Not the Bastard Who Stripped Snape's Pants

He wasn't the bastard who used to strip Snape's pants.

Inside the Pensieve, the night of August 13, 2002. London.

The sky hung heavy with dark clouds, as if ash-gray magic had smothered the whole city. Damp. Clammy. The kind of weather that practically begged for someone to die. A moldy stench—like a faceful of laundry left wet too long—crawled straight into my lungs. It felt like the leftover grime of the Industrial Revolution, stuff that should have been buried and turned to dust ages ago, was still clinging secretly to the city's lungs.

Ha… you son of a bitch. At least give a guy time to brace himself. The customer's always right, you know.

The Sirius Black incident. In the original it had been 1981 or something, but here it went down in August 2002. Growing up in this world I'd seen it rehashed endlessly on the news and internet forums, and every time I was shocked at how different it was from what I knew.

Originally twelve people died and Sirius Black got hauled off laughing. Beyond what the BBC and the Daily Prophet had spoon-fed me, I knew nothing about what actually happened that day or who was there. All I had were the original novels and a handful of printed words and numbers from this world's news.

Boom—

An explosion tore through the air somewhere.

Aaaagh—

Screams followed hard on its heels.

Boom—

Again.

"Damn it! When the hell is Mad-Eye getting here?! They said thirty minutes!"

Someone's shout ricocheted between the alley walls. Terror laced the voice—no, more irritation than terror. The tone of a man who knew he was about to die, whose backup still hadn't shown, and who was pissed off about it. Screams rose from every direction. Spells crossed like a ragged orchestra: explosions, flashes of light, the sharp whistle of air being sliced open. An untuned, screeching cacophony.

It felt exactly like the symptoms I'd been living with for years. The headaches that started right after I entered Hogwarts. Emotions flipping every second. The whirlpools inside my skull that would drive me insane if I didn't take the meds—now they were playing out as sound.

Then someone grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face into the wet pavement. Cold moisture kissed my cheek; dirt flooded my mouth.

"Marcus, you crazy bastard! What are you spacing out for?! You almost just died!"

The voice poured down from above. Right. In this body my name was Marcus. The instructor's name. I was wearing his shell.

"Get your head on straight. We have to stay alive until Mad-Eye arrives in thirty minutes."

"Mad-Eye? Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Yeah. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement's ace, Mad-Eye. Currently out on the London outskirts hunting Bellatrix Lestrange."

Damn it. Why is Mad-Eye still out there? This is nothing like watching it on the news. What the hell is going on—

"What are the higher-ups even thinking? Law Enforcement and the Police Department are already at each other's throats inside the Ministry, and now the Defense Minister's calling in the army? I'm losing it. Hey, Marcus. Snap out of it, man. What's wrong with you today? Street fighting isn't exactly new."

The man's voice was urgent. He looked late thirties, a Black Auror with a thick beard. I didn't know his name, but his eyes were crystal clear—fear and duty tangled together. A face that felt both familiar and completely strange.

"Understood."

The answer left my mouth on autopilot.

"What? Suddenly 'understood'? Why are you talking like that? Snap out of it, Marcus. It's me, Tobias. Me. Anyway, you got Mum home safe, right? Let's join up right now."

So he and Marcus—me—knew each other.

"Ah… yeah, yeah. Right!"

"Good. Keep your head clear and sprint down that alley. Toward Bloomsbury. Get over there and seal the intersection leading to the school. Students are still evacuating. We have to block it from there."

"Uh… the school side?"

"Get a grip, you idiot. What are you doing? You know our sector is Zone 3, right? Air support's almost here. Just hold until then. All we have to do is keep them from breaking the cordon. I'm the sector lead, so I'll radio when the magic-suppression field is up. The second you hear the all-clear, turn around and run for King's Cross. Same as always—see you alive. We'll go home, watch the match, have a drink. Arsenal's looking solid this season, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"Later!"

He said nothing more. Just turned and sprinted off somewhere again.

Suddenly blasting curses rained from the dark sky. The man tried to dodge in a panic—then saw the East Asian boy hiding. Oh no…

Tobias squeezed his eyes shut, piled every scrap of debris he could find over the boy, then threw his own body on top. I stared blankly at his back. Tobias glanced at me—at Marcus—and gave a small grin.

Then he was launched into the air. Blood erupted. He crumpled to the ground and never lifted his head again. Just a lump of meat. The boy trembled underneath him. Strength drained from my hands; my stomach heaved.

"Over here, hurry!"

I waved the East Asian kid over, then told him to run the opposite way from what Tobias had said. Suddenly everything went white.

"Fuck…… fuck……"

I whipped my head around and sucked in a huge breath. The kid had bolted, then curled up crying in a corner—exactly like me in first year.

After dropping into this world at nine and waiting until fourteen to enter Hogwarts, the school I'd dreamed of wasn't the pumpkin-juice fairy tale I remembered.

Blind hatred: a handsome East Asian orphan adopted by a rich family, selling his body and face, buying his way in with donations.

Fear and violence: their white friends washed out of Hogwarts and ended up at third-rate local magic schools, while some orphaned Asian kid walked the halls in their place.

And the slimy intelligence of the ones who beat and tormented me behind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my successful friends' backs. Bastards. Coming to Hogwarts hadn't been a mistake—school bullying was just as calculated here.

Maybe I never told anyone and just took the hits because the version of me who'd looked forward to this place felt even more disgusting. Or maybe because if my friends found out, I'd have to comfort them while being the victim, and that was too much hassle and too embarrassing.

Meds… I need the meds. Where are they? I always keep them in my inner pocket. Ah. This isn't my body.

Hoo—

Haa—

Vomit surged up without warning.

"Haa, haa. This is… this is way too real. Does this even make sense? A Pensieve isn't supposed to be like this."

I emptied everything inside me and wiped the stinging tears from my eyes. Luckily the kid was gone.

"Crazy bastards. Just carpet-bombing? It's 2002, not 1902. You primitive wizard pieces of shit—aren't you even scared of public opinion?"

After a long stretch of dry heaving I finally steadied myself and looked around. The mouth of the alley leading to Bloomsbury. Narrow—less than three meters wide—flanked by packed red-brick buildings. Nothing like the glass towers of the City of London; old, creaking places where the landlords probably lived in Chelsea mansions and everyone here paid rent. Moss grew between the bricks; most windows were shut. I felt eyes watching through curtain gaps. Civilians holding their breath, watching the show. I forced strength into my shaking legs and stepped into the alley.

The ancient radio clipped to my belt—something I hadn't even noticed—crackled to life.

Someone's howl came through, but I forced myself to ignore it and kept walking. Tobias's body shattering kept replaying behind my eyelids, so I squeezed them shut. The moment I took another step, another explosion detonated somewhere.

"Confringo—!"

Someone shouted. Blasting Curse. The air split and red fragments screamed toward me. My body moved on instinct.

"Protego!"

The spell burst from my mouth. A transparent barrier flared from the tip of the wand in my hand. The air shimmered like a pane of glass floating midair. The explosion's force slammed into it and died. Shockwaves scattered across the surface; tiny shards of flame sprayed everywhere.

Curses and bile rose again, but I forced them down and felt the strange current circulating inside me. I managed to still my trembling body, tapped my own cheek, and exhaled. The aftertaste of the bombardment brushed my nose. This veteran Auror's body seemed to convert even magic into pure sensation.

The radio at my hip crackled again—that distinctive tinny quality of early-2000s analog gear.

Aggressive use authorized. Meaning we could now fight with the intent to kill. So what the hell was that Confringo that just came at me? Some bastard reading the future?

"So everything up till now was just warm-up?"

More radio chatter poured in. Thanks to the orientation so kindly provided by that Marcus bastard, the radio was my only window on the situation.

No Twitter or Instagram back then.

My heart hammered. No more of the bombardment that killed Tobias—instead we had to walk straight into the cordon where Sirius Black was waiting.

The constant radio chatter was starting to make my ears hurt.

"The Ministry's actually competent as hell? What? Everything except Zone 3 is already done?"

Ah, damn it. Because of me Tobias died, so Zone 3 still isn't finished. Then a shout cut through the radio.

My heart lurched. Sirius Black. The man at the center of this battle. In the original, the first wizard to escape Azkaban. Branded a mass murderer, that rabid-dog existence. Here he was still in his prime, not yet locked away.

A jolt—

My senses had been razor-sharp for a while now, several times sharper than normal. The fine hairs on my fingertips stood on end; I could feel the exact angle of every muddy sweat drop sliding down my nose.

Some kind of Spidey-sense? Does that mean my luck's about to turn to shit? Ptooey ptooey ptooey.

Because of Marcus Weybridge's body, the terror and dread of my own soul came through even clearer.

"School, the alley leading to the school. Where is it, which way do I go? No navigation—I'm going insane."

And then—

I saw him. Sirius Black.

He rounded the alley corner looking far more wrecked than I'd imagined. Hair matted like a crow's nest, eyes completely mad. Dried blood crusted around his mouth; his pupils swung wildly between despair and frenzy. Clothes shredded; the stench of sweat, blood, and filth rolled off him. The smell of rage. The smell of despair.

"I didn't do it! I really don't remember!!!"

He screamed. His voice cracked—the rage and despair of a man no one would listen to. It was strange how clearly I could feel the emotion in his magic. Did all Aurors sense it like this?

"Malfoy isn't on your side! I am! I'm on the side of justice! Why won't anyone believe me?! I'm in the Order of the Phoenix!!"

His wand snapped up.

"Confringo!"

The wall in front of me exploded into fragments that scraped my face. Hot. Skin felt like it was burning. A brick shard sliced my cheek; warm liquid ran down. Blood. The memory I'd been forcing down clawed its way back up—the terrified boy, Tobias turned to ash……

Swallow it— go down— this is not the time for sentiment.

I threw myself sideways on pure reflex and shouted.

"Confringo!"

Our curses met midair and ricocheted. Fragments collided and rebounded; a near-sonic shockwave punched my ears. Everything went muffled. My eardrums felt ready to burst. Even while swearing viciously, my brain kept analyzing.

Are all Aurors like this? This is ridiculous. So everyone else has been feeling magic this way. I've just been nerfed the whole time.

Sirius Black laughed. Blood tears streaming, laughing like a maniac.

"Hahaha… hahahaha…!"

The laughter filled the alley.

Is he insane? I know he's not the real culprit and he's still terrifying as hell.

Intellectually I knew. He wasn't the real killer. He'd been framed. But right now, staring into those mad eyes, that knowledge meant nothing.

I backed away and raised my wand high. Stunning Spell. Red light lanced from the tip. Faster than a person could easily dodge, slower than a bullet. Sirius didn't even try to dodge—just flicked his wand. His Disarming Charm batted mine aside. Red light scattered, sparking against the walls.

I answered with a Fire-Making Spell. Orange flames roared from my wand. Sirius flicked again. A jet of water erupted. Fire and water collided midair with a hiss; steam billowed. Scalding vapor swallowed everything. Vision blurred.

I retreated, scanning. His silhouette moved faintly through the steam—coming toward me. Another Blasting Curse. I rolled sideways; the spot I'd just occupied exploded. Pavement shattered; shards peppered my back. It hurt.

I rose and raised my wand. For the first time I attempted a proper spell. Disarming Charm. White light shot from the tip. A spell I normally couldn't use properly—or rather, I could cast it but it never fully activated. Now it was different. This was a trained Auror's body. The spell fired clean. White light streaked toward Sirius's wand.

He dodged. A casual twist of the body. Then he swung his wand.

"Fulmine fulminare—"

The instant Sirius finished the incantation, searing heat crashed over me.

Lightning?

"Fuck, lightning? Lightning? This is the Wizarding World!"

Blue lightning erupted from his wand tip. Superheated, compressed bolts warped the air as they flew. My wand came up on pure reflex.

The spell Kingsley Shacklebolt—our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last term—had drilled into us hardest of all.

Protego.

He always said you couldn't just charge into a fight the moment you met enemies; the best move was to block once at the perfect timing, then run like hell. He'd made us master it through endless repetition.

Will this even work?

I poured power into the wand and swung.

"Protego Maxima!"

A transparent barrier flared and caught the lightning.

The impact was enormous. Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield; the wand shook in my grip. Magic drained in a violent rush.

"It works!"

I kicked a David Beckham billboard that had been knocked over by the lightning shockwave, sent it flying at Sirius Black, then spun and ran for my life. I smashed a smoke-vial and sprinted like a madman.

"Zone 3. Zone 3. Zone 3. Ah, fuck, where the hell is Zone 3?!!!"

London in 2002 was a little different from the London I knew.

"Why are the zones numbers instead of names? Baker Street or something—I'd actually know where that is."

Think. Don't stop thinking. If feet or thoughts stop, you die. Eugene Kim, think.

London right now was pure chaos. On the outskirts Mad-Eye and Bellatrix were going head-to-head; inside, Sirius Black was on the run.

The Ministry—no, the Police Department—had finished evacuating every zone except Zone 3.

Law Enforcement had been dumping bombs on my head until the Police Department stripped them of command.

Ah, wait. Where am I even supposed to go? I'm supposed to catch Sirius Black, but I'm running away?

…Yet my feet stayed honest and refused to stop. Because there was zero chance of surviving against this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠black-haired foreigner—no, Brit—who was throwing lightning around.

Okay. First, what I know about this day. August 13, 2002, London. Sirius Black gets taken alive by Mad-Eye Moody. Right before Mad-Eye arrives, three Members of Parliament pin Sirius down and become the heroes who saved London. That's it. Damn it, completely useless.

The sign ahead: King's Way.

"This is one of the zones they said was already evacuated on the radio, right?"

Right turn for now. When in doubt, turn right. Eventually a main road would appear, and then I could check a big sign…

What? Suddenly bone-deep cold. Still August, yet it felt like winter; my body started shivering. Fog settled low, like storm clouds hugging the roadside.

Dementors? No. Dementor cold is the metaphorical chill of fear and despair. This is pure temperature drop. Cold itself. But why is it getting cold? Because it's night? In August?

I tore through the smoke, thinking hard as I ran.

Get a grip—Eugene Kim, get a grip. There's definitely a strategy. In the end he gets caught and locked in Azkaban. I must be missing something.

Honk-honk—

A double-decker bus was barreling straight at me.

Ah. Reaching the main road hadn't been the plan quite like this.

I tried to dodge—then the road signs warped into circles and snapped. They reshaped into arrows and flew at me; a no-parking sign stabbed into the ground at my feet. He'd already caught up. Did he have a booster or something? Why so fast? Why is he even chasing me? Wasn't Sirius Black supposed to be running? Why is he coming to kill a fleeing Auror too?

I locked eyes with the terrified bus driver. As I threw myself aside, the driver's eyes overlapped with the eyes of the kid Tobias had shielded.

"Hoo…… Glisseo!"

My feet slid across the uneven asphalt like figure skates, carrying me clear.

"Accio—bus!"

I barely caught the bus an instant before it smashed into the traffic light and stopped it cold.

"Haa…"

The moment I muttered that, a school-zone warning sign was already in my face. I jerked my head back and saved my face, but it slammed straight into my left shoulder.

"Think the bone's broken……"

I gritted my teeth and raised my wand. Severing Charm. I sliced the flying traffic signs apart. Invisible blades kept cutting the air, streaking toward Sirius. He flicked his wand lightly again. The blades met roaring flames and died. Then he counterattacked.

"Confringo! Confringo! Confringo!"

Three explosions in rapid succession. I rolled sideways, backward, sideways again. A Chanel sign disassembled letter by letter and flew at me; I barely tumbled clear. Fuck, in my past life I used to tremble buying clearance socks at Homeplus, not Chanel. The closest Chanel ever got to my life was this? I almost laughed out loud.

"Marcus! Dodge!"

From somewhere else, spells and a swarm of Aurors poured out.

"King's Cross regional unit, surround Sirius Black! Do not let him escape!"

Aurors flooded in and sealed the perimeter. Ah—so Sirius hadn't been chasing me; he'd been fleeing the King's Cross reinforcements down the same path, and decided to take out the guy running in front while he was at it. Goddamn it. Even inside an Auror's body I still felt like a blue-snail trash mob.

"Marcus, did that bastard get Tobias?"

"…Yeah."

Casual speech was right, yeah? I was Special Task Force dress uniform; they were regional.

"…Fuck. Anyway we finished sealing 3rd Street. Luckily no civilians died besides Tobias. Everyone made it to the shelters. Good work luring him this far. Leave the rest to us."

Someone shoved me far back and engaged Sirius. The shockwave from a third explosion grazed me. My robes tore; skin burned.

"Ugh!"

A groan escaped. It hurt. Really hurt. This wasn't a game. Not VR. It was real. The pain was real. I… I could become a corpse too. If that happened… would I actually die?

I stood and clenched the wand hard enough to snap it. Think, Eugene Kim. What am I supposed to do right now? Stop and you die like Tobias. I kept slapping my own cheeks to stay focused.

"Sirius Black! Stop resisting! Do you have any idea how many people have died because of you?!"

"Please, believe me. It wasn't me. I don't even remember coming here. I…"

"You expect us to believe that? The trash who betrayed even his best friends and handed them to the Dark Lord…"

"What…? Betrayed…? Me…?"

Eugene Kim, get a grip. Good. Don't get swept up in emotion. Calm. Scientific.

"Sirius Black! Bellatrix Lestrange is about to be captured by the American forces right now! If you don't want to see your sister die, surrender quietly…"

"Fuck! Who the hell is my sister?!!!!!"

"What? Sirius Black is turning black! Any intel?"

"None. Request bombardment?"

"Are you insane?! There are still two households that haven't evacuated!!!! We have to hold him ourselves!"

Boom—!

"Fuuuuck! Who requested bombardment?! Which of you Prime Minister's Guard Battalion bastards called them back?!!!!!"

"Not us!"

"Not this side either…"

Thud—!

I hid in a corner, face pressed to the ground, slapping my shaking hands and feet while I analyzed Sirius Black's spell patterns. Mostly Blasting Curses and lightning. Strong shields. There was a pattern. A delay after each attack. If I timed that window…

Suddenly everything went white; the air warped and a crushing pressure squeezed my lungs. I coughed up a mouthful of blood and forced my head up. Every fellow Auror was down—turned to ash.

The dead Aurors had all been shielding the Muggle houses. Probably Muggles who hadn't made it out still inside.

The same voice screamed from the radios of the fallen Aurors, but no one was left to answer. The voice in my ear grew fainter, more distorted.

Sirius Black, blackened from head to toe, stood in front of them sobbing, blood still uncleaned, dragging his feet in a daze. The Aurors who had just saved me were ash. Tobias, who had saved me earlier, was meat. Among the corpses, a man with rank insignia—probably the regional commander—had three radios going berserk.

Duke Albus Dumbledore. Order of the Phoenix. Live capture request.

…Are these people insane? Why? Aren't they the side of justice? Shouldn't they fly in right now, stop Sirius somehow, and save the people dying here?

My head rang; curses poured out on their own.

Why aren't they coming? Because they believe Sirius is innocent and framed? Then why the hell did Tobias and the King's Cross unit have to die?

The radio chatter had long since stopped being words and become pure noise. If I knew how to turn it off I would have. Even when I tried to listen I couldn't focus; I couldn't hear. I wanted to stare at Sirius circling over there, but the static made concentration impossible and that just made me angrier.

But there was no choice. Marcus Weybridge had dumped me here with zero briefing, and the only way I could grasp the situation was this noisy radio. I grabbed the two extra radios from the regional commander—leaving the ordinary comms unit that matched mine. One looked like Ministry command net; the other bore the royal crest, so probably high-level orders only. Receive-only; no transmit.

Fuck. While I blankly listened to the noise blob on the radio, Sirius Black was already walking toward me, step by deliberate step.

My gut clenched; cold sweat ran down my spine. I clamped one shaking hand with the other just to keep from dropping the wand. Whether from the ash or something else, Sirius Black looked black. He alone looked like a black-and-white photograph.

"I… I'm not the one doing this… please…"

I sobbed as I lowered my wand slightly toward the approaching figure. Sirius Black hesitated for a fraction of a second. Everything about this London night was already different from the original, yet Sirius's bloodshot eyes were still sad… and clear. Looking at the burned corpses of my fellow Aurors, I clenched my teeth and poured strength into the hand holding the wand.

I loaded magic into the wand and fired a Stunning Spell. Sirius threw himself aside, but it definitely grazed him.

KRA-KOOM!

The haphazard brick pile behind him collapsed in a roar. Sirius was buried underneath.

"Please… please just stop…"

The bricks were shoved aside and a dust-covered man walked out. A thin line of blood ran down his forehead. Sirius wiped it with his hand and smiled sadly.

"You're one of those high-noble lackeys too, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aren't you? The trash who framed me to sell me out and buy yourselves a pardon? You die too. Just die."

Sirius began blackening again.

What the hell. Why does he keep turning pitch black?

I was terrified out of my mind. I flung spells at random without even knowing what I was casting.

"Accio!"

The spell was blocked again by a rock that flew in front of him.

No good. Once is coincidence; twice won't work.

I thought of another approach.

Continuous attack. Faster than he can react.

I leveled the wand straight ahead.

"Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!"

Three spells in rapid succession. Stun, Disarm, Bind. I'd herded him in front of the plaza fountain; I meant to finish it in one go.

Sirius dodged every single one with one fluid motion. He swung his wand in a wide arc.

"Protego Totalum!"

A spherical shield enclosed him. All three of my spells smashed into it. Light scattered in every direction. As if timed, the fountain sprayed water in a cool arc. A rainbow rode the silver sphere of magic like surfing sunlight.

Crazy bastard crazy bastard crazy bastard—he's not the guy who used to strip Snape's pants.

I switched tactics. Brick fragments around me launched and flew at Sirius. He kept the shield up and blocked them all.

Okay, I expected him to stop that much. The important part starts now.

I fired another spell immediately. Freezing Charm. The ground began to ice over. Sirius's footing turned to ice in an instant. He lost balance and staggered.

Now!

I knew the incantation of every spell I'd ever learned. I knew the wand movements. I knew the tone and pitch required. But with my own body those spells had come out no stronger than a Charmander's tail flame. Magic never answered, so I'd just waved the wand exactly like the textbook.

Now it was different. In Marcus Weybridge's body I could feel the magic. The optimal path for every swing was visible. Here, at least, I was someone who could actually use it.

"Stupefy!"

Red light flew. Even off-balance Sirius swung his wand.

"Mobilicorpus!"

His body slid sideways.

Is he fucking kidding me?

I was stunned. Using advanced magic while off-balance. Sirius Black laughed and recovered his footing.

"I used to want to be an Auror like you."

He praised me. But his eyes were cold.

"Please get out of the way. Don't stop me. I have to go. I… I don't want to kill anyone."

Then he raised his wand.

"Confringo Maxima!"

A massive explosion. Everything in front of me vanished. Ground split, walls collapsed, air twisted. The shockwave hurled me backward; my back slammed into a wall. My entire body screamed. Ribs felt broken. No—they probably were. Every breath brought a stabbing pain.

The three radios crackled again and took turns spitting voices.

Yeah, I'm still here. Fuck, come save me already, will you?

Sirius Black was coming. Wand hand trembling violently, footsteps weaving like a drunk dance. At the same time one radio spat a voice that was brutally dry and flat.

The sea of blood in front of me and that mad Sirius Black meant the radio voices no longer reached my ears. Wand. My wand. Somewhere along the way both my wand and my chance of survival had flown off together.

I watched Sirius Black approach and could do nothing. Legs locked, wand gone. Then sirens blared and a single voice poured from the loudspeakers mounted on every public building and plaza.

"Auror, looks like the government isn't abandoning you. I'm jealous."

"…Fuck. You're jealous of that?"

"Of course. I didn't do anything wrong, yet no one believed me. You don't believe me either right now, do you?"

Sirius Black pressed his wand tip under my chin and smiled mournfully. The wand felt both cold and burning hot.

Boom—!

A sudden bombardment slammed down and the distance between Sirius and me opened again. My waist folded under the pressure; I collapsed, heaving.

Fuck, the radio voices were fading so badly I could barely hear them. Whether my ears refused to listen or the radios themselves were wrecked from the constant hits, I couldn't tell.

Click.

The radio spat static one last time and died forever.

Lucius Malfoy is coming? How strong is that bastard in this world? I thought he was just some chaebol chairman. I figured Sirius Black was doable. In the original he never seemed that strong, but if Sirius is this powerful, how terrifying is Voldemort supposed to be? Goosebumps.

Damn it, I was Marcus. Too chaotic—I forgot again. Fudge, you crazy bastard. At least send a rescue bus or something. How the fuck am I supposed to evacuate?

"Ugh…"

I groaned and tried to stand. My body refused. Sirius Black approached slowly. I heard his footsteps. Splash, splash. Wet ground.

"I'm sorry… but you have to stop here."

The blackened figure spoke. Voice cold. Then he brought the wand to my eyes. Dark-red light bloomed at the tip—the color of clotted blood. The air twisted; ominous energy pressed in.

I knew instinctively. If that hit me, I would die. I… I would shatter into dust like those Aurors, like leaves dead and dry for years. Sirius Black laughed as if sobbing.

"Hahaha…. hahaha…! I'm sorry…. I'm really sorry. But if I leave you Ministry Aurors alive…. you'll just become Lucius Malfoy's power, won't you? Dogs for the ones trying to kill Harry? I'm sorry. Truly."

Tears ran from his eyes. Laughing like a maniac, crying at the same time.

"But I have to. I have to protect Harry!"

The dark-red light at the wand tip intensified.

"This… this is fake, right……? Fuck, why is he turning black? What the hell is this? The news never showed anything like this."

And then—

I was numb. No will even to open my eyes. What the hell had I just gone through? Was this really education for sixteen-year-olds?

"Get out here, you idiot. Planning to live in there forever?"

An unfamiliar aristocratic tone mixed with a familiar, cheeky voice. My friend Cedric Diggory. Fellow Hufflepuff, dorm roommate. The bastard I'd grown up with since elementary magic school all the way to Hogwarts. Hearing his voice finally made me feel like I'd returned to reality.

Don't tell me that bastard lasted longer than me?