Yesterday is Tomorrow (Everything is Connected)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Deacon: I am not a goddamned red shirt! I have a purpose!

- 12 Monkeys (TV show)

He bloody should have known better. He really should have known better – trusting bloody Evans and Crouch and Black!

Oh, yes, they'd help, he scoffed, they'd keep him safe.

Well, how safe was he now, staring at his older brother in the ward room off the library in their ancestral seat? How safe was he now, with Rodolphus' mouth pressed into a hard line, eyes lingering on the blood that dripped from a small cut on Rabastan's hand, smeared on his wand? The only saving grace Rabastan had was that his brother's wand was unsheathed but aimed at the floor.

And how safe was he now when Bellatrix began cackling as she peered around her husband, eyes wide and alight with glee and madness?

"Oh, wittle 'Bastian," she cooed, slipping around Rodolphus and pressing the pads of her fingertips against her blood-red lips in delight. "Has he been caught red-handed doing something naughty?"

Rabastan pressed his lips together, hard. He ignored his sister-in-law, keeping his eyes on his brother instead. She was the more dangerous creature in the room, but… his brother.

"Bast," began Rodolphus, in his usual monotone voice, eyes unwaveringly locked on him. "Step away from the ward key."

He didn't. He remained still, wand tip hovering just scant inches from touching the seal and breaking the wards that surrounded the ancestral Lestrange house and property. One touch, one touch from a Lestrange by blood, and they'd come crashing down.

And he'd let in the Order. He'd let in Crouch, and Black, and Evans-Potter. That's what they asked of him when he had gone crawling to them for sanctuary and help. They saved Narcissa, and Lucius owed them and paid his debt by providing a book. Rabastan was to pay back his debt, of nearly getting them killed, by bringing the wards down.

Hardly equal for what he put them through, he initially thought. He disagreed with that, now.

But… things change.

The Dark Lord attacked Diagon Alley that morning, incensed with Gringott's, of all things. It was a slaughter, spilling from the bank to the streets. He'd gone back to one of the other Death Eater's houses, for a little anyway. But they were all scrambling, fulfilling orders he hissed at them.

Bellatrix had disappeared and just returned, detouring from the dungeons.

Rabastan had an idea of who might be there. "What are you doing, wittle 'Bastan?" cooed Bellatrix in her high-pitched falsetto. "Are you trying to be a big wizard?"

He dared to remove his eyes from his brother to shoot Bellatrix a nasty glare.

She cackled.

This isn't a betrayal, he thought, desperately. It isn't. Not really, anyway. He wasn't going to be the one casting any spells when the wards came down. All he had to do with let the wards come down. That's all.

Let them fall.

He swallowed, hard, knowing what he was going to have to do. Not what was asked of him, but what he was going to do, to assuage his own feelings of the matter.

Rabastan licked his lips. "I have to do this," he implored, staring hard at his older brother. The one who raised him, the one who taught him - maybe not right from wrong - but taught him regardless. He soothed any hurts, he taught him to be a Lestrange, to follow strength.

"Do you?" jeered Bellatrix, hovering close. He felt her shift around him, her long nails trailing across his back, a parody of a lover's caress.

The hairs at the back of his neck rose in response. He tried to contain a full-body shiver, but she saw it anyway.

Bellatrix cackled again and she danced away from, to the side. Her dark eyes were wide with something - excitement, maybe - and she gripped her wand tight with one hand and the end of her robes with the other, tugging at the hem in short, agitated yanks.

"Look at him squirm!" she squealed. "What is the wittle traitor planning, Roddy? Hmm? Shall we find out?"

Her wand flicked forward, the tip glowing a venomous green and sizzling, loud enough Rabastan could hear it over his pounding heart. "Maybe we should ask the boy."

Slowly, Rodolphus blinked, and then asked, his voice low and quiet, "What are you doing, Rabastan?"

"I–" For a moment, he was ready to deny he was doing anything. He glanced back at his wand tip, coated with his Lestrange blood, hovering – scant inches from a single tap to break down the wards.

"Do not lie," growled Rodolphus, voice rumbling as he shifted from monotone to something else. "What are you doing? Our Lord will be here at any moment–"

"Yes, yes!" Bellatrix hopped to the side, her wand sparking. Her lips stretched into a wide, red dash of a smile, her teeth abnormally white in the darkness of the library recess room. "The Dark Lord will be here soon! He'll get the truth out of you!"

Torture it out of me, the thought whispered across Rabastan's mind unbidden. He never saw what happened to Crouch, Evans, or Black in the catacombs. Nor did he see them afterwards, in St. Mungo's. But he had heard, from Rodolophus, Bellatrix – others who had been there.

"No." The word ripped from his mouth before he registered he spoke.

Bellatrix paused, startled and for once, off-balanced. "No…?"

Rabastan took a deep breath, and, deliberately let his wandtip touch the keystone. Recognizing his blood, the wards sang in obedience.

"NO!" shouted Rodolphus, taking an aborted step forward, hand outstretched–

Bellatrix shrieked–

There was a moment of stillness.

A low hum vibrated beneath their feet, and then—like the snapping of a bone—the air shifted, a blast of air pushed its way out from the walls of the manor and across the grounds. A kaleidoscope of colour shimmered on the walls for a brief moment and then dissipated with a cascade of fallen stars.

The silence in the antechamber was heavier than the knowledge of what Rabastan had done. He swallowed, and the noise of it echoed in the room.

"You foolish child!" Rodlophus turned his furious, cold gaze on him, his expression shifting from shock to grim fury. "You've invited the enemy in!"

"Don't be silly, Roddy," scoffed Bellatrix, her voice finally dropping to her normal register as she stared at her brother-in-law. "The enemy was already within."

After Dumbledore's announcement, and the flurry of everyone leaving the house, Lily found herself sitting in the kitchen, blinking in shock at the abruptness of those around her. Images were disjointed: Frank kissing Alice passionately, a hand running down the swell of her belly; Sirius and James sharing a tight hug; Peter worrying his hands and paling dramatically until he turned to throw up in the sink; even veterans like the Prewett twins, and Moody, and Dearborn taking moments before hustling out.

It took Lily a few moments to realize she wasn't alone in the kitchen – Alice was with her, hands on her belly, just like Lily. They looked at each other, and then Lily grimaced. "Well, this bites."

Alice laughed, although it was strained. "The timing isn't ideal, no."

Lily sighed. "Well… I guess we should find something to do while we wait."

"Well…" Alice winced. "Like I said, the timing isn't ideal."

"What do you mean?" asked Lily, turning to look at her friend.

Alice sighed. "So. When everyone was leaving… uh… I think…"

"Yes?"

"My water broke," bit out Alice, looking embarrassed. "And with Frank gone, and the others preparing for… for the battle – well, I didn't want to say anything."

"Alice!" gasped Lily, jumping out of her seat as much as she could in a similar state. She swayed. "You should have said something! Frank—" She turned toward the front door. "Should we call him back? He should be here when the baby is born!"

Alice shook her head, firmly. "No. No, Lily. Just… I need to get to St. Mungo's."

Lily bit her lip, hands fluttering around Alice's body. "We… we can't apparate. It's… it'll have to be the Knight Bus—"

Alice groaned, long and low. "S'fine," she slurred, hands reaching out and gripping Lily's hard.

Things were frantic then – Lily managed to haul Alice with her out of the cottage, toward the front of the building and down the dirt path, away from the site so they couldn't be traced back. Once they were down the country road, with several stops for Alice to breathe deeply, Lily stuck her wand out and summoned the Knight Bus.

There was a loud bang! as the purple double-decker careened from between two trees that leapt out of the way, skidding to a halt before them. A young woman, bored and pimply, exited and began to speak. "Welcome to the Knight Bus—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Lily through heaving breaths, ignoring her own pain as she moved Alice forward. "We're in a bit of a rush, okay? My friend is in labour."

The girl's eyes bugged. "Labour? Like – like a baby?"

Lily stared at her. "Exactly like a baby."

"Merlin!" the girl cried, stepping back onto the steps. Alice and Lily managed to climb onboard and sank into a nearby bed. The girl watched them nervously, wringing her hands, but waited until Alice was properly seated. "And… and you?"

"Me?" asked Lily, incredulously.

The girl looked down at Lily's own extended belly.

Lily huffed. "I'm fine. But we need to get to St. Mungo's—"

"So no more!" the girl cried, launching back to the driver's seat. "Ernie – St. Mungo's! On the double!"

There was another bang and a lurch, and the Bus was flying, trees and buildings moving out of the way through the magic and charms on the bus as they raced across the English countryside. Eventually, the sparse, desolate countryside turned into suburban and then urban space, with tall buildings and finally skyscrapers and then a dingy, run-down storefront with a singular mannequin in the window.

Lily hurriedly counted out the coins as Alice stumbled down the steps, nearly tripping over her own feet after her. Once the two women were inside St. Mungo's, Lily stared for a moment at the peaceful quiet of the tiled entryway.

"Oh, good evening," the receptionist at the desk said, spotting them. "How can I…?"

"My friend is in labour," blurted Lily, even as Alice groaned, panting.

Immediately, the receptionist jumped up from her seat, her wand moving in a complicated pattern, and then touched her throat. "Sonorus. Front receptionist requesting help for advanced-stage pregnancy."

While the receptionist helped Alice sit to a few seats to a side, while waiting for the lime green robes of the mediwizard, Lily took the opportunity to sink into a seat, herself. Her hands were shaking, and her breath was coming out fast – everyone she knew was, at that moment, already at the Lestrange property or was in battle.

And she was sitting in St. Mungo's, twiddling her thumbs.

Bile crept up her throat. How could she just sit here? And do nothing? While her friends were fighting for their lives?

"Miss?"

Lily glanced up, seeing a mediwizard standing before her. She glanced around the lobby and realized Alice was missing; had she been that out of it?

"Miss – your friend has been taken to the obstetrics ward," the wizard patiently explained. "We're going to fill out some information for our records. Can you help with that? Beginning with her name and next of kin?"

"Sure," rasped Lily, nodding. "Her name is Alice—"

An alarm went off, once, a loud buzzing blaarrt that echoed through the empty hallway.

The mediwizard froze.

Lily blinked, looking around. She cleared her throat. "Her name is Alice Longbottom—"

The alarm blared again, the same buzzing noise. And then again, and again, and again, coming faster and louder. The sconces on the walls blared brightly, and then turned from a warm, inviting pale yellow to flashing red, dimming the hallway.

"What the—"

The mediwizard paled. "Great Merlin…"

"What?" asked Lily, turning to him. "What's going on?"

But there was a rushing of feet – mediwizards and mediwitches in their robes came pouring into the lobby area from several different hallways; there was an overlaying cacophony of noise from the pops of those who apparated in. The receptionist at the desk shrieked and covered her ears.

Another set of dual-layered pops broke across the noise, loud, as two Aurors in red appeared. One was old, grizzled in a way like Moody, and the other was young, a trainee like Potter or Black. He was nervous while his mentor was stoic.

"Listen up!" the older man shouted, over the noise. Immediately, everyone went quiet. "The Aurors have been informed that there is a massive spellfight occurring in Lincolnshire. Aurors have already been dispatched – so what we need is volunteer mediwizards to join us for triage. No more than a dozen, and for the rest of you here at St. Mungo's to be ready to receive any wounded."

Or dead, went unsaid.

There was a sombre hush in the lobby area.

"I'll go," said the mediwizard who was speaking to Lily earlier, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, pale and thin. The thin bar on his lime green robes indicated he was a senior mediwizard, and as his eyes surveyed the crowd, he called, "My team – to me."

A half dozen or so witches and wizards stepped forward – some with tense faces, and others terrified – but no one spoke up to complain.

A few others in the lobby spoke up about joining, and soon the Auror had his volunteers, counting them out and preparing a Portkey to take them to the site in Lincolnshire. As he began herding the mediwizards and mediwitches toward the blanket someone on staff provided, Lily found herself slowly moving closer to the group.

Lincolnshire. I bet that's where the Order is right now, she thought, biting her lip. She inched forward a bit more.

"Alright? Everyone's touching the blanket?" asked the Auror gruffly.

There were a few murmurs in affirmative.

"Right then—"

And then, without realizing she was doing it, Lily stepped forward into the huddle, plopped her finger down on the blanket and then, in the next moment, felt the lurch by her navel as the Portkey activated.

The second everything stopped spinning, she was bent over, throwing her guts up, her abdomen rippling with a cramp as she did so.

"Who the fuck are you!?"

She looked up and saw the Auror gaping at her, eyes nearly bulging as they dropped to her stomach. "How did you touch the Portkey by mistake—"

"I'm part of Dumbledore's Order," announced Lily, straightening with a minor grimace. There was a small clearing, a tiny pocket farm pasture at the edge of the Lestrange Manor wards, with a winding dirt path that would lead into the nearest Muggle village. Trees lined either side of the road, one a dense forest and the other carefully placed clusters to protect the sight of the Manor house. "I know what's going on here and I can help."

"Help?" the Auror scoffed, looking at her midsection again. "Sweetheart, the only help you're going to be is if someone needs another shelf. You're a bloody liability!"

"I can fight—"

"My arse you can—"

"I'm not helpless!"

"Well, you're certainly not useful at the moment, are you?"

"What's going on here?" Both Lily and the Auror turned to see the senior mediwizard, who pursed his lips when he looked Lily over. "You. You came in with that pregnant witch. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to help!" repeated Lily hotly.

An explosion in the distance had the Auror swear. He turned away to look toward the sound – at a manor, peeking through a dense foliage of trees, with its lights on and magic rippling off it in multicoloured waves, lighting the evening sky up like the Aurora Borealis.

"Oh, bugger me," the Auror grunted. He glanced at Lily and the mediwizard again, and ordered, "Deal with her," before he began loping toward the manor, disappearing quickly.

'Dealing with her' meant turning to Lily and arching a very disapproving eyebrow that had Lily thinking of her father. She scowled as she crossed her arms, as an automatic response mechanism.

With a sigh, the man asked, "Do you have healing training?"

"Some," she replied tersely, wincing as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Then you'd best come to triage," he said, holding her elbow and gently pulling her along, to where the other volunteers had erected a tent on the field. Like all wizard tents, it was bigger on the inside, with four or five rows of bed cots on one side, and a few partitioned cubbies with raised beds for any massive kinds of surgery or spell damage.

"Start with those bandages," the mediwizard instructed, pointing at several rolls of fabric. "Cut them up into strips with your wand. You'll be sitting as you do that."

Lily opened her mouth to protest, but the glare the man gave her swiftly had her snapping it shut. She glowered, almost stomping over to the seat by the basket of cloth, but as soon as her rear was on the chair, she sighed in pleasure.

After that, it was the tense calm before the storm, while everyone around her did their best to prepare for the inevitable.

At first, there were a few stragglers – all Aurors, mostly trainees sent back by their superiors – but she recognized Fabian Prewett at one point with a swirling burn on his arm, and Benjy Fenwick with a nasty gash that ran down his side and his leg, making him cry out in pain as he was swarmed by healers. Then, it was like a crashing wave, and Lily didn't have time to think or consider her aching feet or cramps.

Ultimately, she really should have expected it – but Lily was so focused on casting spells, watching carefully as her wand produced roll after roll of bandage, wrapping tightly around a never-ending line of injured wizards and witches as they stumbled into the medi-tent – but the resounding boom and hard shaking of the ground still startled her.

Lily made a sharp flick with her wand, the bandages she was directing around a bleeding bicep cutting off neatly, and then turned and raced from the tent as quickly as her heavily pregnant form allowed.

Outside, chaos reigned.

The sky – dark, cloudy without much light from a very hidden, pale moon – was lit up a sickly green with the Death Eater insignia hovered above, the skull and snake wavering like wispy, ethereal clouds of poison that slowly sank lower and lower to the ground. There were figures lit up by the green spell, tossing and turning head over heels in the sky while flashes of red, yellow, and vibrant green sped back and forth, sometimes dissipating as the spell hit a target.

It didn't take long for the Death Eaters to appear, slinking out of the evening's darkness as they made their way toward the tent. As one figure became two, became four, became nine, Lily swallowed hard and raised her wand, a golden barrier shimmering in the air between them – and the injured.

"It's the mudblood!" laughed one Death Eater, cackling madly as they stopped, close enough within the circle of light the tent emitted. "Are you a one-witch army, girl?"

"She's not," replied a different voice – the pale and thin middle-aged senior mediwizard from the tent. "We're all here. And we're not letting you get past us."

Without taking her eyes off the terrorist before her, Lily could sense others stepping up alongside her and the mediwizard, forming a line of defence. Their wands came up and their protective barriers joined with Lily's shimmering gold, some white, others silver, until there was a metallic sheen and a very solid feel to the spell keeping the Death Eaters from the tent.

The same Death Eater from earlier spoke. "That won't stop us."

"It'll hold," one mediwitch called, calmly.

Something was condescending in the Death Eater when he replied, "It really won't."

From the line of nearly a dozen Death Eaters, one peeled from the rest from the far end, hidden the most in the depths of darkness with his inky black robes and floating, white face mask. He seemed almost nonchalant in his approach, coming to rest right in the middle of the line defending the medical tent, barely five feet from Lily.

He raised his wand and began casting, and her eyes dropped to it.

She gasped. She knew that wand.

Her eyes darted back up, looking all over the mask, trying to peer through the narrow eye slit to see familiar, dark eyes. But everything was hooded and shaded; it didn't stop her from uttering through trembling lips, "Sev?"

The Death Eater's wand faltered.

Lily's hand and wand wavered. Her voice went shrill with emotion, choked with tears. "Sev – please. What are you doing? Merlin, please, don't do this!"

"What are you waiting for?" called the first Death Eater – the spokesperson of the group. Irritation lined his voice. "Bring down the barrier!"

Severus' wand flicked back up.

"Sev – please," begged Lily. "There are hurt witches and wizards in there!"

"That's the point!" cried the Death Eater. "The enemy! Blood traitors and mudbloods and halfbreeds who don't deserve a place in our world! They must be removed and eradicated – a stain, a blemish to our way of life!"

Lily gasped; eyes locked on Severus' mask. She asked, quietly, "Am I a stain that needs to be removed, Sev?"

He paused, only a tiny little thing; but then his wand snapped to the side with a crack, just as a giant tear appeared in the barrier between Lily and the mediwizard beside her, making him curse under his breath. Weblike cracks splintered across the metallic shield and then broke with the sound of breaking glass.

And then the Death Eaters were slinging spells at them.

Lily choked as the air thickened and someone cast a smokescreen; she coughed, hard, and her free hand dropped to cradle her belly as she scrambled back and tried to peer through teary eyes, looking for either friend or foe.

Severus found her first, launching forward and tightly gripping her upper arm. He hauled her toward him as he loomed over her. "What the hell are you doing here, Lily?" he hissed, mask discarded and greasy black hair swinging.

"I'm here, trying to help!" she grit out, desperately pulling at her arm that remained in his grip. "Let go!"

"You need to go," he shot back, voice low as he brought her closer. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to also see through the dense smoke. He made a decision and began hauling her – either away from the fight, or toward it, or away from the medical tent or not… neither of them knew – even as Lily dug her heels in the soft earth.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, pulling at her arm.

"You need to run," he continued to instruct tersely, not looking back at her as they moved a few more steps forward. "I'll cover your retreat – you can make it to the wardline and, I don't know, Merlin, call the Knight Bus or something—"

Lily finally yanked her arm from his grip, causing him to twist on his heel to face her. He growled, "Lily—"

"No," she retorted sharply, causing him to snap his mouth shut. "No. I'm not leaving."

Severus stared at her, incredulous. "You have to, Lily – I can't protect you if you stay! You'll die!"

Lily's lips were tight, in a flat line even as she felt them tremble with emotion – fear, anger, desperation – but her hand was steady when she raised her wand.

"I'm right where I am meant to be," she said, eyes hard and wand not wavering as it pointed at him. "Between you and them."

He stared at her, stricken.

She stared back and waited.

Then he cursed, low, under his breath, spinning on his heel to face away from her. "Go," he ordered, voice rough, choked with something.

Lily's heart thundered in her chest. "Sev…?"

"Go, Lily!" he cried, turning back around, his dark eyes were shiny and wet.

She didn't need to be told again, turning, and waddling quickly back the way they came. She ducked under fiery red curses and twisted out of the way of something orange, her center of gravity completely off. She wobbled on one heel, and felt her heart leap into her throat at the idea of falling—

"I've got you," the same mediwizard from before said, grabbing onto her tightly.

He had a cut across his forehead, bleeding profusely, which stained the left side of his pale face from eyebrow to chin. There was something fierce in his eyes though, and a grim twist to his lips.

"You shouldn't be out here, fighting," the wizard continued sharply, glancing down at her belly. "Didn't you mention earlier you were feeling out of sorts?"

"I thought it was the situation!" protested Lily, even as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began guiding her, presumably to the tent. "Isn't it?"

"You're in labour," the wizard snapped. "And this is the wrong battlefield for you to be on right now. You should be in a hospital room, sucking on ice chips."

"I'd never forgive myself if I wasn't here," she replied quietly. "Not when my brother-in-law is out there fighting, or our friends, or people I respect and care about."

The wizard grumbled under his breath and then snapped his wand with a sharp flick. A fire whip uncoiled out of his wand and wrapped around a Death Eater that snuck up on them, burning him right through his robes and flesh underneath.

Lily gagged, stupefied at the horrific smell of burnt flesh and the man's screams before being abruptly cut off. "But – why –"

The wizard looked grimly at her. "It's war. And it's my patients or them. I don't have much sympathy with those who attack mediwizards and mediwitches who were just here to help – no matter what side. They made us pick a side, and I'll defend that to my dying breath."

Lily stared at the wizard for a moment, eyes wide. Then, she nodded. "Okay," she said quietly.

The wizard eyed her, but upon seeing her tight jaw and pursed lips, he gave an inaudible sigh, eyes looking away.

"Wand at the ready," he said instead, quietly.

Lily stood at his back, covering the other angle as they inched back to their starting point. The smoke swirled around their feet, blowing up in a gentle breeze.

"Avada Kedavra!" a harsh voice screamed from the left - and the wizard jerked and twisted a little, taking Lily with him as he conjured a bronze shield.

The Killing Curse hit it was a loud clang, sending sharp bronze splinters ricocheting in all directions.

Lily quickly responded, banishing the splinters back toward the voice - which gurgled, a wet sound, and then went silent.

The silence afterward was unnerving. Lily thought battles would be loud and chaotic; and, at the beginning, it had been. But now there was little sound, with a few screams or cut-off mutters and shouts. Most were casting silently, lighting the dense forest up in sickly splashes of colour.

"Let's go," muttered the mediwizard, tugging on Lily's sleeve.

She kept quiet, knowing he couldn't see her acknowledging nod in the dark.

They were only a few steps when a sharp, piercing scream broke through the night, making both of them freeze - Lily in terror.

"Help me! Oh, Merlin, help me!" The voice screamed out, finishing with a strangled sob.

Lily stepped forward.

The wizard caught her arm, pulling her back.

"What-"

"We can't. We don't know if they're friend or foe. We need to get back to the tent," he said pragmatically.

Furious, Lily snarled, "They could be one of ours -"

"Or an enemy waiting for someone to come and then pick them off," snapped back the wizard. "We can't afford to get caught in that."

"There's two of us-"

"Barely," the man scoffed. "If I told you to run, I doubt you'd get very far."

Cheeks red, Lily wanted to retort, but a part of her, one that sounded like Petunia and Hermione, piped up: he's not wrong. Be smart about this, Lils.

Tightly pressing her lips together, Lily glared at the mediwizard but looked in the direction they had been moving in before they heard the scream.

He nodded, and they continued.

As they stepped into the clearing, Lily's breath caught in her throat. An acrid smell hung thickly in the air, and the sight of a burnt corpse made her stomach churn. But she had no time to dwell on it—a manic-looking mediwitch standing over the charred remains twisted something in Lily's chest, a reminder of how close this war had brought them to ruin.

They could be one of ours, echoed Petunia's voice in her head again, but now it felt distant, drowned out by the growing dread curling in her gut.

The mediwizard who had been with Lily the whole time crouched to inspect the scene. "Nothing we can do for them," he muttered, but his voice was hollow. His eyes shifted over to the edge of the clearing where there were faint scorch marks, a trail leading away from where they stood and around the partially collapsed tent. "But maybe—there's still someone alive."

Lily's heart pounded harder, her gaze snapping to where the wizard pointed. They followed the trail—her mind racing through half-formed thoughts of who it could be, friend or Death Eater, her brother-in-law or an enemy—until...

Severus.

Collapsed in a heap behind the debris of the tent, blood was already soaking through his robes and pooling beneath him. Lily's legs moved before her mind could catch up, stumbling forward as her hands reached out.

"Sev!" she cried out. "No, no, no—"

She slid to her knees beside him, unsteady with her belly, shaking. Her palms pressed against the slick warmth of his blood, and her heart plunged into despair as she realized how serious it mediwizard stepped back, pausing long enough to place a warm hand on her shoulder, squeezed once, and then he walked away to his next patient.

"C'mon, stay with me, Sev," she begged thickly, heart thundering in her chest with the realization that maybe – maybe this wasn't going to go the way she wanted. "Stay!"

"Sorry," he gurgled, eyes wide and locked on hers. His s's began to slur as his voice dropped into something weak. "So sorry."

"I know, Sev, I know." Lily rapidly blinked to keep away the tears.

There was something fierce on Severus' face. "It was - you, it was - always you. Always."

She had to close her eyes. She turned her face, clutching his hand against her cheek as she felt it spasm once, twice, in her grip.

"Oh, Sev…" She whispered, opening her eyes to look at him, green locked on black. She was – soft, quiet, and held his gaze as he focused entirely on her, even as his breathing slowed – and finally, with two tears falling from the corner of his eyes and into his temples… he passed.

But Lily never said it back.

The three stood in checkmate for a few heartbeats.

Distantly, they heard the thud of a door thrown open; the shouts of their fellow Death Eaters in the manor being drawn from wherever they were to battle - shouts filled the hallways.

"They're here," Bellatrix breathed, her eyes wide, her smile feral. Her entire body pivoted away from Rabastan to face the library and the sound of battle. Without even glancing back, she dashed from the antechamber, eyes wild with excitement.

"Let them come! Let them try!" she screeched, her voice gleeful, and then was gone, leaving only Rabastan and Rodolphus in the room.

"Rod–" began Rabastan, voice pleading.

"You did this," Rodlophus snarled, bringing his own wand up to point at him.

Rabastan stared. His brother had never raised his wand at him before–"You don't understand – I had to–!"

Rodolphus's eyes were glacial when he replied, matching his voice. "So do I."

"What–"

Rodolphus's wand instantly rose and then Rabastan was sent flying backwards, through the open door and into the library, slamming against a couch and topping over the back and landing hard on the floor behind it.

He grunted in pain, woozily bringing a hand up to his head and feeling the stickiness of blood on his fingers. Stupefied, Rabastan withdrew his hand and stared at his fingers, covered in the dark red liquid.

"You… I'm bleeding," he stuttered, gobsmacked. He peered over the edge of the couch at the figure of his brother walking through the antechamber door. "You made me bleed. You, Rod."

There was a grim press of Rodolphus' mouth into a tight line. He didn't speak as he stepped forward, another blast of hot air and sizzling red racing toward Rabastan.

Rabastan tucked behind the couch again, but it exploded, feathers, fabric, and wood framing going in every direction. Rabastan scrambled on his knees toward a nearby end table to keep something between him and his brother.

"Why are you doing this?" he shouted, popping up with his own wand ready. "We're family!"

"You ceased to be such when you brought down the wards," replied Rodolphus coolly. "You're no brother of mine."

Rabastan physically stumbled back a few steps at the barb, mouth dropping open. He rapidly blinked, trying to keep tears at bay as his chest felt like a band was wrapped around it, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"Not family," he murmured in echo, disbelief still touching his tone.

"No," agreed Rodolphus, firmly. "Not family."

Rabastan sniffed, once, then twice, and said, mulishly, "You never were a good brother, anyway."

Something cracked against Rodolphus' cool facade, for a brief moment – pain flashed in his eyes as Rabastan's own barb landed and hit, painfully – but then any emotion disappeared behind that bold, granite-like mask his brother always wore around others.

They stood still, statues in the library like the Lestrange family busts they had collected over the centuries, then–

Rabastan threw himself sideways as a sickly yellow spell smashed into the table, sending a book flying and decaying into rot. He lobbied a bone-crusher spell back toward Rodolphus, which his brother countered with a strong protego shield; the spell made the sound of a deep, heavy gong as it hit and then bounced off, crashing into the ceiling and sending plaster to the floor.

There was no way to recognize or count the spells the two traded; dazzling colours of red, white, yellow, green, and purple flashed in the library. Spells ricocheted off the shelves, tearing apart books and sending loose pages to flutter around them

Wooden shelves collapsed and broke, breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as the two utilized their space and made projectiles, stakes and shields and battering rams all the same against each other.

At that point, Rabastan threw himself behind a partially collapsed shelf, giving himself some breathing space. His left wrist was cracked, bone visible when he threw his arm up to protect his face at one point during their fight.

He was breathing hard, panting.

Rabastan bit his lip, mentally weighing his options. A shout behind him made him gasp, and he spun on his heels, wand up–

But it was just the sound of battle behind him, through the closed library doors. Whoever was out there was involved in a battle like him. The only difference was he didn't know who was winning.

"You can't run," called Rodolphus, sounding clear of breath. He hadn't broken a sweat – but Rabastan had landed a few hits and his unruffled brother looked distinctly dishevelled, his hair mused, robes askew, and walking with a pronounced limp. "I know every nook and cranny of this house, Rabastan. Give up. I'll make it quick."

Better chances out there than in here, he thought, glancing once more at the doors.

"I know the same hidden spots and hallways, Rodolphus!" he shouted back. "Don't flatter yourself that you'll come out on top."

"Don't be stupid," called back Rodolphus, his voice sounding closer. "I've lived here longer, boy."

Rabastan's mouth twisted into a grim, wry thing. "Yeah? Then why did you always lose when we played hide 'n seek?"

He then shot up from his hiding place – Rodolophus was barely fifteen feet from him, mouth moving to cast – Rabastan spun and shouted "BOMBARDA!" at the closed library doors and then ran as his life depended on it – and it did.

He dodged a spell and he dodged debris, and just as he threw himself forward, out of the room, instinct had him twist his head just so and a cutting curse sailed by, between a red-robed Auror and Death Eater, who both paused their fight in shock.

It still cut across Rabastan's forehead.

Blood trickled down from above his eyebrow and into his eye, forcing him to blink to clear his vision. A smear of that same blood went across his forehead and down his cheek, giving him a wild appearance.

Of course, that was when Sirius Black and James Potter saw him.

Black sent a Death Eater flying through the air, only to land, impaled, on a decorative set of antlers the Lestranges had lining the hall.

"What happened to you?" the elder Black brother demanded, wand in a tight, white-knuckled grip. All three ducked as a spell soared above them, hitting a stone wall and sending chips flying.

"My brother," gasped Rabastan, glancing back toward the library.

James glanced back in the same direction, a frown on his face. "I don't – Is Hermione here?"

"Probably," replied Rabastan. "They wanted me to lower the wards tonight, but Bellatrix and my brother came across me just as I was about to lower them. She came from the dungeons."

James' face went dark at the thought, and he shared a look with Sirius.

"We'll find them," said Sirius, clasping James on the shoulder.

Annoyed at being ignored, Rabastan sent them both a disgusted glance, ducking when a spell misfired and went careening off above their heads.

"Yes, well," he sniffed, "Perhaps you can do that sooner rather than later? As you can see–things are a bit much at the moment."

Sirius flashed Rabastan an almost nasty grin, whipping his wand to the side and, without looking, sent a Death Eater creeping up behind them off to the side. "Maybe a bit much for you, Little Lestrange."

He barred his teeth in return.

"We don't have time for this!" snapped James, turning to glare at both of them. A shuffle had the three turn to see Rodolphus emerge from the library's smashed doors, one barely hanging on by a hinge. He sent it off kilter, knocking it into the wall behind and then it fell to the floor.

Rodolophus locked eyes on his younger brother.

Once, the look would have sent Rabastan running. But Rodolphus was bleeding. His robes were rumpled. His hair was a mess, book and plaster mixed in with dirt and grime from their earlier scuffle.

He wasn't the same imposing brother he once had been in Rabastan's mind. And that thought, as it solidified in him, had the younger Lestrange slowly stand tall. Without taking his eyes off his brother, he directed, "Potter. Finish this."

And then he began walking forward, to Rodolphus. "This fight is mine."

"Good luck, Lestrange," he heard Black call from behind.

And while he felt confident, he knew he'd still need all the luck he could get to come out on top.

James and Sirius dodged, wove, and ducked their way through the grand entrance hall where they left Rabastan to face off against his brother, throwing themselves sideways through the first available door they found.

A started, half-masked Death Eater turned at the noise, wand rising. Sirius was already there, in front of James and snapping off a volley of spells that slammed hard into the wizard, sending him flipping through the air and crashing over a desk, scattering parchment and ink.

He didn't get back up on the other side.

James rounded the desk, yanking the mask off. The wizard beneath it was someone he didn't recognize, but that wasn't uncommon lately. Voldemort had been recruiting heavily from Continental Europe, and many of the Death Eaters he had fought against weren't British. It made finding them within their community all that much harder.

"Is he dead?" asked Sirius, almost nonchalantly. What a change from the wizard who wondered what James was becoming, several months ago.

"No, knocked out," he replied, sending another stunning spell at the man and then securing him with his Auror cuffs, the few Moody let them carry around.

"Just another grunt then," muttered Sirius. He groaned. "How many of those buggers are there?"

"Enough." James stood, turning his back on the wizard and casting a glance around the room. "This place is a maze."

"Most wizarding houses are," commented Sirius. "You know that."

"And it's working against us," groused James. "Are we supposed to go room by room?"

"Might be best." Sirius twirled his wand.

James pursed his lips. "It'll take forever."

Sirius eyed him, slowly lowering his wand. "Then you know what we have to do, Prongs."

"Split up," sighed James, not liking the idea at all. He licked his lips, a heavy frown tugging down on them. "I don't like it."

"Only option, mate. I know you've never liked it, but needs must. There's not enough of us—Order members, Aurors, anyone else they managed to call in," said Sirius quietly. "We don't even know if they're all on our side."

James grit his teeth in frustration.

"I'll check the basement. If Hermione's anywhere, she's there," offered Sirius. "And likely with my brother and Crouch, too. I'll find them."

"Then I'll push ahead and find the others," sighed James, his stomach churning with nerves. He itched to be the one to find Hermione—but he also knew that he might be a little more of a hindrance if that prophecy was in play, no matter how much she didn't believe in it. "Link with the with Order and help them take the ground floor."

"I'll find them," Sirius reiterated, emphasizing the words. He reached out and clasped James on the arm briefly. "Princess is a tough witch. And so's your sprog."

James tried to smile, but all he could push out was a tight nod. He had the sudden urge to tell Sirius to be careful, but Sirius already knew.

When he stepped back, Sirius flashed one last grin, all wild and reckless. He saluted James with his wand, once, and then ducked out of the room, into the fray just beyond their pocket of silence.

Then he was gone.

James sighed and then followed. He had a job to do, and the sooner he finished it, the sooner he'd find Hermione and they'd end this—once and for all.

The entrance hall eventually emptied of fighters. They were either dead, or unconscious, or fled at some point, between bouts of spellfire and debris being used as weapons.

Rodolophus didn't immediately start slinging spells. Instead, he coolly watched Rabastan with the same silver eyes they shared, sharp and assessing.

"It's not too late to fix this, Rabastan," Rodolophus finally said, his voice low and smooth. "Our Lord is not without mercy. Grovel, and he—"

"I won't bow to a half-blood lunatic." The words burst from Rabastan's mouth without realizing he had thought them, a deadly arrow that hit Rodolophus with enough force the wizard teetered on his step forward, blinking. Snarling, Rabastan continues, "You sold our family's soul to him! To a madman who cares nothing about us, our values—"

"I did what had to be done," snapped back Rodolophus, suddenly furious. "I did what we were raised to do."

Rabastan scoffed, swinging his arm to the side, wand blazing and letting sparkles and spits of fire fizzle from it. "You dragged me into this at thirteen, Rodolphus. You handed me a wand, and told me we were doing our duty." He spread his arms wide on either side of himself, cocking his chin up in defiance. "And look where we are now."

"You were meant to learn," offered Rodolophus, voice tight and vibrating with anger. "To be one of the youngest to rise to the inner ranks. I should have known you'd be too soft to understand."

"Soft?!" Rabastan strangled the hysterical laugh rising in him. "Is that what you call thinking for myself is? For finally seeing the truth behind those ugly masks you wear? Tell me, brother—when did you stop thinking?"

There was a brief, poignant silence that lingered between them. Then Rodolophus murmured, "When I realized there's no place for weakness in this war."

Rabastan sucked in a sharp breath, pain cracking in his chest where his heart sat. "I see. Then… between the two of us, Lestrange…" There were tears in his eyes, but he blinked them away. "You're the traitorous bastard."

Fury washed across Rodolophus's face and then they were pointing their wands at each other, spells firing at near-impossible rates. Rodolophus cast silently, Rabastan barely so; the cut on his forehead still bled, sluggishly, down his brow and into his eyes and he found himself faltering, on the back step.

But his brother didn't let up. He cast spell after spell, disintegrating the wooden chest against the stone wall, liquifying a plant in another corner, and blasting apart the tapestries or ripping apart metal doors, twisting them into spikes and spears to launch at him.

Rabastan kept moving backwards, letting memory guide him instead of looking. He sent whatever he could toward his brother, banishing item after item, flinging bits and pieces—vases, pots, even one screaming portrait—to intercept any spell that was coming his way.

It took one moment of distraction to get him, though.

Rodolophus managed an almost-gentle flippindo on him, sending Rabastan flying head over heels backwards and through the conservatory doors, shattering the glass.

He gasped, feeling the glass embedded in his back and digging into his robes, even as he scrambled to get upright, to keep a hold of his wand in his grip—

"Expelliarmus," muttered Rodolophus and in horror, Rabastan watched his trusted wand wrench from his grasp and land smartly in his brother's outstretched grip. "And now what will you do, Rabastan?"

Rabastan gasped, breathing heavily and slipping on the tangle of his robes beneath him. Fear rose in him as Rodolophus stepped closer, his boots crunching on the broken glass from the door.

He focused his eyes on those boots. They were so familiar; Rabastan gifted them to Rodolophus for Yule. What a thing to think about, he thought, trying to concentrate on his body, trying to stand and slipping in blood and glass.

He groaned.

"What's this?" a sibilant voice hissed, halting Rodolophus's steps immediately.

"My Lord," greeted the elder Lestrange. Rabastan turned his head, cheek pressed to the floor and smearing blood as his eyes travelled from his brother's boots, up his robe, and to the creature that glided into the room, sycophants hovering behind him.

Voldemort, thought Rabastan blearily. Great.

"Wittle 'Bastian is the reason why the wards are down, My Lord," simpered Bellatrix, her voice grating to Rabastan's ears. "He's a little traitor who invited Dumbledore's men in."

Others in the room grumbled, annoyed voices layering until they were a low rumble.

Voldemort was barefoot, calmly stepping over the glass of the conservatory like the shards were inconsequential to him. The wizard stopped just inches from Rabastan, and then slowly knelt down, catching the younger wizard's eyes.

There were hints of the man he used to be, but the inhuman in him was all that starker: the thin, bloodless lips, the unnatural paleness to his pallor, and the unnatural way he moved, a little too smooth, too flowing, to be all that human anymore.

Those same bloodless lips curled into a predatory smile. "What a disappointment you are, young Lestrange. What shall we do with you?"

Moaning, Rabastan tried to get a hand under him, to push up. It slipped. He tried again, got one knee under him when Voldemort's bare foot connected with his shoulder and pushed, sending him back to the floor, gasping in pain as the shards in his back began to burn.

"Tsk. There's only one way to deal with traitors, boy."

"No," moaned Rabastan, glancing up. But his vision was fading, going grey at the corners. Voldemort raised his wand, that same smile on his face. No! No, please. I don't want to die.

The room went quiet in anticipation.

And then there was a loud creak, from the far corner. And from the corner of his eyes, just as everything pitched black, Rabastan saw Evans—Hermione and Crouch stumble from a hidden panel.

Voldemort pivoted immediately, his wand cutting off the curse that superheated the glass in the younger Lestrange's back, melting it. Instead, he turned, lips quirking up in a parody of a pleasant host smile.

"How kind of you to join us, Ms. Evans. Mr. Crouch. Welcome."

Oh, Rabastan thought. Well, that's good then.

And then he succumbed.

Regulus dove into the storage room seconds behind Sirius, who whirled to cover his brother's back, wand blazing. Regulus exhaled sharply, ignoring the stitch in his side, and darted his eyes all over the room, looking for a way out.

Unfortunately, it was very like the room he, Hermione, and Barty had woken up in – windowless, filled with bags of grain and flour, some wooden boxes, and a few steamer trunks. Misshapen and mismatched jars filled with unidentifiable liquids lined wooden shelves along one far wall.

Sirius grunted, slamming the door shut and slinging every protection and ward spell he knew at it until the hinges and edges of the door along the frame glowed and pulsed.

Regulus eyed it. "How long will that hold?"

Sirius was leaning heavily against the wall just next to the door. He straightened when Regulus spoke, shuffling forward into the room and then toward the crates, knocking one of the tops off to clatter loudly on the stone floor. "A bit. I threw up some Black wards. Not too long, though, and even less if Bella is with them. There was nearly a dozen after us the last I saw."

"Shit," muttered Regulus, gnawing on his lower lip. "What do we do?"

"Prepare," answered Sirius, grimly, although his voice was muffled as he searched through the crate. "Oh! And get sloshed, ha!"

He triumphantly held up a dusty bottle of Odgen's.

Regulus glared. "Now is not the time—"

"Now is precisely the time, little brother," countered Sirius with an easy, loose grin. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, listing a bit to the side as he brought the neck up to take a swig.

"You don't think we're getting out of this alive," said Regulus quietly, eyeing his brother.

Sirius startled. "Were we supposed to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I suppose you'd know," began Sirius hesitantly, eyeing Regulus carefully. "With your best friend being a time traveller and all."

Regulus sputtered, eyes bulging. "I-I beg your pardon?!"

"Hermione," said Sirius, eyeing Regulus, his voice slow and hesitant as he tried to suss out if he had inadvertently stepped into something he shouldn't have. "You knew, right? I could have sworn you and Crouch knew—"

"But how did you know?!"

The look Sirius gave his brother was one of great disappointment. "Reg. One; Marauder. Two; I'm a Black. Three; you're hardly subtle."

"I can be subtle," groused Regulus, crossing his arms.

Sirius rolled his eyes, drinking from the bottle.

"No, really!"

"I'm sure you believe so," condescended Sirius, eyebrows raised. He exhaled sharply.

Regulus muttered under his breath for a bit, feeling insulted, with his arms crossed. He kept his back to Sirius, and eventually his muttering tapered off after a few minutes of broodiness.

Behind him, he could hear the spellfire from the Death Eaters trying to enter the room, but it was muffled – for now. They needed to find a way out. There weren't too many options – it was a dead-end room without any windows and a single door as an entryway, and that was not an option for them right now.

"Maybe I can make a tunnel…" said Regulus lowly, leaning against the stone foundation and tracing the thick, chalky grout between the stones. "Like what Hermione did…"

Sirius grunted, glancing at the barricaded door; the bright silvery glow that traced the frame and edges was flickering as dull thuds and creaks vibrated the wood – whatever spells the Death Eaters were using on the other side were meant to damage. "Best do it soon, Reg. That door isn't going to hold much longer. They're throwing everything they've got at it."

"Okay," agreed Regulus, taking a deep breath, and releasing it. "I've watched her do it several times. I know the theory. I can do it." He nodded, once, twice. He began pulling on his magic, sending it to his hand and wand, like was building for a large-scale spell. "We're going to get out of here, Sirius. We're going to be fine."

Behind him, Sirius huffed a tiny laugh. "Yeah, I don't think so."

Frowning, and a little miffed at the jab at his skills, Regulus turned. "What do you mean—"

"I'm not going to make it, Reggie." There was something resigned on Sirius' face as he slowly sat on one of the crates they left closed. He let the half-empty bottle of Odgen's slide from his hand and clatter to the floor.

Regulus stared. "Don't say that, of course you will. You've got that famed Sirius Black luck on your side, don't you? That Gryffindor recklessness and ability to throw yourself into danger and make it out on the other side perfectly fine."

Sirius laughed, a bit raspy and rough, and bitter. "Nah, not this time."

Regulus paused, sensing something in Sirius's voice, and then asked quietly, "What do you mean?"

His older brother looked up from his place on the crate, and slowly pulled his leather jacket back, revealing his left side. It glistened in the low light of the storage room, and when Sirius pulled his band t-shirt up, Regulus saw the ragged cut, still sluggishly bleeding, and the dark veins that spread from it, disappearing underneath the fabric.

Sirius' teeth gleamed in the dark, in a parody of a smile. "One of those bastards was luckier than me, Reg."

Regulus stared at the wound, his mouth open. "Sirius…"

"Well?" said Sirius, nodding at the wall Regulus had been examining a minute earlier. "Get on with it, Reggie. Get out of here."

"Not without you," he retorted quickly, shaking his head. They both ignored the pounding against the warded door, growing louder as the wards began to fail. The glow around the door flickered, brightening, and then dimming, with each whack of spellfire that hit it.

"You planning on hauling my corpse?" asked Sirius with a raised eyebrow. He snorted. "That's morbid, even for a Black. C'mon, Reg."

Exasperated, Regulus cried, "Merlin, you're such a dick, Sirius! Can't you take this—"

"Siriusly?" Sirius stared for a moment and then burst into laughter; his hand pressed against his side. "Oh mate, you walked into that one!"

When his laughs tapered out, Sirius levelled a rather sober look on his brother. "Do better, Reggie. Make the Black name something to remember positively, for change, for the future instead of what our family has made it. You were always the best of us."

Regulus choked. "Siri—"

"I know, Reg. It'll be okay," he replied with a tight smile that was more of a grimace. "Tell James it was my choice, okay? My choice. And… and tell Crouch that I'm sorry I was such a cunt in school. It wasn't – it wasn't about him."

Blinking back tears, Regulus spoke thickly, "They know, Sirius."

"And Princess – Hermione – she better raise that godson of mine right, you hear?" continued Sirius, breathing heavily, quickly, like he wanted to get all his thoughts out at once. "You make sure of it. Kid's gonna need some levity in his life, between her, you, Crouch, and Moony, eh? James is outnumbered."

"I'll take him to Zonko's every chance I get," promised Regulus, the tears welling in his eyes. His throat was tight, and he tried clearing it without success. "I'll do you proud, Sirius."

Sirius' look was fond. "You always have, Reg."

Regulus bit back a sob, turning away from Sirius to face the outer wall. Behind him, he could make out a few muffled shouts from the Death Eaters outside the storage room; the wards were nearly broken.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and held his wand aloft, squaring his shoulders and thinking back to what Hermione did – the intent – and visualized what he wanted. He murmured under his breath and then traced his wand in the air.

The rocks cracked along the grout and then collapsed in on themselves, shaking the walls and letting dust fly. There were groans as the magic rearranged the structural wall, and as the stone fell back, the tunnel appeared.

Once it was large enough, Regulus dropped his wand. He partially turned, looking over his shoulder at Sirius. "Love you."

Sirius smiled at him – wide and bright, reminiscent of the Marauder and brother Regulus knew, a wizard in his prime and not one facing down the execution's axe. "Love you too, little brat. You were always my favourite."

Wetly, Regulus laughed. "Give them hell, Sirius."

Sirius' face was dark with promise when he answered readily, "I plan on it."

Regulus gave one last nod. He roughly wiped at his wet cheeks with a huff, pushing past the pain in his chest when he stepped into the darkness of the tunnel. It gently sloped up – out of the basement dungeon of the Lestrange house – and began to steadily walk, refusing to stop, refusing to look back.

Sirius watched him go and waited a few more moments so that Regulus had travelled far enough down the tunnel he made before slowly easing up from the crate and turning to face the barricaded door.

The glow around the edges was dull, having faded under the barrage on the other side.

Sirius stood, staggering a little as he did so, wheeling around to face the door. He held his wand aloft, loose in his grip. The spell he wanted was on the tip of his tongue, at the forefront of his mind and his wand – dogwood and dragon's tail – practically vibrated as it resonated, syncing with his magic and intent.

The spells against the door stopped; he looked up and saw that the glow around the edges of the frame had disappeared. It was just a regular wooden door, once more, he realized with a thick bob of his throat.

Protego, he thought, just as the door exploded inward, sharp pieces flying toward him and bouncing off his shield. The wood pinged against the invisible barrier, and then loudly clattered all over the storage room.

One, then two, then four, then more Death Eaters than Sirius could count, stepped into the room. Merlin, how many assholes does this Dark Lord have?

"Give it up, Black," said one, a low, growly voice that made him sound like a werewolf. "Give yourself up and our Lord will spare your life."

Sirius laughed, a bit hysterically. "Oh, will he?"

The Death Eater remained silent. He wasn't going to spare Sirius, not anymore, despite being of Black blood. They all knew that.

He took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as he drew upon his favourite memories –

"See you all in Hell, fuckwads," said Sirius, opening his eyes and bringing his wand down with a sharp slashing movement. Fire burst from his wand, crackling boiling hot as flames not only burned all the wood in the room, but the resulting firebomb burst forward and out into the hallway beyond, seeking air as it grew in size and heat.

– Meeting James for the first time on the train, the Potters telling him he was welcome to stay with them, and Remus and Peter and Lily and Marlene and the feel of flying on his motorbike; Hermione helping him reconnect with Regulus, Regulus, Regulus –

He had only taken a hundred paces or so, maybe halfway down the tunnel he made, when the tunnel shuddered, groaning and creaking around him. Regulus threw out a hand, trying to hold himself up against the wall and on his feet. Debris rained down around him, dust and bits of rock and earth.

He tightly squeezed his eyes, gasping for breath. He brought a hand up to his chest, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. It felt like a part of him – a blinding, vibrant light – flickered and then was snuffed out.

He knew what that meant.

He stifled the cry that wanted to emerge from his throat, squeezing his eyes tight against the tears that wanted to spill. Instead, he took a solid moment to compose himself, with deep breaths.

He opened his eyes, stared fiercely straight into the darkness of the tunnel ahead of him, and swore, "I'll make you proud, Sirius. I promise."

TBC…