Only the Brave

Chapter 55: How to save a life

Up until the moment when Bellatrix Lestrange bursts into his room with an absolutely deranged look in her eyes, James never stopped to contemplate whether hospitals are actually all that safe.

It's the middle of the night, because James had to stay an extra one for observation and so that St. Mungo's could appoint him to see a mind healer to deal with the trauma of having to cut off Emmeline's leg to save her life.

Sirius isn't here—he wanted to stay but Moody sent him on assignment claiming they're stretched too thin for him to have a holiday—and Effie is asleep on a chair in the corner. The hospital had been quiet and dark. James had been dozing off, until he wasn't.

Someone's screaming in the corridor, and the lights are flickering. Flashes in various colours pour in through the broken door Bellatrix has just destroyed on her way in. Loud, crashing sounds. The sounds of battle. Death Eaters in the hospital is not something James thought they'd have to worry about, because until that moment it'd been neutral territory. It seems Voldemort doesn't care anymore.

Bellatrix takes out her wand, striding into his room with determination. This is it, then. James thinks he's going to die. There's no time for him to get his wand. He doesn't even know where his wand is. And the only thing he can think of is that he hopes his mother is spared. He won't beg. Won't be undignified. Not for himself. But if it means saving Effie—

"What the fuck?" he yells when Bellatrix doesn't immediately curse him but instead closes a hand with long fingers and sharp nails around his forearm.

Effie's awake now, wand in hand, but she's too slow. She shouts, and aims, but it's too late. James sees the stunning curse fly towards them, but it never lands because Bellatrix apparates right out of his hospital room like that's not supposed to be fucking impossible, tugging James along with her.

They land roughly. Bellatrix lets go of him like it burns her, muttering some curse or other under her breath. James blinks and he's on the floor, on his hands and knees. There's a carpet under his fingers. Soft and velvety. Expensive. He tries to look up, but a boot connects with his ribs and he grunts as he falls. It hurts.

"Stay down," Bellatrix snarls.

At least he's wearing his glasses, James thinks. Small mercies.

"Send a message to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix says to someone James can't see. "We've got the Potter boy, as he requested."

"I still don't understand why he's so bloody important," someone replies. James thinks it might be Dolohov, from the voice, but he's not sure. "What makes the Lord think Dumbledore would try to save this one?"

"He's not bait for Dumbledore," Bellatrix says, and the hissing scratch of her voice makes the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Nothing is making sense to James. He knew he was a target, because him and his air force have caused enough havoc for the Death Eaters to have noticed. They've tried to take him out several times, once it became obvious he was never going to join them and they stopped trying to recruit him.

But capturing him alive? As bait? For who? Sure, Sirius will tear the world down trying to get him back—it's what James would do if the roles were reversed—but why would they want to get back at Sirius now? He's not important enough. Doesn't run the Order or have real influence. It's just odd. And if it's not Sirius, James has no idea who would—

A small cramp-like feeling runs through his every muscle, making him curl on himself on that carpet. It can't be. Surely. No fucking way. It's been a year. Even if they somehow found out about him and Regulus, it's old news by now. Regulus has been a loyal Death Eater for too long. Killed too many people. He's bloody engaged to that blond Fawley woman.