The Greater Good
by Kiana Unei
None of the Harry Potter characters, places, or events belong to me. You could sue me, but the most you'd get would be a chocolate made to look like money that's been in my pocket for two years.
Sorry it's so short- got the flu. I'll try to get more up soon.
Chapter X:
Of Retards and Renegades (con't)
The journey to Azkaban this time around wasn't nearly as bad as the first. Sirius had been supplied with a room and a change of cloathes, something he had sorely lacked over the years. He had been surprised at how long it took him to get clean; he'd had to drain the filthy water of his tub several times and fill it with fresh before he'd been satisfied with himself.
His hair was a different matter all together, as evidenced by the broken remains of the complemental hair brush now occupying a far corner of his room. Trying to brush the tangled mess hanging down to his shoulders had proved to be painfully impossible.
He had, though, managed to avoid looking into the mirrior; the picture on his Wanted poster had scared him half to death when he'd first seen it. He had no intentions of glimpsing himself until he looked at least as good as someone not already dead and buried.
"What the . . !"
Sirius glanced up from the latest edition of 'the Witch's World: magical magazine for you'- not exactly his favourite choice, but the only reading material avalable in his cabin aboard the large ship.
A man stood in the doorway, staring in mingled disbelief and horror, grey eyes widened. "S-Sirius? What are you DOING?" He glanced around, finally laying eyes on the magazing Sirius Black still had propped up in his lap.
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, and shoved 'Witch's World' underneith a pillow on the plain, standard-issue bed. "Don't bother comming in; in fact, close the door and leave."
Still staring at him, Nathanial Wesson obeyed neither request, but made his way over to where Sirius lay streached out undernieth the covers.
"You're supposed to be insane! You're supposed to be dead . . !"
"You're not really and Auror, are you?" Sirius countered coldly. "I know all about NeuroTech, Wesson. I know the man claiming to be Minister Reiton isn't him. I know you're after the Crest to fund your Frankensteinian work."
Surprisingly, Wesson started to laugh. "Got it all figured out, have you, Black?" He reached over and patted Sirius on the arm; the other jerked away from him. "But to answer your first question, when you didn't show up in the surgical ward, I figured you'd returned to Azkaban to get your son. I supposed you had escaped somehow, though I didn't realize that one could recouver from insanity that quickly, if at all."
"Hah." Sirius gave him a dirty look. "You know, for all your talk about neurology, there is something you keep missing time and again."
"Oh? And what's that."
"Your assumption that everyone's as stupid as you are."
"Hm." Wesson's face relaxed into a smile that reminded Sirius strongly of Snape. "Well, Black, you 'ave got one thing right. I do work for NeuroTech."
"Uh-huh." Sirius glared at him. "You know, the real Minister of Defence and an Auror are staying in the rooms imidiatly next to mine."
Wesson paled noticeably, then said- much quieter, "But how are they going to know I'm here if you won't tell them?"
"Oh, I'll tell them. Maybe then you can go to Azkaban yourself and not attract any attention."
Still smiling, Wesson raised his wand. Sirius sat up quickly, reaching for the man-
"Cerebrilimperio- AHH!" Wesson dropped the wand, clutching at his broken hand. "Damn you, Black!"
Sirius let go of the other's wrist, and retrieved the wand. Wesson stopped simpering and looked slowly up at him. "Give me that."
Sirius handed it over; it was just a stick, after all. He didn't need it.
Grinning, Wesson said, "Cerebrilimperio- a nice little curse. The 'Frankensteinian workers' came up with it. Unlike the Imperio curse, however, this one doesn't wipe your mind, just changes it. I told you, you're not going to tell anyone about me."
"No." Why would he?
"Good. Black, listen closely. You're a Death Eater, but you're not going to hurt me or anyone from the Ministry. Understood? You're going to Azkaban to get your kid, and you're also going to get the Crest of Isis and give it to me. Got it?"
"Yes. I'm a Death Eater. I won't hurt you or anyone from the Ministry. I'm going to get a kid and the Crest, then give it to you." Easy enough. He wouldn't hurt them . . . for now. But if Voldemort ordered him to, Sirius would only be too happy to kill Nathanial Wesson.
A/N: sorry, too short, I know. Next chapter: Death Eaters, Azkaban, and more of Harry.
by Kiana Unei
None of the Harry Potter characters, places, or events belong to me. You could sue me, but the most you'd get would be a chocolate made to look like money that's been in my pocket for two years.
Sorry it's so short- got the flu. I'll try to get more up soon.
Chapter X:
Of Retards and Renegades (con't)
The journey to Azkaban this time around wasn't nearly as bad as the first. Sirius had been supplied with a room and a change of cloathes, something he had sorely lacked over the years. He had been surprised at how long it took him to get clean; he'd had to drain the filthy water of his tub several times and fill it with fresh before he'd been satisfied with himself.
His hair was a different matter all together, as evidenced by the broken remains of the complemental hair brush now occupying a far corner of his room. Trying to brush the tangled mess hanging down to his shoulders had proved to be painfully impossible.
He had, though, managed to avoid looking into the mirrior; the picture on his Wanted poster had scared him half to death when he'd first seen it. He had no intentions of glimpsing himself until he looked at least as good as someone not already dead and buried.
"What the . . !"
Sirius glanced up from the latest edition of 'the Witch's World: magical magazine for you'- not exactly his favourite choice, but the only reading material avalable in his cabin aboard the large ship.
A man stood in the doorway, staring in mingled disbelief and horror, grey eyes widened. "S-Sirius? What are you DOING?" He glanced around, finally laying eyes on the magazing Sirius Black still had propped up in his lap.
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, and shoved 'Witch's World' underneith a pillow on the plain, standard-issue bed. "Don't bother comming in; in fact, close the door and leave."
Still staring at him, Nathanial Wesson obeyed neither request, but made his way over to where Sirius lay streached out undernieth the covers.
"You're supposed to be insane! You're supposed to be dead . . !"
"You're not really and Auror, are you?" Sirius countered coldly. "I know all about NeuroTech, Wesson. I know the man claiming to be Minister Reiton isn't him. I know you're after the Crest to fund your Frankensteinian work."
Surprisingly, Wesson started to laugh. "Got it all figured out, have you, Black?" He reached over and patted Sirius on the arm; the other jerked away from him. "But to answer your first question, when you didn't show up in the surgical ward, I figured you'd returned to Azkaban to get your son. I supposed you had escaped somehow, though I didn't realize that one could recouver from insanity that quickly, if at all."
"Hah." Sirius gave him a dirty look. "You know, for all your talk about neurology, there is something you keep missing time and again."
"Oh? And what's that."
"Your assumption that everyone's as stupid as you are."
"Hm." Wesson's face relaxed into a smile that reminded Sirius strongly of Snape. "Well, Black, you 'ave got one thing right. I do work for NeuroTech."
"Uh-huh." Sirius glared at him. "You know, the real Minister of Defence and an Auror are staying in the rooms imidiatly next to mine."
Wesson paled noticeably, then said- much quieter, "But how are they going to know I'm here if you won't tell them?"
"Oh, I'll tell them. Maybe then you can go to Azkaban yourself and not attract any attention."
Still smiling, Wesson raised his wand. Sirius sat up quickly, reaching for the man-
"Cerebrilimperio- AHH!" Wesson dropped the wand, clutching at his broken hand. "Damn you, Black!"
Sirius let go of the other's wrist, and retrieved the wand. Wesson stopped simpering and looked slowly up at him. "Give me that."
Sirius handed it over; it was just a stick, after all. He didn't need it.
Grinning, Wesson said, "Cerebrilimperio- a nice little curse. The 'Frankensteinian workers' came up with it. Unlike the Imperio curse, however, this one doesn't wipe your mind, just changes it. I told you, you're not going to tell anyone about me."
"No." Why would he?
"Good. Black, listen closely. You're a Death Eater, but you're not going to hurt me or anyone from the Ministry. Understood? You're going to Azkaban to get your kid, and you're also going to get the Crest of Isis and give it to me. Got it?"
"Yes. I'm a Death Eater. I won't hurt you or anyone from the Ministry. I'm going to get a kid and the Crest, then give it to you." Easy enough. He wouldn't hurt them . . . for now. But if Voldemort ordered him to, Sirius would only be too happy to kill Nathanial Wesson.
A/N: sorry, too short, I know. Next chapter: Death Eaters, Azkaban, and more of Harry.