Shimmering beautiful (and when I break it's in a million pieces)

Don't say you're too tired to fight

A/N: Writing this chapter at 1am after chugging a whole cup of iced coffee and then editing it at 3pm the next day was... certainly an experience. Chapter title is taken from "Only the young" by Taylor swift

Potter's shed, Thursday, July 15th 1976, 2:30 am

On the other side of England, Euphemia's hand trembled as she cast a full body diagnostic spell on Sirius, blood running cold at the extensive list painting the parchment in her hand. The injuries were ranked from most to least extensive, with three injuries highlighted in a blood-red colour, life-threatening.

Fleamont conjured a copy of the list, his face paling impossibly even more, blinking rapidly at his blurring vision. He exchanged a loaded look with his wife and swiftly stumbled out of the shed back to their house to his extensive potions collection.

After that day, blue fondness replaced contempt in Euphemia's voice whenever she mentioned her husband's collection, her eyes glistening, transported back to that fateful summer night.

She conjured a lamp and started working down the list, pulling her long grey hair into a strict bun, her heart yearning to curb the ocean of sadness flowing out of her son onto the wooden floor of the humble shed as he cried and pleaded, as he begged Sirius to open his eyes, begged him to stay, his hands framing his ice-cold face in an attempt to warm it up.

Euphemia was breathless from the weight of it, unaware that her son was capable of such all-consuming sadness, such misplaced devastating guilt but she had to focus. For Sirius, for James, her sons.

Euphemia drowned out her surroundings, slipping into that headspace she still mastered even after 15 years of retirement. She concentrated on stabilising Sirius enough to be transported back into the house without inflicting further damage.

Sirius' face was full of small cuts in different stages of healing, some still oozing blood and some scabbed over. A jagged scar bloomed across the top half of his face, looking like it was mostly healed over, the webbed scarring indicating that it stemmed from a magical creature and had not been treated with Dittany. Euphemia's stomach gave a sickening lurch at the implication.

She was faintly aware of Fleamont's presence and his watery red-rimmed eyes, the tight knot in her chest starting to unravel when he started administering pain and replenishing potions while she worked on stabilising Sirius' spine. The effect was almost instantaneous, Sirius' muscles relaxing as he sighed, whining lowly.

The sound was almost lost in the obsidian ocean of James' cries but Euphemia was so attuned to him, she couldn't have possibly missed it. She watched as Sirius' face relaxed and he suddenly looked incredibly young, so innocent yet so broken. Euphemia's eyes prickled and her heart cried blood at all the cruelty in this world, all the cruelty in this young boy's life.

How could any human have it in their heart to hurt another human in this way, let alone their own child? She was filled with a burning fury only someone who deeply loved knew and she wanted to burn, to destroy, to make every single one of them pay. With renewed strength, she continued her work, moving with a fluidity around her husband that only came from almost half a decade of being married.

A long while later, Sirius was finally stable enough for them to start moving him to their home and onto a soft bed instead of the hardwood floors of the shed.

Fleamont had finished his part 5 minutes ago, the empty vials of potion long vanished, and was hugging his trembling son tightly, running his hands through the unruly locks that were so similar to his own to calm him down, just like he always did when James had had a nightmare. James was still clutching Sirius' hand in his own as if Sirius would fade away if James wasn't anchoring him to this world.