Chapter 18 – Legilimens
"Sit down. Hopefully this won't take long, Kingsley." said Moody and took one clonking footstep forward.
Sirius stared at him. He did not like the look in Moody's eyes, both of which were focused on his face for once; even the magical one. It was an unnerving experience.
He answered slowly, "What won't take long?" while trying to keep the three of them in his line of sight.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward as well, and was now standing side by side to Alastor Moody, his wand still firmly pointing at Sirius.
Even though Sirius' question was directed at Alastor Moddy, he answered in his stead, "We first thought of using Veritaserum, but it would have been difficult to get some at this time of the night and brewing some would take a full moon-cycle to mature. Do you remember that I was in charge of the search for you - if you truly are Sirius Black - after your escape from Azkaban?"
Sirius nodded. His eyes narrowed. "And what has my escape got to do with anything here?"
"As such, I had complete access to your file; including all the classified information about your family, your upbringing, your marks at school, what you ate in Azkaban. Everything. If you are Sirius Black, then I know something about you that comes in handy today," said Kingsley.
"I can't wait to learn what that might be," growled Sirius, who was getting angrier by the minute. Reminding him of Azkaban of all things on top of doubting his identity!
"You have always been lousy in Occlumency." said Shacklebolt and lifted his wand.
"Legilimens!"
The room swam before his eyes and vanished; image after image was racing through his head.
He was eight, watching his father carelessly strike Kreacher across the face over some spilled soup, effectively knocking the elf off his feet before turning to his wife, "Walpurga, that elf is a disgrace to the house."
He was thirteen, a young Snape had just hit him with a bad Conjunctivitis Curse, he was stumbling blindly through the castle in search of James, his eyes nearly swollen shut.
He was fifteen and the pain of his first transformation to his dogform, bones, sinews, muscles changing left him in a whimpering heap, but Remus was worth it, Remus was worth anything and now it was his other best friend's turn to shudder and swell strangely, James turning into a stag.
He was racing on his flying motorcycle through a foggy night that cursed 31 October 1981, the night where his best friend died. He was flying fast, still hopeful, still so desperately HOPEFUL and confident that he would, no, COULD not be too late, terrified of what he would find at James place. He was staring at the Dark Mark hovering over James' and Lily's house.
He had tracked down the traitor, Peter, how could you. Peter screaming at him, Peter GRINNING and screaming that he, Sirius, had killed Lily and James before setting off a huge explosion. The blast had knocked Sirius down. When he picked himself up from the street Peter had vanished and there was blood everywhere and there was screaming... Five years later, his cell in Azkaban. There was still screaming going on. The screams in his head had not stopped for ten years.
+Nooooooooooooooo+
Helplessly screaming in his own head, Sirius felt Kingsley sort through his memories, felt him hesitate over those memories of Azkaban, the memories of the Dementors, felt his decision to retreat, felt that he finally believed him ... and then something happened. The images changed, became sharper, clearer somehow. And they were flying by much faster.
The old cell in Azkaban changed, expanded, grew, morphed into some kind of unfamiliar and incredibly istrange/i underground hell; unfamiliar ragged convicts were beating each other up over food and rags or makeshift weapons; everywhere he looked there was but bestiality and violence.
He could see perfectly in the dark but he, Sirius/Kingsley/Riddick knew that the other convicts could not see HIM. He was crouching in the dark, a make-shift knife in each hand, waiting with inhuman patience for his target to pass.
He was moving, slashing, killing. Robbing the corpses, acquiring more weapons, moving up, working his way through the different levels of Slam, killing again and again and again, his hands coated in blood, each time closer to the exit, the one thing that kept him going, the call of the stars, of peace, no people around to trigger him off, no more killings, silence.
He was chained up again, Johns, blue-eyed, red-haired devil shoving a horse-bit between his teeth, making fun of him. Transporting him with civilians on a back road through space. On a ghost lane. A long time between stops. A long time for something to go wrong. Feeling, hearing the meteorites hit and breach the hull. Fucking helpless. Helpless because he was chained up.
He was being tossed around and then freed by the crash. His first look outside, a world with three suns, his eyes nearly bleeding from the bright glare. He got his first look at little Jack with her shaved head and uncanny old green eyes, stupid kid hero-worshipping him of all people.
Trusting him. Trusting HIM to protect her. Fuck if he knew why he put up with the kid that long. For a while that trust chained his beast, so when he killed again, he did not kill out of rage but he killed to save her and not just his own skin.
He was dragging the kid and the old man into his own fucked by god semblance of life, always either a prisoner somewhere, or a criminal elsewhere. Only life he knew. Only one he had to share. He was reliving their escape from Chillingsworth's ship, more monsters to kill for the kid, a fitting repayment for her trust.
But the monsters kept coming. The monsters always kept coming and sometimes they did not look the part right away.
He was leaving the kid and the holy man on Helion-Prime. Trying to protect her from himself now. Retreating to that iceball of an outpost. Mercs turning up, Toombs the stupidest merc in the Galaxy turning up for him. The Holy Man, Imam must have turned him in then. Turned him in for the money.
He was flying back to Helion Prime, well decided to kill the old man and take the kid away. As it turned out, he did not get to kill Imam, the old man having an acceptable reason for his treachery. Some brainwashed galactic killer army had been heading for his planet and the old man and some elemental woman both thought he, Riddick, could save their planets. The fuck if he cared. What he wanted was to see that the kid was okay.
He was having a look around in the Necrocommander's ship after following that poisonous bitch, Lady Vaako, inside. Killing a few Necros on his way out again. He was caught by mercs again, just his rotten luck. He was hauling the kid's ass out of a new Slam. They were running before a sun, that turned people into ash and earth into lava.
He was loosing the kid to the Necros.
He was losing it. Going mad. Going after her. Going after an army of planetal proportions for her. The very same army that was responsible for the destruction of his own home-world, Furia, if he was to believe that Elemental woman. He was finally acknowledging the one thing, that he had successfully hidden from himself such a long time. He could not live without the kid in the world. She had to be there. She was his. His to protect. His... just his. He was fighting for her so hard that at some point there was but one man left to fight, the Necrocommander himself.
And then he was about to loose that fight. The most important fight of his life. The only fight that ever mattered. He was about to die for her, when the kid turned the tables on him again, attacking the Necrocommander from behind, saving him, at the price of her own sad precious, precious life.
His Jack, who called herself Kyra now.
"Are you with me Kyra?"
"I always was with you. I was."
That familiar little sigh they make when life leaves the body. Her green eyes, sightless, staring up at him. Ripping what little humanity he had left out of him. Taking him with her.
He was holding her in his arms and became aware that he was not alone with her, at this keypoint of his life. Sirius Black was with him, seeing this. That was bad enough, but could not be helped. But there was another one, watching, listening, feeling what he felt.
An intruder.
Inside his head.
Riddick reacted without thinking.