Title: My Soul From out that Shadow
Summary: In 1979, Regulus Black stole a Horcrux from the Dark Lord, fully expecting to die for his efforts. He assumed no one would miss him, but he misjudged his brother. Now that Sirius has found Regulus again, he is not keen on letting the boy leave…ever.
Warnings: For real this time: explicit incest, dubious consent (as well as full-on rape), explicit violence, sadism, Stockholm syndrome, and kidnapping.
Story Notes: Fic request for Performance. (Sorry about the wait, my job dragged me away from internet access for about a week there. BUT! It turned out super long, so I hope that makes up for it).
This is only the story's prelude. You have to go to AO3 for the full version of this one. I've not run into any trouble on FF . net for "adult" content before, but I'd like to not risk it. I've locked the story to registered AO3 users only and have no plans of unlocking it, although I am more than willing to email copies to unregistered readers who request it.
Title credit to Edgar Allen Poe
Azkaban Island, June 1993 (Sirius)
"Sirius, pass me your lighter…I know you have one! Quick…before the guards come back!"
Sirius heaved a deep, silent breath. He was sitting with his back against the slimy stone wall of his cell, leaning his face against his cell bars. He closed his eyes. "For the last time, no, Lestrange."
Rabastan shuffled around in the cell opposite Sirius. In what little light there was, Sirius could see him pull at his hair and scratch at his emaciated arms.
"Please, cousin?" he begged. "Bella's sister slipped me a few cigarettes when she visited last, but I need something to light them with."
"You don't have any cigarettes," Sirius muttered, more to himself than to Rabastan. The poor lad had gone halfway around the twist some months ago, who even knew how many of Sirius's words he actually understood.
"Yes I do! Two of them. You can have…this one, now please let me borrow your lighter? The dementors are coming for me tomorrow and this is my last chance!"
Something plopped to the ground just outside Sirius's cell. Surprised, he saw a dirty cigarette rolling slowly to him. Slightly amazed, he stretched a skeletal hand through the bars to pick it up.
"The dementors are not coming for you, Rabastan," he said automatically. "Just like they weren't coming for you yesterday, or last week, or any other time you thought they were."
"They are, Siri, they are," Rabastan whined. "They're going to take my soul away from me; I'm next on their list!"
Sirius could hear the tears in his cousin's voice. With an exasperated sigh he sat up and reached under his mattress and pulled out a small, green lighter. Contraband, he'd managed to nick it off a reporter who'd come in for an interview. Just about the only benefit of being completely sane in this hellhole was that Sirius's mind was well above the expected level of competence for a long-term prisoner. As such, none of his "visitors" were ever careful with their trinkets, and he'd amassed quite a selection over the years.
"Here, now shut up and let me enjoy my two minutes of peace!" Sirius yelled. He threw the lighter and it skidded over to Rabastan's cell where it collided with one of his bars with a loud ding.
Rabastan babbled some thank you's and then Sirius saw the boy's dirty, pale face illuminated for a long second by the flame of the lighter. His dark eyes were sunken in and narrowed as he focused on the cigarette in his mouth. The flame of the lighter danced frantically in his shaking hands. Unable to stand and deal with the cigarette at the same time, Rabastan sank to the ground, joints cracking loudly. One drag in, he slumped over with a contented sigh.
Sirius twirled Rabastan's second cigarette around in his fingers. His motor skills had not fared so well over the years and he dropped it several times.
How had he gotten here?
Sirius was the first person to admit that he probably deserved his cell, the nearly omnipresent dementors, the nightmares…everything. He'd been thrown in here for the wrong crime, though, a crime he hadn't committed. Those two clear, unhappy thoughts were enough to keep him sane and motivated if nothing else.
Sirius wondered what it would be like to have your soul sucked out. You wouldn't die, but could you really be called alive, either? Sirius had seen one prisoner get kissed before; a Death Eater, naturally, and he had been keenly aware of the deadened look the man's face had taken on. The capacity for emotion was completely gone. But was it that a soulless wizard could feel no emotions, or were they merely incapable of expression? Perhaps the Death Eater's pain and terror had all been there, hidden under a mask of emotional paralysis.
Sirius had done far worse than that man ever had. Were a dementor to kiss Sirius Black it would likely be poisoned.
It would be like a cure for him, however, Sirius reckoned. He hung his arms out through his cell door, staring lazily at Rabastan's body as he writhed in the ecstasy of his severe nicotine addiction. If an Azkaban guard took Sirius Black's soul, it would remove all that was dark in him, wrong. Sometimes Sirius wanted that. After years and years of thinking, a part of him wanted to experience life with none of those dour obsessions that had always plagued his thoughts.
But these ideas always came to the same quick end, and Sirius once again dismissed them as a brutal thought exercise.
No, Sirius Black had better things to spend his time ruminating on: like getting his sorry ass out of this prison. The weather visible from his small, high window was so calm tonight, though, and that would never do. Sirius Black would escape during a storm; he needed the noise.
So this was a waste of a rare, dementor-free moment, but no matter. Sirius would wait. He'd been waiting for a long time, learning to make his own entertainment.
"Hey, Lestrange," Sirius barked. Rabastan flinched so hard he nearly dropped his half-done smoke. "You better stop making love to that cigarette, kiddo. I can hear the guards coming back," he added in a frightening whisper. Rabastan fell onto his side with a light thud, arms wrapped around his head and mewling in terror. Sirius tucked Rabastan's cigarette away in the inner pocket of his dingy prison robes and laughed.