Chapter Thirteen: I Am a Hummingbird on Steroids

I didn't manage the daunting task of getting us all back to the school without a little outside help, of course. Due to the rather important fact that I was the most soberest (oh God) of all of us, the task of getting us back to the school was graciously delegated to me (I say 'delegated,' but really it was a moot point when you considered that Lily was busy chatting up what I strongly suspected to be a hag in britches, and Aubrey was just this side of too bloody sotted to remember her own name—honestly, they simply didn't have any proper constitution).

Using both the magic mirror I had borrowed off James earlier in the evening and Extreme Concentration (oh yes, it really was that difficult, absolutely epithet-worthy), I managed to convey to a highly amused Sirius that I needed for him to come meet us outside Honeyduke's sweet shop, and that bringing along either James or Remus wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

In the event, they all ended up coming to fetch us—none of them quite succeeding in concealing their vastly entertained grins. Lily seemed unusually pleased to see James and it looked as though the top of his head might blow off in the sheer euphoria of it all. Then she called him 'Zorro' and insisted that if he expected to get into bed with her, Aubrey and I while visiting us in our villa in Spain, he would have to remove his sword first.

Which prompted Sirius, in between fits of hysterical laughter, to ask what on earth the point would be?

We managed to sneak into Honeyduke's cellar without James and Sirius killing each other, and from there made an unsteady, though rather speedy (due mostly to the fact that the lads quickly gave up trying to keep us from falling flat on our faces, and carried us the majority of the way) journey through the dirt-packed tunnel leading back to Hogwarts.

Our ascent to Gryffindor Tower took a bit longer, because only three people could fit under the Invisibility Cloak at a time, and so we were forced to take it in turns. James had brought the Cloak with him as an extra precaution, which was lucky because on my, James' and Lily's trip upstairs, we met no less than two professors and once, we nearly trod on Mrs. Norris, who, even though we never made a sound, I could have sworn knew we were there.

Watching me with those creepy-arse cat eyes.

Anyway, I got Lily and Aubrey up to their respective beds without permanently maiming either one of them, which one must admit is a huge success. Aubrey fell asleep on me before I'd even got us in the door to the sixth-year dorms, but one of her dorm-mates was scared of me enough so that I was able to enlist her help in dragging Aubrey the rest of the way. Lily managed to stay on her own two feet without incident until we reached the seventh-year dorm—the regular one, as I simply didn't have the energy to get her all the way to the Head Girl's room, and anyway, James would have noticed us going in there, and the fact she had now chosen to occupy the Heads dorm after all was something James wasn't strictly supposed to be privy to. Something that was, in a word, er… secret.

And even I wasn't bitch enough to give her away, not even when she'd been driving me mad and acting like a complete cow. James-in-Love could really be a bit bothersome and to inflict him that way on another living creature was nothing short of cruel.

I loved my cousin, but not in a blind, utterly delusional sort of way.

I was up at the ungodly hour of six the next morning, dragged out of bed by a harshly unsympathetic Sirius, who did nothing more than grin wickedly, inform me (quite hypocritically, too) that I had horrid morning hair, and then hand me a bottle of Padfoot & Prongs' patented hangover potion, before skipping off (literally skipping, and I could have sworn I heard him humming 'Fernando' on the way out.)

Cursing Sirius, his insufferable cheeriness and all manners of imbibing the world over, I stumbled into the loo, took some potion, then went about attempting to drown myself in the sink before the potion's effects actually started to kick in.

Once they had, however, my nauseated, roiling stomach was properly soothed and my pounding, aching skull no longer fit-to-burst. It was then I realised Sirius Black was a beautiful, lovely, angelic boy and my love for him burned with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

The only side-effect of the hangover cure that neither James nor the aforementioned gorgeous cherub had been able to work out yet was a slight, excessive boost of energy. Its basic consequence made you feel like a hummingbird on steroids, though this luckily wore off within a couple of hours.

In the meantime, feeling alert and refreshed, I raced about the dorm washing and dressing at top-speed, just barely avoiding crashing into anything or waking anybody up. I poured two doses of the hangover potion into phials which I then left on Lily's and Aubrey's nightstands (managing the lot in about forty-five seconds—with a diluted draught for Lily, because while I felt bad for making her hung-over, I didn't want her to go into overload, like I was—she was scary enough as it was), then clattered down the rest of the stairs to the common-room, which was dim with pinkish light and empty except for Remus, James, Peter and Sirius himself.

I skidded to a stop at Remus' side, vibrating with unspent energy. "Morning!"

Sirius cocked a brow down at me, while James looked at his watch and said wryly, "Three and a half minutes. Huh. I think the potion's getting weak with age, Padfoot."

I jumped up and down on the balls of my feet, positively shivering with excitement and borrowed verve, and said all in one breath, "Shut-up-James-hurry-up-let's-do-this-before-any-of-the-staff-wakes-up-and-oh-my-God-this-is-going-to-be-priceless!"

Remus patted me on the head kindly. "Yes, yes, it is." He leaned over to Sirius and asked lowly out of the corner of his mouth, "How badly will she have crashed by the time the potion wears off?"

"Taking into consideration how much sleep her body normally needs to cope, and also the speed of her metabolism… I'd say really bloody hard," Sirius replied cheerfully.

"S'better-than-my-head-exploding-now-can-we-move-before-I-pee-myself?"

About two hours later the "Final Stage" was completed, and the five of us were sitting in the Great Hall, some of the first students to arrive for breakfast. I was the only one not eating, and I found myself—not for the first time—completely baffled at a boy's singular ability to consume food even under times of greatest duress, as if he actually possessed an appetite and that bottomless pit he called a stomach wasn't, in fact, tied in knots and threatening to send right back up whatever he put into it.

Me, nervous? No, why do you ask?

Whatever you wanted to call it—my natural instincts, woman's intuition, a healthy case of nerves before show-time—'it' was going haywire. More than of getting caught—it would be so worth it, no matter what happened—I was afraid something would go wrong, afraid it wouldn't work, and then all of our hard work and careful planning would go to waste (I could finally understand why this always meant so much to the lads), but worse, Snape wouldn't get what he deserved.

Actually, he really deserved to be horse-whipped, possibly smacked around good and proper by a pack of giants, but you took what you could get.

I hadn't told Aubrey yet what we were doing for her, and I wasn't sure if I ever would. I knew she didn't want to have anything to do with Severus Snape anymore, and just knowing what we'd done was enough for me. Being able to tell everybody would have been nice, because then Snape would know who he was messing with, but seeing the look on his face when he at last entered the Great Hall would have to suffice.

And, oh, it would.

I was sitting between Sirius and Remus at the breakfast table, my thigh touching Sirius', his left hand resting on my knee while he ate ravenously with his right. I couldn't help bouncing up and down slightly in my seat with ill-suppressed nerves and residual hangover potion still coursing through my veins (though I could feel the crash coming already, and fast), unable to focus on any one thing and completely unable to relax.

"You're makin' me tired jus' lookin' at you," Peter told me thickly, grimacing around a mouthful of kippers.

I tried to look apologetic, not trusting the steadiness of my voice enough to speak, and made a conscious effort to stop moving.

Sirius lifted a heaping forkful of eggs to his mouth, then reached across my restless lap with his free hand for my own, which was chilled and clammy, closing his warm fingers around mine.

"Usheacknlleefen," he said, comfortingly.

Remus looked a bit faint. "Does nobody speak without food in their mouths around here?" he asked weakly, turning his gaze up to the ceiling, as if asking for strength from a higher power.

James, good friend that he was, swallowed his bacon before saying to me, "Are you still a bit hung-over? I'm actually amazed you were able to stay standing, the state you were in last night—but then, you've always given Pads and me a run for our money when it comes to playing Sickles or Exploding Schnapps. I've only just recently got the smell of butterscotch out of my hair."

The mention of drinking games past did nothing for my already turning stomach, but I shook my head and managed, "It isn't that."

"Did Lily Evans call you a cow again?" Peter asked sympathetically.

James glared at him for besmirching the pure and innocent name of his dearest Evans by putting such foul words in her mouth, but I just shook my head again and replied absently, "No, she says she really quite likes me, deep-down."

James beamed at me.

"I think we're running away to the tropics together. Or wait, no—freckles—no, we decided to build our love-nest in Madrid."

Sirius grinned amazedly around another forkful of eggs, while James' look turned murderous, and Peter nodded encouragingly.

"There you go, maybe the two of you can be friends now."

I wasn't so sure about that. My memories of last night were clear enough, but I sincerely doubted Lily would be in the same mindset as she'd been after a few drinks in her. I couldn't say I was totally opposed to a tentative friendship with her—not fighting and bickering every five minutes had been a nice change of pace—but I wasn't expecting a miracle, either. Anyway, she was the least of my worries right now.

"Err… we haven't got a plan B or anything, have we?" I inquired, as casually as I could under the circumstances.

"Of course we have," James scoffed, spearing a sausage from the platter with rather more force that was necessary. "What do you think we are? Incompetent? Unprepared? Un… er… the opposite of geniuses?"

"Stupid people."

"Yes, thank you, Moony—do you think we are stupid people, Tia?"

I decided against answering, as it might upset him further, and asked instead, "What is plan B, then?"

"We nick Locksley's megaphone and announce to everybody today at break that Snape is a stupid tit."

"Hence, 'Operation: Snape is a Stupid Tit'," Sirius expanded generously, for the benefit of those of us without basic deductive capabilities, and squeezed my hand as a show of moral support.

I looked to Remus in disbelief, but he appeared to have given up on the lot of them long ago, as he now had his nose buried in a copy of Advanced Transfiguration, Grade 7 (my copy, come to that—I'd wondered where that had gotten to.)

"Well, shit," I announced succinctly, then let my head fall forward onto the table with a dull thunk.

"Cheer up, old bean," Sirius told me, with a hearty pat on the rump. "There's nothing to worry yourself over. The Concealment charms are timed for eight o'clock and if they don't go off then, we can always try again tomorrow. You aren't in any particular rush, are you?"

Rush? No, no rush. Moving fast—moving at all—was not something I very much wanted to do right then. I was feeling worse than ever now that the crash from the potion was slipping heavily over me like a cloak made of lead, and I let my uncooperative limbs hang about as they were.

"Unnghnnlhh," I replied, my forehead glued to the table surface.

"Now that's settled," Remus began dryly, peeking out from behind his book, "we can get on with other issues. Here come the first of them." He jerked his chin towards the entrance.

The Great Hall was nearly empty but for a smattering of students at each of the four tables. Several professors were already seated eating their breakfasts, but besides that, most of Hogwarts had yet to come downstairs.

Then we all looked over to the entrance of the Hall and saw a half-dozen Ravenclaw sixth-years trickling through the doors, expressions of mingled scandal and delight on their countenances, whispering furiously to each other as they crossed to their table.

I couldn't hear any of what they said, but by they way they kept sending furtive glances at the Slytherin table (which was the least populated of them all), I could guess.

I breathed a sigh of relief, deciding the charms had activated at the appointed time after all, and reached over for a piece of toast.

"Let's settle in for the show, eh?" Sirius grinned wickedly, winking across the table at Peter and James as a large herd of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors clamoured in to the Hall, wearing similar expressions to their predecessors, chattering loudly and laughing in delighted disbelief.

"And you were thinking we'd need to resort to plan B," James said, in that same scoffing tone as before.

"That's lucky, too, because it wasn't much of a plan, was it?" I said, smearing creamed honey on a piece of currant bread. Upsetting him suddenly didn't seem like such an awful thing anymore.

He looked mortally offended. "I will have you know, I had rather better things to worry about than a solid secondary plan. Such as, oh I don't know… the actual one?"

"All right, keep your knickers on," I said, my tone placating, then lifted the sugary goodness to my mouth to take a bite, sinking my teeth into the sweet, dense bread.

It shrieked in pain.

I gagged, dropping the bread in shock—it landed honey-side down, of course—, and leapt out of my seat, cursing.

"Bloody f—"

There was a second scream, as blood-curdling and terrified as the first, and it was then I noticed everyone's head had whipped round to stare open-mouthed at the entrance, the lads' included. Remus' book (bugger, my book—Pince would kill me if she saw it at the breakfast table, near food and—horror of horrors—coffee, the bane of brown ringed pages everywhere) lay forgotten on his seat, and he now stood as I was, his nose raised slightly as if scenting danger in the air.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I stood with my gaze fixated on Remus; he had visibly tensed, ears practically twitching to attention. It was rare times like these I was forced to realise that even when he wasn't transformed, my friend was still very much the wolf.

"Let's go," James said, unnecessarily—we were already hurrying around the table and sprinting towards the doors, those students and teachers in the Hall milling out with and after us.

The sight that met us in the Entrance Hall was one that caused me to draw up short as soon as we reached it, Peter bumping into my back at my abrupt stop, and steadying us both with a hand on my elbow. Then he gasped in my ear at what we all saw.

Snape, surrounded by at least two dozen other students of varying ages and houses, stood in the centre of the Entrance Hall, brandishing his wand in one tightly clenched fist, clasping a large, crumpled paper in the other. The other students were giving him a wide berth, and his expression told me why. It was one of twisted, black, half-crazed fury, dark with blood and entirely not his own with contorting rage.

My heart skipped a beat.

His black eyes were slits of shimmering anger, the hostility emanating off him in waves, and he didn't look quite sane as he turned in jerky, wild circles, his gaze flickering over the many alarmed countenances staring at him, as if he was searching furiously for something he couldn't find.

"You dare laugh at me?" he roared in outrage to the crowd in general, spittle flying, and threateningly raised his wand. He shook the paper in his fist, greasy locks trembling with each rage-filled movement. "Which of you common Mudblood ingrates did this? Which? I demand to know! I will teach you to act above your station—do you not see what I am capable of?" His voice echoed off the walls.

It was then I noticed the small body on the floor at his feet; a young Gryffindor boy I couldn't tell the identity of, as he was curled into himself and moaning piteously, which could be heard every time Snape stopped his ranting long enough to draw breath.

Blood was thudding dully in my head, the pulse-point at the base of my throat fluttering shallowly like butterflies wings. I felt frozen, my feet stuck to the floor, my legs numb, and I was having difficulty understanding what was going on—why it was going on.

Then I caught sight of exactly what it was Snape was gripping in his fist, recognised it, and my blood ran cold.

One of the photos. We'd done this.

Shit.

At that precise moment, that moment of horrible, guilt-ridden truth, James stepped forward and shouted to be heard over Snape's raving, "Oi, Snivellus!"

"James, don't—" I protested weakly, reaching out a hand to stop him.

But he ignored me, and when Snape whirled round to glare at him, wand held aloft and at the ready, he went on, smirking, "There's no need to be attacking innocent first-years, just because they had to be subjected to your greasy, poofter's arse plastered all over the school walls!"

If it were possible, Snape's awful expression darkened even more and he screamed, arms flailing wildly, "You! You! It's always you, Potter; you and your fucking pet mongrel!"

I could hear professors far behind us pushing to get through the shifting mass of students, but James either didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care. He grinned slowly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "That's right. And it always will be us, because we're better than you, Snivellus, and the minute you realise that, we'll all be that much happier."

"NO!" Snape actually stamped his foot on the ground. "This stops now! I have had enough!" He waved his wand in a vicious, striking motion. "Oblido cordis!"

Dimly and dazed, as if in a dream, I watched as a blazing stream of electric-blue light burst from the tip of his wand and the hall erupted in alarmed screams and the sounds of retreating feet as the wildly-aimed jet of magic shot through the parting crowd.

Someone at my elbow emitted a soft, breathless sound, and there was the muffled thud of a body crumpling to the floor.

I closed my eyes, my stomach clenching painfully, then looked down, my head swimming so badly it felt as though it took ages for my neck to turn and bend, a rushing, roaring noise in my ears.

A boy lay on the floor next to my left ankle, his body twisted at the waist, his face hidden by the black robes which had been swept up haphazardly. Lithely muscled boy-limbs, rough on the edges yet oddly graceful, were tangled in the dark folds of his cloak, looking hauntingly familiar to similar limbs tangled in my own bed-sheets. I took in the inch of smooth gold skin beneath his white oxford-shirt, ridden up to reveal a black leather belt and grey trousers, and above that, the waistband of white-and-black silk paw-print boxers.

Someone screamed.

I was pretty sure it was me.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of hysterics and movement and urgency.

I remembered being shoved aside by Professor McGonagall and Mr. Locksley, the latter hunkering down beside Sirius and beginning to furiously apply an array of Healing spells, muttering non-stop under his breath a stream of both foreign and familiar incantations.

I remembered an almost continuous wave of noise, rising up and fading out at intervals, though I didn't think anyone actually stopped talking or shouting or making a ruckus in general.

I remembered James' pale face, his eyes wide and full of disbelief behind his glasses; the desperation in his stance as he looked down at his felled best friend.

I remembered accidentally backing into Remus' chest, the way his arms banded like steel around my waist; he was warm as ever, and smelled like he always did, but the inside of my stomach and chest remained cold as ice. He shook a bit, though I didn't know if that was leftover tension or… something else.

I remembered, quite clearly, someone shouting at "Severus;" the name sounding so strange on whosever tongue it was; shouting things like, "Every single last point from Slytherin!" and "You are an awful, despicable specimen of the human race and should be packed off to Azkaban straight away and then with a bit of luck, you'll be suitably reduced to some sadist's homoerotic fantasy enactor, and bloody well like it!"

Oh. When had Lily got here?

Following immediately afterwards was a voice, one full of relief, raw and ragged, yelling, "Pulse! I've found a pulse! Right, let's get him upstairs. Move!"

And the last lucid thing I remembered was James looking lost and helpless, saying, with a pathetic break in his voice that I would tease him mercilessly about later, "Tee… Tia… where—" and when I started to step away from Remus to go to him, Lily came running towards us, her hair flying, her face flushed and angry and scared. She shoved him hard in the chest, exclaiming, "Potter, you look so stupid!" and then threw her arms around him.

And he clung on blindly, burying his face in her shoulder. She let him, and that was okay.

Outside the hospital wing, the four of us (Peter, Remus, James and I—Lily, both embarrassed by her actions and not wanting to miss out on any schoolwork—swot—had left for class, which the rest of us had flat-out refused to do, and nobody had yet tried to force us) had set up camp, sitting on our balled-up robes, huddling together and waiting until they would finally let us in to see Sirius.

Though we'd followed them all up to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey had done no more than admonish us for causing such a disturbance to her other patients, and shut the doors in our faces.

The worst was the not knowing; not knowing what was happening, how badly hurt he was, whether he was even still alive—

Oh God. Fuck. Not a productive line of thinking, Spencer, stop that right now.

I clutched even tighter to Remus' invariably warm fingers with my own numbed ones, scooting imperceptibly closer to his side. James, on my other side, sat with his legs sprawled out, gazing steadily down at his hands resting limply in his lap, as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

I doubted he actually saw them.

Peter was sniffling quietly, though I wasn't sure if he was crying or not. I couldn't look to check, because every time my eyes met with one of theirs, I would feel that dangerous, creeping tickle of hysteria in the back of my throat and I felt like I would explode if I didn't burst into either tears or laughter.

Either option horrified me.

I wanted my mum. Abruptly and with a sudden rush of urgency, I wanted her this very instant, however childish a desire that was. I wanted to press my face in the sweet-smelling crook of her neck, to have her arms wrap around me in the warm, fragrant, encompassing embrace that only a mother can give. I wanted her here to tell me it was all right, even if I didn't believe it. I didn't want to feel helpless anymore, and Mum always took charge in an emergency.

Or Dad. Dad would hold me, too; his arms strong and protective and shielding from the dangers of the world as a father's should be; a total, impenetrable refuge that was something only the two of us shared. He would stand by me, behind me, beating away everything bad—as plain and simple as that—and he wouldn't stop until everything was all right.

Buggering arse fuck. I wanted Sirius.

I sniffled at the same time that a sob forced its way past the gigantic lump in my throat, and I made an absurd, snorting-keening sort of sound that I should have been thoroughly mortified for even making in the presence of another human being.

Instead, I let James take my hand—his was as cold and sweaty as mine, but his grip was firm and reassuring—and when Remus put an arm around me and—sweetly enough—Peter, I leaned into him and let go.

"Oh for Merlin's sake—how long have you four been out here?"

I opened my stinging, swollen eyes, raising my head slightly from Remus' shoulder to gaze blearily at Madam Pomfrey, who stood in the doorway to the hospital wing with her hands on ample hips and a scolding expression on her nevertheless kind face. Her hair under the starched white cap she wore looked a bit dishevelled, as though she'd had better things to worry about for quite some time.

Her hair often looked that way, I realised in a very calm and utterly pointless corner of my mind.

"Err…" Remus appeared to be trying to lift his arm in order to read his watch, but it looked as if I had made it go numb by sleeping (however fitfully) on it. He gave up, and replied instead, "A… er… while."

James opened his eyes as well, then, and when he saw Madam Pomfrey standing there, he leapt up with a speed and agility that belied the fact he'd been sound asleep a split second before.

"How is he? Is he alive? Is he horribly disfigured? Has he still got his wand hand, or does he have to train up his left now? I've already worked out a therapy program if he does, it'll be ace, we can do it together; I've always wanted to be ambidextrous. Can we go in yet?" James blurted out, practically all in one breath, vibrating with badly suppressed anxiety.

Though I, too, had felt about a hundred years old a moment earlier (even though the hangover potion had worn off hours ago), I now experienced a great surge of energy and scrambled to my feet, demanding, "Yes, can we?"

I refused to believe, even for a second, that any other of James' questions would be relevant, because of the obvious answer: He is fine.

I just wished obviousness wasn't so subjective a quality.

"Yes, well, I came out here to find someone who could bring a note to Professor Dumbledore for me, but I suppose you may all go in to see Mr. Black while I do that myself. I trust, however, that you will do it quietly and not disturb the other patients?"

When we all nodded earnestly, Remus and Peter getting to their feet as well, she conceded with a short nod of her head.

"Very well. He is on the left-hand side, towards the middle, with the privacy curtains. And remember, all of you—be quiet." And then she bustled off down the corridor, her practical, flat-soled shoes ghostly quiet on the stone floor, and disappeared round the corner.

James was already shoving open the door, but once he'd gone inside, he stopped short, looking suddenly lost again. I knew he had no phobia or issue with a hospital atmosphere—he'd spent enough time in this very one, growing up—and so such behaviour was a bit odd to see.

But I had other things forefront in my mind; such as getting to Sirius and… I didn't know. Just getting to him.

There were a few beds with privacy curtains set up around them, but only one in the area Pomfrey had described, and I headed straight for that one, my heart thudding hard against my ribs.

I reached the curtains, paused to take a deep breath, then drew them apart and went in.

That deep breath stuck in my throat when I saw him. He didn't look small or particularly weak lying there, like you sometimes read about invalid people looking. Nor did he look dead.

He just seemed so incredibly… tired.

This was a very scary state to see him in, indeed, especially if you knew Sirius like I did. Sirius Black didn't get tired. The amount of energy that boy housed in his single, beautiful body could power a small country. Sirius Black got bored, languorous, lazy, tiring… never tired.

His eyes were closed, but I saw the bruised-purple rims under his lashes and the faint blue veins on his lids. His lips were too pale, as was the rest of his face, and even his hair seemed to be exhausted—it lay, for once, neat and arranged against his skull, not sticking up anywhere, no foreign objects tangled in it, no messy locks flopping over one eye.

Pomfrey's doing, I thought vaguely, in disgust.

I reached out and immediately mussed up the soft black hair with my fingers. It did help a bit, though he still looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

The other three came in behind me just as I'd finished doing this, and I was glad I had when I noticed James' expression of wary uncertainty upon seeing his best friend like this. Sirius having tidy hair might have undone him altogether.

"What did Snivellus hit him with?" Peter breathed in horrified astonishment, voicing the question we were all asking ourselves, among others.

"I don't know," said Remus quietly, a deep groove between his brows, voicing the only answer we were able to come up with.

The worst was the not knowing. But at least we knew he was still alive and whole, and probably going to stay that way at least for the next twenty-four hours. Relief was immeasurable and it kept coming.

I reached out again, rubbing the pad of my thumb along his lower lip. I didn't like how pale it was and thought doing so might bring back some colour, as if I could wipe away this dull, washed-out mask that simply wasn't Sirius.

He opened his eyes, and those… those were his.

He said nothing, just smiled exhaustedly, nipped lightly at my thumb, and welcomed us all towards him by doing nothing more than waking up.