the Greater Good
by Kiana
You should not read this without reading the first two parts. The summary is in the first part. Okay?
I don't legally own anything. The end.
Thank you so much for reviewing! Yes, I know the story is a little weird- but please, it IS my first serious story. It's bound to be a little odd. And yes, it's my story, but I'm happily open for ideas on what would make it better. Merci beaucoup!
(by the way, I'm titleing the parts of this from Cambell's 'Hero with a Thousand Faces' breakdown of the hero's journey. Why? Because I'd rather do that to study for the English test than write out something like: Ist part of the journey: ordinary world, second part: call to adventure, ect.)
Chapter II: (continued)
Capture
"Ow!" Harry rubbed his sore knuckles with the palm of his other hand, then lashed out at the offending metal bars with his shoulder, throwing himself against it.
"I wouldn't do that, kid," the read-cloaked guard said, a hint of amusment gleaming behind his dark eyes.
"Let me out!" Harry shouted at him.
"Cheese?" the prisoner next to his cell asked in a high-pitched, demented sort of voice.
Harry stared at him for a moment, then resumed his plea, "Let me out! Let me OUT of here! You can't put a kid in Azkaban anyway!!"
"Kid," the guard said wearily, "you were found aiding Sirius Black. That's a serious offence, you know." The man blinked twice, then shook away the 'Sirius/ serious' conflict. "But you might not go to Azkaban, it depends on what the court thinks."
Harry sighed, and settled back against the stone wall of his cell. What would happen to him now? Probably not Azkaban- as soon as he managed to convince them that he was THE HARRY POTTER he'd most likely be let off entirely. But then what? The Dursleys would be all too happy to know that he'd been in prison, and that they were out of danger from Black. Harry put his head in his hands.
"What about Sirius?"
"CHEESE!!"
"What about the bloody git?" the guard asked.
"What'll they- er- they won't send him back to- to- "
"Azkaban?" Harry nodded. "Nope. Heard he's in for the Dementor's Kiss."
* * *
"Let me g- !" Sirius drew in his breath sharply, feeling his insides turn to ice. Dementors.
The two Hit Wizards serving as some kind of sadistic escorts grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, keeping Sirius moving through the long hallway. He stumbled, dragging his bare feet on the deep russet carpeting. Carpet the colour of blood.
At this thought, an acidic wash of panic swept over the man- Sirius dug his heels into floor, momentarily halting their progress.
"Get going," one of the wizards hissed, bringing the hard edge of a baton across the prisoner's shoulders. Sometimes Muggle weapons did have their uses.
Black staggered forward, wincing, then tripped over his feet. The two Wizards were on him at once, dragging him upright none too gently.
"You punch like my little sister," he mumbled, bringing a hand tenitively to his split lip. Goon Number Two rammed his fist into Black's stomache; Sirius crumpled like a broken toy for his half-emanciated state. " 's a complim'nt," he weezed, gagged, then managed to draw a shallow, shaky breath.
Apparently, the men were getting tired of playing tug-of-war with the infamous convict. Goon Number One grabbed him under the elbows, hauling him upwards again.
They marched him forwards, towards the stained oak doors of the Ministry's exicutionary.
Sirius tripped himself again, landing hard on the cold floor less than half a metre from the end of the hall. He was dragged the rest of the way.
"Get up."
"How? You've got my hands chained behind my back." This was a dream, Sirius thought. It has to be a dream. I'm going to wake up as Padfoot somewhere; I'll be okay.
He was hit again with the baton, and then in the ribs by Number One's smelly old boot.
"Get up."
"Want a last request." he told the unusually clear-focused, soft, red strands of the carpet.
"What."
"Give me a trial first."
"Request denied. You woldn't ask if you didn't think you could weasle you way out of justice again."
Sirius let out a slow breath, listening with hightened sences to the sounds the air made against the plush carpet. He had just run out of options.
"All right. Give me a chance to speak. When I'm done you can . . . we can walk through that door."
"Fine."
Sirius struggled into a seated posistion, took a few breaths, and then began his tale of the Marauders, Remus the werewolf, and Pettigrew the betrayer. He made sure to leave out the part of being an Animagus, though, just in case the Wizards believed him and he was released.
They did not.
So Sirius continued his Last Speach, stalling for time, and launched into the worst concert anyone, Muggle or wizard, ever had the misfourtune of hearing.
Chapter IV:
"I think it would be a good idea."
"Sirius Black has just been captured, Sir!"
The Minister of Defence shot Mr Wesson a hard look. "Again? The whole mission is bloody pointless if it's not him, you understand."
"Yes, Sir." The Auror was still dressed in the drab garb he had worn at Gwynnadale's, and looked in desperate need of a long soak. "But this man reacted to the verbal suggestions I threw at him, and did act much like his determined psychology would suggest."
"Determined psychology is not proof of anything. What some hard- headed, white-collor neuroscientist comes up with as a reasonable behaviour pattern for an escaped criminal could very well be a perfect match for every other poor bugger on the streets. Further, did this 'determined psychology' take into account the probability of insanity?"
Wesson started to say something, then stopped, realizing the truth to this.
"Well, where is he?" the Minister sighed. He stood, with the bering and poise expected of someone in his position, and followed Nathanial Wesson from his office. "One more thing, though. This one doesn't say 'cheese' all the time, does he?"
"No, Sir, he's actually quite rational."
They rounded a corner, and came face to face with a bizzar sight. Two rather irritated-looking Hit Wizards stood in front of the exacutionary's oak door, and between them sat a tattered-looking wizard singing his way shakily through the Beetles' "Yellow Submarine".
"All right, enough," one of the Wizards snapped, and attempted to drag the (intoxicated?) man to his feet.
"Let me alone, I'm not through yet," the man argued hoarsley.
"You've had long enough."
"A, b, c, d, e, f, g, Eric the half-a-bee," he managed, and then, thankfully, his voice seemed to fail.
"What the hell is this?" the Minister of Defence demanded.
The seated man answered in a strained gasp, "They won't let me finish my Last Speach."
" 'Last Speach'? You sang yourself hoarse, from what I can tell. Who are you?"
" 'The renegade, who had it made, retrie'- "
"Shut up!" one of the Hit Wizards snapped, interrupting the prisoner.
"He's Sirius Black," Wesson said, startled. Black looked up at him, then glared fiercley.
"Nathanial, you son of a- "
"Enough!" The lighter-haired Wizard clubbed the man hard with his baton, knocking him to the ground.
"Black, eh?" The minister looked skeptical. "We'll see. Stand him up."
The man was yanked roughly to his feet. The Minister of Defence circled around behind the two Wizards, snatched up the back of what remained of the prisoner's collor, and tore it down over the man's right shoulderblade.
"Hey!" he protested, struggling to keep his balance.
"What's that mean?" Wesson asked, pointing. Sirius twisted his head back, but didn't see anything of noticable intrest. Other than, of course, several jagged scars- nothing new.
"Prisoner number," the minister said. "Congradulations, Wesson. You've actually captured Sirius Antony Black."
"I have a prisoner number?" Sirius asked.
"Took us long enough to catch him. About bloody time." the minister continued, ignoring him.
Wesson stepped up to Sirius, smiling superiorly. "So, what do you think of Ministery Intelligence now, Black?"
"I think it would be a good idea," he spat.
A/N: What? You didn't think I was going to call him Sirius Lee, did you? My story's already much too goofy. Remus Jay Lupin would be interesting, though . . .
I'd like to have put up more, but I wanted to finish before I had to go to class. I will put up more within the next two days, if not today. Again, thanks so much for being encouraging!! Also, the computer I'm working on doesn't have a spell check, which is bad. At least Nick is sleeping right now . . .
by Kiana
You should not read this without reading the first two parts. The summary is in the first part. Okay?
I don't legally own anything. The end.
Thank you so much for reviewing! Yes, I know the story is a little weird- but please, it IS my first serious story. It's bound to be a little odd. And yes, it's my story, but I'm happily open for ideas on what would make it better. Merci beaucoup!
(by the way, I'm titleing the parts of this from Cambell's 'Hero with a Thousand Faces' breakdown of the hero's journey. Why? Because I'd rather do that to study for the English test than write out something like: Ist part of the journey: ordinary world, second part: call to adventure, ect.)
Chapter II: (continued)
Capture
"Ow!" Harry rubbed his sore knuckles with the palm of his other hand, then lashed out at the offending metal bars with his shoulder, throwing himself against it.
"I wouldn't do that, kid," the read-cloaked guard said, a hint of amusment gleaming behind his dark eyes.
"Let me out!" Harry shouted at him.
"Cheese?" the prisoner next to his cell asked in a high-pitched, demented sort of voice.
Harry stared at him for a moment, then resumed his plea, "Let me out! Let me OUT of here! You can't put a kid in Azkaban anyway!!"
"Kid," the guard said wearily, "you were found aiding Sirius Black. That's a serious offence, you know." The man blinked twice, then shook away the 'Sirius/ serious' conflict. "But you might not go to Azkaban, it depends on what the court thinks."
Harry sighed, and settled back against the stone wall of his cell. What would happen to him now? Probably not Azkaban- as soon as he managed to convince them that he was THE HARRY POTTER he'd most likely be let off entirely. But then what? The Dursleys would be all too happy to know that he'd been in prison, and that they were out of danger from Black. Harry put his head in his hands.
"What about Sirius?"
"CHEESE!!"
"What about the bloody git?" the guard asked.
"What'll they- er- they won't send him back to- to- "
"Azkaban?" Harry nodded. "Nope. Heard he's in for the Dementor's Kiss."
* * *
"Let me g- !" Sirius drew in his breath sharply, feeling his insides turn to ice. Dementors.
The two Hit Wizards serving as some kind of sadistic escorts grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, keeping Sirius moving through the long hallway. He stumbled, dragging his bare feet on the deep russet carpeting. Carpet the colour of blood.
At this thought, an acidic wash of panic swept over the man- Sirius dug his heels into floor, momentarily halting their progress.
"Get going," one of the wizards hissed, bringing the hard edge of a baton across the prisoner's shoulders. Sometimes Muggle weapons did have their uses.
Black staggered forward, wincing, then tripped over his feet. The two Wizards were on him at once, dragging him upright none too gently.
"You punch like my little sister," he mumbled, bringing a hand tenitively to his split lip. Goon Number Two rammed his fist into Black's stomache; Sirius crumpled like a broken toy for his half-emanciated state. " 's a complim'nt," he weezed, gagged, then managed to draw a shallow, shaky breath.
Apparently, the men were getting tired of playing tug-of-war with the infamous convict. Goon Number One grabbed him under the elbows, hauling him upwards again.
They marched him forwards, towards the stained oak doors of the Ministry's exicutionary.
Sirius tripped himself again, landing hard on the cold floor less than half a metre from the end of the hall. He was dragged the rest of the way.
"Get up."
"How? You've got my hands chained behind my back." This was a dream, Sirius thought. It has to be a dream. I'm going to wake up as Padfoot somewhere; I'll be okay.
He was hit again with the baton, and then in the ribs by Number One's smelly old boot.
"Get up."
"Want a last request." he told the unusually clear-focused, soft, red strands of the carpet.
"What."
"Give me a trial first."
"Request denied. You woldn't ask if you didn't think you could weasle you way out of justice again."
Sirius let out a slow breath, listening with hightened sences to the sounds the air made against the plush carpet. He had just run out of options.
"All right. Give me a chance to speak. When I'm done you can . . . we can walk through that door."
"Fine."
Sirius struggled into a seated posistion, took a few breaths, and then began his tale of the Marauders, Remus the werewolf, and Pettigrew the betrayer. He made sure to leave out the part of being an Animagus, though, just in case the Wizards believed him and he was released.
They did not.
So Sirius continued his Last Speach, stalling for time, and launched into the worst concert anyone, Muggle or wizard, ever had the misfourtune of hearing.
Chapter IV:
"I think it would be a good idea."
"Sirius Black has just been captured, Sir!"
The Minister of Defence shot Mr Wesson a hard look. "Again? The whole mission is bloody pointless if it's not him, you understand."
"Yes, Sir." The Auror was still dressed in the drab garb he had worn at Gwynnadale's, and looked in desperate need of a long soak. "But this man reacted to the verbal suggestions I threw at him, and did act much like his determined psychology would suggest."
"Determined psychology is not proof of anything. What some hard- headed, white-collor neuroscientist comes up with as a reasonable behaviour pattern for an escaped criminal could very well be a perfect match for every other poor bugger on the streets. Further, did this 'determined psychology' take into account the probability of insanity?"
Wesson started to say something, then stopped, realizing the truth to this.
"Well, where is he?" the Minister sighed. He stood, with the bering and poise expected of someone in his position, and followed Nathanial Wesson from his office. "One more thing, though. This one doesn't say 'cheese' all the time, does he?"
"No, Sir, he's actually quite rational."
They rounded a corner, and came face to face with a bizzar sight. Two rather irritated-looking Hit Wizards stood in front of the exacutionary's oak door, and between them sat a tattered-looking wizard singing his way shakily through the Beetles' "Yellow Submarine".
"All right, enough," one of the Wizards snapped, and attempted to drag the (intoxicated?) man to his feet.
"Let me alone, I'm not through yet," the man argued hoarsley.
"You've had long enough."
"A, b, c, d, e, f, g, Eric the half-a-bee," he managed, and then, thankfully, his voice seemed to fail.
"What the hell is this?" the Minister of Defence demanded.
The seated man answered in a strained gasp, "They won't let me finish my Last Speach."
" 'Last Speach'? You sang yourself hoarse, from what I can tell. Who are you?"
" 'The renegade, who had it made, retrie'- "
"Shut up!" one of the Hit Wizards snapped, interrupting the prisoner.
"He's Sirius Black," Wesson said, startled. Black looked up at him, then glared fiercley.
"Nathanial, you son of a- "
"Enough!" The lighter-haired Wizard clubbed the man hard with his baton, knocking him to the ground.
"Black, eh?" The minister looked skeptical. "We'll see. Stand him up."
The man was yanked roughly to his feet. The Minister of Defence circled around behind the two Wizards, snatched up the back of what remained of the prisoner's collor, and tore it down over the man's right shoulderblade.
"Hey!" he protested, struggling to keep his balance.
"What's that mean?" Wesson asked, pointing. Sirius twisted his head back, but didn't see anything of noticable intrest. Other than, of course, several jagged scars- nothing new.
"Prisoner number," the minister said. "Congradulations, Wesson. You've actually captured Sirius Antony Black."
"I have a prisoner number?" Sirius asked.
"Took us long enough to catch him. About bloody time." the minister continued, ignoring him.
Wesson stepped up to Sirius, smiling superiorly. "So, what do you think of Ministery Intelligence now, Black?"
"I think it would be a good idea," he spat.
A/N: What? You didn't think I was going to call him Sirius Lee, did you? My story's already much too goofy. Remus Jay Lupin would be interesting, though . . .
I'd like to have put up more, but I wanted to finish before I had to go to class. I will put up more within the next two days, if not today. Again, thanks so much for being encouraging!! Also, the computer I'm working on doesn't have a spell check, which is bad. At least Nick is sleeping right now . . .