Author: Terrace
Title: The Hollow Men
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Greetings. Nothing special to say here – it's just something that occurred to me. We'll see how far it goes. The text at the beginning is from T. S. Eliot's poem, which is named, of course, The Hollow Men.
Summary: A man is looking for Sirius Black, and he won't stop until he finds him, no matter what. After all, somebody has to stop the man that's splitting the world apart at the seams.
Rating: M, for violence, coarse language, gore, and adult themes.
We are the hollow men
...
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us – if at all – not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
.oOo.
The Hollow Men
.oOo.
"Well, dad, won't you just look at me now."
The wood crackled noisily in the firepit, casting a reddish light onto the face of the man sitting next to it. The fire blazed up as he prodded the sticks about, sending a spray of sparks up into the air as a needle-covered branch caught flame. After a moment more of prodding, the man nodded with satisfaction, and laid the stick down to the side.
"Here I am, sittin' next to some tiny fire in the middle of grippin' nowhere, lookin' for a town I can't even find, talking to a man that's been dead for years." The man chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Looks like I got your sense of direction," he muttered, digging around in the pockets of his long coat, "and your sanity." After a moment of grumbling as he searched, he triumphantly pulled a crumpled package of cigarettes out. Popping it open, he winced as he saw that he only had two left in the container.
"Looks like I've got another stop to make," he muttered, pulling out a single cigarette and placing it in his mouth. After putting the pack back in his pocket and brushing back the long brown hair that had swung in front of his face, he plucked the cigarette out from his mouth. Holding it out to the fire, he winced at the heat but held his hand there until the cigarette caught. The man hurriedly put the cigarette back in his mouth and gingerly waved his hand back and forth in the cool air.
"Not the smartest thing I've ever done," he commented drily, after his hand had cooled down.
The man leaned back against the rock he was sitting next to, staring up at the sky. It was pure black, without any stars or any sort of illumination in the sky. There was nothing but pitch black up above his head, and nothing around him but rocks, dirt, and dead trees. At the very least, there's plenty of material for the fire, he thought grimly.
He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and breathed out a stream of smoke. "What a sky," he murmured, as his eyes unfocused. "What a goddamn depressing sky."
It was quiet for a few moments, aside from the occasional whoosh of wind and the crackling of the fire. "I ain't one to complain, of course." he said, his voice muffled slightly as he talked around the cigarette in his mouth. "Just... this place is broken. This whole damn planet is broken. It's got more problems than I can count; the rich can do whatever they damn well please wherever they please, and nobody can say a goddamn word; the poor can't do a damn thing but drink their days away and wait to die..." A deep breath and a puff of smoke. A piece of wood snapped in the fire pit, the loud noise echoing into the dark. "There's always the dreams, and I can't afford a damn horse while they're drunk off their ass flying on skiffs..."
It was quiet.
A short sigh. "Ahh, listen to me go on." A part of the tobacco tumbled out of the end of the cigarette, and fell onto the ground with dull orange embers dying rapidly in the dirt. The cigarette nearly finished in his hand, he stood up and dropped it at his side. Crushing the butt under his foot, he stretched, his arms extending up into the air. "Complaining ain't going to do me any good."
After he settled back down on the ground again, he pulled a nearby leather bag away from a pile of rocks. He undid a buckle and opened it up, and dug around on the inside, muttering to himself as he searched. "...where is it, where is it..." A moment passed with no success, until he triumphantly pulled out a flashlight and a journal. Placing those at his side, he dug in the pack again, and pulled out a small object wrapped in foil. He unwrapped the foil, and then grinned as he saw the package of cold cooked beef within. Without even reheating it, he shoved most of it in his mouth at one and chewed away.
With a chunk of meat still hanging out of his mouth, the man picked up the flashlight and the journal. He tucked the flashlight in the crook of his neck, and dug a pen out of his pocket as he cracked the journal open. "...okay, where are we now..." he muttered, after swallowing the beef. He jotted notes down in the journal, the pen scratching rapidly across the paper. "He wasn't in Grenda, or in Highvale... last seen heading towards the Destians... can't imagine what the hell he's got in mind there..."
With a sigh, he put the journal down next to him on the ground, and pulled the flashlight away from his shoulder to sit in his lap. "Maybe I should have been a potter like you said, Dad," he said, with a gruff chuckle. Still smirking, he opened the journal again and tossed in a couple more lines, before putting each of the items back in their proper place. After he picked up the beef again and took another bite, he chewed thoughtfully as he considered what he had in mind for tomorrow. "Can't help but wonder if it's even going to do any good, when even the damn sun is dyin'," he said, after swallowing, and pulled a small flask out of his pocket. He took a swig, and frowned at the bitter taste.
"Got to at least try, heh?"
Another swig of the flask.
Another bitter frown.
"Someone's got to stop him."
The wood shifted in the fire pit, and a cloud of sparks fluttered up into the black sky.
.oOo.
"Lindburgh."
The man peered at the rickety sign that announced the name of the small village beyond. The sign looked as though it had been through better days; holes were smashed through it seemingly at random, and the text underneath the name of the city was completely obscured by scorch marks. The town was dead quiet, and from what he could tell from his distant position, there was no movement between the buildings. The only sound was the whistling of the wind between the branches of the trees surrounding him. Despite the sun being almost directly overhead, the light was still rather dim.
"What a shithole," he muttered, as he started towards the town. He had finally found it an hour after waking up, and he was still stretching out the kinks from a night sleeping on unforgiving dirt and rocks. Still, his information had said that he had been spotted here, so here he was. "I have my doubts," he murmured quietly as he passed the first house.
Looking over the building, he took note of similar scorch marks to those on the sign dotting the wooden sides of the building. The windows were boarded over, except for one. He caught a glimpse of worried-looking eyes for a second, and then he heard a startled gasp, and the shutters closed. He didn't stop walking, but an unnerved feeling settled upon him as he walked deeper into the village.
Other buildings he passed were in a similar state to the first; scorched wood, boarded windows, and the occasional pair of scared eyes in shadowed rooms. Nobody wandered the street, and the omnipresent silence had become quite oppressive. What in the hell happened here?
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from behind a nearby building. The man spun around, staring in the direction of the noise for a second before running towards the noise. He rounded the corner and spotted the first sign of activity that he'd actually seen in the town since he'd arrived. It was a tavern, larger than any other building he'd seen in the village thus far, and a rather fat man had just stumbled out of the door, with a small girl under his arm and the wooden doors flapping in his wake.
"Hah, you fuckers can't do a damn thing to me, and you know it! Can't mess with big Thom!" the fat man shouted, laughing, but his words slurred together at times. He stumbled as he laughed, leaning his large bulk on the girl underneath his arm. She nearly buckled under the weight, but managed to keep from crumpling under the strain, but she was visibly struggling.
The man approached cautiously, watching as a third man exited the tavern, obviously nervous.
"Please, Thom, that's my daughter..."
"Shut th'hell up, Forell!" Thom boomed, clutching the girl closer to him with one arm and running his other hand through his lanky reddish hair. The man, having seen the terrified expression on the girl as he approached, frowned at the situation. He was standing behind Thom now, although nobody else had noticed his presence.
"Please, Thom, she's only fourteen, for God's sake..." Forell pleaded, wringing his hands as his gaze flickered between his scared daughter and Thom's face.
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Thom growled drunkenly, slowly bringing his free arm up. As he did, he leaned further onto the girl under his other arm, who nearly wilted under the weight. Thom pointed his hand at Forell, who took a step back, trembling. The man couldn't see whatever it was that Thom had, but judging by how much Forell had paled, it was not anything good. "I can do whatever the hell I damn well want, and don't y'forget it."
"Daddy..." squeaked the girl, and Thom laughed, clutching her closer to him. However, doing so threw her off balance, and she started to fall underneath the weight of the bigger man. The girl crumpled to the ground, and Thom, having lost his support, started to tumble down on top of her. She raised her arms above herself, in an attempt to protect her head, but she couldn't get her legs to move to get her out of the way-
"Hey, now."
Thom gaped in surprise when he found himself hanging a few inches above the terrified girl, who seemed equally shocked that he hadn't landed on top of her. Thom's bleary gaze slowly focused on the man holding his arm, and apparently supporting his weight with little difficulty. "Whassat?" he asked dully, as he struggled to keep his eyes focused on the stranger. "Who th'hell are you?"
"Just a friend." The man replied brightly, and swung Thom's arm away. Thom stumbled back a couple of steps, and then fell to the ground with a loud thump and a groan. The girl squeaked, and ran to her father, who retreated with his daughter back through the tavern doors. This left the man alone with a struggling Thom, who was having significant difficulty as he was trying to pull himself back to his feet.
"Y'think you're funny!" Thom slurred, lurching to the side as he laboriously pulled himself back to his feet. Thom woozily managed to get his balance after a moment, casting a furious gaze slightly to the other man's left. "I was gonna have me a good afternoon', and now she's gone and run away."
"Hm." The man glanced about, looking supremely unconcerned. "So she has."
He grinned.
"Whoops."
After a rather wet burp, Thom slowly raised his hand towards the other man, and a large ring glinted red in the dim sunlight. "You'll – you'll pay for that. I'll show you why you shouldn't mess with me."
"By wavin' your jewels at me? I'm sorry, mate, but you're just not what I'm looking for. Though I do know of a place in Vangren where I'm sure you could meet a lovely man-"
Phwooooooooosh!
The man had to abruptly cut off his commentary and roll to the side, when the infuriated Thom growled and a plume of fire burst out of the ring, extending almost twenty feet out of the ring down the main street of the village. The soil underneath the blast had been scorched black, and the tide of immense heat that had rolled over him made him very glad he had not been standing in the way of that fire. Well, I guess that explains the scorches, he thought drily, then had to roll again to avoid a second blast. Fortunately, Thom's aim was not formidable in his drunken state, but when dealing with a massive stream of fire there's not much room for error.
"Not so funny now, are ye?!" Thom boomed, as he blasted a couple more streams of fire. "Not so – uuuuuurgggggh!"
The streams of fire abruptly stopped when Thom suddenly bent over in place, and vomited onto the street. The other man came up from a roll, saw his chance, and started running towards the drunk man. He was only a couple of feet away when the ring was suddenly up and an inch away from his face.
"Got ya," Thom gurgled, and the ring glowed red.
The man grimaced, but he did something other than Thom apparently expected – he went down and forward, ducking under the blast of fire, and ended up coming up next to Thom and his extended arm. He gripped Thom's wrist and smashed his free hand into the joint of his elbow. Thom abruptly started to scream as his arm was forcibly bent the wrong way, and the sound of bones splintering echoed through the empty streets. The man tucked his lower leg behind Thom's right knee, and pressed his hand against the distracted man's face. Catching the larger man off guard, he pushed at his face and threw him down forcibly to the ground. His head hit the ground with a thud, and the hardened soil cracked under the impact.
Pulling his hand away, he saw that the drunken man had passed out from the impact. Probably for the best, considering the elbow... After aquiet thought, he glanced down at the ring on Thom's slack hand. He reached down, grabbed the hand, and tugged the ring off. He also rolled Thom onto his side; after doing so, he stood up and saw that the man – Forell, Faroll? – and his daughter had come back out from the tavern. They were looking at him with somewhat nervous expressions on their faces.
"Hey, don' look at me like that, you'll make me feel nervous." The man said, rubbing at the back of his head.
"Is... is he dead?" Forell asked, an odd twist in his voice.
He glanced down at the overweight Thom, and gave him a light tap with his foot. "He's not dead, no, but he's goin' to need medical attention for that arm. Guess I hit just a bit harder than I thought, heh."
Forell stared down at Thom with obvious contempt in his gaze, before looking up at the man. "Thank you... thank you for saving my daughter." The aforementioned daughter peeked over her father's shoulder at him, and blushed when he nodded back at them. "Who are you?"
"Richmond." The man responded, stepping over Thom's unconscious form. He stepped closer to Forell, and grabbed his hand. The smaller man looked up at him with confusion, and flinched when Richmond slapped the ring into his hand.
"Here. It's yours." Richmond said, starting past Forell into the tavern.
"W-wait! Shouldn't you take it?" Forell said, holding it out to him.
"I don't want it. Magic never brings anything but trouble," Richmond growled, pushing the extended hand back towards its owner. "You take it. Use it to take care of your daughter, bury it, burn it, I don't care; just don't be stupid with it." He paused, and gestured back at Thom. "Is there anyone that can help him? I'd rather not get tagged with a murder, if I can help it."
Forell's lip curled. "The man is scum, but I'll talk to the doctor. Probably better that we fix him up, I suppose; I expect we're already in trouble with Burnett, once he finds out about this."
"Good man." Richmond said, slapping Forell on the shoulder and grinning at the blushing girl behind him.
Stepping into the tavern, he found himself in a room that was actually better lit than it was outside. He found himself in a room half-full of people all very studiously avoiding his eyes. Sighing to himself, he started towards the bar, where a small mousy-haired woman was watching him approach. The tentative smile on his face was a better sign than he had hoped, considering he had just beaten a man to unconsciousness right outside of her tavern. Smiling disarmingly – at least, he hoped that was what it looked like – he took a seat at one of the stools at the bar.
"Hey, there," he said quietly. The tavern was quiet behind him, and he had the unavoidable sensation that he was being listened to.
"Hi!" The woman behind the counter replied, just a little too brightly and a little too quick. Richmond restrained another sigh. Moping won't do you any good.
"I was wondering if you could help me with something."
"Depends on what, blue eyes," the barkeep replied, nervously biting at her bottom lip for a second before returning to wiping the surface of a bar that was already gleaming.
"I'm looking for someone. I heard he might have passed through here." Richmond said, playing with the thought that he should order a drink before he explained what he was actually doing there.
"Plenty of people pass though here. Your someone got a name?"
"Yeah," Richmond said quietly. "Sirius Black."
TBC...
Next Chapter: The Only Lead
Preview
"Why did you ask me to help you?" Richmond asked, glancing at his new companion as they stepped out of the tavern. The wounded Thom had disappeared, most likely into one of the nearby buildings, but the signs of their scuffle were obvious in the blackened soil and a head-shaped hole in the dirt.
"Do I need a reason?"
"Indulge me."
"You're looking for Sirius Black. You can fight. You're looking for the most dangerous man in the world, and you're doing it willingly. You must be mad." A dangerous grin grew on her face. "In other words, you're exactly what I needed."