The Marauders: Year Seven Part One

It Would've Been the End of Sirius Black

"Sirius?" Peter squeaked in surprise. He bit his lip and shook his head, "I'm sorry, Sirius, if this is to get me to come to the camp, I still ca--"

"I'm at St. Mungo's."

Peter stopped mid-sentence as Sirius cut him off. He sat up right, pulling the mirror from the drawer of his nightstand, a rush of urgency going through him. "What?"

Sirius's lower jaw quaked, "Pete, it was awful. It was bleedin' awful. Someone's gotta go find Moony and - and help him -- I -- I left, I had to leave, I couldn't stay, and --" His voice shook. "Please."

"I don't know how to get out there by myself," Peter panicked, "I can't apparate." But even as he said it, he started putting on his trainers, putting the mirror beside him on the bed, and reaching for his divination stones from under his pillow.

"Floo over to the Potters," Sirius said, "Mr. P will know how to get in touch with Dumbledore and Dumbledore knows where Mr. Scamander is and -- surely one of them can help him." Sirius's voice shook, "Oh Wormtail." 

Peter nodded, "Right. Right. I'll go. Right away, of course." He finished knotting his shoelaces and jumped up, shoving the velvet bag of stones into his pocket. "How about you, Padfoot? Are you alright?" His brow furrowed with concern.

"I'll be alright," Sirius said, though his voice didn't sound quite as confident as Peter would have liked.

"After I tell the Potters, I'll come to Mungo's," Peter promised. "So you aren't alone."

"Thanks, Pete," Sirius said as Peter slid the mirror into his jumper pocket.

Sirius lowered his half of the mirror, his arm burning in pain from holding it up. He looked down at his chest. It was raw, as red as uncooked steak, and burned with pain as it bubbled and oozed. His wand lay at his side - the leather jacket he'd been wearing, in which the mirror had been stowed, hung over the end of the bed he laid in. On the night stand stood a skin-colored bottle that steamed and gave out low hisses now and then, similar to the sound of the bubbling on his chest. He'd awakened this way mere moments ago.

Flashes of memories bounced off the inside of his mind...

They'd been swimming, the moon turning the water's surface silver. Sirius was barking and running, and Remus, too, and they'd been swimming and playing around. Remus was as himself as the transformation allowed, and they were having fun, it was like the old times, and Sirius had been thinking just how good this moon was going - remembering the first time Remus had been fully Remus. They were happy and together and safe. Sirius had been barking happily, like laughter as they played. Looking back, he realized suddenly that it was probably the barking that had drawn the attention to them - probably the barking, too, that had distracted Sirius enough to miss the sounds and smells of the approaching enemies.

Two wolves had emerged from the trees (just the two at first) - a jet black wolf, and a scrappy-looking tan one. Sirius had caught the scent of them at last and spun about in the ankle deep water to see them just as the hair on Remus's wolf's hackles had risen up, the wolfish instincts suddenly taking over, Remus falling behind the werewolf. Sirius's own hair had stood on end, too.

And suddenly from the tree line on their left had emerged a whole load of wolves - at least five more - and the were running at the water, and Remus was running at them, and the two that had first appeared were running into the fray, too, and there was a good deal of gnashing teeth and snapping jaws, of cries of outrage and pain, whimpers and howling. The wolves were much larger and more powerful than Sirius's dog form and he knew there was no way to help Remus except to get the hell away from the pack before one of them killed him. He formed the fastest plan he could - get away from them, transform while they were distracted, and stupefy the lot of them.