Sirius awoke in misery. His head was pounding. He arm was on fire. His whole body felt like a bruise, as if he were back in St. Mungo's mere days after his bout of almost-being-tortured-to-death. He started to sit up but decided against it when a wave of dizziness and nausea sent him back down. "Fucking... Merlin's... bollocks..." he muttered.
"Sirius!" James' voice was too loud and sent knives into his temples. He groaned and fought down the bile that rose in the back of his throat. "Dad! He's awake." James took hold of both his hands, and Sirius screamed and jerked fully alert. Fuck did his left arm hurt... "Padfoot! It still hurts? Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry..." His voice was low and broken. Vaguely, Sirius noticed frightened tears running down his best friend's face. He gingerly folded his left arm close to his chest. With his right, he reached out towards James, hand wavering between them before catching once on his nose and settling on the edge of his chin. Good enough. He looked around a moment and recognized he was back in his old room at the Potters'. Good. He flicked his gaze back to his best friend, who was watching him with a terrified expression.
"Don't cry, Prongs," Sirius whispered. "You're ugly when you cry." James half laughed, half choked. Sirius tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace as the pain in his arm surged again. The arm bent up in spasm, and he curled around it.
"Sirius, what do you need? How can we help you?" Fleamont murmured from behind him.
"Muscle relaxer, calming draught, and nerve regenerator," he recited dully. He had no idea what time it was, but he was definitely past due for his usual prescriptions. "Can't remember doses just now... Probably vomit them up anyway... And if you've got something for a headache, I'll snog you senseless. Eaugghh! It's burning. Why is it burning? It hasn't burned like this since St. Mungo's..."
"I've got Betony and Apple Mint to stop the nausea... a quick infusion with moonwater might help the concussion pain too without interacting with the nerve regenerator unfavorably. James, run to my office and get his other potions. I'm an idiot; we should have had them to hand and waiting for him upon waking up. And get the jar of Star Grass salve and the extra bottle of Murtlap essence. One of those ought to work on that wound. Hang in there, Sirius."
James ran from the room while Fleamont tinkered with his potions kit. Hazily, Sirius tugged his left hand to release the spasm and looked down at his arm. It was obvious someone had already tended to it; there was a wide bandage wrapped from wrist to elbow. Something yellowish oozed out from under it. He didn't remember injuring it. Maybe after he had passed out? He was missing the rest of his robes too, clothed only in pajama bottoms and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He recognized the tang of bruisewort potion smeared along his ribs, though the bluish tinge of the ointment was lost amongst the deeper, blotchy purplish-red of his skin. "What happened?" he asked quietly.
Fleamont grunted. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Falling down the stairs."
"Ah. James and Euphemia got you out of the fire. And then your friends brought you here right about when the enemy showed up. There was a battle."
Sirius jerked. He had changed the plan, but he had still hoped to avoid a pitched battle where the Order could have been at disadvantage... "How bad was it?"
Fleamont looked at him a moment, then resumed mixing his potion. "Mixed. According to Alastor's initial report last night, the aurors took in seven Death Eaters, six alive, one dead. Unknown how many were injured but survived. One auror and one Hit Wizard are dead, one in St. Mungo's and will be for weeks. Alastor lost an eye. No one won. Voldemort retreated with his Death Eaters after the fire was extinguished and Albus started to gain the upper hand."
"Moody lost an eye?" He didn't hide the guilt in his voice. Two dead, two terrible injuries... his fault. His misguided sense of self-importance.
"He was hit with some kind of curse that means he won't be able to heal it."
"I'm sorry..."
"It's not your fault, Sirius," Fleamont said gently and sternly. "Alastor, all the Order members, all the aurors, they all know and accept the risks of fighting in this war. Just like you. And son, even though I have been worried out of my mind ever since you left, I cannot say how proud of you I am." Sirius' eyes instantly began to mist. Fleamont smiled. "Here, drink this." He brought a phial to Sirius' lips. Sirius drank automatically; it felt like a piece of ice sliding down his throat, pushing down the acid as it went. The cold feeling spread across his abdomen, calming his roiling stomach and cramping gut in seconds.
"Thank you."
"Of course. Now, let's see that arm..." Fleamont tapped his wand against the bandage to vanish it. Underneath, the arm was... rather disgusting. There was a raised welt from a freshly-sealed cut crossing diagonally from his inner elbow halfway to his wrist and bisecting the manticore tattoo. The skin around the tattoo, and the welt, was mottled, blistered, and weeping fluid. It was also greasy from some healing unguent that clearly wasn't doing much. "Damn cursed fire," Fleamong muttered while he inspected the burn.
Sirius frowned. "Fiendfyre would have taken the arm entire, not just left a cursed burn," he said slowly. The burning feeling intensified again as he spoke, and Sirius bit his tongue to keep from crying out. As they watched, the redness spread and another few blisters popped up. Oh. For a moment, Sirius could imagine the skull and snake hiding beneath the burn. He looked up and met Fleamont's wide eyes. "It's the Dark Mark. He's been calling me, now it's all over... He must know I survived."
Fleamont's expression darkened. "I wish you had never gone near that monster."
"Thought you said you were proud," Sirius said weakly, while his arm audibly sizzled and smoked at them.
"I am. So proud. But this... dear Merlin, Sirius, he's never going to let you go!"
"I'm sure it will... stop burning... eventually."
"When he gets bored or when your arm falls off?" Fleamont asked bitterly.
James ran back into the room before Sirius could answer that. James poured four more potions down his throat in quick succession while Fleamont coated his arm in another sticky potion. The brilliant orange Star Grass salve quickly made his arm and hand feel cold and tingly. Unfortunately, he continued to get insistent jolts of pain at regular intervals. Voldemort wasn't giving up on him anytime soon.
Once he was as comfortable as possible, Fleamont got up, his face drawn with grief and pity. Sirius couldn't meet his eyes just then. "I think I'll brew a variation on that muscle relaxer with more general pain-relieving properties, and a stronger burn salve. Maybe some Dreamless Sleep too. Keep watching him, James, and see if he can eat something in a bit." The elder Potter ran a hand through Sirius' singed hair, then drifted away.
James shifted closer and grinned weakly. "You're safe, Padfoot. We got you out."
"Should throw a party," Sirius said.
"Yeah, mate. I'll get us cake and firewhiskey and everything."
"Don't forget the pretty girls. I haven't seen any in... months." Not since Avery's birthday.
"Yeah. Yeah, loads of girls." James nodded, although his eyes were swimming again. Merlin, had he ever seen James weep like this before? He didn't think so. He didn't know how to handle it. Their trademark humor was falling flat.
"All for me, since you're spoken for. Congratulations on that, by the way. Good on you, and Evans."
"Yeah. Yeah."
Sirius shifted. James was breaking, trying to be strong for Sirius, trying to pretend like things were fine when they weren't, trying to pretend things could go back to normal when they couldn't. "Prongs... I love you, mate. Thanks for coming for me. You can, er, ask what you need to."
James' chin trembled. He took a deep breath in and slowly breathed out again, then shook his head. "I shouldn't press. Not before you've healed up and eaten. Lily made soup for you earlier. It's over there. I can heat it up." He made to get up, but Sirius stopped him with his good right hand.
"I'm not really hungry. You can force me to eat later. We should talk. Um, how much d'you know?"
James hesitated a moment longer, but Sirius squeezed his arm, and he relented. "Well, I know you vanished less than a month after you came home, and Mum and Dad were upset but couldn't tell me where you were. I know what you told Peter, that Bellatrix got to you. I know you were seen a couple times in Diagon Alley, at Malfoy Manor, and at Lucius Malfoy's trial before you got... tortured enough to end up in St. Mungo's. That's when we figured it out, Lily, Moony, Wormy and me. I mean, Lucius Malfoy was Imperioused. Not hard to figure out you probably were too, but you were fighting back, and they hurt you like that to keep you in line."
Sirius had to fight to keep from laughing, because James wasn't lying. It was really funny that his friends had honestly concluded the very cover story Sirius planned to feed to Voldemort. Oblivious to the humor of the situation, James continued, "I told Dad about our suspicions and that we wanted to rescue you. I thought at first he didn't buy it, but he must have talked it over with Moody or Dumbledore or someone. He's got the ear of the Order higher-ups. Anyway, Moody had information about a Dark arsenal at Malfoy Manor he wanted to destroy, so we combined two objectives... and here we are." He met Sirius' eyes at last. "Was Abraxas the one that cursed you? Moody figured he might have cursed Lucius, but he didn't have any proof. No one really believed him." Sirius stared at him. It was humbling how much faith James had in him. There was no uncertainty, no hint that Sirius could have been at Malfoy Manor except under duress and compulsion. Slowly, he nodded. Incongruously, James smiled. "I knew it. The moment you... killed him, I knew it."
"Can you forgive me for... that?" Sirius whispered. In his mind's eye, he could see James' and Euphemia's stricken expressions. They had been so horrified at what he had done to Abraxas. If he had realized they were watching... well, he still would have killed the man obviously, but he would have pulled Abraxas out of the Potters' view and done it more discretely.
"Pads... yes. I can't imagine what you've been through, how hurt you must have been to... to do that. There's just no way you'd... kill someone... unless they'd... well. You don't have to tell me what he made you do. Since he's gone, that means you're safe, Pads. The curse is broken forever."
Oh, sweet, innocent James, if only he knew how many deaths Sirius had caused of his own free will. So many he didn't feel even the least bit guilty for killing actual enemies like Abraxas and Rabastan. What the hell did that say about him? He wasn't Padfoot anymore. He was Sirius the Spy now. He bowed his head and started crying in earnest again. They were tears of grief, knowing he could never share his darkest secrets with his best friend. He couldn't break James' faith in him, faith in people. They were not tears of shame. He didn't regret his choices, but he would regret the unsaid wall dividing him from noble James for the rest of his life.
"Shh..." James huddled next to the bed. He held his hand, leaned his forehead against Sirius' temple and let him cry. He didn't ask any more questions, for which Sirius was pathetically grateful.
The burning of the Dark Mark broke through Fleamont's Dreamless Sleep potion an hour before dawn. Good morning to you too, Lord Voldemort. Sirius clenched his jaw and bore it. There was nothing for anyone else to do about it. At least his headache had diminished. And the nausea and bruises were gone entirely. He distracted himself by getting up and poking around his room until the sun rose. It was mostly the same as when he'd left, with the exception of some dust and the pile of potions bottles and bandages. The robes he had worn yesterday had been cut up and left discarded in the corner. They could burn for all he cared. He did search them one-handedly to find, thank Merlin, both his wand, his watch, and the stone paperweight of Ivan Butler. The muggle's remains were the one thing he refused to leave in Malfoy Manor. He had promised himself and Ivan he would return the remains to Ivan's family, and he would. He set the weight on the desk. He'd ask Moody for help dealing with it, or maybe Lily if Moody hadn't managed to track down Ivan's family when he'd first reported the murder.
He ran into trouble when he finally thought to get dressed, because he found he couldn't move his fingers without excruciating pain. He took the expedient solution and didn't get washed or dressed, merely trudged downstairs in his pajama bottoms and sheet in search of food and caffeine. To his surprise, he found Remus and Peter both quietly waiting downstairs. They rushed to embrace him as soon as he entered the kitchen.
"We couldn't sleep, not knowing if you were okay," Remus managed eventually.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked anxiously.
"Mostly," Sirius equivocated.
"You smell like a bonfire," Peter informed him.
Remus' nose twitched. "I think he smells like an open wound."
"Stop flirting, I'll blush." When neither of them laughed, Sirius sighed and gestured to his wrapped arm. "Fleamont's working on it."
There was an awkward silence until Peter announced, "I'll make tea."
"And eggs? Or toast?" Sirius said hopefully. Merlin, he was starving. He'd only swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup last night before his stomach started acting up again.
"Both," Peter said brightly. He lit the kitchen stove, pulled some pans out of cabinets, and moved off to search the pantry.
"So..." both Sirius and Remus began at the same time. Remus politely gestured for Sirius to go first. "So, James said you were there yesterday too?" Sirius hadn't seen Remus or Peter and assumed that, like James, neither of them knew of Sirius' role as a spy for the Order.
"Yeah. Yeah, it was, um, intense."
"Glad you all joined the Order as we'd planned. I'm proud of you lot, mate. Was that the first mission you've been on?" Sirius asked curiously.
"No, I've done, um, reconnaissance and things before. Even got into a fight when I was tailing someone. But that was the first time I'd seen anything like Fiendfyre. I could hardly believe what I was seeing."
"Guess Moody didn't warn you, eh?"
"What do you mean?" Sirius cursed his mistake when Remus raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, um, Auror Moody was the one who cast it. I saw him. He was destroying Abraxas' collection of Dark artifacts, and it got away from him. We almost got eaten by a fucking enormous, flaming wolf, no relation I'm sure. Took both of our counter curses to escape it. I'm surprised at you though, Moony," he deflected. "Where'd a noble-minded former prefect such as yourself learn to recognize that curse?"
"From a book, naturally. I got an 'O' on my DADA NEWT. Moody even offered to recommend me for a mastery correspondence course, after I told him why I couldn't join the aurors with my grades and obvious interest."
Sirius cuffed his shoulder. "Good on you, you swot."
"Where did you learn to chat about most destructive cursed fire known to wizardkind as if it were no more sinister than the weather?"
Sirius grimaced. "Where do you think?" There was a bang and sloshing sound as Peter dropped the full tea kettle. He quickly retrieved it to set over the stovetop, but he looked back at Remus and shook his head warningly.
..."Right. Sorry, Padfoot."
"Yeah. Sorry. Yeah. Hey, it hasn't been all bad. Watch this." With a gesture, he wandlessly levitated an orange out of the fruitbowl, then carefully transfigured it into a humanoid clay figurine. He muttered "Ushabtis," and lowered his hand to rest on the counter. The figure immediately started cleaning the soot from his fingers and from under his fingernails. He grinned at Remus' surprised expression and Peter's gasp of unabashed awe. "I'm way better at wandless and nonverbal magic than I used to be, and I've even learned some cool Ancient Egyptian wandless spells that my cousin translated from the Malfoy library. I can apparate without a wand, too."
"That is quite impressive," Euphemia's voice came from the entrance to the kitchen.
James was plodding along behind her, covering a yawn with one hand and lugging a cauldron with the other. He heaved the cauldron up onto the countertop. "Happy early Christmas from Dad, Padfoot."
"He was up until two in the morning working on it," Euphemia added.
Sirius and Remus leaned over to eye the dark brown goop. "What is it?"
"An unholy blend of Tailoris honey, nasturtium petals, aloe, and pickled Streelers," James supplied. "At least that's what his notes said. I think he invented it just for you. Don't worry, I tested it, and the Streeler venom definitely doesn't dissolve skin."
"Oh, good."
"Let's see your arm, dear," Euphemia.
"Better you than me," Sirius muttered, but he carefully laid his left arm down next to the cauldron and allowed Euphemia to unwrap it. He broke out into a cold sweat and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering as the bandages tugged on his ragged skin.
The wound had not improved overnight. If anything, it looked worse. The center of the cut had reopened where it passed over the hidden Dark Mark. Parts of the burn were no longer merely red but actually blackened. The whole arm was swollen, and it smelled both bloody and partially cooked.
"Gross," James said after a moment. Sirius grinned weakly at him.
"Real gross," Remus agreed, sympathetically patting him on the shoulder. "And I'm something of an expert when it comes to gross bodily injury."
"Yeah, ick," Peter said faintly. He looked away and determinedly resumed beating a bowl of eggs.
"Can you move your fingers, Sirius?" Euphemia asked. She conjured a gentle stream of water with her wand to rinse the wound. Remus obligingly vanished the soiled water before it could contaminate the counter.
"Yeah, but it hurts if I do."
"Show me." Euphemia watched intently as Sirius slowly curled his fingers and straightened them out again. "I think the inflammation reaches down to the muscle layer," she concluded. She crossed the kitchen to rummage through the cabinet over the sink and returned with a half-full bottle of generic wound-cleaning Dittany solution. She conjured a cloth and dabbed his arm liberally with that until the laceration closed again, before slathering on Fleamont's specialty Streeler-and-honey burn paste. She conjured fresh bandages to contain it all and patted his hand. "We'll get there."
"Will we?" he asked pointedly. She knew about the Dark Mark just as well as Fleamont.
"Of course," she said firmly, narrowed eyes daring him to contradict her. "Eat up, dear. I've got your other potions for after breakfast, and at some point today, I imagine Headmaster Dumbledore or Auror Moody or both will want to speak with you."
"Think Dumbledore can un-curse his arm?" Remus asked.
"You think it's cursed?" James said.
"Well, yeah. It didn't look nearly so nasty yesterday when we first got him home, and it has a sort of Dark odor. Not the same as a werewolf bite, obviously, but... recognizable to me. I didn't know Fiendfyre could do that."
Because it can't. "Moony, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the wolfy smelling thing is weird. Now, enough doom and gloom and body horror or you'll turn me off breakfast. Let's talk about James' wedding instead. I've missed out on ribbing him so much. James, mind explaining to me why I was dreaming about Snape in a purple dress after Pete visited me in the hospital? I'm hoping I was delirious and got confused."
Peter and Remus snorted. James blushed. "Er, well, you probably weren't. Lily and Severus-"
"First name basis now, are you? Wow."
"Shut it, Pads. Lily and Severus made up again after you landed him in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. You know she's always gotten on better with him than with the other Gryffindor girls for some reason."
"Yeah, 'cause they were all jealous of your crush on her. Whereas he was just jealous of her crush on you," Peter hollered over his shoulder.
James' blush deepened. "It wasn't like that..."
"Oh, it gets better," Remus interjected. "They're roommates. Got an apartment together!"
Sirius pretended to gasp. "Scandal."
Euphemia clipped both him and Remus on the head, frowning severely. "I don't want to hear you two impugning the honor of my future daughter-in-law. Lily and Severus are both responsible young people, and their friendship is completely fraternal."
"I think it's sororal, actually," Remus said with a grin. "You should see Snape's hair, Sirius."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Is it... not long, lank, and greasy?"
"Not since he and Mr. Potter came up with the new Sleakeasy for Fine Hair and Sensitive Scalps," Peter volunteered whilst dividing up his huge pan of scrambled eggs and sausages amongst five plates. "If he didn't have a beard, I'd have thought he was a witch, last time I saw him."
"I thought he should pose for before and after photos for the promotional campaign," Remus agreed thoughtfully. "He tried to hex me when I suggested it, though. Assumed I was teasing him."
"He's got a beard!?" The concept of Snape and facial hair was just... wrong.
James elbowed him, then with his other hand accepted a plate from Pete and slid it in front of Sirius. "Careful, Pads. One might think you're the one with a crush. On him. Could explain why you were so obsessed with him. You always curse the ones you love."
Sirius' face fell suddenly. "I... don't think that's funny," he said.
James frowned too. "Sirius, I won't tell you to totally forget our history with the man, but Severus is basically going to be my brother-in-law, and you're basically my brother. I need you to try to get along with him."
"That isn't the problem, James," Sirius said coldly. His feud with Snape was so far behind him, it felt like another life. He moodily picked up a fork and stabbed at his eggs. He had to stop a moment when his left arm randomly burned again, palpable even through the potions.
"Then what is the problem, Sirius?" Euphemia asked from his other side. He glanced at her. Her face expressed only concern.
He let out his held breath. "You know who curses the ones they profess to care about?" She shook her head. "My mother. My cousin. The Dark Lord. The other people I've been living with. It... wasn't funny."
The mood thoroughly killed, the four friends ate their breakfasts in silence.
Author's note: the whump chapter(s), what can I say? I'll get over it soon. I'll aim for another update on Thursday, because I have Busy-ness Friday and Saturday.