The fact of the wizarding world thinking I was a mass murder I could bare; but the thought of him still being out there, never receiving punishment he deserved for his causing James's and Lily's deaths, I could not bare, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to this horrible deed. Revenge was all I could muster myself to think about. At this point it was definitively settled in my mind that I would indeed kill him--but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved, precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong in unredressed when retribution overtakes the redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt to as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that I had never given any cause for Peter to doubt my good-will. I continued to smile to his face, and he did not perceive that my smile was now at the thought of his very demise.
He had his weak points -- Peter-- although in other aspects he could be sneaky, deceiving, and in some cases deadly. He prided himself on his connoisseurship of foreign foods and wines. Few wizards had this compassion for food which Peter presented to be strength, but at the same time another weakness. In this respect though I did not differ for him much for I have a taste for expensive liquors.
It was about dusk one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with great warmth for he had been drinking for some time. The man looked ridiculous. He wore a tight fitting muggle woman's dress, and on his head he wore a light blue cap with bells sewn on. I was so pleased to see him in such a state.
I said to him: " My dear Peter, you are so lucky I meet you instead of some one else. How remarkably are you looking to day! But I have received a pipe of what appears to pass for aged Firewhiskey from Romania, but I have my doubts."
"How?" he said. "Firewhiskey? Romania? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!"
"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay full price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
"Firewhiskey!"
"I have my doubts,"
"Firewhiskey!"
"...and I must satisfy them."
"Firewhiskey!"
"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Remus. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --"
"Remus cannot tell Firewhiskey from Butterbeer!"
"And yet--"
" Never mind Remus, lets go!"
" Where?"
" Well, to the place you have your Firwewhiskey!"
"Then to the cellars under Grimmauld Place?"
"Yes, to the cellars!"
" My friend no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I precive you already have an engagement here. Remus--"
" I have no engagement here; --come"
" No Peter it is not the engagement, but the cold you are afflicted with. The cellars are insufferably damp and cold, it would be no place for you. Also the cellars are encrusted with nitre."
" Nitre? Nevertheless, let us go. The cold is merely nothing . Firewhiskey! You have been imposed upon. And as for Remus he cannot tell Butterbeer from Firewhiskey!"
Thus speaking he grabbed my arm and we headed off towards Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreature was not in sight when we reached Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Earlier that evening I had given him orders to stay in his room and told him that I would not return till the next day.
I led Peter down the hallway to the kitchen and from here down a small dank corridor which led to the cellars, where we descended a flank of dusty old wooden stairs. Peter tripped, but we soon reached the bottom. There we stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at the black walls covered in gleaming white washed bones.
"The Firewhiskey?!"
"Yes it is further down this way."
He turned to me. "What is up with the bones on the walls?"
"They're nitre, I told you that when you invented yourself over."
"So that is what nitre is, I thought it was some kind of nasty bug infestation, creepy."
"In a sick twisted way, I think it is beautiful, like spider webs."
"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh ."
Peter wheezed in and the coughing fit began again.
"Ugh, ugh, ugh."
I pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Peter.
"How long have you had that cough?"
Peter found it impossible to answer for several minutes.
"For a while, but it is nothing." he said regaining his voice.
" Come," I said, "we will go back. I could not stand to see you fall into ill health just upon my account. We will go back, I shall take you home and we will call it a night. Besides I feel fine, and I sure Remus would--"
"Enough," he said; "I am okay, the cough is nothing. Anyways it is not every likely that I am going to die in your cellars because of a cough."
"That is true." I replied, "I had no intentions of alarming you unnecessarily, but it is good if you take all kinds of caution with these kind of things. Here drink this. A nice bottle of Scotch will probably lighten your step a little bit, Peter."
At this I pulled a bottle of Scotch from one of the shelves that contained many identical bottles, and handed it to Peter.
"Drink," I said harshly.
Peter gave me a leer before taking the bottle to his lips. After taking a drink Peter nodded to me merrily, the bells ringing upon his hat as he finished the bottle.
"I drink to the unfortunate dead that surround us, just imagine to be stuck here forever!" said Peter.
"That would be torture, but on a happier note I drink to your health!" said I, but could not help to let the sarcasm take over my voice.
"And I too your long exultant life."
He took my arm again and we proceeded.
"These cellars are quite long," Peter said with a frown upon his face.
"Well what are you to expect the Black family had to out do all the other pure blood families even if it was in who had the grandest and most creepiest cellars," I said this with a slight twinge of disgust.
At this Peter laughed. My friend's eyes burned with the Scotch of which he had just drank as he mumbled slightly to me and slightly to himself about of the grandeur of this Firewhiskey. At this point I could stop the smile that was over taking my face. My plan it was going to work, I felt the Scotch kick in with an over sense of joy in my stomach. I couldn't believe it was this easy.
We had passed through the walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the cellars. I paused and seized Peters arm tightly above the elbow.
"The nitre!" I said, "see it increases. Now it hangs from the walls like moss. We are under some pipe line of water that some Muggles carelessly installed and it leaks on to the bones giving them that unnatural green glow. Come, let us go now it is very late and your cough keeps getting steadily worse--"
"It is nothing," repeated Peter "let us go on. But first how 'bout another bottle of that fantastic Scotch, Sirius?"
I toke another bottle of Scotch from the shelves and handed it to Peter. He emptied it in one swig. His eyes flashed with a new inspired, yet heavily intoxicated, look. He laughed and threw the bottle upward with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement again, flashing me with the image of the Dark Mark upon his left arm again.
"You don't understand?"
"No."
"Then you aren't a Death Eater?"
"Yes--"
"Oh, well," said Peter anxiously; "Um….. The Firewhiskey."
"YES, the Firewhiskey," I said trying not to smite him right there as he stand.
I offered him my arm again and we continued. He leaned upon me heavily. It was hard to follow my plan now that he had confirmed my idea that he was actually a Death Eater. But, oh, I resisted the urge to kill him. We passed a range of low arches, descended some low stone stairs, passed on, and descended again.
We arrived at the utmost bottom region of the cellars.
At the very end of the cellar the bones on the walls had been removed, and carefully stacked in the corner. The other three sides of the cellar the bones remained prefect in their haunting yet beautiful manor. Where the bones were removed lied a small granite corridor.
"Firewhiskey?" said Peter confused.
"Yes, the Firewhiskey," I replied smugly, "it is at the end of the granite corridor. There will be two iron handles there that you will have to pull to get the door to move."
Peter light his wand, "Are you coming?".
"No….you will be fine to retrieve it on your own." said I.
Peter lazily shrugged his shoulder and headed off into the darkness of the small corridor. As his attention slid from me back to the Firewhiskey I removed the bones from atop a pile of bricks and mortar. My friends intoxication soon wore off and reality soon came swooping back to him.
"My hands!" he exclaimed, " They are stuck to the handles."
Peter gave me a mortified look. I pulled out my wand casting a quick spell the bricks and mortar set themselves to work.
"Sirius," yelled Peter, "this must be a joke you wouldn't do this a friend who has been so dear to you?"
"Dear?" my voiced echoed empty of all feeling, "When have you ever been 'dear' my old chum?"
"I've been your friend since we were boys. How could you do this to me?" said Peter with a look of aguish.
"We stopped being friends when you ratted out James and Lily to Voldemort. But you have always been a rat haven't you, Peter? How easily I can do this to you? Well, as you are soon to find out easy Peter, very easy," said I, at this point I could not help, but to let an ominous grin spread over my face.
"Let this joke be over my friend, while we can still laugh about it tomorrow." said Peter with a weak smile upon his face.
At this point the bricks were up to my chest. They slowed almost to a stop. Peter let out a sigh off relief. I gave a bark of laughter . He started to laugh too. Then I cleared myself of all emotion.
"Well, Peter," I said, "We've had our laugh…so now it is time to continue our repayment to the memory of James and Lily."
Peter's face fell and the bricks flew back to action twice as fast as before. Peter began to cry letting his body fall to the floor handles still stuck tightly to his hands. I smiled at his grief.
"Has this all been I lie?" sobbed Peter.
"No," I said with a jest to my voice, "you did kill the Potters and I do have a marvelous case of Firewhiskey, but it is upstairs."
Peter continued crying. The wall was nearly finished. I sat there for a while listening to the pleas of this doomed man.
The wall was finished except for the last brick which lay in my hand. I picked my self off the floor. I approached the wall and stretched myself to full height to see into the small tomb which I have created for my friend. Peter laid there whimpering like a wounded animal. I stared at him. He stared at me. The end of his wand tip flashed, his Lumos spell was warring off. Soon the tomb became dark and I could not see my prisoner any more.
"Peter?" I questioned.
There was no reply. I tried again.
"Peter!"
No answer still. I pulled some matches from my pocket, lit one and let it fall within. There was the faint jiggling of bells. I coughed. I was sick off these horrid catacombs. My heart grew faint and sick. I wanted now more than ever to finish my deed. I hurried to make sort my labor, forcing the brick into position to match all its brothers. I drew my wand from my pocket with a quick flick the bones returned to the walls. To think for half a century no mortal had disturbed them. In pace re quiescat!
Fin