A/N Trigger warning for war zone and the domestic terrorism that is death eaters.

--

The world had blurred into a frenzy of flashes. All was violent red against hazy vision. Then I realized it wasn't my vision that was hazy but the tumultuous scene before me. Smoky debris was being thrust into the air like great geysers and jets of red light sliced through smoke and fire, leaving eery trails. I was transfixed with terror. Was I going insane? Or already far beyond, trapped in some never ending fever dream.

But there is no pain in dreams right? And I certainly felt what felt like crushed glass embedding into my arms as a great whoosh knocked me flat and cleared a bit of smoke to reveal a patch of sky and burning buildings above me.

The sky? Yes, sunlight like high noon was beating down, indifferent to the scene below. Perhaps these great explosions had hurled me from that dark green evil place to the streets above. I certainly felt as if I had been thrust forcibly through several levels of ground.

Where was I? A village? Certainly not any street I recognized from the city I called home. An eerie darkness had fallen over the quaint houses, and the air was thick with tension. Great towers of flame and smoke were billowing from what looked like small shops and townhouses. Deafening explosions echoed through the narrow streets, razing more and more to ashes and rubble. Yes, a village, one that seemed to be under attack.

Frozen, heart pounding in my chest, amidst the turmoil, I realized I was knelt behind what must once have been a brick wall, now just rubble.

Breathe. Breathe. In and out.

Was I kidnapped? Maybe, but I didn't remember anything but falling asleep in my own bed before that dark place. Perhaps I was drugged? That would explain ... well whatever state I was in before. But then where were my captors? Certainly the pale boy was in no state to coerce me. Maybe the voice behind the podium? But the voice hadn't been commanding, if anything, it was meek, servile.

Maybe we were all prisoners suddenly freed into a world of explosions. Me, the voice, and the boy.

The boy!

Where was he? My head swiveled frantically as I searched the scene and nearly screamed when I spotted him, nearly thrush against my back behind me.

He placed a hand over mine, gently squeezing

"Emma."

His presence with his large, hand engulfing mine unnerved and calmed me simultaneously. Distantly, I saw that his hands were slightly too big for his arms, like a puppy that still needed to grow into their gangly paws.

His dark eyes, no longer clouded with despair, were fixed intently on me. He seemed different, no longer the frail, broken boy I had encountered in the dark place. It was as if he had been reborn. Though boyish, his features were sharp--piercing grey eyes and a straight aristocratic nose. And healthy. How was he no longer sallow but a delicate fair-tone that suited him well.

"Emma," He began again,his voice unwavering amid the turmoil. "Breathe, it will be alright. I'm alright now. We'll both be safe soon."

"You, you know my name but--"

"Right now that's not important, all will be explained later."

"But no! We need to get you to a hospital or call someone or--

But my attention was abruptly seized by another deafening explosion. The force of it sent us both stumbling, and I instinctively clung to the boy, shielding him.

Amidst the smoke and chaos, the boy slipped from my grasp. I desperately cried out.

"No! Are you alright? Where are you?"

"Stay brave, Emma," came his voice from the fiery mist.

When the haze cleared momentarily again, I realized he was gone.

"No! We have to find help! Wait!"

But I was alone, amidst the bedlam, concrete cutting into my already raw knees.

How was I possibly meant to find safety? Clearly I was somehow in a village being attacked, far from home with only a precarious pile of bricks around me for protection.

I glanced down at myself, pajama shorts and a grey sweatshirt. No pockets and no phone then. No shoes either. I became aware of the sharp sting on the pads of my feet then. They were covered in blood. And lacerations sliced patterns all up my legs. My hands were raw too.

Oh, the rocks. Dammit, I hadn't thought that through, climbing up the hill like that.

I'm sure I looked pitiful, vulnerable. Well I suppose I was. But I couldn't stay that way. If I stayed there I might get buried or snatched or worse. I grabbed a brick, fooling myself that I could use it as weapon for a little peace of mind, and attempted to stand.

It was agony on my raw feet but I was steady.

But where should I go? At least now I could see. In the crimson tinged smoke were dark figures, dressed in black sheets and silver masks. Fiery, sinister light was bursting from what looked like sticks in their hands. The lights zipped into buildings, lighting them afire or demolishing their walls completely. People in the street were shrieking.

Oh God, was this some new terrorist hate group knocking off the KKK? And with some sort of specialized bombs. Not surprising with the state of the world in 2023, the changing laws had long been emboldening hateful fuckers since 2016, especially since January 6, 2020 but I hadn't expected such a bold and free revival of domestic terrorism so soon. Perhaps I was naive. Perhaps I wasn't even in America.

A blur of red light nearly clipped my cheek, hissing past my skin and I gasped. I needed to move. But where?

As my eyes darted around the scene, I sensed something, someone else near me. I found myself drawn to a shop, one of the few buildings still standing with a man with raven shaggy hair standing in front of it's doors. He was rigid, reminding me of a battle stance, with a wooden stick in his right hand. Another terrorist? But no, I saw as he cast one of the robed figures to the ground. I could only hope he was an ally.

And then our eyes met.

For a brief, suspended moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath. His eyes were so grey, the color of storms and mist and dark north seas. Chaos. Safety. And familiarity?

--

Sirius POV

Sirius staggered through the smoke and debris, swaying from obvious pain, his breath ragged. A large patch of dried blood was matted to his jaw and neck, grime sticking to his tattered, singed T-shirt and jeans.

A deep gash across his chest was seeping blood and his wand arm was trembling with exhaustion. Prongs was going to murder him for staying behind when Moody called retreat, he ruefully mused. Well, if he could escape still, at least if some fucker didn't murder him first. He barked a dark laugh. The masked bastards shouldn't win this battle. And they wouldn't. Not if he was still fighting.

Attacking a muggle village. Despicable. He spat at a robed figure as he felled him with a violet light. He crushed the death eater's hand and wand under his boot as he moved forward in the fray. No way to send him in for arrest since the aurors had retreated along with the Order. Officially, no one was here. But if the death eater's wand and the bones in his hand were powder now, at least he couldn't apparate away. Maybe they could scoop him up later.

Sirius lunged to avoid a crumbling wall and found himself in front of a small shop. Untouched still, he mused. Maybe he could ward it as a safe zone for survivors. He raised his wand and began charming the walls to withstand magical attack. There was a lull, for how many precious seconds he didn't know. Then an explosion sent him alert again, back to the wall, ready for attack. Fuck. He wasn't going to be able to buy enough time for this.

He threw a stupefy at another advancing death eater. Then he paused. Amidst, the deafening explosions and blinding flashes of light, he heard a gasp. He pivoted and spotted a figure. It was a young woman, dressed in what looked like muggle pajamas, of all things, and covered in dried blood, her eyes wide with terror. Muggle must be. Maybe he could save this one, grab her and apparate out. One more life. Was that worth fleeing to his own safety? It would have to be.

Ignoring his own pain, he limped towards her, determination etched on his face.

"Hey, you!" he called out, his voice strained. "I'm going to get us out of here but we need to find cover."

She nodded minutely, holding his gaze, seeing deep inside him. He shivered but wasn't perturbed. If anything, he felt drawn to her.

Then her eyes were darting around as another explosion rocked the ground beneath her feet. As the smoke and dust settled slightly, the woman's gaze shifted to a group of children, cowering and crying in the grasp of three of the masked fuckers. Sirius watched in mounting horror as she darted towards the children. Didn't he just tell her to find cover? Not bloody run into the fray.

Bollocks. He couldn't leave her alone, not in the midst of this madness. But he was too late to reach her. Just as he extended his hand to pull her back, his wand toppling the three death eaters with three quick stunners, she reached a small child, who was about to be crushed by falling debris. She scooped the child into her arms, moving him to safety just in time.

Then, tragedy struck. In retaliation, a child, further away, was hit by a Sectumsempra curse. Rage and grief flashed across the woman's round, delicate face. She was advancing toward the cackling fucker who had cast the curse.

He was running, running to reach her, grab her and the child and apparate to safety when the ground began to tremble.

And a golden light exploded from the woman's center, her riotous brown curls raised around her like a powerful halo. A great whoosh of warmth rushed through him before the energy surged further outward, hitting all the Death Eaters like a shockwave, rendering them unconscious. The small child burst from the woman's arms and ran, terrified.

He stared.

But then, she was clutching her chest, gasping for breath, blood seeping from her nose and ears. In the chaos, Sirius saw her collapse, and fear gripped him. Without thinking, he rushed to her side, his pain temporarily forgotten. With surprising tenderness, he caught her before she hit the ground, his arms instinctively cradling her fragile form. He looked down at her, confusion and concern etched across his face.

Amidst the aftermath, with Death Eaters lying unconscious around them, Sirius held the young woman in his arms, his heart racing with a fierce protectiveness he couldn't explain. A connection between them, a strange and powerful energy was erasing his pain and suffusing him with strength, his wounds and pain disappearing.