Sirius can't believe anything that's happened to him over the last few days. It is all one surrealblur, all tears and grief and blood and rage, all madness and treachery. He can't believe any of it because he cannot believe that whatever god might exist could ever be such a tosser.
He is tracking Wormtail down now, the bastard, and he wonders how everything could have gone so wrong. Just a week or so ago he'd been at the Potters', lifting little Harry up on his shoulders, laughing at James's complete inability to master his muggle television and doing his best to annoy Lily; and now, now they were both cold and dead, lifeless, buried under several feet of earth, and Harry bundled off to some magic-hating family of Lily's.
He swears, at everything and nothing in particular.
He wonders where Remus is, and is immediately hit by the familiar guilt and hurt that seems to accompany thinking about Remus these days. He doesn't know how he could ever have suspected Remus, quiet, harmless Remus with his books and tea and his kind eyes, of being the spy. He wishes he could take back everything he had said to Remus those few weeks, all the accusations and the lies.
Every bit your parents' son, aren't you, Sirius? says Remus's quiet voice in his head. They must be proud.
Shut up, he tries to tell his head half-heartedly, and wonders if he is going mad.
He stops now, and marvels. He has reached his destination, and as he walks up the street he spots his quarry. The sight of Wormtail looking haggard and ill fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, and he places a ready hand on his wand. The thought of revenge stirs in him an unpleasant joy, but a joy nevertheless. It stirs up joy and hatred, madness and an all-consuming rage.
The traitor is approaching him, and Sirius waits.
Peter is only a few metres away now, and Sirius draws his wand.
'Sirius-' the Rat attempts.
'Shut up!' Sirius screams. 'Shut the fuck up, Pettigrew!'
He is filled with a fury so intense it scares even himself. He is not surprised to see Wormtail taking a few steps back.
He wants to kill him. It is no passing fancy, no ridiculous idea; Sirius Black really and truly wants to murder Peter Pettigrew.
He wants to use the Cruciatus Curse, give him pain, pain, so much pain that he is on his knees begging fire him to stop.
He wants to hurt Peter, wants to destroy him. Keep hurting him until he breaks, until he falls and begs and grovels, until he is gone; and then hurt him some more.
He wants to reduce Peter to nothing but a shadow, a husk, with no thought, no substance, no meaning, no life, until he feels what Sirius is feeling, until he knows what he has done.
There is some part of Sirius that protests, that squeals and screams and begs for him to stop, that is revulsed and appalled. But Sirius knows it will be overpowered, the urge will be fought, and this last, desperate bid for reason will fail. His madness will triumph.
He raises his wand, magic and power thrumming through his fingers gripped tightly around the smooth wood, a crucio on the tip of his tongue.
Pettigrew pulls himself together.
'James and Lily, Sirius,' the Rat says loudly. 'How could you?'
Sirius snarls, raises his wand, blind with fury - and stops.
James and Lily, Sirius.
His breath hitches.
How could you?
He cannot breathe.
