Sectumsempra
April 1st, 1980
Regulus
A drop of dew must be acquired from a place that has been touched by neither sunlight nor human feet. This ingredient is to be added to a vial with the mandrake leaf.
Easy enough, Regulus supposes. Or at least, he knows of a place that fits the description, and Kreacher can go and fetch a drop of dew. There were dense forests along the coast of where the cave was. Regulus remembers seeing them and wondering how anything could thrive in the darkness that must lurk in the thick trees so close together. It was how he undoubtedly had known that Kreacher had brought him to the right place.
With Remus recovering from the full moon the night before, Regulus orders Kreacher to go recover the dew while he sets himself to making breakfast, or attempting to anyway. Oatmeal and toast sound simple enough, and they’ll be easy for Remus to keep down on an uneasy stomach.
The man in question clambers down the stairs halfway through Regulus’ process and sits at the kitchen table, watching in amusement.
“You say a word about this, and I’ll shove it down your throat,” Regulus threatens. Remus just raises his hands in mock surrender.
It turns out to be edible, and Regulus is sort of proud of himself, in the embarrassing way that a nineteen-year-old would be after cooking a meal for the first time in his life. Remus had offered to make the coffee, but Regulus had refused to allow him to exert himself in any way and instead insisted on him only giving Regulus the instructions on how to do it himself.
Remus
Remus hates being treated like his condition makes him vulnerable. He can still do everything for himself that anyone else can, albeit certain physical activities cause him pain.
If it were anyone else waiting around on him and cooking him breakfast as if he couldn’t do it himself, he’d snap at them. With Regulus, however, he finds himself weirdly appreciating the gesture. Regulus is emotionally stunted, unsure and unable to express his feelings in any typical way, and he’s learned through experience that the younger man’s way of showing his love is by doing things for the people he cares about.
He’d picked it up from watching how Sirius would show affection, who’d learned it growing up and realizing that if he wanted his parents’ approval, he had to do something worthwhile to earn it. The older of the brothers had long since stopped caring about earning their mother and father’s love, but the habit had been stuck by the time he did.
They ate the breakfast in the same silence that the pair had grown accustomed to in each other’s presence, comfortable and needing no words spoken between them. The clinking of spoons against their bowls filled the space, though not awkwardly.
As they’re finishing, Kreacher appears in the kitchen with a crack and presents Regulus with a small glass vial, a single drop of some clear, almost shimmering, liquid inside of it. Regulus pockets it immediately, pointedly not looking at Remus as he levitates his dishes to the sink and whisks himself out of the room. Remus feels a smile tug at his lips. He’s familiar enough with the process on becoming an Animagus to recognize it.
“There’s supposed to be an electrical storm next week,” Remus comments idly to the elf that remains in the room. He’s been keeping up with the news through the muggle radio, while Regulus has been obtaining copies of the daily prophet through Kreacher. “It’s supposed to be a bad one, so neither of us would be best to leave the house.”
“Of course not,” Kreacher agrees, a glint in his beady eyes. “Master Regulus and Master Lupin never leave the house anyway. Kreacher does not know why Master Lupin would mention it.” He disapparates from the room with a crack, leaving Remus by himself to finish his breakfast, his heart feeling as full as his stomach.
James
He’s never seen Sirius this reckless, and that’s really saying something. In the nine and a half years that James has known his best friend, the older has perhaps done a lot of questionable, possibly stupid things. But he’s never been so careless with his life.
He’s flinging curse after curse at the death eaters before them, some of which the legality is dubious at best. Sirius isn’t covering himself at all, focusing only on the offensive, which leaves James to defend the both of them. Three of their enemies fall one after the other in such quick succession that James can’t keep up with it.
There’s chaos all around them, four more death eaters face off with three other members of the order while James and Sirius are backed into a metaphorical corner by three death eaters closing in on them from all sides, having seen the threat that Sirius poses. It’s miraculous that none of their allies have fallen yet.
“Sectumsempra!” shouts an unfamiliar voice, but the spell itself is recognized by James as his blood runs cold. He has no time to react as the jet of light hits Sirius square in the abdomen. Before Sirius even hits the ground, James can see his intestines spilling out from the gash in his stomach, held in only by the hands that Sirius instinctively flings over the wound.
The younger of the pair feels a fear like he’s never felt before, and blind rage quickly hits him next. In the moment of his distraction, he’s narrowly missed by two more of Snape’s cutting curses thrown at him by the same man, a third catching on his arm. The pain sears through his muscle, but he keeps his grip on his wand, spinning around to cast a blasting curse at the two death eaters in front of him, then another at the one closing in on behind. It's the first time James has ever actually killed in a battle, but he doesn’t dwell on the sick feeling washing over him at the thought as he falls to the ground next to Sirius, holding his hands over the elder’s. Sirius is gasping for air and coughing up blood all at once, his face twisted in pain. “James-” he gasps. “I’m sorry.”
“No no no no,” James pleads with his best friend. “I’m not losing you; you’re not letting go on me.”
Sirius’ eyes begin to flutter closed as his face relaxes, and James desperately shakes him. He cups Sirius face and slaps his cheeks. “Do you hear me, Sirius? DO YOU HEAR ME? I SAID I’M NOT FUCKING LOSING YOU! PLEASE! Please, please, please wake up Sirius!”
In his despair, James hadn’t realized that the sounds of the battle had died off, until someone is wrapping their arms around him and pulling him away. He fights against them with all that he has, though his strength is becoming less by the second. “Quiet Potter, we’re trying to help him.” Moody’s gruff voice is in his ear. “Don’t you go attacking your own wife there, you fool.”
James tries to blink away his tears and sees Lily deftly working on Sirius’ wound, her lips moving a mile a minute as his abdomen begins to stitch itself up.
“What’s she-” James trails off, unable to form a proper sentence.
“We called her here as soon as the battle was over, and it was safe. She’s the best healer we’ve got on hand with Fabian out on another skirmish. Idiot as he may be, Black ain’t one that we can afford to lose.”
They get Sirius safely to Potter Manor, where James’ parents are already waiting for them with a bedroom temporarily set up in the drawing room on the first floor so that he won’t need to be taken upstairs. His breathing is too shallow for James’ liking, even if Lily assures him that she’s done everything she can and that he should wake up within a few hours. “His hearts steady and he’s responsive to light and sound,” she tells everyone in the room. Euphemia lets out a sigh of relief from where she’s wiping away the blood and grime from Sirius’ stomach with a cloth by hand. “It was a close call, though, and he won’t be fit to fight again for several weeks.
“Just as well,” Moody says from the corner of the room. “He won’t be allowed to fight until he’s got his head back on straight and gets over Lupin.” James flinches at the harshness of the words, but no one present bothers to reprimand the man for them, used to his straightforward attitude.
Sirius
Sirius does indeed come to consciousness just as dawn breaks, and the first thing he registers is the feint feeling of disappointment.
He wasn’t entirely sure of all that had transpired after he was hit with the curse, but he recognizes the first-floor drawing room in Potter Manor, where he lays in a comfortable four-poster bed. Comfortable being a relative term, given that no part of his body feels like so at the moment. His throat is parched and his head throbs. A fever burns through his whole body, and that’s not to mention the pure agony in his middle region. He turns his head slightly to see Fleamont by his side, and it then that he notices the old man pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. He offers Sirius a tight smile, pain in his eyes, though Sirius’ eyesight is a bit to blurry to fully make him out.
“You gave us a good scare there, Son.”
“’M sorry.”
“Shhh, don’t speak. Just rest, my boy.”
And he drifts back into unconsciousness.