Welcome To The Freak Show

The Quidditch League Competition
Title: Welcome To The Freak Show
Team: Ballycastle Bats
Position: Chaser Two
Prompt: "Freak Show" from "American Horror Story"
Extra Prompts: (Creature) Cat; (Word) Priority; (Dialogue) "I feel like perhaps I am not being taken seriously."
Word Count: 2,318

Sirius Black had always been an emotional man with a rather volatile temper. Even if he hadn't rushed off without thinking to confront Peter after the Potters were killed, his temper was legendary amongst those who knew him. His stint in Azkaban had not helped anything either. He'd had nothing but rage toward, and hatred of, Peter Pettigrew to hang onto. And while that rage had prevented him from becoming completely unhinged, it had not helped his temper issues. If anything, Azkaban had enhanced them.

Indeed, his only thought once he had escaped—his only reason for escaping in the first place—had been to finish the job that had landed him in prison to begin with: he wanted to kill Peter Pettigrew. And he'd been so close…so close! Only to have Harry talk him out of it, which had then allowed Peter to escape once again.

Now Sirius sat rotting away in his family home—Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He had merely exchanged one prison for another. And this prison was just as bad as Azkaban in its own way, what with Kreacher treating him like garbage, and his mother's portrait screaming obscenities any time Sirius disturbed her. So he ended up creeping around his own house, wary of alerting the portrait to his presence, although he suspected that Kreacher was going out of his way to set Sirius off any time the man was within earshot of said portrait, causing it to wake and scream some more.

Azkaban might actually have been better than this place. At least there all I had to do was listen to Bella's incoherent screeching, and it wasn't even directed at me. He sighed and dropped into a chair in the dark and dingy front sitting room, nursing a glass of Ogden's Old.

His face bore a frown, and the thoughts in his mind tumbled around chaotically. He mulled over his reunion with Remus, seeing Harry for the first time in twelve years, the appearance of Snape in the Shrieking Shack, the escape of Peter…Peter's smug, smirking face had been foremost in his mind for weeks. That is, until he got his first letter from Harry.

And as the letters continued to come, Sirius noted a theme running through them. Harry seemed to very much dislike his aunt and uncle who had been made his guardians. Once Sirius had read between the lines and figured out Harry's dislike towards his family, he tried asking the boy subtle questions about his past life. Harry had unleashed a torrent of anger and sadness over his upbringing.

Now he sat brooding over the letter he had received from his Godson that very morning, and his temper was reaching a boil. In the letter, Harry had told him of how the Dursleys always called him, and indeed anyone magical, a "freak". They said magic was freaky and anyone even remotely connected with it were freaks.

Sirius had only met Vernon Dursley once, in passing. But that one brief time was more than enough for Sirius to hate the man almost the instant he'd met him. And that was well before Harry had come along. But he had no idea just how hateful the man was.

Petunia was a different story. Being Lily's sister, Sirius had encountered her several times. She was much the same as her husband was, but Sirius had no idea the level of hatred she had for her sister's boy. Her own flesh and blood. How could anyone treat their flesh and blood like that?!

Of course, Sirius realized it was more than possible. Hadn't his own mother treated him worse than filth? Her portrait still treated him as if he was no better than garbage, and he was her own son!

Freaks…calling my Godson a freak! Calling my best mate a freak! Calling her own sister a freak! The rage inside Sirius grew. And as the rage grew-the unchecked rage that seemed to be the bane of the Black family-Sirius began to dip into a level of thought that might very well be called insanity…another trait which the Black family was, sadly, prone to.

Freaks, are we? Freaks with more power than you can imagine, Petunia! Vernon Dursley, that fat, brainless oaf! Why should he be allowed to roam free while I'm sitting here rotting away? And the more he thought about it, the more rage surged through him, growing ever stronger, aided by the bottle of firewhiskey that was now well more than half empty. He would make it a priority to pay the Dursleys back for their abominable treatment of Harry.

Sirius surged to his feet, swaying just a little. So that scum thinks we're freaks, eh? By Merlin, I'll show them who's a freak! I'll give them a bloody freak show! He barged out the kitchen door into the back garden and as it was rather late at night apparated straight to the Dursley's front porch. He pounded on the door but refrained from yelling so as not to draw even more attention to himself.

Vernon opened the door after a few moments. "See here now, why are you pounding on my door? Do you have any idea what time it is? Who are you anyway?"

In reply, Sirius pulled his wand and shoved it into Vernon's fat neck. He pushed Vernon back into the entry hall and closed the door behind him, then shoving Vernon all the way into the sitting room. Petunia jumped off the couch with a shriek when she saw the crazy-looking man shove Vernon into the room; she saw the wand in his hand, and her eyes filled with terror.

"Hello again, Tuney. It's been a while," growled Sirius, a malevolent look covering his face. "We have a few things to discuss, so please both of you, have a seat. This might take a while." He waved his wand and both Dursleys collapsed onto the couch, their legs feeling too weak and shaky to hold them up.

Vernon made an attempt to regain some of his bluster, though he was scared to death. "Look here, you freak—what's the meaning of this? I thought you lot couldn't use magic on us normal people!"

The rage surged once more when he heard the fat oaf refer to himself as "normal" and Sirius as a "freak".

Sirius' grin was almost manic. "Well, you see, Vernon, I'm a hunted man, wanted for murder, for murdering twelve of you normal people. Wanted for betraying your sister and her husband,Tuney. Remember them? Remember Lily? James was my best mate, and they say I betrayed them to the Dark Lord. They say I'm the Dark Lord's right hand man. So, Vernon, what makes you think I care about following the rules? What makes you think I won't kill you?"

Vernon opened his mouth to retort, but Sirius cast a silencing charm over both Dursleys, the terror in their eyes growing stronger as they realized no sound would come out of their mouths.

"You know, Tuney…Vernon, I feel like perhaps I am not being taken seriously. And since my name is Sirius, we can't have you not take me…seriously, can we?" Another malevolent grin spread across his face as he raised his wand again, muttering "Incarcerus," watching with glee as the Dursley adults were bound hand and foot in thick, heavy ropes. His grin widened at the look of fear in their eyes.

"Hmmm…where's that fat oaf you call your son, Tuney? Upstairs? Maybe he needs to join this little discussion as well, eh?"

Petunia's eyes widened at his words, and she managed to shake her head.

Perhaps, if Sirius had thought it through better and let his rational side control his actions, he would have realized that using magic on the scum now frozen in terror before him would alert the Ministry to his presence. Perhaps he would have convinced himself to not act like his deranged cousin Bellatrix. That perhaps his actions would make it worse for Harry instead of better. And perhaps he would have stayed at Grimmauld Place.

But the rage was in complete control of him now; any capacity for rational thought had fled his mind, driven out by the all consuming fury. His one priority at that moment was to teach the Dursleys a lesson they'd always remember.

A small corner of Sirius' mind, unaffected by the rage, told him to leave the boy alone. He might be a Black, he might have rage running unhindered through his mind, but he was still sane enough to realize that he couldn't bring himself to traumatize a child, no matter how vile the child may be. So he left the boy asleep and unleashed his hatred on the adult Dursleys.

He threw hex after charm at them, mixed with a few curses. His body seemed to be acting of its own accord. Sirius gave no real thought to his actions. All the rage accumulated from twelve years in Azkaban, all the rage of his upbringing, all the rage from James and Lily's deaths, the rage he'd had at finding out how Harry had been raised…all this rage came pouring out like a flood, all at once, and the Dursleys were on the receiving end of it all.

As the rage reached a crescendo in his mind, he raised his wand one more time, with every intention of using the Cruciatus on them. As he opened his mouth to utter a curse he never thought he would, there came to his ears a cackle, and a voice murmured sweetly in his ear, "Welcome back, Siri. It seems you're still a Black at heart." The voice cackled again, before whispering, "And you called me deranged. Well done, Siri; well done."

Sirius gasped and staggered back, his wand arm falling to his side. His heart was beating wildly against his ribs, and his breath became ragged. He knew that voice. He'd heard it muttering and screaming for twelve years. It was cousin Bellatrix's voice. He spun around expecting to see her, but she wasn't standing behind him. His eyes shot around the room trying to locate her. As the rage subsided and rationality returned to his mind, he realized that Bellatrix wasn't in the room with him. She was still safely locked away in Azkaban.

Sirius' mind cleared, and his breathing resumed its normal rhythm. And with the return of rationality to his mind, shame came rushing in with it. He glanced at the Dursleys, noting the blood marks and swelling on their faces. He saw the terror in their eyes, and his feelings of shame increased tenfold. He looked down at his shaky hands.

The hallucination of Bellatrix had been correct. Sirius was just like her. He had come there that night, enraged because of Harry's upbringing, and because the Dursleys called anyone magical a freak. And he had proved them right. Seeking revenge, he had become the very thing he hated, the very thing the Dursleys had called Harry.

They're right: I am a freak. I'm a Black, and we're all freaks. He leaned against the wall a moment, his head in his hands, before remorse surged through him, replacing the rage. The Dursleys were staring at him in terror, Petunia with tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry," Sirius told them, his voice a hoarse whisper.

He healed as many of their injuries as he could, before obliviating them, putting them into Bewitched Sleep and levitating them up to their room. Exiting through the back door, closing it quietly behind him, a deep sigh escaped him. He didn't feel like going back to Grimmauld Place yet, his mind still terrified of what he had done, and what he had almost done.

"I truly am a freak," he muttered, "if it was Bellatrix of all people who pulled me back from the brink." He was shaky, and slid down against the back wall of the Dursley's. "I can't go back, not yet. Not to that place. I just can't." He sighed again and rubbed his face, feeling as if tears might fall.

A meow sounded from behind, and Sirius was surprised to see a cat approaching him. Being a canine animagus, cats usually avoided him like the plague. But this cat came right up to him and rubbed it's head against his legs. Overcoming his surprise, he reached down and scratched its ears. "You're a bold one, aren't you?" The cat purred in reply, and a small smile crossed Sirius' face.

"Well, what do I do now, cat?" The cat sat down and stared at him. "If Moony knew I had done this, he would not take it well at all." And I can't possibly tell Harry about it. That would be the worst thing I could do! I should tell Mother's portrait. It might get a kick out of hearing what I just did to some muggles."

The cat hissed in reply.

A rueful chuckle escaped Sirius. "No, I suppose that wouldn't be the best thing, would it?" Well, a nice trot as Padfoot might help me calm down and clear my mind." He scratched the cat's ears one more time, then transformed. He expected the cat would run in fear of the huge black dog that now stood before it. But it didn't. Instead, it walked up and boldly rubbed it's head against Padfoot's legs. The dog barked, before turning and walking off into the night. And to his surprise, the cat accompanied him for several blocks, trotting at his side before turning to head back. The two animals stopped, and caught each other's eyes over their shoulders. "Meow!" The cat said, and Padfoot gave a woof in reply. Then the two parted ways: the cat back to wherever it had come from, while Padfoot ran on into the night.