A Stag Alone
Chapter 6: Prongs
James
I don't know how many times they moved me from place to place because I stopped counting after three. Sometimes I wasn't even concious, and I was terrified above all. I had no idea whether anything I had tried had worked - for instance, changing into Prongs when they weren't looking so that I could leave prints they might not cover up. Or trying to send my owl to Remus - I don't know if they intercepted it, because they saw me release it, but I couldn't watch its progress under the Cruciatus, and so I couldn't tell.
It was pain beyond pain, pain beyond anything imaginable, and I didn't know why.
I remember asking, and the man I spoke to laughed. He told me that with his Master, there was no why, only who and when and where.
I remember a sudden cold. I could feel it to my bones, shaking from pain and terror and cold, but they seemed unmoved by it.
Until, of course, the dementor came closer.
Sirius
I opened my eyes lying on the ground, a scarlet feather gripped tight in one hand, alone.
It was only a few seconds before Dumbledore joined me, appearing with a blinding flash rather stylishly, or so I'm sure I would have thought under other circumstances.
His face was shadowed, but from what I could see it was extremely dark and hard. It was frightening, to see him like that when all I could remember in the past had been cheerfulness, amusement, stern warnings when we were summoned to his office perhaps, but never this. Never anything like this.
He extended a hand silently, and I took it, letting the feather slip from my fingers and allowing him to help me stand. We were in a forest, somewhere, not the Forbidden Forest but somewhere darker, stuffier, with less light and more. . .anger.
I swallowed, afraid of what I might see.
Dumbledore watched me for a moment, his eyes appraising me, studying me carefully. I tried to push fear and worry and tiredness away, tried to keep neutral. I'm pretty sure I failed, and he would have been able to read it in any case. He gave a quick nod, as if to himself, and put a hand on my shoulder to lead me forwards.
We walked through the trees for only a few minutes before stopping. There was a place where branches of a tree had been recently cut, because two were lying on the ground through the trees a bit more, but Dumbledore, still wordlessly, raised his eyes, and I did as well.
There were places where two branches had clearly been cut, but growing from those now were more.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke.
"Do you know what this means, Mr. Black?"
"A wizard must have been here," I said, "and not long ago."
Dumbledore nodded. "Or more than one," he said softly. "James and his kidnappers were here. I traced them to this spot, but they covered their tracks, so aside from their presence and the fact that they cut wood, I can tell nothing. Even that tells me very little. They're moving, once an hour or more often."
I looked away, at the ground, and nodded. James had been here, recently.
I closed my eyes, trying to feel what he must have been feeling. . .fear, perhaps anger, uncertainty. Pain? Had he been in pain? But I couldn't be sure. If Remus was here, he could smell it.
I opened my eyes again, still looking at the ground, and saw the footprints of a stag. It circled nervously, I could tell by looking, and then stopped. But they were there, as clear as day.
Prongs had been here, too.
Chapter 6: Prongs
James
I don't know how many times they moved me from place to place because I stopped counting after three. Sometimes I wasn't even concious, and I was terrified above all. I had no idea whether anything I had tried had worked - for instance, changing into Prongs when they weren't looking so that I could leave prints they might not cover up. Or trying to send my owl to Remus - I don't know if they intercepted it, because they saw me release it, but I couldn't watch its progress under the Cruciatus, and so I couldn't tell.
It was pain beyond pain, pain beyond anything imaginable, and I didn't know why.
I remember asking, and the man I spoke to laughed. He told me that with his Master, there was no why, only who and when and where.
I remember a sudden cold. I could feel it to my bones, shaking from pain and terror and cold, but they seemed unmoved by it.
Until, of course, the dementor came closer.
Sirius
I opened my eyes lying on the ground, a scarlet feather gripped tight in one hand, alone.
It was only a few seconds before Dumbledore joined me, appearing with a blinding flash rather stylishly, or so I'm sure I would have thought under other circumstances.
His face was shadowed, but from what I could see it was extremely dark and hard. It was frightening, to see him like that when all I could remember in the past had been cheerfulness, amusement, stern warnings when we were summoned to his office perhaps, but never this. Never anything like this.
He extended a hand silently, and I took it, letting the feather slip from my fingers and allowing him to help me stand. We were in a forest, somewhere, not the Forbidden Forest but somewhere darker, stuffier, with less light and more. . .anger.
I swallowed, afraid of what I might see.
Dumbledore watched me for a moment, his eyes appraising me, studying me carefully. I tried to push fear and worry and tiredness away, tried to keep neutral. I'm pretty sure I failed, and he would have been able to read it in any case. He gave a quick nod, as if to himself, and put a hand on my shoulder to lead me forwards.
We walked through the trees for only a few minutes before stopping. There was a place where branches of a tree had been recently cut, because two were lying on the ground through the trees a bit more, but Dumbledore, still wordlessly, raised his eyes, and I did as well.
There were places where two branches had clearly been cut, but growing from those now were more.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke.
"Do you know what this means, Mr. Black?"
"A wizard must have been here," I said, "and not long ago."
Dumbledore nodded. "Or more than one," he said softly. "James and his kidnappers were here. I traced them to this spot, but they covered their tracks, so aside from their presence and the fact that they cut wood, I can tell nothing. Even that tells me very little. They're moving, once an hour or more often."
I looked away, at the ground, and nodded. James had been here, recently.
I closed my eyes, trying to feel what he must have been feeling. . .fear, perhaps anger, uncertainty. Pain? Had he been in pain? But I couldn't be sure. If Remus was here, he could smell it.
I opened my eyes again, still looking at the ground, and saw the footprints of a stag. It circled nervously, I could tell by looking, and then stopped. But they were there, as clear as day.
Prongs had been here, too.
