Fracture
Chapter 1
A brief and much needed A/N: Yes, I *understand* that Sirius is a bit out of character in this fic, but it's an AU. So far, it's a one-shot. If I decide I like it, this could easily evolve into a novel-length fic (possibly 18-20 chapters). I also might decide *not* to continue this, but to add onto the basic plot in a series of one-shot vignette, each featuring a different character. Suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and *please*, don't be afraid to review! Flames are also accepted, but not if they just say "This is horrid, never write again". If you don't like it, offer me some constructive criticism! Thanks, you guys!
Summary: Sirius is in Baltimore, on the run from the Ministry. He becomes sort of... temporarily insane and murders a man who he meets in an alley late at night.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling a genius, and as much as I would *love* to own Harry Potter and cohorts, I, unfortunately do not. I just sat up late at night and wrote this fic. Please enjoy!
Thoughts: Italics. Emphasis: ** around words.
****
An old drunk was passed out in the alley that ran alongside McGregor's Pub on Pratt Street, in Baltimore, Maryland. He was half dead already, and his religious wife had told him "hon, if you come back drunk again, you might as well not come back at all, hon." The man, completely disregarding his wife's warning, had gone out and gotten completely plastered. But instead of going home where he would, undoubtedly, face the wrath of his wife, he decided he would take some extra money and rent a cheap motel room in a bad part of town and sleep it off.
But the man never got to a motel that night. He had stumbled out of the pub's side door, feeling as though he were going to vomit. He ambled blindly across the dank and dark alley; the toxic smell of urine and rancid food, invading his nostrils as he slumped against the grimy brick wall opposite the pub's side exit. He stared at the door, which was basically a rectangle that was a shade darker than the rest of the darkness. It had taken all he had not to pass out smack in the middle of the dingy alley, but now.... The man was oddly comforted by the looming presence of the tall brick building that he was leaning against.
Building or no, it had not been his intention to pass out *at all* in the alley, yet he did.
Just sleep it off....
****
Sirius Black had no idea what he was doing in Baltimore. Indeed, he had not been familiar with the city at all before being told the place existed; and the only reason he *had* been informed of the city's existence was because it was the only place his informant in Puerto Rico (his last stop on his run from the Dementors,) had been able to get tickets to (much to his dismay, Sirius was forced to disguise himself as a little old lady and travel among Muggles, on an airplane). But the rest of his journey was a blur. He had no idea how he had arrived in the city itself (the airport was on the outskirts of the medium-sized city,) and he had no idea how he had gotten *here*; on Pratt Street out side of this rough- looking little pub.
There was an alley running along side the pub and it's neighboring building, and Sirius was tired. Normally, his standards for a sleeping place would have been a little higher, but he knew *no one* in this city and he *was* and alleged criminal on the run; so this disgusting alley was his only choice, really. He walked, cloaked in darkness and muddled by sleep, into the alley, arms out-stretched, feeling for some sort of structure upon which he could lean. In fear of being found and apprehended by Animal Control, he was unable to transform into his dog form, so movement through the alley was cumbersome and difficult. His hands pressed against what was definitely a brick wall, and he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. He allowed himself to slide down the brick wall, which had become slick with age and dirt and various *substances* that Sirius would rather not think about being spilled upon it over time. Holding his head in his hands, Sirius sat in the darkness, trying not to think about the tears that were pricking at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill over and join various other liquids on the ground in the alley. He willed himself not to cry, despite the fact that he felt utterly *filthy* .He felt even *filthier* in the alley and generally violated. It was almost as if the world had raped him. He shuddered and hugged his knees to his chest. He felt like a little kid trapped in a new place where he knew no one and no one knew him, and no one really *cared* to know him because he was so dirty and gross. He supposed in a way, that's all he was. His teeth began to chatter. It was mid October and Baltimore was known for its "temper-mental" weather. He was alone, and there was alone silence. He listened for a moment, tilting his head up to the sky, looking up at the slightly over-cast moon. He wondered what Remus was doing, the moon had always made him think of Remus for obvious reasons and Sirius noticed with thinly veiled delight that it was a waning gibbous, and Remus wouldn't have to suffer for another month. He felt warmed by this silent realization, and shut his eyes. He sat like this for several moments, discovering that if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear breath other than his own. The sound of that breath, while making him feel a slight pang of loneliness, comforted him a bit more. It reminded him that there were other people in the world, and there were also those that cared for him. He pictured Remus in his mind, tan, scarred body, covered with the white sheets that had covered their beds at Hogwarts... He wanted to reach out and *touch* him... He chided himself. The breath wasn't real, and Remus might as well be imaginary too. Neither of them were there with him. This thought made him feel even more lonely, but he didn't care, the ghost- breath was his comfort and company that night, and he felt that he had every right to it. So he ignored the fact that the breath *wasn't* real and *wasn't* coming from Remus, and he managed the *forget* the fact that he was cold.
Hmmm... If Remus were here, I wouldn't be cold.
Damn. I *am* alone.
There was a snort, somewhere to his left, and Sirius' eyes snapped open. Rudely blasted from his reverie, Sirius somehow managed to move himself into a crouching position, ready to pounce if he heard the sound again. He waited for a moment, and hear another snort.
Human. Definitely.
He was forced to concede that the ghost-breath *was*, in fact, a human being, who was alive and in the alley with him. Sirius stood, and, opening his eyes as wide as sleep would allow, made his way towards the area, to his left, where the snorts and breathing was coming from. He shuffled, trying not to lift his feet from the ground, in fear that he would trip over his company. He stopped when his feet met something soft, squishy, and undeniably human.
Skinveinsbloodorgansbonesmuscles....
I am *not* alone!
He sunk down next to the human form, which was pretty much shadows and vague lines in the darkness. It was a man. A mas who was twice Sirius' width, but a little bit shorter. He decided to lay with the man, partly because of the cold, but also because of how very lonely he was. He encircled the wide body with his thins arms, shut his eyes, and tried, desperately, to picture his sweet Remus. This man wasn't exactly a good substitute, but Sirius knew that beggars couldn't be choosers and this guy was better than nothing. Sirius acknowledged the fact that he was gald this guy was here, even if he did smell like puke and cough syrup
****
The drunk awoke the second he felt a hand gently rubbing his stomach. He attempted to roll over to face his assumed attacker, but found that he couldn't and instead settled for turning his head to face the person that had snuck up behind him and grabbed him. But the darkness would not allow him to have an adequate look at the person's face. He had a headache, and was still flying from the liquor, but he decided he would speak anyway: "*AHEM*! I think that you should g g-get awee away from me at right away once, you," he managed, slurring the words so terribly that when they echoed back, they barely sounded human. But the man was so inebriated that he couldn't tell the difference.
****
Sirius opened his eyes the second he heard the man speak. He was violently drunk, Sirius could tell, and sounds nothing like his Remus. So much for that fantasy. For whatever reason, the man's voice and the shattering of his dream enraged Sirius, even though the other man was the one who should be angry. He quickly withdrew his arms from around the man's fat waist. The man seemed to stammer a bit in regular speech, when he wasn't drunk, and Sirius was instantly reminded of Peter Pettigrew. "I know who you are," Sirius muttered darkly under his breath, scowling into the darkness. Sirius was *convinced* that this man was either Wormtail or a minion of Voldemort, and this angered Sirius even more. "I know who you are and you won't get away from me again," all common sense had abandoned him, and he wanted to *hurt* this man Pettigrew. "Wha-a," the man managed, cocking his head and stammering even *more*.
I want to bash his fucking head in, Sirius thought, feeling his way around behind his back, praying that he found some sort of weapon that he could use against this *monster*, this man who had killed his best friend and his best friend's wife, this *monster* who had betrayed them all. He wanted to *hurt* him. He wanted to *kill* him. He allowed his hands to slip even further away from him, ignoring the greasy feeling of the rough, hard pavement that was scraping against his hands. His left hand neared the building that he had been leaning against, and he felt around the area. His hand grasped something cold and metal, something that had been lying next to the trash can. He grasped it and pulled it back to him, hearing the sound of the metal running along the hard ground. He held it in his hands, it's weight making him feel powerful. It was a rusty crowbar.
His hands were shaking. The man Pettigrew to him, was saying something unintelligible and must have been rocking back and forth. He had tried to spit an insult at Sirius, who was now standing, but he stammered so bad that Sirius couldn't understand him. This only infuriated Sirius further, and he know stood poised, crowbar raised menacingly over his head. The man, although stupefied, must have recognized this as threat, for he said: "Whoa t-t-here... T-t-ake it-it e-easy, bu-buddy..." The man hiccuped, and this set Sirius off. He brought the crowbar down 8 times before he really even knew what he was doing.
The first blow, that was for Lily and James.
The second for Remus.
The third; for baby Harry, orphaned.
The fourth was for Harry today.
The fifth was just for him, like some sort of sadistic gift to himself.
The sixth was for Remus, just because he was thinking about him again.
The seventh was just because Sirius wanted him to *feel* the pain.
The eighth was what Sirius wanted to do to *himself* , because he was so cold and alone and....
It was at that moment that rational thought decided to return. The gravity of the situation hit him harder than Sirius ever could have Petti the man, who was writhing on the ground. The man who, Sirius knew, was mere seconds away from death. The man who Sirius didn't even know. The man who Sirius had *killed*. He was a *killer*. He was what the world thought he was. He was proving the world, which had been so *cruel* to him, that they were *right*. He was *evil*. He tried to look at the crowbar, at his hands, which were still holding the murder weapon. Instead, he threw it, wincing when he hear it clatter against the ground. Oh, this was *real*.
He wanted to know who the man was.
He felt the fresh corpse for a wallet or some other form of identification, feeling an entirely new wave a guilt wash over him. He found what he was looking for in the man's back pocket; a leather wallet that might have been Harry's age. Since the idea of staying in a dark alley with the dead body meant that he would certainly be caught, and also because the body scared the shit out of him, He decided to leave. And with that, he set off at a brisk walk.
****
It was late at night, and luckily, no one was out on the street. Sirius was scared, cold, and more alone that ever. He was horrified with every aspect of his crime.
The man didn't scream.
I hit him 8 times.
All of the blows were directed at his head.
I heard the man's skull crack with the second blow; that one had been the hardest.
One of the hits broke skin, there had been a lot of blood.
The corpse would be bruised.
I smashed in his face; he might be unrecognizable come morning.
I can feel the weight of his wallet in my back pocket.
Sirius was horrified with what he had done, yes, but he was also strangely fascinated as well.
He walked until he came to a bench, and, before sitting down, he pulled out the man's wallet. He sat down on the bench, opened the wallet, and began to examine it's contents. There was a Maryland state Driver's License, which told Sirius that the man's name was George Malone and that he was 57 years old. There were also several crumpled business cards, 2 credit cards, and $93.54, in cash. Sirius decided that he would stay the night at a sleazy motel and then write to Moony and send the letter via Muggle post. He put the wallet back into his pocket, and left the bench.
****
He walked for at least 5 miles; he had actually ran about half of the way, so it only took him an hour to reach the motel at which he decided he would stay the night. The motel was called the Inn at the Stadiums, on Russell Street, and it charged $28 per night, and only $18 if you stayed for more than 2 nights. The boasted a lovely view of the Baltimore skyline, and a free continental breakfast to patrons. Sirius checked in a 1:14 in the morning on October 24th. His room number was 284, and it was on the second floor. When he arrived at his room, the first thing he had done was remove his boots. He found them to be covered in a sticky crimson substance which he identified ad blood. Copious amounts of the stuff. He cringed. It sickened him. When his boots were removed, he went into the bathroom and splashed his face withe cold water. He then got into bet, still fully clothed, save his boots, and rolled up into a tiny ball, begging his mind to forget the night's ghastly events. But at the same time, he attempted to replay the crime in his head, wanting to pay attention to every little detail. What he didn't know, his mind would make up. He shook his head violently, denying his mind the luxury of thought. He felt dirtier in the motel bed than he did at any one point in the alley.
Oh Moony, forgive me....
He drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 1
A brief and much needed A/N: Yes, I *understand* that Sirius is a bit out of character in this fic, but it's an AU. So far, it's a one-shot. If I decide I like it, this could easily evolve into a novel-length fic (possibly 18-20 chapters). I also might decide *not* to continue this, but to add onto the basic plot in a series of one-shot vignette, each featuring a different character. Suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and *please*, don't be afraid to review! Flames are also accepted, but not if they just say "This is horrid, never write again". If you don't like it, offer me some constructive criticism! Thanks, you guys!
Summary: Sirius is in Baltimore, on the run from the Ministry. He becomes sort of... temporarily insane and murders a man who he meets in an alley late at night.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling a genius, and as much as I would *love* to own Harry Potter and cohorts, I, unfortunately do not. I just sat up late at night and wrote this fic. Please enjoy!
Thoughts: Italics. Emphasis: ** around words.
****
An old drunk was passed out in the alley that ran alongside McGregor's Pub on Pratt Street, in Baltimore, Maryland. He was half dead already, and his religious wife had told him "hon, if you come back drunk again, you might as well not come back at all, hon." The man, completely disregarding his wife's warning, had gone out and gotten completely plastered. But instead of going home where he would, undoubtedly, face the wrath of his wife, he decided he would take some extra money and rent a cheap motel room in a bad part of town and sleep it off.
But the man never got to a motel that night. He had stumbled out of the pub's side door, feeling as though he were going to vomit. He ambled blindly across the dank and dark alley; the toxic smell of urine and rancid food, invading his nostrils as he slumped against the grimy brick wall opposite the pub's side exit. He stared at the door, which was basically a rectangle that was a shade darker than the rest of the darkness. It had taken all he had not to pass out smack in the middle of the dingy alley, but now.... The man was oddly comforted by the looming presence of the tall brick building that he was leaning against.
Building or no, it had not been his intention to pass out *at all* in the alley, yet he did.
Just sleep it off....
****
Sirius Black had no idea what he was doing in Baltimore. Indeed, he had not been familiar with the city at all before being told the place existed; and the only reason he *had* been informed of the city's existence was because it was the only place his informant in Puerto Rico (his last stop on his run from the Dementors,) had been able to get tickets to (much to his dismay, Sirius was forced to disguise himself as a little old lady and travel among Muggles, on an airplane). But the rest of his journey was a blur. He had no idea how he had arrived in the city itself (the airport was on the outskirts of the medium-sized city,) and he had no idea how he had gotten *here*; on Pratt Street out side of this rough- looking little pub.
There was an alley running along side the pub and it's neighboring building, and Sirius was tired. Normally, his standards for a sleeping place would have been a little higher, but he knew *no one* in this city and he *was* and alleged criminal on the run; so this disgusting alley was his only choice, really. He walked, cloaked in darkness and muddled by sleep, into the alley, arms out-stretched, feeling for some sort of structure upon which he could lean. In fear of being found and apprehended by Animal Control, he was unable to transform into his dog form, so movement through the alley was cumbersome and difficult. His hands pressed against what was definitely a brick wall, and he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. He allowed himself to slide down the brick wall, which had become slick with age and dirt and various *substances* that Sirius would rather not think about being spilled upon it over time. Holding his head in his hands, Sirius sat in the darkness, trying not to think about the tears that were pricking at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill over and join various other liquids on the ground in the alley. He willed himself not to cry, despite the fact that he felt utterly *filthy* .He felt even *filthier* in the alley and generally violated. It was almost as if the world had raped him. He shuddered and hugged his knees to his chest. He felt like a little kid trapped in a new place where he knew no one and no one knew him, and no one really *cared* to know him because he was so dirty and gross. He supposed in a way, that's all he was. His teeth began to chatter. It was mid October and Baltimore was known for its "temper-mental" weather. He was alone, and there was alone silence. He listened for a moment, tilting his head up to the sky, looking up at the slightly over-cast moon. He wondered what Remus was doing, the moon had always made him think of Remus for obvious reasons and Sirius noticed with thinly veiled delight that it was a waning gibbous, and Remus wouldn't have to suffer for another month. He felt warmed by this silent realization, and shut his eyes. He sat like this for several moments, discovering that if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear breath other than his own. The sound of that breath, while making him feel a slight pang of loneliness, comforted him a bit more. It reminded him that there were other people in the world, and there were also those that cared for him. He pictured Remus in his mind, tan, scarred body, covered with the white sheets that had covered their beds at Hogwarts... He wanted to reach out and *touch* him... He chided himself. The breath wasn't real, and Remus might as well be imaginary too. Neither of them were there with him. This thought made him feel even more lonely, but he didn't care, the ghost- breath was his comfort and company that night, and he felt that he had every right to it. So he ignored the fact that the breath *wasn't* real and *wasn't* coming from Remus, and he managed the *forget* the fact that he was cold.
Hmmm... If Remus were here, I wouldn't be cold.
Damn. I *am* alone.
There was a snort, somewhere to his left, and Sirius' eyes snapped open. Rudely blasted from his reverie, Sirius somehow managed to move himself into a crouching position, ready to pounce if he heard the sound again. He waited for a moment, and hear another snort.
Human. Definitely.
He was forced to concede that the ghost-breath *was*, in fact, a human being, who was alive and in the alley with him. Sirius stood, and, opening his eyes as wide as sleep would allow, made his way towards the area, to his left, where the snorts and breathing was coming from. He shuffled, trying not to lift his feet from the ground, in fear that he would trip over his company. He stopped when his feet met something soft, squishy, and undeniably human.
Skinveinsbloodorgansbonesmuscles....
I am *not* alone!
He sunk down next to the human form, which was pretty much shadows and vague lines in the darkness. It was a man. A mas who was twice Sirius' width, but a little bit shorter. He decided to lay with the man, partly because of the cold, but also because of how very lonely he was. He encircled the wide body with his thins arms, shut his eyes, and tried, desperately, to picture his sweet Remus. This man wasn't exactly a good substitute, but Sirius knew that beggars couldn't be choosers and this guy was better than nothing. Sirius acknowledged the fact that he was gald this guy was here, even if he did smell like puke and cough syrup
****
The drunk awoke the second he felt a hand gently rubbing his stomach. He attempted to roll over to face his assumed attacker, but found that he couldn't and instead settled for turning his head to face the person that had snuck up behind him and grabbed him. But the darkness would not allow him to have an adequate look at the person's face. He had a headache, and was still flying from the liquor, but he decided he would speak anyway: "*AHEM*! I think that you should g g-get awee away from me at right away once, you," he managed, slurring the words so terribly that when they echoed back, they barely sounded human. But the man was so inebriated that he couldn't tell the difference.
****
Sirius opened his eyes the second he heard the man speak. He was violently drunk, Sirius could tell, and sounds nothing like his Remus. So much for that fantasy. For whatever reason, the man's voice and the shattering of his dream enraged Sirius, even though the other man was the one who should be angry. He quickly withdrew his arms from around the man's fat waist. The man seemed to stammer a bit in regular speech, when he wasn't drunk, and Sirius was instantly reminded of Peter Pettigrew. "I know who you are," Sirius muttered darkly under his breath, scowling into the darkness. Sirius was *convinced* that this man was either Wormtail or a minion of Voldemort, and this angered Sirius even more. "I know who you are and you won't get away from me again," all common sense had abandoned him, and he wanted to *hurt* this man Pettigrew. "Wha-a," the man managed, cocking his head and stammering even *more*.
I want to bash his fucking head in, Sirius thought, feeling his way around behind his back, praying that he found some sort of weapon that he could use against this *monster*, this man who had killed his best friend and his best friend's wife, this *monster* who had betrayed them all. He wanted to *hurt* him. He wanted to *kill* him. He allowed his hands to slip even further away from him, ignoring the greasy feeling of the rough, hard pavement that was scraping against his hands. His left hand neared the building that he had been leaning against, and he felt around the area. His hand grasped something cold and metal, something that had been lying next to the trash can. He grasped it and pulled it back to him, hearing the sound of the metal running along the hard ground. He held it in his hands, it's weight making him feel powerful. It was a rusty crowbar.
His hands were shaking. The man Pettigrew to him, was saying something unintelligible and must have been rocking back and forth. He had tried to spit an insult at Sirius, who was now standing, but he stammered so bad that Sirius couldn't understand him. This only infuriated Sirius further, and he know stood poised, crowbar raised menacingly over his head. The man, although stupefied, must have recognized this as threat, for he said: "Whoa t-t-here... T-t-ake it-it e-easy, bu-buddy..." The man hiccuped, and this set Sirius off. He brought the crowbar down 8 times before he really even knew what he was doing.
The first blow, that was for Lily and James.
The second for Remus.
The third; for baby Harry, orphaned.
The fourth was for Harry today.
The fifth was just for him, like some sort of sadistic gift to himself.
The sixth was for Remus, just because he was thinking about him again.
The seventh was just because Sirius wanted him to *feel* the pain.
The eighth was what Sirius wanted to do to *himself* , because he was so cold and alone and....
It was at that moment that rational thought decided to return. The gravity of the situation hit him harder than Sirius ever could have Petti the man, who was writhing on the ground. The man who, Sirius knew, was mere seconds away from death. The man who Sirius didn't even know. The man who Sirius had *killed*. He was a *killer*. He was what the world thought he was. He was proving the world, which had been so *cruel* to him, that they were *right*. He was *evil*. He tried to look at the crowbar, at his hands, which were still holding the murder weapon. Instead, he threw it, wincing when he hear it clatter against the ground. Oh, this was *real*.
He wanted to know who the man was.
He felt the fresh corpse for a wallet or some other form of identification, feeling an entirely new wave a guilt wash over him. He found what he was looking for in the man's back pocket; a leather wallet that might have been Harry's age. Since the idea of staying in a dark alley with the dead body meant that he would certainly be caught, and also because the body scared the shit out of him, He decided to leave. And with that, he set off at a brisk walk.
****
It was late at night, and luckily, no one was out on the street. Sirius was scared, cold, and more alone that ever. He was horrified with every aspect of his crime.
The man didn't scream.
I hit him 8 times.
All of the blows were directed at his head.
I heard the man's skull crack with the second blow; that one had been the hardest.
One of the hits broke skin, there had been a lot of blood.
The corpse would be bruised.
I smashed in his face; he might be unrecognizable come morning.
I can feel the weight of his wallet in my back pocket.
Sirius was horrified with what he had done, yes, but he was also strangely fascinated as well.
He walked until he came to a bench, and, before sitting down, he pulled out the man's wallet. He sat down on the bench, opened the wallet, and began to examine it's contents. There was a Maryland state Driver's License, which told Sirius that the man's name was George Malone and that he was 57 years old. There were also several crumpled business cards, 2 credit cards, and $93.54, in cash. Sirius decided that he would stay the night at a sleazy motel and then write to Moony and send the letter via Muggle post. He put the wallet back into his pocket, and left the bench.
****
He walked for at least 5 miles; he had actually ran about half of the way, so it only took him an hour to reach the motel at which he decided he would stay the night. The motel was called the Inn at the Stadiums, on Russell Street, and it charged $28 per night, and only $18 if you stayed for more than 2 nights. The boasted a lovely view of the Baltimore skyline, and a free continental breakfast to patrons. Sirius checked in a 1:14 in the morning on October 24th. His room number was 284, and it was on the second floor. When he arrived at his room, the first thing he had done was remove his boots. He found them to be covered in a sticky crimson substance which he identified ad blood. Copious amounts of the stuff. He cringed. It sickened him. When his boots were removed, he went into the bathroom and splashed his face withe cold water. He then got into bet, still fully clothed, save his boots, and rolled up into a tiny ball, begging his mind to forget the night's ghastly events. But at the same time, he attempted to replay the crime in his head, wanting to pay attention to every little detail. What he didn't know, his mind would make up. He shook his head violently, denying his mind the luxury of thought. He felt dirtier in the motel bed than he did at any one point in the alley.
Oh Moony, forgive me....
He drifted into a fitful sleep.