A/N: *cries uncontrollably* Only.(snuffle).one.(sob).review! Please, is
this really that bad? I'm still posting because I, for one, think it's at
least decent. If you review me now, I'll love you forever.
Disclaimer: The song lyrics used in this chapter were written by the Celtic band Solas, not by me.
Chapter 4 **************************************************************************** ****************
I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I think it was a couple
hours. The stress and emotional turmoil I'd been in combined with the head
injury to put me out for quite a while, in any case. When I woke this time, there
was no slow fading into wakefulness; I was fully alert in an instant. My eyes flew
open and the first thing I saw was Black's face. He was leaning over me, and I
could feel his hand pressing something warm to the back of my head. Once
again, the expression he wore seemed completely at odds with that of a
hardened criminal. He looked remorseful, and full of an infinite sadness that I
couldn't fathom. When he saw my eyes open, he didn't pull back (presumably
because of what he was holding to my head), but a bit of the icy manner from
before crept back into his face.
"So you're finally awake. I was afraid I'd have to spend the whole day like
this. Here," he said, his voice defrosting somewhat, "drink this." He handed me
a cup of steaming liquid. For a moment I suspected poison, then I shook myself.
If he'd wanted me dead, he could do it at any time without having to resort to
poison. I gulped down the drink, finding that I was surprisingly thirsty. The
potion had no real taste, and I was disappointed to discover that it did nothing to
ease the throbbing of my head.
"What was that for?" I asked, setting down the cup. "If it's supposed to be
a painkilling potion, I'm afraid you're not very good at brewing potions." Black
didn't say anything, but he removed his hand from the back of my head. He was
holding a wad of cloth that was dyed a deep crimson with blood. It was only
then that I noticed the other rags lying on the floor, all also stained red. Suddenly
I felt light-headed and I swayed where I sat, involuntarily clinging to Black in
order to stay upright. He threw down the cloth and wrapped one arm around
my shoulders to steady me.
"It was a blood clotting potion to stop the bleeding. It would have been a
painkiller, but you don't have the ingredients and I'm not about to stroll into an
apothecary shop to get them." I was feeling too miserable to do anything but
nod, which resulted in more pain shooting through my skull. All my anger from
earlier had burned to ash, and I was left feeling depressed and uncertain. If Black
was such an awful person, why had he bothered to spend hours tending my
wound? And why was he supporting me so gently now, urging me to sit back
and rest? Deciding to ponder this when my head finally cleared, I gave up
thinking and fell asleep within minutes.
I woke up some time later when a tremendous thunderclap cracked
through the air. I sat bolt upright and looked around. There was no sign of Black.
For a second I thought the whole thing was a dream. Then I tried to get out of
bed, and my legs refused to move. I sank back into the pillows, my heart falling
to reside somewhere near my knees. So it wasn't a dream after all. I really was
being held captive in my own house by the notorious Sirius Black. I reached up a
hand and gingerly felt the back of my aching head. There was a large lump and
copious amounts of dried blood in my hair, but at least it had stopped bleeding. I
listened intently through the pitter-patter of rain for any sign of Black. Before
long I heard the sounds of a beautiful, slightly husky male voice, his singing
permeating the apartment like some musky perfume. Though I couldn't make
out the words, the tune was both sad and desperate, and seemed to be a perfect
match for Black's voice. He must have moved closer to the bedroom door,
because I began to make out the words to his melody.
"While sad, I kissed away her tears, my fond arms 'round her flinging
The foeman's shot burst on our ears from out the wild woods ringing
The bullet pierced my true love's side, in life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died, while soft wind shakes the barley."
His voice broke, but it was no less lovely than it had been before; in fact, it
seemed even more poignant, more heartbreaking. Again, I found my heart at
odds with my head. My heart told me that this man was no murderer: no one
who had ruthlessly killed 13 people could possibly feel the pain and sorrow that
I heard in his voice. On the other hand, my head still argued (less strongly, now)
that he couldn't be trusted, that there had to be some truth to the hundreds of
news stories about him. I felt confused, frightened, and torn. His melody filled
my ears, the notes like shards of broken glass that pricked my eyes and pierced
my heart with bittersweet splinters.
"Now blood for blood without remorse, I've taken to Ourlard Hollow
I laid my true love's clay-cold corpse where I full soon will follow
And 'round her grave I wander here, now night and morning early,
With a breaking heart whene'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley."
I couldn't help it: I broke into tears as he finished his song, and despite my best
efforts I couldn't stop. I didn't even really know why I was crying, whether it
was because of the song, my own predicament, or both combined. But I sat there,
tears streaming silently down my cheeks, and that's how he found me when he
entered. He was carrying two bowls of soup, but when he saw my wet face he
stood still, clearly unsure of what to do. Through my tear-fogged eyes I saw him
place the bowls carefully on the bureau near the door, then walk hesitantly
towards me. I turned my face away, ashamed of my own weakness, hating that
he was watching me cry. I heard him stop next to the bed, and there was a pause
before he spoke.
"What's the matter?" he asked awkwardly. "Does your head still hurt?" I
started to nod, then shook my head.
"That's not it," I choked out. "It's just." My throat closed up, and more
tears spilled out of my eyes. I felt the bed sag as he sat tentatively on the edge.
"I'm sorry I have to keep you cursed," he said, "But I can't afford to trust
you. I'm not safe anywhere.the dementors.you don't understand." I balled
my hands into fists and turned to face him, the tears coming faster than ever.
"No, I don't understand! Everyone says you're a murderer, you've been in
Azkaban for years, and now you tell me you're completely innocent? I don't
know what to believe," I sobbed, "There's no reason for me to accept your story,
but I can't help but believe it anyway. I want to trust you, you're too kind to be a
murderer, too thoughtful, too beautiful." I stopped, horrified at what I'd
blurted out. I didn't know why I'd said that, I didn't even remember consciously
thinking it, but looking at him I knew it was true, which threw me into an even
greater state of turmoil. Black's face registered shocked surprise, and I lowered
my face into my hands.
"I'm sorry," I said, trembling, "I'm just really confused right now.
Please.I just want to be alone for a bit." There was absolute silence for a
moment, then I felt Sirius stand up from the bed.
"I'll be in the next room," he said, not looking at me, "Do you want the
soup?' I nodded, and he passed the bowl carefully to me, still avoiding my eyes.
He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder then exited the room, leaving the
door open behind him.
Disclaimer: The song lyrics used in this chapter were written by the Celtic band Solas, not by me.
Chapter 4 **************************************************************************** ****************
I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I think it was a couple
hours. The stress and emotional turmoil I'd been in combined with the head
injury to put me out for quite a while, in any case. When I woke this time, there
was no slow fading into wakefulness; I was fully alert in an instant. My eyes flew
open and the first thing I saw was Black's face. He was leaning over me, and I
could feel his hand pressing something warm to the back of my head. Once
again, the expression he wore seemed completely at odds with that of a
hardened criminal. He looked remorseful, and full of an infinite sadness that I
couldn't fathom. When he saw my eyes open, he didn't pull back (presumably
because of what he was holding to my head), but a bit of the icy manner from
before crept back into his face.
"So you're finally awake. I was afraid I'd have to spend the whole day like
this. Here," he said, his voice defrosting somewhat, "drink this." He handed me
a cup of steaming liquid. For a moment I suspected poison, then I shook myself.
If he'd wanted me dead, he could do it at any time without having to resort to
poison. I gulped down the drink, finding that I was surprisingly thirsty. The
potion had no real taste, and I was disappointed to discover that it did nothing to
ease the throbbing of my head.
"What was that for?" I asked, setting down the cup. "If it's supposed to be
a painkilling potion, I'm afraid you're not very good at brewing potions." Black
didn't say anything, but he removed his hand from the back of my head. He was
holding a wad of cloth that was dyed a deep crimson with blood. It was only
then that I noticed the other rags lying on the floor, all also stained red. Suddenly
I felt light-headed and I swayed where I sat, involuntarily clinging to Black in
order to stay upright. He threw down the cloth and wrapped one arm around
my shoulders to steady me.
"It was a blood clotting potion to stop the bleeding. It would have been a
painkiller, but you don't have the ingredients and I'm not about to stroll into an
apothecary shop to get them." I was feeling too miserable to do anything but
nod, which resulted in more pain shooting through my skull. All my anger from
earlier had burned to ash, and I was left feeling depressed and uncertain. If Black
was such an awful person, why had he bothered to spend hours tending my
wound? And why was he supporting me so gently now, urging me to sit back
and rest? Deciding to ponder this when my head finally cleared, I gave up
thinking and fell asleep within minutes.
I woke up some time later when a tremendous thunderclap cracked
through the air. I sat bolt upright and looked around. There was no sign of Black.
For a second I thought the whole thing was a dream. Then I tried to get out of
bed, and my legs refused to move. I sank back into the pillows, my heart falling
to reside somewhere near my knees. So it wasn't a dream after all. I really was
being held captive in my own house by the notorious Sirius Black. I reached up a
hand and gingerly felt the back of my aching head. There was a large lump and
copious amounts of dried blood in my hair, but at least it had stopped bleeding. I
listened intently through the pitter-patter of rain for any sign of Black. Before
long I heard the sounds of a beautiful, slightly husky male voice, his singing
permeating the apartment like some musky perfume. Though I couldn't make
out the words, the tune was both sad and desperate, and seemed to be a perfect
match for Black's voice. He must have moved closer to the bedroom door,
because I began to make out the words to his melody.
"While sad, I kissed away her tears, my fond arms 'round her flinging
The foeman's shot burst on our ears from out the wild woods ringing
The bullet pierced my true love's side, in life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died, while soft wind shakes the barley."
His voice broke, but it was no less lovely than it had been before; in fact, it
seemed even more poignant, more heartbreaking. Again, I found my heart at
odds with my head. My heart told me that this man was no murderer: no one
who had ruthlessly killed 13 people could possibly feel the pain and sorrow that
I heard in his voice. On the other hand, my head still argued (less strongly, now)
that he couldn't be trusted, that there had to be some truth to the hundreds of
news stories about him. I felt confused, frightened, and torn. His melody filled
my ears, the notes like shards of broken glass that pricked my eyes and pierced
my heart with bittersweet splinters.
"Now blood for blood without remorse, I've taken to Ourlard Hollow
I laid my true love's clay-cold corpse where I full soon will follow
And 'round her grave I wander here, now night and morning early,
With a breaking heart whene'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley."
I couldn't help it: I broke into tears as he finished his song, and despite my best
efforts I couldn't stop. I didn't even really know why I was crying, whether it
was because of the song, my own predicament, or both combined. But I sat there,
tears streaming silently down my cheeks, and that's how he found me when he
entered. He was carrying two bowls of soup, but when he saw my wet face he
stood still, clearly unsure of what to do. Through my tear-fogged eyes I saw him
place the bowls carefully on the bureau near the door, then walk hesitantly
towards me. I turned my face away, ashamed of my own weakness, hating that
he was watching me cry. I heard him stop next to the bed, and there was a pause
before he spoke.
"What's the matter?" he asked awkwardly. "Does your head still hurt?" I
started to nod, then shook my head.
"That's not it," I choked out. "It's just." My throat closed up, and more
tears spilled out of my eyes. I felt the bed sag as he sat tentatively on the edge.
"I'm sorry I have to keep you cursed," he said, "But I can't afford to trust
you. I'm not safe anywhere.the dementors.you don't understand." I balled
my hands into fists and turned to face him, the tears coming faster than ever.
"No, I don't understand! Everyone says you're a murderer, you've been in
Azkaban for years, and now you tell me you're completely innocent? I don't
know what to believe," I sobbed, "There's no reason for me to accept your story,
but I can't help but believe it anyway. I want to trust you, you're too kind to be a
murderer, too thoughtful, too beautiful." I stopped, horrified at what I'd
blurted out. I didn't know why I'd said that, I didn't even remember consciously
thinking it, but looking at him I knew it was true, which threw me into an even
greater state of turmoil. Black's face registered shocked surprise, and I lowered
my face into my hands.
"I'm sorry," I said, trembling, "I'm just really confused right now.
Please.I just want to be alone for a bit." There was absolute silence for a
moment, then I felt Sirius stand up from the bed.
"I'll be in the next room," he said, not looking at me, "Do you want the
soup?' I nodded, and he passed the bowl carefully to me, still avoiding my eyes.
He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder then exited the room, leaving the
door open behind him.