Chapter 14 : I Might Be Wrong
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He had believed in what he they had told him. He had believed in the tales of glory and fame.
He had let darkness overwhelm him. He had let bitterness and envy guide his actions.
She would have hated him if she had known what he had done. But then, she was dead, and she had died hating him anyway.
Rain poured on Hogwarst, creating small rivers of water and mud on the school lawn, repeatedly hitting the glass of the windows with a constant tap.
It was night at Hogwarst. Most of the students and professors were safely snuggled in their beds, lost in the peaceful numbness of sleep. There were, however, little owls that kept working in the dim light of a small candle.
Professor McGonagall was busy reminiscing, a cup of hot chocolate safely held in her old hands.
Albus Dumbledore was still in his office, distractedly stroking Fanny auburn feathers as he wrote a letter to one of his numerous correspondences.
Students of different years, different Houses, sat alone in their Common Rooms, already lost in the mysteries of their subjects despite classes hadn't even started yet.
And then there was a man who had decided to trick the night.
He had eaten his dinner in silence, almost ignoring his colleagues' feeble attempts at beginning a conversation with him. Just after the last dish had disappeared from the table, he had got up, nodded curtly at Albus, and almost run towards his headquarters.
He couldn't stay in the same room with him.
Not after having discovered what he was.
Not after having done what he had.
It was only when he had finally closed the door of his bedroom behind him, that the man had decided to trick the night.
He had taken off his robes, tidily placing them on the black chair in front of the window.
He had put on his dark nightgown, lifted the dark green covers of his black four-poster bed, crawled under the blankets and turned off the dim light of the candles with a swift movement of his hand.
And then, just as normal people would have let their mind slowly drift into a peaceful sleep, the man had decided to trick the night and wait, perfectly awake, his onyx eyes glistening in the night.
He had done what at the time seemed right.
He had killed.
He had tortured.
He had betrayed the trust of his only friend.
He had been so foolish. He had let a bunch of dunderheads hypnotizing his usual smart mind with tales of fame and glory.
Albus had saved him when things had become desperate.
There were so many lost souls who would have appreciated the old wizard's help.
Souls with a family, with friends, with hope.
He had never known hope. He had never had a family, nor he had ever desired to have one. He had pushed away the only person who had willingly tried to become his friend.
Albus had said that he wasn't lost. That he could still fix his broken soul and make amend for what he had done.
Open up. Begin again. Think about the good times and never look back.*
He had promised. He had promised to his old mentor not to do harm again. To be a good person, to live for the people he had hurt.
Why, why had he broken his promise?
Everything would be easier now.
He wouldn't feel so incredibly guilty.
But old habits die hard. And the allure of the darkness hadn't faded, not even after all the horrible things that had happened.
And he was a weak man. He had always been.
And so he had done it again.
He had caused pain. Repeatedly.
Led by darkness, bitterness and disgust.
Disgust for the different, even though he was different himself.
Disgust for the incredibly good luck of certain people, who maybe weren't so fortunate, after all.
He had let Azkaban swallow an innocent man. Willingly. Without a Dark Wizard ordering him to do so.
He had condemned a man to endure the punishment he himself had so cowardly escaped.
He had condemned another man, no, a creature, to suffer a life of loneliness and regrets, not too different from the one he himself had led so far.
He had looked into a pair of huge green eyes and had seen nothing but blood, and ferocity.
He knew he was wrong.
Yet he couldn't, couldn't think of that… being as a person.
And he hated himself for this. Because she had loved that thing with all her heart. She had fed it, cuddled it, comforted it when it cried.
He could still feel his stomach turn at the thought.
He hated it.
The Kid A.
It was an abomination, a disgusting mixture of potions created by that ill mind of his father.
He hated it.
But he knew he shouldn't.
Because it hadn't done anything to him. It was innocent, if a weapon could be considered innocent, that is.
Yet, he had decided to destroy it.
He had tried to convince McGonagall to search for it and catch it and its… "dog".
He had done that again.
Trying to cause pain.
But McGonagall was a better person than him.
She had refused to help him.
He had been angry at her. Furious.
He had thought about going directly to the Ministry.
"Sirius Black is an unregistered Animagus hiding with a failed and dangerous experiment of You-Know-Who".
It would have been perfect.
But then he had remembered her.
The last look she had given him.
The very last word she had written to him.
You hate too much, Sev. You hate Remus and Cassie because they are different. You hate James and the others because they teased you, but also because they represent what you wanted to be, despite not having a single reason to envy them. You hate me, because I am Muggleborn. You hate me, because I tried to help you, wounding your pride. You hate me, because I had the guts to face the unknown and choose Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. You hate yourself because you hate me, because you are a Halfblood, and because you love Dark Magic as much as your father does.
Your hate led you to try to hurt my still unborn child. I know it wasn't planned. I know you didn't want to hurt me. You were angry, and your hate consumed your rationality. I forgive you, although I can't actually think of being friend with you again, because I know that somewhere, deep inside your heart, there's still the sweet boy who taught a frightened redhead the basics of magic and the magical world.
I forgive you, Sev. But please, please stop hating everybody. If you don't, something horrible will happen. Something irreparable.
And then, there won't be anybody there to forgive you.
She was right. She had always been.
And yet, at the time he had been so angry with her… He was still furious, actually.
She had abandoned him! She had left him, for that… for that pompous, good for nothing, spoiled git, leaving him in the pit of the snakes!
SHE HAD PROMISED.
Promised not to give up on him.
And yet even her, the perfect Evans, the Golden Student with a kind smile and a good word for everyone, the person gifted with the greatest amount of patience in the whole universe, had finally decided to break her promise.
She had let him sink into the darkness.
Or had he already drowned in the black pool of dangerous spells and poisons?
Turning slightly his head to the left, the man stared at the Dementors twirling and swooping in the night.
A lightning came, and the little drops of water on the window drew tears on his pale cheeks.
What was he doing?
He had failed her so many times. Was he really going to hurt her once more, even in death?
How could he blame her for his misery? HER, of all people!
It was his fault. All his fault.
If only… If only he had stopped hating. Even for just a couple of days, or weeks.
Maybe things would have been different.
Maybe… Maybe she could have been with him.
The angel and the bat. How improper.
But she wouldn't have cared. She had never cared about those things.
She was perfect. She was… dead.
Her laugh, her bright eyes, her smile…
Would it ever stop hurting?
Suddenly, an image crossed the man's mind.
The image of a shabby-looking man… creature, playing distractedly with his…its food, occasionally exchanging a couple of words with its new colleagues.
A broken being, with death in its eyes. And guilt. And sadness. And regret.
Did the creature blame itself for the Kid A disappearance? Probably.
A fresh wave of guilt washed over the lanky figure of the man.
He would have never wished to anyone to feel the way he did. Yet, just a couple of doors away from him beat a heart which ached for the same reasons, and he himself had caused that pain.
But maybe… Maybe the situation wasn't so irreparable, after all.
He could repair the damage he had provoked, even if not completely.
He couldn't stop hating, because hate was his protection against the world. But he could stop hurting other beings. He could do something good, for a change.
For her. He could do anything for her.
Maybe he was a bit late, but she had always been a patient woman.
She would be happy for him.
And so, lost in the darkness of a rainy night of September, Severus Snape decided not to ruin definitely the lives of Sirius Black and Cassandra Lupin.
On the contrary, he decided to help them by confessing everything he knew to Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore.
But Severus Snape was a very weak man.
And when he overheard Professor McGonagall doubts about Black's crimes, he couldn't help but feel Darkness approaching him, caressing his cheeks with her black, soft hands.
She can't believe in his crimes even if all the proofs are against him… Yet she never trusted you, not even after Albus told her you had changed. That's so unfair…
Black deserved Azkaban more than you… That spoiled dunderhead, full of money, friends, power…
… He had everything, while you, so intelligent, so skilled in your Arts…
…You had nothing.
You have nothing.
Severus couldn't stop hating, and Darkness… Darkness was his last friend.
If you tell Albus everything… What good will it do to you?
Your mentor would despise you for your actions…
…Everybody will see you as the Death Eater you were, even more than now.
… All for a bunch of beasts?
All for a woman you loved so dearly, but who left you alone?
I would never leave you, Severus.
No. Darkness would never leave him.
"Cass? Cass, are you awake?"
Who was Cass?
That was her name.
Who was calling her?
There was nobody there…
…. Everything was so calm and dark… and heavy.
She wanted to move, but she didn't know where her limbs were…
Should she be afraid?
Why was it calling her Cass, anyway?
Nobody called her like that...
Only one person called her Cass.
She couldn't open her eyes. She wanted to, but she couldn't…
Everything was so heavy..
"Cass! Oh, thank God… Please, look at me, darling."
She wanted to… but everything was so heavy…
…She was so tired.
"What? No, Cass! Please, Cass don't fall asleep… CASSANDRA"
And then, the gates of the Sanctuary opened again.
Sirius was desperate. He had waited for almost two days, and Cassandra still hadn't woken up.
He had given her all those strange medicines. He had tried to make her drink some water every couple of hours.
He had talked to her almost constantly, hoping that the sound of his voice could bring her back to the world of the living.
He hand sung to her. He, who was completely tone-deaf and usually refused to show his "ability" unless he was completely drunk , sang repeatedly a song she had once put on while cleaning their flat.
Open up... Begin again …Think about the good times and never look back…
What would I do if I didn't have you?
… It's nothing… Nothing at all.*
He whispered brokenly those lines over and over again, not caring if he sounded pathetic. He just wanted her back.
But she had never woken up, and now, after a small pause of half-conscious speech during which she had slurred a couple of words, the girl had gone back to dreamland, leaving Sirius even more panicked than before.
What if she didn't wake up?
He should have brought her to a muggle hospital.
But the white men had confessed him that no hospital could help her, because the thing they had given her hadn't been approved by official doctors yet…
It was getting dark again. Two days. They had to go away, his disillusionment charms were weak and easily trackable, the owner of the Motel was growing more and more suspicious.
"Cass… Come on, Cass, wake up… We have to go… We have to go, or they'll find us… I'll be given the K-kiss and you… Oh, God, I don't even want to think about what will happen if they understand who you are… P-please…"
Not even a flinch.
Sirius hastily got up from the bed, pacing back and forth in the small room, trying to ease some of the stress by passing repeatedly a hand in his hair.
But nothing could stop the coldness seeping into his veins, nothing could ease the pain that made his heart clench.
It was like being in Azkaban again.
Images of Cassandra's body, lying cold and limp and pale in a dark coffin filled his mind.
She couldn't die.
Not like this.
Not for him.
The animagus stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists.
He wanted to scream, hurt, break something.
Instead, he looked around, taking in the characteristics of the room for the first time since he and Cassandra had entered the Motel.
The place was filthy. Dust and other unidentified substances covered every inch of the plain, worn out furniture. The dark green maquette was incredibly dirty and filled with holes, the once white walls were now almost black, and the plaster was missing in a couple of spots.
A cockroach quietly crawled down one of the heavy, dirty white curtains that filtered the dim light of the moon.
It crawled quietly, stopping only when the cold light of headlights and a muggle… siren disturbed the peaceful silence of the night.
The light of the siren was… blue.
Sirius waited for the blue light to stop flashing, for the darkness to embrace him again.
But it happened no such thing.
"Are you sure, Mr. Schacklebolt?"
"Believe me, Sir. Our… radars are rather accurate. He is here."
"Well… if you are right, then I'll certainly ask you to provide us with one of those radars. Scotland Yard could use a help…"
Eyes wide and lungs heavier and heavier, Sirius turned slowly to look at Cassandra again.
The blue light illuminated rhythmically her sweet facial features, hardened by war and the difficulties of life.
He was going to lose his soul.
She was going to die.
Harry was going to die…
The heavy breaths quickly turned into a bad fit of coughs, and soon enough the escaped convict was on his knees, holding his chest as fire roared through his lungs.
The world started spinning, the fire moved to his heart, his stomach, his brain.
He could feel blood rushing to his face.
He could feel a metallic taste filling his mouth.
He needed …air….
"F…Fath..er … "
Sirius lies on the black parquet, his long white hands clutching desperately at his chest covered by expensive black robes and blood.
He can't breathe…
…He needs air…
"Yes, Son? Do you need something?"
A tall black shadow stands in the dark room.
Sirius can feel his father smirking evilly at his fidgeting form.
Sirius can feel magic flowing out of his father's wand, constricting his chest, taking the air away from him.
Sirius doesn't want to beg. But he can't breathe.
His blood runs cold when he hears that cold, black laugh.
"Oh, son. It's too late to beg for your life. The best you can is ask me to kill you quickly."
Sirius closes his eyes. There's nothing to see, anyway.
Everything is dark.
Everything, apart from a small spherical spot on his chest.
That spot is cool. And it's throbbing questioningly.
Are you alright?
No. But I'll be alright soon.
White fills everything. White wraps around him, soothing and caring, smelling of lavender and sea.
He opens his eyes.
And he can breathe again.
"Come on, Mum! It's just a kitten! A small, perfect, fluffy kitten which needs my love! Why can't I have one?"
"Oh, there are many answers to this question! First of all, until the floor of your flat hasn't been repaired you'll live in this house, which means you'll follow my rules. And one of my rules is, as you know very well: no animals which could potentially be illegal animagi. In other words, no animals. Secondly… That cat is pink, Nymphadora. Don't you think you have enough pink in your life?"
Andromeda Tonks Nee Black watched in badly hidden amusement as her daughter's hair shifted quickly from bubble-gum pink to blue, green, yellow and red.
"Don't. Call. Me. NYMPHADORA."
With that, the pixie-like metamorphmagus stormed out of the living-room, grumbling gruffly and leaving alone her now openly laughing mother.
The girl ran upstairs, her hair slowly turning back to their "normal" colour as her scowl morphed into her usual smile.
Despite everything, it was good to be home.
Miraculously managing to climb the stairs without tripping over something, Nymph… Tonks entered her room, waltzing happily. With a quick wave of her wand she dimmed the light of the lilac candles that adorned the furniture and turned on her magical stereo, letting the notes of her favourite Radiohead's song, I might be wrong, guide her clumsy limbs in the search of her favourite pyjama.
Which, strangely so, wasn't pink. It was fuchsia.
Singing along with the distorted voice of the Muggle singer, Tonks sat heavily on her childhood bed, lying down with a huff and staring distractedly at the ceiling.
Tonks, was not a normal nineteen-year-old girl. She was a muggle-lover witch, a metamorphmagus, an awfully clumsy Auror in training and an overly excitable teenager. She was friendly, gentle and incredibly funny, but didn't have many friends.
There was Charlie Weasley, the cheerful redhead who was now pursuing his dream of becoming a Dragon Tamer in Romania, and had the bad habit of forgetting to write regularly.
There was Amanda Shelley, the shy muggle in the minimarket of the town she lived in, who couldn't stop watching her pink hair in awe. Their conversations had never been particularly long, however, so maybe she couldn't be considered a proper friend, after all.
There was Moody. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, her trainer and mentor. He probably wouldn't agree with the label Tonks had put on their relationship, but she knew that, deep inside, he considered her as a friend too.
There was… No, there wasn't anybody else.
Tonks was cheerful, and friendly and funny, but nobody wanted her as a friend.
She had acquaintances. Oh, many of them. Back at Hogwarst she had been very popular because of her ability of changing her physical appearance. Nobody, however, had ever gone far enough to actually get to know her true self.
And that was before Sirius Black had escaped from prison.
Sirius Black, her second cousin, had caused an impressive drop in her social interactions.
Some people avoided her. Some people cornered her in the corridors, demanding to know where the escaped prisoner was hidden.
She didn't know the answer. She had never known.
And she told them. All the times. With her hair flaming red and her eyes flashing dangerously, she screamed and shouted that she had nothing to do with that murderer.
But of course, nobody believed her, so there she was, more lonely than ever, snuggled in her childhood pink bed at eight o'clock on a Saturday night.
Without a kitten to cuddle.
Could life be possibly worse than that?
Sighing loudly, Tonks wrapped herself tight in the thick violet woolen plaid her parents had given her for Christmas. Turning on her left side, the girl stared distractedly at the drops of rain which regularly hit the glass of her window, drawing complicated patterns on the transparent surface.
Yes, life could be worse than that.
She could have Dragon Pox.
She could be flat broke and without a job.
Her parents could hate her.
She could be an escaped convict lost somewhere in England, soaking wet and alone in the world.
A flash of blinding light broke through the dark sky, illuminating for a couple of seconds the girl's dark violet eyes. She shivered, not for the cold, but for what she had just thought.
Sirius Black was an off-limits subject in her family, mainly because the Aurors never left them alone, but also because neither Tonks, her mother Andromeda or her father Ted knew what to think about him.
Did they hate him?
Did they believe Sirius was innocent?
Would they help him if he suddenly appeared at their door?
Tonks didn't know the answer to those questions. What she knew was that she had a very good memory of her grey-eyed cousin, a memory that clashed with the sight of the worn-out, maniac-looking being on the papers.
That shadow of a man wasn't Sirius Black. Sirius Black was her big cousin, shining like the star of the constellation he took the name from, happy, and cheerful, and friendly, and funny.
Just like her.
The metamorphmagus smiled slightly when she recalled the last time she had seen him.
It had been the day of her seventh birthday, just a couple of months before the end of the war.
He had smiled at her with that toothy smile of his, despite the fatigue which was clear in his eyes.
He had given her three presents.
One was a rainbow. A true rainbow, miniaturized so as to fit into a small glass sphere.
So you'll never forget to show all your colours to the world
The other one was a tiny picture of the two cousins, held in a pink gold locket.
So you'll never forget me.
Then, the third one, the most beautiful, the most confusing.
A bonsai. A miniaturized magical plant that vaguely resembled an eternally blossoming almond tree. Its flowers changed colour when her mood changed, and the branches glistened in the dark.
So she'll never leave you.
She had always adored those presents, although, after all those years, she had forgotten who was the "she" who would have never left her.
Clumsily disentangling one arm from the blanket, Tonks opened the upper drawer of her dark wooden bedside table blinding rummaging inside it until she sensed the cool smooth surface of the heart shaped locket.
Her smile grew wider when she opened it and faced her younger self being tickled mercilessly by a grinning Sirius Black.
The Sirius Black she knew wasn't a murderer. But people could change, couldn't them?
All the proofs were against him, after all. Even Moody, who always showed a sort of soft spot for the abandoned Blacks, was convinced that the man was guilty.
She didn't know why, but something in her mind screamed that her cousin was innocent.
It was a memory… No, the shadow of a memory, erased by years of other, happier events.
It had something to do with her mother. Something her mother had done many years before, something for which her mother cried, screamed, isolated herself from their small family for more than a week.
In a way, it had something to do with one of her aunts too.
Maybe it was the memory of the last time she had seen her Aunt Narcissa…
"Dora! Dinner is ready!"
Sighing deeply, the girl managed to get rid of the plaid, and sat indian style on her bed.
Her old room was just like she remembered: pink, cozy and cheerful. Her dark wooden wardrobe was still covered with pictures of the many stunning places she had visited with her family, and tiny glittering stars still shined softly from their usual place on the ceiling. Her desk, however, wasn't covered in battered muggle novels and drawing instruments anymore, and the chest of drawers next to the door was empty. She had moved to London two years before, taking with her clothes, books and memories. Everything which could be important for her had been removed from that room.
Everything, apart from the locket.
She didn't know exactly why she had left it behind. Back at Hogwarst she had always worn it, careful to hide it from the scrutinizing gaze of teachers and former students.
Maybe she had wanted to forget about him. Maybe she had tried to give up on that cheerful piece of her childhood that still felt so horribly right to remember with a smile.
Maybe she had simply forgotten about it. She had a short attention span, anyway.
Almost distractedly, Tonks brought the locket around her neck, her hair turning an ever brighter shade of pink when the cold metal touched her pale skin.
"Dora! Where the hell are you?! I swear, if you got stuck in the blanket again…"
"I said I'm coming!"
Storming out of the room, the girl tripped on the fluffy carpet which covered the parquet in her room, fell down, got up again, bumped against the vase in the corridor - seriously, her mother should know better than placing fragile objects near her oh-so-graceful persona - and, surprise surprise, managed to run down the stairs without killing herself.
"Ooof… God, Dora… I'm happy to see you too, sweetheart, but I can't say I missed your clumsiness!"
Tonks flung her arms around the neck of the tall, brown haired man she had just run into.
Whereas her mother had come to visit her quite regularly in London, Ted Tonks hadn't had the possibility to see his daughter for almost six months, due to a series of conferences that had forced him into leaving England very often.
Tonks had missed her dad so much. He was the calm member of the family, the only one who could tame the raging temper of Andromeda and her daughter whenever the two got into a fight, which happened quite often. He was the quiet rock of their small world, always able to find a word of comfort or a story to tell.
She vaguely remembered that Sirius liked her father a lot too, despite them having quite the opposite character. She remembered a time in which Sirius had been sad and Ted had comforted him, like a brother or a father would do.
How could things have changed in such a short period of time? How could a young, kind boy turn into a deranged murderer in less than a couple of years?
Maybe he had already begun his… morphing process many years before blowing up the street. Maybe she simply hadn't noticed his warm grey eyes turning cold and frantic and his smile turning into a sneer.
She had been only seven at the time, after all. She had been only an over-excitable, odd child, who couldn't play with children of her age because of her… ability, and almost danced with joy whenever someone willingly spent some time with her.
And Sirius had always been there to play with her. He had brought her to Muggle parks when the other children had already gone home, he had brought her to the seaside, hiding her odd hair and eyes under a huge hat and a giant pair of flashy sunglasses. He had made her meet his friends, who had been always kind and funny with her.
If he had already turned evil at the time, then he was a really good actor.
He laughed. He laughed in the middle of that destroyed street, surrounded by the corpses of the people he had killed. You saw the pictures.
Yes. She had seen them, at the beginning of her training. She had seen them, along with pictures of her deranged Aunt and Uncle, both still safely locked up in Azkaban.
What a wonderful bunch of relatives she had…
Lost in her musings, Tonks almost didn't notice when her father spoked up in mock outrage:
"Well, aren't we boring, Dora! Come on, were is your originality, your artistic side!"
Ted studied her thoroughly, plastering a theatrically disapproving expression on his square face, and the girl immediately understood what he meant.
It was a game they had started playing when she was a child. Whenever she looked a bit off or lonely –and in that moment she was actually both - her Dad would cheer her up by requesting a particularly odd change of appearance. Initially, it had been a good way to make her improve her morphing abilities and entertain her at the same time. Of course, Tonks wasn't a child anymore, but the game had become a sort of tradition now, and she certainly couldn't deny that she loved expressing her powers at the maximum level.
Playing along, Tonks brought a hand to her mouth, widening dramatically her eyes in mock-shock.
"Oh, my… Father! Am I not enough… shiny for you?!"
With that, she briefly squinted her eyes, her concentrated expression quickly turning into a grin when she obtained the wanted effect.
Now she was a couple of inches taller, her skin reflected the light as if she was made of mother-of-pearl, and her hair was longer, sticking out in every direction and changing colour repeatedly, just as those Muggle neon lights. The eyes matched the hair, and her teeth now looked like small sparkling diamonds.
Yes. Now she was definitely shiny.
Ted burst into a booming laugh, clapping at her performance as she bowed theatrically. Form the corner of her eyes, Tonks could see that her mother was smirking too.
"Come on, you two. The Roast beef is ready!"
That made the trick. Father and daughter all but bolted into the warm, elegant but cosy kitchen, because lots of thing could wait, but not Andromeda Tonks' famous roast beef.
Rain poured on everything.
Trees, rocks, plants, ground.
Rain trickled down the leaves od the bushes, rain pooled in the soft soil of the forest, creating odd mixtures of mud, grass and dead pine needles.
Rain impregnated the cortex of the trees, making it dark and humid, freeing a soft scent of forest and earth.
Rain was cold. Freezing.
Rain fell on dark, black hair, making them stick to a skinny, pale skull.
Rain seeped through the heavy frame of a grey track suit, making it appear even heavier.
Rain and mud swallowed tired feet and legs, forcing them to fight against fatigue and tiredness, making them trip, and fall, and rise again.
Rain fell heavily on the sinking form of an old, anonymous car, which was slowly descending in the dark water of an equally anonymous river.
Rain fell on a pale, unconscious girl, sliding on her blond locks, trying and failing to make her shiver and cough and whimper.
The girl couldn't be touched by rain. The girl was protected by an invisible, undetectable barrier that kept her, and only her, warm and dry.
The man who was carrying her, however, wasn't so lucky.
He was weak, terrified, worried.
He couldn't stop the rain from pouring on him. He couldn't stop the cold air to freeze his limbs, making his joint crack painfully and his lungs scratch against his inflamed ribcage.
But Sirius Black was a brave, stubborn man.
It didn't matter how exhausted he was.
It didn't matter that darkness and cold were wrapped tightly around him again after weeks of light and warmth.
It didn't matter that his demons had started attacking his mind after days of relative peace.
It's your fault.
You killed them.
You're killing Cassandra too.
You're a plague.
You're a filthy, worthless being.
BLOOD TRAITOR, SHAME OF MY FLESH!
I WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!
It's too late to beg for your life. All you can do is ask for a quick death.
I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!
You really are no different from any other Black…
Fire burned his lungs.
Ice covered his skin.
But it didn't matter how hard it rained or how ruined his mental stability was.
Sirius Black knew a person who could save the dying angel in his arms.
And he was going to find her.
* all the lines indicated with a * are taken from "I Might Be Wrong" a song written by Radiohead. I sort of modified part of the lines though, so it is not exactly the correct text.
A/N: Hi everybody! I know it's been a while since I last posted a story, and that I never wrote an author's note. Oh, well. I only wanted to thank you all for your reviews, and beg you humbly to keep commenting on my story, even if my updates may not be as regular as before. Your feedback means a lot to me, and your questions certainly help me to keep writing. I also wanted to warn you that I sort of messed up the chapters' order at the beginning of the story, so if something confused you, go back reading, I have fixed everything!
What else can I say? thank you again for your support, and please keep reviewing!
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