Chapter 11: Under The Layers of Dirt
Sirius Black didn't know how much time had passed since Hedwig had left with his reply.
He was struck by the irony that he'd written I AM INNOCENT in his own blood. He was magic. His blood WAS MAGIC. To write those words in his own blood should wake them up if nothing else. A guilty wizard couldn't do that. It was practically a magical oath!
Dumbledore would know that. But he wasn't sure if Remus would. The only reason he knew it was because, at the tender age of eight, his grandfather had him use a blood quill whilst he made him his heir. It was explained to him then how precious a wizard's blood was. That most contracts were bound by blood. Sirius banged his head on the stone.
He had too much time to think about these things. Too much time. He looked toward the crack pretending to be a window, watching the sun slowly brighten his cell. It was both the best and the worst time of day for him. Basking in the meager sunlight for just a few moments always brought with it feelings of loss and mental anguish. The warmth on his skin was merely a tease. A humiliating joke. Three days he thought. Maybe it's been three days.
He could feel the Dementors nearing him and moved quickly to the corner. Preparing his mind as best he could. "Remember, you are innocent. You didn't kill them. You didn't do that. He did. Remember it was the rat. The rat did it. The rat. The rat did it." The chant taking up the space. Revenge and hate were unattractive Dementor food. Bitter-tasting memories. Dementors moved on quickly. If they lingered he would transform into Padfoot and they wouldn't sense him at all.
As he was about to do just that, a bright light filled the hallway and Sirius was forced to look away from it as it blinded him leaving him blinking. A Patronus? He saw what looked like a large feline Patronus drive off the dementors. Sirius knew a guard was approaching then, but none he'd seen had such a strong Patronus and the Lynx was new as well.
A tall dark skinned bald man dressed in distinctive African-themed robes and another man slightly shorter wearing a badly fitting muggle suit materialized in front of his cage. Sirius stood shakily as the dark-skinned wizard spoke. "Sirius Black, you are being transported to the Ministry of Magic to stand trial for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and 13 Muggles. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Sirius blinked in disbelief. "I'm getting a trial?" His voice was trashed. He had to ask several times before he was understood. "It's Kingsley right?" Sirius remembered him from the academy.
The tall black man nodded, "Yes. I'm surprised you remember. It was a long time ago. Now please turn around Mr. Black." Sirius did as asked and the Auror placed the shackles around his wrists while his partner chained his legs.
"Oh, I remember a lot of things. I remember you were terrible at stealth but charming witches… man you aced every test." Sirius laughed hard. Kingsley sighed.
"Come on Black I have orders to take you to St. Mungos and get you cleaned up for your trial." Neither Auror looked like they wanted to touch Sirius, sure that they could see actual fleas crawling through his matted hair and beard.
"No!" Sirius growled roughly, "I want them to see what they did to me. I want them to see. I won't allow you to whitewash it! I'm an innocent wizard that you treated worse than an animal." Sirius hissed.
Kingsley had the grace to look ashamed. Because Azkaban was hell on earth, if Sirius was innocent, then what had been done to him was despicable. Even if he was guilty it was despicable. Everyone deserved a fair trial.
Kingsley took in Sirius's appearance and sighed, "I'm still taking you to St. Mungos to have you checked out. Your condition needs to be documented if you plan to sue." Sirius nodded and allowed the Aurors to escort him to the Wizarding hospital.
Kingsley defended his right to be kept in the condition he was found until after his trial. Though Sirius didn't turn down the nutrition potions, the calming drought, or the dreamless sleep potions that were prescribed. But no one was allowed to cast a cleaning charm on him.
The diagnostic paperwork was embarrassingly long. It listed malnutrition and all the problems that he suffered from it alone. He had severe arthritis and a lung infection. His eyesight was compromised as were his kidneys and liver. His mental health had been severely compromised. Long exposure to Dementors had an irreversible effect and would result in paranoia, delusions, depression, anxiety, and uncontrollable bouts of anger and emotion. The prognosis without intervention was poor, the prognosis with the intervention was poor but better than without.
The healer that read off the long list of ailments also mentioned the old wounds he had received as an Auror. The reconstructed hip, and the numerous hexes, and curses he had been hit with that left their marks all over his body. They were documented evidence of how much he had sacrificed for his community. He didn't regret any of those scars. He regretted that he'd gotten them for a community unworthy of it.
Once the healers were finished poking, prodding, and pleading to let them clean him up, Kingsley transported him via portkey to the Ministry holding cells. To Sirius, it was a major step up. There was actually a bed charmed for comfort. There were a few pieces of furniture, and best of all, quill and ink and a massive collection of law books.
Kingsley unshackled him once he was inside the holding cell and said, "If you need anything just press that button. Someone will be by to see to you." Gathering up the shackles and handing them off to his partner who still had not said a word. Sirius thought he must be a trainee.
"A lawyer. I need a lawyer." Shacklebolt nodded and said, "I believe your friend Mr. Lupin and Professor Dumbledore are taking care of that,"
Sirius sat in a real chair and he immediately had the want to sit on the floor but resisted the urge. He had to get used to being human again. He had no doubt that if he was being given a trial he would be walking out a free man. If it was a fair trial. "Good. And Kingsley."
The man paused before leaving to look at his prisoner. "Thank you," Sirius spoke softly and his voice was practically nonexistent, but he made himself understood. Kingsley nodded.
"You have a 24-hour guard. Your lawyer should be here soon. Rest. You look like shit." The tall black auror left in a swirl of his colorful robes.
"Ah but do I smell like shit? Cause I want them to be able to smell me all the way in the gallery. The smell of my shit should stain their pureblood noses until the end of time!" Yes, Sirius was a bitter and angry man.
Kingsley laughed, "That's the spirit, Black. I'll be one of those in the back holding a perfumed hanky over my nose." He gave the man a wink before leaving and Sirius heard the numerous locks engaging, reminding him that he might be getting a trial, but he wasn't free. Not yet anyway.
Over the next few days, he received numerous visits from his lawyer Benjamin Pepper. He was a portly, middle-aged man who looked a lot like Mark Twain, or that muggle General Sanders and his chicken franchise. Well-manicured white hair, a well-manicured handlebar mustache, and thick muttonchops that didn't quite meet at the chin.
On his first few visits he was asked to tell his story from the beginning, He did so without interruption the first time and then asked a lot of follow-up questions the second time. Sirius thought Pepper was a decent enough bloke though he did conjure a bubble head charm because Sirius smelled like something dead.
The only time they argued was over how Sirius planned to attend the trial looking like something that crawled out of a carcass's back side. He was assured that he could still get the point across through the use of photographic evidence. And people tend to judge others unfairly based on appearances alone. He looked guilty therefore they would vote guilty.
Sirius finally agreed. He would take no chances with his freedom. And so a photographer was brought in and pictures were taken. He had to admit the pictures when he was shown looked awful. He almost vomited when he had seen them.
He was escorted to the showers by Kingsley who wordlessly handed him what looked like a lifetime supply of soap. "Use it well." He intoned deeply. Sirius just laughed taking a bar of the stuff and stepping into the shower to do battle. Maybe they could see him better if he was clean.
He stepped beneath an endless spray of hot water and let it slough away years and years of dirt.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would show them. Tomorrow they would see. Sirius scrubbed at his flesh until he'd rubbed himself raw. He didn't know how it happened, but Kingsley found him curled up beneath the water crying inconsolably.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was a man of honor. He was a Hufflepuff as well. Loyal to the core. He remembered Sirius and James. They made a formidable partnership. They were thick as thieves and the best of friends he remembered. There were numerous times one or the other threw themselves in front of curses for the other. It was a running tally as to who had saved whose life more.
When James quit the force to go into hiding with his wife and son, no one would have predicted that it would be Sirius Black to betray him. And now, Kingsley was becoming more and more convinced, that he was as innocent as he said he was. Looking at the sobbing man who had once been one of the best Aurors ever to have served was heartbreaking and more than Kingsley could stand.
With a wave of his wand, he had the wizard dried and dressed in clean robes and floated him to a chair where he performed a hair-cutting charm. He made sure to do a good job. He then got Sirius to calm down enough to work on shaving his mangle of a beard. It took some doing but by the time the Auror was done, Sirius looked human again.
He never mentioned Sirius's breakdown, he just escorted him back to his cell. Sirius noticed he didn't even put him back into the shackles.
It was later that Sirius found the courage to look beyond his shame and feel grateful for the kindness shown to him by the Auror. He slept in a real bed, in clean clothes, in clean skin, in a clean room feeling… Clean. Tomorrow he hoped that he would have a clean slate as well.