Ficlet: bad days
Feb. 21st, 2008 09:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinitydayHere's what I found for the preamble in my Word file:
Trying to find a balance between insane-not-quite-right-in-the-head and comprehensible-not-quite-right-in-the-head. Don’t know how well I succeeded. This was written in response of Prongs’ request, even though I know it’s not what she was looking for. It’s what whispered to me, however.
Title: bad days
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Sirius Black, phantoms of his mind
Word Count: 648
Written for: Prongs, on the SiriusXJames list. Yet, despite that, there's no hints of slash.
Some days in Azkaban were bad.
There were times when the moans and shrieks of Sirius’ fellow prisoners faded into droning whispers, when other images came into focus in front of his eyes. James’ body, twisted into an even more unnatural position than any contortions he’d attempted while playing Quidditch. A newspaper article, announcing the death of Regulus Black, because his family hadn’t even had the courtesy to inform him of his brother’s death.
But sometimes, sometimes what he saw was even worse.
“Padfoot,” James kneeled before him, shaking Sirius out of his daze. “Padfoot?”
“James?” Sirius’ voice was weak. It took three false tries before he could get the name out. “James? Prongs?”
“It’s me.”
“You’re dead,” Sirius said. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.”
“Shhh.” James tried to calm him down. “Shush now. It wasn’t real. I’m here, can’t you see? I’m here for you now. I’m here for you always. I’ll never leave you again.”
“Azkaban makes you go mad.” It was a new voice, but a familiar one. Sirius stared in disbelief at his brother, dead and gone for even longer than James had been.
“Gus?” He could only manage the baby name he had for his brother, the name he now used in only the most intimate of settings. In front of anyone else, he would never dream of calling his brother that. It was their thing. (In front of James, it was okay, though, because James and Regulus they were so much alike even if they were so much different.)
“You know I would never actually join Voldemort, don’t you? Voldemort would have no reason to kill me if I didn’t join him.” Regulus proved himself, daring to speak the name that no Death Eater, anywhere, would dream of using. He had to be telling the truth.
“Gus!” Sirius was almost crying now in relief.
“Come on, Padfoot, it’s time to get up.”
“James. Regulus.” Proper names, this time.
“Your brothers. Both of us.” Which meant so much coming from Regulus who had always been so jealous of James. Not that James had any better feelings for Regulus. Except for those times—were they real? Were they real times? Were they a product of his fevered imagination, hallucinations that fed the Dementors? They couldn’t be, Sirius decided, for James and Regulus wouldn’t both be here in front of him otherwise.
They loved him and he loved them. It was what got him through his time in Azkaban.
“James. Regulus.” Brothers, though his feelings towards each were anything but brotherly the way most people defined the word. Sirius knew differently. Sirius knew how important closeness was. “But—”
“Come on, Sirius,” Regulus said, as impatient and nervous as he always was when they were younger, still getting along, and they were trying to get away with some mischief. It was as if he were hurrying away before their mother caught them, not hurrying away before the Dementors of Azkaban caught them. Sirius had missed his little brother so much.
“We’re going to get you out of here.” James’ voice brooked no argument. James always was so sure of himself. Sirius always loved that about James.
“James! Regulus!”
Sirius struggled to get up.
“Come on, Padfoot!”
Both headed towards the door.
“Hurry up, Sirius!”
Sirius hurried.
They left.
Sirius was blocked by the door.
The door wouldn’t open.
The door wouldn’t budge.
He looked out through the bars.
“Wait!” he cried. “Wait!”
But they didn’t wait. They were gone. Long gone. Long, long gone, gone and dead. And Sirius was left alone with only his imagination as company, his fantasies, his hopes, his dreams, and even those were quickly sucked up as the Dementors spied a fresh source of food.
“Come back,” he cried, real tears coming down. “Please. Please. Come back. Don’t leave me alone.”
Trying to find a balance between insane-not-quite-right-in-the-head and comprehensible-not-quite-right-in-the-head. Don’t know how well I succeeded. This was written in response of Prongs’ request, even though I know it’s not what she was looking for. It’s what whispered to me, however.
Title: bad days
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Sirius Black, phantoms of his mind
Word Count: 648
Written for: Prongs, on the SiriusXJames list. Yet, despite that, there's no hints of slash.
Some days in Azkaban were bad.
There were times when the moans and shrieks of Sirius’ fellow prisoners faded into droning whispers, when other images came into focus in front of his eyes. James’ body, twisted into an even more unnatural position than any contortions he’d attempted while playing Quidditch. A newspaper article, announcing the death of Regulus Black, because his family hadn’t even had the courtesy to inform him of his brother’s death.
But sometimes, sometimes what he saw was even worse.
“Padfoot,” James kneeled before him, shaking Sirius out of his daze. “Padfoot?”
“James?” Sirius’ voice was weak. It took three false tries before he could get the name out. “James? Prongs?”
“It’s me.”
“You’re dead,” Sirius said. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.”
“Shhh.” James tried to calm him down. “Shush now. It wasn’t real. I’m here, can’t you see? I’m here for you now. I’m here for you always. I’ll never leave you again.”
“Azkaban makes you go mad.” It was a new voice, but a familiar one. Sirius stared in disbelief at his brother, dead and gone for even longer than James had been.
“Gus?” He could only manage the baby name he had for his brother, the name he now used in only the most intimate of settings. In front of anyone else, he would never dream of calling his brother that. It was their thing. (In front of James, it was okay, though, because James and Regulus they were so much alike even if they were so much different.)
“You know I would never actually join Voldemort, don’t you? Voldemort would have no reason to kill me if I didn’t join him.” Regulus proved himself, daring to speak the name that no Death Eater, anywhere, would dream of using. He had to be telling the truth.
“Gus!” Sirius was almost crying now in relief.
“Come on, Padfoot, it’s time to get up.”
“James. Regulus.” Proper names, this time.
“Your brothers. Both of us.” Which meant so much coming from Regulus who had always been so jealous of James. Not that James had any better feelings for Regulus. Except for those times—were they real? Were they real times? Were they a product of his fevered imagination, hallucinations that fed the Dementors? They couldn’t be, Sirius decided, for James and Regulus wouldn’t both be here in front of him otherwise.
They loved him and he loved them. It was what got him through his time in Azkaban.
“James. Regulus.” Brothers, though his feelings towards each were anything but brotherly the way most people defined the word. Sirius knew differently. Sirius knew how important closeness was. “But—”
“Come on, Sirius,” Regulus said, as impatient and nervous as he always was when they were younger, still getting along, and they were trying to get away with some mischief. It was as if he were hurrying away before their mother caught them, not hurrying away before the Dementors of Azkaban caught them. Sirius had missed his little brother so much.
“We’re going to get you out of here.” James’ voice brooked no argument. James always was so sure of himself. Sirius always loved that about James.
“James! Regulus!”
Sirius struggled to get up.
“Come on, Padfoot!”
Both headed towards the door.
“Hurry up, Sirius!”
Sirius hurried.
They left.
Sirius was blocked by the door.
The door wouldn’t open.
The door wouldn’t budge.
He looked out through the bars.
“Wait!” he cried. “Wait!”
But they didn’t wait. They were gone. Long gone. Long, long gone, gone and dead. And Sirius was left alone with only his imagination as company, his fantasies, his hopes, his dreams, and even those were quickly sucked up as the Dementors spied a fresh source of food.
“Come back,” he cried, real tears coming down. “Please. Please. Come back. Don’t leave me alone.”