A/N: The poem on which this is based is Emily Dickinson's 'One Need Not Be a Chamber to Be Haunted'. It's one of my favourites, and I thought it fit in pretty well with how I imagine Sirius must feel in the years after the Potter's death. Sirius' POV, set in Azkaban. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor 'One Need Not Be a Chamber to Be Haunted'.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.
I feel another dementor glide past the bars of my cell. The sky's a dark, stormy grey outside, but the pitch black of the dementor's cloak is still clearly visible against it, as if it draws in all other light, creating a sort of super-black. Black like my name. Black like my hair. Black like my family.
Even if I couldn't see it, I'd know it was there. It evokes that now-familiar cold, clammy sensation that starts somewhere at the bottom of my stomach and works it way up. Familiar, but one can never get used to it.
My thoughts slip back in time. I'm at Grimmauld Place, a teenager, with my mother bellowing and my father simply staring. His piercing grey eyes bore into me. I can't see Regulus, but I know he is in his room, hands over his ears, trying not to hear what she's saying. Then I'm running, and my eyes are stinging in the frigid evening breeze. I brush away a bead of water that escapes my eye, and realise that I'd have had to do that no matter what the weather.
The dementor's passed onto another prisoner, and my mind's allowed to slide back to the present, uneasily. The aftertaste of that house still lingers, and I feel that if I turn around she'll be standing there, hands on her hips, pouring all of her venom into the gaze that rests upon me.
I can't stand this for another night. I summon what little energy I have and force my bones to shift and contort. It takes longer than it used to, I notice, but the end result is the same. I curl up as a mangy old dog, black like everything else here, and when the next dementor passes I feel only a slight unease. Resting my head on my paws, I finally fall asleep.
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.
I seem to be closer to the ground, now; everything looks a little different from here. I'm acutely aware of the sound of my own breathing, which is heavy and ragged. After taking a minute to adjust, I realise that I'm currently a dog. There's a scuffle from behind, and I glance over my shoulder to see a large stag pawing the ground impatiently. A rat scurries up its front leg and settles itself between the stag's shoulder blades, squeaking twice to let the larger animal know that it's ready. I'm startled by a whining at my other side, and turn to see the wolf standing up awkwardly, recovering at last from the transformation. It shakes as if to free itself of clinging water, but I know that it's throwing off the residing ache in its bones. We clamber awkwardly out of the tunnel and begin to head towards the forest. Prongs stops and turns around; the wolf's not with us. We cast around, panicking, and see him bolting towards a young couple who are walking hand-in-hand in the moonlight. I suspect that it might be Arthur and Molly, but I can't see clearly because I'm racing towards the wolf, the stag only a pace behind me. I crash into the grey blur, sending us both tumbling. He snarls and twists free, snapping at my muzzle. I hear a scream from the direction of the couple and hope that they have the sense to run. The wolf's heard it too, and remembers his original quarry. I quickly bowl him over once again, and after a minute's scuffling, I look up to see that the couple has gone. We cease fighting, and the following morning we all break into laughter recounting the night's events to Remus. For some reason he seems to find it a lot less amusing than we do.
"It'll teach 'em right for breaking school rules! They should leave it to the professionals!"
"They could have been seriously hurt, James." There's a delicate frown upon Remus' face, "I could have bitten them."
I shrug my shoulders. "Well, you didn't, so it doesn't matter. Lighten up!" I slap him on the shoulder and throw my hair back. A bark-like laugh escapes my throat, and I see a small, uncertain smile creep onto his face. He was right, though, and we all know it. It won't stop us from doing the same next month, though.
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
In lonesome place.
The decrepit surroundings of the shack fade away into a classroom. At the front Flitwick demonstrates cheering charms. Seated to my right, Remus is taking copious notes but struggling to keep his eyes open. I notice that he's written the same line twice now; he clicks his tongue, irritated at himself, before crossing it out. It would seem that the full moon is close. We're walking away from class when he realises he's left his ink behind yet again, and I run back for it only to crash into Snape on the stairway.
"Move it, Snivellus." I try my best to sneer, but I'm in too much of a rush to do a particularly good job of it.
"Class is the other way, Black."
"Well observed. Unfortunately, Remus has left his ink. Again. Someone has to retrieve it. You probably aren't familiar with the concept of doing things for others, what with not having any friends." Annoyingly, Snape ignores this.
"Been doing that a lot today, hasn't he? He does look rather tired. Mind you, he's probably due this month's allocated days off school, am I right?"
I try not to react, but clench my teeth despite myself. He smirks at my lack of control. "Where does he run off to, Black? What's he doing every month?"
A thought flashes through my head- this time I manage not to give my emotions away by grinning. I feign a serious expression, and pretend to weigh him up.
"If you really want to know, prod the knot of the Whomping Willow with a stick. There's a tunnel underneath it. Find out for yourself."
He stares at me open-mouthed; he clearly had not expected me to answer him. I push past him and hurry down the stairs, a smirk not altogether unlike my cousin Bellatrix's spreading across my face.
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.
As I run, I realise that I'm not longer in Hogwart's castle. It's night time, too, and I jump onto my motorbike. I guide it up towards the sky. The cold bites at my face, and once again tears blur my vision. Once again I'm not sure if it's the wind that caused them to seep into existence. I urge the bike on faster and peer down at the houses for guidance, though I've flown this way so many times that it's more out of habit than necessity. I wipe my eyes in an attempt to clear my vision, unwilling to accept that what I can see is real. I bring the bike down in front of the ruins of my best friend's house and can longer pretend that the wind is the cause of the tears streaming down my face. I fall to my knees and press my hands to my ears in the vain hope that it will stop the voices in my head.
Use Peter as the Secret Keeper... No one will suspect him... It'll be safer that way...
I open my eyes at the sorrowful cry of a baby- I hadn't even realised they were closed. I can't be Harry. No one's ever lived.
Despite this knowledge I pull myself to my feet and scramble over the debris towards the source of the crying. He's lying there in what's left of his crib, and I notice a raw, red mark upon his forehead. A lightning bolt. I can't help but smile.
"You're gonna be teased so much." I bend down, pick up the delicate bundle and carry it carefully back to the pavement. Hagrid is standing there, mouth open.
"Si-Sirius. It's true, then?"
I nod grimly. He steps forward to take a closer look at Harry.
"He's come to no harm," I assure him. "Apart from the mark on his forehead."
He looks down awkwardly. "Dumbledore ask'd me ter fetch 'im."
I glance up at him sharply. Of course- as far as everyone else is concerned, I was secret keeper. Still, I may as well have been the one who handed them over...
I kiss Harry gently on the forehead and reluctantly hand him to Hagrid.
"See you later, Harry. Hagrid, use my bike to take him to Dumbledore. I don't need it."
"Th-thanks." The gentle giant begins to sob. "I'm sorry... Sirius, if ye need anythin', jus' let me know." I nod appreciatively and watch him clamber awkwardly onto the bike. Be the time he's started the engine I've disappeared.
I've found Peter by the morning and he's trapped in a corner. Nowhere for the little rat to run. People are starting to stare and whisper. A glint of malice in Peter's eyes that I've not seen before strikes me dumb, and he's soon using this to his advantage.
"How could you, Sirius? James and Lily- dead! How could you betray them? Your best friends!"
Now there is a large crowd. We underestimated him, I realise too late. I start to laugh, because it's the only thing I can do. I raise my wand, but he's quicker. There's a deafening roar as the explosion sweeps across the street. I'm left standing alone and I laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
Maybe now Mom'll want me back for Christmas dinner!
The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
More near.
I wake with a start. I'm no longer a dog- I must have slipped back in my sleep. That happens sometimes, when I'm especially unsettled.
I wipe the sweat off my brow and swallow hard, as if I can push back the memories with my throat.
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cool, hard metal bars. A dementor glides past again and the night's dreams flash through my mind. I sit back wearily, eyes still closed, and a murmur escapes my dry lips.
"One need not be a chamber to be haunted."