8. THE RIGHT TO CARE
„All my fault. It is all my fault." Claire could not cease to whisper that one sentence over and over.
Last evening they had left Malfoy in London, after a dreadful visit to Gringott's where Claire had handed Voldemort's third in command a bag filled with golden galleons - a transaction that filled her with disgust and self loathing. How could she support a cause that killed innocents just to set an example? Even if this mission was for the sake of the victory of all things good and noble - how would she ever be able to live with the knowledge that so many had been killed along the way? Malfoy had brimmed over with pride and excitement about the successful assault. He had promised her to arrange a meeting with Voldemort himself as soon as possible - a prospect that made Claire wince. It had taken all her strength and Sirius' reassuring presence to answer the promise with a cool smile.
Now they sat in Dumbledore's office, Snape watching Claire over his steepled fingers with an unreadable expression, Dumbledore patting her hand every once in a while. It was Sirius who had given them a short but detailed report about the afternoon with Malfoy. All Claire had been able to say was the one sentence about it all being her fault.
Sirius grew desperate. He had spent all night awake, holding Claire who had not slept at all until he made her take a potion. Even in her sleep she had tossed and turned and muttered the same words. But she was wrong, he thought. It was not her fault. It was his. He should have never agreed to this foolish plan. He hated to admit it, but Snape had been right. It had been suicidal and ignorant to put Claire in a position where Voldemort could hurt her so easily. Dumbledore had made Sirius her bodyguard, but they had never considered the possibility that Claire could get hurt indirectly, by what the Death Eaters did to others.
And he had not been able to protect her ...
He felt the Headmasters gaze and looked up to meet the babyblue eyes of the old wizard. Dumbledore lightly shook his head. "Don't do this to you, Sirius" he said softly.
Omniscient, thought Sirius, uneasily shifting in his chair. How did he do it? How did he know what everybody was thinking? But then again - Dumbledore was so old there couldn't be many situations he had not gone through yet.
Snape looked a Claire who rocked lightly back and forward, muttering her mea-culpa. His face twisted into a scowl.
"Of course you are right, Claire," he confirmed acridly. "It is all your fault."
In a flash Sirius evaded his chair, grabbed Snape at the shoulders and slammed him into the wall, not bothering with wands and spells. The helpless anger he had harboured since he had stood at the smoking ruins of Flourish & Blotts brimmed over. Had Dumbledore not seized his wrist with surprising strength, he'd strangled the Potions master right there, for hurting Claire even more when she ached already.
"Let go of him. Now," said the Headmaster calmly. "Let him finish what he has to say."
Snape coughed and smoothed his robes indignantly. Giving Sirius a cynical sneer, he concentrated on Claire, who had not even looked up when Sirius attacked.
"My fault," she muttered again.
"Right," said Snape and took the chair next to her.
Dumbledore laid a frail hand on Sirius's arm and whispered: "Trust him."
"I can't. He is hurting her." Sirius was pale and watched Snape carefully, ready to yank him away from Claire if necessary.
"I don't think so," said Dumbledore.
"It is all your fault," repeated Snape casually. "The explosion, Mr Blotts' injuries …"
Claire looked up reluctantly. "He is … not dead?"
Snape shook his head. "Call it a hunch, but he told his employees to take the afternoon off. He was the only one in the building and though he suffered severe head injuries he is on the way to recovery."
She sighed. "But he could be dead. They all could be dead. And it is all …"
"Your fault," Snape finished the sentence for her. "As it is your fault, that your dear husband tried to feed me to our common friend, the werewolf, when we were sixteen. It is your fault I did all I could to have him kissed by the Dementors two years ago. Your fault that Miss Kennedy turned the poor fool Lupin down. Your fault they don't serve any more ginger ice cream at The Three Broomsticks."
She raised her head, suddenly annoyed. "It is not …"
"Not your fault," he concluded silkily. "Now why would that be so, Claire?"
She stared into his hard black eyes. "Because they … you …"
"Because we are people who make their own decisions. We are able to distinguish what is wrong and what is right. And therefore all of us are responsible for our own actions. As is Lucius Malfoy." He gently reached for her hand, a gesture that surprised Sirius even more than the way his reasoning took.
"I know Lucius. His mind is sharp and cold as a knife. He knows exactly what he is doing. What happened in Diagon Alley is not your fault. It is his, and his alone."
"No, it was Peter's," Sirius interfered calmly. "Malfoy told us it was Pettigrew's idea."
Snape looked at him, wordlessly.
"Then he'll be held responsible for that, too," said Dumbledore.
When they left the study and waited for the winding stair to transport them down, Claire dared not look at Sirius. She needed not see his face to know he was angry with her. Guiltily she curled a lock around the fingers of her right hand.
They crossed the hall and still Sirius had not said a word.
Claire took a deep breath and faced him.
"What is wrong?"
His eyes widened. "Wrong? You ask me what is wrong?" He scowled at her. "You could have died yesterday, or could get killed anytime. This must stop. And it shall stop right here."
Claire did not trust her ears. "Stop? What do you mean?"
"The plan. Forget about it. It is too dangerous. I am not taking you near Malfoy ever again."
A white hot flame of anger shot through Claire's heart.
"You won't take me with you? Right." She narrowed her eyes. "I am just a squib, is that it? I am too dumb to understand what is going on."
"Claire, baby …"
"Don't baby me, Sirius!" Tears welled up and desperation almost choked her. She had dreaded this moment, had always known it would come. But now it seemed so painful she just wanted to die. "Go on, say it! Tell me what you really think about me!"
He raised his eyebrows. "Claire, listen … Don't you see that you are …"
"Stupid. Weak. Useless."
Claire rose on tiptoes and slapped him across the face. Before Sirius could react, she turned on her heel without giving him any opportunity to explain and ran out of the hall. Storming through the entrance door, she ran into Remus on the stairs outside the castle and, without thinking, grabbed Lupin's broomstick that hovered at waist-height.
As soon as she straddled the broom, it started to rise with surprising speed. Then it shot like a rocket towards the rooftop.
"No!" Sirius cried out when he took in the situation.
Remus just stared upwards in frozen shock. Sirius brushed him aside when he ran down the stairs.
"She is a squib, she can't stir a fucking broom. It is going to crash into the wall any minute!" he yelled at Remus.
"I know that," replied Lupin furiously. "It is not like I handed it to her. She just took it from me!"
"I need a broom, now!"
But there was none. All the students' brooms had been taken home for the holidays, the school brooms lay stripped down in Hagrid's shed, and the only broom in the broomshed that obeyed to Sirius' desperate "Accio", was Flitwick's. Which meant it was only two feet long ...
Claire screamed with fear when the broom started to loop in spirals.
"Can't you call your broom to you?" Sirius looked at Remus, and although the Werewolf concentrated on thinking up a solution for the situation, part of his mind noticed the fear in his friend's eyes. Marriage in name only - ha!
He tried to summon the broom, but it only made Claire scream more desperately and almost fall off the broomstick when it did a sudden dive towards its master.
"I'll Apparate," said Sirius through gritted teeth.
"Are you out of your mind?" Remus stared at him indignantly. "You can't Apparate onto a moving object! If you miss it, you'll break your neck!"
"It is Claire's neck I worry about right now."
Sirius clenched his fists and tried to clear his mind. He had always been good at Apparating and had perfected the art when he and James applied for their licence. They had Apparated up and down the West Tower, and once, he remembered quite clearly, he had Apparated off his motorcycle in full flight. He could do this.
And he did.
Claire screamed again when the broom dipped suddenly with the added weight. Sirius wrapped one arm around her and used his right hand to gain control of the bucking broom. Very slowly he managed to force it into a smooth course that led them safely towards the ground.
Claire trembled. She grabbed his arm so hard it hurt.
Sirius exhaled shakily. "That was close."
"That was stupid." Her voice was but a whisper and drowned in tears. "You are right. I am nothing but a stupid squib."
"No, you are not stupid." Sirius drew her close enough to look at her face without letting go off the broom. "You are foolish though."
"Sirius," Claire whispered, her face still white as parchment. "Please. I'll be braver next time. I won't cry anymore. But please let me go on with the plan. Don't be angry with me …"
He flinched as if she had hit him again.
"Baby, I am not angry with you", he said helplessly as he lowered the broom carefully. The familiar tingling in his neck alarmed him. He had only minutes before the darkness would shut out the world and the voices would start pleading again. "I am angry with myself for not protecting you from what Malfoy did to you. And for not being able to help you out of your sadness." He tried to breath slowly to win time to assure her. "Snape could help you where I failed."
"It was not Severus who held me all night long," she whispered against his neck. "I would not have made it yesterday without you by my side. I knew you would not leave me alone with Malfoy. That damned murderer!" She started crying again, but this time in anger, not desperation, as Sirius noticed in relief.
He sat Claire carefully onto the ground. Fine beads of perspiration covered his forehead by now. His heart raced. He needed to get away.
Fast.
Now.
"Can you take Claire home safely?"
He looked at Remus who stood on the stairs, still pale with shock, and knew the werewolf could easily see that something was wrong. But he trusted his friend not to say anything. For now. Later Remus would bug him as long as necessary to make him talk. Kind, reasonable Remus who still believed every problem could be solved by talking it out ... But now he'd let Sirius go, and he'd care for Claire.
Lupin nodded ever so lightly, only raised an eyebrow when he noticed Sirius' condition. "I shall make sure she gets home. Don't worry." And very softly: "Take care, my friend."
* * *
After midnight Claire was ready to call it a day. She had worked in the living room since the office seemed too small and narrow all of a sudden. Sirius had not come home, nor had he sent an owl like he usually did when he spent the night somewhere else in Dumbledore's service. Despite his assurances earlier on, he must be very angry with her. Trying to argument away her worries, Claire made a mental list of reasons beside anger about her foolish broom ride that might keep Sirius away. But all she could think of were possible dangers, and that made it even worse.
She gathered the letters she had written into a neat stack and fetched the quill case from her office to store away the semi-magical quill.
In the hallway she heard the entrance door open and close again, and peeked around the corner. It was not Sirius though, just one of the elves. The disappointment hurt like a sharp stab through her stomach. But when she turned back into the living room, she felt a soft tugging at her skirt. Looking down, she saw Peagreen's round face, usually happily excited, but now gloomy and with a never before noticed frown between the eyes. The elf seemed deeply worried, and Claire hunched down on her heels and drew her into a warm hug. Lately she felt the desire to hug people and creatures alike, a desire that seemed to stem from the pleasure of physical contact Sirius had shown her. It had nothing to do with sex - only where it concerned her husband, she thought and blushed - but with closeness and reassurance. For all those emotions she'd only had words to express them, until Sirius had taught her that a touch, an embrace at the right time could mean so much more than words.
"What is it, little one?" she asked.
Peagreen blinked. It was obvious she had been pondering complicated thoughts for some time now. The tomato-sized nose had lost its healthy green colour and turned a sickly puce. Eventually the elf could not hold back any longer.
"If some-elf gots a gift, Miss Claire?"
She smiled reassuringly. "Yes. A gift?"
"Is that elf to keeps it or can the elf pass the gift on?"
Stunned, Claire thought about it. Her elves held the very idea of property as a heretical and almost indecent concept. So why this sudden interest in gifts?
"Well, I guess if someone gives you a thing as a gift, it makes you the owner, and you are free to do with it as you like."
Peagreen hiccuped in relief. "Then I gives it now to you, Miss Claire."
"To me?" She shook her head. "Peagreen, I don't understand."
The elf grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the entrance door. "Miss Claire's Sirius is giving Peagreen a secret. And Peagreen is passing it to you."
Claire got up and tried to hold the little creature back.
"Wait. I am afraid a secret is not like any other gift!"
Peagreen's ears drooped in disappointment. "But if the secret hurt really really bad?"
"It hurts? What do you mean?"
Instead of an answer the elf stepped behind her and all but pushed her to the door. Claire gave up and stepped outside. The night was cold, and the rain that had started hours ago, poured down like a grey curtain. The light from the tall windows fell on the ground and drew perfect rectangles.
"He be down there," whispered Peagreen as loud a she could, and when Claire's gaze followed the elf's pointing hand, she froze in shock.
Right at the foot of the wide stairs lay a great black dog, his fur matted and tangled with nettles, the huge paws raw and bleeding. Claire took a closer look and noticed that the fur was not only wet and dirty, but bloody all over the back. Her throat got dry.
"Sirius?" she whispered.
The dog whined softly. When Claire reached out to pat his head, the animal began to flicker, to transform. For a second a human body appeared on the ground, curled into a ball, as wet and dirty as the dog had been. But then the wizard faded away again and changed back into canine shape.
Claire turned to Peagreen.
"This is the secret?"
The elf nodded unhappily. "He does bleeding, every night he runs and comes bleeding. But it is a secret, he gives me a secret and I gives it to you, so it is all right. No, Miss Claire?"
She forced a small smile. "Yes. You did the right thing, sweetie."
The dog whimpered in pain when she touched his warm nose, and transformed into Sirius again. He lay on his back, deep dark rings under his eyes, breathing too fast and too shallow. Claire took his wrist and felt his pulse.
"Sirius," she urged softly. "Can you stand up?"
When he declined with a small motion of his head, she felt panic rise in her heart. And suddenly she understood what Poppy had been on about a few days ago. Apparently this was not the first time Sirius got hurt, and yet he had never ever come to her. He had gone to Poppy for help and treatment of his wounds. No wonder the matron was worried about the state of their marriage. If it were not for his terrible condition, which required her immediate attention, Claire would have been very angry with him. But right now she decided to postpone anger and hurt until she had taken care of him.
"Peagreen," she said more calmly than she felt, "get the others and help me to carry Sirius into the house."
A few minutes later eight elves and Claire were busy to move the wizard's tall frame up the stairs and into the bathroom. The elves showed remarkable strength but it was tricky to get the long legs around corners, and twice Claire almost let go of Sirius' head, only to catch him before he hit the stairs. Finally they succeeded to get him into the bathroom where the elves lowered the body carefully onto the floor.
Claire wished once more she'd been able to do just a little magic. Right now it would suffice to levitate Sirius into the tub or to let the robes vanish. But being a squib she had to resort to scissors. She cut the ragged and muddy robes off his body and unfastened the laces that tied his boots. With a sharp hiss she stared at his terribly hurt feet. Apparently it did not matter whether an Animagus changed with clothes and shoes or naked. Whatever befell him in animal form took its effect on the body, not the clothes.
Where the fur on the dog's back had been bloody, Sirius' body showed a huge bruise.
Claire began gingerly to clean the abrasions and the swelling with a wet cloth and again she understood only now why Poppy had put so much emphasis on how to clean shallow wounds and cuts.
When he was reasonably clean, Claire sent an elf to fetch clothes from Sirius' bedroom. The soft drawstring pants would not hurt him, she thought when she dressed the still unconscious wizard with some effort. But there was no way he'd wear shoes or a shirt until she had not healed the wound on his feet and his back.
Tenderly she brushed the hair out of his face, and the soft touch made Sirius open his eyes. His lips were encrusted with blood and he did not try to speak. Instead his gaze told Clare everything. He wanted her to leave him alone, to spare him the humiliation of laying on the bathroom floor, half naked, completely helpless. He wanted her to get up and leave, and close the door and never mention this incident.
But that she would not do.
"Can you levitate, just a little?" she asked.
He shook his head wearily.
Claire took his wand from the rags that had been Sirius' robes and closed his hand around it.
"Try," she pleaded. "Only an inch or two so I can move you someplace warmer."
He had started to shiver violently on the tiled floor, and Claire could not tell whether he was cold or in shock. Probably both, she feared.
Sirius closed his eyes again and his lips moved without sound. Painfully slowly the body lifted inch by inch until it floated in knee height. Claire gently stirred him out of the bathroom across the hall and into the living room. She knew that she'd better get him into bed soon, but dreaded the stairs to the first floor while Sirius was not able to walk. Right now she needed a warm room with a fire going, and the living room couch would be almost as good as a bed.
When she had finally pushed and pulled him to the couch, she exhaled in relief. She tended to forget how much taller than she Sirius really was. He always picked her up when they kissed, and in bed it didn't really matter. But it mattered of course when trying to stir arms and legs and body through furniture and hallway doors.
Sirius could not suppress a pained groan when he lowered onto the couch and his back touched the soft cushions. Claire raked both hands through her hair that had by long escaped her braid. What was she to do first?
The legs would need some work with all the small cuts, so she'd start with the bruise on his back, to make it less painfully for him to sit. She stepped behind the couch and softly placed both palms over the area that was rapidly turning black and blue. Poppy had taught her how to use her power without actually touching the wound or injury she was treating. Concentrating on her wish to ease his pain and onto the warmth that welled up in her heart she moved her hands, spreading warmth all over Sirius' back. He felt how the pain faded, Claire could tell as much from the way the tension in his upper body loosened. When she was done, the bruise had paled and almost disappeared, and Sirius' breathing was back to normal.
Claire waited a minute, to make sure she had not missed any internal injuries. Then she went back to her earlier position in front of the couch and kneeled down to take a closer look at his feet. A slight frown appeared between her brows. When she had seen the cuts for the first time she had thought that by accident Sirius - or better the dog - had stepped on shattered glass. Now she recognised the injuries as what they were - signs of a very long run.
When she looked up, she met Sirius' eyes, darker than ever, not blue anymore. His face was without colour but for the bruise that bloomed at his jaw
"Please go away," he rasped. "I don't want you … to see me … like this."
Claire's lip trembled. She let go of his ankle and reached for his hand, gently but firmly. When he flinched, she entwined her fingers with his.
"It is my right to see you like this. As it is yours to safe my life every once in a while."
She pressed a kiss on his wrist. "I am sorry I hit you this afternoon …"
He only shook his head, so exhausted he could not muster the energy to speak.
Claire cupped his head with both hands, and forced him to look down and face her. His eyes were dark with tiredness and something else she had never seen there before - fear. He looked like somebody who had confronted a terrible enemy and had recognised he would not be strong enough to withstand.
"As your wife it is my right to feed you when you are hungry. To warm you when you are cold. To tend to your wounds when you are hurt." Her voice shook but her eyes never left his. "On our wedding day I acquired the right to take care of you, until our marriage is over. And you will not deny me this." Her mouth set into a determined line.
Sirius looked at her for a long time.
It was impossible to read anything from his stony face, so all Claire could do was wait and hope he'd see that all she wanted was to be his wife. Until the marriage was over. She hated that thought and yet she had to repeat it again and again whenever she felt happy with Sirius.
She'd not hinder him, she'd set him free, she would, good Goddess. But not now, not while they were still married.
Then Sirius bowed his head as if he surrendered in battle.
She almost sobbed in relief..
Covering his foot with both hands she sent warmth into him, let her fingertips caress the torn skin until it mended under her gentle touch. Sirius sighed softly and relaxed a little.
She repeated the treatment with the other foot, and then, still kneeling, looked up at him.
"Why did you not come to me?" she asked softly and although she tried to keep her voice blank, the anger and hurt let it tremble. "Why did you seek help from Poppy Pomfrey and not from me?"
"I did not know you could do this." Sirius swallowed and rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead.
"You did not know I could heal. But you knew I was there. Even if I had not been able to treat you I should have known."
"Claire, I …"
She raised both hands in exasperation. "You disappear night after night. you apparently run yourself into exhaustion and bloody sores. You get these … fits." She could see how he retreated and told herself not to allow him to evade her questions this time. "What is wrong, Sirius?"
He shook his head, wordlessly, hopelessly.
"Sirius." She reached for his hand and he flinched again. "You know I can be awfully stubborn. I am not going to let you get away without an explanation this time."
He stood up, slowly, aching, like an old man. Stepping to the window, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass and stared out into the darkness. His back had healed by now, the skin showed no sign of abrasion or bruising. Like any time when she saw her husband half naked, Claire could only marvel at the sheer beauty of his body, the muscles under the lightly tanned skin, the broad shoulders, the long legs. Shyly she embraced him and rubbed her cheek against his bare back.
Almost reluctantly Sirius relaxed, breath by breath.
"I am going crazy," he said so softly she had to raise her head to him to understand.
Claire's eyes widened in awe. She had been prepared for almost anything - a confession of marital infidelity, another secret mission, even that he was sick and tired of playing her bodyguard. But not this. Crazy? Laurel had told her about Sirius' violent mood swings, and she had seen with her own eyes how he had reduced Prenner's face to bloody pulp. But he had had a good reason then, or hadn't he? And he had never hurt her. In her company he always seemed calm, as steady as a rock.
"What makes you think so?" she asked carefully.
"I can't talk about it," he replied stiffly. "I have to go through this on my own."
Claire slipped between his tall frame and the window, so he could not block her out any more.
"No," she said.
He avoided to look at her but could not ignore her soft touch when she caressed his face.
"No, you don't," she repeated.
Sirius sighed softly and rested his chin on her head. "I don't."
Claire extinguished the lamps until the only light in the room came from the fire. Then she led Sirius to the couch and gently pushed him down until he lay flat on the back, his head propped up on a pillow. Claire fetched a cashmere blanket from a trunk to cover him, and sat down by his side and kissed him softly.
"Better now?"
Sirius' blue eyes searched hers. Then he pulled back the blanket, wordlessly, and drew Claire to him until she laid next to him, snuggled against his chest.
"I am not going to break down like this every day, I promise," he whispered, his voice tainted with embarrassment.
"I know."
"Just …
Claire kissed the side of his neck, where his pulse beat under her lips. "Just tonight."
She waited patiently until he spoke, painfully hesitantly at first.
"You know … how the Potters died."
Claire nodded. "Minerva told me. Peter Pettigrew used his position as Secret Keeper to deliver them to …. Him. And then Peter framed you, so everybody would think you were guilty."
"For the first month I was in shock. I had just lost my best friend, and Lily, who we all adored. Peter, little Peter Pettigrew, a wizard I trusted like a brother, had betrayed us all, had killed all those innocents in the street. In Azkaban they keep all prisoners in solidary confinement. I had not had a trial, therefore I had no lawyer, and Fudge had given the order to not let anybody visit me. For a month nobody talked to me. I sat in my cell in utter silence. The only sound I could hear was the cry of a seabird now and then, the rain whipping the walls and the storm howling. The Dementors left me alone, did not consider me a treat. I had no happy thought in my mind to feed them, so they would not care, only push a bowl with tasteless slop through the bars of the cell every other day."
He searched for words and Claire began to gently stroke his back to warm him.
"My condition saved my life in the first month. But slowly I started to recover. I could not cease mourning James and Lil, but I stopped staring into nothingness. I began to ask myself, when the trial would be, what I would tell the judge. But there was no trial. There would never be a trial. When I recognised that I was guilty and as good as dead in the eyes of the outside world, I started to rage. I threw myself against the bars. I tore my hands bloody in the futile attempt to break through the stone walls. It made the Dementors notice me. They feed on happiness, but any emotion will do when they get hungry."
He shivered and Claire pulled the blanket closer around them both.
"It was then I heard the voices for the first time. In the beginning I thought it had to be the prisoner in the cell next to me. He cried, pitifully, he begged to get released. But mostly he cried for somebody to talk to, so he would not be so lonely. I tried to block my ears, I tried to shut him out, but I could not. So I started to talk to him, through the walls. Or at least I thought so. Then, after a few days, the Dementors dragged a dead body out from the cell next to mine. I cried for him, because he had become my companion in a way. The cell remained empty, but the voice kept wailing. Only then I understood."
Claire stopped stroking his back in astonishment. "He was dead but the voice still talked to you?"
Sirius laughed softly, but it was not a humorous laugh. "It did not only keep talking, but invited friends. Male voices, female voices, old ones, younger ones. All of them begging me, pleading, crying."
"What did they want?"
"They wanted me to talk to them. They were all alone, each in their own cell, out of reach for anybody but me. So I talked to them. I did what I had done when my brothers felt frightened, when we were still kids. I told them stories. It kept me alive, all those years. And at the same time it ate me up. I transformed for days to keep them out of my mind, but I couldn't stay Padfoot forever."
"Stories," Claire repeated thoughtfully. "You told them stories." And suddenly she understood. "You still hear those voices, don't you? When you get the attacks …"
He remained silent for almost a minute and Claire felt how he tried to calm his breath. Even the thought about the voices taking possession of his mind let his heartbeat race.
"They demand I keep talking to them."
"Sirius …"
He drew in a shuddering breath. "I tried to block them, ignore them. Then I found that if I ran until I dropped from exhaustion, they'd leave me alone. So I transformed into animal shape and ran whenever I felt them in my mind. When I am a dog, they can't reach me. But lately it does not work anymore. Sometimes I am so tired and broken I can't get up anymore when I transform back."
Sirius buried his face in Claire's hair. "I can't go on like this anymore."
"Why don't you do what they want?" she asked softly. "Why don't you give them the stories they crave? They are all alone, whoever they are. They seem to need you."
"Claire," he sighed. "They are not real. The voices are a sign I am losing my mind. I have seen that happen before, believe me. I know how it starts ... and how it ends. I imagined them because I was all alone in my cell."
"But lets pretend for a moment they were real. Prisoners in the cell next to you. Would you talk to them?"
He drew her so close it almost hurt. "I'd do anything for those held captive in Azkaban. Nobody deserves that kind of punishment."
"Then talk to them, Sirius."
"They won't let go," he whispered hoarsely. "I am afraid if I start talking they'll not allow me to stop anymore."
"Talk to me then," Claire suggested. "Tell me a story and let them listen. If they feel you won't ignore them anymore they might become less demanding. And I'll help you find the way back." She propped up on one elbow and tried to make out his eyes in the dim light from the fire. "It is just you and me in this room. You are free, Sirius. Free, and in safety. Give them what they crave."
Gradually relaxing under her tender caresses, Sirius started to speak.
It was amazing how his voice changed. It grew stronger and lower, as soft as velvet, mesmerising. The stories Sirius told, evoked pictures in Claire's mind, of people she had never met, places she had never been to. He made her laugh and he made her cry, and he made her beg for another story and another one, until the fire in the hearth slowly died, and they both fell asleep.
And the semi-magical quill on the side-table kept writing and writing all night long, until he was out of parchment.
* * *
„All my fault. It is all my fault." Claire could not cease to whisper that one sentence over and over.
Last evening they had left Malfoy in London, after a dreadful visit to Gringott's where Claire had handed Voldemort's third in command a bag filled with golden galleons - a transaction that filled her with disgust and self loathing. How could she support a cause that killed innocents just to set an example? Even if this mission was for the sake of the victory of all things good and noble - how would she ever be able to live with the knowledge that so many had been killed along the way? Malfoy had brimmed over with pride and excitement about the successful assault. He had promised her to arrange a meeting with Voldemort himself as soon as possible - a prospect that made Claire wince. It had taken all her strength and Sirius' reassuring presence to answer the promise with a cool smile.
Now they sat in Dumbledore's office, Snape watching Claire over his steepled fingers with an unreadable expression, Dumbledore patting her hand every once in a while. It was Sirius who had given them a short but detailed report about the afternoon with Malfoy. All Claire had been able to say was the one sentence about it all being her fault.
Sirius grew desperate. He had spent all night awake, holding Claire who had not slept at all until he made her take a potion. Even in her sleep she had tossed and turned and muttered the same words. But she was wrong, he thought. It was not her fault. It was his. He should have never agreed to this foolish plan. He hated to admit it, but Snape had been right. It had been suicidal and ignorant to put Claire in a position where Voldemort could hurt her so easily. Dumbledore had made Sirius her bodyguard, but they had never considered the possibility that Claire could get hurt indirectly, by what the Death Eaters did to others.
And he had not been able to protect her ...
He felt the Headmasters gaze and looked up to meet the babyblue eyes of the old wizard. Dumbledore lightly shook his head. "Don't do this to you, Sirius" he said softly.
Omniscient, thought Sirius, uneasily shifting in his chair. How did he do it? How did he know what everybody was thinking? But then again - Dumbledore was so old there couldn't be many situations he had not gone through yet.
Snape looked a Claire who rocked lightly back and forward, muttering her mea-culpa. His face twisted into a scowl.
"Of course you are right, Claire," he confirmed acridly. "It is all your fault."
In a flash Sirius evaded his chair, grabbed Snape at the shoulders and slammed him into the wall, not bothering with wands and spells. The helpless anger he had harboured since he had stood at the smoking ruins of Flourish & Blotts brimmed over. Had Dumbledore not seized his wrist with surprising strength, he'd strangled the Potions master right there, for hurting Claire even more when she ached already.
"Let go of him. Now," said the Headmaster calmly. "Let him finish what he has to say."
Snape coughed and smoothed his robes indignantly. Giving Sirius a cynical sneer, he concentrated on Claire, who had not even looked up when Sirius attacked.
"My fault," she muttered again.
"Right," said Snape and took the chair next to her.
Dumbledore laid a frail hand on Sirius's arm and whispered: "Trust him."
"I can't. He is hurting her." Sirius was pale and watched Snape carefully, ready to yank him away from Claire if necessary.
"I don't think so," said Dumbledore.
"It is all your fault," repeated Snape casually. "The explosion, Mr Blotts' injuries …"
Claire looked up reluctantly. "He is … not dead?"
Snape shook his head. "Call it a hunch, but he told his employees to take the afternoon off. He was the only one in the building and though he suffered severe head injuries he is on the way to recovery."
She sighed. "But he could be dead. They all could be dead. And it is all …"
"Your fault," Snape finished the sentence for her. "As it is your fault, that your dear husband tried to feed me to our common friend, the werewolf, when we were sixteen. It is your fault I did all I could to have him kissed by the Dementors two years ago. Your fault that Miss Kennedy turned the poor fool Lupin down. Your fault they don't serve any more ginger ice cream at The Three Broomsticks."
She raised her head, suddenly annoyed. "It is not …"
"Not your fault," he concluded silkily. "Now why would that be so, Claire?"
She stared into his hard black eyes. "Because they … you …"
"Because we are people who make their own decisions. We are able to distinguish what is wrong and what is right. And therefore all of us are responsible for our own actions. As is Lucius Malfoy." He gently reached for her hand, a gesture that surprised Sirius even more than the way his reasoning took.
"I know Lucius. His mind is sharp and cold as a knife. He knows exactly what he is doing. What happened in Diagon Alley is not your fault. It is his, and his alone."
"No, it was Peter's," Sirius interfered calmly. "Malfoy told us it was Pettigrew's idea."
Snape looked at him, wordlessly.
"Then he'll be held responsible for that, too," said Dumbledore.
When they left the study and waited for the winding stair to transport them down, Claire dared not look at Sirius. She needed not see his face to know he was angry with her. Guiltily she curled a lock around the fingers of her right hand.
They crossed the hall and still Sirius had not said a word.
Claire took a deep breath and faced him.
"What is wrong?"
His eyes widened. "Wrong? You ask me what is wrong?" He scowled at her. "You could have died yesterday, or could get killed anytime. This must stop. And it shall stop right here."
Claire did not trust her ears. "Stop? What do you mean?"
"The plan. Forget about it. It is too dangerous. I am not taking you near Malfoy ever again."
A white hot flame of anger shot through Claire's heart.
"You won't take me with you? Right." She narrowed her eyes. "I am just a squib, is that it? I am too dumb to understand what is going on."
"Claire, baby …"
"Don't baby me, Sirius!" Tears welled up and desperation almost choked her. She had dreaded this moment, had always known it would come. But now it seemed so painful she just wanted to die. "Go on, say it! Tell me what you really think about me!"
He raised his eyebrows. "Claire, listen … Don't you see that you are …"
"Stupid. Weak. Useless."
Claire rose on tiptoes and slapped him across the face. Before Sirius could react, she turned on her heel without giving him any opportunity to explain and ran out of the hall. Storming through the entrance door, she ran into Remus on the stairs outside the castle and, without thinking, grabbed Lupin's broomstick that hovered at waist-height.
As soon as she straddled the broom, it started to rise with surprising speed. Then it shot like a rocket towards the rooftop.
"No!" Sirius cried out when he took in the situation.
Remus just stared upwards in frozen shock. Sirius brushed him aside when he ran down the stairs.
"She is a squib, she can't stir a fucking broom. It is going to crash into the wall any minute!" he yelled at Remus.
"I know that," replied Lupin furiously. "It is not like I handed it to her. She just took it from me!"
"I need a broom, now!"
But there was none. All the students' brooms had been taken home for the holidays, the school brooms lay stripped down in Hagrid's shed, and the only broom in the broomshed that obeyed to Sirius' desperate "Accio", was Flitwick's. Which meant it was only two feet long ...
Claire screamed with fear when the broom started to loop in spirals.
"Can't you call your broom to you?" Sirius looked at Remus, and although the Werewolf concentrated on thinking up a solution for the situation, part of his mind noticed the fear in his friend's eyes. Marriage in name only - ha!
He tried to summon the broom, but it only made Claire scream more desperately and almost fall off the broomstick when it did a sudden dive towards its master.
"I'll Apparate," said Sirius through gritted teeth.
"Are you out of your mind?" Remus stared at him indignantly. "You can't Apparate onto a moving object! If you miss it, you'll break your neck!"
"It is Claire's neck I worry about right now."
Sirius clenched his fists and tried to clear his mind. He had always been good at Apparating and had perfected the art when he and James applied for their licence. They had Apparated up and down the West Tower, and once, he remembered quite clearly, he had Apparated off his motorcycle in full flight. He could do this.
And he did.
Claire screamed again when the broom dipped suddenly with the added weight. Sirius wrapped one arm around her and used his right hand to gain control of the bucking broom. Very slowly he managed to force it into a smooth course that led them safely towards the ground.
Claire trembled. She grabbed his arm so hard it hurt.
Sirius exhaled shakily. "That was close."
"That was stupid." Her voice was but a whisper and drowned in tears. "You are right. I am nothing but a stupid squib."
"No, you are not stupid." Sirius drew her close enough to look at her face without letting go off the broom. "You are foolish though."
"Sirius," Claire whispered, her face still white as parchment. "Please. I'll be braver next time. I won't cry anymore. But please let me go on with the plan. Don't be angry with me …"
He flinched as if she had hit him again.
"Baby, I am not angry with you", he said helplessly as he lowered the broom carefully. The familiar tingling in his neck alarmed him. He had only minutes before the darkness would shut out the world and the voices would start pleading again. "I am angry with myself for not protecting you from what Malfoy did to you. And for not being able to help you out of your sadness." He tried to breath slowly to win time to assure her. "Snape could help you where I failed."
"It was not Severus who held me all night long," she whispered against his neck. "I would not have made it yesterday without you by my side. I knew you would not leave me alone with Malfoy. That damned murderer!" She started crying again, but this time in anger, not desperation, as Sirius noticed in relief.
He sat Claire carefully onto the ground. Fine beads of perspiration covered his forehead by now. His heart raced. He needed to get away.
Fast.
Now.
"Can you take Claire home safely?"
He looked at Remus who stood on the stairs, still pale with shock, and knew the werewolf could easily see that something was wrong. But he trusted his friend not to say anything. For now. Later Remus would bug him as long as necessary to make him talk. Kind, reasonable Remus who still believed every problem could be solved by talking it out ... But now he'd let Sirius go, and he'd care for Claire.
Lupin nodded ever so lightly, only raised an eyebrow when he noticed Sirius' condition. "I shall make sure she gets home. Don't worry." And very softly: "Take care, my friend."
* * *
After midnight Claire was ready to call it a day. She had worked in the living room since the office seemed too small and narrow all of a sudden. Sirius had not come home, nor had he sent an owl like he usually did when he spent the night somewhere else in Dumbledore's service. Despite his assurances earlier on, he must be very angry with her. Trying to argument away her worries, Claire made a mental list of reasons beside anger about her foolish broom ride that might keep Sirius away. But all she could think of were possible dangers, and that made it even worse.
She gathered the letters she had written into a neat stack and fetched the quill case from her office to store away the semi-magical quill.
In the hallway she heard the entrance door open and close again, and peeked around the corner. It was not Sirius though, just one of the elves. The disappointment hurt like a sharp stab through her stomach. But when she turned back into the living room, she felt a soft tugging at her skirt. Looking down, she saw Peagreen's round face, usually happily excited, but now gloomy and with a never before noticed frown between the eyes. The elf seemed deeply worried, and Claire hunched down on her heels and drew her into a warm hug. Lately she felt the desire to hug people and creatures alike, a desire that seemed to stem from the pleasure of physical contact Sirius had shown her. It had nothing to do with sex - only where it concerned her husband, she thought and blushed - but with closeness and reassurance. For all those emotions she'd only had words to express them, until Sirius had taught her that a touch, an embrace at the right time could mean so much more than words.
"What is it, little one?" she asked.
Peagreen blinked. It was obvious she had been pondering complicated thoughts for some time now. The tomato-sized nose had lost its healthy green colour and turned a sickly puce. Eventually the elf could not hold back any longer.
"If some-elf gots a gift, Miss Claire?"
She smiled reassuringly. "Yes. A gift?"
"Is that elf to keeps it or can the elf pass the gift on?"
Stunned, Claire thought about it. Her elves held the very idea of property as a heretical and almost indecent concept. So why this sudden interest in gifts?
"Well, I guess if someone gives you a thing as a gift, it makes you the owner, and you are free to do with it as you like."
Peagreen hiccuped in relief. "Then I gives it now to you, Miss Claire."
"To me?" She shook her head. "Peagreen, I don't understand."
The elf grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the entrance door. "Miss Claire's Sirius is giving Peagreen a secret. And Peagreen is passing it to you."
Claire got up and tried to hold the little creature back.
"Wait. I am afraid a secret is not like any other gift!"
Peagreen's ears drooped in disappointment. "But if the secret hurt really really bad?"
"It hurts? What do you mean?"
Instead of an answer the elf stepped behind her and all but pushed her to the door. Claire gave up and stepped outside. The night was cold, and the rain that had started hours ago, poured down like a grey curtain. The light from the tall windows fell on the ground and drew perfect rectangles.
"He be down there," whispered Peagreen as loud a she could, and when Claire's gaze followed the elf's pointing hand, she froze in shock.
Right at the foot of the wide stairs lay a great black dog, his fur matted and tangled with nettles, the huge paws raw and bleeding. Claire took a closer look and noticed that the fur was not only wet and dirty, but bloody all over the back. Her throat got dry.
"Sirius?" she whispered.
The dog whined softly. When Claire reached out to pat his head, the animal began to flicker, to transform. For a second a human body appeared on the ground, curled into a ball, as wet and dirty as the dog had been. But then the wizard faded away again and changed back into canine shape.
Claire turned to Peagreen.
"This is the secret?"
The elf nodded unhappily. "He does bleeding, every night he runs and comes bleeding. But it is a secret, he gives me a secret and I gives it to you, so it is all right. No, Miss Claire?"
She forced a small smile. "Yes. You did the right thing, sweetie."
The dog whimpered in pain when she touched his warm nose, and transformed into Sirius again. He lay on his back, deep dark rings under his eyes, breathing too fast and too shallow. Claire took his wrist and felt his pulse.
"Sirius," she urged softly. "Can you stand up?"
When he declined with a small motion of his head, she felt panic rise in her heart. And suddenly she understood what Poppy had been on about a few days ago. Apparently this was not the first time Sirius got hurt, and yet he had never ever come to her. He had gone to Poppy for help and treatment of his wounds. No wonder the matron was worried about the state of their marriage. If it were not for his terrible condition, which required her immediate attention, Claire would have been very angry with him. But right now she decided to postpone anger and hurt until she had taken care of him.
"Peagreen," she said more calmly than she felt, "get the others and help me to carry Sirius into the house."
A few minutes later eight elves and Claire were busy to move the wizard's tall frame up the stairs and into the bathroom. The elves showed remarkable strength but it was tricky to get the long legs around corners, and twice Claire almost let go of Sirius' head, only to catch him before he hit the stairs. Finally they succeeded to get him into the bathroom where the elves lowered the body carefully onto the floor.
Claire wished once more she'd been able to do just a little magic. Right now it would suffice to levitate Sirius into the tub or to let the robes vanish. But being a squib she had to resort to scissors. She cut the ragged and muddy robes off his body and unfastened the laces that tied his boots. With a sharp hiss she stared at his terribly hurt feet. Apparently it did not matter whether an Animagus changed with clothes and shoes or naked. Whatever befell him in animal form took its effect on the body, not the clothes.
Where the fur on the dog's back had been bloody, Sirius' body showed a huge bruise.
Claire began gingerly to clean the abrasions and the swelling with a wet cloth and again she understood only now why Poppy had put so much emphasis on how to clean shallow wounds and cuts.
When he was reasonably clean, Claire sent an elf to fetch clothes from Sirius' bedroom. The soft drawstring pants would not hurt him, she thought when she dressed the still unconscious wizard with some effort. But there was no way he'd wear shoes or a shirt until she had not healed the wound on his feet and his back.
Tenderly she brushed the hair out of his face, and the soft touch made Sirius open his eyes. His lips were encrusted with blood and he did not try to speak. Instead his gaze told Clare everything. He wanted her to leave him alone, to spare him the humiliation of laying on the bathroom floor, half naked, completely helpless. He wanted her to get up and leave, and close the door and never mention this incident.
But that she would not do.
"Can you levitate, just a little?" she asked.
He shook his head wearily.
Claire took his wand from the rags that had been Sirius' robes and closed his hand around it.
"Try," she pleaded. "Only an inch or two so I can move you someplace warmer."
He had started to shiver violently on the tiled floor, and Claire could not tell whether he was cold or in shock. Probably both, she feared.
Sirius closed his eyes again and his lips moved without sound. Painfully slowly the body lifted inch by inch until it floated in knee height. Claire gently stirred him out of the bathroom across the hall and into the living room. She knew that she'd better get him into bed soon, but dreaded the stairs to the first floor while Sirius was not able to walk. Right now she needed a warm room with a fire going, and the living room couch would be almost as good as a bed.
When she had finally pushed and pulled him to the couch, she exhaled in relief. She tended to forget how much taller than she Sirius really was. He always picked her up when they kissed, and in bed it didn't really matter. But it mattered of course when trying to stir arms and legs and body through furniture and hallway doors.
Sirius could not suppress a pained groan when he lowered onto the couch and his back touched the soft cushions. Claire raked both hands through her hair that had by long escaped her braid. What was she to do first?
The legs would need some work with all the small cuts, so she'd start with the bruise on his back, to make it less painfully for him to sit. She stepped behind the couch and softly placed both palms over the area that was rapidly turning black and blue. Poppy had taught her how to use her power without actually touching the wound or injury she was treating. Concentrating on her wish to ease his pain and onto the warmth that welled up in her heart she moved her hands, spreading warmth all over Sirius' back. He felt how the pain faded, Claire could tell as much from the way the tension in his upper body loosened. When she was done, the bruise had paled and almost disappeared, and Sirius' breathing was back to normal.
Claire waited a minute, to make sure she had not missed any internal injuries. Then she went back to her earlier position in front of the couch and kneeled down to take a closer look at his feet. A slight frown appeared between her brows. When she had seen the cuts for the first time she had thought that by accident Sirius - or better the dog - had stepped on shattered glass. Now she recognised the injuries as what they were - signs of a very long run.
When she looked up, she met Sirius' eyes, darker than ever, not blue anymore. His face was without colour but for the bruise that bloomed at his jaw
"Please go away," he rasped. "I don't want you … to see me … like this."
Claire's lip trembled. She let go of his ankle and reached for his hand, gently but firmly. When he flinched, she entwined her fingers with his.
"It is my right to see you like this. As it is yours to safe my life every once in a while."
She pressed a kiss on his wrist. "I am sorry I hit you this afternoon …"
He only shook his head, so exhausted he could not muster the energy to speak.
Claire cupped his head with both hands, and forced him to look down and face her. His eyes were dark with tiredness and something else she had never seen there before - fear. He looked like somebody who had confronted a terrible enemy and had recognised he would not be strong enough to withstand.
"As your wife it is my right to feed you when you are hungry. To warm you when you are cold. To tend to your wounds when you are hurt." Her voice shook but her eyes never left his. "On our wedding day I acquired the right to take care of you, until our marriage is over. And you will not deny me this." Her mouth set into a determined line.
Sirius looked at her for a long time.
It was impossible to read anything from his stony face, so all Claire could do was wait and hope he'd see that all she wanted was to be his wife. Until the marriage was over. She hated that thought and yet she had to repeat it again and again whenever she felt happy with Sirius.
She'd not hinder him, she'd set him free, she would, good Goddess. But not now, not while they were still married.
Then Sirius bowed his head as if he surrendered in battle.
She almost sobbed in relief..
Covering his foot with both hands she sent warmth into him, let her fingertips caress the torn skin until it mended under her gentle touch. Sirius sighed softly and relaxed a little.
She repeated the treatment with the other foot, and then, still kneeling, looked up at him.
"Why did you not come to me?" she asked softly and although she tried to keep her voice blank, the anger and hurt let it tremble. "Why did you seek help from Poppy Pomfrey and not from me?"
"I did not know you could do this." Sirius swallowed and rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead.
"You did not know I could heal. But you knew I was there. Even if I had not been able to treat you I should have known."
"Claire, I …"
She raised both hands in exasperation. "You disappear night after night. you apparently run yourself into exhaustion and bloody sores. You get these … fits." She could see how he retreated and told herself not to allow him to evade her questions this time. "What is wrong, Sirius?"
He shook his head, wordlessly, hopelessly.
"Sirius." She reached for his hand and he flinched again. "You know I can be awfully stubborn. I am not going to let you get away without an explanation this time."
He stood up, slowly, aching, like an old man. Stepping to the window, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass and stared out into the darkness. His back had healed by now, the skin showed no sign of abrasion or bruising. Like any time when she saw her husband half naked, Claire could only marvel at the sheer beauty of his body, the muscles under the lightly tanned skin, the broad shoulders, the long legs. Shyly she embraced him and rubbed her cheek against his bare back.
Almost reluctantly Sirius relaxed, breath by breath.
"I am going crazy," he said so softly she had to raise her head to him to understand.
Claire's eyes widened in awe. She had been prepared for almost anything - a confession of marital infidelity, another secret mission, even that he was sick and tired of playing her bodyguard. But not this. Crazy? Laurel had told her about Sirius' violent mood swings, and she had seen with her own eyes how he had reduced Prenner's face to bloody pulp. But he had had a good reason then, or hadn't he? And he had never hurt her. In her company he always seemed calm, as steady as a rock.
"What makes you think so?" she asked carefully.
"I can't talk about it," he replied stiffly. "I have to go through this on my own."
Claire slipped between his tall frame and the window, so he could not block her out any more.
"No," she said.
He avoided to look at her but could not ignore her soft touch when she caressed his face.
"No, you don't," she repeated.
Sirius sighed softly and rested his chin on her head. "I don't."
Claire extinguished the lamps until the only light in the room came from the fire. Then she led Sirius to the couch and gently pushed him down until he lay flat on the back, his head propped up on a pillow. Claire fetched a cashmere blanket from a trunk to cover him, and sat down by his side and kissed him softly.
"Better now?"
Sirius' blue eyes searched hers. Then he pulled back the blanket, wordlessly, and drew Claire to him until she laid next to him, snuggled against his chest.
"I am not going to break down like this every day, I promise," he whispered, his voice tainted with embarrassment.
"I know."
"Just …
Claire kissed the side of his neck, where his pulse beat under her lips. "Just tonight."
She waited patiently until he spoke, painfully hesitantly at first.
"You know … how the Potters died."
Claire nodded. "Minerva told me. Peter Pettigrew used his position as Secret Keeper to deliver them to …. Him. And then Peter framed you, so everybody would think you were guilty."
"For the first month I was in shock. I had just lost my best friend, and Lily, who we all adored. Peter, little Peter Pettigrew, a wizard I trusted like a brother, had betrayed us all, had killed all those innocents in the street. In Azkaban they keep all prisoners in solidary confinement. I had not had a trial, therefore I had no lawyer, and Fudge had given the order to not let anybody visit me. For a month nobody talked to me. I sat in my cell in utter silence. The only sound I could hear was the cry of a seabird now and then, the rain whipping the walls and the storm howling. The Dementors left me alone, did not consider me a treat. I had no happy thought in my mind to feed them, so they would not care, only push a bowl with tasteless slop through the bars of the cell every other day."
He searched for words and Claire began to gently stroke his back to warm him.
"My condition saved my life in the first month. But slowly I started to recover. I could not cease mourning James and Lil, but I stopped staring into nothingness. I began to ask myself, when the trial would be, what I would tell the judge. But there was no trial. There would never be a trial. When I recognised that I was guilty and as good as dead in the eyes of the outside world, I started to rage. I threw myself against the bars. I tore my hands bloody in the futile attempt to break through the stone walls. It made the Dementors notice me. They feed on happiness, but any emotion will do when they get hungry."
He shivered and Claire pulled the blanket closer around them both.
"It was then I heard the voices for the first time. In the beginning I thought it had to be the prisoner in the cell next to me. He cried, pitifully, he begged to get released. But mostly he cried for somebody to talk to, so he would not be so lonely. I tried to block my ears, I tried to shut him out, but I could not. So I started to talk to him, through the walls. Or at least I thought so. Then, after a few days, the Dementors dragged a dead body out from the cell next to mine. I cried for him, because he had become my companion in a way. The cell remained empty, but the voice kept wailing. Only then I understood."
Claire stopped stroking his back in astonishment. "He was dead but the voice still talked to you?"
Sirius laughed softly, but it was not a humorous laugh. "It did not only keep talking, but invited friends. Male voices, female voices, old ones, younger ones. All of them begging me, pleading, crying."
"What did they want?"
"They wanted me to talk to them. They were all alone, each in their own cell, out of reach for anybody but me. So I talked to them. I did what I had done when my brothers felt frightened, when we were still kids. I told them stories. It kept me alive, all those years. And at the same time it ate me up. I transformed for days to keep them out of my mind, but I couldn't stay Padfoot forever."
"Stories," Claire repeated thoughtfully. "You told them stories." And suddenly she understood. "You still hear those voices, don't you? When you get the attacks …"
He remained silent for almost a minute and Claire felt how he tried to calm his breath. Even the thought about the voices taking possession of his mind let his heartbeat race.
"They demand I keep talking to them."
"Sirius …"
He drew in a shuddering breath. "I tried to block them, ignore them. Then I found that if I ran until I dropped from exhaustion, they'd leave me alone. So I transformed into animal shape and ran whenever I felt them in my mind. When I am a dog, they can't reach me. But lately it does not work anymore. Sometimes I am so tired and broken I can't get up anymore when I transform back."
Sirius buried his face in Claire's hair. "I can't go on like this anymore."
"Why don't you do what they want?" she asked softly. "Why don't you give them the stories they crave? They are all alone, whoever they are. They seem to need you."
"Claire," he sighed. "They are not real. The voices are a sign I am losing my mind. I have seen that happen before, believe me. I know how it starts ... and how it ends. I imagined them because I was all alone in my cell."
"But lets pretend for a moment they were real. Prisoners in the cell next to you. Would you talk to them?"
He drew her so close it almost hurt. "I'd do anything for those held captive in Azkaban. Nobody deserves that kind of punishment."
"Then talk to them, Sirius."
"They won't let go," he whispered hoarsely. "I am afraid if I start talking they'll not allow me to stop anymore."
"Talk to me then," Claire suggested. "Tell me a story and let them listen. If they feel you won't ignore them anymore they might become less demanding. And I'll help you find the way back." She propped up on one elbow and tried to make out his eyes in the dim light from the fire. "It is just you and me in this room. You are free, Sirius. Free, and in safety. Give them what they crave."
Gradually relaxing under her tender caresses, Sirius started to speak.
It was amazing how his voice changed. It grew stronger and lower, as soft as velvet, mesmerising. The stories Sirius told, evoked pictures in Claire's mind, of people she had never met, places she had never been to. He made her laugh and he made her cry, and he made her beg for another story and another one, until the fire in the hearth slowly died, and they both fell asleep.
And the semi-magical quill on the side-table kept writing and writing all night long, until he was out of parchment.
* * *