Disclaimer - not mine.

A/N - thank you so much for all the reviews for Chapter 15 - I think I actually made it to 30! Wow! You guys are great. I'm afraid this chapter is rather shorter than the last few have been - its more the length of the first 10 or so. I had planned tomerge 16 and 17 together as one chapter,but the second half still needs some work doing on it. Hopefully it shouldn't take me too long to finish, butI thought I may as well post this part while I have the chance. I still have no computer, which means that I'm writing like mad in my notepads and typing up, and finally posting,only when I have the opportunity - which isn't very often. Anyways, please be patient. There's only one chapter to go after this! Enjoy... and please leave a review...


Chapter Sixteen

"Hey! Peter!"

Quickly hugging his mum goodbye, James grabbed his trunk and ran to catch his chubby friend. Peter, who turned on hearing his name, gave a smile as James approached.

"Hi James. Good Christmas?"

"Not bad," he said with a grin, thinking of his uncle's gift - a large box of mixed pranking materials. He couldn't wait to show the others. Sirius would… His grin slipped a little. No, Sirius wouldn't. Hopefully the little bastard would stay well away from him. "You?"

"Brilliant. I got this mini-Quidditch game that you'll love. I'll show you it when we get on the train. Did you go to that big New Year's party? The one at the Ministry?"

"Yeah," James grimaced. "I didn't really have much choice. Stupid old fuddy-duddies, the whole lot of them. They weren't even any fun when drunk. And the music was abysmal. Don't let my Mum hear me saying that, though," he added, glancing back to where the woman still stood, engaged now in an animated conversation with another middle-aged witch. She gave a brief wave as she saw him looking back, which James returned before turning back to his friend with a wry smile and a roll of his eyeballs. "You know how she enjoys socialising. Anyways - how about you? What did you do this New Year?"

"Just the normal. Spent it with Mum and Dad, and the usual hoard of relatives that I barely know. Aunt Phyllis was up with the twins, and you know what they're like…"

James' attention drifted as Peter's words quickly became a mere drone in his ears. He barely noticed as silence descended between them - his eyes were busy scanning the crowds of students milling around the platform. He was looking for Evans, he told himself. No one else. No one else at all…

And there she was! He would know that hair anywhere - such a gorgeous shade! And that body. And the way she moved...

"He's not here yet."

James' gaze barely strayed. "Who's not?"

"Sirius. You're looking for him, right?"

"No, I'm not," he instantly denied, his eyes snapping back to the other boy. The fact that the first hair colour he had been scanning for had been black, whilst the figure had been that of a lanky teenage boy, was conveniently ignored. "I was looking for Evan's, actually," he stated. "Who's right there… Or she was." He frowned at the space that, only a moment earlier, had been occupied by the fiery, red-headed prefect, before turning his scowl on Peter. "You've made me go and lose her now. You owe me one for that, Mate."

But Peter merely looked confused. "So you weren't looking for Sirius?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Come on. Lets go and get a compartment."

"Prongs…?"

"What?"

"Are we ever, like, gonna be friends with Padfoot again?"

James sighed, staring down at his feet. For some odd reason they suddenly seemed immensely fascinating. "I don't know, Wormtail." He frowned slightly as he considered how exactly to put his thoughts into words. "Are you sure you want to know someone," he eventually continued, "so selfish he'd use one of his own friends - would risk one of his own friends - to get back at someone who annoyed him? Remus could have killed Snape if I hadn't been there. Even you know what would have happened to Moony if he had! Do you really want to be friends with someone like that?"

Peter shrugged. "I suppose not. If you say not. It's just… well... we're not really the Marauders without Padfoot! Are we?"

"We don't need him! He's a bastard who needs to be taught a lesson."

"Yeah, but... he must have had some reason..."

"Why must he? It could, of course, just be that he doesn't care and he doesn't think! He needs to be taught a lesson!"

"Yeah, but..."

"No more 'Yeah, but...'s, Pete. Come on. I've had enough of this conversation." James turned away from the other boy and began moving quickly towards the train. "Let's go get that compartment before we have to go to the trouble of emptying one out."


His knowledge of reality drifted to him in uneven fits and starts. A flash-fire burst of pain, before darkness again swamped him. The sensation of hands, roughly touching his damaged frame, uncaring of any further hurt they caused. No more. He could take no more. Merlin, let it end… But reality's grip upon his mind strengthened.

He could hear his father's voice, carrying to him as if from over a great distance. The words were faint and indistinguishable, yet he couldn't prevent a frisson of fear from running through him. His eye-lids flickered briefly open, only to fall closed again as his father's face swam into focus before him.

A hard hand gripped his chin, holding him in place as a thick potion was poured onto his tongue. His eyes again faltered open as he choked, weakly straining to move his head away - without success. The man's grip merely tightened.

"Drink it, you stupid boy," the steely voice sounded. "You're not dying yet - not until I say you can!"

He had no choice but to comply. As the potion flowed through him, slowly the worst of the pain ebbed away - replaced by a cool wash of fresh energy. But it was not enough to allow consciousness to be retained. Reality drifted again out of reach.

When awareness finally, fully, returned it was with the remembrance of his last conscious actions. He had slit open his wrists. He had tried to kill himself. He remembered seeing the blood… Thick, red blood - rich, Gryffindor red. Surely, then, he should now be dead. But if that were so then surely there should be no more pain…

He slowly cracked open his eyes. Only to close them again as a familiar, dingy, off-white ceiling swam into sight above him.

Maybe the Muggles were right. Maybe there was such a place as Hell. Maybe after you died you did have to pay for the sins of your lifetime…

Or maybe he wasn't dead.

It hadn't worked. He was still alive.

He didn't want to be alive. Life… Life meant pain and fear. Life meant hatred and sorrow. He didn't want that any more. He just… He couldn't take that any more. Now, though, even death was to be denied him. He was still there, still trapped. Nothing had changed.

No… No, he realised - something had changed. He felt… better… Far better than he had in some time. The pain, although still present, had lessened. A potion… His recollection was hazy - almost dream-like in its consistency - but he did, vaguely, remember. His father had forced him to drink yet another potion. The effects of this latest one, however, seemed to have been rather less harmful than those that had been forced down his throat previously. He had a feeling that that wasn't a good thing. In fact, there was no way that that could be a good thing.

He shifted slightly, his eyes drawn down to the still tender, raw flesh of his wrist - only to freeze, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as harsh, burning pain seared into his chest. For several long seconds he held himself immobile, unwilling to even breathe, as a snake-like thread of sinuous energy flickered into existence, twining around his body. Slowly it faded away… Barely a moment later, however, it reappeared as he finally drew an unsteady breath.

His father, he realised with a sinking feeling, was taking no chances with him now. He had been bound. Each slight movement caused pain to sear into his skin as the coiling bands of energy swiftly appeared, looping down and around his entire form.

He gingerly relaxed back, forcing himself into stillness, but not even his greatest efforts could make it last. His father may have healed him, but it was quite obvious that he cared for nothing other than keeping him alive. Making him healthy again was not in the man's agenda. He continued to lie on the floor, as he had been before consciousness had fled, slumped against the wall near the doorway. With his blankets lying in a crumpled heap beside his bed, there was nothing he could do to subdue the helpless shivers that wracked his body.

At first the searing bands flared into existence for barely an instant before fading, but, as his involuntary movements continued unabated, they began to remain for longer periods, sending burning pains sheering through him. He closed his eyes, struggling to still his rebellious muscles as he fought back sobs of pain - but it was useless. Time ticked past as he lay, and slowly, steadily the restraining magic grew stronger. The bindings continuing to blaze, unrelenting, progressively increasing in intensity. They began to tighten, tendrils of energy that wound from chest to ankle; a twisting helix of magic that held him in its insistent grip. Like the wards around the door, he thought. They were like the wards around the door, only worse…

With soft, helpless cries of agony now escaping from him, Sirius did the last thing he could think of doing to ease the pain. He changed into the familiar form of the bear-like dog.

Bliss.

For a long moment he merely remained lying as he was, his chest heaving as his brain sought to assimilate the new information. Slowly he lifted his head, gingerly shifting his legs to make sure that he wasn't imagining things. He wasn't. The bindings were gone.

The instant he returned to his human form, however, searing pain informed him of their return. He cursed, biting down on his lip to still his involuntary cries, and in an instant the dog was back. Well, that was… interesting… It seemed that, whilst Sirius was held captive by his father's vicious spell, Padfoot, on the other hand, was free to do as he wished. Not that that helped much. He was still stuck in the bloody room.

Unless…

Think! He had to think… Why was his brain not working properly? He had to think!

His father's bindings didn't work on Padfoot, which meant they had been tuned to him - or, to his human form, at least. As the wards around the door had been… It was a shot in the dark. He would be taking quite a risk. If he were wrong, then he would be trapped, yet again, in the nightmarish working that sealed his doorway, and this time with no house-elf present to pull him free. If he were right, though - he could be free! As Padfoot he could get out of his room… As Padfoot he could escape this hellish house. He could be free!

It was worth a try. Gathering together the fragmented remnants of his strength, he hauled himself to his feet, unable to prevent the strangled yelp that escaped him as he his broken limb briefly took his weight. He should, he realised, have tried changing into Padfoot before now - it was much easier to keep his balance with four legs instead of two, even if one of them wasn't usable. He was also far warmer. Padfoot's thick fur-coat provided him with a much needed extra layer of insulation. The only negative side of being in his animal form was the intensification of his sense of smell. He had, over the past week, become acclimatised to the stale scents of blood, sweat and sickness that filled his room; as Padfoot they struck him in a sudden, nauseating wash.

He had barely taken his first, hesitant step towards his doorway when his ears pricked up, Padfoot's acute hearing catching the sound of approaching footsteps long before he would have done in human form. He froze. Those were his father's footsteps - he would recognise them anywhere. And they were heading his way.

Shit. Oh shit! What should he do? He couldn't stay as Padfoot. Could he? If his father discovered his animagus form… No. No - that couldn't happen. Both the wards and the bindings could be altered to tie 'Padfoot' as they did 'Sirius'. He would lose his only chance to escape.

But… but what if this moment itself was his last chance to escape? What if the man had decided to… to 'get rid of him' as his mother had said? Could Padfoot get past him? Could he take the man down? For a brief moment the image of himself, as Padfoot, with his teeth at his father's throat, flashed through his mind. It was tempting. So tempting. But… normally… normally he, Padfoot, would be stronger; normally he would have no trouble in attacking the older man. He doubted that was still the case. In fact, he was pretty certain it wasn't. As much extra strength as he had been granted by his father's healing potions, it wasn't even a fraction of what he had lost from the man's earlier treatment of him. He was weak now, whilst his father was strong. He didn't stand a chance against him.

The footsteps were close now, close enough that he would be able to hear them in human form. He automatically began to back away, his teeth bared as a low growl emanated from his throat. What was he going to do? No - he knew what he had to do. He had no choice. He had to change back. He couldn't let Padfoot be discovered.

With almost frantic movements he scrabbled back to his previous space, to the area where the scent of blood lay strongest. Only just in time. The footsteps halted. With barely a second to spare, he changed. The door swung open. Despite his strongest efforts he was unable to hold back a strangled cry of pain as the magical bonds instantly resettled themselves, sending agony searing through him.

The sound of his father's chuckle filled his ears as the older man strode calmly into the room. With a defeated moan Sirius let his eyes fall shut, blocking his view of the man who towered over him.

He would get through this.


At first glance Remus thought it was Sirius standing before James, a thought that sent a quick spurt of anxiety shooting through him. He wasn't sure he wanted to face Sirius again just yet. But no, he realised, pausing on the staircase above the Entrance Hall - the other boy was too short, matching James' size rather than towering several inches over him, and his scarf was green and silver, the colours of Slytherin. The hair, however, was the same - though maybe a little shorter - as was the build, and even the haughty posture... Regulus. It had to be Regulus! But what did the younger Black want with James?

The crowds were quickly thinning as Remus descended to ground level, as returning students of all houses headed towards the Great Hall and the meal awaiting them there. Soon only James and Regulus, and a handful of other stragglers, continued to linger. The two boys were unaware of Remus' approach. He slowed, finally stilling completely as their words carried clearly to his ears.

"Look, Sirius is in trouble..."

Did Regulus actually sound anxious? This had to be bad. He was about to join his friend and the Slytherin when James' swift rejoinder halted him in his tracks.

"Do I really look like I care?"

Regulus paused for a moment and when he spoke again his voice held pure contempt. "You bastard," he said. "I thought you were his friend."

"You thought wrong. My friends aren't treacherous snakes." James turned to leave, only to be halted by Regulus' hand falling hard on his shoulder. "Piss off, Black. I've had enough of your fucking family."

Remus could clearly see the narrowing of Regulus' eyes - eyes that were practically identical to Sirius' - even across the distance separating them. He started moving again, his steps quickening as, with a contemptuous sneer, Regulus pushed James aside and stalked back towards the entrance. Remus cast an annoyed glance at James and quickly changed his course to intercept his absent friend's brother.

"Regulus. Regulus, wait up!" he called.

Regulus stopped, but failed to turn to face him. "What do you want, Gryffindor?"

"Sirius... Where is he? What's happened? You told James that he was in trouble..."

Slowly the younger boy turned. "Why should I tell you anything? Your friend over there just made it perfectly clear that he doesn't care fuck."

"James is an idiot. I care. Tell me!"

"Idiocy," Regulus sneered. "That does seem to be a Gryffindor trait." The Slytherin fell silent; his eyes fixed calculatingly on Remus. Finally, as the werewolf was beginning to grow increasingly impatient, the younger boy added, "Sirius was an idiot as well. He didn't know when to leave things well alone." Again he paused. When he next spoke his near smug manner almost managed to persuade Remus that he must have imagined the earlier anxiety. "He had an encounter with our father. He's in trouble. In fact... I think my idiot brother may be in need of some help. Now, if you'll excuse me." And with that Regulus turned and strode off.

"Hey, Moony?" James' voice sounded, almost hesitantly, from behind him.

He slowly turned to look at the other boy, and any irritation he may have felt quickly dissolved as he saw his vaguely worried, contrite expression. "Hi Prongs," he sighed. "Did you have a good Christmas? Where's Peter?"

"Yeah, it was great. Um - Pete's around somewhere. I think he saw that Hufflepuff girl, Julia or whatever-her-name-is. How was your Christmas?"

"Okay. A bit lonely." He paused before adding, "That was the first Christmas I've spent on my own since our first year."

"You know I would have stayed if I could have..."

"I know."

They had all expected Sirius to be spending Christmas in Gryffindor tower as he usually did. James' family's plans had been made well before Sirius had… before everything had changed.

"Anyhow, it's good to have you back, James. I was getting rather lonesome on my own."

"It's good to be back," James replied, slinging a companionable arm over his shoulder. "Come on - I'm starved. Let's go eat!"

Although Remus accompanied his friend into the Great Hall and to the Gryffindor table, not even the other boy's exuberant personality could keep him distracted. His eyes strayed continually around the room. Where was Sirius? Was he here and just staying away from them? It wouldn't be the first time since they had fallen out that he had done so - they had, after all, made it quite clear that they didn't want to talk to him. But he was nowhere to be seen.

His thoughts wandered back to their encounter with Regulus Black. He had a very bad feeling about this. What had happened to Sirius? What could have been so bad that Regulus - Regulus - was worried about him?

If Sirius hadn't turned up by tomorrow morning he was going to go and see the Headmaster.


A/N - I'm afraid that I again don't have time for review responses. I wassupposed to be going home about 15 minutes ago and I think myDad isstarting to get a bit irritated with my being here. Anyway, every single one of them was read and appreciated. Thank you all so much. I still can't believe I received 30! Chapter 17 should (no promises) be up in a week or two. Although, unfortunately, today is my only full day off work this week,and I won't be back at my parents house for at least two weeks, I should be able to get to the library for the odd morning or two...

Please do leave a review. Its so good to open my inbox and find them all waiting there.

Bye-de-byes,

Misthea