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Disclaimer: C'mon, we know it's not really mine.
Runaway
By
DracoNunquamDormiens
In this chapter: Lots of fear, chaos and disorder. Sirius finds something he'd lost, Voldemort loses something he had, Coop is the amazing human rainbow, and it's all very hair-raising and stuff. Oh, and the Lord Thingy gets a present.
Part Fourteen: The Bark Mark
Or to quote Sirius (and Da Man)
… And Into the Fire. Or Earth. Or, Anywhere But Here.
.
James was enshrouded in fog, floating around in a haze. When the fog cleared, he found himself at home, standing by the window on Sirius' side of the room. He'd been looking at the grounds, at the group of dark-robed witches and wizards lining up to enter.
He was barefoot, heart hammering as he crept out of his and Sirius' room at a limp, tripping over Cussing Chessmen and books scattered around. He could smell rot in the air, thick and heavy and frightening. His leg was hurting, a dull throbbing ache that spread from his knee all the way to his side, but he ignored it.
James made his way to his parents' room, got his Dad out of bed… They needed to leave, quick.
And then he saw Voldemort.
He knew it was him, although he'd never seen him before in the flesh— but Sirius had.
His dream made him apprehensive, made him feel more frightened than he'd ever felt before; James moaned in his sleep, trying to shake the nightmare, trying to get to that warm, floaty nothingness where he'd been before, but nothing would respond.
Until suddenly, a flash of panic, sharp as a blade, made his eyes snap open with a gasp.
He caught a blurry glimpse of his Mum's face, heard her call his name. And then there was Remus, he was sure it was Remus, saying something that was garbled and lost in the sheer terror and despair that had gripped him. He was gasping for air that wouldn't fill his lungs, trying to twist his way out of Sirius' head — because he knew, now he had awoken, that he was in Sirius' head — long enough to warn them, warn them that all wasn't all right at home, that Voldemort was there, and his Dad was hurt, or worse, and Sirius was losing it.
James was too.
Images shifted, feelings and emotions that were raw with urgency mixing in with glimpses of the Godric's Hall grounds; his Dad, bleeding and struggling to breathe; Sirius, trying to get him out of the house, shaking so bad he could hardly move; the flashes of spells and shouts all around — and the ever-present whiteness of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, where urgent voices were trying to pull him out of the visions as hard as he was himself. It was like being stuck in a whirlwind—
"James! James, talk to me honey! What's wrong?"
James' breathing was coming in tiny hitched gasps, as he stared into his Mum's eyes. He could already hear the nurse coming over at a run, and he wondered, for a moment, how that would look. Poops running, that was new—
He gave his spinning head a shake to try and focus.
"He's there," he said, wrenching his eyes closed to regain the connection, which had broken off and made him even more frantic. "He's there. Oh, no— Mum, it's him. He's there."
"Jamie, what?" his Mum asked, but James' eyes were already glazing over, his mind sucked miles away again, to the field behind their house, where the practice hoops were twisting around like giant liquorice sticks and many — so, so many — people in black robes and silver skull masks were rushing towards him, towards Sirius, who was just standing there, waiting for them, doing something, or thinking of something, he couldn't tell.
James shouted at Sirius in his mind, but the response he got was...
James, block yourself off, there's a lad.
Sirius— NO! What's going on?!
Hush, James. Block yourself off now, I'm busy here.
Sirius wasn't in any condition to fight anything, James knew. Not a cold, certainly not the Death Eaters closing in around him.
Sirius, get out of there! They're everywhere!
I know. That's the whole point.
He saw spells flashing, felt a sort of hopelessness for his own survival washing over him, along with something else— the determination to go out with a bang.
The pain gripped him an instant later.
.
.
Mr. P hit the ground, his wand clattering out of sight.
Sirius stood there, staring at him in horror. He knew he had to move, he must — but he couldn't. His mind was stuck on an endless string of, no nonononono no, please no… and his throat seemed to have closed over while trying to get a scream out, and simply refused to work one way or the other.
Sirius couldn't breathe.
The snake reared up again and hissed, a sharp sound that pierced his ears like needles.
"Cover the back door!" Voldemort yelled at once. "Nagini has trapped them in the back!"
That snapped Sirius out of his shock, and just as the snake was jerking back, staring at Mr. P's head and clearly considering eating him right away, a gigantic dog appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, sinking its fangs into the snake's throat. It let out a sharp hiss, its body trying to coil around the dog, but Sirius hadn't wrestled a werewolf every month for two years for nothing; he somehow, instinctively, twisted away from the viper's body, his fangs finding and closing around its throat.
There was a rip, the snake screamed — if such a thing was even possible, but it did — and instantly, a shout of rage from Voldemort tore through the house, shaking its very foundations.
The snake slithered away, out of sight, and Sirius hurtled through the back door, Mr. P floating, still unconscious, after him out into the garden. He spat out snake blood and more, wiping his mouth as he went, human again.
In his trembling hand, more by chance than actual presence of mind, was a clump of flesh — one of the snake's venom sacs.
"NAGINI! Help her! Get out of my way!" Voldemort screeched, and the part of Sirius' mind that wasn't frozen in fear couldn't believe it; the bastard did care about something, after all. Enough to distract him from killing them for a few moments.
This wasn't true for his followers, though; they were spilling out of the house, breaking windows and firing off spells at him with pretty decent aim.
Ignoring the sharp sting in his right leg, Sirius broke into a run, blindly casting shields behind him. He didn't stop until they'd reached the edge of the forest that marked the end of the Godric's Hall grounds, and dove into the bushes, scrambling to cover them both with the cloak.
Sirius' heart was threatening to leap out of his mouth, as he put the venom sac inside Mr. P's pyjama pocket and tried frantically to revive him, to no avail.
"Come on, Mr. P," Sirius begged, shaking him some more. "Please, wake up, wake up!" But Mr. P just didn't respond to shaking. His breath was laboured, coming in wheezes. Sirius was no Healer, but he knew that this couldn't be good.
All around him, he could hear yelling, shouted orders and snapped responses as the Death Eaters began searching for them. He saw the Dark Mark, shimmering right above the Godric's Hall chimneys, and he felt all hope draining away.
The cold, the darkness of the night, the helplessness he had been trying to keep at bay, were gripping him and not letting go.
It was all crashing on him at once, like drowning, plunging him back to… before.
Memories flooded him, the sheer terror of those days he'd been hunted without a pause, of the pain he'd not even quite recovered from, washing away any coherent thought… and leaving only the sheer, primal sort of fear that came of knowing, without a shred of doubt, what would happen if — when — they found him this time.
What Sirius was feeling was nothing the Sorting Hat would put you in Gryffindor for, never mind what Mr. P had to say on the matter.
A groan, guttural and pained, snapped his attention to more immediate problems.
It hit him: This wasn't before. This was worse, this was his most terrible nightmares come true.
"Ssh!" he hissed, as low as he dared. "They're looking for us. Can you… Mr. P, can you sit up?"
The elderly wizard next to him was shivering, cradling his arm, which was bathed in blood. He tried to say something, then fell back onto the icy ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Sirius stared at him, horrified.
Haphazard thoughts ran through his terror-stricken mind, all in a single second. There were many: the guilty — why did I come here? I did this. I brought this upon them, I knew —; the nonsensical — Why does this always happen when I'm wearing nothing but bloody pyjamas? —; the panicked — he'll worse than kill us, gods he'll kill them all —; and finally, luckily, the resolute —
Over my dead body.
He suddenly found that he could think again.
Anger was a feeling as good as anything to have, and bugger if he knew how, but he was suddenly beyond furious. He felt all the outrage he'd pent up over so long, eating away at his terror, his helplessness, leaving only the overwhelming desire to act, whatever the cost. It wasn't as if he didn't know what would happen.
He wouldn't live to see the next day, no matter what he did.
Sirius found that it was easy to accept.
It was Penarth all over again, only worse. Because Sirius hadn't known the girl who showed him a kindness and died for it. And he didn't merely care for Mr. P.
Sirius loved the old wizard with all his heart, just as he loved James with his every fibre, and never mind Mrs. P. He ruddy adored her.
And Voldemort had made a big mistake: he had touched each of them tonight. James had nearly died because Voldemort had a stupid craving for him. Mr. P was almost there too, just because he existed. And Mrs. P… hell, Sirius had all but heard her heart break.
It had to stop.
And since he was standing — or crouching — here thanks to the very people Voldemort insisted on trying to kill — because Voldemort wouldn't manage, not if he had a say on it — Sirius decided he would be the one who did just that.
If nothing else, he would at least try.
A strange wave of calm washed over him. He was no less angry, but once he'd made his choice, it was suddenly easy to move. To think. To do.
The reviving spell came to mind at once, courtesy of his equally jump-started brain, and it shot out of his wand an instant after a well-placed tourniquet charm.
"Mr. P," Sirius said, in a steady, urgent voice, "C'mon, wake up."
"Ungh."
Ungh was hardly anything, it was hardly a word, but Sirius wasn't picky; ungh was more than enough for him just now. It was better than yerch, at any rate.
He cast a few charms, holding the invisibility cloak up over his head like a tent and keeping his ears pricked up and listening hard for the Death Eaters combing the area for them; one charm cushioned the ground. Another warmed the old wizard up again. And a third, one he'd read about in the books he'd gotten from this very wizard, would give him a fighting chance.
"Det vobis fortitudo mea," Sirius chanted, as low as he dared. The next instant, he felt as if he was being sapped of whatever little energy he had. But the strength transfer spell worked. A moment later, as Sirius rubbed his arms to fight off the suddenly harsher cold, he saw that Mr. P was staring at him in surprise and not a little shock.
"What happened?"
"You've been bitten, by that snake… Mr. P, you've got to go back to Hogwarts, they're coming after James," Sirius told him, as he fastened the cloak under the old wizard's chin, pressed his wand, which he'd ended up holding — he didn't know how, but it was there — into his hand. "Stay under the cloak, the wards end over there by those trees and you'll be able to apparate, or call an elf to take you. I'll hold them off." Sirius slapped the hood on him and straightened up, looking around. The Death Eaters were all over the grounds and a handful of them were already combing the woods.
And just like that, Sirius knew what to do. He had an idea.
"But—"
"Just go."
It was a bad idea, as far as ideas could go, but a bad idea was better than no ideas at all, and he went with it, forming a plan before his inner Sirius decided to chicken out. It was tempting.
Then he turned and trotted himself straight back to the field where he and James played Quidditch every time they could, not bothering to hide. For his plan to work, he had to be seen, keep their focus on him and only him. He found it wasn't so different from what he did, at family get-togethers.
Immediately, there was an uproar.
"There he is!"
"GET HIM!"
"I SEE HIM!"
"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
"Yeah, come and get me," Sirius muttered, jamming his wand into the ground as deep as it would go with a muttered incantation and stepping on it, directing the beginnings of a large-scale spell into the ground. "Or at least, y'know, try."
He wasn't sure it would work, he'd never even attempted a transfiguration at this scale before, but it was all he had, just now. It was also, probably, going to be his last one ever. Unless, y'know, he was immensely lucky.
Best make it good, then. Because I'm never this lucky.
Spells were flying almost at once, but Sirius had anticipated that. He rolled aside from a bone-breaking curse, shooting back a bunch of fiery arrows from his hand — his favourite element spell ever — and hit at least one. He hadn't tried it before either, he couldn't see who it was that he'd hit, but that scream had been quite satisfying and told him that he'd make that spell part of his personal signature.
Provided he lived long enough to have signature spells, of course.
He cast another wandless spell on the practice hoops, which made them come to life, spitting out ice and twisting about like gigantic liquorice whips. A handful of Death Eaters were swept aside, thrown against the house. Sirius paid no attention to that though, he was busy dodging curses and focusing as best he could on the ground below—
"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE! HE'S MINE!"
Voldemort was angry. Sirius had been counting on that too, for his plan to work. He needed all the Death Eaters in one place, somewhere they couldn't apparate away, and he needed them focused on him. The fastest way to do that, was if he just stayed put — and alive — long enough for them to come to him.
"EVERYONE! SURROUND THAT INSOLENT BOY!"
"Thank you, Lord Thingy," Sirius muttered sarcastically. "That's right, folks. Gather round, quick as you like."
He wasn't sure he understood yet all the reasons for and intricacies of his recently rediscovered past; he didn't know why he'd been dealt this crappy hand of late either; all he knew, was that he was turning into a hell of a cynic out of it. His expectations were being met well beyond what he'd dared to contemplate, during those full two seconds he'd devoted to thoroughly thinking his plan through.
Inwardly, Sirius couldn't believe his luck. They were bloody falling for it—
And he was falling too, next, with a yelp that was as yet more surprised than pained, as his bum leg gave way with a sickening crunch. At this rate he'd end up with a peg leg like Moody's, he thought nonsensically, teeth gritted to keep from crying out. They always, always hit the same one, gah—
SIRIUS! Exploded in his head next, panicked and pained. Sirius inwardly cursed. He'd been so focused on connecting with James earlier that he'd left himself wide open, hadn't even thought of blocking him out. This must be the worst waking ever for his friend, feeling curses hit you wasn't fun even when you knew they were coming—
James, block yourself off, there's a lad.
Sirius— NO! What's going on?!
Hush, James. Block yourself off now, I'm busy here.
Sirius gasped in a lungful of air, cast a shield which shattered a second later, rolled out of the way of a bright yellow beam, his leg searing sharply.
Sirius, get out of there! They're everywhere!
I know. That's the whole point.
He had to focus on the ground, had to keep himself from getting hit— he couldn't think of Occlumency just now.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! SIRIUS, GET — OUT — OF — THERE!
Shut up a second! Let me focus here! Sirius flattened himself on the freezing ground, and a sickly green curse aimed at his back narrowly missed him and hit someone else. Sirius didn't stop to look, he was trying to get up, get on his feet again.
Bellatrix giggled somewhere nearby. She was suddenly close, much too close, and Sirius spun around to face her entirely too late. He'd gotten distracted, had completely overlooked the handful of Death Eaters taking aim all around him.
He heard more than felt them all hit: Bone-breakers, something that felt like it was trying to pull his bones through his skin, Slashing Curses, a whip that burnt through his thin layer of clothing, twice, thrice —
Sirius yelped. In his head, James screamed out.
Something whacked him on the head with a crack, sending him flying to a nasty hard landing, and his vision split in half. It felt like a handful of Bludgers had just barrelled into him.
It was the Yule all over again.
He heard laughter, heard the Death Eaters' trademark jeering— and there was James in his mind, going spare with pain and frantic worry.
Ow—OW! SIRIUS! Get out of there!
James, shut up! Let me think and get out of my head!
Sirius tried to block him out—
White-hot pain quickly spread everywhere, and Sirius only realised that someone had cast a Cruciatus when he was reeling, spastic with burning agony. James' screams in his head only made it worse, but the curse wasn't being lifted for ages — And then there was Bellatrix again, a knife in hand, cackling like a maniac.
His shoulder was on fire next. He heard another Cruciatus being laid on top of the previous one, the second curse focusing on one single spot. Wherever Bellatrix cut, it was torment beyond anything he'd ever felt before.
Gods, it hurts—
Make it stop! Make it stop makeitstop please makeitstop— James was wailing in his mind, but he couldn't make it stop, he couldn't even move, he just couldn't.
He had to focus… focus, DAMMIT!
"STOP! HE IS MINE TO DEAL WITH!"
Lord Thingy came through once more.
The curses stopped, the pain stopped coming in waves. Sirius had hoped for Voldemort to take control; one thing he knew well, was how the Munchers killed. And he'd hoped Voldemort would be mad enough at him to want to turn it into a show.
He wasn't disappointed in that last.
Sirius cracked his one working eye open. He was all jerking limbs and burning nerves, panting but unable to quite get the smallest breath in — he looked up, to see a very blurry Dark Lord towering over him, and who had turned the world into a tilty— what was the word? Tilt-a-something. Thing.
Off-task, Sirius' inner self wondered if all the Death Munchers had assembled yet, or if it would be good form to wait another five minutes for stragglers and late comers.
Then he wondered if he had five minutes left if that, and decided they'd all been given long enough time to arrive. Timeliness was important. They were all British, after all; it wasn't as if they didn't know the most basic of rules.
"Hello again, little Lion." Red eyes flashed at him with fury. "You'll die today."
He'd made the Lord Thingy very angry, if he was pointing out the obvious like that.
As he'd planned. Making people mad, he'd always been good at that.
The red eyes bored into his own, and Sirius felt his newly-regained confidence waver. Even James had gone silent in his head, but he could feel his torment, his mounting horror at the sight, as an extension of himself. Sirius couldn't blame him: One look into those eyes was enough to make him feel like running yet again… He would, if he could stand, but he couldn't move.
But then, he thought of Mr. P, lying in those bushes back there, dying and without a chance for help… and he swallowed back his fear, a bunch of choice insults that were fighting to leave his mouth (which would only have incensed lord Thingy further), and maybe even his tongue, he couldn't tell.
"'Lo, lord Thingy," he said thickly, but it carried, to judge by the outraged shouts from the Death Eaters. Deep down, Sirius was syphoning his every last ounce of magic into something else altogether, which was growing, unnoticed, below their feet. His spell was nearly ready, it was so close-
Voldemort's fingers were suddenly digging into his throat, like a vice. Sirius was being pulled up, and forget the spell, his focus was suddenly on fighting to breathe.
"Behold," Voldemort's voice carried clearly across the grounds. "Behold what happens to those who dare defy us, defy ME and side with the Mudbloods!"
A deafening cheer erupted. Sirius was seeing black specks obscuring his one working eye, and he realised that he would never finish what he'd started, after all.
A pity, it would've been a brilliant bit of magic.
"Behold the face of treason to the Pureblood Cause!"
The face of treason couldn't get a breath in, so it wasn't exactly something nice to behold, but the Death Eaters erupted in an ovation all the same.
Someone — Malfoy, he was willing to bet — started a chant of, "Kill! Kill! KILL!" that was picked up at once by everyone present. Sirius' own inner chant went something like, 'Air! Air! Air!' but public opinion apparently won out.
"This filthy blood-traitor has defied his heritage enough. He has defied his own blood enough. Tonight he shall be made an example of, so that everyone shall know what happens to those who think that they can deny me and live—"
There was a flash of light, out of nowhere. Something that made Voldemort let go with a yell, hands flying to his eyes, and Sirius found himself sprawled on the frozen ground, coughing and shaking and trying to get his mangled windpipe to work. Sirius' wand was still buried deep in the grass, and somehow, by sheer luck, he landed his hand on top of it.
His spell was ready, and nobody was any the wiser. They were all twisting around, looking for the source of the spell that had hit the lord Thingy.
"Who did that?" Bellatrix shrieked.
Sirius couldn't believe his luck. He flashed the enraged, squinting Voldemort a grin, just because.
"Goodbye, Lord Thingy," Sirius said next. It came out strangled. "Terra glutio."
"What?" Voldemort said, nonplussed.
The next instant, the ground opened up— and swallowed Sirius whole, closing up again right after.
"NOT AGAIN!" Bellatrix wailed.
Sirius couldn't but chuckle. He felt like he was falling apart, James was screaming in his mind again, hurting badly and upset enough to leave proper punctuation aside— WHERE ARE YOU DAMN YOU PADFOOT ANSWER ME DAMN YOU I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU DON'T ANSWER — and he still couldn't quite get a full breath in, nor did he trust himself to stand, but one thing must be said about the Death Eaters: their faces, as far as he could see, were priceless.
He was sitting where the ground had spat him out, behind the bush he'd started out from, where he'd left James' Dad.
"Sirius—" a wheezy voice said next to him.
"One second." Sirius rasped. One more thing, and he'd be able to focus on something else. He tapped his wand lightly on the ground and intoned, "Manducor terram."
A hole opened up in the ground, right underneath the Death Eaters' feet, forming a maw the size of his and James' beloved practice field, with fangs the size of broomsticks and a gullet wide enough to swallow the Munchers whole. The hoops he had turned into gigantic whips were sweeping the Death Eaters into the huge maw as they clambered over each other in a frenzy, trying to escape the trap. The group of Death Eaters, even Voldemort, vanished into it within the next second, and the fanged thing closed.
Then it started to chew.
Screams and enraged shrieks reached his ears next. It was a beautiful sound.
"That'll teach them." Sirius felt very satisfied, very wired and very, very shaken up. Next, he shuddered. Once he started, though, he didn't seem to be able to stop.
"Sirius—" Mr. P, of course, hadn't left. Sirius wasn't really surprised. He'd just, y'know, hoped. "That… that was…"
"On page twenty-three of the element spellbook." Sirius wiped some blood from his eyes, only noticing then that his head was throbbing fit to burst. He ignored it. "I didn't think it would work so well. Thanks for distracting him, Mr. P; what did you do?"
"Conjunctivitus Curse,"'Mr. P wheezed. He sounded weaker than before. "If it's good enough for a dragon…"
Sirius turned to where he suspected James' Dad was, but saw only empty air. He reached out a hand and pulled the hood of the cloak off Mr. P's head. What he saw made him suck in a breath; the old wizard was going all sorts of colours. Purple figured prominently, and green, red and blue. Half his face was swollen and one eye was dropping, just like the corner of his mouth.
"For the love of Merlin, lad! What have you done to yourself?" Mr. P sounded horrified at the sight of him.
"You're one to talk. Have you seen," Sirius hunted for a suitable word, settled on, "you?"
He was beginning to believe that all this excitement couldn't be good for Mr. P. He was old. And he looked even older. And kind of like a rainbow trout left out in the sun too long.
"I thought I told you to go?" There was no reproach in his tone, only worry. He hadn't really expected him to listen; the man was a Potter.
"Yes…" Mr. P said weakly. "We must go now." Sirius decided against arguing.
"Yes, Mr. P."
SIRIUS! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?! It made him cringe.
We're on our way. Stop shouting. Tell Poops to get some antidote for a snake bite ready.
James stopped hollering in his mind, and Sirius could suddenly hear voices and other sounds beyond the Death Eaters' screaming. Never mind the urgency he already felt for Mr. P's declining… everything — the Aurors were arriving, maybe some of the villagers too. If they found them, Mr. P wouldn't get to see a Healer for ages.
Adults always took so long to do any little thing.
"I never thought I'd see that here," Mr. P was staring at the house. Or rather, at the Dark Mark above it. He sounded heartbroken.
"Don't worry, Mr. P, that's easily fixed." Despite the urgency of the situation, Sirius flourished his wand at the sky. "Canem Rugiens."
The old wizard let out a startled, appreciative laugh.
It was music to Sirius' ears.
.
"Last time I tried this, I splinched myself," Sirius warned Mr. P a few short moments later, heaving the old wizard to his feet by the tree line where the apparition block ended. He was leaning on him to try and catch his breath, but it still wasn't quite working out. Sirius was operating on the mother of all adrenaline rushes, and he was taking full advantage of it while it lasted. Later on, he knew he'd regret ever moving at all. If he got to wake up again; he doubted it somehow.
"Did you read my notes?" Mr. P asked, his voice a thin sliver. His strength transfer spell was failing, and Sirius doubted he could cast another.
"I did, but…"
"Go for it, son. I trust you'll manage."
"That makes one of us, sir."
"Master!" A shrill voice broke his concentration. "Master, you is hurted!"
"Hey, Hinky… or Dinky," Sirius said, deciding that the underpants he was wearing had just been promoted to the status of Lucky Knickers. "Or, you know… Hinky and Dinky, I can't tell. There's one thing we do need just now."
.
.
Severus bobbed up and down on his toes impatiently. Had he known that Peter Pettigrew did the same exact thing when he was excited, he would have desisted from this behaviour at once. But nobody had ever told him, because not even the slimiest of Slytherins liked talking to him.
It wasn't the bad breath — some of them weren't too down with personal hygiene either — or the stink he perpetually seemed to exude — although that contributed — it was all of him that they disliked. He was rude, aloof even though his father was a filthy Hufflepuff Mudblood, bandying that he was the last of the Princes, the Ninth High House; it was that he never helped anyone but himself and manipulated everyone within reach for his own advancement. That, and… most kids really feared him. He was petty, vengeful, and loyal to no-one.
Of course, Severus wasn't aware of any of that either, because, again, nobody really liked talking to him.
Presently one Narcissa Black was being forced into doing just such a thing, which secretly amused him. They were in the owlery, where she had dragged him — after shaking him awake — upon receiving a letter from Bellatrix that said quite simply to await instructions before the night was through.
"Do you think they'll want him delivered tonight?" Severus asked expectantly.
"What do I know, Snape?" She retorted, her nose twitching as though fighting to go into grimace mode. She had been this way for an hour already. "All the letter said was to wait."
"I just hope they hurry. I'd hate for him to be delivered dead."
"Your instructions were only to injure him. If he dies, you may as well go with him to be dealt with."
"What's the problem, if he's dead either way?" Severus asked. "The Dark—"
"He wants him for himself, and rumour has it, he wants him alive."
"Whoops." Severus smiled obnoxiously, but deep down worry sparked. Like with any good fire, it soon spread and was hard to put out.
If anyone had told Severus as little as five minutes ago that he'd be hoping for James Potter to get better, he'd have laughed in their face. Now…
That dratted owl couldn't get here fast enough.
He checked his watch, looking out the open windows into the night. It was nearly half three in the morning.
"How much longer?"
"I don't know, Snape." Narcissa's tone held a warning he chose not to ignore.
So they waited in silence, until, almost at a quarter to four, an owl fluttered soundlessly towards her outstretched arm. It carried a scroll and a package.
"What does it say, then?" he asked impatiently, watching Narcissa read.
"There's a Portkey in the box," she replied. "We are to put it on Potter, it's set to go... at ten past four. It's barely enough time."
Severus opened the box. Inside was an innocent-enough looking roll of gauze.
"What are we waiting for then?" he snapped. "Come on."
.
.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen how the bond between James and Sirius operated. It was, however, the first time it was so bad.
Remus had seen how it worked when one of them was in danger, once before. James had been flying solo, practicing some stunts, and had drifted too far into the Forbidden Forest. He'd fallen from his broomstick, after pulling out of a Wronski Feint an instant too late.
He and Sirius had been in detention together, washing up the lunch dishes, joking about some stupid thing or other, when it happened. Sirius had broken off mid-sentence, his eyes glazing over.
What Remus remembered most clearly was the shattering noise of the plate Sirius had been holding as it fell to the kitchen floor; everything that followed had been a chaotic blur after Sirius doubled over, then went instantly… well, like he'd been earlier. Sirius had found James of course, helped by Remus himself, exactly in the same way in which he'd directed him to find James earlier. Somehow, Sirius just had known. He'd also felt James' every injury, had told Pomfrey exactly what was wrong— from the obvious broken ribs to the slightest twinge on his shoulder, every last scrape… and when James was given painkillers, Sirius just… suddenly felt better. In a blinking.
But that was worlds different from what he was seeing now, what he'd been witnessing for nearly half an hour.
James was asleep when it started, for one. Added to that, he was already very badly injured. He'd lost a lot of blood, and Sirius was in bloody Wales.
Distance didn't seem to affect their bond, and for all that Remus had envied them for it for years, right now he realised it was more curse than blessing.
He wasn't sure that sharing jokes with a thought or headbutting their way through reading assignments was really worth this sort of torment.
For the better part of the last half hour, James had been twitching, moaning in his sleep, hyperventilating and jerking at random. Remus' nose however, had picked up on a scent he associated with fear — that was what had told him something wasn't right. Well. Less right.
But now…
James had been screaming his throat raw for the longest five minutes of Remus' life, gripped by seizures they couldn't stop. The nurse was yelling at Remus to help hold him down, and Peter was looking after his Mum, who was near hysterics.
James was bleeding again, too, and it made it so hard to focus.
"Help me, Lupin, turn him on his side before he hurts himself!"
Remus did, and a moment later the screaming stopped. James' eyes were glazed over, open wide. He was shaking like mad, jerking as though he was having a fit. His mouth was moving, forming words, but no sound came out.
"James? James, answer me!" Remus shouted.
James let out a strangled sort of moan… Suddenly he was choking, grabbing wildly at his throat.
"What now?" Remus asked the nurse desperately. Pomfrey cast a spell on him, to help him breathe. She shook her head, horrified and clearly at a loss.
"Lupin… I just don't know. There's nothing wrong with his throat at all."
Remus felt a twinge of fear run down his spine. James' face was going blue, and he was clearly struggling to breathe.
And then, just as abruptly as it had started, James stopped thrashing, lay still for a few moments. Was it over? Remus took a step back, then another. The smell of blood was filling the room, and it would get worse when the nurse started to treat that. Suddenly James sat up, his hair on end and his eyes wild.
"Muuuum!" he shouted.
"Jamie, I'm here! What happened?"
"It's him, it's, it's Voldemort- it's him! He's at home—" James lapsed for a few seconds. "Dad's hurt," he said next, gasping for air. "He was… he was bitten by a snake — he was…"
What he was, Remus never found out.
There was a loud crack next, followed by two dull thuds. He shot around—
There at the foot of James' bed, lay James' Dad and Sirius, whose head hit the floor with a thunk. An elf dressed in a woollen pillowcase and a doily on its head was holding on to them.
James let out a sound that was half moan, half whimper, and all distress.
Remus was close to joining in.
The bits of Mr. Potter that weren't covered by the invisibility cloak were dreadful to see, and Sirius was six ways of beaten up, lying on his side, bleeding as badly as James had earlier. His face was bathed in blood, and Remus took another step towards the door, feeling sick to his stomach. The blood was flowing freely onto the floor, filling the room with the sickening, oh, so enticing smell.
It made him hungry.
The nurse rushed over to help them, but no sooner had she touched Sirius that he jerked awake, sucking in a sharp breath. His right eye was bloodshot and so dilated the iris was gone, the other was a pinprick.
"Him first," Sirius said, in a voice so raspy it sounded like he'd swallowed a file. "He's… he got bitten by this snake…"
Pomfrey turned to James' Dad, fingers flying to undo the knot of the cloak.
"What snake?"
"A pit… pit viper. I think."
Remus didn't know much about snakes, but Pomfrey's reaction was enough. She was suddenly rushed, her lips a thin line. He was at the door now, ready to hurry out and slam it behind himself.
"In his pocket," gritted out Sirius. He hadn't moved, or even raised his head, but Remus could see him shaking on and off. "Dunno if it'll help… it's the… the thingy that goes in the." Sirius didn't seem to know what "it" was. He didn't seem to want to try to think of a name for it either. "In his pocket. Dunno if it'll help," he repeated. He was heaving for air just like James had, earlier, but James wasn't struggling to breathe or shaking was anymore. He was staring in undisguised trepidation.
"In his pocket. Dunno if it'll help," Sirius muttered again.
"I heard you the first time."
"In his pocket." Pomfrey gave Sirius a sharp look, but she had found the thing, and frankly Remus didn't have a word to describe it either; it was a fist-sized bit of flesh, dripping black blood. "Dunno if it'll help."
"It'll help, Mr. Black," Pomfrey said briskly, as James' Mum made two beds march themselves into the room, and the nurse levitated James' Dad onto one, leaving the silvery cloak on the floor. Peter moved to pick it up, as the nurse added, "Betty, you start on him. Whatever happens, don't let him fall asleep. Not for anything." She turned to Pete and Remus, ordering them to get some potions and bandages and gowns and whatnot — Remus nodded, committing everything to memory, focusing on that and not on the blood flowing freely on the floor.
James' Mum moved to help Sirius. He was half out of it, shivering on and off, jerking without coordination.
"Mum?" James rolled a torrent of questions into one single word.
"Give me one moment, sweetheart. Honey?" She asked Sirius, giving his shoulder a tiny squeeze. He winced, but stared at her oddly. Like he couldn't make her out. "Can you hear me?"
"Yuh..."
"Tell me where it hurts most."
Sirius let out a pained, amused laugh. It became a groan right after.
.
.
Narcissa vowed never again to work on anything with the Prince half-blood. They were creeping to the Hospital Wing, trying to remain unseen, and sure she understood that one got nervous when breaking the rules and carrying proof of their allegiance to the Dark Lord, but when he got nervous he sweated.
She was sure the smell would give them away before they'd even reached the bloody Hospital Wing.
"Follow me," she muttered, allowing her nose to crimp in that grimace she'd been fighting all night as she sped up and took the lead in a hallway.
Much better. With him behind her, the smell wasn't as strong. Honestly, would it kill him to use soap and water every now and again?
She eased the door of the Hospital Wing open, peeking inside. It was mostly darkened and a handful of beds were occupied, to judge by the drawn curtains, but she could see the shadows of figures moving about in one of the contagion rooms, and the babble of voices reached her ears.
"Move it, Snape," she hissed, slipping inside and paying close attention to her surroundings and moving ahead warily; behind her, Severus followed, grinning from ear to ear.
Narcissa's grimace deepened, mind racing to make up some excuse for her being here at this hour. Gah, they should have planned ahead!
She sighed, frustrated. She wasn't cut out for this take-action kind of stuff, she was a Black!
The nurse's voice carried to their ears, announcing that she'd get some painkillers and a muscle relaxant, and to put someone in a bed.
Cursing under her breath — delicately of course, because she was a Black — Narcissa stepped behind the nearest set of curtains, Snivellus — yes, Slytherins called him that behind his back too — in tow.
She peeked out and watched the nurse bustle past, on the way to her storeroom, then took the chance to hurry all the way to the contagion room, stopping behind the last bed before the door, listening hard. Severus drew the curtains quietly, but she doubted anyone would have noticed with the noise the group that was with Potter were making. There seemed to be a regular party in there.
"Hold him still, Remus," a female voice said, and there were groans and thrashing sounds, followed by a low, raspy voice that was nearly unintelligible.
"Hush, darling, you'll feel better in one second."
Narcissa rolled her eyes. Potter was getting babied, by all looks of it. At this rate they'd never be able to place the Portkey on time!
"There's too many," Snape hissed. "What do we do now?"
"What did you do to him?" She hissed back. "He's supposed to be asleep, not—" she gestured at the goings-on in the room furiously. "Having a fit or whatever!"
"You said to injure him, and I did. If you had better aim, we wouldn't be here right now!"
She gave him a petulant look.
"That," she hissed, "was your fault."
"Yeah because you just had to—" Snape cut himself off, as did Narcissa.
They had both heard it. They just couldn't believe it yet.
"Did you hear that?"
"Shut up and let me listen!" she snapped, wide-eyed.
Someone had said, "Sirius."
But her sister had just told her in her letter, that they were sure he was with the Potters!
The disconnected noises continued, and there was much clattering and moving around, and then they both heard her cousin's voice speak in a clear rasp:
"Get all the stuff off of him, if there's a Portkey it could be anything—"
"Mate, we've been here all the time."
"Awake?" Sirius asked
"What? Yeah."
"Sort of," said another voice.
"Mostly."
"What if it's a bandage or something?"
"Sirius," Slytherin on a drawstring, it was him! "Nobody has been here all night, except for us and Madam Pomfrey—"
"And you're willing to bet his life on it." Sirius' raspy tone was final, and there was much muttering and shuffling about. A strangled sort of moan could be heard after.
"No, of course not."
"I'll call Dumbledore. He can detect if anything is a Port—" the nurse started, but she was interrupted.
"It could go before he arrives."
"I can't believe that good-for-nothing piece of scum is alive!" Snape muttered nastily.
Narcissa's mood dropped another notch. She was angry at discovering that her cousin was alive — not well, but alive — and right under their noses. She'd never liked him, considered him a waste of blood and talent, an embarrassment and an inconvenience.
But that was her right. He was her cousin. She got to call him scum. Others had to earn that right. Hearing that half-blood talking about him like he was superior rubbed her wrong. Which was odd, because she hadn't minded any of the other stuff he'd been saying about Sirius these past weeks.
"Why?" She asked acidly. "He might be a disgrace, but he's a Black," she added, "not some half-blood whose bloodline got thrown into the gutter." Snape glared at her, incensed, so she went on, taking her frustration out on the younger boy and syphoning it into the most arrogant tone she could manage. "Us Blacks are resourceful and notoriously hard to kill. We are superior and second to none, even my wayward cousin. Everyone knows that. Even the Dark Lord."
"You knew he was alive?"
"Of course," she lied. They hadn't known. They'd just speculated. A lot. "I just didn't know he was here. And how did he find out about the Portkey?"
"I don't care. I'm going to bed," he snapped, loud enough to be heard.
"Keep it down, you idiot!"
"You keep it down, Black! If you're so superior, you don't need unworthy little me to finish the job."
He ripped the box open, tossing the Portkey at her. She caught it out of instinct, but managed to react and tossed it back just as fast.
Neither noticed that the voices in the room had stopped.
"Who's there?" Lupin stuck his head out, scanning the now silent Wing.
Snape, that worthless piece of dirt, took advantage of Narcissa's sudden fright to stick the Portkey in her pocket.
The last thing she saw before she was sent flying, was his crooked, yellow, self-satisfied grin.
.
.
Dawn had broken as Albus Dumbledore returned to the Hospital Wing of his beloved school, after an intense discussion with Alastor Moody, who had been tasked with the rescue efforts in Godric's Hall.
He was amazed of the night's outcome, all the more because he would never have believed that what turned out to be a very narrow shave, could ever have resulted like it had. Somehow, a tragedy, of the sort that had become only too commonplace of late, had narrowly been prevented. Voldemort was targeting families now, and this was the first setback he had suffered in entirely too long.
The news Alastor had brought him just earlier made it all the harder to believe: the village of Godric's Hollow would be in flames by now, had the Dark Side not been stopped in time.
In the Wing itself, he could see a few students still slumbering in their beds, their half drawn curtains indicating that the school nurse was still tirelessly looking after her charges.
Of those he wished to see now, there was no sign.
Albus strode to the far end of the wing, where a series of doors suggested a handful of small rooms. The second door to the left however, opened to a space that had been magically enlarged to provide both the necessary seclusion and peace needed by them to heal.
Euphemia Beatrice Potter was asleep on a sofa, warmly wrapped in a blanket. It was relieving to see, she had had a particularly hard time out of this ordeal; her entire family was lying in hospital beds.
Or not quite; Coop was sitting on James' bedside, caressing his sleeping son's head, deep in thought.
That antidote to the viper venom had worked better than expected, the Headmaster noted, feeling relief wash over him. His old friend looked much restored, if still rather sickly and tired.
He stepped quietly towards Coop, careful not to wake Messrs. Lupin and Pettigrew, who had exhausted themselves helping them with their patients and were snoozing on the floor. Peter had helped Horace brew potions and antidotes yet again, and Remus had kept a nearly raving Sirius in check and turned the whole place upside down looking for a Portkey that Voldemort had allegedly sent to kidnap James. It was the only thing they'd managed to get out of Sirius, before he finally passed out.
They hadn't as yet found it, but Albus had his suspicions regarding the minor altercation that had occurred with Mr. Snape around four in the morning. He'd look into it.
Still, James hadn't vanished before their eyes; it had been difficult to calm him down enough to attempt to sleep, but once he closed his eyes, he hadn't woken again.
"I am surprised to find you out of bed," Albus commented softly, regarding his friend. Coop looked up, a smile on his face.
"As am I. I honestly believed that it was over, for all of us."
"Well, it's not."
Coop kissed James' forehead, then moved on to the bed next to his son's, where Sirius was asleep too, but his slumber wasn't as restful as James'. Albus' eyes swept over every bandage, dressing, even plaster on him. He looked much like he had at the end of December.
"I didn't listen," Coop said in a low drone, now sitting down on Sirius' bedside and cupping the lad's face in his hand. "Shh, there now, it's okay, my boy." Albus knew that he was asleep, but still Sirius seemed to listen. His expression became more relaxed at once, and Coop resumed his story.
"I didn't listen when he said James was hurt," he told the Headmaster, a deep sort of regret in his voice. "I thought he was seeing things. After, he wanted to stay here, and yet I made him go home. And I didn't listen when he insisted that something was amiss the second we returned. Merlin, I went and gave him a Sleeping Potion, when I should have gotten him out of there as soon as he told me."
"How could you have known?" Albus asked bracingly. "Coop, how could he?"
"He shares a bond with James, Albus. A special, deep bond. He has a nose for Dark Magic, as well." The old wizard closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again when Sirius jerked his head to the side; it was an aftereffect of the Cruciatus, Albus knew, and there was nothing to treat it until it faded on its own, except sleeping it off. Yet despite the Dreamless Sleep potion, the victims of the curse often cramped up, even seized. The potion was only the kindest way to help them through the consequences the curse had on their bodies. Coop made some soothing sounds, still caressing Sirius' fringe. "I didn't listen, even after he warned us about James. I thought it was his fears seeking an outlet."
"But you came out of it on top," Albus reminded him. "It was a close call, Coop, but —"
"I didn't come out of anything," was the rejoinder. "It was all this brave, stupid boy here."
"What I heard—"
"You wouldn't have believed it if you had seen it," Coop said. "I half couldn't either. But I saw him change, Albus. He was so terrified when we were trying to leave and Voldemort waltzed into my house," which Coop wouldn't forgive, ever. "Albus, he could hardly move. And then when I woke up, we were outside, and I swear to you, it was like seeing a different person."
Albus frowned.
"Alastor said that nearly sixty Death Eaters were trapped in the grounds outside the Hall. Are you telling me it was him, not you?" He had thought the story incredible before, when he thought Coop had done it. Incredible, but feasible; Coop was an excellent duellist. But Sirius Black was only a kid, if a very talented one, and Albus had seen him earlier. He had barely been on his feet.
"Even Voldemort was trapped," Coop confirmed. "I had nothing to do with it." As he told Albus what he had witnessed, he painted a picture that was quite different from what Alastor had suspected. His eyebrows rose in amazement, but Coop seemed saddened by the tale.
"They were going to kill him. He knew it, there was no way he couldn't have known. And still he strolled out, right into the centre of the field, and let them do — this." Coop sighed.
"He saved you," Albus pointed out. Coop let out a tired, defeated sort of chuckle.
"Yes, he did."
"I just spoke to Alastor," Albus added, which snapped his friend's attention to him. "And it went rather beyond that. They had to take down the wards on the grounds, so most of the Death Eaters-"
"And Voldemort-"
"-And Voldemort," Albus agreed, "disapparated the moment they had a chance, but he snatched a handful."
A handful was more than the Aurors had caught in months.
"He told me that after he interrogated them, the Death Eaters admitted that Voldemort's plan was only to start at Godric's Hall. He had such a force assembled there to destroy the Hollow. The plan was to butcher the entire village and burn everything to the ground. He would have succeeded, too."
Coop was at a loss for words.
"And someone saw Sirius."
"What?" Coop asked, aghast. "Who?"
"Pellinore Owens. He was the first to arrive, with the Hollow Watch—"
"For the love of Merlin. Can't anything work out for once? Owens is a terrible gossip."
"But he might as yet prove incredibly helpful— he witnessed when Voldemort gave a speech where he denounced Sirius' defiance of his cause, he saw the whole thing."
"How does that help us?"
"Alastor said he may testify in Sirius' favour."
"That would be a windfall."
"But the MLE will question you. They could charge you with harbouring a fugitive."
Coop simply shrugged.
"That I can handle. Them getting their hands on him… I shall not allow it."
"What do you think?"
"As soon as the boys are well enough to travel, we're thinking Blackpool. Betty sent the elves ahead, and I hope Angus will help us get the house ready."
"And the MLE? Crouch will not allow you to slip through his fingers," Albus reminded him. "The Order—"
"What's the Order going to do?" Coop asked impatiently. "It's been over a month, and we are worse off than before. We haven't gotten a single chance to beat the Dark Side at its own game in nearly a year. He's singling us out, Albus, all of us. Going after our families… and frankly, I find it hard to blame those who side with the bastard to spare their children from this."
"You're surely not thinking—"
"Sweet Circe, no," Coop's eyes were flashing. "We will never join him. But you can't tell me that our Order is our hope. Look at us. We are breaking at the seams, drawn out of our own home… Now both of them are barely alive, it cannot go on like this."
"We can stay Crouch's hand. Janus Dearborn can help sway him. We just need to decide what you will tell him, together."
Coop watched Sirius for a long moment, cogs clearly turning in his head. In the end he heaved a sigh.
"I loathe politics."
"So do I," Albus agreed with a mild smile. "That's why I became a schoolteacher."
.
.
They had barely made it out, and none of them — himself included — were wholly in one piece. That boy had made him bleed his own blood.
It made Voldemort all the angrier. That brat Black had proven himself to be such a pain to the posterior, that a part of the Dark Lord would like nothing better than channel his every last effort to his capture and very painful demise.
Not that he would— it wasn't fashionable for him to syphon his entire power from the war and into killing him. It would make him seem petty. He'd dedicate only… half his force to the effort, maybe less.
Another part of him couldn't but appreciate the sheer capacity the boy had to elude him. And he couldn't help hating him for it. He could have propelled Sirius to greatness, yet the boy insisted on wasting his considerable talents on the other side. On the Potters' side.
Ridiculous.
Voldemort limped to his favourite sofa, his moribund snake in his arms. He laid her carefully on a cushion next to him, brought over by one of the Carrows. The one who was still standing.
Voldemort paid Amycus no mind, just as he paid no heed to his own broken ribs, focusing on his next conundrum.
Nagini, his horcrux. She was so important to him, to his immortality, and she was dying. The boy — who else could have done this? — was responsible for this too. Potter was, so Nagini told him, as good as dead. She had bitten him, but then the boy had conjured a Grim to kill her out of thin air. Voldemort seethed in silence, staring darkly ahead.
Five of his Death Eaters had been taken, the other forty-nine were injured and in dire need of rest. But that was not the worst.
The worst was that he had planned a work of genius, the mother of all raids, a strategic blow that was designed to subdue the greater part of the Wizarding population to his will. Godric's Hollow would have died as one. Should have died as one.
It had been a brilliant plan, and it had been foiled.
He, the Dark Lord, the most feared wizard in the world, had been ridiculed.
By a schoolboy!
Sirius Black had just replaced many older, more capable witches and wizards on his kill list. He had just been bumped up to #1. Voldemort never forgot a slight, and this was something he would make the damned boy pay for in full. All the torment he had planned on visiting upon each of the Hollow's inhabitants, was now Black's destiny.
"My lord?"
Bellatrix. Usually bubbling with energy, she was now subdued. This could maybe have something to do with the angry bruises covering the side of her head. She had been near the jaws of the earth monster and had gotten chewed on rather badly. It served her right for having such a difficult cousin.
"What is it, Bella?"
"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for recent events… I know how much Nagini means to you."
"Well thank you, dear Bella. I believe she can be saved yet." Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "However, she will never be the same."
"I know, Master. Which is why… I have brought you Lenora. If she can save your Nagini, it would be an honour for all us Blacks to make you a gift of her. We beg your forgiveness for the hardships caused by the Outcast."
The Outcast. That's what they were calling him now? Gods, but they were so dramatic. It sounded so much milder than 'insufferable child'. Like he was important, somehow.
Bellatrix produced a cage next, wherein slithered the largest black python he had ever seen. Lenora had been in the Black family for centuries. And, it appeared that the beast was as arrogant as its former owners. It wouldn't so much as deign to say hello.
Voldemort's eyebrows rose in appreciation.
"All is forgiven," he said hungrily, drawing his wand. The snake of the Blacks recoiled in sudden alarm. "Bring her to me. I shall revive Nagini shortly. Leave me, all of you."
He thought that he saw Bellatrix wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, as she ushered the bone-weary Death Eaters to the far end of the hall, where they could wait until the Dark Lord was ready to pay attention to them. He would deal with them later.
"Lenora, Lenora… you are truly magnificent," Voldemort said. "Believe me when I say that your death shall not be in vain."
He reached one hand into the cage and extended the other toward Nagini. He muttered a spell— and a moment later, he held the still beating heart of one snake in each hand.
The next moment, Nagini's heart was inside the Python. The pit viper next to him crumpled, gushing black blood everywhere while he cast the second spell, closing the wound. Nagini slumped back inside the cage. She had a new body, and he had one utterly rare delicacy. Comfort food, as it were.
"Goodbye, Lenora. I am sure you shall be delicious." He bit into the flesh with relish.
He found that he was not wrong.
Even his mood was restored.
He had hardly finished noshing on the snake's heart, however, when the Daily Prophet arrived, causing a commotion among his Death Eaters.
Voldemort sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Give it here," he said, beckoning with his fingers. Already he was thinking on worse punishments to bestow on Orion's damned kid. He wished he had never set eyes on the insufferable child.
The paper made it into his hands. He scanned the front page, long fingers clenching into fists and crumpling it the next instant.
"I'M GOING TO SKIN HIM ALIVE!" He roared, beyond furious.
Forty-nine Death Eaters flinched, clearly considering making a break for it.
He threw the paper onto the floor, where the headline read:
BARK MARK SPOTTED IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW — FIVE DEATH EATERS CAPTURED IN AN UNPRECEDENTED VICTORY OF THE LIGHT.
Below, a moving picture showed Godric's Hall, the monstrous maw that had incapacitated them all… and floating on top, clearly visible in the morning light, a black dog's head had replaced the Dark Mark, pink tongue lolling out as it bared its fangs playfully and yipped soundlessly at the world.
.
TBC. R&R, because R's are good for the body, R's are good for the mind, R's are good for the writer chicks, so leave one and don't be unkind.
Next up: The acronyms chapter. Coop gets in trouble with the law over his MO of going AAA, Voldemort is like AYKM, his Inner Circle need some RR, the boys get some TLC, James is BAH, Remus and Peter catch some Z's, Snape gets an ASBO and we find out what happened to Narcissa (who went AWOL, if you recall).