Hello, Hell

Sirius was on the ground.

He didn't really remember how he'd gotten there, but he couldn't worry about it now; past the smoke and the slippery wooden floor - oh, God, was that his blood? - he struggled back to stand, reaching for his wand -

It was too close. Wands were forgotten as a steel-knuckled fist crushed itself against his jaw.

He spat, saliva and blood and teeth. His face was already bruised and bleeding, but he didn't hesitate, leaping at one of the Death Eaters in a mad vendetta. Sirius wasn't planning on messing around with threats, negotiation, or blackmail.

The two men fell onto each other, fists swinging to connect with every inch of skin they could reach. Blood was really everywhere now, smearing thinly over the floor and drying on the Death Eater's face; it still leaked from a two-inch gash on Sirius's stomach, and slowly but surely the stain spread on his T-shirt. Suddenly they parted as his opponent aimed a kick at him. He slam against the dusty inner wall of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and somewhere in the house, a woman was shrieking.

"Traitor! Filthy runaway and blood traitor, spilling his bones about my house!"

"Marbury!"

Leaning in a dazed state, half-ready to give up, Sirius thought wildly she might have been rooting for him. He didn't want to think about it as his still significantly able opponent pulled away and the other one retrieved his wand, aiming it steadily at his chest. In an overwhelming panic, the losing man unintentionally summoned his own wand, which had been lying just a few feet away in a sticky red puddle. Sirius caught it, too beaten to wonder how.

"Stalemate," he said hoarsely, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He let loose what could have been the growl of a cornered dog.

This only provoked a grim smile from the masked Death Eaters, and the taller one, the one not pointing his wand, said in a very low voice, "You're outnumbered, Black. Are you ready to tell us where they are?"

"I'll pay you back for that punch on day, Lucius," he replied, now realizing his whole body was trembling in pain. The stomach wound burned fiercely - not a normal injury. His left eye was almost completely swollen shut, and he had a few burns from nasty spells up and down his arms. "That's a promise.'

Malfoy was probably scowling behind his mask. "You haven't changed," he hissed, also lifting his wand close against Sirius's rapidly rising and falling chest. "All bark and no bite. But even a young fool can learn new tricks, Black. I said, are you ready to tell us where they are?"

"Never."

"Wrong answer," the short Death Eater said.

Another attack - hundreds of knives driving themselves into his body and twisting around. He wrenched, collapsed again against the floor, and writhed, screaming. Any other man's dignity would be stripped from him, but somehow there had been so much worse, like the mistake of almost killing a peer or the knowledge that he could very well lose his best friend...

- so that when the torture subsided, his wand was still clasped in his hand. Sirius made a soft noise but wouldn't let himself fall apart. For the second time, he crawled to his feet.

He felt as if his body had been pelted by white-hot arrows - he was numb and dying, and for a moment, before realizing the greater of the two evils, he'd almost given up.

Then two things happened.

First, the short one - Marbury - opened his mouth to say again, "Where the fuck are they?"

Second, Sirius's grip tightened, and he knew that despite his state he'd have the chance to win - but it required doing something he'd tried to do once which left him never quite the same again.

That is to mean, kill a man.

Something vile, almost sadistic in Sirius's nature - (probably the part that he shared with his brother and parents, he'd later thought bittelry) - made him want to say one last thing before acting. Push the men one last time.

The extended response time was enough. "Third time's the charm," Marbury sneered, holding up his wand again. "Say hello to hell." The next words emerged painstakingly slowly. "Avada Ke-"

"Marbury! No!" Malfoy screamed, seizing the short man's right arm. "You fool! We need him!"

Marbury didn't move, though his words had been cut off. Sirius couldn't breathe.

"Think of what the Dark Lord would say if the secret died with him," Malfoy said almost passionately, though his eyes were darting about in fear. "Even now, he calls."

The short man's wand went down as he touched his forearm in pain. "Go ahead of me," he bit out through gritted teeth. "Black has nowhere he can hide from the Dark Lord, no one to call on for help."

"You couldn't torture it out of me," Sirius whispered truthfully, warranting a slap from Malfoy. "Go ahead Lucius... answer him..."

When there was only one Death Eater, things became easier.

When there was only one Death Eater, Sirius could raise his wand and let his body fill with the anger and bitterness and passion which had evaded him for years and direct it, tingling, to his fingertips.

Sirius could say, "Avada Kedavra."

And he could mean it.

It was funny how two, almost nonsense words could take a life. It had never made sense to him - he'd always fancied it should be more difficult, more complex, like the person you were destroying. But the hidden obstacle was the dark, raging desire you had to have to operate it, the truly evil section of your soul that would leap out, and dominate, and... rip.

And then it was over, and Sirius lay on the floor almost as still as the corpse, unable to think about what might have happened had he been able to answer the perpetrators. Would he have come so close to dying as he had now, or would he have given in? Either way, Sirius had to lose, right?

Later he would be found in the same spot, nearly bled to death, face pressed against the cold wooden floor and a mad, twisted smile on his lips. They would clean him up and fuss over him and he'd smile bravely to say he was alright. But the thing is, something bothered him, even more than the murder or the catch-22 he'd tried to avoid.

It was true - Sirius had nowhere to hide. He had no one to call on for help. He'd already done so, already put all his faith and trust into one person and still clung desperately to the hope that this one person was willing to die for Lily and James like he'd been willing to die.

But on the upside, he didn't have to say hello, hell. He'd arrived a long time ago.

end

I've grown too far used to insomnia, to blood,

to the cries of strangers in the night;

if I heard death on the streets I might

ask him to do me a favour,

but I'd never search him out.

We shall part like a sea of faith...

"Hello Hell"

- K.L. Sport