Chapter 36

Sera,

Jamesie told me you loved my picture and that you might not be able to talk to me for a while, but that I could talk to you, so I drew you a new one. It's a zebra. I saw one when we were in Kenya. I also drew you a picture of Albus with Dragon pox. I saw one of those when we were in Kenya too.

Sincerely,

Lily Luna Potter

…………

Sera,

Harry told us you weren't able to write very often if at all, and I just want to make sure you know how much we all love you… Alec's miserable without your all's company this summer, and I know James is missing you. I'm so sorry that this turned out this way, sweetheart, but we'll fix it soon enough and you'll be safely with us soon enough, I swear. Your dad would be so proud of how brave you're being with your grandmother.

Love,

Dean & Monica

……….

Ser—

I can't believe she doesn't let you write! Longbottom told her what would happen—but of course, Dad told me, that was more of a threat than a promise. He wasn't actually able to interrupt your grandmother's daily life unless it was out of concern for somebody's safety. I think that's stupid—whoever said you were safe there?—but apparently, if you listen to my father, sometimes the law is stupid.

Louis is going to write in this letter because we don't want Duke to have to carry too much back and forth and he has to carry Lily's letter too because Lily's just got this little pygmy owl who she loves to pieces but the animal can't tell its left from its right. It got lost on its way to my uncle's house the other day, and that's like five miles.

Hi Sera! It's Louis now—your grandmother's insane. The way she treated you at the funeral scared even me, and I think my mother is seriously considering the concept of just leaping on a broom and sweeping into your Irish castle and just kidnapping you. Mum loves you—and Victoire is still upset she didn't get to put makeup on you for the dance. She told me she was going to (with or without your permission). I'd be very worried for next year. Vicky isn't the type of girl to let up. Love, Louis

James again: I miss you too…and I ended up not going to the dance anyway. It wouldn't have been as much fun without you anyway. Louis and Edie went, though, and they had a good enough time. And Bethany asked me again. But I told her no.

Love

James

…………..

Surprisingly, once I'd found my owl, things had gotten a lot better, and kind of stayed that way. It'd been four weeks since the funeral, just a week and a few days since I'd found my owl, and Wes and I had sent out letters to only a few people—Wes had sent two with Minnie, one for Dean and Monica, and one for Selma, and I'd sent only the one to James. I'd had to, though—Jamie was by far, I knew, the one who'd suffer the most from my absence. At least, I was suffering the most at his absence.

I'd also done a lot more reading. And learned a lot—I hadn't been able to practice, but I was really interested in the Defensive Spells, so it wasn't that hard to try to learn the theory and the wand movement and the words and sort of believe I'd be able to do it in real life, if I had to. I'd read like, four books full, now. If I got attacked again, I'd be way on top of it. But, as Wes had pointed out, the attacks had stopped since Spring Break, and hopefully they wouldn't start up again. Wes really hated talking about the attacks actually—he was more comfortable talking about his, than mine, mind you—but it was the kidnapping that had really set him on edge. I still remembered me getting to the Ministry of Magic in the middle of the night and finding him crying while every Auror on duty tried to find me. That had been awful.

Wes always got really quiet, though, whenever it came up. Like now.

I'd accidentally brought it up—I swear, it was an accident—but now Wes was just watching me with a very serious expression on his face, as he leaned back against the countertop in our grandmother's kitchen.

I watched him awkwardly for a few moments, biting my lip as I watched my big brother for a few moments, hoping that Wes would somehow just switch subjects, but he remained silent, and tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear self-consciously. "Sorry." I said softly.

"You didn't do anything." Wes assured me quietly.

"I know you don't like to talk about the attacks." I murmured, not letting myself off the hook yet: Wes was too good of a big brother for me to go around bringing up things that he hated to talk about. I owed him at least an ounce of tact. "Especially that one." I swallowed, studying my brother. "Why don't you like talking about them so much?" I asked him after a moment, unable to contain myself. "I mean—obviously, they aren't exactly a fun topic. But even I don't care as much as you do about not talking about it." I looked up at Wes honestly, and my brother sighed quietly.

"Kid." He said quietly. "You have to understand, the, oh, eight hours you were missing that day—they were the worst hours of my life, hands down." He murmured. "Finding out about Mum sucked, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. She wasn't my responsibility." He fixed me with a look attempted to convey to me the panic he'd felt. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you, and suddenly, you were nowhere to be found and you'd been silencio'd at the house, which meant you could yell for help." Wes closed his eyes, taking a shaky deep breath, and then opened his eyes again. "You're my kid sister and I was taking care of you and then you weren't there anymore and you might have been hurt. It was a nightmare."

"You were crying." I murmured, still wrestling with that fact.

"I almost punched Mr. Potter out for telling me everything would be fine." Wes said flatly, pushing himself away from the countertop and turning around to face the cabinets, crouching down to open the doors so he could inspect the contents. "Crying was not the worst thing that happened that night."

"Oh." I murmured.

I didn't ask Wes about the issue again.

……………

"To clarify," Wes said slowly. "You saved a Slytherin First Year's life, and then she was mean to you." I nodded, and my brother rolled his eyes as he ran a hand over his hair, pushing some of it out of his eyes. Wes just gaped at me in disbelief, seemingly too shocked to say anything, because he was silent. He was also apparently too shocked to move, because he'd stopped walking while I'd been telling him the tale of Divya hating me. "That doesn't make, really, any sense. At all." He muttered in frustration, followed by a few curse words I didn't care to repeat. Wes had heard, finally, the epic tale of Divya hating me despite the fact that I'd literally nearly drowned for her. And predictably, he wasn't particularly pleased.

"I didn't say it made sense." I muttered rebelliously as Wes and I began to walk once more. We turned down a hallway before I spoke again: we were going to my grandmother's study. She wasn't home, and neither was Mrs. Malfoy, because apparently Mrs. Malfoy's mother-in-law was having some sort of luncheon that they both had to be in attendance at. "Besides, does getting in a fight with a Slytherin fourth year and losing your team one of the championship games make sense either?" I asked him challengingly, and Wes just scowled down at me, ruffling my hair into my face. I stopped to flip my hair, running my fingers through it in an effort to restore it to its normal state, but it was already knotty, so I glared at Wes. "Mean." I complained.

"Nah, but my fight was different." Wes said, without explanation, and I just glared at him, clearly not buying the it's-just-different excuse. "That was justified."

"Mm-hmm." I said skeptically. My brother just rolled his eyes. "So the next time I get in a fight with Gallagher, and I say that was different, that was justified, I'm A-okay?" I asked, and Wes fixed me with a stern look. I grinned recklessly at him even as we stopped in front of my grandmother's study door, and Wes just opened one of the double doors, holding it open for me to go in after him, before he closed the door behind us. I wandered up to the desk, and frowned at the empty paper bin that was there. "There's no more paper." I told Wes disappointedly. I went around the desk and sat down in the swivel chair, spinning it so I faced a few of the drawers in the desk, and I opened one. I began to cautiously rifle through them.

"Ser, what are you doing?" Wes demanded, sounding like he thought I was an actual idiot.

"Looking for paper." I said easily, not even sparing him a glance.

"If she notices a single thing is gone or moved, she'll kill you." Wes pointed out, even as he crossed to our owls' cages. I ignored him, closing a drawer filled with quills to open the next one down. I saw paper in here, but I still rummaged around inside the box: I wanted to make sure I used the paper she'd miss the least.

And that was when I saw it.

It was an old piece of parchment that looked minutes from crumbling, just the way it had nine months ago, before Louis's birthday, when Jamesie had shown it to me. I lifted it slowly, my mind racing as I sat up slowly, the yellowing parchment in my hand as I lifted it up to hold in front of me. My stomach seized with fear as I recalled what had happened the last time I'd seen this.

The Marauder's Map.

James had dropped it in the Forest—where the men had attacked us, that very first time, in Hogsmeade, the weekend before Louis's birthday. I stared at the paper, blood rushing in my ears and tears prickling in my eyes as I remembered us in the Forbidden Forest, sitting there, Rory, James and I bloodied and beginning to believe we were never getting out of there.

"Do we still have the marauder's map?" I asked suddenly.

"Dropped it." James murmured sullenly. "Where they attacked us—none of 'em picked it up, though."

Someone had picked it up. One of our attackers. And they'd given it to their employer.

My grandmother was behind the attacks—at my attack at the Potters, where I'd been kidnapped, one of the men had gone to report to the employer. Wes's package had been meant for me, and I'd been the one who the Punished sign was meant for. I'd fought with my grandmother the morning we were dropped off at the Potters—that'd been the entire reason we'd been moved to the Potters. It'd been, what, six days earlier? Five? Enough time to come up with a plan and then execute it. And then, there hadn't been an attack since my grandmother got custody. We'd kept saying since Spring Break—but my grandmother had gotten custody just a couple days after we returned to school.

"Wes." I said frantically, my voice already hoarse, and my brother spun to look at me, already alarmed by my tone of voice. "Wes—it's her—she's behind the attacks—" I said frantically, rising to my feet, and Wes stared at me.

"What?" He demanded, in a panic.

"This is the Marauder's Map—" I cried, standing up fast, holding out the paper.

"That's a really old piece of parchment," Wes said carefully, looking caught halfway between concern and amusement. "And I don't know what map it is you're talking about, but—"

"James dropped this when James, Rory and I were attacked in the Forest!" I practically screamed at him, my sheer panic getting the better of me. "James dropped it when the people were attacking us and he thought no one picked it up but they did. And they gave it to their employer, the same one that the man mentioned when I got kidnapped, who is our grandmother, and oh my God, it makes so much sense!" I was talking fast, probably too fast for Wes to completely follow what the hell I was talking about, but he got the brunt of the message, because he seemed absolutely horrified. "Wes, I was the one being punished! I was supposed to open the package, I would have died if it had been me, the healer sort of said, and I'd fought with her just a couple days before—and then the attacks stopped when she got custody of us!" I continued frantically. "Wes, this is the Marauder's Map. There is only one in existence, Mr. Potter's father and godfather and Teddy's father made it and that Peter Pettigrew man who betrayed the Potters—It was her!"

"Are you one million percent sure that that paper is the Marauder's Map?" Wes asked me quietly, his gaze completely serious, and I nodded hurriedly. "Can you prove it to me?" He asked me, and I glared up at him, my panic displaced for a moment by the fact that he didn't believe me. "It's not that I didn't believe you, it just changes whether we remain here for the next five minutes if this is in fact the map thing you're talking about so I need to be completely sure."

I reached in my pocket for my wand, grabbing it and pulling it out, and I touched the paper. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I murmured, and from my wand tip, ink crawled outwards, curling into letters and designs. Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aid to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map. The words were written on the page in the same way they had been in October, and Wes grimaced, running a hand down his face. I unfolded the map, showing him the map of Hogwarts, and it's near-empty halls and classrooms, this time of year. Wes watched Patil cross the great hall to talk to Professor McElwee, before he looked back up at me, his eyes wide.

"Merlin," He breathed quietly, and I just bit my lip again, my eyebrows drawing together I tried to figure a way the hell out of this situation. It was a disaster, the kind of failure that Wes and I had never faced before. I'd faced it, once, when we were in Diagon Alley—Louis and me, back to back, with Lily between us in a bit of a futile attempt to keep her safe. That feeling that it was us against the entire universe, and no one would ever come fast enough to help us. "Alright, kid, I believe you—just—Jesus." He sighed. "We need to get out of here and to the Potters and I have no idea how we're supposed to do that." Wes had a point: my grandmother had emphasized to us that the floos were locked to us and that there was a barrier around the estate that would prevent us from leaving, even if we could apparate, which we couldn't. The barrier applied to physical walking, too. We were staying here until she decided we weren't. He pulled out his own wand, and then I heard the creak of the double door to the study as it was pushed open.

"What are you children doing in here?" My grandmother demanded in a lethal voice, and I spun around instinctively, towards the noise. Bringing into full view the Marauder's Map. My grandmother was standing in the doorway, in a summery dress with jeweled sandals on, and I felt my resolve to just crush her like a bug shake a little as I realized that she was clutching her wand already. My grandmother with her wand was nothing I'd ever faced before and I certainly hadn't intended for that day to be todayThere was a moment of silence before Wes took out his own wand and cautiously took a step forward. "Where did you find that piece of junk, it was in my desk and going into my personal things is strictly not allowed—"

"You killed Mum?" Wes said slowly, sounding dazed as he realized what my grandmother being behind this giant conspiracy meant. The final, awful fact in this complete disaster. Whoever was behind this had either killed Mum himself, or had ordered her killed by the lackees who'd attacked us in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley and the Potters' yard.

"I did no such thing!" She protested, but there was the flicker of panic across her expression, the feeling the same as the one that was smothering my lungs right then. She knew she'd done it, we knew she'd done it, and she knew we knew. The jig was up.

Unfortunately, we were standing right here in the middle of the biggest disaster ever.

"My best friend dropped this." I said slowly, and I watched my grandmother's face twist with her comprehension of my knowledge. "My best friend dropped this in the Forbidden Forest when we were attacked by those men—the men you had to have hired if you have this." I stopped, biting my lip as I felt angry tears fill my eyes. A lump popped up in my throat, making it harder still to breathe and talk, but I still managed to stammer out the next sentence, too angry to let her get off with a simple reprimand. "How could you do this to us?"

"Your father signed you up for this the second he chose that filthy girl as the mother of his children." My grandmother hissed at us, raising her own wand at us. Wes wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against him hurriedly, but she didn't move, so Wes didn't spin us around, so I stayed in front of him. She finally dropped her wand to her side, taking a half step forward, and Wes and I did the only thing either of us could think of to do, because she was old and crazy and we weren't even trained in real dueling: we ran.

She recovered as we reached the door, shooting a spell at us even as we slammed the door shut behind us, and I just assaulted the doorknob with my wand, unsure of the spell but knowing exactly what I wanted to happen, and that sort of thing usually worked out for me. I heard the lock in the door turn, and Wes and I took off, sprinting down the hallway and down the staircase at the end—but even as we got there, there was an explosion behind us as she simply blew up the doors that wouldn't open. Wes waved his wand vaguely behind him, erecting an obstacle in her way, but three seconds later, as we reached the end of our current staircase, the wall he'd brought up exploded.

"Shit, shit, shit—" Wes chanted under his breath as he started up the second staircase two at a time, and then he ducked, shoving me down against the stair case as three curses darted over our heads, rapid fire. Wes glanced at me hurriedly, checking I was okay, even as he got up, and I just nodded once at him in an effort to make him concentrate on the important things—like getting the hell out of here. I winced as I got up—I'd bruise, I knew—but kept a firm hold on the Marauder's Map. I wasn't losing this thing again. I needed proof to show to Mr. Potter than my grandmother was way more than your average run-of-the-mill nut job. Of course, her soon to be destroyed castle would probably take care of that just fine.

Her curses had destroyed the landing of the staircase at the top, so Wes just lid onto the staircase that left from that landing, going up the next way, which the staircase we were on shared an inch or so with: I followed him, before turning and firing a spell to explode the bottom of our staircase the second I could. Our staircase shook dangerously, and Wes tugged me up the last few steps as I almost lost my balance, before we turned into the hallway in front of us. We once more closed the doors behind us and locked them, before we took off down this new hallway. Wes stopped, pulling me into one of my grandmother's several thousand library-type rooms—walls covered in books and a few armchairs and maybe a couch.

"Holy shit." Wes muttered as he shut the door behind me, bracing his shoulder against it. "Alright, alright, we just need to let someone know—" He paused, chewing on his lip a little. "You okay?" He asked me after a second, and I nodded breathlessly. He still had his back up against the door. "Okay…" He paused, watching me for another second, and I felt tears bloom in my eyes: Wes sighed softly before calling me over, and I rushed to him, wrapping my arms around him tightly and squeezing my eyes shut. Wes pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I just sobbed shakily.

"Wes, she's going to kill us." I whispered, and Wes sighed, smoothing down my hair calmingly, but I just hiccoughed. "She'll kill us." I repeated softly, and Wes pulled away, his hands on my shoulders as he looked at me seriously.

"I will never let that happen." Wes said fiercely to me. "As long as I'm okay, you're okay. Got it?" I looked up at him tearfully, and he met my gaze firmly. "D'you understand, Ser? You're safe." He assured me, and I nodded a little. He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to gain control over himself before he released me, and I pulled away, moving to stand to the side, swiping at my eyes tearfully. He closed his eyes, taking another deep breath, and I saw, absurdly, the smallest smile flicker across his lips. "Expecto Patronum," He murmured, waving his wand, and his eyes snapped open.

And suddenly, there was a large, silver & shimmery brown bear standing in front of him.

"Saraid MacBride is the one who hired the men who attacked Sera, she found the marauder's map and now we need help. Tell Mr. Potter." Wes said quietly, obviously trying to keep his voice steady, and then the bear galloped away, going through one of the windows and then disappearing. "I cannot believe that worked." He murmured, shaking his head, and I just gaped at him.

"What was that?" I asked in a hushed voice. Wes opened his mouth to respond—and suddenly the wall behind him exploded. Wes and I were both thrown backwards towards the bookshelves, which buckled against our sudden weights, and even as we hit the bookshelves then the ground, the shelves were falling on top of us, burying in hundreds of heavy, heavy books and the other little things she'd kept on the shelves, before the shelves themselves decided to crush us too.

And then I just lay there.

I had never been in more pain in my entire life—by far. My face, my arms, my legs, my ribs, my hips, my back, my stomach—all of it hurt like never before, because I'd just gotten the crap beaten out of me by a bunch of books. I felt tears leak out of my eyes as I considered the possibility of death by books. That would be pathetic. I couldn't let that sit. So I turned over—ever so slowly—and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out—something was wrong with my left leg—I'd hurt a muscle or something. And my ribs were not where they were supposed to be, but at this point, the amount of pain I was physically able to feel without being subjected to the cruciatus curse had been reached: no more pain was inflicted by movement, at least, not in my ribs. I shoved a bunch of the books off of me, and then carefully shoved the bookshelf on top of me, little by little, to the side. And then I pushed myself in to something that resembled a sitting position. Or, it would have, but my legs were still buried in dictionaries for several different languages and encyclopedias and other similarly thick volumes.

I looked around: my grandmother was standing in the hallway, just glowering at me darkly, and I realized, startled, that I was still clutching the marauder's map and my wand. I hadn't let go of them even to brace my body for impact.

What kind of idiot was I?

I watched my grandmother for a moment, wondering if she was just going to kill me right then, but she didn't move a muscle, so I put my hand on the ground, trying to push myself up so I could get to my feet, but my arm shook, and I just collapsed the inch back to the ground. I shakily pushed first one book then a second off my legs: if my grandmother really and truly wanted me dead, I was a freaking easy target. But she just glowered at me. I got all of the books off of me and came to the conclusion that I'd had to have torn a muscle or something: I wasn't entirely sure, but I had enough of a grasp of what was going on that I knew it wasn't good.

This time, I rolled onto my knees, very carefully, so I was on all fours, and even though my arms were shaking, hard, even as I put weight on them, I managed to get my feet flat on the ground and stand up, most of my weight on right leg. I balanced my left foot against the ground, my thigh screaming in pain, and I tried not to think about how it was already turning ugly internal-bleeding colors. Mr. Potter was going to know, soon enough, that Wes and I—

Wes.

Even as I looked around at the demolished room, I felt my heartbeat increase tenfold, and I limped towards where I thought my brother probably was, one of the larger piles of books—most likely built up by him beneath them. My stomach turned over as I considered my big brother beneath all these books, tears in my eyes, and they began to flow down my face, accompanied by the occasional hiccup-sob. Wes could survive this—it'd be hard, and he'd hurt like hell, but I had to believe he'd be okay, because or else I wasn't going to be able to continue this. But suddenly a curse seared past me, stealing my attention from my buried big brother, and I stopped dead, turning to face my grandmother again. "Sectusempra,"

"Protego," I said desperately, and our spells smacked into one another with a small explosion of sparkles. "Expelliarmus," I tried, but I was so adrenaline-stricken that I couldn't really aim very well, and it hit the floor before my grandmother, ripping at the rock a little, but not enough to do too serious damage.

"Confringo!" She cried angrily, and gasped as the books in front of me burst into flames, one of them reaching out to touch my leg. I winced, trying to hop back, and bending down to brace myself against the fallen bookshelf to my right before I let myself stand upright again.

"Aguamenti!" I cried, and then I slashed my wand at her. "Deprimo!" Wind flew from my wand, knocking books and bookshelves away and then knocking my grandmother into the wall behind her. She flew back against the wall, and then slid down against it, disoriented but not unconscious as I'd hoped. "Wes?" I asked tremulously, hopping a little and then biting down on my lip to keep from crying out: I was in too much pain to remain conscious for too long. "Wessy?" I asked shakily, hopping again, before I bent down to put my hands on the ground, to ease myself into a kneeling position in front of the pile of books. I pulled one book off the pile, then another, and I felt my tears heat my face. "Wessy, please…" I said in a voice that made me sound five years younger than I was. I took another book off, and then I looked at the bookshelf, and tugged it to the side a little. My arms ached and a cut across my temple that I hadn't notice before dripped a little bit of blood into my eyes: I wiped it away with my sleeve. This was a disaster. Every body part I possessed felt like I was in Hell, and my thigh was ten times worse than any of that. My brother was out cold or worse (not thinking about that) and I wasn't sure whether the only people who could help us even knew we were in trouble. Or if they were, would they be able to get onto the premises. But chances were, I was going to pass out here and eventually die—or my grandmother was just going to kill me. The only good news was that eventually, someone would know. If my grandmother did eventually end this or she didn't—too many people knew me, worried about me, for something to happen to me without anyone knowing. It'd take a while, probably, but eventually an auror would show up and realize she was insane, and then it'd be done. The trick was, staying alive until then.

"Avada—" My grandmother began in a steely tone.

"Langlock!" I screamed, spinning to face my grandmother, and she fell silent, unable to continue the spell. With certain spells, mostly the unforgivable curses, you had to have the malcontent of Voldemort to cast them without words. And I didn't think my grandmother was quite at Voldemort's level, though I knew it was approaching crisis level. Especially considering the new state of her castle, and importantly, her grandchildren.

She said nothing, but slashed her wand, and Purple light left her wand: I twisted to the side, and it passed me to crash into the wall outside, knocking out a few stones and knocking them into the outside world, so they fell into the garden. A rush of hot air came into the castle, and I folded the Marauder's Map once more, before I tucked it into my pocket shakily, before I looked up at her, my wand brandished. She had already cast a spell, though, and it slammed into me, and my vision went black.

But I was still conscious.

I was fighting blind, now. De-freaking-lightful. I swallowed, staying straight where I was: I had been facing my grandmother when she'd done whatever she'd done to my face. There was a blindfold on my face but it was flat against my face—she'd probably cast an obscuro spell. I couldn't see anything, and she couldn't say anything. It might have been evenly matched if I wasn't just out of my first year at Hogwarts and she was a grown woman with a vast enough library that it implied she knew quite a lot of spells.

I tried to hold stark still and exhaled slowly, hearing my grandmother's labored breathing. I could do this if I just concentrated: I knew where she was, and I knew where I was. I couldn't see her, yeah. But I could hear her and there was literally no other noise to distract me. I could do this. This wasn't like last time.

"Stupefy." I breathed. I heard a person collapse.

And then silence.

I swallowed, falling back on my knees and crying out softly at the pain in my leg, even as I just dropped my wand to my side, touching my face: the blindfold was pretty tightly against me. I still tried to tug on the sides, but my fingers just slipped across the cloth. I just swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat, tears building in my covered eyes, and then they fell, and I felt the cloth get damp. I just put a hand on my leg, before I carefully twisted so my legs could slide out from under me and around, my hands grasped around my thigh in an effort to support it. My legs got stuck up against my chest, though, just locked there, and I just held my wand, sobbing softly as I sat there. I wasn't able to even search for my brother—I had to hope and pray that soon enough, someone would come get us, because I just didn't have enough conscious time left in me to get Wes and me out of here.

I heard the frantic sound of apparition, and I jumped, then cried out, pain searing through me. "Sera!" Mr. Weasley, Louis's father, said frantically, and I just sobbed, now, the tears pouring forward and staining my blindfold. Someone said a new spell, and the cloth over my eyes disappeared: I lifted my right arm, which was the arm that hurt less, to my face, wiping away the tears. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Louis's Dad Mr. Weasley, and seven other people I didn't recognize were standing in front of me. "Merlin." Louis's dad murmured as he looked around at the destroyed room, and I just stared up at the adults in front of me tearfully, even as a woman with dark skin and dark hair picked her way over to me, crouching down in front of me. "What in the name of God happened here?" Mr. Weasley continued. All but the woman were standing stock still in the gaping hole in the wall that had replaced the doorway, simply awed at the destruction before them. I would have been, too—if my leg hadn't been killing me.

"Where's Wes?" Mr. Potter asked, realizing there was a kid missing from the equation, and I sobbed again, ducking my head, and the woman smoothed down my hair maternally, pointing at the books to my left.

"I'm pretty sure he's over there—she blew up the wall, it blew us back into the bookshelves and then they collapsed…" I said tearfully, and the woman who was crouching in front of me looked up at Mr. Potter worriedly, before looking back at me.

"Sweetheart, were you under the books too?" She asked me with audible concern, and I nodded a little, looking at her desperately. She met my gaze for a few moments before she looked back up at Mr. Weasley, for a moment, before looking back at me.

"I hurt my leg." I said softly, putting my hands under my knee and straightening my left leg a little in an effort to show it to her, and my tears thickened unintentionally as I revealed my multi-colored thigh. I cried out softly as she touched it lightly with her fingertips, and she squeezed my shoulder supportively, her analytical gaze never leaving my injured leg.

"Well, that doesn't look good." The woman murmured shortly as she inspected my leg, before she looked back up at me. "Alright, sweetheart, I'm Angelina Weasley, I'm James and Louis's aunt, and I'm a healer—can I try to begin to heal your leg?" She asked me, and I swallowed, looking towards Louis's dad trustingly. Louis's father was climbing over the rubble to me as well, while Mr. Potter and the other Mr. Weasley searched for Wes—two other aurors were beside my grandmother.

"It's okay," Mr. Weasley told me firmly, and I nodded a little uncertainly. "But kid, what happened?"

I sobbed at this question, and Mrs. Weasley just smoothed down my hair, shooting Mr. Weasley a panicky look. "Not right now, Bill, she needs a healer—"

"You are a healer, Angie, and I need to know what happened." Louis's father shot back.

"I found the Marauder's Map." I said wetly, my voice shaky and hoarse. Mr. Potter, who'd been lifting a book, stopped and glanced at me, his famous green gaze wide and surprised. I bit my lip, leaning my head down so my uninjured temple was pressed against my knees. "James and Rory and me—we used it to go to Hogsmeade." I explained, and I saw James's and Louis's uncle glance up at Mr. Potter, a confused look gracing his features. "And the Invisibility Cloak—but James dropped the Marauder's Map when we were attacked, when we were running into the Forbidden Forest…" I stared up at Mr. Potter. "We thought no one picked it up—but I guess the attacker people did and they gave it to my grandmother because they're working for her—and when I got attacked at your house, with Alec, one of them left to talk to their employer…" The pain in my leg flared, and I stopped talking, grating my teeth together as I squeezed my eyes shut, grabbing my leg and bending my head, so my forehead touched my knee.

"Sweetheart, d'you remember what hit your leg?" Mrs. Weasley asked me urgently.

"When the bookshelves collapsed, and it hit me—it wasn't a spell." I mumbled. "And I think I hit it earlier when I was running."

"What happened after you found the map, Sera?" Mr. Potter asked me quietly, and I felt my eyes flutter, but I fought to keep them open: if I didn't tell them what happened, they wouldn't know until I woke up again. And I didn't want them to release my grandmother if she woke up before I did.

"She walked in—Wes asked her if she'd killed Mum and she said—" I bit my lip, the pain in my leg mounting once more before Mrs. Weasley tapped my leg with her wand, and a cool feeling abated some of the pain. "She said that she hadn't and then I told her how I knew about the Marauder's Map and she told us something about Mum being a filthy mudblood again and—" My vision began to tunnel, and Mrs. Weasley, put her wand tip against my injured temple, and the cut the felt first ice cold, then just felt sort of vaguely warm as it closed. I began to feel more grounded again, so I continued. "Then she attacked us." I said softly. My head began to spin again, and I looked desperately to Louis's dad. "Please, you have to get Wes—"

"We will," Mr. Weasley assured me, and Mrs. Weasley slipped one arm beneath my shoulders, and another beneath my knees. She began to lift me up, and this was my last jolt into unconsciousness.