CHAPTER 22

THE BRAVEST MAN I'VE EVER KNOWN

Sirius stood in his bathroom, looking in the square mirror above the sink. The light bulb on the ceiling was flickering lazily, and Sirius hoped the magic of the de-ageing drought in his hand would be steadier than that.

An hour or two — that's how long Bill had said its effect should last, according to his second or third-hand knowledge. Sirius hoped it would be two hours, because one hour would only take him to get there.

Well… hoping for the best, he popped the cap off the small vial and gulped down the potion.

There was a faint prickle on his skin and a tide of coolness all around, and Sirius waited for the sensation to fade out, keeping his eyes pinned on the empty vial in his hand.

If Bill's account of the potion's effect was accurate, reverting one's appearance to the age they were most attached to, then Sirius almost did not want to look into the mirror. There weren't any real doubts as to what he would see.

He did, though. He glanced up — to find the reflection of his much younger self.

His skin was smooth, radiant even, and dark, silky hair flowed carelessly around his face. He must have been barely twenty — Sirius smiled: white and brilliant, and achingly empty — some few years before James had died.

Sure enough, he'd never expected to find himself like this again — and alone.

He set the empty vial aside, and hurried out of the house.

The frosty night bit cold into his skin, but Sirius didn't turn back for his coat; he wouldn't be needing one. He drew in a deep breath, and in the blink of an eye, all his thoughts vanished and his world was gone.

Before him stood another world, one that was new each time he entered it. It was strange and cold, but not as cold as before.

The night was no longer as dark.

He sniffed in the winter air and broke into a run.

The frozen asphalt stung under his feet; his breaths steamed fiercely as he ran, driven forward by instinct alone — instinct, feral and raw, that coursed through him, pumped madly in his chest and down his limbs, pushing Padfoot to run faster than ever in his life.

The dog didn't remember the streets, not fully, yet he knew the way. It was as if the air was guiding him, the wind, the smells and something more than he could comprehend. He kept running, his paws hitting the icy asphalt, again and again, each time fiercer, each time stronger.

The venture was long and the run arduous. Padfoot's muscles burned with exertion, slowing him down, yet something else, something more pushed him to keep going. Keep running.

Someone needed him — a friend. Padfoot would not let him down.

His hind legs nearly slipped from under him as he turned around another corner. And there, at the crossing of the streets ahead of him, he saw it — a large building where the lights still burned bright and, despite the distance, he could nearly feel movement inside. Above the entrance stood a sign: a writing, glowing colourless. Padfoot couldn't read the letters, but he knew he had arrived.

He slowed his run to hasty padding, looked for a dark corner, someplace away from the broad road and the streetlights, and found it.

He exhaled, let out a muffled growl, and his world melted from under his feet.

The cold hit Sirius like a truck as he got to his feet on the corner of a small alleyway. He broke into a run towards the bright entrance ahead of him. He had been wrong about not needing a coat.

Leading to the entrance in the building was a flight of stairs, and Sirius climbed them two at a time; he tried to, at least. If anything, the dog had more stamina than he, and the strain of the run was enough to leave him nauseated; it nearly brought him to trip and topple over, too, but he managed to stay on his feet and reach the top.

He paused in front of the large wooden doors — teeth clattering frantically and feeling about to throw up — and tried to regain his composure.

To hell with his composure. They had no time for that.

This was it.

He grabbed the doorknob, and before he had a chance to push or pull, it slid out of his hand, and the massive doors swung open elegantly without a sound.

Sirius stepped inside.

Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

It had changed since Sirius had last been here. It was brighter — someone must have decided to finally paint the walls white — but most notably, it was empty.

The vast reception area was deserted, not a soul in sight save for a young man at the front desk, dozing off lazily in his chair. Given the time of night, the on-duty nap seemed rather appropriate; it was half-past three, after all.

For a couple of seconds, Sirius glanced around, figuring out his surroundings and doing his best to suppress the bothersome shivering and the feeling coiling in his stomach: he may have made a terrible mistake leaving Snape alone.

He headed left and up the stairs and found his way quickly, avoiding any encounters en-route.

By the time Sirius had reached the second floor, his shivering had abided, but his heart still raced madly in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair that felt silky and smooth — the de-ageing charm was still in place. Sure enough, he looked nothing like the picture of the mass murderer from Azkaban that had circulated the press less than two years ago. That should be good enough to keep him inconspicuous — he hoped.

With a last wish that it would, he stepped through the red doors leading inside the emergency ward.

The waiting area here, unlike the rest of the hospital at this time of night, was not deserted; it wasn't crowded either. The few Healers on duty, in their lime green robes, were hastily traversing the space, exiting and entering through the many doors across the entrance where Sirius stood scanning his surroundings.

Behind the reception desk, sat straight and unmoving a corpulent lady with a stern frown and a heap of papers to keep busy.

A tad too intimidating, Sirius assessed.

He caught a glimpse, though, of a young woman in an orange gown, a Trainee Healer, standing across the room. She had blonde frizzy hair pulled back in a braid and her nose buried shily in a notebook.

Good enough. And shy was always good when in doubt, if Sirius' learnings from his days of chatting girls were anything to go by.

He drew in a deep breath and walked up to her, unable to remember the last time he had felt this nervous.

"Hi," Sirius said with a tentative smile. "Could you help me out? Someone's injured, and I—"

"What's your name?" She looked up from her notes, blue eyes staring him down from behind large glasses.

Not so shy anymore.

"Craig," Sirius blurted out. "It's Craig."

"And…?"

And what? Her dispassionate face gave away nothing — not a smile, not a frown, not even a raised eyebrow.

"Craig and…?" she said.

"Oh," he smiled nervously. "Craig Baltimore. Listen, I need to—"

"Mister Baltimore," she said, "please fill out a form there, at the reception, and have a seat."

"I don't have the time. It's an emergency. You see, my—"

"Yes, I'm sure it is, Mister Baltimore. Come with me."

She walked past him, and Sirius followed.

"Here." She took a set of papers from a stack at the reception and put it in his hands.

"Fill these out. Have a seat. Wait. Everyone here has an emergency. It's called the emergency ward for a reason, Mister Baltimore."

"You don't understand. I'm not here for a broken limb; it's a life-threatening injury." Sirius shouldn't be raising his voice; he was drawing attention. He couldn't bring himself to care. "We don't have time to waste, and not with forms. Please, would you help me?"

She let him finish pleading, and she smiled, the way people smile when they're not listening.

"Fill these out, and please have a seat."

This was bullshit. He glanced over her shoulder, already searching the room for someone else to ask for assistance when another Trainee walked up to them.

"Jilin," she said, resting a hand on her frigid colleague's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this."

The new girl blinked up at Sirius. She had a full face and lush brown hair that ran up to her shoulders. Her big brown eyes, as she took Sirius in, sparkled intrigued.

"Healer Astrol," the new girl told her colleague, "said he wants to speak to you."

"Oh," Jilin stiffened, her glacial face suddenly flushing pink. "Oh. What, now?"

"He said, when you have time."

"Ehm — yes. I'll go then. Thank you!"

Jilin straightened the front of her gown and her frizzy hair, eyes darting a couple of times between Sirius and the new girl. In the end, she gave a distracted nod, and she was off.

"So…" The new girl stepped closer to Sirius. She wasn't tall, her head barely level with Sirius' shoulder, and she was very young, "So you are…"

"Craig Baltimore," Sirius answered.

"Well, Craig…" she said with a smile that could bring the world to her feet. "I'm Minka. What can I do for you?"

Sirius rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his hair. He wasn't used to his hair feeling this soft. Or to speaking to girls… anymore.

"I need your help. I need a blood replenishing potion and something to stop a haemorrhage."

Her smile was gone.

"And what would you need that for?"

"It's for," he hesitated for a moment. "It's for my brother."

"Then your brother needs to be here. Bring him here, quickly."

"I can't. If I bring him here, he'll—" Sirius shook his head. He should have thought this through beforehand. "We got into a bar fight. And his wife can't possibly know. He was cheating on her."

"Listen," said Minka and her tone was still soft, "you need to bring him to the hospital. No wife's wrath is worth risking your brother's life."

"Oh, you haven't met his wife." Sirius chuckled bitterly.

Voldemort dancing in skirts and an apron… quite a wife to cheat on.

"No, I suppose I haven't." Minka smiled. "And you?"

"I have no intention of meeting her anytime soon."

"That's not what I meant," she said, amused. "I meant: how badly do you fear your wife?"

Sirius stuttered, unsure what to make of that.

"I don't. I—" He smiled flattered, realisation settling in. "I must have missed my chance of finding one."

"Well, I hope you get lucky sometimes soon."

She shrugged nonchalantly and pulled something out of her chest pocket, a Muggle ball-point pen.

Without saying anything else, she leaned in closer and took Sirius' hand in hers — her touch felt warm and very gentle — and wrote something on his palm with the Muggle pen.

"Owl me," she whispered as she let go of Sirius' hand.

"What…?"

Her brown eyes glittered playfully, fixing him, and Sirius was left feeling dumb — the most dulcet kind of dumb.

He didn't check what she had written on his hand, but only because he couldn't take his eyes away from her round face and that brilliant smile.

She chuckled at his confusion.

"Write to me — by owl."

"Oh," Sirius smiled. "I will. Of course I will."

She was sweet and beautiful and perfect, and Sirius needed to get back to Snape. Now.

"Will you help me, please?"

"I will," Minka answered. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

"It can't be Dittany — it hasn't worked." Sirius blurted out and saw her stop in her tracks to glance at him over her shoulder. "And a revival potion. Just in case."

Minka pursed her lips but didn't say anything. She walked hastily into a nearby room, and Sirius buried his face in the papers he had received earlier.

Keeping his head bowed and his eyes glued to the papers should make him less conspicuous, probably.

His hands still looked smooth. He ran his fingers through his hair — sleek and soft. The charm was still in place, though for how long, he couldn't tell.

He glimpsed up from his papers, briefly, searching for a clock, found it. It was almost one and a half hours since he had left Snape's side; it would be another hour or rather longer before he got back. There was a sickening chill coiling up in his stomach.

It would turn out, in the end, Sirius had had to leave his house, close the door behind him and run halfway across town to realise, with shocking certainty, he did not want to be away from Snape. That inexplicable sensation kept welling up in his gut, and along with it, an overwhelming feeling was downing on him: he needed to be by Snape's side. Now.

Right now.

"Can I help you?"

Sirius blinked up from the papers at a tall elderly man standing in front of him. He wore a lime green Healer's gown and an air of importance that matched his bony, oblong face.

"I'm just filling these out," Sirius dismissed him.

There was a twinkle in the elderly Healer's eyes as they fixed Sirius. Something about Sirius had caught his interest, and he did not seem keen on overlooking it.

"Maybe you could help me figure these out?" Sirius muttered only to give himself a good enough excuse for burying his face in his papers again.

Was the de-ageing drought wearing off?

The old Healer answered nothing to that, and the air between them was beginning to thicken when Minka finally returned, a bit breathless.

"Oh, don't worry." She told the old Healer, catching her breath. "I'll assist with that."

"Yes, yes," the Healer replied without shifting his glare from Sirius, "I'm sure you will."

"Those can be quite a bummer, huh?" Minka waved towards the papers in Sirius' hand. "I got two complaints about them today alone. Again!"

"Could I have a word with you?" the Healer asked in a low voice, turning his face to Minka but not his stare.

"Sure. Let me check on Nurse Malina. I promised I'd be with her in" — she blinked at the clock — "ten minutes. It shouldn't take long; then I'm all yours."

The old Healer said nothing to that; he did frown, though.

"Don't worry, don't worry. Go do your thing. I'll find you." Minka smiled warmly and put a gentle hand on the Healer's forearm. "No need to waste your time with all the small things. I'll be with you shortly."

She squeezed his forearm a bit tighter and shifted to get into his line of sight, to which the Healer finally tore his owlish glare from Sirius to take her in.

"Don't worry," another bright, wide smile that made her full cheeks look even perkier, and the Healer's stern gaze reluctantly softened, if only a notch.

"Alright." He sighed. "Alright, be quick."

Sure enough, Minka had some magic of her own, the kind that neither wand nor spells could bestow on one, Sirius thought, as he watched the old Healer turn around and walk away, though not before casting one last suspicious glare his way.

"Well, that was… odd," Minka said.

"I suppose."

The old Healer had recognised him; Sirius was certain of it. The de-ageing magic might be wearing off, or it might have something to do with the precautions for the made-up Robert Marcan.

Moody, you bloody imbecile!

Sirius needed to get the medicine and get out quickly.

"Did you—?"

Whatever Sirius had wanted to ask, it got lost when he met Minka's stare.

"For someone who just got out of a fight," she said in a steady voice, "you look rather unscathed."

Sirius smiled grimly.

"I do. My brother took the brunt of it. He saved my life."

She frowned slightly, and Sirius could almost feel her gaze piercing through him.

"He made sure I'd stay out of harm's way, somehow," he said quietly. "And to think that I caused it all."

"Sounds like quite a man, your brother." Something in Minka's voice made Sirius think she was rather absent from their surroundings. "Pretty brave." But something else, something he couldn't grasp, made him know she was more present than ever, right there with him — at the core of everything.

"He is," Sirius replied. "The bravest man I've ever known."

For a second or two, she considered his words in silence.

"Tell me this," she said. "If your brother survives, will innocent people suffer because of him?"

"No." On the contrary.

She held his gaze, steadfast, as though she could read into his soul. Her brown eyes glittered, and Sirius felt lost in the sight of her and in the intensity of her stare, to the point that he was beginning to feel vaguely lightheaded.

But then her gaze softened, the air around him clearing again, and the fire in her eyes dwindled away and drowned in something that Sirius recognised to be cold, bitter regret.

It was nearly incomprehensible what kind of pain could fathom a gaze like hers: capturing years of grief and sorrow, so raw, so achingly intense, it was maddening to even stand before it. It felt as though… it was… Oh — It was his own sorrow he was seeing mirrored in her eyes.

Was he that much of a mess?

"I believe you," Minka said softly.

She took his hand in hers and put a small vial in it. Sirius closed his fist around it tightly.

"It's the blood replenisher," she said. "You'll need to wait a few more minutes for the healing and revival potions. A colleague will bring them. I—" She peeked over his shoulder warily. "Come."

Taking him by the hand, Minka guided the way to a place in the waiting area slightly more secluded from prying eyes.

"I don't have access to those remedies," she said. "But I asked someone to help out. It shouldn't take long."

Sirius nodded, and she went on.

"First the gel," she said, "to stop the bleeding, then the blood replenisher after the haemorrhage has stopped." She was speaking quickly, and Sirius was trying to memorise everything she was saying. "The gel must be at body temperature before applying. Hold the glass in your fist for ten minutes or so; it will change colour to blue when it's ready, you'll see. And the revival potion — it's enough to drip it into the mouth; it doesn't need to be swallowed. Only in case of cardiac arrest. Not before. Under no circumstance before."

Sirius nodded again.

"You'll remember that?"

"Yes."

Minka glanced sideways, briefly, checking probably for her colleague with the potions or the meddling old Healer from earlier on. She seemed a bit distraught, and Sirius bowed his head slightly to catch her gaze.

"Minka," he said, "thank you."

She smiled at that, her face lightening again slightly. "And you'll remember to write to me?"

She would be in for a nasty surprise if he did.

"You said you would." She said and smiled a little sweeter.

He'd been an idiot and hadn't thought it through. Sirius did not want to lie to her.

Surprisingly, she didn't seem put off by his lack of a reply. Instead, she lifted herself on the balls of her feet to make herself a bit taller and leaned forward against him.

"Lean in a bit, will you," she said. "You're quite tall for me, you know?"

Sirius, taken aback and feeling stupidly clueless, did that.

He bowed his head to her height and leaned in closer, and felt her hand resting on his shoulder and her cheek nearly brushing against his, sensed her warm voice whisper into his ear.

"I don't care if it turns out it's all a bit different. Or a bit more so."

She let herself fall back lightly on her heels and looked him right in the eyes.

"I like different … Even more than this."

He didn't know what to say.

She cast a quick look sideways, and Sirius, too, glimpsed over her shoulder — he had the impression he'd caught someone eyeing him but couldn't be sure.

"My colleague should get here with the potions," Minka said. "It shouldn't take long."

"Can I only give him this?" Sirius asked, gesturing to his pocket where he'd tucked the blood replenisher. "If I wait any longer, it might be too late. It was late already when I left."

"No," she said. "Not before the haemorrhage stops; you'll only make it worse."

He never should have left. It was taking too long. He'd made a terrible mistake leaving Snape alone like that.

"But you're right. It will get nasty in here soon," Minka said. "If you wait, it might be too late… for the both of you."

Another glimpse around the room, and her attention returned to him.

"Especially for you."

Sirius smiled uncomfortably at that.

"I don't think that's relevant."

His words must have been the wrong ones because there was a note of sadness to the smile that she returned.

"No," she answered quietly. "You don't think it is."

Not knowing what to do with that, Sirius averted his gaze.

The man who'd been eying him earlier was no longer in sight. That was either good — or pretty alarming.

"You'll be in some trouble, you know?" Sirius told her.

Minka shrugged. "I have my ways. I'll claim I lost my head over your good looks."

Sirius could taste the bitterness in that. His looks tonight, good or bad, were achingly misleading.

"I'd be lying, though, I hope you know."

"No…" Sirius mumbled. "I don't know what I should know."

"Know the truth, then," she said simply. "I never lost my head over good looks. Lost it over your eyes."

Whatever it was about her, she seemed surreal: her smile, her candour, the things he knew.

"Promise to write?" she insisted.

"Promise…?"

She nodded, not looking away from him.

And Sirius was lost before her. All he could bring himself to accomplish was a completely dumb, "I could be lying…"

"You're a terrible liar." She couldn't keep the smile from her face. "I like that."

The room had grown quieter, and he was regarding Minka in silence, unable to find his words or thoughts or, really, any bit of discernment standing so close to her.

"You've never broken a promise in your life," Minka said quietly. "Have you?"

Sirius answered with a small shake of the head.

"Well…?"

Another swift surveying of the room that made Minka frown; then she reached for his hand and squeezed it lightly. Sirius could tell she was becoming rather nervous, and probably not because of his hesitancy.

"Dalia should be here," she said, "with the potions… Move quickly once you have them."

Her hand, holding his, felt warm and fragile, and Sirius hadn't noticed until now how fervid his own heart was racing in his chest.

"I do," he blurted out. "I promise to write."

Minka smiled brightly at that.

Sure enough, with everything going on, Sirius was beginning to feel his head spin. He hoped it was because of Minka and his own fatigue masked by Yarrow and the lack of sleep — and not because of the de-ageing potion wearing off.

He covered his eyes with his hand for a second and rubbed his brow to steady his surroundings. Somehow, bringing his sense of balance back in check must have taken longer than he had realised because when Sirius lowered his hand, he found a woman standing by their side, and he hadn't noticed her getting there.

"Here," the woman told Minka, handing her a small velvet sachet. She was somewhere in her mid-thirties, slender frame and olive skin. "Another half an hour to get the revival potion. There's no way I can get in there sooner, not with Astrol—"

"Thank you!" Minka cut in. "Thank you! It's perfect. And it's enough. Don't worry about that; you've done enough."

The other woman was about to interject something, but Minka beat her to it. "I owe you!" She flashed one of her smiles that could make the world spin the other way round. "I owe you big time."

Seemingly content with Minka's exuberance, the woman nodded in acceptance and cast a fleeting look Sirius' way.

And she froze, gaping dumbstruck, taking him in.

Fuck.

Sirius brushed his hair away from his eyes to ascertain, with a bit of relief, that it was soft and smooth and not the prisoner's from Azkaban.

"Hello," the woman greeted casually, and still a tad discomfited.

"Hi…"

Another second of awkward staring, and then the woman turned to Minka and whispered to her, not at all discreetly enough.

"Well…" She was smiling a bit too. "Now I understand what your fuss was all about."

Minka chuckled at that, not flustered in the least. "Tch! You're giving me away. Spoiling everything."

"I'm off, I'm off." The woman laughed and spun on her heels, waving her hand carelessly. "Wouldn't want to spoil this for you."

Another light chuckle as the woman walked away, and then Minka turned her attention to the velvet sachet she had just received. She took out the small brown jar that was inside, checked the label on it, stuffed it back into the sachet, tied it with a knot and pressed it into Sirius' hand.

"It's the gel I told you about — to stop the bleeding. You don't have time to wait for the revival potion." She glanced over his shoulder. "Go."

"Thank you."

"Good luck," she whispered as Sirius turned and walked away, heading for the stairs.

His steps felt wobbly and he tried to disregard that. Whatever was going on at the moment, he wasn't in top-notch form. He hastened the pace and would have run, but he suspected it would only get him stunned before he could set foot out in the street.

"Wait," a man called loudly. "Sir!"

Sirius didn't look behind; he strode faster.

"Sir!"

Footsteps prodded behind him, and Sirius turned around the corner and broke into a run for the staircase. Spinning head and all, his feet were steady enough under him. He sprinted down the stairs, the soles of his own boots throbbing on the stone steps so rowdy he couldn't hear whether anyone was following him.

The air flashed red, and a ray of light crashed into the wall before him, the Stunning Spell missing him by almost nothing.

Someone was following him.

Sirius clutched the velvet sachet tighter in his hand, afraid he'd stumble and fall and break its contents. He nearly tripped when he skipped the last steps but somehow regained his footing and ran out of the staircase and into the hallway.

"Stop him!" Came a shout from behind Sirius. "Stop him!"

The man at the reception desk, no longer dozing, had sprung to his feet and was fumbling for something — frantic and jittery — his wand, probably.

Another flash of red, yet Sirius was still running. He would not be so lucky the third time around. His heart pounded wildly and he felt suddenly afraid. Afraid he'd get caught and sent for the Dementor's Kiss — and leave Snape alone in his house to bleed to death, without as much as —

He clutched the sachet stronger, raced faster, as fast as he could.

His muscles burned insanely, his lungs were bulbs of fire. His surroundings weren't all that steady, but he held his grip on what he had — ran straight and straight for the door.

The receptionist had left his desk to stand in front of the door without a wand, scrawny arms stretched out like he was trying to catch a ball. Sirius didn't stop.

He'd feel sorry for him later.

He slammed the skinny man hard in the chest with his shoulder and sent him falling on the ground like a rag doll. Sirius rushed past him, through the door, and hastened outside.

He almost tripped on the stairs leading out of the building. Gripped the sachet tighter and kept running. Only when his feet touched the asphalt of the sidewalk, did he turn to look behind — there was no one there. He didn't slow.

They hadn't followed him outside. Not yet.

Perhaps they were afraid to face Sirius out in the dark street. They weren't stupid, after all.

He almost grinned at the thought, a little madly.

Sirius pushed himself to keep going, despite his legs burning with exhaustion — the cold air, by now, felt hot to him.

The street was empty and dead-still, the air frozen with silence. He struggled to hear anything over the drumming of blood in his ears and the trodding of his own boots.

The silence would crackle with the sound of Apparitions any time now. There would be Aurors, he had no doubt.

He reached the dark alley, stuffed the velvet sachet in his pocket. His hands were shaking wildly but not with the cold. He took more time than he had to secure the sachet so it wouldn't slip out.

Then, in a single beat of the heart, Sirius' world flipped away, and the man was gone, and the dog appeared.

And Padfoot broke into a run.