*Spoilers for Book 5*
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected with Harry Potter. All I own is this selection of weird ramblings that somehow form a story.
*
Sirius opened his eyes and shivered. He didn't know where he was; everything was pitch black. He tried to gather his thoughts, confused. He had been helping Harry, he knew that much; he had been fighting his vile cousin Bellatrix; he remembered falling. But then what? It had all gone blank after that. He tried in vain to remember what had happened after that.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a high, cold voice behind him. "I've been told that falling through the veil can be pretty nasty." A shiver ran down his spine and he realised that he wasn't holding his wand. He was sure he had it when he fell . . .
"Missing something, Black?"
"Who are you?" demanded Sirius, whirling around, trying to see something, anything in the darkness. There was laughter with no humour in it, a laugh that had been designed to turn people's spines to ice. "Who are you? Show yourself!"
"My apologies. It is rude of me, I'm sure." A horrible red glow started to fill the place, coming from a medieval-looking fireplace, and Sirius could see that he was in a hall of some sort, with heavily curtained windows and ornaments that not even the most fanatical Death Eater would have had. He turned again, and came face to face with his companion.
"Welcome to my home," said Lord Voldemort, grinning humourlessly.
"Very nice," said Sirius grimly, patting his pockets for his wand. "Those mermaid heads? Classic. So appropriate for the most evil wizard in the world."
"If you're looking for your wand, you don't have it."
"Really? Taken to stating the obvious now? How cliché," snarled Sirius. I don't need my wand, he thought, I can take the bastard down with my hands. Anger like he had never known before was coursing through his body. All he wanted to do was to kill the bastard who had killed his best friend along with so many others, the bastard who was after his godson . . .
"Admirable sentiments, Black. I'm sure Potter would have been proud."
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" roared Sirius, charging towards Voldemort.
He wasn't sure what happened next, but he was lying on his back by the fireplace, staring into the glassy, dead eyes of a centaur. He rolled to his feet and prepared himself for another assault.
"You really think you can take me on? Even with a wand, you would provide no more than interesting sport for, oh, about a minute."
"You can't frighten me," snarled Sirius, starting towards the Dark Lord again.
"You're an audacious man for someone who just died." Sirius stopped in his tracks, glaring at Voldemort.
"What did you just say? I'm dead?"
"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you, Black? But then, Potter always was the bright one, wasn't he?"
"Shut up! Leave James out of this! You're lying!" shouted Sirius, running through the Dark Lord. He shivered as he realised what he had just done.
"Am I?"
"Prove it!"
"You need more proof? Then, here." Voldemort threw his wand down so that it clattered at Sirius' feet. "Pick it up." Sirius bent down to pick up the wand, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's. He couldn't find it. He glanced down at the wand and made another swipe for it. His hand passed through it.
"I see," Sirius said coldly. "Let's get it over with then. The standard 'What-do-you-want-from-me conversation."
"You were a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I want to know what they're planning. Sturgis didn't tell me anything. Of course, that was partly my fault. He lost his mind before I could get him to tell me anything of worth. But now I have you, Sirius Black."
"I won't tell you anything either! And it seems to me that there's a bit of a flaw in your plan, old mate. If I'm dead already there's nothing you can do to me that will make me tell you anything."
"Isn't there?" Voldemort's mouth twisted into a horrible grin. "Did you know," he said conversationally, "that you can torture a soul far more effectively than you can a body? How did it feel when you were sent to Azkaban for crimes you did not commit? How did you feel when you lost James? I always understood that there was a . . . special bond between you two. Did it not hurt far worse than any physical wound? Was it not worse than Cruciatus?"
"SHUT UP!" shouted Sirius, anger momentarily masking the fear and the terrible feeling of loss he had felt when Voldemort mentioned James.
"Ah, now he begins to see. When you have told me all you know, then maybe, just maybe I might let you go. But I cannot guarantee anything. You see, not even death is a release from Lord Voldemort." He picked his wand up from Sirius' feet and muttered something under his breath. There was a crack, a flash of light, and they were gone.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected with Harry Potter. All I own is this selection of weird ramblings that somehow form a story.
*
Sirius opened his eyes and shivered. He didn't know where he was; everything was pitch black. He tried to gather his thoughts, confused. He had been helping Harry, he knew that much; he had been fighting his vile cousin Bellatrix; he remembered falling. But then what? It had all gone blank after that. He tried in vain to remember what had happened after that.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a high, cold voice behind him. "I've been told that falling through the veil can be pretty nasty." A shiver ran down his spine and he realised that he wasn't holding his wand. He was sure he had it when he fell . . .
"Missing something, Black?"
"Who are you?" demanded Sirius, whirling around, trying to see something, anything in the darkness. There was laughter with no humour in it, a laugh that had been designed to turn people's spines to ice. "Who are you? Show yourself!"
"My apologies. It is rude of me, I'm sure." A horrible red glow started to fill the place, coming from a medieval-looking fireplace, and Sirius could see that he was in a hall of some sort, with heavily curtained windows and ornaments that not even the most fanatical Death Eater would have had. He turned again, and came face to face with his companion.
"Welcome to my home," said Lord Voldemort, grinning humourlessly.
"Very nice," said Sirius grimly, patting his pockets for his wand. "Those mermaid heads? Classic. So appropriate for the most evil wizard in the world."
"If you're looking for your wand, you don't have it."
"Really? Taken to stating the obvious now? How cliché," snarled Sirius. I don't need my wand, he thought, I can take the bastard down with my hands. Anger like he had never known before was coursing through his body. All he wanted to do was to kill the bastard who had killed his best friend along with so many others, the bastard who was after his godson . . .
"Admirable sentiments, Black. I'm sure Potter would have been proud."
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" roared Sirius, charging towards Voldemort.
He wasn't sure what happened next, but he was lying on his back by the fireplace, staring into the glassy, dead eyes of a centaur. He rolled to his feet and prepared himself for another assault.
"You really think you can take me on? Even with a wand, you would provide no more than interesting sport for, oh, about a minute."
"You can't frighten me," snarled Sirius, starting towards the Dark Lord again.
"You're an audacious man for someone who just died." Sirius stopped in his tracks, glaring at Voldemort.
"What did you just say? I'm dead?"
"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you, Black? But then, Potter always was the bright one, wasn't he?"
"Shut up! Leave James out of this! You're lying!" shouted Sirius, running through the Dark Lord. He shivered as he realised what he had just done.
"Am I?"
"Prove it!"
"You need more proof? Then, here." Voldemort threw his wand down so that it clattered at Sirius' feet. "Pick it up." Sirius bent down to pick up the wand, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's. He couldn't find it. He glanced down at the wand and made another swipe for it. His hand passed through it.
"I see," Sirius said coldly. "Let's get it over with then. The standard 'What-do-you-want-from-me conversation."
"You were a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I want to know what they're planning. Sturgis didn't tell me anything. Of course, that was partly my fault. He lost his mind before I could get him to tell me anything of worth. But now I have you, Sirius Black."
"I won't tell you anything either! And it seems to me that there's a bit of a flaw in your plan, old mate. If I'm dead already there's nothing you can do to me that will make me tell you anything."
"Isn't there?" Voldemort's mouth twisted into a horrible grin. "Did you know," he said conversationally, "that you can torture a soul far more effectively than you can a body? How did it feel when you were sent to Azkaban for crimes you did not commit? How did you feel when you lost James? I always understood that there was a . . . special bond between you two. Did it not hurt far worse than any physical wound? Was it not worse than Cruciatus?"
"SHUT UP!" shouted Sirius, anger momentarily masking the fear and the terrible feeling of loss he had felt when Voldemort mentioned James.
"Ah, now he begins to see. When you have told me all you know, then maybe, just maybe I might let you go. But I cannot guarantee anything. You see, not even death is a release from Lord Voldemort." He picked his wand up from Sirius' feet and muttered something under his breath. There was a crack, a flash of light, and they were gone.