Through the folds of her cloak and her pretty patterned jumper blood began to soak. The stomach-centred burn, which felt initially like a nasty case of eczema, was radiating outwards and as she lifted up her top she saw to her horror a growing bloodied hole where her skin used to be. She clutched her hand to her stomach, fearing wildly that her organs would fall onto the rubbish-strewn floor. She thought of 12 Grimmauld Place, her only chance of life, and staggered into apparition. Her skin had been burned to nothing between her rib cage and her hips and as she turned she felt blood pour out of her.

Sirius Black stalked around his bedroom, more furious than usual at his enforced captivity. The Order meeting that day had been worse than normal. Dumbledore made his customary pleasantries but there was a tension in his eyes that belied his mirth. Moody's magical eye swiveled constantly throughout Remus and Kingsley Shacklebolt's reports making Sirius feel sick. Molly Weasely had lingered in the sitting room while the meeting went on, and looked red-eyed as the Order members took their leave. As usual Sirius had requested, or rather demanded, that he be of some use but Dumbledore had waved his entreaty away as though it was poor form to want to work for the Order. To add to the indignity Snape had arrived for the meeting early, while Sirius was still clearing away the dinner things. The memory made him wince, how infuriating to be caught in the act of playing host by the man who would never let Sirius forget his peripheral role. Caught mid-stride it occurred to Sirius that Snape had made no such comment, not even addressing him. Well, that was intolerable. If Snape wasn't even going to acknowledge his existence then he would be made to remember whose house he was sullying with his greasy hair and oversized nose.

The portrait started shrieking from the hallway downstairs and with a groan Sirius held his head in his hands. "Sirius? Can you deal with that? I have to give Arthur his dinner." Molly had a way of asking questions that were thinly veiled demands and Sirius had begun to obey unthinkingly, perhaps an unlooked-for consequence of his hound-like nature. He descended the stairs, already bellowing at his mother when he saw a crumpled mess by the front door. It was difficult to tell what it was, except that it was bleeding heavily and apparently immune to the racket made by the portrait and the other defence mechanisms. Sirius leapt forward and roughly pulled the jumble of limbs away from the still open door. The noise from the door brought Molly into the hallway, hamper in hand, "Really Sirius, there's no need to slam - good grief!" Clearing the blood away from her face Sirius saw an unconscious young woman, pale with mahogany coloured hair, a heart-shaped face and a severe expression. Molly wailed at the sight as Sirius used his wand to lift the woman off the floor and carry her gently into the sitting room. A trail of blood followed her body and Sirius thought, fleetingly, that he could smell fire.

"Sirius - send a message to Albus and Severus, they must come at once. Tell them she is back and badly hurt. I will do what I can for her, but this is dark magic. Go Sirius!" Molly turned to the body on the couch and the figure she barely recognised and choked back tears. Gingerly she pulled up the woman's top to see where the fire had passed the layer of white subcutaneous fat. In the traveller's midriff there was the liver and other organs open to the air like on an autopsy table. Sirius looked green as he reentered the room. "What should we do?" he asked as he tried not to look at the woman's organs.

"We have to stop the fire but I've tried the usual things and none of them work. Lets use a freezing charm together. The combined power might stop the flames spreading and give the others time to find an antidote." Standing together Molly and Sirius shouted 'Immobulus', and the fire could spread no further.

Five minutes can feel like an eternity when one is staring at the body of a young woman near death. All of Sirius' frustration with Albus and hatred of Snape had vanished upon sight of the grisly wounds. He racked his brains trying to think of a curse that could do such damage. The only analogue he could find was 'Sectumsempra', Snape's little concoction. If he could devise such magic perhaps he could cure it too. Molly was sitting in a squat little armchair, staring intently at the woman's face as though wishing she would wake up. "Who is she?" "Isolde." The next question caught in his throat as Snape burst into the room, eyes wild and nostrils flaring. For a split second Sirius thought Snape was livid, the colour drained from his already sallow cheeks, his breathing laboured but Sirius corrected himself: Snape wasn't furious, he was terrified. The Potions Master didn't appear to see Black as he began a rapid discussion with Mrs Weasely. Sirius had barely begun to think how long it had been since he'd seen Snivellus scared when Snape turned on him. "What happened?" As Sirius described the heap in the hallway Snape's jaw tightened and Sirius found himself grateful for the calculating mind behind Snape's cold eyes. With a curt nod Snape turned back to the body and began using his wand as a diagnostic tool, as mediwizards did.

Her face looked relaxed in the light from the table lamp. What was odd was the stillness of expression. Isolde had a mobile face, a broad grin or sly smile transforming her somewhat severe features into a happy countenance. Even in sleep, ghosts of smiles or frowns would appear and disappear with surprising swiftness. Under the 'Immobulus' spell she was frozen, Snape was certain, almost on the boundary between life and death. She had lost a vast amount of blood and her organs were failing. Severus could think of several spells that might halt the fire, not least his own remedy for Sectumsempra, but he would need assistance to keep her alive while he tried to dispel the curse. Dumbledore arrived, bringing McGonagall with him, "I was with Albus when we got the message. Filius is in charge." Dumbledore surveyed the patient impassively as Snape recounted his conclusions while McGonagall gave a small shriek at the amount of blood - the sitting room resembled an abattoir - and laid an arm around Molly's shoulder. Sirius stood in the background, trying to follow Dumbledore and Snape's rapid discussion and wishing Remus was there rather than sleeping off another full moon in the reinforced cage upstairs. Dumbledore and Snape nodded grimly at one another and the headmaster addressed the group:

"Sirius, Minerva, Molly. Severus has examined Isolde and we have formulated a plan of action. The patient is close to death, it is thanks to Molly and Sirius' quick action that she is still with us. We have to do several things at the same time. Once Immobulus is lifted we have but seconds to stop the curse. This is powerful dark magic and we need the combined concentration of us all to save Isolde's life. On my mark, Sirius and Molly will lift the freezing charm. Then you will both recite 'Haemocorpus' to replenish blood loss. Minerva - we need you to monitor Isolde's heart and keep it pumping if it become arrhythmic. Severus and I will deal with the fire. All clear?" Dumbledore levitated the couch into the middle of the room and the five of them gathered around the makeshift bed, wands out. "Ready? Now!"