(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
Remus stood quietly behind the rest of the Order members as they gathered together in Dumbledore's office. He again was detatched from the group around him. The words of the old Headmaster kept running through his head. That morning in November had been so beautiful. And the people that he had loved had never seen that sunrise. They had been cold and dead for hours by the time the dawn came.
"There was a conflict last night," Dumbledore had told him, "And I wanted to get to you before the Bowlers did."
"What sort of conflict?"
"The Potters are dead."
And then later on, "Sirius betrayed us all."
And then still later on after that, "Mr. Black murdered Peter two hours ago, along with a good number of bystanders."
The three of them were gone. Dead to him. And Lily ... Lily, the girl who befriended him before the others even knew his name ...
The imagined scenario of James and Lily holding Harry close to their hearts and Voldemort pounding them into the ground ... with Sirius laughing behind him. Sirius, dark and with those eyes ... laughing.
"You fools! You trusted me!"
He had walked out on them. That night, when they were trying to figure everything out, he had taken his leave without another thought. He sure showed them. Now they were dead. And he would never see them again.
He showed nothing on his face. Throughout the entire visit with Dumbledore, he had kept stone faced. He hadn't shown any sort of stress at all. But as soon as the Headmaster had left, the wolf threw him outside and had tortured him. All of the visions of them as boys and Lily in her prime came through his head. They were all dead!
Only he remained.
Now he was truly alone.
And Peter. Peter had gone after Sirius. Peter had been a true friend. Why hadn't they chosen Peter!? What had Peter ever done to be suspected! The one person that James had trusted and sung the praises of and would have died for ...
He had killed James.
The meeting that they were attending would be their last one. The Order was to close down all operations and spend their time witnessing the trials and hearings that would follow the end of this war. But Remus couldn't concentrate. He never could concentrate anymore.
Guilt ran through him. What would have happened if he hadn't left that night? What if that evening that they were all gathered round in that small living room ... he had stayed and had told them what he knew now. He had felt it in his heart that Sirius was truly the culprit. He had known all along. Who else could it had been? But he was too busy worrying about his own problems and his own life that he didn't care enough to save James'.
He remembered what James had said to him. Once on a train ride to somewhere or other James had stopped him from leaving the compartment, and he warned him then. He warned him that he was going to end up all alone in the world if he continued his actions. Remus hadn't listened. And now he was alone.
Completely alone.
"The Potters fought and died with honor," Dumbledore said, with a strong stature behind his desk, "We close this last meeting in their memory. And we hope for a better tomorrow. Not only for our children, but for theirs."
With that, the Order raised their goblets high in the air, and Dumbledore's shining eyes caught sight of a very dark Remus Lupin towards the back of the crowd. Lupin wasn't looking at any of his fellow members. He was hardly in the room with them at that time. He was far away, to better days of jovial boyhood games and long dead sunsets. He was many years away from them all.
"Let us not go and live life in vain," Dumbledore said, continuing to look upon that haunted boy, "Let us live every moment, every waking hour in the memories of those who have fallen. For they died so that we may live. Let us never forget that."
Remus, feeling the Headmaster's eyes upon him, shifted his gaze to the old man, now bearing down upon him. Into those livewire eyes behind the half moon glasses.
"Live for Harry," a voice echoed through his head, "For one day, he will need you more than you can fathom."
Remus blinked, and Dumbledore winked. Lupin looked away, without raising his glass. He didn't care much about Harry. He wanted Harry's father alive. He wanted Harry's mother.
He didn't care whether or not Harry was alive himself. But James ...
"Here is to tomorrow's dawn," Dumbledore said, taking a drink of his goblet, and the Order followed.
There was a strong silence that followed afterwards. Remus left as soon as he could. He wished not to talk to Dumbledore in secret. He didn't want sympathetic looks from the rest of the room. He didn't want anything. He wanted to be left alone.
Therefore it was no surprise that Moody and Frank couldn't find Lupin when the three of them were called to speak to Albus quickly.
Dumbledore gave Frank a piece of parchment, and patted him on the back, "The gaoler is waiting for you at the entrance of the prison. Make it quick. Get only the information we need. Nothing more. No condolences. No vengeance. Sirius Black has been given his punishment. He needs no more."
"We're leaving as soon as we can," Moody informed Dumbledore, and quickly turned away. His eye had stopped swiveling, and he hadn't spoken more than ten words since the deaths Halloween night. Frank watched his partner with curiosity and sympathy as Moody hobbled through the crowd and slammed the door behind him. Frank sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and bowed to Dumbledore.
"Albus," he said, "I was thinking ..."
"Thinking is a very broad verb, Longbottom," Dumbledore said, laughing sadly.
Frank let a smile escape, and then sighed again, "Well, I've been going over the evidence found at the crime scene, and it doesn't add up. All of the explosion marks came from the hole where Pettigrew fell. That makes sense. But what doesn't add up is that that's where the magic is mostly condensed. Now, there is a possibility that Sirius ... Mr. Black ... threw some sort of Hurling Spell towards Pettigrew, making the impact more profound. Instead of beginning the spell at his own wand, he timed the spell so it exploded in its entirety when it hit his opponent. But I don't believe that Black knew this sort of spell. It's a fairly new trick. I mean, I have problems with it. Moody doesn't even know it exists. And most of the spells he learned came from Moody ..."
"What are you saying, Frank," Dumbledore said, quietly, drawing in nearer so the others couldn't overhear their words.
"I'm saying that maybe something more happened that what we anticipated," Frank said, "It doesn't add up. The witnesses' stories, the entire Fidelus Charm, the history of some of the parties involved ... it doesn't really settle with me."
"Are you proposing that Black is innocent?" Dumbledore said in a hushed tone.
"Albus, both you and I know that Sirius and James were closer than most blood brothers," Frank said, "They would have died for each other. Sirius would have given anything to make sure that that man made it through the war. It doesn't make sense that he would have ... I mean ..." he faltered, and Dumbledore set his hand upon Frank's strong shoulders that were now sagging.
"Frank," he said, "Nothing adds up in times like these. Good becomes evil, and evil," he looked over Frank's head to a certain potions master celebrating wryly with the rest of the Order Members, "Evil becomes good. The world turns and twists into so many different patterns that one cannot see straight. Evil can corrupt even the greatest and noblest of hearts. Sirius Black was tempted, and he did not have enough willpower to resist. And due to this, we have lost two of our greatest souls."
"I know, Headmaster," Frank said, "But I ..."
"I am completely sure that Black was the perpetrator for the crimes he was accused of," Dumbledore said, "And I will never think anything else."
Frank went to turn away, but Dumbledore caught his arm and drew him closer. Then quietly, he muttered, "Only the words of Sirius could tell me differently."
A small vile dropped into Frank's pocket, and Dumbledore patted it to make sure that his friend knew where it lay. Frank nodded, and then Dumbledore shoved him off to the door to follow Moody.
They were to go to Azkaban.
The cell was very small. It was black. He knew that much. He could tell that. Oh, yes, it was very small. And very black.
He sat in the corner, not moving from his spot. His very small and black spot.
Black.
What an interesting word.
What a very interesting and familiar word.
What did Black mean to him.
"It's ... it's your n-name," he said, rubbing his elbows and rocking back and forth on his knees. It was his name. Black was his name.
Small and Black.
Small and Black.
Small and Black and Cold and Dirty and Frightening.
And somewhat ... familiar.
"Black," he whispered, "Black."
It was cold. Too cold. The only light cascaded through an iron bar window right above his head. But he couldn't concentrate on the light. He could only concentrate on the black. Outside of the black came the darkness. The emptiness of the demons outside of his iron door. The demons stood there in the darkness. They stood there and fed off of his soul. They fed often. There were three now, outside his cell. Feeding off of his fear.
Off of his emptiness.
One of the demons ... what were they called again ... those black and frightening shadows of death and hate ... the demons ... they looked at him ... right in his eyes ... from behind their large and black hoods, their black faces that were behind the black shadows ... those demons looked at him ... they looked right at him.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" he screamed and fell back into the blackness.
The blackness.
Black.
A wolf, running down a tunnel. Right towards a boy with a hooked nose. Another boy with round black glasses and mussed hair ran towards the hooked nose boy. The black glasses shoved the hooked nose out of the way, and the wolf ...
The wolf mauled the black glasses. Broke the black glasses. Blood flew from the dark blackness of the black tunnel.
Black blood.
The glasses boy was named James. James.
He remembered James.
He had killed James.
James had been killed by Peter.
James had been killed by Voldemort.
James had been killed by Sirius Black.
Sirius Black.
That black demon. The true demon of the shadows. The true black demon of the war. The true villian. The true shadow of death that brought the end of all around him. The downfall of the Order was his. The downfall of Voldemort was his. The downfall of James. Of Lily. Of Remus. Of Peter.
Sirius Black.
How he would kill Sirius Black if he could just find him. How he would kill that demon of all demons if he ever met him. If he ever could see him. Sirius Black must be somewhere here in the cells. In the darkness. He would find him and he would wrap his dirt-ridden fingers around his white neck and not let go until the Black was gone. Until it was interrupted by the purples and the blues and the grays of dying skin and veins. And then darkness. Not blackness. No, darkness.
Now if he could just find Black. If he could just find Sirius Black.
He put one hand forward in the blackness of the small and black cell as he lay twitching on the cold stone ground of his small and black cell. His small and black cell outlined his old hand. Had it always been that old? He was only ... what was his age ... who was he ... he was ...
Sirius Black.
HE was Sirius Black! He would kill him! He had found him! He had found ...
The demon stared at him again.
"AAAAAAAAAAAA!" Sirius screamed again and clawed at his head until his torn nails broke skin and his own blood trickled down his face. He could taste his own blood. He would get them out of his mind! He would stop those demons from reading his thoughts and feeling his emotions! He would ...
They were feeding off of his anger.
They were ...
James was dead.
James was dead.
James.
"JAMES!"
And then clarity. One moment of clarity. One single second of clarity.
"He's right in here," the jailer said, shoving the three dementors away from the door. Moody glared at the dementors as the two men kept their distance. They both chewed on their own bars of chocolate. They had been here many times. They were now professional on how to deal with the feeling of the happiness. The lack of fulfillment. The emptiness.
"Here you are," the man with the ice said, and then walked inside to wake the prisoner. Frank felt his stomach fall deep into the pits of his soul. He couldn't do this. He knew he was innocent. He just knew it. He couldn't trust humanity ... any humanity ... if he wasn't innocent. Sirius Black ... kill James Potter ...
Moody led the way into the smaller cell as the jailer threw the prisoner to his feet. Frank wouldn't have recognized Sirius if he hadn't known ahead a time who the man was. The eyes of this monster weresunken in, and highlighted by the dark sags underneath the lids. The skin was pale and the color of paste. The brows were furrowed in a permanent frown, and the eyes looked upward, lolling about in their sockets as they blinked slowly like a drunk man. The mouth continously convulsed from a frown to a small sly grin. A grin of a man that knew something the world didn't. A grin of a man who had outsmarted all odds, gotten away with everything, and finally at the end had been nipped in the ass by judgement and punishment. His cheekbones were seen, and made his face somewhat resemble that of a skeleton's. His hair was caked with blood, and one of his eyes was swollen to the size of a small plum. Whiskers grew on his once gentlemanlike face, and his facial hair that had been there the last time Frank had seen him (which had been months ago) was growing into a tangled mess. He drooled from the corner of his mouth, and from the back of his throat, the barking sounds of laughter came oh so quietly.
His hands shook. And his head lolled as his eyes did. Back and forth. Drunk with madness.
Sirius Black was not right in the head.
Both men could tell.
Frank was so preoccupied with their host (who was now trying to balance himself on the ledge of the window) that he didn't hear the jailor shut the door behind them and return to the prison duties. The dementors were now down the corridor, and was not a both to either of them. But Sirius was still affected. He obviously had lost his mind. His mannerisms were different. His face. His posture. It was all twisted and darkened by what he had been through and what he had done.
While Frank felt pity for this creature, Moody felt contempt.
He backhanded Black with his right hand, and Black fell to the ground, laughing and rubbing his cheek where Moody had socked him.
"Oh, it hurt him more than that when he was murdered," Black said, the whites of his eyes now only seen, "It hurt him much more than that. He screamed. He screamed for his baby boy. His little baby boy that would live. His damn little ..."
Moody hit him hard across the head, and Black fell again to the ground. Frank grabbed Moody's arm and pulled him back.
"No vengeance," Frank whispered to his friend, "Remember what Dumbledore said."
"Damn Albus," Moody growled, "I'll give this turncoat justice if I want to."
"We're here to question you, Mr. Black," Frank said, the syllables of the formalities towards this man alien to his tongue. Mr. Black laughed, more like cackled, and then arched his back so his spine could be seen through his thin coat. He then howled at the glowing moon outside of the barred window. Then he went to clamber onto the ledge. He smiled that sly secretive smile as his eyes strayed from one side of the cell to the other, and then to the ceiling. His mouth hung open, and the saliva drooled down his cheek in a steady pace.
"He's dead," he cried out, "he's dead. He killed him. He killed him. I killed him. I killed him! I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM! I ..."
BAM!
In a split second, Moody had grabbed Sirius by the collar and shoved him up against the iron bars of the window. He then slammed the murderer's head into the bars, over and over again. Blood began to stain the iron, but Moody didn't stop. And Sirius didn't stop laughing.
Frank watched this in horror before running forward and grabbing Moody. He pulled the two men apart, and Sirius fell to the floor, laughing. Cackling. Still laughing.
"I killed him," Sirius laughed, looking at Moody, "I killed them all. I killed James. I killed Lily. I could have killed Harry ..."
"YOU DAMN LITTLE TRAITOR!" Moody lunged forward. Frank had never seen him out of control like this before.
"But you know who really killed us, oh gracious teacher," Sirius chortled as he wiped his mouth free of spit, "You. You got us into t-this. You gracious loving teacher you. I remember you, yes I do. None of us will die with your gracious t-training. None of us. Not a single solitary one ..."
Moody's eyes grew almost as dark as Sirius's, and Frank had to yank him back again. Alastor was going to kill Black. He was going to murder him.
"Maybe you should leave, Mad Eye," Frank said, coaxing him towards the cell door, "I think it may work better if I did this by myself."
"I killed them," Sirius guffawed, and Moody shook himself free of Longbottom. He stared Black dead on with both eyes, swiveling and natural, and he gave him a glare of complete hate. Hate like he had never felt.
The only words that escaped from his mouth were, "He trusted you."
"I know!" Sirius chortled, barking with laughter, "That was his mistake, now wasn't it!"
Moody turned away, and stormed out of the cell. He would not wait for Frank, but walk back to the boat by himself. And then he would leave that prison without his partner. He would leave and not be heard from for a good two days. He had enough chocolate to withstand the trip. He needed the chocolate. Those dead killer eyes. Those murderous eyes. They had seen the Potters' dead corpses.
Frank saw the shadow of Moody disappear, and he faced Sirius once again. There had to be some sort of trace of the man he knew months ago before he had gone into hiding. Some sort of mannerism. Some sort of sign to indicate that this truly was the gung ho warrior that had fought alongside him for years. The same smiling boy that had signed the contract with so much spirit that Frank had been jealous of him. That boy who had proven them all wrong.
But no. It was just the shell of a murderer. A man who had lost all and had nothing else to lose or gain. He was at the end of a long line of lies and deaths.
"Sirius, do you recognize me?" he asked quietly, sitting down next to the prisoner. Sirius didn't respond. He sat there, staring off into space. At a ghost that Frank could never be haunted by.
Frank took Sirius's bloody hand, and squeezed it. He then felt through his robes for the vile that Dumbledore had placed in one of his pockets. He found it, and popped the cork out of the mouth of the vile.
"You have to come back to us," Frank said, pouring the liquid down the man's throat, "For James, you have to tell me the truth."
Sirius felt the cold liquid fall down his throat. And even less clarity came to him. Even less of his own sanity stayed with him.
Frank saw the man grow quiet and still, and his eyes grow to stone. Frank held Sirius's hand tighter, and then took a breath.
"Sirius Black, do you recognize my voice?" he whispered, as if the dementors could hear him through the bars.
"Yes," he muttered, in the little bit of calmness that he had left in his soul. The little bit of serenity he had felt since that night of Halloween.
"Will you answer me truthfully during this questioning?"
"Yes."
Frank only had to ask one question. Just one question and he would be proven right or wrong. Then Dumbledore would have his evidence. Then Moody would know. Then Lily and James could rest in peace.
"Sirius Black," he said, holding the cold hand tighter, "Were you responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter?"
There was a pause, as if Sirius was contemplating this question in his own mind. As if the battle was raging not outside this cell, but inside this man. It was a long time before Mr. Black could decide on his answer. And the answer would be recorded for years to come. Not only in the history books. Not only in the Ministry records. But in the minds of all who had known him in his prime. The minds of all who had thought Sirius Black was something of greatness.
The cold, dark, and blackened man whispered a resounding, "Yes."
Remus stood quietly behind the rest of the Order members as they gathered together in Dumbledore's office. He again was detatched from the group around him. The words of the old Headmaster kept running through his head. That morning in November had been so beautiful. And the people that he had loved had never seen that sunrise. They had been cold and dead for hours by the time the dawn came.
"There was a conflict last night," Dumbledore had told him, "And I wanted to get to you before the Bowlers did."
"What sort of conflict?"
"The Potters are dead."
And then later on, "Sirius betrayed us all."
And then still later on after that, "Mr. Black murdered Peter two hours ago, along with a good number of bystanders."
The three of them were gone. Dead to him. And Lily ... Lily, the girl who befriended him before the others even knew his name ...
The imagined scenario of James and Lily holding Harry close to their hearts and Voldemort pounding them into the ground ... with Sirius laughing behind him. Sirius, dark and with those eyes ... laughing.
"You fools! You trusted me!"
He had walked out on them. That night, when they were trying to figure everything out, he had taken his leave without another thought. He sure showed them. Now they were dead. And he would never see them again.
He showed nothing on his face. Throughout the entire visit with Dumbledore, he had kept stone faced. He hadn't shown any sort of stress at all. But as soon as the Headmaster had left, the wolf threw him outside and had tortured him. All of the visions of them as boys and Lily in her prime came through his head. They were all dead!
Only he remained.
Now he was truly alone.
And Peter. Peter had gone after Sirius. Peter had been a true friend. Why hadn't they chosen Peter!? What had Peter ever done to be suspected! The one person that James had trusted and sung the praises of and would have died for ...
He had killed James.
The meeting that they were attending would be their last one. The Order was to close down all operations and spend their time witnessing the trials and hearings that would follow the end of this war. But Remus couldn't concentrate. He never could concentrate anymore.
Guilt ran through him. What would have happened if he hadn't left that night? What if that evening that they were all gathered round in that small living room ... he had stayed and had told them what he knew now. He had felt it in his heart that Sirius was truly the culprit. He had known all along. Who else could it had been? But he was too busy worrying about his own problems and his own life that he didn't care enough to save James'.
He remembered what James had said to him. Once on a train ride to somewhere or other James had stopped him from leaving the compartment, and he warned him then. He warned him that he was going to end up all alone in the world if he continued his actions. Remus hadn't listened. And now he was alone.
Completely alone.
"The Potters fought and died with honor," Dumbledore said, with a strong stature behind his desk, "We close this last meeting in their memory. And we hope for a better tomorrow. Not only for our children, but for theirs."
With that, the Order raised their goblets high in the air, and Dumbledore's shining eyes caught sight of a very dark Remus Lupin towards the back of the crowd. Lupin wasn't looking at any of his fellow members. He was hardly in the room with them at that time. He was far away, to better days of jovial boyhood games and long dead sunsets. He was many years away from them all.
"Let us not go and live life in vain," Dumbledore said, continuing to look upon that haunted boy, "Let us live every moment, every waking hour in the memories of those who have fallen. For they died so that we may live. Let us never forget that."
Remus, feeling the Headmaster's eyes upon him, shifted his gaze to the old man, now bearing down upon him. Into those livewire eyes behind the half moon glasses.
"Live for Harry," a voice echoed through his head, "For one day, he will need you more than you can fathom."
Remus blinked, and Dumbledore winked. Lupin looked away, without raising his glass. He didn't care much about Harry. He wanted Harry's father alive. He wanted Harry's mother.
He didn't care whether or not Harry was alive himself. But James ...
"Here is to tomorrow's dawn," Dumbledore said, taking a drink of his goblet, and the Order followed.
There was a strong silence that followed afterwards. Remus left as soon as he could. He wished not to talk to Dumbledore in secret. He didn't want sympathetic looks from the rest of the room. He didn't want anything. He wanted to be left alone.
Therefore it was no surprise that Moody and Frank couldn't find Lupin when the three of them were called to speak to Albus quickly.
Dumbledore gave Frank a piece of parchment, and patted him on the back, "The gaoler is waiting for you at the entrance of the prison. Make it quick. Get only the information we need. Nothing more. No condolences. No vengeance. Sirius Black has been given his punishment. He needs no more."
"We're leaving as soon as we can," Moody informed Dumbledore, and quickly turned away. His eye had stopped swiveling, and he hadn't spoken more than ten words since the deaths Halloween night. Frank watched his partner with curiosity and sympathy as Moody hobbled through the crowd and slammed the door behind him. Frank sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and bowed to Dumbledore.
"Albus," he said, "I was thinking ..."
"Thinking is a very broad verb, Longbottom," Dumbledore said, laughing sadly.
Frank let a smile escape, and then sighed again, "Well, I've been going over the evidence found at the crime scene, and it doesn't add up. All of the explosion marks came from the hole where Pettigrew fell. That makes sense. But what doesn't add up is that that's where the magic is mostly condensed. Now, there is a possibility that Sirius ... Mr. Black ... threw some sort of Hurling Spell towards Pettigrew, making the impact more profound. Instead of beginning the spell at his own wand, he timed the spell so it exploded in its entirety when it hit his opponent. But I don't believe that Black knew this sort of spell. It's a fairly new trick. I mean, I have problems with it. Moody doesn't even know it exists. And most of the spells he learned came from Moody ..."
"What are you saying, Frank," Dumbledore said, quietly, drawing in nearer so the others couldn't overhear their words.
"I'm saying that maybe something more happened that what we anticipated," Frank said, "It doesn't add up. The witnesses' stories, the entire Fidelus Charm, the history of some of the parties involved ... it doesn't really settle with me."
"Are you proposing that Black is innocent?" Dumbledore said in a hushed tone.
"Albus, both you and I know that Sirius and James were closer than most blood brothers," Frank said, "They would have died for each other. Sirius would have given anything to make sure that that man made it through the war. It doesn't make sense that he would have ... I mean ..." he faltered, and Dumbledore set his hand upon Frank's strong shoulders that were now sagging.
"Frank," he said, "Nothing adds up in times like these. Good becomes evil, and evil," he looked over Frank's head to a certain potions master celebrating wryly with the rest of the Order Members, "Evil becomes good. The world turns and twists into so many different patterns that one cannot see straight. Evil can corrupt even the greatest and noblest of hearts. Sirius Black was tempted, and he did not have enough willpower to resist. And due to this, we have lost two of our greatest souls."
"I know, Headmaster," Frank said, "But I ..."
"I am completely sure that Black was the perpetrator for the crimes he was accused of," Dumbledore said, "And I will never think anything else."
Frank went to turn away, but Dumbledore caught his arm and drew him closer. Then quietly, he muttered, "Only the words of Sirius could tell me differently."
A small vile dropped into Frank's pocket, and Dumbledore patted it to make sure that his friend knew where it lay. Frank nodded, and then Dumbledore shoved him off to the door to follow Moody.
They were to go to Azkaban.
The cell was very small. It was black. He knew that much. He could tell that. Oh, yes, it was very small. And very black.
He sat in the corner, not moving from his spot. His very small and black spot.
Black.
What an interesting word.
What a very interesting and familiar word.
What did Black mean to him.
"It's ... it's your n-name," he said, rubbing his elbows and rocking back and forth on his knees. It was his name. Black was his name.
Small and Black.
Small and Black.
Small and Black and Cold and Dirty and Frightening.
And somewhat ... familiar.
"Black," he whispered, "Black."
It was cold. Too cold. The only light cascaded through an iron bar window right above his head. But he couldn't concentrate on the light. He could only concentrate on the black. Outside of the black came the darkness. The emptiness of the demons outside of his iron door. The demons stood there in the darkness. They stood there and fed off of his soul. They fed often. There were three now, outside his cell. Feeding off of his fear.
Off of his emptiness.
One of the demons ... what were they called again ... those black and frightening shadows of death and hate ... the demons ... they looked at him ... right in his eyes ... from behind their large and black hoods, their black faces that were behind the black shadows ... those demons looked at him ... they looked right at him.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" he screamed and fell back into the blackness.
The blackness.
Black.
A wolf, running down a tunnel. Right towards a boy with a hooked nose. Another boy with round black glasses and mussed hair ran towards the hooked nose boy. The black glasses shoved the hooked nose out of the way, and the wolf ...
The wolf mauled the black glasses. Broke the black glasses. Blood flew from the dark blackness of the black tunnel.
Black blood.
The glasses boy was named James. James.
He remembered James.
He had killed James.
James had been killed by Peter.
James had been killed by Voldemort.
James had been killed by Sirius Black.
Sirius Black.
That black demon. The true demon of the shadows. The true black demon of the war. The true villian. The true shadow of death that brought the end of all around him. The downfall of the Order was his. The downfall of Voldemort was his. The downfall of James. Of Lily. Of Remus. Of Peter.
Sirius Black.
How he would kill Sirius Black if he could just find him. How he would kill that demon of all demons if he ever met him. If he ever could see him. Sirius Black must be somewhere here in the cells. In the darkness. He would find him and he would wrap his dirt-ridden fingers around his white neck and not let go until the Black was gone. Until it was interrupted by the purples and the blues and the grays of dying skin and veins. And then darkness. Not blackness. No, darkness.
Now if he could just find Black. If he could just find Sirius Black.
He put one hand forward in the blackness of the small and black cell as he lay twitching on the cold stone ground of his small and black cell. His small and black cell outlined his old hand. Had it always been that old? He was only ... what was his age ... who was he ... he was ...
Sirius Black.
HE was Sirius Black! He would kill him! He had found him! He had found ...
The demon stared at him again.
"AAAAAAAAAAAA!" Sirius screamed again and clawed at his head until his torn nails broke skin and his own blood trickled down his face. He could taste his own blood. He would get them out of his mind! He would stop those demons from reading his thoughts and feeling his emotions! He would ...
They were feeding off of his anger.
They were ...
James was dead.
James was dead.
James.
"JAMES!"
And then clarity. One moment of clarity. One single second of clarity.
"He's right in here," the jailer said, shoving the three dementors away from the door. Moody glared at the dementors as the two men kept their distance. They both chewed on their own bars of chocolate. They had been here many times. They were now professional on how to deal with the feeling of the happiness. The lack of fulfillment. The emptiness.
"Here you are," the man with the ice said, and then walked inside to wake the prisoner. Frank felt his stomach fall deep into the pits of his soul. He couldn't do this. He knew he was innocent. He just knew it. He couldn't trust humanity ... any humanity ... if he wasn't innocent. Sirius Black ... kill James Potter ...
Moody led the way into the smaller cell as the jailer threw the prisoner to his feet. Frank wouldn't have recognized Sirius if he hadn't known ahead a time who the man was. The eyes of this monster weresunken in, and highlighted by the dark sags underneath the lids. The skin was pale and the color of paste. The brows were furrowed in a permanent frown, and the eyes looked upward, lolling about in their sockets as they blinked slowly like a drunk man. The mouth continously convulsed from a frown to a small sly grin. A grin of a man that knew something the world didn't. A grin of a man who had outsmarted all odds, gotten away with everything, and finally at the end had been nipped in the ass by judgement and punishment. His cheekbones were seen, and made his face somewhat resemble that of a skeleton's. His hair was caked with blood, and one of his eyes was swollen to the size of a small plum. Whiskers grew on his once gentlemanlike face, and his facial hair that had been there the last time Frank had seen him (which had been months ago) was growing into a tangled mess. He drooled from the corner of his mouth, and from the back of his throat, the barking sounds of laughter came oh so quietly.
His hands shook. And his head lolled as his eyes did. Back and forth. Drunk with madness.
Sirius Black was not right in the head.
Both men could tell.
Frank was so preoccupied with their host (who was now trying to balance himself on the ledge of the window) that he didn't hear the jailor shut the door behind them and return to the prison duties. The dementors were now down the corridor, and was not a both to either of them. But Sirius was still affected. He obviously had lost his mind. His mannerisms were different. His face. His posture. It was all twisted and darkened by what he had been through and what he had done.
While Frank felt pity for this creature, Moody felt contempt.
He backhanded Black with his right hand, and Black fell to the ground, laughing and rubbing his cheek where Moody had socked him.
"Oh, it hurt him more than that when he was murdered," Black said, the whites of his eyes now only seen, "It hurt him much more than that. He screamed. He screamed for his baby boy. His little baby boy that would live. His damn little ..."
Moody hit him hard across the head, and Black fell again to the ground. Frank grabbed Moody's arm and pulled him back.
"No vengeance," Frank whispered to his friend, "Remember what Dumbledore said."
"Damn Albus," Moody growled, "I'll give this turncoat justice if I want to."
"We're here to question you, Mr. Black," Frank said, the syllables of the formalities towards this man alien to his tongue. Mr. Black laughed, more like cackled, and then arched his back so his spine could be seen through his thin coat. He then howled at the glowing moon outside of the barred window. Then he went to clamber onto the ledge. He smiled that sly secretive smile as his eyes strayed from one side of the cell to the other, and then to the ceiling. His mouth hung open, and the saliva drooled down his cheek in a steady pace.
"He's dead," he cried out, "he's dead. He killed him. He killed him. I killed him. I killed him! I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM! I ..."
BAM!
In a split second, Moody had grabbed Sirius by the collar and shoved him up against the iron bars of the window. He then slammed the murderer's head into the bars, over and over again. Blood began to stain the iron, but Moody didn't stop. And Sirius didn't stop laughing.
Frank watched this in horror before running forward and grabbing Moody. He pulled the two men apart, and Sirius fell to the floor, laughing. Cackling. Still laughing.
"I killed him," Sirius laughed, looking at Moody, "I killed them all. I killed James. I killed Lily. I could have killed Harry ..."
"YOU DAMN LITTLE TRAITOR!" Moody lunged forward. Frank had never seen him out of control like this before.
"But you know who really killed us, oh gracious teacher," Sirius chortled as he wiped his mouth free of spit, "You. You got us into t-this. You gracious loving teacher you. I remember you, yes I do. None of us will die with your gracious t-training. None of us. Not a single solitary one ..."
Moody's eyes grew almost as dark as Sirius's, and Frank had to yank him back again. Alastor was going to kill Black. He was going to murder him.
"Maybe you should leave, Mad Eye," Frank said, coaxing him towards the cell door, "I think it may work better if I did this by myself."
"I killed them," Sirius guffawed, and Moody shook himself free of Longbottom. He stared Black dead on with both eyes, swiveling and natural, and he gave him a glare of complete hate. Hate like he had never felt.
The only words that escaped from his mouth were, "He trusted you."
"I know!" Sirius chortled, barking with laughter, "That was his mistake, now wasn't it!"
Moody turned away, and stormed out of the cell. He would not wait for Frank, but walk back to the boat by himself. And then he would leave that prison without his partner. He would leave and not be heard from for a good two days. He had enough chocolate to withstand the trip. He needed the chocolate. Those dead killer eyes. Those murderous eyes. They had seen the Potters' dead corpses.
Frank saw the shadow of Moody disappear, and he faced Sirius once again. There had to be some sort of trace of the man he knew months ago before he had gone into hiding. Some sort of mannerism. Some sort of sign to indicate that this truly was the gung ho warrior that had fought alongside him for years. The same smiling boy that had signed the contract with so much spirit that Frank had been jealous of him. That boy who had proven them all wrong.
But no. It was just the shell of a murderer. A man who had lost all and had nothing else to lose or gain. He was at the end of a long line of lies and deaths.
"Sirius, do you recognize me?" he asked quietly, sitting down next to the prisoner. Sirius didn't respond. He sat there, staring off into space. At a ghost that Frank could never be haunted by.
Frank took Sirius's bloody hand, and squeezed it. He then felt through his robes for the vile that Dumbledore had placed in one of his pockets. He found it, and popped the cork out of the mouth of the vile.
"You have to come back to us," Frank said, pouring the liquid down the man's throat, "For James, you have to tell me the truth."
Sirius felt the cold liquid fall down his throat. And even less clarity came to him. Even less of his own sanity stayed with him.
Frank saw the man grow quiet and still, and his eyes grow to stone. Frank held Sirius's hand tighter, and then took a breath.
"Sirius Black, do you recognize my voice?" he whispered, as if the dementors could hear him through the bars.
"Yes," he muttered, in the little bit of calmness that he had left in his soul. The little bit of serenity he had felt since that night of Halloween.
"Will you answer me truthfully during this questioning?"
"Yes."
Frank only had to ask one question. Just one question and he would be proven right or wrong. Then Dumbledore would have his evidence. Then Moody would know. Then Lily and James could rest in peace.
"Sirius Black," he said, holding the cold hand tighter, "Were you responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter?"
There was a pause, as if Sirius was contemplating this question in his own mind. As if the battle was raging not outside this cell, but inside this man. It was a long time before Mr. Black could decide on his answer. And the answer would be recorded for years to come. Not only in the history books. Not only in the Ministry records. But in the minds of all who had known him in his prime. The minds of all who had thought Sirius Black was something of greatness.
The cold, dark, and blackened man whispered a resounding, "Yes."