Was it worth it?

Voldemort sat on the throne Sirius had made for him in their outdoor Inferi classroom, smiling proudly at him. He did not speak with his mouth, but the question repeated over and over in Sirius' thoughts.

Was it worth it? Was it worth it? Was it worth it?

Voldemort glanced to the side, that smile he'd never worn in life still playing about his bloodless lips. Sirius followed his gaze to find Bella standing at the edge of the clearing. She was dressed in mourning clothes and held a silver tray that overflowed with blood from Rodolphus' severed, slack-jawed head. The head winked one glassy eye.

Was it worth it?

Antonin Dolohov and Theodosius Nott stood next to Bella. Dolohov had his hand on Nott's shoulder. He lifted his hand to wave at Sirius, revealing the evil rune carved into his flesh, a match to the one Sirius couldn't see on the back of Nott's neck.

Was it worth it?

Uncle Cygnus walked out of the trees, Lucretia Malfoy on his arm. Well, Lucretia carried his severed arm for him. They both smiled at Sirius. Cygnus' expression was proud, an echo of Voldemort's. Lucretia's smile was merely gracious, perfectly so.

Was it worth it?

Felix Mulciber, Evan Rosier, and William Rowle joined the crowd next. They were followed by nine young muggle women, the rowing team Sirius had sacrificed in London. Rosier and Rowle were each carrying bits of Felix, whose mangled lips grinned to see the muggle girls play keep-away with his liver.

Was it worth it?

Salim Sarwar, Elphias Doge, and Edgar Bones approached on disjointed, fruit- and vegetable-shaped legs.

Was it worth it?

Jessica Haywood and Ivan Butler next. Jessica moved with predatory grace and stared with the flaming white eyes of an Inferius. Ivan's movements were wooden from the half-treated petrification curse, and he kept a hand on Jessica as his guide, blind eyes staring straight ahead at the waking nightmares Sirius had given him in his last moments. Marcia Edgewood followed Ivan; the curve of her slashed throat was like a second smile. There were more muggle faces behind them. Some he recognized, but he didn't recall their names. There were too many names he never knew at all. They held back in the shadows of the trees, their number disappearing in the fog.

Was it worth it?

Lord Greengrass and his wife and young daughter arrived, with not a mark on them. The adults each carried a basin of blood and gore, and Honoria carried two skulls. She handed one to Felix and one to Dolohov before skipping back to her parents.

Was it worth it?

Abraxas Malfoy was marked by the Fiendfyre that clung to him. He stood alone at the far end of the group where he could burn no one else, though Lucretia cast sad glances at him.

Was it worth it?

Rabastan Lestrange pushed his way to the front. He kissed Bella's cheek and took Rodolphus' head from her.

Was it worth it?

Last of all was Lucius Malfoy, holding hands with young Narses Selwyn. Unlike the wordless dead, the insane could still speak. Narses only giggled and toyed with Lucius' hair. Lucius smiled broadly at Sirius, opened his mouth, and said, "Are you sure you don't want to hide under my bed?"

Sirius shook his head.

"It's dark under there. You'll never have to think again."

Sirius glanced back at Voldemort, still proud on his throne.

Was it worth it, destroying me? Voldemort seemed to ask the question mind-to-mind. His mouth with its fixed expression still did not move.

Sirius looked around at all the people he had killed. Who knew how many more were amongst the living, not dead but indelibly hurt by what he had done?

Was it worth it?

I don't know.

Sirius awoke at last to the thoroughly unpleasant and innately terrifying sensation of his lungs filling up with water. The fact that the water was hot did not help. He inhaled more of it, and the water burned in more ways than one. He floundered a moment with weak limbs before someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back up to the surface. He coughed and retched, and coughed some more. The noise of his struggling echoed loudly, completely filling what seemed to be a relatively small, hard-walled chamber. His savior remained unnervingly silent, the only evidence of their presence the continuing grip on his hair, which had become sharply painful with the prolonged and violent coughing fit. When his heaving chest finally stilled, he reached up a shaky hand to move the sodden bangs from his eyes.

His vision was blurry, but he recognized Kreacher holding his head, the house elf glaring at him with every bit of loathing he always had. Sirius was lying naked in the luxurious third floor bath at Grimmauld Place. He felt like he had been trampled by a hippogriff, a deep ache set into every muscle and sharp discomfort where the bones of his back, pelvis, and feet rested against the marble bath. His chest hurt from coughing, and his throat burned. He groaned softly and closed his eyes again, only for Kreacher to allow his head to fall.

Fear took him. He tried to lift his head or push himself up, but he was weak. So weak. The damn bath was too deep, and he was slid too far down in it. Before too long, he was breathing water again. He struggled harder, but that only used up his oxygen faster. His mind dimmed, until Kreacher heaved his head back up by the hair again.

"Mistress says Young Master is to wake up now," Kreacher informed him. "If Young Master does not stay awake to take his potions and his chocolate, then Kreacher will continue to dunk him until he does."

Sirius' only answer was his sputtering cough. And so Kreacher dropped his head and waited for him to almost drown, then lifted it up again to air out. The fourth time Kreacher rescued his airway, Sirius managed with great effort to choke out, "Wait."

Obediently, Kreacher waited. Sirius focused on actually catching his breath for a few minutes, then deliberately braced his feet and pushed himself up a bit in the tub, until his shoulders cleared the water. He nodded, and Kreacher dropped his head. Rather than drowning again, he managed to keep his neck straight, and his head dropped back against the back of the tub with a dull thunk.

"Wha' happened?" he rasped.

Kreacher sniffed judgmentally. "Master is ordering Kreacher to keep an eye on Young Master and to rescue him when the Eater lets him go. Even though Young Master is a scoundrel who hurts Master and Mistress with every breath he takes, Kreacher obeys, good Kreacher. Mistress is telling Kreacher to watch over Young Master and to keep him warm, even though Young Master is being like ice when Kreacher finds him and takes him home. So cold is Young Master poor Kreacher's hands have blisters from touching ungrateful Young Master with his nasty, frosty skin. Kreacher has drained and refilled the bath a dozen times when Young Master has frozen it. He'll freeze the pipes next, and then what will my poor Mistress say? Oh, my poor Mistress, what is she doing all day without Kreacher to help her? Breakfast, morning tea and lunch all past, without Kreacher to serve her. But Kreacher is to stay with Young Master, she says..."

Now Kreacher mentioned it, Sirius noticed the water had noticeably cooled in the very little time he had been conscious. He also realized that despite being in a warm bath, he still felt distinctly cold and was starting to shiver with his exposed shoulders. He edged back down in the tub slightly, but it didn't really help. Sirius glanced at Kreacher's hands. They did indeed look badly burned.

"Where's m' wand?" He could probably spell the water to stay warm. Or spell some blankets for that matter. Assuming he could remember how to do warming charms, which might be optimistic in the extreme.

Kreacher shook his head. "Mistress is saying Young Master is using no magic until he is doing better. And Young Master is drinking potions now he is awake."

There was never any point in refusing a determined house elf, so Sirius awkwardly drank the three potions Kreacher had ready for him - the only one he recognized was Pepperup. He almost choked on the foam of one, in his semi-reclined position, and some of the solution ended up running down his face and neck to mix with the bathwater. The potions were followed by a huge mug of pure melted chocolate, which after the first sweet sip was actually pretty revolting. It was just too rich for his abnormally sensitive tongue and stomach. After that, the water had cooled enough Sirius started shivering even submerged up to his chin. Kreacher drained and refilled the tub yet again; Sirius suffered terrible rigors while sitting helplessly in the less-than-full tub, the drips of the previous bath evaporating from his clammy skin and taking their heat with them. Even if the fresh water was hot enough to burn, he didn't care, it felt so good to ease the chill. Fortunately, the water cooled more slowly this time. After another hour, one more near-drowning, and two more bath refills, Kreacher declared him warm enough to move to his pre-heated bed. Kreacher had to half-lift him out of the tub, grumbling obscenities all the while. He knocked Sirius' sore ankles, knees, and elbows against the bath fixtures and side of the tub so many times while drying him off and wrapping him in a warm dressing gown, Sirius felt sure it was deliberate.

Only after Sirius' bruise-inducing abject failure of an attempt to get up and walk did the surly elf consent to just levitate him like he should have done in the first place. Narcissa was waiting in his room, nursing Lyra, but Sirius could do no more than greet her before Kreacher was shoving yet another potion into his face. It was Dreamless Sleep this time. Sirius was loathe to take it not knowing what was going on elsewhere right now, but Kreacher just pinched his nose and forced it down his throat with practiced ease, as he had with various Walburga-prescribed potions in the past. It was not in him to resist right now, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

It was another sixteen hours (not that he knew that) before he woke again, and only long enough for Kreacher to force feed him some more melted chocolate, Pepperup, and Dreamless Sleep.

His third awakening was more promising due to Kreacher's absence. The first thing he noticed was the heavy odor of chocolate permeating the room. He wondered if someone had managed to get more of it down his throat while he was unconscious, or whether they were hoping the smell itself would have some anti-dementor effect. Or perhaps Kreacher was lying in wait with a steaming mug of the stuff, ready to pounce the moment he realized Sirius was awake. He held still a moment, listening for the wretched elf, before shifting in the bed to ease some of the stiffness in his spine after such prolonged enforced stillness. The second thing he noticed, to his disgust, was that he had wet the bed at some point in his drugged sleep. He could feel the wet fabric chafing at his legs the moment he tried to move under the mountain of heavy blankets. The third thing he noticed when he turned his head was Richard, slumped in a chair scooted up to the edge of his bed, his chin in his hand and his tired eyes closed.

"Sirius!"

He jerked. That was Regulus' voice, and it came from his other side. Luckily, his brother decided to run around the bed rather than wait for him to try to turn over. Richard opened his eyes when Regulus bumped him and quickly straightened up when he realized Sirius was awake.

"Hey, Reg," Sirius murmured. He frowned, wondering hazily how Regulus came to be here and whether he needed to worry about it.

"Everyone thought he'd be safer coming home as planned after what happened, even though the funeral's on hold," Richard said softly, correctly interpreting his expression before Sirius could gather the words to ask what his little brother was doing out of school. "Even Dumbledore agreed. There's too many students with dead family."

"H'many died yesser...?" Sirius asked, a pit of dread yawning in his stomach. His mind frantically quickened from sluggish exhaustion to hypervigilance. His heart rate advanced to match it.

"Day before yesterday, now. It's Tuesday. Last count I heard was a hundred forty-seven."

Sirius' eyes widened in horror. "A hundred and forty-seven?! Merlin... fucking Morgana with a broomstick..." It was almost as bad as the Inferi attack in raw numbers. He realized with a sickening lurch that he, Sirius Black, had at some point become the single deadliest creature on either side of the war. When had that happened? Why had he let that happen? Why had Dumbledore let that happen?

"Language, Sirius! Merlin!" Richard scolded him.

"I killed them... I killed all of them..."

"No, Sirius. No. It's not like that."

Regulus snorted. "Yeah, it is. What did you expect, big bro? Mum says you murdered the Dark Lord, and then you and Dad and Dumbledore locked all his loyal followers up in a building surrounded by aurors, set a dementor on them, and then let the aurors in to finish the job."

Sirius started crying, imagining what he had been unable to truly comprehend at the time. He could see Antonin's face as it had appeared during the final confrontation with the dementor... the man had been terrified out of his mind, desperate to escape. There had been no thought of fighting back, once he understood Voldemort's end was truly come. The Russian just wanted to go home and drink away every memory he had of the British Isles. Sirius could see so many similar faces, familiar and not, forced by his very presence to feel and remember the most horrible moments in their lives. And the lives of those the Dark Lord had branded were full of horror indeed. He knew that better than anyone.

"Reggie, I already told you it's not that simple. Your mum's fanning the flames like she always does. The aurors barely killed a third of them yesterday, Sirius, it was the infighting after the Dark Lord fell that did it. And that was not your fault."

"How can you say it wasn't his fault when he started the whole bloody thing?"

He had started the whole thing, yes. He started it the moment he decided to curse Rodolphus.

"We were winning the war until he decided-"

"We sure as hell were not winning the war, and even if we were, Sirius had every right to stop that murderous tyrant from coming to power. You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Reg. And neither does your mum. If you can't say anything helpful then get out! Sirius doesn't need you guilt-tripping him right now!"

Sirius remembered how Rodolphus had been that night, frustrated with his inactive role but willing to set aside his own troubles to be the steady and mature presence so many depended on. The presence Sirius had needed in that moment. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he whispered. His vision of Rodolphus changed to his final moments, a mess of blood and grief. The remembered stench turned his stomach, and he gagged. His own bitter breath recalled the taste of Bella's blood, and suddenly he was vomiting all over the pillows and sheets. It was dark brown like old blood. Or like chocolate.

He wished Bella had succeeded in killing him, so he wouldn't have to feel this way. He wished she'd succeeded back in November.

"Sirius!"

"Merlin!" Richard's and Regulus' exclamations were in unison, their argument forgotten.

"Call Kreacher," Richard said urgently. He drew his wand and started vanishing sick from Sirius' face and mouth before he could choke on it. "It's going to be alright, Sirius," he said softly. "You carried me through so much. I'll get you through this..."

A loud crack announced Kreacher's arrival, and the house elf irritably set about cleaning the mess. When he folded back the sheets to extract Sirius and noticed the rank urine stain, he grinned nastily and said loudly, "Kreacher has not had to change Young Master's nappies in many years..."

The barbed reminder distracted Sirius from his own conscience long enough for him to watch Richard first frown in confusion, then blush and look away uncomfortably. Sirius flushed in humiliation, then grew angry at himself for caring about his own shame in the first place. He didn't deserve anyone's consideration, let alone Richard's. Merlin, he'd used and hurt the Averys so much it was a wonder Richard could even bear to look at him.

Regulus was outraged. "Kreacher! How dare you embarrass the Heir to our House in front of a guest!"

The elf's grin vanished, and his hairy ears waggled as he bowed to Regulus. "Kreacher is making mistake. Kreacher is sorry. Kreacher is-"

"Finish helping him, you silly old thing!" Regulus ordered. "You can moan and apologize later, once he's comfortable again. And Kreacher, you will treat Sirius with the respect he is due as Heir at all times, whether you are in his presence or not. I imagine that will be punishment enough for you."

The order worked. Kreacher remained mercifully silent as he helped Sirius to sit up on the edge of the bed. Sirius had to hold onto Regulus to stand up, face flaming as the house elf removed his sodden night shirt and wiped down his legs and groin. He was shivering again by the time the gown was replaced; forcing his clumsy legs into pajamas would be an unnecessary challenge at the moment. Richard grabbed the top quilt to wrap around both him and Regulus while Kreacher finished cleaning the mattress and changing the sheets.

"Why's it so c-cold 'n here?" he asked with chattering teeth.

"It's not," Regulus said worriedly. "It's actually pretty hot in here. I had to change into summer robes to stand it."

"Your mum said you'd be like this a few days," Richard explained. "It's not like regular dementor exposure. Apparently, your body's not regulating its own temperature very well right now. So as soon as you're in a place that's a little cooler than body temperature, you start feeling cold. It'd be the same if you were sitting close to a fire or in a sauna or something, except you'd feel super overheated."

"Wonderful," Sirius grumbled. "Do either 'f you kn-now if Bella's s-still alive?"

"Er..."

"Mistress Bella is alive," Kreacher volunteered. "Master is keeping her locked in the attic, dosed with Draught of Living Death. She is not being awake again until Master changes his mind."

Sirius closed his eyes. He had channeled so much hatred and resentment towards Bella over the year to keep himself sane, but right now he felt nothing but relief to have one less death on his hands. "Good." They tucked him back into the clean bed and dismissed Kreacher again with orders to fetch a proper meal, and not just chocolate.

Regulus smoothed the hair away from his face. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I didn't mean it."

"Didn' mean wha'?" he mumbled tiredly. The adrenaline that had surged at first was exhausted by the effort of standing up for a few minutes.

"I didn't mean the people who died were all your fault, or that you ruined..."

"Was my fault," Sirius said gloomily.

"Well... Richard says it was the right thing to do."

"Richard's a scared li'l bunny who sh' never've been in the Death Eaters," Sirius said bitterly. Richard snorted in surprise but didn't argue his own defense.

"Can you just tell me why? Why did you do it?"

"Be more sp'cific. I've done s'many... despicable things in the las' year that... defy expl'ation or apology, I couldn' begin to guess which one 're mos' bothered by."

Regulus' face whitened, but he took a deep, determined breath. "All of it. Why did you become a Death Eater if you never believed in it?"

"He joined to be a spy, Reg," Richard answered quickly, perhaps hoping to spare Sirius the difficult conversation.

"I know that. Headmaster Dumbledore told me yesterday, when he called me up to his office to talk to me before letting me come home. He said it was very brave, but that you had had to do all kinds of things you didn't want to do, that you had to- to kill people you didn't want to, and that you'd been hurt really bad over and over again, and that it was really hard, probably the hardest and most dangerous thing anyone in the war did, and that... oh, Sirius, why did you sign up for that?!"

Why? Good question. Sirius cast his mind back; Regulus deserved an answer. He remembered feeling ashamed of himself when he was expelled from Hogwarts; it was a pale shadow of the mountain of guilt he had heaped up since, but it had felt monumental at the time. He remembered the meeting with Bella at the Leaky Cauldron. He remembered the conversations with Dumbledore and Moody. He could remember it all, more clearly than he wanted. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how his boyish shame had transformed into such a motivating force to sustain him through the war. He really must have been a naïve idiot to want to become Dumbledore's spy. "I dunno," he whispered, more to himself than to his brother. Tears leaked from his eyes again.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Richard asked, leaning forwards. "Don't you remember? Is that what you sacrificed?"

"What? What sacrifice?" Regulus asked, but Richard shushed him.

Sirius frowned. "No... I don't think so. I 'member talking to Dubbledore about it, and Bella... But hell, I dunno why I kept at it when it got bad. Moody and Dubbledore gave me all kinds of chances to stop, and I didn' take 'em... and I dunno why I didn't. Merlin, I could've stopped after the football game. Moody offered to get me out, and I turned him down." The last word became a sob of anguish, and he began to cry in earnest again. That conversation in the alley in London had been the turning point, after which he could no longer chalk each death up to either accident or necessity. That was the moment of premeditation, when he transitioned from simple spy to incipient murderer.

"Breathe, Sirius. In and out. I was there, remember. I'm sure there was a reason. Think back." Sirius couldn't control his breathing, but he could center his thoughts on Richard's words, and they helped. He had had reasons, true, even if they seemed invalid in retrospect.

"Was you," he managed. "Sort of."

"Me?"

"Muggle baiting... someone had to..."

"If it wasn't you, then it could have fallen to me," Richard said, nodding in understanding.

"Or worse."

"Worse, yes. I wasn't ready."

"I could've asked for help...to stop... any time... and I didn't. What kind of fucked-up..." Sob. "I could've stopped after Rabastan." Sob. "Or after Malfoy."

"I knew you weren't in your right mind when you came back over Christmas."

"Or after Edgar Bones and Felix' father, and... and... th' other one. Or after Doge. Or Greengrass."

"Ah." Richard's voice was becoming strained. Regulus had backed up to the wall and was visibly shaking now.

"Or after Foulness..."

"Well, I'd say you pretty well did get yourself out of it after Foulness, since that was only a little over a week ago, and here we are," Richard pointed out with a weak attempt at humor.

Sirius shook his head slightly. "No, I talked to Moody when I was at St. Mungo's with Cissy. He said I could stop, but I said I had t'keep going." Why?

"Why did you have to keep going?"

"I... don't know." He didn't remember the conversation very clearly. The decision couldn't have been logical. He'd been a mess like everyone else. The combination of what he'd done with the Inferi and the violent fallout at headquarters over Foulness had been too much to cope with. He hadn't been able to bottle up his guilt anymore, for one thing, weeping all over Lucius and Winston. It seemed to him that Moody had even recognized that at the time, he had spoken so gently and hugged him. Moody had probably expected him to break soon and only hoped he'd uncover something more about the horcruxes before it happened. Probably hadn't expected what Sirius actually did though.

"Did you still have an assignment you were worried someone else would take over and cause more harm?" Richard probed, trying to help him remember.

"No..." Everything had to change after Foulness. Everyone knew that.

"Were you afraid of the Dark Lord taking revenge on others, like when you worried what might happen to me after the game?"

"No." He had a good excuse if he were taken, freshly tortured by the Dark Lord and covered in blood and Dark magic.

"Until the Dark Lord wanted to assign me a task," Regulus whispered. "Mum and Dad told me that much." He crept back to the edge of the bed and sneaked his hand under the covers to grasp Sirius'. "I'm not stupid. I've heard enough to know the war wasn't what I thought it was, and that you really were trying to protect me, Sirius. I don't even know if I'm really mad..." Regulus squeezed his hand. His eyes were shining with tears too.

"You don't've t'forgive me, Reg. I don't deserve it. I know I don't."

"You're already forgiven," Richard said. "And I know I'm not the only one."

Sirius shook his head. They could try to comfort him all they wanted. He would not be forgiving himself any time soon. He closed his eyes and saw the many, many faces of those whose deaths were on him. He had told Moody and Dumbledore once that killing people like Rabastan and Bella was a moral imperative, to stop them before they killed again.

He wished Dumbledore had listened to that bit of advice and activated the bracelet Sirius had made, before he became a killer to rival any other Death Eater. The bracelet was gone now, of course, stripped away along with his clothing, watch and wand. There was no easy way out of this.

Author's note: please note, waterboarding as a treatment for dementor exposure is not endorsed by St. Mungo's, or anyone besides Walburga Black and Kreacher. Stick with chocolate and professional mind healing. Anyhow, Sirius was repressing a lot, and now all the sudden he can't. Hence the guilt and self-loathing. Chapter title taken from the Edgar Allen Poe short story "The Tell-Tale Heart." Thanks for the reviews, look for the next update on Saturday.