Alternate Title: A Final Crossword
Summary: "…I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. You'd have thought he was merely bored—asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword.
Sirius Black had always been the odd one out in his family, for more reasons than one. One of them was quite simple. He enjoyed doing crossword puzzles. In fact, he was almost obsessed with them!
It would have been fine if this personality quirk had gone undiscovered. But, unfortunately, his mother soon found out. In fact, he was the one who told her! He asked for the newspaper, asked if he could do the crossword puzzle. Big mistake. Her face turned beet red and her beady eyes widened. Her nostrils flared, and she then turned to Regulus, the perfect child, sitting next to her.
"You see, Regulus? Do you see what's happened to him? Well, nothing's happened, really. He was born strange. But do you see what he is? Any normal Black like your or me would ask for the paper and read the important news about the Dark Lord and his latest triumphs. But no." she sneered. "The boy," she said, jerking her thumb to indicate exactly which boy, even though it was rather obvious. "The boy wants the crossword!" And she erupted into laughter. Regulus, always the perfect one, never getting involved in the squabbles between mother and son, kept his head down, looking at his uneaten eggs.
Then, Sirius's mother held up the crossword in Sirius's face, ripped it in half, and flung it into the fire.
Before she did, however, Sirius had managed to solve one of the clues. Four down. Any person in a position of authority who exercises power oppressively or despotically. Tyrant.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
The next time Sirius asked for the crossword was in Azkaban. His arms and legs were skin and bones, and his eyes had sunken into his head due to the lack of light. His wild black hair was wilder – and longer – than ever. He didn't mind all of those things, though. Why would appearance matter? He was in Azkaban. His brain was deteriorating, though. And he knew it. He was slowly being driven insane. His mind needed exercise. So, the next time Fudge stopped by at Azkaban, he swallowed his pride and asked him, quite coolly, if he was finished with his newspaper. He said he missed doing the crossword.
Fudge answered with a quizzical glance, the newspaper, and a pen.
Sirius took the paper, appearing nonchalant, but practically quivering with anticipation. He salivated, as if the paper was food. He waved good-bye to Fudge, clutching his prize.
Then, he put the coveted crossword done and did one clue. It was easy enough. He would do one clue a day, he decided. He continued this for many days.
At last, only one clue remained. He read the clue, but could not decipher it. Could not find the right word.
A loved one. A in need is a indeed. In French: ami, amie.
He stared at it, day after day, but the word would not come. The paper yellowed. The squares remained blank. One day, Sirius hit rock bottom. He found himself wishing for the Dementors' kiss, a torture he would not wish on any enemy of his. He wanted to die.
He had a nightmare that night, so when he woke up, screaming, instead of going back to sleep, he pulled out the crossword. He resolved all of its clues before arriving at the last one. He had it! It was on the tip of his tongue. But the dementors wanted it. They could not reach it, though, for it was not a happy memory, not for him at least. It was bittersweet. Grinning, he took out the pen Fudge had given him long ago and uncapped it. He was sane now. And he knew he'd be free one day. He would escape. For the word, though it had brought tears to his eyes, had given him courage and hope. And he penned it slowly, for he wanted to savor the satisfaction of beating the dementors, of beating the crossword. Friend.
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Thanks for reading!
Rose