Day Six
The loneliness would have killed him if James hadn't known that Sirius was suffering not far away. Hours had passed, though he had no way of knowing how many—but the cries he heard had quieted, and for some time now, he had heard nothing. The silence was more than unnerving; it was tearing him apart inside.
A logical corner of James' mind told him that he ought to at least try to sleep. Between the nightmares in his mind and those that his best friend was living through, rest came extremely hard. James wasn't sure when the last time he'd slept was, but he was sure that it had been at least two days. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but he had no desire to rest—not now, not with Sirius suffering in unknown ways. James had learned the hard way that they would not let his friend rest peacefully. There were moments, though, when it felt impossible to keep his eyes open…
James awoke with a start. He must have slept, although he had no way of telling how long. He was losing all concept of time in Azkaban, and the only thing he could tell for sure from his windowless cell was that the days passed. What little routine existed in the prison let him know that the next day would be his sixth—or was it all ready? His body's interior clock told James that it felt like the middle of the night, but he could no longer trust his senses to be dependable. No matter how much he had prepared for this mission, nothing could make you ready for Azkaban. Especially now.
It had to be day six already. Squinting into the dull light—the dimness of which never changed—James estimated that it was early morning. Maybe. He had no way to know, but his body insisted that he ought to be sleeping now, and he had slept already—it had to be almost dawn, unless he'd only dozed for minutes or seconds, in which case there was no way of knowing. He hoped that it was near dawn, though. If so, there would only be one more day. One more day. James resisted the urge to shout his relief or else to cry. A day. Less than twenty-four hours from now, it would all be over. And Sirius would be free.
Leaning against the wall, James wrapped his arms around his knees and waited. He'd grown accustomed to waiting, though his every instinct rebelled against it. Not much longer, the Auror promised himself. Before long, he could finally act—yet even sooner, the screams would begin. He felt cold, but it was true. Whatever happened would happen soon.
"Any second thoughts, Jimmy?" a mocking voice asked him, making James jump. Whatever her lack of mental faculties might indicate, Bellatrix Lestrange could still move like a cat, unlike her clumsy and noisy colleagues.
He lifted his eyes to glare at her. Only Voldemort had earned more of his ire than Sirius' once-beautiful cousin. She had easily proved herself to be the sickest person James had ever met.
"No," he grated, biting back the desire to tell her exactly what she could do with her 'second chances.' One more day, he consoled his temper. Just one.
"Very well."
Bellatrix shrugged passively, and then she was gone. James frowned, trying to comprehend her irrelevant actions—then realized abruptly that she had left his cell door unlocked. Immediately, he was on his feet. If there was a better way, a faster way, he'd damn well take it—then the door slammed open with a crash and cold air rushed in.
"Where will you be if your leverage dies?"
"Where will you be if your actions kill him? Can't bring him back, no matter who wins in the end, can you?"
Freezing cold.
"James…stop…"
Dementors. At least three of them, but James somehow crumbled to the ground, and resistance, once so easy, was completely impossible.
"Don't do this."
"Ah, but I can do whatever I please," Voldemort replied, strolling towards him. "Surely you have realized that by now?"
Cold hands grabbed him, and a hundred nightmares warred for precedence in James' mind. The Dementors were dragging him, pulling James' shaking body forward easily. Every decision that he'd ever made was coming back to haunt him. Sirius…Oh, Sirius… He was so cold. Hope, which he'd felt so briefly, had died within him, had been sucked away. Even the tiny corner of his mind that retained intelligence despaired. He knew where the Dementors were taking him. James knew that the cycle was starting all over again.
"Do you think that he's not afraid? He hides it well, but not well enough. And no matter how strong he is, he'll give in eventually. There will come a point when he won't want to hang on, where he just wants to die…"
Sirius screamed as Rodolphus cast the bone breaking curse on his already broken right shoulder. Bellatrix chuckled softly.
A door opened, and suddenly James was released. His ineffective legs collapsed out from under him immediately, and he hit the floor with a painful thud. At his back, the Dementors began to retreat, clearing his mind a little. He was still cold, so cold…
Sirius.
James was on his feet without understanding how he'd gotten there. He was in Sirius' cell, he realized all of a sudden, and all of his previous worries were immediately forgotten. Sirius lay crumbled on the floor, on his side and convulsing in pain. He was hardly making any noise at all, yet his breathing was hard and every few moments Sirius would whimper softly in pain. He was shaking badly, and James could hear the agony caused by each breath he took. Sirius' eyes were shut tightly, but even that could not hide the pain.
"Twelve hours, Jimmy."
Bellatrix Lestrange's voice made James spin around. She stood framed in the doorway, smiling what might have been a sweet smile if it wasn't so sick. Immediately, Voldemort's words came to mind—"What will it be, James? The longest he's ever been under Poenatoxicum is thirteen hours. Would you care to see how long he can really last?" He swallowed and bit back an angry response before Bellatrix's vindictiveness could come further into play. He'd learned the hard way that she'd only hurt Sirius if he let her bait him, and James wasn't about to give her that satisfaction.
"Keep that in mind as you make him suffer."
"I—"
The door slammed shut before James could finish his protest, feeling sick inside. As much as his heart ached to deny it, he knew that this was his fault. It was his fault that Sirius was being hurt, that he was in so much pain… James had made his choice knowing that it would cost, but he still hated the price he was forced to pay. One more day, he reminded himself desperately, but that reassuring thought was no longer so reassuring. One day, James finally realized, could last a lifetime.
Sirius moaned.
His anger forgotten, James rushed to his friend's side. Sirius' eyes were opening and closing periodically, unfocused and full of pain. He lay as if he'd simply been dumped on the floor and hadn't been able to move since. Even as James knelt next to him, though, Sirius' didn't react. He only kept shaking and kept whimpering in pain. It was only then that James realized that Sirius did not even know that he was there. He was in too much pain to notice, too caught up in hell.
"Sirius?"
His friend's blue eyes struggled to flick open, and then slid shut once again. James reached out a shaking hand to touch Sirius' clammy forehead. It was becoming hard to breathe around the lump in his throat.
"Padfoot?" James whispered worriedly. He didn't even know if his friend could talk, or could register anything around him—but he had to try and get through to Sirius. He hadn't been able to really talk to his friend since that very first day, and James couldn't bear the thought of having Sirius think that he didn't care, that he wasn't trying to end this—
Sirius coughed.
"Ja…" It cut off into a moan. Sirius' half-open eyes rolled back in pain. His body jerked harder.
"I'm so sorry," James whispered. He'd said it before, and would undoubtedly say it a thousand times more before everything was over—but he meant it. Oh, he meant it, right from the depths of a heart that was threatening to break. "I'm so sorry that he keeps doing this to you when his real target is me—"
"Do…n't… I—" a soft cry cut his words off, even though James could tell that Sirius had tried valiantly to hold it back. Sirius bit his lip as another whimper emerged, struggling to stay in control, but James could see the agony on his face.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked quickly.
"N-o…"
Sirius shuddered, and failed to hold back another cry. He couldn't scream, James suddenly realized. He was far too weak, now, and in too much pain. That, however, did not mean that he didn't want to. The damn potion was keeping him in agony, making him suffer and suffer… And it had already been twelve hours. Twelve hours. James could not even imagine the pain that Sirius was in, could hardly begin to understand, but he knew that Sirius was facing hell right now. Breathing was clearly agony, and the way he was shaking showed how much strain his body was under. Sirius' eyes were flickering open and shut once more, and James guessed that his friend did not even realize they were doing so. He'd faced so much and been so strong already, but James had to wonder how much longer that would last. Everyone had their limits—he shivered. "Everyone breaks. It is only a matter of time and method."
No. He shoved the thought away. Not Sirius. Not ever.
Sirius coughed again, and then gagged painfully. His breathing was becoming even more ragged as the potion continued to do its work, but James could see him trying to hold back the pain, to hide everything he could. He was fighting with everything he had to bury it deep inside where James couldn't see it. Another man might have asked why, but James knew the answer.
"You don't have to hide it, Padfoot," he whispered softly, brushing tangled hair out of his friend's eyes. "You don't have to be so strong. Not now."
Sirius looked at him, blinking several times before he managed to focus. For a long moment, James could only stare into his friend's eyes, seeing the agony and the pain and the pressure he was under. Those blue eyes had once been so full of life, but now they were very nearly dead; there was only pain. And there was no hope—only exhaustion that James couldn't hope to relieve. For a moment, James thought he saw fear flash in his friend's eyes, but he must have been imagining, because it was gone in a second.
"I…" Sirius shuddered again, and something very lost flickered through his eyes before he looked away, blinking again.
"Sirius? Are you all right?"
His friend's eyes slid shut. "I'm…" he coughed, and shook harder. "…fine."
No you're not, James realized abruptly, and the knowledge frightened him. He'd only once seen Sirius afraid, and that had been nothing like this… Maybe he hadn't been imagining that fear before. Or perhaps there was something else. Either way, he had to do something. Anything. He couldn't let Sirius suffer alone, even if he couldn't alleviate the pain. James spoke gently. "You're not fine."
"I'm…fi..." Sirius' body jerked and he cried out softly. James swallowed hard, watching his friend try to deny the hell that lived inside his mind. He was too strong, far too strong—but it had to stop somewhere.
"Sirius…" he whispered.
His friend tried to argue once more, but whimpered in pain instead. Sirius forced his eyes open again, though, and James could not stand seeing the loneliness behind the agony. He hesitated for a short moment, and then pulled his best friend into his arms.
Anyone other than Remus or Peter wouldn't have understood. No other man would have understood how simple friendship could have brought four wizards so close that they were indeed brothers. Few other men would have reached out to a friend the way James had, and fewer still would recognize what it really meant. James' brother needed help, and that was all that mattered. Sirius was shaking painfully against James' chest, and he was whimpering quietly, obviously unable to bite the reactions back. James hugged him close.
"You're not alone, Sirius," he said quietly. "And you don't have to hide this…not from me."
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the whimpers that James knew Sirius couldn't hold back. Sirius' body convulsed violently, and James saw his eyes shut tightly once again. But he could tell that Sirius was still fighting to lock the pain inside, and to send with it the emotional damage that he'd buried so deeply. He'd known Sirius for years, and the one thing he'd never, ever, been able to call him was weak. There is such a thing as being too strong, he wanted to say, but didn't. How could he?
Sirius shuddered and cried out for no apparent reason, making James wonder if the poison's affects did not become more pronouncedover time. Finally, to fill the awful silence, he had to ask, "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
He felt the shaky nod against his chest, but Sirius did not speak. James was beginning to wonder if he could now, or if the pain was too great. But he just held his friend, wishing that he could do more, even though he knew that was impossible. Tears rose in his eyes as he listened to his friend struggle for air and make soft noises of pain, but there was nothing that he could do. James hated feeling helpless; he hated being inactive. He was nothing more than a spectator, really: forced to watch by Voldemort and locked out from Sirius' fears. He was doomed to watch and to wait, and to be able to do nothing. He couldn't even truly help his friend.
Long minutes passed while neither spoke; James just continued to hold his friend, who he noticed had not objected. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but he had to do something, and Sirius hadn't pulled away. He leaned heavily against James, yet he felt very tense. It was as if Sirius believed that he could hold the agony inside through sheer force of will. But the whimpers were growing more numerous, and James could feel his friend's strength fading fast.
He wished that he knew what to say or what to do, but words failed James. They had to be nearing the thirteen hour mark, and James almost found himself wishing that Voldemort would show up and give Sirius the antidote. Certainly he wouldn't dare to push this too far…not now. They had never made Sirius go past thirteen hours before, and looking at his friend, James wasn't sure if Sirius could make it that long. He was already unable to scream, and almost unable to speak. Soon, they had to stop this. Sirius whimpered quietly.
"It won't be much longer," James reassured him.
"Ja…" Sirius trailed off into a moan, and then took a ragged breath, seeming to gather his strength. "He…said…" He coughed and shuddered. "Twenty…four…"
Another moan drowned the rest of Sirius' words, but James already felt cold. No. He wanted to scream. No. No. No. No! "Twenty-four hours?"
Sirius whimpered and nodded against his chest.
James' stomach twisted into a knot of pain. "Sirius, I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling empty. "God, I'm so sorry…"
"I—" Sirius moaned, and there was nothing James could do except pull him closer. He swallowed.
"Can you make it?" he asked worriedly.
"Have…to…" he whimpered.
"I'm here for you," James added quietly, feeling like such a fool for assuming that things would get better. Azkaban is not a place to make assumptions. "No matter what, I'm here. You don't have to face this alone."
Sirius tried to reply and failed, then finally nodded weakly. After a long moment, though, his ghostly voice filled the silence. It was obvious that he was straining to speak every word, but James could still hear the despair in his tone.
"I don…" Sirius convulsed. "…don't…know…"
"Don't know what?" James shivered.
"…how."
James swallowed back tears. Eleven more hours. Can he live through that? He felt sick inside. James knew that Sirius would try, that he would keep fighting until the bitter end, but what if that wasn't enough? "How to face this?"
Shakily, Sirius nodded, and James realized with a start that his best friend was holding back tears.
"Sirius?" he whispered.
Again, the reply was lost beneath a moan of pain.
"Don't let go," James pleaded.
"I…wo—" Abruptly, Sirius cried out in agony, and his body buckled in James' arms.
"What is it?"
"Hur—"
Sirius screamed.
James almost lost his grip on his friend as he convulsed. Desperately, he clung to Sirius, trying not to let go of his friend's jerking body. Somehow, Sirius screamed again, and James suddenly got the awful feeling that Voldemort had keyed the Poenatoxicum to become worse after thirteen hours—because something was causing Sirius more pain than before. His third scream was quieter, though, and the fourth was almost inaudible—Sirius was too weak to continue screaming, no matter how much it hurt. It was all he could do to breathe, now, and James felt horror twist his stomach into a ball.
Suddenly, the dam broke, and Sirius' previous control shattered. He began to sob.
James held him. There was nothing else he could do. Something told him that this was the first time Sirius had ever allowed himself to let go. Somehow he knew that Sirius had never dared before, had been afraid that if he lost control he could never get it back. But now there was too much pain, too much pressure. They were alone, too, which was probably the deciding factor—he couldn't bury it inside forever, and this could be the only chance he ever had to let go. So James held his best friend tight, doing everything he could, which could never be enough.
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Sirius felt dead in James' arms when the cell door finally opened. He was shaking erratically, and the only other indication that he was alive was his ragged breathing and periodic whimpers. James had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but a lifetime would have been shorter. By the time the Dementors swept in, they had to be near the twenty-four hour deadline. James tensed as the foul creatures approached, trying to will his stiff body into reacting quickly enough to fight if he had to. The Dementors were only floating at the fringes of the cell, but he was still so cold…
Sirius moaned.
Voldemort stepped in the cell, and James swallowed back the strangest feeling of hope. He shouldn't have been glad that the Dark Lord was there, but that meant it had been twenty-four hours, and then that meant that it was over. They would stop this—
"Are you ready to surrender, James?"
His traitorous heart almost said yes even while his lips said, "No."
"No?" the Dark Lord's voice was quiet, not as cold as usual. He almost sounded human. Slowly, Voldemort walked forward, his long robes swishing quietly with each step. He stopped right in front of James and Sirius, almost close enough for the Auror to touch. "Are you certain? You will doom him, you realize, when instead you could save him."
"You know that I can't."
"Can't?"
James swallowed again. Angering Voldemort always had the same result, and he was never the one who paid for that—Sirius, always Sirius, bore the brunt of the Dark Lord's sick fury. But what could he do? And how did Voldemort think to win? He knew what James' answer had to be, so the imprisoned Auror remained silent. Speaking again was of no use.
"Can't what, James?" Voldemort's voice was still quiet, too quiet. "You think that you can't save him?" He chuckled, shaking his head gently. "I disagree. Three words will do it: I will serve."
And one word doomed Sirius. Every time. James tightened his arms around his friend, closing his eyes against tears. This was all his fault. "No."
"As you say…" The Dark Lord shrugged eloquently. "Though sometimes, I wonder…"
The silence was deafening; James shivered. A small and twisted smile flickered across Voldemort's face for an instant, and then it was gone. Finally, James could stand it no more.
"Wonder what?" he demanded.
"How much you do indeed care for your friend." A small gesture at Sirius' shaking and half-conscious form said it all. "You've left him to suffer for ten years, James…and now you do nothing to help him."
"I—"
Sick pain welled up in James' heart and made him unable to speak any more. He hadn't known—he'd had no way to know—
Helplessly, he glanced down at Sirius. His friend's eyes were closed again, and he was barely breathing. If he hadn't been shaking so weakly, James would have thought he was unconscious…but he knew how Sirius was suffering. His silence told the tale more than screams ever could; he could no longer scream, and was growing too drained to even react. But the quietness did not mean he felt any less pain, now. James had long since realized that Sirius felt everything, even when he did not seem able to. Exhaustion did not shield him at all.
And I left him to this.
"It makes me glad, sometimes, that I never shared the much-celebrated friendship of the 'Marauders'," Voldemort continued quietly. "For if I were Black, I would not be very grateful to my brother for leaving me to suffer."
Heartbreak.
"Take him."
Coldness.
"No!"
The Dementors snatched Sirius away before James could force his deadened muscles to respond to his commands. Finally, as the Dementors reached the doorway, he managed to stagger to his feet. James started forward, ignoring the memories that threatened to rise his mind—"You've left him to suffer for ten years…" He had to reach Sirius, had to get him away—
There was a wand in his face, held lightly in a pale hand. It was probably the first time Voldemort had not threatened Sirius to force James into compliance, but he didn't have time to think about the significance of that. Nor did he even bother to wonder why the Dark Lord had come alone, without even his dear Bellatrix to keep him company. James backed up a step, and then two.
"The antidote…" he whispered.
"He will wait."
"But—"
"Dwell upon your choices, James," was the cool response. "Your choices."
And then the door clanked shut and the Dark Lord was gone, leaving him in Sirius' cell to study the bloodstained floor.
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An hour passed. Maybe two. He had no real way of knowing.
All James knew was the silence. He could sit and stare at the bloodstains, but there was nothing more. The floor was a dirty black-brown, dark red in some places and darker in others. In comparison, James' cell was remarkably clean—but this had been the site of years of hell. How long had Sirius lived in this horrid place? Voldemort had taken Azkaban six years ago… James swallowed. Six years of blood stained the floor he stood on.
He hadn't realized how much he'd become used to hearing the screams and cries. But their absence ate at him even more than holding his suffering friend had done. He didn't want to sit down, but he could no longer bear to pace. James wanted simply to die as he thought about Sirius, wherever he was…
The words kept running through his head.
"You've left him to suffer for ten years…"
"Your choice."
"You do nothing to help him…"
Clank.
The cell door opened, and James was almost grateful to see the Dementors. At least then he would know what was going on…
The short trip through the halls of Azkaban was blessedly blurred, but he felt as if he'd never be warm again. Even the red-hot chains of the interrogation chair seemed cold—painful, but cold. James was cold inside, dead and permanently cold. My choices. My fault. He heard voices, but almost couldn't care. He was torn between needing to see Sirius and wanting to drown in his own misery. My brother.
The Dementors backed away, leaving him to stare at Voldemort. Voldemort again, but this time the Dark Lord wasn't alone. All three of the Lestranges lined the back wall, though Malfoy was gone, now. Perhaps he hadn't the patience to stay in Azkaban for an entire day. Twenty-four hours. The thought snapped him out of his idle depression.
Sirius lay silently on the floor, whimpering every now and then as he tried to drag in a breath of air. He wasn't even shaking, now—only twitching erratically. Was he dying? James couldn't tell.
And what would you do if he did? a cold voice whispered inside his mind.
He pushed it aside. Sirius was not going to die. He couldn't. "Keep that in mind as you make him suffer…" James blinked, trying to clear his mind. Was it worth it? Was any of it worth Sirius' life? He wanted to scream. Why the hell am I doing this?
"…As you make him suffer."
"Twenty-five hours, James," Voldemort said. Again, his voice was frighteningly gentle. "Do you want your best friend to die?"
"No." He almost choked on the concept.
"No?" An innocent turn of the too-pale face. "I would think that it would make things so much easier… A simple end, and no more having to decide between your best friend and your principles." He spat the last word out like a curse. "Which will it be, James: friendship or honor?"
"There's no honor in betraying what your friends believe in," he finally whispered, but spirits, it was hard.
Voldemort snorted. "Of course there isn't."
Sirius whimpered, almost inaudibly.
"Remember this," the Dark Lord said quietly. "Remember when you defy me that I do not need to lift a hand to make him suffer…and that there is always a price to be paid. This ends, for now, because I wish it to. Not because it must."
He gestured. "The antidote, Rodolphus. Then return our guest to his cell and let him consider his options."
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