Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

Chapter 12

"James, get up."

That Sev-shaped heat had disappeared. James grunted and swiped his pillow, curling around it. There was a hand shaking his shoulder.

"Something's going on."

James snapped his eyes open at the thready quality of Severus's voice. The other boy was leaning over him, already dressed in those white hospital clothes, white robe thrown over his shoulders. Black hair almost covering his entire face as he leaned over and shook James.

Dawn was breaking over the horizon. Orange light was filtering in through the window. He rubbed his eyes in confusion and glanced at the clock on the shelf, stuffed between the books. The hands read 4:47 am.

Dawn was still over an hour away. That wasn't sunlight he saw.

Now that he was awake he could hear people running back and forth just outside Severus's door. They were speaking in hushed, anxious voices. James leapt off the bed and scrambled toward the window. He couldn't see much, but the fire was coming from the direction of Diagon Alley.

"Get dressed," James said.

"I'm already dressed."

"Put on the clothes I bought you. You're signing yourself out."

"No I'm not," Severus said, his upper lip curling disdainfully. It was the same expression he used to wear right before a fight broke out, the "You're-Nothing-But-A-Bug-Underneath-My-Shoe" look that always used to push every button James had. It made him want to throttle Sev- or maybe throw him over his shoulder and carry him to safety, then throttle him. There was going to be throttling.

"Why are you always so difficult?" James hissed.

"I'm not difficult. You're difficult."

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. "Diagon Alley is clearly under attack again."

"We're not in Diagon Alley. We're in a loony bin. I don't think the Death Eaters have any interest in the people here."

Severus turned around and sat down in the chair beside his desk, his hands clutching at the arms in a white-knuckled grip. His entire body was tense, ready to spring, and James sighed quietly. Pushing wasn't going to work, that would only make Severus dig his heels in more.

James went down on his knees in front of him and Severus jumped a little at the sight. "If you stay, then I'll stay."

"You're not a patient, Potter-"

"I can be. I can donate enough money to get this entire hospital renamed to St Potter if I wanted. I can be a patient."

"Don't be stupid. You're so stupid."

"Then come with me. Whatever you're scared of, I can protect you from it, but I can't do that while you're in here. There are Muggleborn patients here, Muggleborn mediwizards, and the Death Eaters don't obey the rules of war."

Severus looked away. He was still holding onto the chair in a death grip.

"We need more room!"

"We need beds! Transfigure those boxes! Put them there!"

They shared a look. Severus sucked in a breath and pushed himself up with great reluctance, while James scrambled for his discarded robes, shoving his legs into his trousers, and grabbed his invisibility cloak that was still tucked into a pocket. He pulled it over himself and hovered just behind Severus, peering over his shoulder as he cracked the door open.

At first all James could see were dozens of bodies levitating in mid-air. They undulated, as if floating in the middle of an ocean. They weren't patients; many were wearing pyjamas, or fancy robes for a night on the town, and all were covered in blood. Healers were rushing around, trying to find space for them all while a small contingent of Aurors barked out orders. James felt his heart stop when his eyes fell on Sirius. There was a cut running down the side of his face. It was still bleeding, still pulsing softly in time to every beat of his heart. He looked like a kid standing next to the grizzled, old veteran; a lost little kid who didn't know what he had gotten himself into.