Part Two: A Matter of Time
Day Eight

Day Eight. The eighth day. Deadlines missed, windows closed. The shit a lot deeper and long since acquainted with the fan. James made himself as small as he possibly could in the corner of his cell. He tried to draw in the very essence of everything that made him James into the deepest places he had. He gathered everything around him, the cold, the dark, the damp, drawing it in like a cloak. He shivered. If he could just delve a little deeper... just a little deeper... he'd be safe. Even James knew it was an empty hope, but he drew ever inward nonetheless. Azkaban couldn't touch him here. Except that it could.

The silence was unnerving. No matter what James did, he could not get the cold voice out of his head.

"So tell me, James, what the end will be. Tell me you'll let him die." Sirius screamed in agony. "And how long will you leave him under the potion, Gryffindor? Until he dies, or until you give in?"

James shook as the day melded together in his head. Everything had gone wrong.

"You have been betrayed."

The words echoed in his head.

"You have been betrayed."

"Betrayed."

Betrayed.

But who? Who had known he what he was doing? The eerie silence was starting to weigh in on his mind. He took the silence and pulled that into his shield as well.

James eyes flicked involuntarily at every little sound. A footstep. A shuffle. A distant voice. Silence. It was usually silent at this time of night. Go to sleep, James, he tried to tell himself. He knew it wasn't going to happen. Not this time.

"You have been betrayed."

Bellatrix suddenly didn't seem as important on the list of people James wanted to kill. There was a traitor to find when he got out of here. If he got out of here.

I'm meant to be out of here already.

He tried to shrink farther back into the corner, but there wasn't a farther back to go.

"And yet you do nothing. You weep for your friend, yet you do nothing... Which will last longer, your resistance, or his life?"

I have to get out of here. The thought shocked right through him.

I have to get out of here. I have to get help. I have to do something.

How was he going to do it? Could he get Sirius out? He didn't even really know where Sirius was. No. Especially not with Sirius fading away under Poenatoxicum. He'd have to go alone. James' mind whirled. Could he even do it? No one had ever done it.

The more important question was: could he afford not to try?

He'd have to pull a stunt that Voldemort had never in his life dreamed of.

What do I know that he doesn't?

He knew a lot of things. Many of them would make Voldemort's head spin. The Unicorn Group was researching wandless magic; Lily could even manage a little. That would certainly help. Unfortunately, James knew, what Lily could do wouldn't help him here. He'd always been entirely hopeless at it, which he inwardly found ironic since he hadn't had any trouble at all with the Animagus transformation in his fifth year, and that was wandless magic at its core. Animagus. He doesn't know about my Animagus form.

No. It wasn't possible. Was it possible? What could he do? He could rush the door next time it opened. No. That would be incalculably foolish. The presence of the Dementors would cloud his mind, and the Lestranges would be there. No. He was too big to fit through the bars, so that was right out. Oh, to be Peter right now. He was right. Being a rat can be useful.

He contemplated simply running head on into the door until it fell, but the thought itself gave him a headache, plus the sheer amount of noise it would make would get him caught before he even finished.

Crawling over to the door, James started to investigate the lock. It was a surprisingly simple lock. James suspected that the skeleton keys were made of actual bones. An odd idea popped into his head. Listening carefully to make sure that no one was coming, he made the transformation into a stag. Maneuvering his head so that his antlers were at just the right height, he slid the point of one of the prongs into the lock, and worked at getting it to turn.

The work was very slow. The lock was ancient, and did not want to give. The awkward angle made it more difficult for him to make fine twists and turns. After long minutes, and much to James' surprise, for he did not actually expect it to work, there was a click. Hope started to well up inside him where only moments before, there had been none.

If I'd even started to think about what the hell it is I'm doing, I wouldn't even have gotten this far. Don't start thinking now, James. Don't start thinking now. Just go.

Transforming back so he could trade his hooves for his much quieter feet, he made his way down the corridor as quickly as humanly possible. Having only been in Azkaban for a week, he had no idea where he was going, he just ran. He'd been here before, before Voldemort took over, he tried to rely on his memory of where things were. A right here... down the corridor... that's where the Dementors always dragged him.

James stopped short at a door. He didn't remember a door here. He was always in a trance of Dementor-induced memory when he was at this stage of the journey. He tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. Heavy bars blocked off the whole section. He could see that it was an airlock style lockdown. He'd have to get through two doors to get out.

Cursing Voldemort for putting him in a high security cell, he set to work on getting the locks open with his antlers, praying that no one would hear. It took what felt like hours. James felt as though he could be seen by a thousand pairs of eyes as he stood maneuvering his head to delicately work the locking mechanisms in the doors. When the second lock clicked, he nearly collapsed from nerves.

Turn left. You always turn left here. Just go. Go, go, go.

Running as quietly and as quickly as he could, he tried not to cringe as he passed the interrogation rooms, and resisted the urge to open every cellblock he passed. He knew his chances were best if he went alone. Hell best if I'm alone. My chances are best if I get out of this damned corridor.

At the end of the hall, there was another double gate on the right. Sighing, knowing that this was likely going to be what was going to be the death of Sirius, his hand automatically strayed to the handle. James nearly jumped when it turned. The Lestranges didn't lock it. He didn't question. He didn't dare question. Darting through, he tried the second door. Open.

Heading for the first door he saw, James heart was pounding. Pulling the metal handle open, his nostrils protested at the stench that he was about to head into, but he plunged into the darkness nonetheless. There were stairs leading down. They creaked horribly, and he winced at the noise as he put his weight on the first one. Carefully keeping his back to the wall, James slid down one stair at a time, until he reached the bottom.

When he heard a snap, he looked down. He could barely see anything in the darkness, but he thought he could make out something pale on the floor. He felt around on the floor. Bones. Some still had flesh on them. This must be where bodies were dumped when prisoners died.

How many good people are here? How many did I lose?

As he stepped off the bottom step, he fell with a loud splash. Finding himself chest deep in sewage, he finally knew where the stench was coming from. Sewers. He was in the sewers. Hardly believing his luck, he felt the walls. The tunnel split into two to the left. Taking the single path to the right, James moved through the sludge as quickly as his feet would take him, alternating between man and stag. After ten minutes, light started to filter through the shadows.

What's that they tell you? Head toward the light at the end of the tunnel?

Cracking what he thought was his first smile since he first awoke in Azkaban, James picked up speed. The last few feet he tripped over his own feet, falling in the sewage. Pulling himself back up, he reached a grate. Through the grate, he could see the sea, the sky. There was a dock. The wind blew through. Icy though it was, it felt good on James' face.

James fitted his head through the grate experimentally, though he suspected he wouldn't fit. Pulling it back through, he tried an arm. Contort as he might, there was no way. Sighing, he pounded a fist on the bars. The outside was so close and yet, so far.

Refusing to be defeated so close to freedom, James tried to find a way to open the grate, but it was tightly sealed. It wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pulled, pushed, or shook it. Feeling his way around the edge of the grate, he found it. A lever. James' hand hesitated on the lever. There's no way they're not going to know if I pull this.

James pulled the lever, and watched in near slow motion as the grate opened. Bracing himself for alarms, to be dragged away, he waited. Nothing. Silence. James laughed. Climbing out into the air, he laughed. The wind rushed past him as his eyes darted over the docks. There were no boats, but he hadn't expected to be that lucky.

Taking no time to think, James ran to the dock and plunged into the frigid water. The bitter cold was a shock to his system, but he started to swim as hard as he could away from the island, using the dock as a reference point for direction.

The North Sea's waters were unforgiving, but James pressed on. Stroke after stroke, he tried to gage how far he'd gone. He knew that the Shetlands were somewhere between twenty and twenty five miles away. How far?

As he swam on, his arms began to tire. James no longer felt the cold; his whole body had turned numb. Hardly able to feel his limbs, the pain didn't register right away. Has it been ten miles yet? Although the sun had not yet been up when he'd started swimming, it was high in the sky already.

Soon, the pain registered even through the numbness. Arms and legs burning from the effort, he pushed on. Just a little farther. Has it been twenty miles? It has to have been twenty miles. The sun was nearly setting. Why wasn't he there yet? Had the current taken him off course?

Every time he lifted his arm, kicked his leg, agony shot through his body. One more stroke. You'll make it. Shetland Islands. Freedom. Sirius. One more. The sun slipped below the horizon. James started slipping in and out of consciousness as the already glacial water became even colder. Just... a little... farther...

James sank into the blackness of the sea. I didn't realise how warm the sea is... he thought as we went down. It was his last thought as the black seas melded into black unconsciousness.

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When James woke up, every muscle felt as though it were on fire, which struck him as odd considering how cold he was. His robes were still sodden with seawater, but he was not, as he might have feared, at the bottom of the sea. I made it. Someone must have pulled me ashore. Oh, I can hardly move a muscle.

James opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light. He closed them again instantly. No. It can't be. No, no, no, no. I should have been more specific when I said "someone." "Someone" had clearly been Voldemort. Bound into the Interrogation Chair, he was back in Azkaban.

"Welcome back, Potter. Have a good swim? We've missed you terribly." Speak of the devil. "Oh, it's no use pretending you're asleep. I'm very well aware of the fact that you're awake. Open your eyes."

James kept his eyes closed. "I said, open your eyes. You do not want to tempt my anger right now. You know who will pay for it if you do." James' eyes flew open, nearly of their own accord. "Better."

Voldemort was standing directly in front of him with Sirius bound in a battered heap at his feet. His eyes were glowing with a fury that was only barely contained. "I thought better of your intelligence, Potter. Not only are you stupid enough to try to do something so foolhardy as escape, you left him with me, you set off the alarms, and you swam the wrong way. Crucio." Sirius writhed on the floor; too weak to scream even from the combined effects of more than an entire day's effects of Poenatoxicum and Cruciatus simultaneously. Normally James would find relief in the fact that no fresh blood was flowing, but now, he only knew that it meant that Sirius hadn't had the strength to scream in some time, or the brank he still wore would have poured blood down his face in streams.

James bit his lip. Anything he said would only make it worse.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Potter? Been holding things back from me, have you, Prongs? Be a deer and let me in on the little secret. How long have you been an Animagus? Must have been one hell of a stag night with Lily." The breath caught in James' chest. This was not good. This was very not good.

"I..." James started to stammer out a reply, but there were no words. Since when does Voldemort have a sense of humor?

"Crucio." Voldemort cast the curse on Sirius again.

"So tell, me, Prongs," Voldemort said, almost conversationally, all the while not lifting the curse, "You're Prongs. A stag. Peter recently registered as a rat. He's called Wormtail. And Moony the werewolf, now that's self-evident. Tell me," Sirius writhed on the floor, "Why is he called Padfoot?"

"It's... it's just a nickname..." James started to say before Voldemort cut him off.

"Don't think me stupid, James. You want him dead, then please, stall a little longer. It's already clear that you do not think of him as the brother that you profess to, else you would not have left him behind in such a state that he's in while you made your dash for freedom, would you have? Why is he called Padfoot?"

"He..." James faltered again. Sirius stopped moving, save for the occasional twitch.

"Yes?"

"He's an Animagus... a dog." Voldemort lifted his wand.

"Interesting. In ten years, I never knew that. Yet, within one week, you betray him. Within eight days, you betray the secret that he kept for so long. It does explain some things I had been wondering about him. I thank you."

James had no answer. The silence stretched on for a long moment until the door opened.

"Ah, Jimmy's home. Welcome home, Jimmy." Oh, not her, too. Not now.

"Bella. Do come in. Tell me. Did you know that your cousin has been an Animagus all these years?" James closed his eyes. What have I done?

"Oooh. Really? And what can he turn into? Such possibilities." She walked over to Sirius and bent over to brush the hair out of his face. Sirius didn't react at all.

"Why doesn't James here tell you? He was kind enough to tell me, after all. James? Tell Bellatrix."

Voldemort's voice had become almost pleasant, the anger subsiding. James knew that this couldn't be good. Angry, he might make mistakes. Clearheaded, James knew that he was in trouble.

"Well, Jimmy? What can dear cousin do? Come, come. Share."

How many times must I do this? No more. "I've already said."

"Crucio." Two voices performed the curse in unison. Sirius' back arched off the floor. Once he collapsed back down, he lay motionless. James could almost watch the life fade out of his friend's eyes.

"A dog. He can become a dog." Stop it! You're killing him!

Voldemort lifted his curse, but Bellatrix did not. "I knew there was something. I always knew there was something keeping him so sane. Tell me, cousin. Did you hide from the Dementors as a mongrel all these years? Did you think it would save you in the end?" Sirius jerked once, lying still again.

"Bella."

Bellatrix raised her wand, staring daggers at Sirius before raising her gaze to James. James lifted his head as much as he was able. "He's been quite the stumper, hasn't he, Bellatrix? Haven't broken him in ten years, have you? Must be frustrating." The defiance in his voice barely came through, but it could still be heard.

A wave seemed to come off of Bellatrix, and Sirius found the strength to scream as the bones in his left leg spontaneously shattered. Blood started to flow down his face as spikes once again pierced through the insides of his mouth. Voldemort chuckled.

"Deliberately baiting Bella is not always the wisest of moves, James. But don't let me stand in your way." Turning around, he glided out of the room, Dementors close behind.

Bellatrix waited for the door to click shut before she turned on James. "It's just you, me, and him now," she said, kicking Sirius' leg, eliciting a soft moan. "Where shall we start? I don't have all that much time left; I can see you breaking before my eyes. I want to make this count."

The fire in her eyes was clear to James. It was the fire of a woman possessed, and that more than anything else frightened him. He tried to form words, but they caught in his throat.

"What was that, Jimmy? I didn't hear you. Speak louder." She reached down and picked Sirius up by his bound arms.

"Leave him alone. It's me you want." The words were barely a whisper. James' mouth was suddenly very dry.

"You seem so certain that you know what makes me tick. It's you that Master wants. It's him that I want." Bellatrix placed one hand flat on Sirius' back, and pulled firmly on his hands, searching for a place that had yet to be broken, smiling with satisfaction when she heard the sharp crack of snapping bones. James retched.

"Oh, Jimmy. Weak stomach? Can't bear it?" Wrenching Sirius' hands upwards one last time, she let him fall to the floor. "You know how to end it. But no. You're not ready. Almost. But not quite. I know what you're thinking."

"And what's that?" James forced the words out. "What am I thinking?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Bending over Sirius, she studied his face. "No slipping out on us, cousin." Bellatrix unhooked the blood soaked straps from the back of Sirius' head, releasing the brank from his mouth. The metal shone a dull red as she distastefully pulled it out from between his lips. Drawing a vial from her robes, she forced his jaw open and poured the contents down his throat. Sirius coughed and sputtered, but started to breathe regularly again.

"Can't let him go unconscious. He wouldn't wake up very well with that much Poenatoxicum in him. So. Where were we?" Color started to return to Sirius' cheeks, and he started to moan. James took it as a good sign that he had the strength to do so.

"You were about to display your mighty talents as a mind reader." His ability for sarcasm seemed tied to Sirius' health.

Bellatrix walked forward and placed her hand on James' forehead. He suspected it was for show, but he shuddered nonetheless. "Ah, yes. You're thinking that I can break his body, but I cannot touch his spirit. I can't touch his soul." The blood drained from his face. What was she talking about? Certainly she wouldn't bring it up unless she thought she had some way...

Reaching into her sleeve and producing the wand tucked there, Bellatrix watched gleefully as it took James a moment to notice that something was different, that something was exceptionally wrong.

"But..." There were no words.

"But, nothing. I have had this for ten years. Ten years, Jimmy. Waiting for the right time. And you don't have it in you to stop me." It was not her wand. It was Sirius' wand. James had assumed that it was long destroyed. He understood all too well what was happening.

James cringed at the thought of what Bellatrix held in her hand. Remus had once had a wand snapped in battle... he'd described the sheer pain of it, and that had been a clean break. Wands bonded with their wizard forever; time would not dim that bond. The bond reached into the very soul. Fear started to coarse through James as Bellatrix drew out her jeweled athame.

"No... you can't..."

"Can't I?" She ran her finger against the blade of the athame. "The blade is certainly sharp enough. I have the wand. And neither of you are in a position to stop me. Well, that's not strictly true. You could stop me. But you won't. I'm willing to bet his soul on it. Are you?"

James bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. How much longer can I do this? How much longer can I condemn him? Bellatrix settled herself on the floor next to Sirius, neatly arranging her robes around her. Tracing along his hairline with the tip of the athame, she giggled softly as a thin line of blood welled up. "I want to savor this, cousin. I've waited so long."

"Go... to... hell..." Sirius rasped at her. James was impressed that he could form words through the blood that was still streaming from a dozen wounds inside his mouth, and he held onto that hope that Sirius could last just a little longer, though he knew it wasn't enough.

"Oh, no no, dear cousin. I'm going to send you there." It was apparent that she had cared for his wand well; it had a polished sheen to it. James watched in horror as she began to shave slivers of ebony off the wand. Sirius began to convulse. The shred of hope slid away as quickly as it had come.

"Hurts, doesn't it? That's the outer layer you're feeling. That's nothing. Just wait. And you wonder why the Ministry snaps them cleanly down the middle. They think they're being humane. Have you ever seen someone get his wand snapped? My first one was snapped. They have to hold you down when they do it. They cast silencing charms so no one knows that you're screaming." More shards of wood fell away from her knife. The wand was getting thinner and thinner. Convulsions turned into writhing as Sirius' breathing became ragged once again. He moaned softly but consistently.

A reddish glow started to shine through black wood like an ember struggling to stay alight in a fire long extinguished. "Ah, there it is. The core. Do you know what tradition mandates when I finish, cousin? You are required to thank me. I stood there in the courtroom with each arm braced by a Dementor, and that swine Crouch quietly took off the silencing charms after snapping my wand. And I had to thank him. I will accept no less from you." As the glow of the phoenix feather inside grew brighter and brighter, Bellatrix slowed her carving. Sirius began to scream in earnest.

"And here we thought you didn't have the strength to scream." Bellatrix started to giggle insanely. A paper-thin layer of wood surrounded the glowing feather on all sides.

Slowly, carefully, deliberately, the knife drew the final lines into the ebony. Fluffy tufts of feather started to show through the cracks that were forming. Sirius' face contorted in sheer torment as if his very soul were being sliced open instead of the wood. The strength was coming from somewhere, James was horrified with himself for praying that he'd never know for himself where, to cry out ever louder. Moments before, he'd been unable to muster the strength to moan.

Soon, Bellatrix was able to pluck the feather from the remaining splinters. Tearing it apart piece by piece, like a small child pulling the legs off a spider, her eyes were alight with pleasure. When all was done, she carefully gathered all the pieces of the wand, and dropped them in a vial of liquid. The vial started to glow a bright red as the splinters and feather fragments dissolved.

"Do you have any idea what this will do to you if you drink it?" Sirius could hardly see; tears were streaming down his face. "Thank me for destroying your wand, and you will not have to find out."

"No..."

"Be wise for once in your life, cousin. Follow wizarding traditions. Two little words. Save yourself the pain."

"No."

"Suit yourself." She lowered the vial to his lips.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Bellatrix's hand paused.

Through the haze of pain in Sirius' voice and his mangled tongue, even James could make out the words, "Thank you. Tradition demanded... thank you..."

"No! Sirius, no!" James struggled against his bonds. Bellatrix had done the one thing she'd known that Sirius would have to give in on. Pureblood wizards had a certain inborn knowledge of tradition in their blood. No matter how much a wizard might defy them while strong, weaken him enough, and he'll always revert to what he knows instinctually.

Bellatrix looked up with a smirk. Stoppering the vial, she slid it into her robes. "Do you know what this would have done to him, Jimmy?"

James looked at her, the shock still on his face.

"Nothing. The damage was already done."

Bellatrix stood up, brushing herself off. "If I didn't mention, welcome home. We really did miss you..."

As she left the room, Dementors glided in to take James back to his cell.