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Chapter Thirty Nine: Home

7 December, 1982

The battlefield dissolved into a blur and the sounds of people screaming faded to nothingness. The orange glow of the setting sun was distorted by the red and green lights of the spells that were being shot everywhere, and the black hooded cloaks formed a deathly silhouette against the blood red sky, the death eater masks conforming to the dark aura emanated by Voldemort's loyal followers. The battle was carried out silently, thanks to the non verbal spells, but resulted in mighty chaos, muggles screaming and running for their lives, while wizards let out cries of pain with each spell hitting their bodies. The death eaters seemed to have kept themselves busy, having created new and much more sinister spells that did not kill, but left the victims in a state of semiconsciouness, begging for some release.

Amidst the chaos was Sirius Black, his hands in a blur as he shot spells left and right, jaws set tightly, and hair flying around his face like a halo. He could see blood as he moved around, but he didn't know where it was coming from, nor could he feel any pain in any part of his body. The battle has maddened him and the only thing that mattered was taking down as many of his enemies as possible.

His opponent's mask fell, and a familiar, but loathed face greeted him with a sneer, his pale face masked by a curtain of greasy hair. "Snivellus," he hissed menacingly, trying to channel as much of his hatred into the word as possible, and he was successful. He had somehow gained more control of his actions, and instead of bottling his emotions inside him, he has learnt to channel them into his speech, in his actions, whether in the battlefield, or whether at home - if he could call, whatever he had, a home - and Sirius knew that he was slowly turning into a monster, unending hatred spewing out in everything he did, everything he said, but he didn't care.

He didn't care because it felt so good.

Snape was, regrettably, very good at duelling, and the more times Sirius failed to deliver the killing curse, the more he sneered at him, laughing at him, taunting him, like he used to do at Hogwarts, and the more Sirius's madness grew. His inner Black was showing, the genes he had inherited from his parents, the ones that said he was ruthless, merciless, just like the crazy pureblood families, but Sirius didn't regret it. If showing his dark side meant killing Voldemort's followers with absolutely no feeling of guilt afterwards, then so be it. He was a Black and a Black he would be.

There was a commotion heard, and the death eaters began to flee. Snivellus backed away too, but continued shooting spells because Sirius didn't stop. A raging madness has taken over him and he wasn't ready to let him go. He would kill him. He would kill him.

Suddenly, he toppled to the ground with a cry of pain, and blood gushed out of his leg. To his left, the death eater who had shot him laughed maniacally and ran away, and Snape moved too. Desperately, he raised his wand to try another curse on him, but before he could get his pained, exhausted body to form any desire to shoot a spell, he was already gone.

"You snivelling coward!" he yelled as loudly as humanely possible, and as a result, let out another cry of pain as a terrible ache shot through his leg. He clutched his leg close to him, and gritted his teeth, taking in large deep breaths in an attempt to fight the pain. Nathan came up to him a minute later and crouched down beside him, giving a glance in his direction before looking away quickly, as though he was afraid of him. He tore Sirius's pants below his knee and revealed the large gash on his muscle, from which blood was flowing out in angry rivulets. He cursed and began to work on it.

When the pain had become somewhat bearable, Sirius opened his eyes and let them drift around to take in his surroundings. Numerous muggles were running around and screaming their heads off, while wizards made a futile attempt to obliviate them. It wasn't working. The death eaters had chosen a perfect spot to unleash their hatred - the marketplace in a busy day - and the muggles have seen too much, maybe even understood them. There was no denying what has happened, and even though it brought a cold feeling to erupt in Sirius's chest, he knew what was to come - the existence of wizards would be revealed to the whole world.

But at the current moment, he couldn't care less, and when Nathan apparated him home, he collapsed into his bed and remained lying there for several hours afterwards.

What he called home and bed, weren't actually those in the technical sense. Their whereabouts have been revealed to the enemies, meaning they could no longer stay there, and the only place of refuge they could find at the shortest notice was an abandoned muggle warehouse in a remote place in the countryside. It was made completely of wood, and the interior was small for a typical warehouse, but big enough to house them comfortably. Several wooden crates along with merchandise were lying around, which they had lined up neatly to form the equivalent of 'rooms.' Inside three of these rooms, they had hung hammocks, which were then laden with blankets and pillows. All of these materials, they had found by scouring through the crates.

The wooden plates forming the warehouse let icy air in, and they had used magic to protect themselves from it as much as possible. Other protective enchantments have, of course, been applied.

It wasn't much. But it was home.