Disclaimer: I don't own them. They belong to J.K. Rowling in cruel, cruel, cold hearted brilliance.
Notes: This actually came to me while I was writing the most recent chapter of my fic 'Trucido'. I had this perfect vision of a blood-soaked Sirius Black standing in the middle of the wreckage and laughing. And since my mind is on nothing but Sirius these days, I figured I'd give it a go.
Laugh
By Bohemian Storm
"A crater in the middle of the street so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him ... a heap of blood-stained robes and a few - a few fragments ..."
- Cornelius Fudge, "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"
I remember it like it was yesterday. Laugh if you must at how clichéd that statement is, but it's true. How does someone forget the day they went after their best friend's murderer, only to be thwarted by him in the middle of a crowded street and left to take the blame for all those deaths? How can someone really forget that, I ask you? It's not like you'd understand really, but my thoughts are wandering. They always do that at the worst times.
I remember striding up the street after spotting Wormtail, thinking that I had really done it. I had found the bastard that had so willingly given up Lily and James, and I was going to be the one to send him to Azkaban prison where he would spend the rest of his life suffering for what he did to them. I had all these flashes of my heroism, being touted on the front page of the Daily Prophet as the one who had brought in one of Voldemort's closest followers.
I had a vision of Harry . . . of raising him as my own and telling him every day how wonderful and special and fucking perfect his parents were. Remus would be there, of course. We would have done it together. He would have been so happy.
But there was Peter standing in the way of that happiness.
I underestimated him. I suppose it's my fault, I was always far more cocky than I should have been, but it was just Peter, for God's sake. Just Peter. How many times had I thought of him as 'just Peter'? I guess in the end he couldn't be 'just Peter' anymore and that's why he did what he did. It's the same reason I went after him. I couldn't be 'just Sirius' anymore. Not that there was anything wrong with Sirius, but everyone loved him when he didn't do anything. So I decided to change him. I decided to do something.
I went after him. I was so sure that I was going to get my revenge. Why wouldn't I, after all? I was Sirius Black, people admired me and I could do almost anything I wanted. I would go after him and because of me, the world would change.
But the world didn't change, at least not for the rest of the war torn world. For me it changed more than I could have possibly imagined.
I walked right up to him and he smiled at me. He has the fucking bollocks to meet me eye and just smile like nothing in the world was wrong.
"Hey, Padfoot," he said.
It wasn't the Peter I knew. The Peter I knew was a simpering coward and he never would have smiled at me like he did that day.
"Being Voldemort's bitch makes you confident?" I snapped.
He flinched at that, but I could see his hand on his wand.
"Don't mess with me, Peter," I said steadily. "We're going to the Ministry and you're going to pay for what you did."
He smiled again then, smirked a little maybe, then reached for his wand and pointed it at me.
"James and Lily, Sirius," he sobbed. "How could you?"
A Muggle nearby turned her head and looked at us. She saw the wand, frowned, and then followed it to where it was pointed at me chest.
"Peter," I snapped. "Put your wand away."
"How could you?" he repeated.
I saw him point his wand at his own finger and before I knew what was happening he had cursed his own finger off. It just fell to the street, a bloody finger lying on the pavement like just another piece of litter.
The Muggle screamed then, having seen the finger fall to the street. I reached for my wand but it happened too fast for me to do anything but watch.
Thirteen Muggles were dead only seconds later and Peter was just . . . gone. His blood soaked robes lay crumpled on the street on front of me and bodies were everywhere. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know what to say. It seemed like hours before I realized that my own face was dripping with blood. I raised a trembling finger and touched my face carefully as if I didn't believe it was really there. It was wet and slick and red.
Everywhere people were screaming and suddenly there was nothing left to do but laugh. Everything had gone so wrong in a matter of seconds and what else could I do? Cry? Scream that I was innocent and that the man who had mysteriously disappeared had killed all these people? Tell them that his severed finger proved nothing? There was no point. They would never believe me. Would you believe a blood soaked man who was standing alone in the middle of a massacre?
It was just a little giggle at first, as if I had finally realized how silly the situation was. Then it was a snort of laughter, then a loud roar that made one of the Muggles stop and stare at me in complete horror. Tears filled my eyes and I just kept laughing because there was nothing else to do. It was all over for me. My life would be over.
I was still laughing when the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol dragged me away. I think it took something like twenty of them to finally get me under control. I don't remember much about that just that I had apparently found something quite funny. I don't even remember what that thing was. Maybe it was just surprise at how right I am been; the world did change. Was I laughing at myself, at how idiotic I looked? Or maybe it was just hilarious how greatly I'd underestimated Wormtail.
It's like that now.
I underestimated someone again and this time it's going to be worse than Azkaban for twelve years. This time it's going to be death and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't change what's happened to me, but I can sit back and laugh about it. It's my fault, I know that, but I don't think the rest of them do.
Harry looks terrified. Remus looks worse, but he's holding Harry back and that's a good thing. I can't let him come through the veil after me, not when I don't know what's beyond the blackness that has started to engulf me.
I watch them, I watch the Bellatrix bitch, I watch Dumbledore and I can't help but smile. There's no changing my choices, my decisions. There's no reversing what has just happened and I know from experience that there's nothing left to do in a situation like this but laugh.
It starts like before; a giggle, a snicker, just the smallest hint of laughter bubbling in my throat.
I laugh because I know that they'll be okay. Harry wants to reach for the veil, to see if I'm still hiding behind it, but he can't do anything to save me now and I can do nothing but laugh. I laugh because I know they'll survive.
They'll go on without me and eventually they'll laugh again too.
I think Harry hears something because as I double over, tears mingling with the laughter pouring from me, he half turns toward the veil.
Go on, Harry. I laugh a little harder and the tears blur my vision of my godson. Go on, Harry. Go on and laugh for me because at times like this, there's just nothing else to do.
Someone told me once that laughter can be healing.
I certainly hope they were right.
End