"Black!" Severus Snape's voice emerged a panicked roar as he thundered into the foyer, hardly caring that he had knocked over an end table and set the painting of Black's sour-faced mother off again. Hastily, he hurried forth, not noticing that he was dripping onto the carpet. The clouds had broken after Remus had gone inside, and the wind whipped and howled, carrying a cold, stinging spray which had thoroughly drenched Severus' hair and clothing. Ignoring this, he ran pell-mell through the lower floor, his heavy boots tracking mud. "Black! Black, you filthy Gryffindor -- bloody useless -- come on!"

"I'm here," said Sirius, reaching for his wand, but before he could do more than raise it, Remus knocked him aside in his haste to descend the stairs.

"Severus," Remus said nervously, noting the look of pain and fear on the other man's features. Snape's customary sneer was conspicuously absent, his cruel demeanour gone. Sniffing, Remus could scent blood in the air, mixing with the crisp crackle of ozone that emerged with each lightning strike. "What's happened?" he demanded. His eyes settled on a deep crimson stain that was spread across Severus' cloak and shirt. "You're hurt!"

Impatient, Severus shook his head. "No, not me. It's not my blood. Black!" he exclaimed, sighting Sirius, who had remained frozen on the staircase, his wand gripped in one tight fist. The gloating man of the house was wearing a hateful sneer across his perfect mouth, his eyes coldly appraising Severus' unkempt, wind-blown hair. Barely conscious of the judgment evident there, Severus stared up at Sirius, panicked. "You've got to come down -- got to invite him in! He can't enter without your permission -- Dumbledore isn't here --"

"What the hell are you talking about, Snivellus?" inquired Sirius patiently, looking amused. He cocked his head as though he was studying an exhibit in the zoo, but despite the partial grin on his lips, his eyes were dark with anger. Severus Snape was the last person he cared to see.

"Malfoy!" burst Severus. He rounded on Remus, his arms flapping as he tried to convey the urgency. "I don't know how much longer he can keep going without treatment. He needs a healer!" An uncharacteristic expression of abashment crossed Severus' features; he looked completely at a loss. "I tried," he explained, his tone apologetic and rushed. "I couldn't staunch the bleeding. We've got to do something --"

Without pausing to consider whether or not it might be a trap, Remus nodded and quickly darted outside, leaving Severus and Sirius to consider one another.

Desperation forced Severus to meet Sirius' eyes. "Black! You're the owner of the house, you're the only one who can allow him in here aside from Albus! Hurry! He won't last much longer without our help."

"Oh," drawled Sirius easily, though guilt stirred uncomfortably in his belly. He could not resist tormenting Severus, however, seeing as he finally had him cornered, a worm on a hook. "You're saying you want me to do something for you?" Pretending to think it over, Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully with his forefinger. "But, I'm useless, aren't I? A bleeding coward, isn't that what you said last time, when you came to gloat about your dangerous assignment and to tease me for staying here, where it's safe?"

Hating the man opposite, Severus clenched his jaw. How badly he wanted to reach for his wand and cover Black in a torrent of stinging hexes and cutting curses -- or worse, he considered, imagining the other man writhing under a carefully administered Cruciatus. But the boy was out on the street, bleeding to death from injuries Severus could not possibly deal with alone. Draco was in desperate need of shelter and assistance, so with tremendous effort, Severus kept his fury in check and stared into Sirius' eyes. "Please!"

The gravity of the situation finally managed to impress itself upon Sirius, who nodded, reluctantly shelving his desire for revenge on Snape. He sped in the direction of the open front door, to the outside world where Remus had already ventured, neither worried about the possibility of being captured by the Ministry nor concerned about whether Snape had simply set a cruel trap. It was enough, just to feel the wind rush over his dusty skin, to let the icy rain drip into his hair and down his bare arms. Alive, he thought. Then his eyes settled on the two figures across the street, and his mouth fell open.

Remus was on his knees, his hands flapping around pointlessly as he gingerly peeled back a strip of torn fabric that had once been Draco Malfoy's finest set of dress robes. Rain dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, but Remus knew that was not the only impediment to his vision. He felt close to tears just looking at the boy, who seemed to have more blood out than in. A ruby stream trickled from the corner of his mouth. His shirt, the colour of which Remus had assumed was intentionally maroon, turned pink as the blood soaked in it mixed with the downpour and poured out into the street. Deep, sickening welts worked a trail up Draco's pale arms, and his prideful visage was a mess of ragged, weeping lacerations.

Unconscious, Draco lay slumped on the grass at the edge of the road where Severus had laid him down, hoping the darkness of the night would obscure him from enemy view. His blonde hair was plastered against his forehead, and his clothing was badly torn. He appeared to have lost his wand. Worrisome, Remus noted that his chest rose and felt too slightly, his breathing far too slow and shallow.

"Sirius!" Remus prompted, glancing up urgently as Sirius ran across the road to his side.

Severus pointed his wand at the boy. "Do it quickly; he's in terrible pain," he informed Sirius through clenched teeth. Then, directing his wand towards Draco's temple, he cast the spell. "Enervate!"

Draco's pale grey eyes flew open in panic, and he immediately began to keen in pain. He seemed scarcely aware of the fact that Sirius had crouched down beside him and leaned in close to whisper the secret of number 12's location, but he blinked in confusion as the houses on either side spread apart to reveal Sirius' imposing domicile.

"I didn't know where else to bring him," heaved Severus as withdrew his charm, allowing Draco to fall back into blissful sleep. Delicately, he scooped the boy up into his own arms, unaware and not caring about the blood that continued to seep into his clothes. "St Mungo's might treat him, but he'd surely be arrested -- yes, he's been given the Mark," he added hastily as Remus gaped at him in shock at the black brand on Draco's forearm. "His father's insistence," Severus added, lip curling. "My own home is ill equipped and virtually unprotected -- it is Voldemort's lot that are after him," he tried to explain. His hands roved over Draco's body as he set the bleeding boy down on the nearest table, elbowing a number of candles and several of Remus' books out of the way.

"The school --"

"Hogwarts' hospital wing has no provisions for dealing with damage of this magnitude," Severus snapped, as though Remus was a student in class who had offered an unfeasible answer. He seemed to think better of his temper as Sirius glared at him from the doorway. "Simple injuries, that is what Pomfrey is equipped to treat. Classroom mistakes, potion burns, Quidditch accidents -- all of this was quite deliberate. He was attacked by fully grown wizards with every intention of ending his life."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, glancing cautiously at Draco as Remus conjured bandages from nowhere. "Why?"

Dangerous emotion flickered deep in Severus' eyes, and he shook his head as though to shake off the question. "You can take it up with him, if he survives," he decided, preferring not to have to recount the grisly events of the evening, at least not to Sirius Black. Noting an understanding glance that Remus flashed him, Severus felt something in his chest unhitch. Lupin was scarcely a friend, but Severus knew, if he must confide in someone, Remus would be an easy choice. "Do you have any guides?" he asked Sirius. "Tomes, you know the sort of thing, any book on healing charms? I've tried what I know and --" Severus broke off, unwilling to admit defeat in front of a couple of Gryffindors, even if they were all adults now, many years from Hogwarts. Turning away from them both, he settled a hand on Draco's throat, where a deep gash shone dull red. Covering the wound, Severus hummed the best healing spell he knew, the one that he had devised to cure the Sectumsempra. Slowly, the severed flesh drew in and knitted itself together, though clumsily; there would be scars.

"Lupin, can you --"

"Of course," Remus agreed readily as he touched a bad cut on Draco's shoulder and imitated Severus' spell. He could feel Sirius' gaze boring into him, filled with shock and judgment, but there was a life at stake, and Remus rather felt it was worth cooperating with Snape a while in order to save it. "Will this work?

"It can mend the cuts temporarily, but they will continue to appear until the curse works through its entire cycle. I'm not certain how long it lasts." Severus frowned. "I need my potions stores!" he exclaimed. "There is poison in him too, spreading. Nothing I've given him yet seems to have made any difference. Black!" he went on hurriedly. "Did you find anything? Spell-books, anything that might have a healing charm against dark magic?"

Staring, flabbergasted and bemused, from Severus to Remus, both of whom were toiling over the still body of Draco Malfoy, Sirius shook his head. His eyes were round, and he felt a headache coming on, the subtle sound of hoof beats in the distance. In a fit of nostalgia, he longed for Remus to jerk his hands away as Severus' fingers accidentally brushed his own, but both wizards were concentrating too hard on aiding Draco to be distracted by the rare touch. Snivellus, Sirius thought hatefully, wishing he could ignore the gaping wound that seemed to be expanding in his own chest. Always with the bad luck. "No -- I -- no."

Remus' gaze was plaintive, desperate. "Sirius, please --"

Shaking his head, Sirius blanched. Something within him, with the dogged persistence he knew only from Padfoot, was scratching and howling for release. He wanted to say something -- the right words. He wanted to leap into the fray and toss aside the young man's body from his dining room table, to force Remus to look at him, really look at him, and read the emotion hidden within. He wanted to curse the very lifeblood right out of Snivellus Snape. Choose me, whispered some scared, desperate, child-like part of him, because the mere sight of Remus and Severus working together, so competent, an efficient team, made him feel completely off-kilter. Unnecessary. Worthless. Berating himself his fears, Sirius backed away. With one sweaty hand, he sought out the banister, then mounted the steps backwards, not quite daring to turn his back. For a long moment he stared at Remus, and Remus stared back. Then, alerted by Severus' concerned mutterings, Remus turned away, his attention back on Draco, and Sirius turned and ran up the stairs as though he was being chased.