Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Part Thirty-Two: Return to Abnormal

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The night of Friday, the 20th of February, turned out to be a lousy one for Severus Snape. Not only had he been forced to take a very long —ugh— very hot and very wet —gah— blippin’ bath that took an eternity and a half, on account that he had to actually scrub himself to get that potion off his skin when it had turned an ugly dirty sort of orange when it dried. It only made him angrier. He had no time to waste on baths. He had all hands full just trying to keep his new masters happy.

And he was still orange.

School, at this point, was just getting in the way of the many things he had to get done, and these stupid schoolboys were the culprits for ruining his day.

Once again, his rotten mood was that absolute toerag Potter’s fault. And he could potentially be blamed for even worse, if this hours-long delay in his brewing made him deliver his latest batch of Polyjuice potion late. He had had some time to ponder the matter, and he decided that he really, really didn’t want to end up dead on Thanatovich’s rug.

He brewed furiously, seven different potions bubbling away in the dungeon he’d appropriated for his personal use, but it did little to curb his glowering mood. He had kicked Pettigrew out before dinner, telling him in no uncertain terms that he’d send word when he needed him next and using the current lack of ingredients as an excuse for sending the wibbling Gryffindor away. Truth be told, he wasn’t in the mood for people today. Much less people that reminded him of Potter, and by extension, of Black.

One thing might be said about those snotrags, however; Severus was so busy brewing and hating them that he forgot to fret about what would happen if he didn’t have the potions ready when Thanatovich came to collect them. Sharp at three in the morning, there was a disturbance from the general direction of the dungeon door.

“Finished, you haff?” Grunnion’s voice asked in the heavy Russian accent Snape had quickly learnt to dread. He had been anticipating it all night, but it still made him jump and whip around, heart hammering. Grunnion's face smirked at him. He could still make out the trademark evil the wizard wearing him was radiating.

"Yiou… look like pumkin," he pointed out. Severus didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. "Those mine?" Grunnion gestured at the half-bottled potions.

“Yes, sir,” Severus snapped to attention. “I’m just bottling it up now, sir.”

Fenimore’s face might be smirking at him, but the eyes flashed freezing cold and calculating, without any of the innocence the Ravenclaw had had in life. It reminded him of the hungry look in Voldemort’s red ones, made him acutely aware that he could not afford to cross this particular wizard any more than he could afford to cross the Dark Lord.

Thanatovich stepped inside the dungeon, looking around with a vague air of curiosity. He peered into ingredient jars and cauldrons, letting out a grunt here and there. Severus dearly hoped it meant the wizard was approving, not disappointed.

“You set good brewing station up here,” was the verdict, and Severus let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Thanks, sir.”

“Other students no come in here?” Was the next, curious question. It was so weird, to hear this foreign accent in Grunnion’s voice.

“Not if they know what’s good for them,” said Severus. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “How come you sounded exactly like Grunnion earlier? I mean,” he elaborated when Fenimore’s eyes drilled twin holes into his skull, “he’s got this York accent and you were speaking it perfectly earlier. Is it a spell?”

“I good actor,” was the lofty answer. “I make voice of dead boy.”

“I see,” said Severus, though he didn’t, not really.

Thanatovich made a show of looking at his watch.

“Here are your potions, sir,” Severus said a moment later, corking the last of the quart-sized bottles and handing all six of them over. “I hope they will be to your satisfaction.”

“I so satisfied I could make laugh,” answered Thanatovich, pocketing the bottles and making them disappear in his pockets. “Tomorrow, skin of boomslang vill be arrive at Hogsmeade. I haff vill give for to you. You pick up at lunchtime.”

“Yes, sir.” Severus watched the Ravenclaw amble out of the dungeon door and vanish into the darkness of the corridor beyond. He then hurried to put out his fires and locked the dungeon door securely with several spells before he hurried back to Slytherin House.

But not even when he was safely tucked in his bed did he dare to breathe easy. The instant he closed his eyes, he’d see a flash of green light, hear —and feel— the heavy thud of Grunnion’s lifeless body as it hit the carpet, his big, once sparkling brown eyes boring into his... He tossed and turned under his covers, unable to get comfortable, feeling exposed, watched... As if Thanatovich was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. The Russian’s voice, too, echoed in his ears.

Little did he know that this sensation would never completely leave him again.

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That night, someone else was having a hard time getting rest of any kind. James hadn’t batted an eye all night, cringing every so often when he recalled Lily’s shrill, outraged voice as it rang across the Great Hall, and burying himself deeper under his pillow as he relived the roaring laughter that had followed her words, which he had been forced to endure, a fixed sort of grin on his face, for the rest of the evening.

It had been torture. It still was; the mocking and jeering had followed him all the way to the Common Room. Even all the way to his bedroom, which struck James as unfair. The dormitory should be a sort of sanctuary where the troubles of the outside world didn’t interfere, right? But he’d endured the jibes and ribbing from his classmates anyhow, with a quickly waning —now long gone— sort of stoicism. And then he’d snapped his curtains shut and cast an Imperturbable Charm on them.

There was no way, he was sure, he would leave his room again. There was no way he’d ever manage to face her again. In all the years he’d hounded Evans, he’d never been so ridiculed, so utterly... humiliated. At least, it had never hit home this hard.

At this point, James was convinced it was all McGonagall’s fault.

What had he been thinking? He wondered, but he didn’t know, and he would dearly like to get some insight on this, some quality support... James heaved an enormous sigh that was brimming with self-pity, his eyes wandering to the blurry form fast asleep one bed over.

Sirius had been doing a brilliant job of it, but he had been a nervous wreck all evening himself, and the idiot had mixed up his potions and downed a double dose of Dreamless Sleep instead of his restoratives and painkillers. He was therefore out of it, and would continue that way for the foreseeable future. Not that James grudged him that, he'd never even dream of such a thing. He’d arranged Sirius on the bed, then laid down on his own, unable to bat an eye, his brother’s soft snores —and those of the other Fifth-year Gryffindors— for company.

More than anything, James dreaded what dawn would bring, which was, admittedly, more mocking from friends and enemies alike, jeering and comparisons to the Squid and whatnot. Worse yet, he’d have to go to class with her... and her friends, who were even more terrible.

No, James decided, his eyes burning with exhaustion, yet still refusing to close. He’d never live this down. He’d be mocked forever... Maybe he should just follow his instinct and hide out in the Forest as a stag for the rest of his days. Maybe he should snatch a sip of Sirius’s Sleeping Draught? But what good would that do? What he needed was a Forgetfulness Potion — not for himself, but for the entire school.

If Sirius were awake, he was sure, he’d help him procure it, or brew it, or get Peter to make a few gallons. But it was past three in the morning, and he showed no signs of so much as stirring from his slumber.

This changed around four, when Sirius shot bolt upright with a strangled gasp, his hands grabbing at his throat. For all that he was trying to get over it, he still had nightmares, and tonight it looked like it was one of the worse ones.

James was by his side a second later.

“Hey, Pads. It was just a dream,” he said, as low as he dared. “You’re all right. We all are.” Sirius’s eyes wandered to fix themselves on his, swallowing back another gasp. James perched on the edge of his bed, silently waiting for him to get his bearings and wake up fully.

“It was horrible,” Sirius told him, still shaken, as choppy, disconnected images of his dream blasted into James's mind. “I was by the— by the Lake, with Nina, and there was this…" He swallowed, shook his head. "There was this... this very grabby... Grindylow—“ Sirius looked as if he feared one such beast would leap out from under his bed to strangle him, but James had to smile.

If Sirius was not dreaming of Death Eaters, it had to be an improvement, right?

“It was just awful.”

Okay, so maybe he didn’t quite agree with James’s assessment.

“It was just a dream, though,” James repeated, and was it selfish of him that he was glad Sirius was finally awake again? He decided that, if it was, he didn’t care. Instead, he cast a Silencing Charm around their beds, and busied himself with the loose floorboard under his own. That was where he and Sirius kept their secret stash of snacks. It would do wonders for his brother, and James was rather hungry himself by now.

The familiar metallic squeak reached his ears, as Sirius moved to James’ bed, his pillows floating lazily to their usual place at the foot of the bed, which Sirius settled into comfortably. James let his curtains fall shut, wordlessly handed him a butterbeer.

Misery loves company and all that, right? In his case, tonight, it was completely true.

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Two hours before dawn, a witch dressed smartly in sky-blue robes and a perfectly colour-coordinated skirt and jacket carried a basket along a deserted London street. They had picked a perfect time for this nighttime stroll— dawn would not quite break that morning. The drizzle was dripping all around her and her husband, promising an early morning fog so thick, even the Muggles would think twice before leaving their homes in a few hours. By her side, her “husband” held his wand aloft, creating an invisible umbrella that kept them both protected from the steadily-falling icy water.

Unlike her, he looked like he had swallowed a lemon as the crew of twelve polyjuiced Death Eaters came out of the shadows, falling into step behind them both.

She thought that look didn’t suit him. Up until now, Thanatovich— sorry, her hubby-bubs— had been nothing but composed.

"It's going to be all right, darling," chirped Martha Riordan cheerfully, patting the top of her basket as they went. Derek Riordan grunted out something in the back of his throat, checked the pockets of his greatcoat, probably to make sure he had enough chocolate. Martha smiled knowingly; Derek Riordan, or rather, Rasmus Thanatovich, the most feared serial killer in history, was dreading what would come next. It was ironic, really, that he was willing to do this— braving a floor full of Dementors while wearing the skin of an Auror— just to get to duel old Fleabag Potter.

Ironic didn’t even begin to describe it.

Not, Martha mused, as ironic as the fact that she had partnered up with a serial killer who had a conscience. It made her eyes flash red with mirth, leaving no doubt as to who was behind the perfect disguise. Voldemort had been wearing her for weeks, and he had grown to love the freedom that came with being Martha Riordan; she had a lot of connections and was a bit of a flirt, and he had taken full advantage of this state of things, continuing Martha’s good work to get all the gossip on the Ministry’s doings... And enjoying himself immensely while at it.

Sometimes he thought, he should have been born a witch. He already regretted that he would no longer be able to use her after today.

So, it had to be a good one. A battle to remember. He hummed an upbeat tune as they reached the lift, while next to him, Derek was taking deep, steadying breaths.

“Now, now, don’t give us away,” Voldemort chided in Martha’s musical voice, drowning the lift music out. “Keep up the act, I need you to—“

“Da, da,” Derek grumbled in Thanatovich’s unmistakable accent, “I vill good be. One moment.”

One moment was something Voldemort could grant him. Not more.

“Don’t forget to smile,” he sing-songed, Martha’s own full lips doing an excellent demonstration of what he wanted. Right now, it was as if the Russian wizard didn’t even know how.

Derek Riordan’s face was contorted into a grimace, and Marta tutted, handing him a lacy handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Darling,” she chided her husband, “you look like you’ll be sick. If anyone sees you like this, they’ll start asking questions. You need to—“

“Da, da,” answered Derek Riordan in Thanatovich’s voice, “yiou  vant me for to make smile. I can. Make... smile. Make smile easy, it like scream, but no sound.”

Martha’s slender eyebrow arched up out of its own accord. Derek elaborated, “Like when stub toe, but all is asleep and no vant wake up others in house. Shh, no sound.” He demonstrated again, showing his teeth in what could be termed as a pained smile… if one were to describe it kindly.

“By the gods, if that’s how you smile I don’t know how you laugh.”

“Ven make laugh, it like short cry of pain,” was the matter-of-fact answer. “Many short cry of pain, like, AH! AH! AH! That is laugh.”

“I see,” said the Dark Lord in Martha’s voice. “I can… actually sort of see that working.” He smiled, all the wider as they strode across the Ministry atrium and a round dozen of the Death Eaters that had survived the raid on the Potters joined them, all wearing an assortment of (former) Ministry workers and clerks. They nodded at each other as they made their way to the lower levels, all the way to the Auror Headquarters. The Dementor cold could be felt long before they arrived, and Thanatovich did not even hide his discomfort anymore, cramming bar after bar of chocolate into his mouth.

“Listen up, children,” said Martha Riordan clearly, her hands clasped around the basket of special biscuits and tea she had prepared for the Aurors working the graveyard shift at the Ministry. “Do not stray from one another, and open the doors at precisely five-thirty. You will have five minutes to usher that lot to the holding cells and effect the escape of our brethren in arms.”

The rag-tag assortment of Ministry workers nodded, hardly containing their excitement. It was the first battle for many of them, and it was possible that for some it would also be the last — the Dark Lord surveyed his forces with satisfaction, who were morphed into a handful of low-level beaurocrats, a few maintenance wizards, and three secretaries (who had had the audacity of getting on Martha Riordan’s bad side, mostly by means of covert looks and giggles). Martha adjusted her bonnet, checked the contents of the basket once more, then nodded to them all. Out of them, Thanatovich was the only one who looked like he’d rather run the other way.

“Don't forget your scrolls, darling,” the Dark Lord tittered next, and a very green Rasmus grudgingly followed. His job was to distract Head Auror Moody by sending him to follow a lead on a Death Eater attack, which was nothing but a ruse and would hopefully thin the herd of Aurors they’d be fighting shortly.

The Riordans made their way inside Auror Headquarters alone, walking along the rows of empty desks like nothing was the matter. Voldemort checked a watch placed daintily on his slender wrist. It read 5:15 AM. In Shropshire, a second team of Death Eaters was setting fire to a few barns and making a Dark Mark hover over a very sleepy village named Much Wenlock, which was utterly devoid of old Wizarding families. They might make something explode, like the old Norman priory — anything to keep Moody and Shacklebolt busy.

“Now, my dear,” Martha whispered. Derek took a deep breath, then broke into a run, headed towards the lower level where the Aurors were assembled, guarding the captive Death Eaters.

“Alastor! Alastor! There’s a Death Eater attack in Shropshire!” Derek’s voice rang out, and as Voldemort followed at a slower tippety-tip, he could hear the expected commotion downstairs, Moody’s short bark reorganising his force at a hurry.

“Shacklebolt, you come with me— Gibbon, Proudfoot, Lemon, Clayton, you too. Riordan, call for reinforcements. Make sure NO ONE LEAVES!”

Oh, it was even better than expected. The Dark Lord’s smile only grew, as the Shropshire Auror Division started sending in messages through the various grates, their urgent voices mixing with the tumult downstairs in a delicious sort of chaos.

Moody passed right next to him on his way to the fireplace, two dozen Aurors and Hit Wizards in tow.

“Make way,” he barked, “and make sure that lot down there stay quiet!”

“We’ll make sure of it,” Martha promised, patting her basket. Nobody noticed the glint of red in her eyes, too busy vacating the premises.

“Blocking the fire of place,” Derek grunted, signalling to the Death Eaters to enter the Auror Division before pointing his wand at the three large grates at the far end of the chamber. He cancelled the Aparition Charms on the emergency Apparition Point none of them were supposed to know about, then locked the doors to the Hit Wizard Section.

Voldemort nodded, then gestured to his followers to follow quietly and wait for his signal. He turned, clattering down the stairs to the holding cell area.

“Oh my,” he tittered, “I can never get used to this ruckus, in the dead of night to boot.”

“Aye, Ma’am,” Auror Trent agreed through his beard with a dark chuckle. “Don’t these blasted Death Eaters sleep?”

“I am willing to say they don’t,” Martha laughed. “But I have brought something to make our watch a bit more bearable. Gather round, I do hope I brought enough for everybody—” Looking at the Aurors and Hit Wizards still watching the Death Eaters… There was nowhere near enough to go round.

At least twenty were looking up curiously from their chairs and desks, and he was willing to bet there were another ten going up and down the actual cell block. Unless he got them to dig in, they would be outnumbered before they could free the rest.

“I’m sure you can all share. Biscuits, fresh from the oven. Why, I daresay they’re still warm! Come now, have a piece each.” He needn’t have worried, though; everyone surrounded him like he was, well, giving away free biscuits.

“Martha, you’re a lifesaver!” cried Therese Tabernay, gratefully taking a biscuit. “These smell heavenly.”

“Let me through, I’m starving!” a kid who looked more like a schoolboy than an Auror, reached hopefully into the basket. So innocent. So naive. So… Dead already.

“These are really good, Mrs. Riordan, what did you put into them?”

“Aww,  it’s nothing special. Just an old family recipe,” the Dark Lord answered, feigning a blush that elicited grateful laughter. In no time, the biscuits and tea had gone down greedy throats, and the praise turned into something that was music to Voldemort’s ears.

“Oh— what… What’s this?” The first stage: the surprise upon swallowing, when the biscuit revealed its nasty little secret.

“It burns— oh God it burns.”

“Poison?! Martha, what have you done?” Voldemort smiled at Therese Tabernay, relishing the shocked look of betrayal in her brown eyes.

“Oh, Martha is quite dead, my dear,” answered the Dark Lord placidly, fixing his glowing red eyes on the dozen or so horrified Aurors and Hit Wizards dropping at his feet like flies. “I must say,” he added with a bright smile as the screams of pain began to fill the room, his retinue’s cue to barge in with wands ablaze. “I shall quite miss her. She was such fun to wear. Oh well. Nothing lasts forever.”

Right on cue, the Death Eaters barged in, screaming. The witches and wizards guarding his loyal followers were so shocked, afraid, and… well, frankly, some of them were already dying, so it looked like they were overwhelmed in one go. Voldemort drew his wand, noting that even Thanatovich had joined the suddenly desperate fray.

He made his way to the cell block, where cries were issuing as well: His Death Eaters were cheering, throats raw and eyes full of hope for release from their torment.

“Rejoice!” Cried Martha Riordan, tossing a bundle of wands into the air and watching them fly into their ecstatic owners’ hands. “Rejoice, my loyal Death Eaters, for I have come to release you!”

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“Stop fretting, Prongs. I’m sure she didn’t really mean it,” Sirius said, doing his duty as supportive best friend and brother while he sniffed Bertie Botts’ Every-Flavour Beans and sorted them into little piles. His silver-grey eyes were shining without a shred of mockery when he added, “She didn’t really mean it when she said she’d rather date the Giant Squid than you; not really.” James looked up at Sirius dolefully. Sirius popped a salami-flavoured bean into his mouth, gave him a wink. “You know how she hates slimy stuff,” was the reasoning that followed. James whimpered into his pillow. “What? It’s an absolute fact.”

Sleep was now out of the question for both of them, but James was tired; he wasn’t used to feeling insecure or dreading something as inane as breakfast, and the first thing that came to mind when he thought about it was, it was exhausting. Sirius, too, was all jittery and nervous over his not-date with Nina. Because he maintained adamantly it was just a friendly visit to Hagrid’s, possibly with some light exploration of the Forbidden Forest and a picnic thrown in.

“It’s not a date. Nope. Not even close,” Sirius had argued, and managed to make James laugh at last. “Well, it’s not!” he insisted almost desperately. “Honest. I’m just—“

“Showing her around?” James asked, feigning innocence.

“Well, yeah.”

"What about the food in the basket you asked the elves to get ready for you?”

“It’s hungry work,” was the reply, as if it were glaringly obvious. “I mean,” Sirius elaborated when James started sniggering again, “We’re looking at the entire zoo. And what if she wants to help out? Can you imagine her trying to get anything done with only Hagrid’s rock cakes to go on by?” Sirius’s look was earnestly pleading, almost begging for it not to be a date, because if it was a date, he’d lose his nerve. “It’s not a date. A date is something you dress up for, and brush your teeth for and all.” And it’s very scary to think of it as one, so please, Prongs, stop grinning at me like that, it’s creepy.

“Fine, fine,” James relented. “Not a date. Just a friendly picnic and looking at Hagrid’s pets…”

“Just keeping a promise.”

“… And exploring the forest...”

“She needs to know which bits are safe!”

“And where your favourite snogging spots are...”

“Oh, shurrup.”

“Just saying. You should brush your teeth regardless.”

But just thinking of snogging spots and teeth made Sirius break out in a cold sweat, and wonder if it was indeed a date, and then he remembered he had no practical experience with those, and what if he messed it all up? Other girls he hadn’t been nervous about at all— but then, Nina wasn’t just some other girl who fancied a snog or a shag. And he was terrified something might happen to make her pull an Evans on him.

“You’ll have fun, Pads. Don’t fret. Just... you’re right. Not a date, just... hanging out together.” James gave him an encouraging nod. “You can tell me all about it when you get back, I’ll be right here.”

“You’re not still thinking of hiding from Evans, are you?”

“It’s not hiding. I’ll just spend a day in bed, or three. I kind of miss those.” To drive the point home further, James buried himself under his pillows again.

“But—“

“I’ll never live it down, Sirius. What the hell was I thinking? In front of everyone!"

"You were thinking you love her, and you want to spend time with her," was the surprisingly thoughtful rejoinder. James looked up at Sirius miserably, met with the understanding and support he'd been craving all night.

"She hates my guts now," James pointed out miserably. "And I'm a laughing stock."

"I don't think it was what you said," Sirius replied gently. "It was how you said it. I guess it was ill-timed, that's all. And," he went on, "everyone's used to your stupid stunts, so why fret over it?"

"She said she'd rather go out with the Giant Squid," James reminded him. Sirius shrugged.

"She didn't mean it, I'm sure. Maybe next time—"

"There won't ever be a next time."

"Next time," Sirius went on, undeterred, "ask her out in front of fewer people. Better yet, when there's just the two of you."

"That's going to be impossible, because I'm not leaving this room."

"Yes, you are," Sirius argued without malice. "You're a Potter, and no self-respecting Potter lets something like this get him down."

"Don't use Dad's pep talk on me. You're wasting your time."

"Fine, I won't. But, remember that thing Googles said, about healthy relationships?"

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

"I think… I think she meant you need to put her first, Prongs. See what she wants. Maybe… maybe do something for her she'll like. I mean, you'd need to figure out what she likes, right, so far all we know about her is what she dislikes… and that she loves whacking you over the head with inordinately large books," Sirius went on, as James peered curiously at him from under his pillow. "But I’m sure there’s other stuff she likes besides that. And let's be honest here. Who cares if those sods laughed at you? Half of them are jealous because with Evans… well, you actually stand a chance. Unlike them."

"You're just saying things."

"So maybe I am. But, I solemnly swear, I'll kick the arse of anyone who dares mock you, oh, brother mine. And you said yourself, if she says no, you'll try again after. She already said no. So, y’know, try again after."

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Rasmus was running out of chocolate. He wasn’t sure why, but that was the one thought his mind fixated on, for the duration of the battle. Though, in all fairness, ambush would be nearer the mark. He had, of course, been part of a Trojan Horse scheme before, had staged a fair few of those back in the day… But that didn’t mean he enjoyed them; he merely saw the strategic value of the subterfuge. Unlike the Dark Lord, his present ally, he did not approve this sort of wholesale murder. In his eyes, it was a waste of perfectly good duelling, and these Aurors now lying on the floor had spent years training for duels that would never come. Not to mention, those blasted Dementors they kept here were fighting to break out from the cell block they had been locked in.

That said, claiming he was thoroughly miserable battling the startled Aurors and Hit Wizards would be a stretch.

He had to admit that he had missed a duel to the death. Ever since the quartet he called the Voin had fallen from the edge of the Earth, he hadn’t had a real workout. These witches and wizards, though, were putting up a good fight— they were actually decent enough duellists, and taking into account their sleep deprivation, the added horror of seeing their friends and co-workers fall dead in front of them, and the added horror of seeing the pretty witch they’d thought was Martha Riordan turn into the Dark Lord in drag... those were handicaps Rasmus admitted were hard to overcome in a snap.

So he took them on in groups of three to five, just to even the odds. They didn’t last, of course, much less when the captive Death Eaters poured out from the cells and joined the outnumbered group, and instead of being good sports and watching, took to casting Unforgivables about and hexing his opponents from behind.

“This are mine,” Rasmus snapped at Bellatrix, but the lunatic just let out an annoying cackle and made his sparring partners fall to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony.

He huffed, lowering his wand. This wasn’t what he had agreed to.

One of the younger Aurors, who had escaped death by biscuit just because he was too slow to snatch one, stumbled and slid past him up the stairs, the panicked look of hunted prey in his eyes. Rasmus let him through.

“Don’t let him get away!” Screeched Bellatrix, and Rasmus rolled his eyes.

“He vill help get,” he reasoned. “Bring Moody back. I vant good duel for to haff.”

“Oh, shove over,” she huffed in return, even as the panicked voice of the young Auror reached their ears, his voice cracking in its urgency.

“Hello? Anyone? Moody, Shacklebolt, help! We are under attack! It’s them! They all got out, oh God, they’ve killed them all—“

The voice cut off suddenly, followed by that infuriating cackle.

“Time to go, children,” Voldemort sounded beyond pleased with himself, looking ridiculous —and rather pinched— in heels and stockings. The Polyjuice had worn off at some point during the battle, but he didn’t seem bothered. “Set fire to this place and let us go celebrate.”

“Yes, Master!” Yelled most of the Death Eaters, but that lunatic witch went, “Awww, I was having such fun!”

“Well, bring a couple of those home, but we do need to leave now. Darling,” the moniker made Rasmus bristle even more coming from Voldemort in his current shape, “do fix us a Portkey, that little brat managed to get through to Shropshire.”

Sighing, Rasmus obeyed. The things I do to get to duel Potter, he thought grumpily. The Dark Lord better hold up his end of the deal soon; he could endure the wizard maybe, but he could not stand his fan club.

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Sirius skipped breakfast. So did Nina. For once, James was glad for Remus and Marlene, who were outside too, spying on them. This way, he wouldn’t have to face Evans in the Great Hall… or the hundreds of mocking students who would be there too. Instead, he went to the Kitchens to get his breakfast and stock up for the rest of the day, which he was planning on spending as far removed from the student body as possible.

He had random flashes from his brother, whose insane— and completely unfounded, in James’s opinion— nerves would have been funny if James didn’t know what a huge step it was for him and how much was actually hinging on Nina’s positive reaction to Sirius’s clumsy advances into the terrifying, uncharted territory of dating. But she didn’t seem to mind Sirius stuttering at her —relief!— and seemed every bit as anxious as he was.

Before James had even reached the Kitchens, they were out on the grounds, a picnic basket trailing after them like a balloon as they made their way across the frozen grass to Sirius’s brooding tree for a breakfast al fresco.

Dude, James cut into Sirius’s train of thought, which was a long string of oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

Oh god—what? Even Sirius’s mind voice sounded panicky.

It’s freezing out there, James pointed out. Will you really have breakfast by the icy sodding lake?

Uh... yeah? Sirius ventured, but James could sense his relief at having someone to talk to, as it were. But— promise you won’t laugh.

Solemnly swear and all that.

I ’m taking her to the island thing over there.

What?

I had the elves set up a table and everything, Sirius admitted hesitantly. Behind the rocks, where people can’t see.

That’s... actually a good idea. James smirked as he sat down by one of the fireplaces in the Kitchens, where a handful of rushed elves brought him hot chocolate and a big plate of porridge with bits of carrot. Remus and Marlene would never be able to follow the lovebirds there. Served them right. Wait, so what are you going to the beech tree for?

The Squid is holding onto a boat for me there. Y ’know... the ones the Firsties use when they come to the school.

Oh, Pads. Who knew you were such a romantic?

Shurrup, Prongs. But James could tell Sirius was relieved.

“I thought we were going to Hagrid’s,” James heard Nina tell Sirius, interrupting James’s mocking before he had even started.

“Well, yes,” Sirius said, and he sounded apologetic as he added, “but I thought we could have breakfast first.”

“Where are we going?”

“If you want... over there?” Sirius gestured at the newly-created island people were already calling Black Dog Island.

“Sure!” Nina’s excitement was a source of relief for Sirius, and he led her towards the shore by his brooding tree... where the Squid was waiting with the boat.

“Oh, that’s just brilliant!” She exclaimed, and through Sirius’s eyes, James could see her deep blues were sparkling as she turned to look at him almost adoringly. “I thought the Squid was feral, but I can’t believe it, he looks so cute playing with that boat.”

“He’s friendly,” Sirius assured her, then he introduced her to the Squid, who let her pat his tentacles and held the boat steady for them to get on. Curious, James went along for the literal ride, as the Squid pulled them along the lake —taking the scenic route since Nina was visibly enjoying herself— and listened to an emboldened Sirius’s descriptions of the views; from the rocks where he’d fought the Death Eaters, to some parts of the Forest that weren’t visible from the shore, the Whomping Willow —”Don’t try to go too close, Gudgeon got whacked and lost an eye a few years ago”— and some of the more interesting animals that lived in that part of the Forest.

By the time they pulled the boat onto the shore of Black Dog Island, James was pretty sure Sirius had aced his first not!date. Nina’s eyes went impossibly wide, and James had to admit, it looked fantastic: There was a table with a pristine white tablecloth and Hogwarts’ golden dishes and cutlery waiting for them, surrounded by floating blue flames, and an elf took the basket and laid out a veritable feast for them both, while they made their slow way to the secluded corner Sirius had picked for their repast.

Cor! Did you actually plan all of this? On your own? James exclaimed. Now he knew who would help him plan his first date with Evans.

  I—

“Did you do all this… for me?”

“I... Er. I thought you might like it,” said Sirius, blushing to the roots of his hair and looking down. James could feel, by extension, how his heart was beating hard and fast, could hear his thoughts in his mind. Sirius was quite ready to kick himself if she had any less than a five-star rating to give him. He didn’t expect her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek.

Neither did James, for that matter.

“I love it! Thank you!”

Sirius stared at her, frozen to the spot. For... a couple of beats too long.

Sirius.

Yeah.

This is the bit where you gallantly lead her to the table and pull  out a chair for her.

Chair. Right.

Yep, thought James with almost indecent pride, Sirius will be okay. He disconnected from his mental conversation, focusing on his own breakfast, Lily and her yelled rejection forgotten for a moment. He grinned, even, when he realised that Remus and Marlene would have been left behind on the shore, thus affording Sirius some well-deserved privacy and saving the stalkers some embarrassment: Sirius didn’t miss much as a rule, and he was so paranoid after his many run-ins with the Death Eaters, he wouldn’t react kindly to finding Remus out. Especially today.

What James didn’t really expect, though, was for Remus and Marlene to stomp into the Kitchens just as the elves were putting together a basket full of goodies for him to take back to his room, and pull up chairs in front of him with twin huffs that didn’t suit them at all. James gave them his best endearingly confused look, but said nothing.

“Can you believe that utter idiot?” Marlene erupted, as if she, too, had a soul bond with James. He knew what she was on about, of course, but a. He didn’t think Sirius was an idiot, though he could understand how that went against popular belief, b. He wasn’t about to make things easier on her right now, and c. He’d hoped to have a quiet day, devoid of these two nagging at him to mistrust Sirius’s love interest.

Next to Marlene, Remus was ordering a three-quarters-raw steak and some coffee, looking as put off as she was. James just stared at them both, gracing them with his best ruminating cow impersonation. If they were already ruining his day, he’d make them work for it.

“He went to that island on the Lake,” Remus explained, after fixing him with a sceptical look. “Please tell me you knew about that.”

“Not really,” James answered, shrugging one shoulder. “All I know is, he was planning a picnic and a visit to Hagrid’s.”

“Don’t you think it’s totally dim-witted?” Marlene wanted to know. James gave her another clueless look, which must’ve been convincing, because she huffed with exasperation. “He was attacked there! What if she’s luring him to an ambush?”

“Exactly! We’ve got to tell someone!” Remus agreed.

“But... didn’t you say he took her there?” James countered. In truth, he didn’t believe (didn’t want to believe, whatever) that Nina was working for the Dark Side, but he also didn’t want to let on he hadn’t really thought of the danger they were putting themselves in, going to the island. If there was anyone with a huge target painted on his back, that was Sirius.

“Maybe she put him up to it,” Marlene shot back. “We should tell McGonagall.”

Aww, man. James looked down at his basket of goodies, thinking fast.

“How about,” he started, when the expectant silence had stretched for too long, “how about we don’t?” Identical groans met his words, and he raised his hands placatingly. “Hear me out, hear me out. Let’s just... Dunno, watch from a distance. Sirius wouldn’t have done this without making damn sure they’ll be either safe or have a quick getaway. And,” he continued forcefully, when Marlene was about to protest, “we can get help really fast if anything happens. Guys, we don’t know what Nina’s deal is, not really. And... this is important to him. Like, really, really important.”

“Damn you, Potter, you’re as stupid as he is,” Marlene snapped. Remus, though, was giving James a calculating look. James looked at him, trying to get a point across: if there was any danger whatsoever, he’d be the first to know, and Remus was aware of that.

“Will you help us keep an eye on them, then?” He asked. James gave him a resigned nod. Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.

Remus opened his mouth, probably to lay out a detailed spying plan with a tight schedule and shifts, but instead he jumped about a foot in the air as an owl fluttered into the Kitchen and dropped a rolled-up newspaper over his head.

James snatched it up before it fell into Remus’s coffee, grateful for the change of topic, and thinking quickly, decided they could do with a distraction. Anything to buy Sirius— and himself— some time. He unfurled the paper before anyone could get a word in— and stared.

“Holy hell,” he deadpanned, paling. This was not a distraction. This was an entirely different beast.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC ATTACKED BY HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED: DOZENS DEAD OR MISSING, the headline read.

.

.

“That went better than expected,” Voldemort —now wearing an elegant set of stark black dress robes, much to Rasmus’s relief— stated, putting down his copy of the Daily Prophet.

“They not even picture of yiou haff,” Rasmus commented, his voice laced with disappointment. He’d have liked to keep a clipping of the Dark Lord in drag. It was definite blackmail material. Alas, the bastard had wrapped himself in a cloak and shed the heels before the reporters arrived.

“Oh yes, there’s that. Well, now I have my loyal followers back, we can continue with our plan to take over the school and kill that damned brat.”

“No,” Rasmus replied firmly. The Dark Lord sat up from the armchair he was lounging in, fixed him with a sharp look. “I vant Flea-mont Potter for to duel. No plan of until.”

Voldemort let out a long-suffering sigh, as if wondering why he even bothered to humour the Russian wizard.

“And,” Rasmus added pointedly, putting the paper down on the coffee table, “I no haff enough Polyjuice Potion. Stink boy has not ingredients for final stage. Potion vill go … yrch.”

“That’s a pity, that is,” Voldemort agreed, his annoyance gone. “Fine, I’ll get us the ingredients. We do need a refill.”

“Ve need infiltrate school.” Rasmus showed him the bottle of potion he had left; he’d given most of it up to stage this breakout, after all. He wanted his due. “Not last long. One veek, not enough.”

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” said Voldemort in a drawl that cloaked his own dread about that plan. He had been banned from the castle by Dumbledore, and until the twinkling ponce was dead, he would never be able to set foot on the grounds without being burnt to a crisp. Letting Rasmus in on that little secret was too risky. “I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep an eye on Black.”

“Two eyes,” Rasmus promised. “And,” he added, feeling generous for once, “I might bring for to you Black. If Stink Boy brings potion. And if for to duel Potter.”

.

.

Sirius and Nina were at the stables, where he was teaching her to say hello to a very pregnant Hippogriff, while a ridiculously proud Hagrid looked on. They were all far removed from the news James was reading, and he was grateful for it. James tried to clamp down on his growing sense of fear as his eyes flew over the article on the front page, Remus and Marlene piled over him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Marlene whispered. It sounded too loud to be allowed, in James’s ringing ears. He could hear Remus’s Adam’s apple constrict in the world’s slowest swallow; Remus’s dad worked at the Ministry. And didn’t Marlene’s mum?

This was bad.

Voldemort had invaded the Ministry, he and a dozen followers had surprised the Aurors and Hit Wizards guarding the captured Death Eaters and released them... as well as a bunch of Dementors, which were now loose in London. Over thirty officials and Aurors were unaccounted for. They didn’t yet know how many were dead.

And every last one of those Death Eaters had a bone to pick with his  brother. Now the threat of an impending attack felt as real as it had when he and his family had been hiding Sirius at home, when the whole village had come under fire for it.

“Yeah,” James whispered back. “Let’s.”

James, Remus and Marlene met with total chaos right by the Entrance Hall. The entire school was buzzing with dread and worry, and, in some cases, a morbid sort of fascination. Gryffindor Third Year Kingsley Shacklebolt was going spare asking Dumbledore about his dad. So was Emmeline Vance, the Seventh Year Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain. Nobody remembered James's ridicule the previous night. Not even James.

“Remus, can you help me with this lot?” Evans brushed past James, a bunch of pleading, near-hysterical kids in tow; each of them, James realised with a pang, had family at the Ministry. “We need to organise them by the department their parents or siblings work, so we can get answers as fast as possible for everyone,” she went on briskly, as Remus detached himself from Marlene’s side, and James turned to stare at Marlene.

“Didn’t you say your mum worked legal at the Ministry?” he blurted. Marlene was as pale as he was, exuding a barely-suppressed sort of panic.

“Look, there’s Michael,” James told her. “You should, you should— yeah. Go on with him.”

Sirius of course, picked up on his alarm.

What’s up? It was a simple enough question, but James hesitated, watching Marlene rush to her little brother and hold him tight. He didn’t really want to ruin Sirius’s not!date, but this was important. Hell, this was huge. He didn’t have the words to explain. He couldn’t even think, not when Kingsley was shouting through thick sobs for Remus to wait for him, his dad was on duty at Auror HQ. James? Sirius prompted, a flash of worry hitting him at the same time. What happened?

It’s Voldemort, he answered. He could feel Sirius’s stomach plummet. He attacked the Ministry. You guys better look at the paper, he added, before Sirius could ask a thousand follow-up questions. Aloud he added, “Kingsley, come here. I’ll take you to see Googles. Let’s find out if your dad is okay.”

James ushered Kingsley down a side passage behind the boar statue, using every shortcut he knew to get the younger boy to McGonagall’s office as fast as possible. As it were, there was only one Fourth Year outside the Head Office, waiting for her turn at the Floo.

“Will you be okay?” he asked Kingsley, but it wasn’t really necessary. McGonagall was already beckoning the boy inside, fixing James with a thin-lipped look. He turned on his heel and trotted himself away, to find his brother, whose eyes were flying over the news, Hagrid and Nina by his side.

James, find out if her uncle was at the Ministry, will you?

“What?” James asked aloud in his sudden shock, and he skidded to a halt to avoid a head-on collision with Evans, who was leading her line of students towards McGonagall’s office. He’d have to beat them all to the grate before—

“Get out of the way, Potter,” Evans snapped. “You don’t have anyone at the Ministry, do you?”

Taken aback by her tone, James shook his head and moved aside, to let the kids through.

We ’re on our way.

 Googles’ grate is crowded, man. And I just pissed off Evans again.

The one on the Seventh Floor isn’t. Yep, Sirius hadn’t lost his ability to think, despite the surge of anxiety he was trying to shake off, while limping towards the castle as fast as he could. Could you come get Nina? I’m just slowing her down. She’s really worried, Prongs.

Yeah, I’m on my way.

Sirius hadn’t been lying; James raced to the Entrance Hall, where chaos still reigned, but they hadn’t arrived yet. He trotted to the grounds and sure enough, he saw Hagrid and Nina walking painfully slowly towards the castle with Sirius, who waved him over at once.

“Everyone’s calling their families,” he said, without bothering with greetings, and Nina’s already tight face fell. “But don’t worry, there’s a fireplace we can use.”

“I’ll catch up in a bit,” Sirius told Nina, as she turned to give him a desperate look. He smiled reassuringly, and only then did James notice he was holding her hand. “It’ll be all right, go on and make sure old Angus is okay.” He fixed his clear eyes on James’s, and he didn’t need a mind link to understand what Sirius wanted to say.

“C’mon, Nina, I know a shortcut.” He watched her detach from Sirius with a heartbroken, longing sort of look, then led her up the sloping grounds and back towards the castle at full speed. No way, he thought, no way she is faking this. Remus, you idiot, don’t you have eyes?

He and Nina ran up disused stairwells and hidden corridors, down a trapdoor in the Third Floor and up a handful of passages… and then, almost too soon, they were sprinting around the corner of the Seventh Floor and its deserted corridor.

“Wait here, just a sec,” he told her, bringing them both to a halt, and she stood there, panting wordlessly, while he focused and paced up and down the corridor in a hurry until the door appeared. James let out a breath, turned to look at Nina to tell her to follow— and stopped short. She was trembling, tears flowing down her face, staring at the door with wide, panicked eyes. “Come on,” James said, trying not to let it show that he had no idea what to do in this utterly frightening scenario, “it’s all right, there’s a fireplace and Floo powder just inside.”

“What if… what if they…?” She trailed off, lips trembling. James stepped up to her, and before he knew it, he had thrown an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“We won’t know until we ask,” he told her gently, “come, I’m sure old Angus is all right.” He’s a badass, he wanted to add, but bit his tongue. Instead, he ushered her into the Come-And-Go Room, which was tiny in comparison to the wide chamber James was used to seeing. Instead, the door opened into a cosy room, with comfy, mismatched old armchairs and an enormous fireplace. On the coffee table, there was a huge jar of Floo Powder. James started to think they should all carry some for emergencies like this, and five smaller bottles appeared next to it, corked and marked.

Nina took a fistful of the powder, and went down on her knees on the squashy rug in front of the grate, throwing it in as she went.

“Department of Mysteries, Minister’s Office,” she said. It was barely audible and came out choked, but at once, the flames flared green and a large library came into view almost at once. Voices reached James’s ears, who pocketed the bottles of Floo Powder and knelt down next to her, sticking his head into the fire too.

“Uncle Angus! Uncle, are you there?” Nina had found her voice again. The explosion of sound echoed in the vast darkwood library and made James cringe. The babble of voices that had been talking quieted, and for a moment, nothing. “Can you hear anything?” Nina asked James now, and he shook his head, eyes roving over the black-panelled walls, the dark bookcases and furniture. “UNCLE ANGUS!”

Finally, an eternity later, there was a heavy footfall… and Angus McAlpin’s face appeared in the fire.

Nina and James let out identical breaths of relief.

“Lass! You scared me half to death,” said the old wizard. He had a bloody lip and a bright red bruise on his cheek, but seemed otherwise all right. His intense blue eyes were boring into theirs, and James recognised the sort of haunted look he had seen often enough on Sirius’s face— the look of someone who had barely survived a terrible ordeal.

“Are you okay?” Nina pressed, and Angus nodded, shrugged. He suddenly looked much older.

“I got there late enough,” he admitted. “They were polyjuiced into Ministry personnel, there was no telling who was…” he shook his head in defeat. “I didn’t even know it was happening until Alastor burst through my fireplace, shouting the place down. They sent him and most of the Hit Wizards and Aurors to this village, but it was just a diversion. By the time they tried to get back, they had sealed off Auror HQ.”

There was a silence, but Angus went on, like every word weighed a ton.

“Voldemort was there, with this other wizard we thought was long gone… Rasmus Thanatovich.” The name didn’t ring a bell for James, but Nina let out a terrified little squeak. “Whoever wasn’t killed, they took. We just got the fringe ends of the battle, and by then the Dementors had all been released into London. We’re putting a team together to round them up, just now.”

“The captured Death Eaters?” Sirius’s voice startled James, he hadn’t heard him come in. His eyes were fixed on Angus’s as intently as Nina’s, his pale face streaked with sweat.

“They all got away,” said Angus heavily. Sirius bit his lip. Nina looked like she was swallowing back a panicked scream. “They fooled everyone. The ones who stayed behind to guard that lot… They didn’t stand a chance.” Angus turned to look at someone over his shoulder, nodded, told them he’d be right there. “I have to go, kids. Look after each other, help one another. Be wary.” Sirius and James nodded. Nina let out something like a whimper, and Angus gave her a reassuring smile. “I have to go do some damage assessment, lass. We will speak again later tonight, all right? Stay with the lads, and be careful, all of you.”

“We will,” Sirius promised. “You too, sir.”

Angus’s face disappeared from the fire, and the three of them ended the call.

For a long moment, they just stared at one another, their faces mirror images of dread. They might have sat there for ages, not moving, not saying a word, if not for the loud, out-of-place squeeeeeak of Sirius’s leg brace.

Sirius snorted, looked down— and the moment was lost.

“At least he’s in one piece,” Sirius said. Nina nodded miserably. She was still terrified, and how could she not? A moment later, she was leaning against him, sobbing openly. He wrapped his arms around her, hooking his chin on her shoulder. Thanks, he mouthed at James, who nodded. Aloud he added, “Call the parents, Prongs.”

.

.

Lunch was a completely dismal affair. By the time the Fifth Years sank into the benches at the Great Hall, the identities of the dead and missing had spread across the school like wildfire. Everyone was subdued, except, as usual, Snivellus’s group at the Slytherin table. They were acting like nothing was the matter, which was enough to get them on everyone else’s wrong side.

Most of the students, the Marauders included, stayed in the Great Hall. Some of the Prefects did the rounds, a few other students were going back and forth and relaying messages from the Heads of Houses, who were manning the fireplaces; others accompanied kids to make fire calls in turns, but mostly, everyone seemed to just want to stay together. Outside it started to rain, and by early afternoon the rain turned to sleet, then snow. The large fires in the Great Hall were lit, and groups of students gathered around the flickering lights, huddling together for warmth and support.

James did the rounds, organising the Gryffindor Quidditch Team to run errands and escort people to McGonagall’s office, but even that task took less than he had expected. Soon he had memorised the list of the dead, the list of the missing, whose names seemed to be on everyone’s lips;  some of them had left Hogwarts only two or three years earlier, and the older students had known them. There was just nothing else to do, except let the reality, the sheer weight of the situation, sink in.

Marlene reported that her older brother Malachi and her mum were both safe, and Kingsley said his dad was okay too, but they were only a part of very few kids with Aurors or Hit Wizards in their families whose loved ones had survived the raid.

Despite the fact that Angus had survived, Nina was silent all day. Sirius didn’t speak much either, and James found himself counting down the hours until they could go home to their parents. He was starting to fear Sirius would lapse into a state like he had in France, and he frankly dreaded it more than he did a Death Eater attack on the school, which seemed entirely too possible again. Just now, though, Sirius seemed entirely focused on comforting Nina, and James was grateful for it. What would happen later, though? When they had to go to sleep and the nightmares started? 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Nina broke the silence at a whisper, her head nestled against Sirius’s shoulder. They hadn’t let go of each other all day, and it was a great source of comfort for James, who was sitting next to them by the fire, stoking it with a poker. Behind them, the tables filled with food, indicating it was time for dinner. Despite the tragic events of the day, life went on.

“He doesn’t strike me as someone who’d run from danger,” Sirius answered gently.

“What if he—”

“He’ll be fine,” Sirius assured her, interrupting her before she could voice her fear. He gave her a tiny, crooked smile as she looked up at him. “Your uncle is an absolute menace. I don’t think even the Lord Thingy would dare stand up to him.”

“You know the Minister for Mysteries?” asked Marlene. She and her brother Mikey and some of their friends from other Houses had all gathered around the fire with them. Someone— possibly Remus and the other Prefects, James didn’t know anymore— had charmed cushions into existence, so they could all sit together.

“He’s friends with our parents,” James replied.

 What if he doesn’t come back, though? Sirius asked James in his mind. James glanced at his brother, then shrugged. Hard as it was, it was still a very real possibility.

  She and her aunt will come stay with us, as a matter of course.

 Sirius nodded, seemingly to himself, holding Nina tighter.

“Nina?” Evans’s voice startled them all from their brooding silence. “You’ve got a fire-call, from your uncle. Remus and I will come with you.”

“I can go,” Sirius offered, to no-one’s surprise. Evans fixed him with a sceptical look.

James elaborated, “I’ll go with them. You look dead on your feet, and—”

“McGonagall’s orders, sorry,” was the surprisingly gentle response. “You lot stay here. If you want to help, make sure everyone behaves until we come back to escort everyone to the Common Room later.”

“We’ll bring her back,” Remus promised, but he, too, looked longingly at the cushions the rest were sitting on. They had been doing rounds all day, and it was clear they were knackered.

Nina followed them out, a bundle of nerves and apprehension. James and Sirius watched them go, heaving identical sighs of frustration. They didn’t say a word until Nina returned, a skip in her step and two worn-out Prefects in tow, to share the happy news that old Angus was all right and he and her aunt Jeanie would come to take her to Hogsmeade the following morning.

It was a relief, but like everything that day, it was marred by the ashen, grieving expressions of Artbuthnot, the Trent siblings, 7th Year Jacob Tremblay, and others who had lost family to the attack. As one, the students celebrated the survivals, mourned the deaths, worried about the missing, and supported each other; even most of the Slytherins joined the groups huddled around the large fires, while Snivellus and his lot held court on the far end of the Great Hall, hogging up the largest fireplace and talking and laughing like nothing was the matter. It was a marker how downtrodden everyone else was that nobody had hexed their feet to their mouths. 

Dumbledore seemed to understand the kids’ need to be together, because after a heartfelt speech calling for unity, he announced that a squadron of Aurors had been dispatched to protect the school — to everyone’s relief except Sirius’s — and that, tonight, they’d all camp out at the Great Hall. The long tables vanished, and a moment later, hundreds of warm sleeping bags appeared. Some of the younger students’ had their plush toys on them, as if the headmaster knew what they’d need most.

Nobody objected — except, again, Snivellus and his friends. Slughorn spoke to them, though, and they dragged their sleeping bags to their corner of the Great Hall and grumbled themselves to sleep. As for everyone else, they stayed together. Especially those who were mourning a loss or had family missing were surrounded by friends. There were a few whispers, but the Great Hall soon went quiet, as if everyone were hoping that sleep could bring a reprieve from this waking nightmare.

James sat back against one of the plush cushions, watching the teachers pacing up and down the Hall, listening to Lily and Amelia Bones comfort a group of frightened Muggleborns, some of whom wanted to call their families on the tellyphone. Nearby, Nina and Sirius were all but cuddling. She seemed to be asleep, but James could see the flickering embers from the fireplace reflecting off his brother’s eyes. None of them would be getting any sleep tonight, James was sure. He, for one, was too worried to bat an eye.

A moment later, he was asleep.