Once again, thank you to my wonderful English rose of a beta, David James. Besides being a great support he's also a fantastic writer. Check him out, he's in my faves lists under TheUnrealInsomniac. If you enjoy Harry/James family fics then The Reluctant Champion may be for you.
Silver
Ground
A child's cry woke her. It had been too foreign and sharp a sound for Hermione to ignore.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she took in the book filled room. It'd taken a few moments for clarity to hit and when it did, she turned her head and smothered a cry into the pillow. Shaking with heart wrenching sobs, Hermione wept uncontrollably. She lay in bed staring at the skyline through the open window until her tears dried.
As if burned, she sprang up and stood in the centre of the room. She turned her head every which way, staring at the bed and its sheets, at the walls around her. She didn't remember getting up here. Or laying down. Or having fallen asleep...
A crash beneath her caused her to jump and Hermione turned to the loud swearing and the distinct sound of Professor Bagshot's voice yelling. 'C'mere you little shit!'
A muffled voice, too high pitched to be anything other than an elf's, replied. 'Old bat was nosing!'
'It's my damn house!'
'Miss Hermione's bag belongs to Miss! Not yours to touch!'
Hooky?
Another crash erupted, this time followed by a high pitched scream. Hermione reached for the shaking door and threw it open as a louder crash shook the floor below her socked feet. She didn't remember taking off her shoes.
A small hallway met her questioning gaze. Black and white Muggle photographs covered the rose patterned wallpaper. Any noise she made as she snuck down the stairs must've been drowned out by the argument below.
'You is not to touch!'
'How fucking dare you?!' screeched Mrs. Bagshot.
Her heart beat faster with each step. She automatically turned towards the sound when she reached the bottom, the raised voices guiding her towards the sitting room from last night.
Anxious at this second meeting she lingered by the entrance, listening to Mrs. Bagshot's yells, Hooky's heated replies and wondering what the house-elf was doing here.
'...at's house does not mean she can be nosying!'
'I was not nosying!'
'You was holding Miss Hermione's bag trying to open it!'
'To try and break the magic!' growled the witch.
'Thievesses!' accused Hooky.
'Fuck you!'
'First Old Bat poisons Miss and now Old Bat tries to steal Miss' things! Hooky will be reporting to Headmaster!'
'It was a sleeping potion you stupid elf!'
Hermione blinked then frowned. Sleeping potion?
The vague memory of the tiny witch preparing her tea before bed sprang to mind. Hermione's mouth fell open as she finally entered into the room.
Inside she found the tiny woman and elf facing each other, glaring at one another from opposite sides of the tea table, Hooky clutching at the Mokeskin pouch with one hand. His hold on it so tight that his knuckles had actually gone white.
Golf ball sized eyes turned to her and widened with obvious relief.
'Miss Hermione! You's alive!' exclaimed Hooky as Mrs. Bagshot spoke.
'Sleeping potion worked then?'
Hermione ignored Hooky, her focus taken up by the fact that she'd been given a potion without her knowledge or consent.
'You drugged me?!' she blurted out.
The elder witch didn't turn to look at her but continued to glare at the small elf. 'Yep.'
'Hooky will tell!'
'Fuck off!'
'Old Bat needs mouth washing with soap!'
A dull ache grew behind her eyes as the two continued to argue. 'Hooky!' she interrupted him, hoping to stop the yelling. 'What are you doing here?'
Professor Bagshot answered before Hooky could. 'Your pet rat followed you here.'
'-Hooky is not a rat!'
'-he bitched so much about you being alone that Dumbledore asked if I could take him in, I agreed and now I own an elf.'
Hermione looked at the glaring elf. 'And why are you holding my purse?'
'Cus Bat was nosying!'
'I was not! How dare you lie about your Mistress!'
Hooky's ears wiggled as his right eye twiched. 'Old Bat is not Hooky's mistress! Hooky serves Hogwarts!'
'Fuck you. Make me a sandwich!'
Hermione's eyes flew back and forth between the witch and house-elf. Each glaring at the other as they continued to argue.
The small elf, defiant against the witch brought back another memory. Long suppressed and ignored, she was unable to push it away this time. Her scarred arm itched. Her joints grew rigid and pressure in her head built.
Bottles knocked together, books toppled over, parchment swirled around the room and Hooky and Batty grew silent. Both pairs of eyes focused solely on her.
'Mistress Hermione...?' squeaked Hooky cautiously, as he made his way towards her slowly. 'Remembers what Headmasters Dumbledore said. Miss Hermione must breathe.'
He said a few other things but she didn't hear them, his words were nothing more than background noise. Her mind was somewhere else, stuck in a vivid memory that had yet to come.
Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf!
Her heart pounded in her ears as dots of light blinded her, a painful throb erupted in her temples and her eyes burned. Her fingertips prickled. Her body vibrated with suppressed memories and unrestrained magic.
Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!
A blow to her chest stole her breath seconds after a red flash overtook all her senses. The last thing she saw, right before darkness claimed her, was Hooky yelling as he turned to face the older witch. A white light escaping his outstretched hand as Bathilda Bagshot slammed into the wall.
The sound of laughter awoke her.
High pitched and irritating, it grated her aching head. It took her a second to realise that she was on the floor. She sat up, her sore back protesting her every movement.
The sound of tinkling tea cups rang behind her and she cautiously turned. She blinked, unsure if what she was seeing was real or not.
Mrs. Bagshot was dressed in a gown that was sure to have been the height of fashion in the eighteen hundreds, she was wearing white satin gloves and a tiara. A tea cup in hand, she turned to the curly haired witch. A smile pulling at her lips, her dimples pronounced.
'Hermione!' exclaimed the older woman as she carefully stood, 'Good of you to come around. Hooky and I are debating over washing machines. He says, they're horrible things, I say my knickers have never been cleaner. What say you?'
The younger witch continued to stare at the sight before her.
Looking absolutely demented and pleased with himself Hooky smiled widely at her before he raised a tea cup to his puckered lips. His... lace covered pinky up in the air. Hooky was wearing black lace gloves and a purple hat topped with a burgundy feather. Only then did she notice his fancy dress and... high heels.
She was so confused. Her aching head wasn't much help either. Hermione struggled through the painful fog and then she remembered.
She'd been cursed!
'Sit Mis - Hermione,' squeaked the elf as he shuddered. 'Hooky will serves you tea.'
She didn't move. She simply glared at the old witch. Hermione couldn't believe the nerve of this woman. Blood pounding in her ears, Hermione continued to pierce the woman with her stare as picture frames began to bang against the wall. The sound of bottles knocking together reached her, but she didn't care. She only had eyes for the small witch.
Mrs. Bagshot pointed to the shaking cutlery. 'Learn to control that or I'll be forced to Stun you again.'
The rattling got louder, things toppled over and the lit candles flared.
'How dare you?' growled Hermione through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Bagshot raced an eyebrow. 'Muggles next door just had a baby, I will not allow you to disturb them nor my bottles of wine. So I shall do as I see fit in my own damn home. Learn to fucking control yourself and this won't be an issue. And for the record, I do not like being spoken to in that manner. Next time you do so, I will curse you and prop you up against that corner, facing the wall. You want to throw a temper tantrum like a damn child, I'll fucking treat you like one. Now sit the fuck down, shut the hell up and eat your Full English!'
All noises stopped as her magic began to settle.
Wide eyed and slightly intimidated, a subdued Hermione lingered in the corner a few seconds longer before shuffling towards the table. The plate before her looked and smelled delicious, her appetite however was once again nonexistent. A glare from light green eyes dared her to object. She reached for her fork, intent on eating what she could. It was then that she realised that what she'd mistaken as salt shakers, were in fact potion bottles.
'Mmph,' said Mrs. Bagshot after a hearty gulp of tea, smacking her lips. 'Vitamix Potion cos you're a slip of a thing and Draught of Peace for your anxiety. Here,' she said as she pushed a turquoise, leather bound book towards her. 'Start practicing or you and that bit of wall will become the best of mates, and not in the fun 'Oh yes daddy, please spank me harder!' kinda way.'
For lack of a reply and simply because she didn't know how to react to that comment, she picked up the heavy book and read the title. 'Meditation Techniques for the Constipated Witch.'
Hermione blinked and took a second to take in that title. Brown eyes turned to the magical historian.
Mrs. Bagshot pointed to it. 'That book's helped me through some of the hardest shit of my life.'
She should have known it then that her life was going to abruptly change yet again, because life with a woman like Bathilda Bagshot - Batty - was a truly unique and altogether different experience.
Though awkward at first, she soon found herself at ease and began to enjoy picking at one of the greatest minds the wizarding world would ever know. It was a welcomed distraction she had to admit. Discussions with Professor Bagshot didn't require much effort on her part and it kept her mind from wandering. With the woman's extensive knowledge of the past and Hermione's of the future, she was only just able to keep up.
Brilliant and powerful, the older witch had no qualms about speaking her mind or doing what she wanted, which in turn led to some spectacularly amusing moments. Some which Hermione wouldn't have believed were it not for her witnessing them firsthand. For as long as she lived, she would never forget the image of Batty dancing beneath a full moon, honouring the Spring equinox.
A tradition rooted in the old ways, Hermione didn't think that witches of old had intended for a naked, ninety plus year old woman with flowers in her hair to dance to the tune of YMCA, with an equally naked house-elf as a companion.
She'd been unable to look away and had seen things bouncing that she really wished she hadn't.
She hadn't been surprised about the elder witch's song choice though. As the weeks passed, Hermione came to learn that Batty had a fondness for all things Muggle. Unlike Mr. Weasley however, she actually knew what she was talking about. The tiny witch had no problems with pronunciations, she knew the correct terminology for things, understood their proper uses and had even taught her a few things.
As a world renowned magical historian, it was only logical that Batty was a treasure trove of knowledge. Every so often, the older woman would spout out random bits of pointless and interesting information.
The curly haired witch had once asked her how she had learned so much. Batty's answer had caught her off guard, but had not been at all shocking.
'Back in the day, it was customary for witches and wizards to travel around the wizarding world for year after leaving Hogwarts. I visited the Muggle world instead,' she'd said with a shrug. 'After the year was over, I didn't stop. Couldn't keep away. Truth is, both worlds are alike and in more ways than one. The differences only come into play when discussing technological advancements and scientific research. What one world lacks, the other makes up for it. Just look at the wonders each has managed to produce! We have brilliant medical resources. Pensieves and porkeys... And the Muggles! They've got space travel! Telly, films and vibrators!'
Hooky it turns out, had conditions for his stay. He had to learn how to read and had to have his weekends off. He was also forbidden from calling anyone Mistress or Master.
It was a rough start, but he eventually got used to it.
Slowly but surely Hermione grew comfortable with the woman and her new surroundings.
It also helped that the older witch didn't look at her and search for signs of a psychotic break like Dumbledore. Here, she was neither book nor specimen.
Hooky too had changed. Under the tutelage and guidance of Batty, the loud little elf had only managed to become more opinionated and outspoken. She'd lost count of the many times she had heard the pair of them arguing over topics that shouldn't, by any logical reason, be a topic of heated discussion. At least Hermione didn't feel that arguing about which way the toilet paper roll faced was important. A few times, she had come downstairs to find both Hooky and Batty passed out, bottles of wine and Muggle tequila surrounding them.
It was extremely ironic, Hermione thought, that Butterbeer caused an elf to get completely drunk while tequila only served to make them tipsy.
How Hooky and Batty had discovered this, Hermione didn't know.
Time moved on, the war continued and as Spring showers gave way to Summer rain, Hermione had begun going out into this strange and foreign world.
It hadn't been a sudden thing. She'd been too scared, too damaged, and far too overwhelmed to leave the house. But slowly and with Batty's influence, she took to the streets of Godric's Hollow.
Sitting outside the garden slowly led to her stepping out the front door in order to retrieve Batty's post. Gradually, simple and easy things gave her confidence to accompany the older witch on outings. From local shops to market, Muggle or magical, on a few occasions whenever they hit Batty's fancy, midnight strolls around the sleeping town.
It was remarkable how the war hadn't managed to touch Godric's Hollow. She knew that outside the safety of this village, the war raged. History made it fact and yet... sometimes she forgot.
This little village, located in the outskirts of major towns, surrounded by rolling hills and green mountains appeared so far removed from what she knew was happening all over the country, that it was far too easy to forget that that sense of safety was just an illusion.
That illusion however, Hermione found that it was all at once unbelievable and comforting. It also helped explain why the Headmaster had brought her here.
The brilliant man must have known that in Godric's Hollow she would've been apart from the war and that with Batty's presence and strong willed personality, that she would have begun to heal.
She still had her moments of anxiety of course. It was, she eventually felt, completely understandable. If she loathed waking up in the morning and had no hunger, it too was justified. She doubted anyone in her situation would've handled the whole ordeal perfectly and without some trauma.
'Be fair to yourself,' Batty had once told her, after one of her panic attacks.
It had been such a simple line, meant with no great importance she was sure, but it had struck a nerve and had since cemented itself into her daily life.
When she cried or felt like screaming, when her magic got out of hand and she couldn't manage to control it, when she couldn't will herself to get out of bed and lay with silent tears rolling down her face, when it all became too much and the realisation hit that she carried the weight of the world on her fragile mind... in those moments of weakness, be fair to yourself carried a lot of weight.
Hermione was just a girl and it was fine to be overwhelmed and scared. She didn't have to be strong or pretend to be in control. Here, she held no responsibilities beyond those she set on herself and that was okay. The world's weight was not her burden to bear.
To maintain that frame of mind, she avoided the news and newspapers. Ignorance, she found, truly was bliss.
It wasn't difficult either, ignoring the war. Batty didn't read the Daily Prophet nor did she watch the news.
'The Prophet is overrun by Galleon-hungry-fame-seeking-whores and Muggle shit doesn't affect me,' she'd stated.
Batty claimed her time of knowledge seeking was over. As far as she was concerned, her years of academia had brought her to the ultimate conclusion that both worlds were overpopulated by stupid arseholes and that a new plague was needed.
Hermione didn't believe a second of it.
A historian, magical or otherwise, who didn't read current events was a professional failure and Batty... she was the best in her field. Hermione suspected Dumbledore was behind it, but she didn't ask. Nor did she really care. Having a temptation, in the form of the Prophet, laying around was an incident waiting to happen. Not knowing anything about the wizarding world suited the younger witch just fine.
If a mysterious death was announced suddenly amidst the adverts, Hermione met the report with a blank stare and apathy. Detachment, she also found, came easily. After what she had been through and after having lost so much...
This war was not her problem.
Hermione had played her part, and this had been the end reward. She didn't care. It wasn't fair and she'd had enough. She didn't owe anyone anything. She was done.
Resolutions and epiphanies aside, she was still finding it difficult to adjust.
The brunette couldn't remember the last time she had smiled or laughed. Time healed all wounds, it was said. She supposed it was true enough, it didn't however guarantee happiness or a renewed sense of purpose. It also didn't make her magic return to what it once was.
With Batty's help however, she managed to find some measure of control. When she didn't, the older witch was more than willing to help her. Batty made it no secret that she found a certain degree of perverse pleasure in cursing her. The historian also proved to be somewhat of a Seer, as Hermione and the wall had indeed become the best of mates.
Hooky helped by using his magic when she needed magical assistance.
In this unknown world, full of chaos and uncertainty, Hooky and Batty had quickly become the foundations she needed to build on.
They didn't question her or her erratic moods. They accepted her as she was, and it meant everything to her. That isn't to say that they weren't curious about who she was, or of her mysterious past.
As ashamed of it as she was, Hermione occasionally found herself snapping at the tiny elf who only wanted to help. Hooky, bless him, took it all in stride. Never accepting her apologies, always stating that there was no need for them. Eventually, the brunette began to suspect the house-elf knew more than he was letting on. She hadn't asked if he did, but she could swear that his looks and stares were a bit too knowing and far too understanding.
A few times, Hermione forgot what year she was in and a few things accidentally slipped her lips.
Nothing major was said or mentioned, but her mistakes were obvious enough that Batty would give her a look. She usually played it off as momentary confusion brought out by her headaches. It was an easy lie based on a truth, but she knew Batty didn't believe it. The older witch was far too clever.
Anyway, she wasn't really lying.
When her magical outbursts got out of hand, her head did ache. Other times, they'd hit for no reason at all. On a few occasions, sharp and localised pain caused her to seek complete silence and darkness. Rarer yet, some lasted more than a day. After some time, Batty encouraged her to tell the Headmaster.
Dumbledore hadn't been alarmed. The Imperious Curse and her inability to control her magic, he believed, we're the cause.
'Ariana,' he informed her, 'too had suffered from headaches.'
Victims of Imperio he explained, were known to suffer from headaches. An after effect of prolonged exposure. 'The mind,' he had said, 'does not care for intrusions.'
She had to agree, potions hadn't really helped. Only rest did.
It was after one of these episodes that the young witch secluded herself in her bedroom. Blinds shut, the room silenced by Hooky, she'd slept. She had shut her eyes when the sun had been high in the sky. When she'd opened them again, Godric's Hollow lay beneath a blanket of stars.
A glance at her clock told her the time. With a jolt, the curly haired witch realised she had been asleep for well over twelve hours. She felt better though.
Rubbing her eyes and intent on drinking a cool glass of water, Hermione slowly made her way downstairs. Only to find the empty sitting room bright with light and the glass doors to the garden open. She didn't hesitate to follow their path and quickly found Batty on her knees, planting her garden.
'What are you doing?' she asked as she approached the stooped witch.
Batty started and in a move that defied her advanced age, stood and whirled around. Her wandtip glowing and set between Hermione's eyes.
The younger witch raised a sardonic eyebrow, 'Paranoid much?'
Batty huffed a nervous laugh as pale eyes ran the length of the garden. 'Yeah... You just startled me is all. This late at night, no woman anywhere appreciates being crept up on.'
Hermione eyed the elder witch. 'Why are you being weird?' she asked suspiciously. Her own eyes now scanning the surrounding area.
Batty shook her head, 'Ignore me. I'm just being stupid.'
'What's wrong?' she asked as Batty knelt to once again tend to her plants.
The elder witch didn't answer right away which only managed to make her suspicion grow. Dark eyes scanned the skies and garden, finally settling on the stooped witch. 'Batty?'
'Dumbledore sent his Patronus while you slept. Several attacks have happened... One after the other. Hogsmeade, Kent, Mould-on-the-Wold, Bury and two others that I don't know the names of - Muggle towns - Giants and Inferi were involved. Told me to be on alert. Sent us these.' Batty reached into her apron's pockets and pulled out a thin parcel. Two bright red feather tips peaked from the top. 'In case he decides to attack Godric's Hollow at the end of the night.' The tiny witch turned to her, 'What time is it?'
'Close to one in the morning,' answered Hermione, her brow furrowed. 'He's still attacking...?'
Batty nodded. 'Arsehole attacked six towns so far. It's been all over the radio. Dumbledore suspects he'll stop at seven. Prick must love the irony of making the longest day of the year even longer. Fucking tosser.'
Hermione's head turned every which way, scanning all shadows so thoroughly she forgot to speak. Batty read this perfectly.
She turned to her, her voice calm and soothing. 'Don't worry dear, our situation is not completely hopeless. Besides the portkeys, we have one other ace up our sleeves.'
'Which is?'
'That Voldemort doesn't know you're here.'
She literally felt her heart skip a beat.
Batty's matter of fact and blasé tone did more to prove her point than anything else she had said or done.
As quickly as it came, Hermione's worry faded away. Replaced now by a bone deep weariness.
She was so tired.
Hermione groaned, 'Batty, don't.'
'Don't what? Tell the truth? Sorry,' she said shaking her head, 'I can't do that. Actively avoiding and ignoring the dangers of your situation will not help you survive. Whether you want to admit it or not Hermione, you were a mess when you first came to me. I had no choice but to allow you your grief and lack of awareness. You're much better now though and with that, comes the ability to acknowledge and handle your limitations... you must accept the threats that surround you while learning to live in spite of them.'
That's an odd thing to say, thought Hermione with a lick of her lips. 'What do you mean?'
'I meant that just now you were amused by my planting and the second I mentioned anything war related, you froze up and shut down and quite frankly, I'm tired of it. Everytime I see you begin to smile or see a spark in your eyes, you hold back and stop yourself. And that's doing a disservice to yourself and most importantly, to your loved and lost.'
'I-I never said I'd lost someone.'
'You didn't have to - hand me those pruning shears dear... thanks - I saw it Hermione. You were mourning.'
She shook her head, preparing to argue.
'Spare me your crap. Shut your mouth and use that big fucking brain of yours. Five Stages of Grief and Loss Hermione, count them off cos I'm damn sure you made your fucked up way through them: One! Denial and Isolation,'
Have you purposely locked me out Miss Granger?
She hadn't, not intentionally.
'-two, Anger,'
Her temper flaring at Croaker's exhaled breath.
Do you know anything?!
'-three, Bargaining,'
Dumbledore insisting that she had to leave the grounds.
I could be a Professor, a-an apprentice! I-I could help Hagrid!
'-four, Depression,'
Her reflection swam through her eyes. Of her laying in bed staring up at the ceiling, unmoving, unblinking, hardly daring to breathe.
'-five, Acceptance. Tell me... how many of them have you experienced?' Searching, pale green eyes turned to her. 'I thought so,' she said, nodding. 'Look Hermione, I don't know who you were before, or what brought you to me, but I do know this... once upon a time, you were happy and safe and a far cry from the person you've become. It's obvious that you lost a lot, including yourself and you're allowed to be sad because of it. But it's not alright to feel guilty for laughing or smiling or for moving on and living. You owe it to yourself and to your loved ones to live a happy life.'
A happy life.
It sounded like an impossibly hopeless task. A far off notion with no chance of it ever becoming a reality because happiness without her boys and parents required far too much effort. A certain amount of strength would be needed, strength she knew she didn't possess.
She'd never seen herself as particularly brave. Hermione had always thought of herself as a pragmatist. Constantly in life-threatening situations, she had simply learned to react and do. Her ultimate goal, to keep Harry and Ron alive.
Without them however, she was left with no actual sense of self. For seven years, give or take a few months, they had been her life. Had made her a part of something far greater than her. They and the war had been her purpose.
With Ron and Harry, she had been strong. Alone, she was a mess. History proved it.
Her first few months in Hogwarts. Third year when she had a falling out with them. Fourth year when the boys fell out with each other. Fifth year when Harry was unreachable. Sixth year when she and Ron argued and again when he left because of the Horcrux... Hermione needed them to function.
Could she really go from having spent seven years alongside them saving and fighting the world, to alone and into a quiet life of anonymity?
This wasn't meant to be her life... How was she to move on when that fact kept repeating itself in her head?
'I don't know what to do,' she mumbled, staring at but not really seeing the flower in her hands.
Weathered hands covered her own as Batty took the flowered pot from her. 'It's simple... You just take the plant and pull, like so...'
Hermione watched as she grabbed the base, where stem met dirt and pulled. The plant came up as its' roots sprang free. 'The roots are still strong and healthy you see?' she said, raising the dead plant to eye level as bits of mud fell away. 'There's great potential for new life here. You just... have to cut away at the dead bits... There! See!' Batty rotated the now trimmed plant, 'Its' stem, underneath all the wilted flowers and dead leaves, is still as sturdy as it was at the peak of it's bloom. A bit worn yes... but still good.'
She made a hole with her trowel, 'Now, It's just a matter of replanting it and with time... it'll grow again.'
'There's no guarantee it'll bloom,' said Hermione quietly as Bathilda shoved dirt around the stem.
'I know, but what's wrong with trying?'
'It's not that simple Batty.'
'Yes it is,' replied the older witch. 'The hard part is always getting the ball to roll.'
The tiny witch straightened then, her dirty gloves rubbing at her lower back. 'You dishonour the ones you've lost, by refusing to live Hermione. They wouldn't want this for you, I'm certain of it.'
Would they? she wondered, a bit unsure of the answer.
The curly haired witch put herself in their position.
She'd be worried and scared if one of the boys had gone missing. Terrified with horrible possibilities, she'd search the world over for them. However, if she somehow figured out they were in the past, alive and whole... she'd want them to be happy. For them to live a long and healthy life until their paths crossed and met again.
She thought of her Mum and Dad, both of whom had always dreamed of seeing the Great Barrier Reef. Of Wendell and Monica Wilkins, who one random day, decided to leave Britain and pursue their dream. The image of them smiling at her and waving goodbye as she boarded the train to Hogwarts flashed through her mind's eye. Her mum's watering smile, her dad's firm hug.
'We love you sweetheart. We'll see you soon.'
They wouldn't want this for her.
With tears in her eyes, Hermione took the trowel from Batty's hand. When the second plant was replanted, Hermione sat back and watched it alongside the elder woman.
'There,' Batty murmured, smiling at the plant. 'It's ready to begin anew.'
The Order had emergency protocols for when things went wrong in the middle of a mission or battle.
Created through the exhausting method of trial and error, they were ever changing, forever evolving and severely fucking flawed.
Case in point, Sirius and Emmeline had been scouting a suspected Death Eater's home for the past twelve hours. Information picked up from a raid indicated that Amethius Travers was a high ranking Death Eater. So here they were, in his sprawling manor grounds, outside the ward's range, checking out his home. Twelve hours was a lot of time but when all they had to do was sit and watch, it dragged on twice as long and gave dull a new meaning. Especially since no one had come and gone and all they'd done was stare at a fucking building.
It was exhausting work that had only managed to piss him off.
For the past few hours, Sirius had been looking forward to leaving. Had, in fact, been picturing a nice cold beer and his comfortable bed. After so many insomnia filled nights and as exhausted as he felt, Sirius was positive that falling asleep wouldn't have been an issue tonight.
All that was left to do was wait for their relief and only then would they be able to leave their post. The one exception to that rule was when no one showed up. Magic was not allowed and total silence was strictly maintained during a scouting mission. Unless completely necessary, they were to do nothing more than observe their target.
So no Patronus would be sent to warn them of a battle. No alarm would be raised if there was an attack. They were, in every sense, kept out in the dark.
Only way they would know something was wrong was if no one showed up to take their place. As it stood, their relief was-
'Ten minutes late. That's it,' said Emmeline. 'It's gone one, let's go.'
The tall witch stood and without so much as a worry of being seen or heard, turned on the spot and Disapparated. Sirius held his breath. Steel coloured eyes darted towards the manor house, only to be met with silence. No reaction whatsoever to the familiar crack of Apparation.
'Shit!'
Following the brunette's move, Sirius closed his eyes, gripped his wand's handle and turned on the spot, holding his breath as darkness squeezed in around him. Seconds later he was back in Cannock Chase with Tilny before him, shifting from one foot to another.
'What happened?' he asked her, quickly noting her blood splattered tunic. A dull ache settled in the pit of his stomach.
She twitched at his raised voice and flinched even harder when he reached out for her. Floppy ears shook, her eyes red rimmed. 'Attacks Master Sirius. Lots of them.'
'Where?'
'Everywheres. Tilny is to take yous and come back and wait for o-others,' she squeaked. Her high pitched voiced catching at the last word.
'Tilny,' he said quietly, kneeling to her eye level as he fought back bile. 'Are you okay?'
The little elf trembled as she shook her head and rapid tears fell. 'Tilny is scared Master!'
Sirius held her for just a second and released her just as quickly. There was no time for tears. Perhaps later, but right now, it wasn't an option.
'Control yourself Tilny. Tell me the rules.'
The elf wiped away her tears and breathed deeply before speaking. 'No rules Master.'
Sirius nodded and reached out for the elf's shaking hand. 'Okay Tilny. Let's go.'
In the blink of an eye the quiet serenity of his woods was replaced by chaos.
People yelled, screamed and cried out all around him. Smoke assaulted his nose, making it harder for him to breathe. His eyes watered. His lungs burned just as hard.
He flinched from a crash to his left. Tilny trembled and cried as she pressed her face to his thigh.
'Go home Tilny!' he ordered over the roar of the battle, completely focused on the first person he recognised.
Up ahead and to his right, kneeling over a child's body, his wand waving furiously, was Caradoc. His face black from smoke, glasses mysteriously gone, his Healer robes were torn and filthy with blood.
Sirius watched as the wizard shook his head and stood. Only to have his attention grabbed by another prone body, unlike the poor kid though, this one was still moving.
Caradoc ran towards it. Completely uncaring of the spells flying around him, only raising his wand to shield himself or deflect stray spells.
Whether he reached the body or not Sirius didn't know as a nearby explosion caused debris to block everything from sight in a thick cloud of black and acrid smoke.
He ducked his head as rocks fell from above. His cheek stung and a moment later, a sharp pain struck him at the top of his head. Bright spots erupted before his eyes as he began to choke. Coughing, he dazedly shook his head, stumbling into the wall behind him as he did.
From within the smoky darkness, he saw a bright green spell appear and hit the pavement where he'd been standing seconds before.
Sirius reached out a hand and felt his way across the wall, carefully moving away from the silky blackness and suffocating air.
Sounds around him intensified. Screams echoed around him as spells were yelled and cries for help were called out. The smoke began to thin. Lights began to appear from within the haze.
Near him he heard a woman hiss her curse. 'Avada Kedavra!'
A man in the background yelled his commands, 'Follow them to the centre square! That's where they a-'
The bloke began to scream. Footsteps pounded away as people began to run.
Sinister moans swept over him. The stench of rotting flesh reached him.
Inferi.
He felt the heat long before he saw the orange wall of fire rolling towards him.
He ran back into the smoke. Hands out, feeling for obstacles. Blinded and stinging eyes searching for safety. Lungs burning as choking coughs escaped him. The sound of crackling fire grew closer.
His boot caught on something and Sirius fell. His outstretched hands just barely catching his fall.
Panting for breath and eyes wide, Sirius realised he could see a bit more clearly. The smoke on the ground was thinner.
He crawled towards a shop opening nearest him as his arse began to burn and his boots began to feel hot. The cobblestone caused his knees to hurt, but it was fine. Burns would hurt worse.
He barely had time to empty and hide in a cabinet before the sound of roaring fire silenced the night.
Sirius struggled to shut the cabinet door, but he was too big.
The heat grew stronger. His skin was burning. Sweat dripped down his eyes. An orange glow fell across every object.
The fire had reached inside. Glass splintered and broke apart from the heat. Figurines around him shattered. Wood crackled and blackened.
He tried to shut the small door. It was pointless though as flames flickered up the small door. He pressed himself further into the cabinet - and then the fire was gone. Replaced by a cloud of cool, evaporating mist.
His head fell back. The wood behind him warm to the touch.
A different voice called out. 'Head to the centre square! Aim to capture! Kill if you have to!'
Sirius squeezed his way out of the small drawer intent on following the voice's command.
He ran after a group of Hit Wizards. Their grey uniforms easily standing out amongst all the black.
Jumping over scattered bodies and limbs, Sirius waved his wand as he ran. Only stopping to deflect or defend himself.
He needed to get the town square.
The Marauder turned a corner and quickly ducked when a spell hit the wall, just missing his face.
As his feet slipped from under him, Sirius raised his wand at the Death Eater who had fired at him, only to be met with a pair of blank and watery eyes.
He shot a Stunning Spell at the bloke. The wizard didn't so much as try to dodge it as he raised a hand with missing fingers. 'Avad-'
Having missed the robed wizard by a foot, Sirius quickly fired a second spell at his feet. The bloke slipped on the icy cobblestone. Another Stunning Spell and Sirius ran past, making certain to step on the man's wand.
He didn't see it happen.
One second he was running, the next he was flat on his back, struggling to catch his breath as the wind was knocked out of him. Rocks and dust and fiery embers falling around him.
Sounds were muddled. Everything slowed to a standstill. His heart beat loudly in his ears.
He managed to sit up. Crawled his way towards the nearest wall and fought the sudden haze.
It took him a second to process what he was seeing.
Fighting back to back, dressed in full Auror garb were Alice and Frank stood in the centre of circling Death Eaters.
He watched as a masked wizard threw himself at Frank who turned just in time to catch him mid-air. His hand around the man's neck, wand pointed at his face, Frank flung the Death Eater away with a burst of magic.
Alice on the other side of him, battled three wizards at once.
Expression stony, her wand released a pink spell. The three masked men fell, screaming as they clutched at their heads.
Frank turned and pulled her aside, raising his wand.
He flicked his wand and the Death Eaters lay bound and tied. Still screaming in agony, Alice ran towards them and thrust objects into their pockets. As a Death Eater began slamming his head on the cobblestone they disappeared in a flash of light.
The petite brunette made her way back to her husband, deflecting a bright yellow flash as she did. Alice turned just in time to see Frank fall.
Eyes flashing, the tiny witch released an angry scream. Slashing her wand in the direction of the Death Eater, purple flames burst from the tip and cut through the robed wizard.
The bloke screamed as purple flames engulfed him. Tendrils of fire reached into his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Sirius flinched when he saw small tendrils reach into the man's trousers.
The wizard collapsed, thrashing violently before them. Alice ran back to Frank. Eyes blazing, she stood guard over him. Her wand waving furiously, daring anyone to approach her and her fallen husband.
The man, clearly struggling, attempted to get up. The petite witch flicked her wand at him and the masked wizard crashed into the opposite wall with a resounding crack. Sirius saw the bloke's neck twist oddly before he landed in a crumpled heap, onto a pile of wood and stone.
A high pitched squeal reached his ears. Like a shot to the gut, his breath left him as grey eyes found and followed a scampering rat.
The wizard had fallen on Wormtail.
Peter was alive. He was alright.
Sirius watched as the rat Animagus ran through a collapsed wall, into a destroyed building.
He stood and ran towards the broken shop but quickly stopped.
Hidden by a billowing cloud of smoke, the Death Eater hadn't spotted him.
Sirius watched as the masked man moved past him. Moving slowly, the Death Eater stopped to stare at Alice's back.
Head tilted, the bloke raised his wand.
Before he was seen or before the masked wizard had time to react, Sirius moved. He aimed at a pair of windows beside the man.
'REDUCTO!' he bellowed.
The glass shattered and flew outwards towards the hooded figure. Sparkling shards embedded themselves into the Death Eater's side. The robed wizard fell to his knees as he released a pained cry. Pulling at the larger shards, the man became frantic when his hand found one imbedded on his exposed neck. In his panic, the wizard pulled it out.
No sooner had he reacted, did blood gush from the wound and bubble out of his mouth and nose. In his desperation, the man attempted to reinsert the glass and stop the flow.
Sirius ran to the shop intent on seeing Peter and making damn sure the shorter man was okay.
To his left, a Death Eater yelled. 'Avada Ke-'
He jabbed his wand at the woman who crumbled to the pavement, her hands scratching at her throat as she struggled to breathe.
He kept running, jumping over bodies as he did.
A thunderous roar erupted somewhere in the background, quickly followed by several screams. Muggles ran or scrambled away from the noise. Order members, Aurors and Hit Wizards raced towards it.
Another great rumble and the ground shook beneath his feet. An explosion in the distance echoed around them resulting in another collective scream. The smoke became thicker and the night grew darker. From within the smoke a child cried out for his Mum.
Finally reaching the destroyed building he found Peter huddled in a corner, shielded by a bit of wall.
They didn't speak, barely even acknowledged each other, both too intent on watching the battles raging outside.
He felt the shorter wizard trembling beside him.
Sirius turned his head just in time to watch Peter fire off the Killing Curse at a Death Eater's back.
His gut clenched.
Silver eyes followed the Death Eater's limp body as it fell.
A Death Eater's mask. Grey eyes peering at him through it.
He tightened his hold on his wand
Sirius grasped the shorter wizard by the shoulder, making him jump, almost causing him to drop his wand. Wild eyes turned to him. Shaking and crying, the rat Animagus rapidly nodded his head.
'I-I'm okay,' said Pete. His voice shaky and high pitched. Frantic, blue eyes moving from person to person. 'I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay-'
Sirius returned the nod shakily. 'Okay,' he breathed.
He hadn't seen him in months.
The now familiar ache settled in the pit of his stomach.
Regulus could be here.
Fighting. Killing. Dead.
The need to know if his brother was still alive hit him once again. Like always, it was overwhelmingly strong.
Sirius made his way out of their hiding spot once again headed towards the main battle. Firing spells as he did. Not permitting anyone from stopping him and not stopping for anyone.
Around him more Aurors appeared.
As he ran, he searched for a silver mask with dark grey and small, thin black swirls. The only one of its kind, it was easily recognisable from all the rest.
Black swirls for the Black heir. You should be honoured cousin.
He ran faster. His eyes scanning the fallen Death Eaters he passed. The taste in his mouth sour, his stomach twisting at the sight of them.
It'd been exactly six months since he'd seen that mask and worry had since turned into desperation.
He kept running and swiftly stumbled when all around him yells rang out.
'RETREAT!' hissed a voice. The sound of it disturbingly seductive.
It seemed to have come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Shivers ran down his spine and the hairs on his arms stood on end.
Standing Death Eaters Disapparated. Injured ones attempted to flee as well. A few successfully managed it, while others only managed to splinch themselves. An overweight wizard tried to Disapparate as he ran. The result of it ended with the bloke's lower half still running as his torso disappeared in a whirl of magic and bright, red mist. The dissection so cleanly made that it looked intentional. The separation of body so unexpected, that his legs ran a few more steps before finally collapsing. Still, his feet continued to twitch.
Had he not seen it first-hand, he would say that the image of still running legs was funny. Except that it wasn't. The blood spurting from the severed legs had been too sobering an image.
The cracks of Disapparation continued as more Ministry officials and Healers began to appear. The town was quickly becoming overrun.
That was it. The Death Eaters had given up.
Sirius turned back around. Ignoring the ache in his head, he realised yet again that it would be quite some time before he heard about Reggie.
He made his way through the bloody street, trying his hardest to not bring attention to himself.
The town was completely destroyed.
As he passed a broken shop, he saw Fenwick through the window overtaking a black robed wizard with a marked mask...
Steel eyes zeroed in on the pair as witches and wizards grouped together and terrified Muggles ran around and past him.
He didn't recognise it. He'd never seen that mask or at the very least didn't recall seeing it before.
Without conscious thought, he made his way towards the tall blond and the now kneeling Death Eater. His whole focus on the pair alone. As he approached them, he realised that the masked wizard was pleading for his life. Benjy's reply was lost in the noise however when a woman nearby let loose a blood curdling scream. Instinct told him to help her, to turn around and find her and do what he could... but he didn't. He physically couldn't. The whole of his being was now centred on his little brother's unknown fate.
'Avada Kedav-'
Sirius cursed Benjy from behind. The taller wizard crumbled to the ground and the Death Eater, shocked at the surprising turn of events, was too stunned to run away. He took advantage of the fact.
Guilt, disgust and self-loathing would later weigh him down but in that moment only one thing ruled his thoughts and it surpassed all logic of right and wrong.
He needed to know if Reggie was still alive.
Sirius turned his wand on the kneeling wizard.
'Crucio!'
The Death Eater screamed and after an eternity, Sirius lifted the spell. As the wizard cried and shook from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse Sirius pulled off the wizards mask.
Only to be met by a familiar face.
He knew this man. He'd been a childhood playmate. Back when he'd been young enough to resolve himself to be the best Black heir he could possibly be and not see any wrong in it.
'Si-rius,' gasped Dimitri Wilkes.
'-Crucio!'
Echoing screams drowned out the battle around them. He lifted the spell.
'Is Reggie alive?!'
The wizard at his feet cried. Heart pounding in his chest, Sirius' hands shook as he kicked the begging wizard.
'Is Reggie alive?!' he asked again.
'W-what?' Dimitri asked. His pain pushed aside by his momentary confusion.
'Is Reggie still alive?!'
The whimpering wizard didn't reply but gave him a calculated look that he did not like. Sirius lifted his wand.
'No! Please!' cried Wilkes, his hands out, placating and pleading. 'No! Please stop! I'll tell you!' he gasped. 'He's a-alive! I-I swear it! The D-ark Lord's given h-im a-a mission!'
Sirius raised his wand. Dimitri raised his arms, covering his face. Pathetically attempting to shield himself. 'Please Sirius! I don't know what! Please!'
A pungent smell hit him then. Sirius looked down just in time to see a stream of piss escape from under black robes.
Wilkes had never been cut out for war. Slytherins were cunning and driven, but not all of them were evil, blood purists. Some were cowards and only cared for themselves.
The kid he remembered was always sly and sneaky. The consummate survivor who watched over his own arse to make damn sure he always came out on top.
The wizard before him may have been many things but a pure blood elitist was definitely not one of them.
Sirius stared at the crying wizard, more than willing to let him leave - but he couldn't. Because underneath it all, Dimitri Wilkes was still here. Fighting. Masked and branded.
Intelligence gathered said that he'd had to have killed to receive the Dark Mark. That's nothing to say of what he'd had to do in order to reach such a high rank. Marked masks only belonged to Voldemort's inner circle after all.
No one was simply handed a position of power without paying their dues and Dimitri … he loved his arse far too much. He wasn't an elitist by any means but to save his own skin...? Dimitri would do anything. He'd definitely kill.
These things ran through his mind in the blink of an eye. Making up his mind, Sirius pointed his wand at his old friend. Without a hint of remorse he hissed out his curse.
'Obliviate!'
The wizard crumpled to the ash strewn, blood soaked and piss covered floor. As he made his way out the shop he stopped besides Benjy's body. He took both his and Dimitri's wand and threw them to the back of the shop.
Both wizards would be disarmed. Both had equal chance. What happened after he left was up to the two blokes.
The moment he reached the threshold, he heard Benjy begin to stir.
Sirius stuck to shadowy corners as he made his way away from the centre of town. Apparation was usually pointless at this time. Padfoot was useless too. All animals were rounded up, assumed Animagi until proven otherwise.
Sirius paced himself, fighting the urge to flee and drawing attention to himself.
Moans and pleading cries rang out over the crackling of still burning fires.
His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the distance. Strictly avoiding the scattered bodies surrounding him. Hating the sudden stillness that took over.
The sounds of battle always gave way to this muted aftermath.
Sirius kept walking, ignoring all those crying out for him. Looking forward as he walked past the dead and slowly dying. Fighting the urge to turn each fallen, black robed wizard. Just to be sure.
More Aurors had arrived during his interrogation. Obliviators as well, Dorcas amongst them. Dishevelled as she was, it was obvious she had participated in battle, whereas her colleagues clearly hadn't. The dark-skinned woman started to yell at a sour looking man. She gestured at several dazed and frightened Muggles, to which the wizard glared. And it was that which said it all.
Wizards like him were the reason this war was never ending. Sirius had an overwhelming urge to curse him.
He couldn't however. Protocol. Order members were to leave the instant the battle was won or lost, long before the Ministry arrived.
Working independently as a secret society would've been pointless if the Order was discovered. As it was, it was almost too weird that the same group of people always stumbled into battles.
The Ministry definitely suspected something but they didn't know what. Nor did they try too hard to find out who and what the Order was. Why would they? They were fighting alongside them, against the threat that was Voldemort. The enemy of my enemy and all that.
Healers were now scattered about as well, working on severely injured Death Eaters, Muggles and Wizards alike. Doing what they could and sparing those they couldn't.
Caradoc wouldn't be amongst them.
The wizard was strong in his resolve that fighters were more important that civilians. The thin man believed in helping when and where he could but he strongly believed in aiding the Order members first.
He supposed it made sense. He also knew the piece of shit Ministry would find a way to help these people. Dorcas was a high ranking Unspeakable, she'd make damn sure to help... but it was hard to leave sometimes.
Sirius turned a corner and came across a sobbing woman on her knees, attacking a pile of rocks and burning wood.
From within the rubble he could hear the faint sound of a kid crying. The Muggle mum struggling to lift a heavy bit of concrete with bleeding hands.
Caradoc's voice echoed in his head.
'Fighting Voldemort is more important than helping an injured child,' he'd once said. 'In defeating him, hundreds of children will be safe. And we won't be able to fight him if our members start dying off or get captured. The Order must come first.'
Sirius closed his eyes as he walked past.
He had to leave.
He had to-
Sirius skid to a stop, slipping on bloody cobblestone as he did. His leg twisted from underneath him and a sharp pain radiated out from his ankle. Turning towards the mother, he pushed the frantic woman back. Only to have her fight him off with every move.
Frustrated at her and anxious as the level of activity around them grew, he pushed her to the ground. Before she could bounce back he raised his wand.
Within seconds, the concrete wall shifted and rippled. An explosion of feathers settled around them. A small, blond head popped up from the mass. Crying and shaking, scratched and a bit worse for wear, he watched as the lad stood and ran to his mum. Mother and child collided.
'Thank you, thank you, thank you,' cried the woman as she rocked her child back and forth. Heavy tears washing away ash and soot.
He left soon after.
As more Aurors arrived and as Ministry officials swarmed the unknown town, he Apparated home. Throat burning from all the smoke, his ankle sore, his cheek stinging he walked up the wooded path. Cracks of Apparation echoed around him, sluggish footsteps followed behind. Voices spoke in muted tones ahead of him.
Sluggish and whispers were good. Running and panicked meant danger and life-threatening things.
Sirius didn't know when he reached his cabin. Time seemed to slow and yet all at once speed up. All too soon, the Marauder found himself sat at the head of his dining table surrounded by Order members, all in different states of disarray.
The long haired wizard remained quiet as heated voices blended into each other. Angry exclamations mutated into frustrated tones. Every so often, Moody's grisly voice overtook them all.
After an hour had come and gone, Dumbledore appeared and the process repeated itself. Albeit more organized and calm. No doubt influenced by the Headmaster's presence.
Reports were given. Injuries reported. Orders mandated... Nothing changed.
Same old bullshit.
Same fucking results.
Now all that was left was a cheerful pep-talk.
'I doubt Voldemort will attack again so soon,' Dumbledore began. 'This was the seventh battle of the night. I do not believe he will attack so soon again. For the remainder of the week, I feel he will maintain peace. This was not so much a series of attacks as it was a show of power. He is in control. Coordinated and prepared. More so than the Ministry. Now both he and the Ministry know this. I fear that open warfare has now truly begun... Rest and heal.'
Sirius sniffed as the powerful wizard nodded at them all and left the room, Mad-Eye and Caradoc beside him.
Last he heard, the war had already been brought out into the open.
Still, he hoped it had only been said for dramatic effect. He wasn't so sure he believed it either way...
But, if what was said was true, then this had been the bloodiest day to date and things were going to get worse.
His chest tightened at the thought.
Noises increased in volume. Stormy eyes ran the length of the room, unconsciously scanning each face.
His search became increasingly frantic however, when he didn't spot a familiar face.
Where was James...?
He turned to Peter and then Remus, who instinctively raised his head and stared straight at him. The lanky werewolf shook his head and amber eyes flicked upwards.
Sirius released a breath he'd unknowingly held.
He looked at the room again as a lightly shaking hand brushed back his fringe. Sirius began to feel rather stupid as his panic began to fade. There was no sign of dark, red hair either. That, he grudgingly admitted to himself, should have been the first sign that they were alive and well. No doubt the pair was fucking away the shit feelings only war and near death experiences could bring.
Sirius rubbed the tender area at the top of his head. The dull ache was quickly becoming a painful throb. He'd have to see Caradoc soon. He'd have to see him anyway because of mandatory check-ups after battle, but still. His head was really starting to hurt.
The corner of his mouth curved upwards and his lips twitched when a feminine whimper reached his sensitive ears. Jamie boy had no aches to complain about if the faint noises he could hear were anything to go by. Evans too was clearly more than okay.
His best mate's girl or not, he'd have to be a dickless son of a bitch or gay as fuck to deny that Evans' breathy moans and pleading gasps weren't dead sexy and enticing as hell. He'd eat his own wand before ever saying it out loud though.
He was a healthy, straight bloke. It was only natural for him to like the sound of a moaning woman. Besides, it was about that time that hormones began to kick in, demanding a form of release to all the tension and pent up frustration that only a battle could bring.
Sex and war were, he'd learned, synonymous with each other.
He couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was the need for validation that yes you had survived, or the urgency to escape or both that had sex and violence going hand in hand.
When it came to war, physical, emotional and undefined connections became important and vital.
His head shot up.
Pale eyes searching each face. His stomach twisted painfully. And then he stood.
'Where's Marley?' he asked no one in particular, not expecting an answer.
From his right, Edgar answered. 'She got hit with a stray spe...'
Sirius didn't wait for the ginger to finish. Pushing away or bumping into Order members as he did, Sirius quickly made his way towards the small hospital under the stairs.
The smell of burned flesh and smoke hit him instantly. His stomach rolled and he had to fight down the urge to gag. Ignoring his natural reaction to the stench, he scanned the tiny ward.
She was easy to spot as the hospital station was relatively empty - thank fuck. Only four beds were occupied. Frank, still unconscious, lay on the bed nearest Caradoc's desk. Alice was sat beside him, holding his hand, worry etched on her brow.
Sturgis lay in another cot, his body shaking every so often. Tilny tutted as she wiped at his brow with a wet flannel.
On the third bed, facing Dearborn's desk lay Emmeline. Brown hair singed, the left side of her face and neck red and swollen. Blisters scattered across her shiny flesh.
He found Marley at the farthest bed. Sat beside the glass doors, she was next to one of the Prewett twins. A pale and dainty hand holding a larger freckled one as Dilny worked on the wizard's bloody thigh. Relief ran through him when his eyes set on her as he released a shuddering breath.
Bottom lip split, dry blood rimmed one of her nostrils, a faint bruise tinted her cheekbone and she was paler than usual... but she was still a stunning sight to see. Bright eyes turned to him and grew wide. After a moment of recognition, anxious blue eyes ran down the length of him.
He shook his head before nodding at her bandaged right leg. She replied with a shrug and a sad smile.
The ginger twisted violently in his cot and his mouth opened in a silent scream.
Marley's focus shifted from him to the Prewett twin as the ginger began thrashing around. Flushed and sweating, head thrown back, jaw clenched, neck tendons taught... he really hoped it wasn't Fabian.
Sirius didn't know what had happened to the poor bloke, but the pool of blood was steadily growing.
He knew Caradoc had trained her at healing minor to moderate wounds but it was easy to forget Dilny's skill at the sight of bright, red blood.
The little elf was only cleaning the wound he saw, she wasn't closing it like she should have.
Why she hadn't soon became clear.
'Dilny has it Mister Twin Sir!' yelled Dilny, seconds before pulling out a bloody piece of shrapnel from within his thigh.
Banishing it, she wasted no time in staunching the blood and closing the wound.
Marley, it turns out, had been hit with a bone shattering curse. Caradoc had mended her shin in seconds.
No longer needed by the now sedated twin, Marley hobbled her way out of the Silenced Section on crutches.
'Alright?' she asked as she neared him. Her voice soft and sweet.
Sirius nodded. 'Yeah. You?'
'I'll be alright-'
To his left, Alice shushed them. Scowling as she did. The pair slowly made their way out the ward.
Back at the entrance, he took in her lovely features. Her deep blue eyes staring into his own.
She usually left after a battle. In all of their history, he'd never asked her to stay. Had never welcomed her to.
Now that she was here at his door, preparing to leave, Sirius didn't like the thought of her not being within reach.
He walked towards her.
Without warning or permission, he placed his hands around her back and behind her knees, lifting her off the floor. Her hands automatically found their place around his neck. With a kiss to her temple, he made his way up the stairs.
He could've Apparated them to his bedroom, yet he didn't. Why he hadn't, Sirius didn't know and didn't question his decision either.
Up a flight of stairs, the sounds of arguments dimmed. He passed James' room and just because he could, willed the door to open.
Marley breathed a laugh and the corner of his lips curled when Evans squealed and Prongs yelled some incoherent shit at him.
A final set of stairs and double doors leading to his bedroom opened before him. Marley continued to cling to him.
Her head on his shoulder was a welcome weight and her warm presence reassuring.
With great reluctance, he skipped the bed and headed straight to his bathroom.
He settled Marley down on his toilet, a sad smile on her lips.
'I almost didn't recognise you,' she said quietly. 'What with all that dirt.'
Sirius sat on the edge of his tub, opposite her. Grey eyes downcast, staring at his dirty hands and intertwined fingers. Pain filled screams ringing in his head.
'Yeah,' he muttered, 'I didn't either.'