InsaneJournal

Two thousand one hundred and sixty five days is a long time in anyone’s book. It was almost a fifth of Sirius Black’s life. And it was the number of small, painful lines he had scratched into his cell wall with a fingernail whenever he saw the sun come up. The number of days since he’d spoken to a real person. The number of days since Wormtail had left him in a street, surrounded by bodies. And now he was here. He was here. He was out. They’d be angry. If they found him they’d be so angry.


Sirius hadn’t even been human when he’d arrived in the library. A large black dog, skin and bone, its hair matted and balding in places, had been cowering on the cold floor before a Knight had grabbed it by the scruff, and pushed it out onto the steps. Outside. Throwing a silver box after him. Outside. Where there was light and wind and people and it was all too much and all at once.


He didn’t remember getting into the alleyway. Padfoot transformed clumsily into a man in his mid twenties, dressed in prison robes that hung from his bones like a filthy second skin, long hair matted, his flesh stretched too tightly over his skull. The machine was familiar. Somehow. And after a minute of two where hurried, manic messages provided Sirius with more human contact than he’d had in the last six years he dropped the machine down in the dirt and pressed himself into a corner, face turned to the wall, fingers grasping at the stone until they threatened to bleed. Wormtail’s name thudded through his skull like a second heartbeat, and he bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, because pain was something real that he could use to keep himself here.


Then there was a voice, and Sirius was Padfoot again. The dog turned, backing into the safety of the corner, teeth bared in a silent growl, hackles raised even as his wasted frame shook with exertion.


On the walk over, Ariadne was more than happy to blame the early winter wind for the tears in her eyes. At this point she was almost wishing that she'd end up transformed, just so she wouldn't care about what was going on for a little while. Instead she was heading through the city with Regulus and Eames, looking for a version of Sirius that was driven mad and likely quite dangerous. At what point had this seemed like a good idea? Possibly the part where she was too worried about her friend to care what might happen. Hunting him through the streets near the Great Library was making it seem less and less smart all the time.


The part of Ariadne's mind that had become adept at searching for details and changes caught sight of a figure down an alleyway, and she turned back for a second look. A few hesitant steps brought her to the alley's mouth.


"Sirius?" she called softly, and had her suspicions confirmed as the ragged-looking man transformed into an extremely mangy-looking dog. Ariadne knelt down and waited, trusting in Regulus to protect her if necessary but not risking anything by moving forward. "...Padfoot? I'm Ariadne, I spoke to you on the network. In the device they gave you." Was there any part of him that would recognize her?


This was a bad idea, gods what was Regulus thinking? He could have just ignored that stupid post from his brother, ignored it like almost every other one from his brother these days. He could have just accepted Juno’s invite to tag along with her at her muggle school. Sirius didn’t care for him, why should he bother with any version of his brother?


But Regulus knew that wasn’t what made him apprehensive. Whether his brother cared for him or not had nothing to do with Regulus’ motivations in this endeavor, if his brother was hurt - and he most certainly was coming from that prison, that’s what mattered.


No, he was nervous because he was supposed to be dead, according to Sirius. Ariadne had asked him to be there for protection in case Sirius had more of a mental break down and became unmanageable for two muggles. But what if seeing his dead brother only triggered that melt down. Regulus was a pessimist, he was sure the worst would happen.


He walked in silence, wand drawn but held down at his side so it was less noticeable, chewing on his thoughts.


Ariadne seemed to have more of an idea of where Sirius might be, or maybe she’d just gotten lucky, but she lead them to the mouth of an alley and sure enough, Regulus only caught a glimpse of his brother in human form before he transformed into a thin, sickly looking dog. And all Regulus could do was stare at his brother, taking in that emaciated sight. This was the product of the war he’d fought on the wrong side for. He could only stare.


Morgana hated this place at times. The time of deep, focused, utter hatred that some one who had been fucked with - and seen people she cared about fucked with - one too many times. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for what she had in Colligo. This place had given her so many things, almost as much as it took away. The life that she had formed in this place wouldn't be traded for anything. Nevertheless, it went without saying that moments such as this one made her wish that she knew who was responsible for messing with their lives. So that she could blow them up.


Morgana had shown up a little later than the rest - having seen Sirius' message afterward and telling Regulus that she would meet them there - but it didn't take her long to find them. At least if you didn't count the time spent running, since for all her magic, she didn't know how to teleport.
She could - like her sister and her son - sense where people were. It certainly ran deeper for those she loved. And you didn't spend over six years with someone, going through what this place threw at them, and not end up loving them. Morgana loved Sirius Black, he was so much to and had done so much for her, that she would be there for him now. Even though he hadn't a clue who she was, even though it ripped her apart to see him like this.


She stood by Regulus' side, offering as much support as she could. Morgana didn't interrupt Ariadne as she spoke, there to only step in case things got hairy for the humans and to heal.


There was a crowd of people silhouetted at the entrance to the alleyway, and Padfoot remembered another crowd around his doorway, looming in at him, and felt some of his strength leave his body. The huge dog sunk to the ground, furry, wasted frame pressed close to the cold street, teeth still bared. He could feel his heart through his ribs, beating against the floor. The taste of his own blood was sharp and metallic in his mouth, a familiar taste that was oddly comforting. Then the smallest figure spoke, called him by a name that he hadn’t heard in a long while. The dog’s wide eyes darted from one to another, finally landing on the one face he recognized.


This wasn’t right. People didn’t just leave that place. He knew that. He knew that better than anyone. And people who were dead and long gone didn’t come back. It had taken him long enough to accept that. Sirius knew then, without a shadow of doubt, that he’d finally gone completely and utterly mad. He was one of them now, sat muttering in the corner of some cold, stone cell, seeing invisible things through staring eyes. Thank God. It had taken long enough.


Perhaps he could rest now.


He pulled some strength from deep inside and changed back, using a ridge in the wall to pull himself up and balance. Broken, damaged fingers on cold stone, shaking as he supported himself. A wand. He needed a wand. Sirius' ribs protruded from beneath his filthy robes as he fought for breath.


“Regulus?” Sirius’ voice was hoarse and painful, seemed to scrape up his throat like razor blades after years of disuse. Something about this whole situation was vaguely familiar.


Regulus was aware of Morgana next to him, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from his brother’s to reassure himself of that familiar presence. He wanted to reach his hand out to hers, knowing it would provide comfort but he balled his hand into a fist instead, not giving into that desire, for some reason that would be weakness.


Then Sirius was human again, and asking for him. Regulus didn’t know what to do. He wished he was older, like his brother. The truth was, his brother always knew what to do and Regulus turned to that for direction. But now there was no direction, and in situations like that Regulus usually didn’t do too well.


He chewed on his lower lip a second more before taking a step forward. “Hey, Sirius.” His voice cracked, letting everyone know how distressing seeing his brother like this was for him. He swallowed and tried again. “You’re right, it’s me, Regulus.”


Sirius froze by the wall as his brother spoke, one hand still braced on the dirty brick, dry tongue darting out to wet his lips. Regulus was dead. He’d been told that, had it hissed at him through steel bars and stone, whispered with a hundred other taunts telling him exactly what he’d already knew. That he didn’t belong there. They’d wanted to break him for the first year, wanted to make him scream his agreement and shout like the rest of them. But he never did. Even now, locked away and rotting, Sirius’ pride wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.


His body shook. Before all this he’d been sat in one position, skinny arms hugging his knees to his skinnier chest, for at least four days. What remained of his muscles ached, a pain stretched across his tense shoulders and lower back, carefully nurtured from being frozen in one position, trying to become still and cold enough so that he wouldn’t feel the searing hole that had opened inside his chest.


Sirius pushed himself from the wall, took an unsteady step forward until he was close enough to touch Regulus. One hand, fingers like bone, stretched out, but hesitated. He found, despite his apparent hatred for his sibling, that he didn’t want it confirmed that Regulus wasn’t here. Better he stay in this world that his broken mind had created for him. There was a breeze here. And people. Sirius was reaching the point where he didn’t think he could even remember a time when there weren’t iron bars.


So he stopped. Froze. Slid his gaze to the rest of the people. Then his hand grasped his imaginary brother's wrist - God, how long had it been since he touched another person? - and he heard a voice that wasn’t recognizable as his escape him. “They’ll be angry. They’ll want me back there. They won’t let me go. Wormtail. I have to find Wormtail.” He had been speaking to the group in general, a mad, insane gleam suddenly making his eyes alive in his corpse's face. Sirius turned back to his brother, holding tighter. “I’ll go back when I’ve found him. They can do the kiss then. I don’t care. Regulus, I have to find Wormtail.”


Ariadne stood as Sirius changed back - her height wasn't exactly intimidating, after all - and moved aside as he wobbled towards Regulus. She was sharply aware that she was out of her depth here. So were the others, most likely. Eames would have been the most likely to know how to handle this if he'd been himself, but with his memory so spotty she didn't think they could rely on him either.


"You don't have to go back," she said, voice quiet but still cutting clearly through the air. "We'll keep you safe, Sirius. Nobody's going to be angry with you." Was Peter even still here? She hadn't seen him post on the network in weeks, but he could have simply been hiding out. Her hand lifted slightly, as if to touch Sirius's shoulder, but she held back. A dead brother was one thing; a stranger trying to touch you when you were already paranoid and unbalanced was quite another.


Because she knew Regulus wouldn't take it, Morgana gave it and perhaps selfishly took some comfort in having him near by as well. She reached out and gave his wrist the briefest squeeze. He could choose to ignore that it had happened if he so wanted. The moment was pushed aside when Sirius spoke. Her attention sharpened, falling completely on him now. The sound of his voice sending a spear right through her heart. She had to swallow against the dryness there and the burning at the back of her eyes but she managed it. She managed to remain looking calm. She managed to keep herself from taking the step forward and instead watched the two brothers carefully.


Morgana hadn't been aware that she had been holding her breath throughout out the brothers' interaction until Ariadne spoke. "She's right, Sirius. You are safe with us and they won't be able to find you here." As far as Morgana knew, Peter was long gone. And even if he wasn't, Sirius wasn't in the state to see him, let alone to try and do the other man harm. Therefore, she just by passed the requests to find him.


She kept her eyes on Sirius but her attention was also split on Regulus, waiting for him to further reassure his brother - as Morgana didn't think that Sirius would take being touched by anyone else - and waiting for his approval so she could do some of what she had come for.


Eames stood back as everyone else tried to persuade Sirius that he was safe, never looking in the same place for longer than a few seconds at a time. He kept an eye on the street behind them, he watched as Reg, Ariadne and Morgana spoke to Sirius like he was some sort of skittish wild animal, and he had a hard time keeping himself from staring at Sirius, but he managed to look away each time. Bloody fuck, what had been done to the poor bastard? Ariadne had explained the Dementor things, but really, this was horrific. He’d gone on missions where their objective had been to rescue torture-victims, and they hadn’t even looked as bad as Sirius did.


Careful to keep his reactions from showing on his face, he leant back against the wall and slumped down a bit so that he didn’t look as tall, then got out his cigarettes and lighter and quickly lit up. He sort of hoped that it would get a positive reaction out of his friend. Normal Sirius certainly loved to smoke, so hopefully it would still hold true. And if it didn’t, he’d suggest them all getting tea. There was a lot of bullshit spoke about English stereotyping and all that, but the truth was that tea was quite wonderful and an excellent way to calm people down. Besides, it probably wouldn’t hurt for Sirius to get a warm drink or two in him.


"You're safe as houses, mate. I'm a soldier, they've got magic leaking out of their ears and Ariadne's vicious when you poke her. Fancy a cuppa? Or a smoke?" he said in a quiet voice, hoping that the very suggestion of tea would work a minor miracle.


Old Sirius might have given the smallest girl a ‘really?’ look. Because, despite her best intentions, she was a muggle. You could tell that by just looking at her and although that wasn’t a bad thing, she wouldn’t be able to see the Dementors even if they swooped down and plucked Sirius’ soul from him right in front of her. Lucky cow. Sirius had spent endless hours now with two stationed outside his cell. He didn’t know what it was to be without them. Even now, less than an hour after his escape, what they had taken was starting to worm its way back into his head. Sunshine. Hogwarts. He thought of them both for the first time in years. Was this what madness was? If so, why hadn’t he given into it sooner?


The three who weren’t Regulus were faintly familiar. Which was right, because he had made them up himself. The figure who hadn’t spoke yet had avoided Sirius’ attention, but the animagus’ sharpened senses suddenly picked up the acrid smell of cigarette smoke, and finally a voice broke through. Joking, casual and reminding Sirius painfully of someone else.


”James?” The name slipped out before Sirius could stop it, and almost immediately a pure, unforgiving pain ripped through him, images of six years previous burning in his minds eye. Sirius snatched his hand back from Regulus, his gaunt face distorting. He turned to the tall man by the wall, to convince himself that it was someone new. Because he hated to think his own subconscious would be that cruel. Even if it had shown him James every time he shut his eyes since that day. Sirius swallowed painfully, reaching out for a cigarette with one shaking hand. “Share with the group,” he croaked.


Nodding, Eames stepped away from the wall and got another cigarette out of the pack. He looked up at Sirius once more and kept an eye on him as he took his own cigarette out of his mouth and then lit up for the other man. “Here you go, then,” he said, just as quietly as before, and moving carefully to stand just close enough that he could pass the cigarette over, but not too close in case he scared Sirius. “I’ve got plenty more, so just say if you want another one, okay?”


Ariadne couldn't resist rolling her eyes. Yes, because more stimulants were exactly what he needed when he was this twitchy. "Do you want to go somewhere safe and get out of the street?" she asked. "You can shower, get some fresh clothes, and we can see about finding your wand." It didn't matter to her at this point who he ended up going with, but standing around in an alleyway where anybody could happen upon them did not strike her as the best plan. What if he got spooked and decided to bolt? He probably couldn't get very far, but Ariadne didn't particularly want to rely on that chance.


Regulus knew that look was bound to happen at least once this trip, he knew more keenly than anyone present how much his brother despised him, and shock at being deposited in this place only lasted so long before old feelings came back to the surface. Regulus tried to let the hurt not cross his features, and he was grateful for that one moment when his expression flickered everyone was paying more attention to his brother and he was able to slip back just behind the group under the pretense of giving more space.


“It’s cold, Sirius,” he’d taken the moment to also control his tone - his whole demeanor actually, he was once a bloody Death Eater and had stood in the presence of the most powerful wizard who ever lived and had not shit his pants, he could very well help collect his brother with more composure. He let the hurt he felt over his brother’s rejection boil down into something close to a simmering anger, and that was easier fuel to use. His wrist ached for … what? His brother’s touch again, or Morgana’s? He wasn’t sure. “You need to get some place warm, and warm clothes.” He wondered how wise it would be to promise a wand when there was no way to get one of those in this city.


Ariadne wasn't the only one rolling her eyes. Morgana even quirked a brow afterward for good measure; however, she didn't say anything. The last thing Sirius needed was a cigarette but he did need was comfort. One definitely would not do more damage to him.


What would do him damage, she agreed, was the weather. Morgana didn't spare Regulus a look when he moved away, though she wanted to. Nevertheless, she kept her attention on Sirius, holding out a hand to him, making it his choice to approach him. No matter how much a part of her wanted to embrace him, heal him, and send him off to the first warm bed he'd likely have seen in years. Give him something soft, edible, and actually healthy to start on eating. "Take my hand, Sirius. My name is Morgana." She said softly, voice accented and comforting. "I can certainly help with the cold right now. Then we'll get you to something comfortable and we'll explain the rest of it to you. I promise."


His wand? Sirius frowned at Ariadne, lifting his gaze from where he’d been examining the cigarette suddenly burning between his fingers with some alarm. “They snapped my wand,” he told her quietly, then automatically, his body remembering the familiar action even after so long, slipped the cigarette between dry lips. The first of the sharp smoke touched the back of his throat for the first time in nearly six years, and the cough Sirius gave wracked his broken body painfully, bones seeming to grind together under the sharp movement. He quickly recovered, however, and took another drag.


He didn’t speak at the mention of the temperature. Compared to Azkaban, the minute amount of warmth of this place was a luxury. At least it didn’t have the consuming, exhausting cold of the Dementors. No, what hurt the most about this place was the fact that it couldn’t be real. The kind words, the familiar faces – even if one was his brothers. They had all been carved out by his broken mind simply being unable to cope. And the saddest thing about it was how thankful he was for it.


There was a hand being offered, and Sirius hesitated for a moment before taking it. He didn’t recognize his own claw for a moment as it slipped into Morgana’s, the skeletal, pale digits that were dirty and shook. The shock of another warm person against him made something lurch painfully in his chest, like the hole where James and Lily and Harry had once been was being torn further open. His fingers stumbled with the cigarette, letting it fall to the ground and fizzle out.


“I need to find Peter,” he said again, his voice catching. He turned to find Regulus’ face. “And the baby.” He wanted to see Harry. Why would he bring these people to him, and leave Harry behind?


It was agreed, a warm place, warm Sirius-sized clothing, though to be honest, the man in front of Regulus was so far gone he’d probably fit into Regulus’ skinny assed clothes. But that aside, the place to take his brother was his own flat, not that Sirius would know what his own place looked like, but that last request, for Harry, sealed it. Harry was waiting back at Sirius’ flat.


He held his hand out for everyone to touch, there were a lot of bodies to Side-Along but Regulus was already mentally detaching enough that he was doing everything on rote memorization. He caught both Eames’ and Ariadne’s eyes, “Just touch my hand.” He figured Morgana and Sirius wouldn’t need prompting. He waited for everyone to step forward before twisting, letting the world squeeze and swirl and reform again to the familiar surroundings of Sirius’ flat.


Eames did as he was bid without even thinking about it, too busy being worried about Sirius and ignoring the insane amounts of hairy eyeballs that seemed to be directed at him, and realised what was about to happen just as it did happen. The horrendous never-ending pressure fucked with his head and his insides and the instant they arrived at their destination, he took half a moment to work out where he was, and then let go of Reg as he ran for the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach into it. It wouldn’t do to be sick in the living room, after all.


A few minutes later, when the dry heaves had stopped and he’d rinsed his mouth out and flushed the toilet, he walked back out to the rest of the group and leant on the back of the couch. “Reg, you’re going to have to stop doing that. Please,” he said quietly, and scrubbed at his face for a second, then looked round for Sirius. “Anyone fancy a brew?” he asked; he wanted tea, and Sirius needed something, so why the hell not? It couldn’t go down any worse than offering Sirius a smoke, anyway.


Sirius felt the familiar lurch round his navel, the pressure which made his ears pop, and then he was stood on carpet. Inside. In the warm. Somewhere beside him, the man they’d called Eames pelted off to puke, something that he was vaguely aware he should find amusing. Sirius looked around, taking in a flat which looked well-lived in, with a few used mugs lying about and a pile of well-thumbed magazines. What looked like a few draft versions of a map, sketched vaguely on snowy paper, were pinned to one wall beside some muggle paintings of bright motorbikes.


Sirius didn’t know what to do. The sound of Eames heaving in the bathroom sounding gently, he touched one sofa carefully, then slowly, glancing at Regulus as if for confirmation, sat down on the edge. Things like soft, warm seats were alien to him these days, after years of sitting on a cold stone floor, and a moment later he was sat bolt upright in the middle of the seat, skinny legs hugged to his chest, eyes wide and staring into a spot in the middle distance, seeing something that was invisible to everyone else.


He felt… horrible. Thoughts swirled chaotically through his head, bounding off each other until he could have screamed. Sirius shut his eyes tight, trying to block something out, but memories of Godric's Hollow swelled instead, and the cold, aching cold of Azkaban seemed to sneak up from somewhere inside him.


Padfoot frantically opened his eyes again and was vaguely surprised to see he’d transformed, was curled on the sofa as a huge and scrawny black dog. The animal looked up through large brown eyes, watching the group as Eames spoke, welcoming the brief lull of emotion that came which his changed form.


Regulus snorted over Eames’ request, next time he would just leave the man to walk back. He had better things to do than give someone a pat on the head who couldn’t keep his stomach because of a bumpy ride.


He watched his brother, he couldn’t look at anything else even with the sounds of someone vomiting in the bathroom. Like all moments of confrontation Regulus wanted to run and just get away from all of this, for someone who knew how to throw a right fit Regulus did not like drama. Briefly, Regulus broke his gaze on his brother, now in dog form, to check with the others what he should be doing.


Ariadne had stumbled over to the couch and sat down on the far end, giving Sirius plenty of space as she collected herself. Apparating didn't affect her as badly as Eames - or perhaps she'd found one area where she was tougher than he was - but she still needed a moment to let herself breathe and calm her stomach down. So she focused on the wall and the familiar, regular lines of the maps she'd been drafting out with Sirius before all of these changes had started.


Somehow she wasn't surprised to see Padfoot on the sofa when she lowered her eyes. One hand reached out cautiously, giving him time to back away before she pressed her palm to his back. She couldn't hug him, that much was obvious, but perhaps he'd take some small amount of comfort from the contact.


"I think we could all use a cup of tea," she said to Eames, pitching her voice low so as not to startle the animagus beside her. He wasn't rabid... right?


Padfoot’s body, scrawny and bony under the matted fur, tensed as a warm hand suddenly made contact. There was a moment when he could hear his own blood pounding through his canine ears, merging with Wormtail's name until it was almost deafening, then he relaxed, his frame softening under the girl's touch. Padfoot’s eyes drifted lazily closed, head resting loosely on his paws. Around him, he was vaguely aware of quiet conversation, the distant sound of mugs and boiling water. He didn’t want to sleep, although it threatened to pull him under any moment. There was every chance he’d wake up back on the cold floor, woken by that boy in the cell down the corridor who kept begging for his death and his Mother alternatively.


Finally, the smell of tea forced him to open his eyes, one ear twitching hopefully. This was probably the most vivid mental breakdown hallucination anyone had ever had. Somewhere, the younger version of Sirius crowed smugly in the back of his head, proud of the triumph. Meanwhile, in the living room, Sirius was suddenly human again, Ariadne’s hand now on his shoulder as he reached for the cup that was passed for him, wrapping skeletal hands around it and feeling the warmth drench him. He needed chocolate, something said in his head, and he almost smiled when he realized it was a memory of Moony. It had been a long time since a memory had made him smile.


“I…” He tried to speak, and his words caught. Sirius cleared his throat violently. The logical part of his head was starting to speak up, edged into action by a warm drink and human contact.“I… I don’t understand. What’s… Where are they?” Even if he was still happily in his cell, he should be able to feel them. He could feel them when he slept. He could always feel them. And yet there was nothing.


A cup was pressed into Regulus’ hands by someone, he wasn’t aware of who. Maybe Morgana? It gave him something to focus on instead of the jealousy he felt upon seeing Ariadne’s touch not result in the loathing filled look he’d elicited from his brother. Another reason that Regulus shouldn’t be there.


But he was sure everyone else wouldn’t appreciate him just ducking out now. He backed up and took a seat in the chair, incidentally, the spot he could sit furthest away from Sirius.


“They are not here,” he knew what Sirius was referring to. “There are no Dementors here.”


Sirius shook his head at his brother's words, wild eyes snapping onto Regulus sat in the furthest corner. Regulus, who should be dead and, along with the obvious fact that he was outside his cell with no reason to be so, was the harshest evidence that he really had lost his mind. Why his wretched madness had decided that Regulus should be involved in his delusions, he had no idea. But there it was. For someone who was convinced of his own insanity, obsessed with the idea of murdering one of his best friends and hadn’t spoken to another human being in five years, Sirius felt rather calm. Detached. Like he was cold and floating away from himself. He even offered Regulus a cracked, slightly hysterical smile. “No, Regulus. They’re never going to leave me alone. I’ve lost it. Finally gone completely and utterly fucking mental. Thank fucking God.”


The tea fell from his hand, falling onto the carpet and spreading slowly into a stain as Sirius doubled over, wrapping his hands in his wild, matted hair until the pain ripped at his scalp. “No’ one's escaped there. They don’t let people escape,” he muttered, more to himself (well, his knees) than anyone else. “This is fucking mental. Bella’s going to have a right laugh, stupid cow. Minister won’t let me go, no’ one’s going to let me go. I’ll have to get out myself. Find him myself. Only I didn’t. So I’m still there. Still there.” He cracked an eyelid open, wasn’t sure if he was elated or disappointed to see the same living room looking back at him, find the soft sofa beneath him instead of cold stone.


“Fuck.” he announced, then shut his eyes tight again.


Regulus thought for a moment, staring at his brother, hating that he was hesitating for this. Everyone from their world knew what repelled Dementors, and he was the only fucking person in the room that could do it, and yet he wasn’t raising his fucking wand. Because he knew when the Sirius from his world returned, it was clear that would happen, there was a high likelihood he would remember this and he did not want Sirius knowing anything else about him, nothing that personal anymore.


But, goddammit that was his brother over there, thinking he was still trapped in that hell hole Azkaban.


Slowly, finally, he took out his wand and said the incantation out lout so his brother could hear, casting that spell that just revealed too much. White mist curled out of his wand, pooling at first in an odd, amorphous spherical thing before taking the shape of a big, shaggy dog that then trotted over to its more spectral twin on the couch.


“There, there are no Dementors here, Sirius.”


Sirius watched, mouth a little open, as the spectral dog padded over towards the couch. The fact that his brother’s patronus took that particular form was something he’d focus on at another time, because there were only so many revelations an unhinged mind could take in a twenty minute window. The dog dissolved into silver mist, finally vanishing into nothing as Sirius remained, frozen, in his seat. If it was true… if he really was out…


Godric. He suddenly wished he was still insane. It made more sense.


“I don’t…” Panic started to push onto him, suddenly, cutting off his breathing until he gasped and broke through. “Who did it? I didn’t do anything. I was just… Who took me?” Five years he’d been in that place. Five years where he hadn’t left the six by eight cell, had had guards haunting him day and night, had obsessed and brooded and sat curled in a dark corner, knowing he was innocent, aching to get out. And now he was. Now he was out.


“Oh, thank God.” Sirius felt something wash over him. Relief. Hope. He didn’t even recognize his emotions these days, they were so foreign to him. The animagus sagged, arms wrapped around his caved stomach and doubling over. He drew in a shuddering gasp of air, revelling in the lack of clammy cold that had filled his lungs for so long. Something he vaguely recognized as tears prickled at the back of his eyes, and he shut his lids tight. “Thank god. God.”


Sirius was bouncing through all kinds of emotions, it was hard for Regulus to keep up with all the different distinctions. That relief at the end looked an awful lot like the panic that was registering before. However, his brother hadn’t commented on the shape of Regulus’ patronus, so that was a plus, even if it might come to bite him in the ass later. He made a mental note to commit the three other witnesses to secrecy if it turned out Sirius never remembered this.


Regulus shot a look towards Ariadne, she was closest to his brother. He was checking to see if she wanted to handle the question. “Uh... we don’t know who did this.”


The appearance of the patronus had taken her breath away, and Ariadne didn't make the mental connection between its shape and Sirius's animagus form; she was too busy marveling. Now that was properly magical magic. But the man beside her was currently teetering on the edge of a breakdown, and Ariadne carefully moved her hand around to his other side, leaving her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Perhaps it would have been more comforting if she weren't so much shorter, but he was so wasted that it hardly mattered anyway.


"He's right," she said, glancing at Regulus and trying to put her gratitude into her expression. He hadn't left; she definitely owed him for this one. "We've all been brought here by the same force, or person, or... something. It's dragged angels here. Pulling you out of prison is basically par for the course. But once we're here we're basically safe." Basically. Except for the part where Sirius had been himself yesterday and was now a broken shell, and where they'd all been through various mental and physical tortures. Those details could wait.


Sirius looked up at them through his sheet of long, matted hair, staring wildly out at his brother across the room, vaguely aware of the arm around his shoulders but still not really feeling it. Not really feeling anything but wild, cartwheeling relief that took his breath and made his head spin. It didn’t make sense. Something unnameable couldn’t have just... snatched him. But right now he couldn’t bring himself to complain, even to examine it too closely in case he found that one loophole that disproved everything, that could send him violently back to Azkaban.


He was exhausted. That itself was a revelation to him. His withered frame ached beyond anything he’d noticed before, ribs and hips protruding angrily from papery skin, his face like a skull, white and hollow-cheeked. Sirius felt like he could curl up and sleep forever. Now that he was safe, supposedly, knew he wouldn’t be woken by screams or a clammy presense pressed against cold iron bars, it was quite an attractive prospect. He doubted he’d even dream, which would be a first. But something else was suddenly more important. Even doubled over, he couldn’t ignore the ripping pain in his abdomen.


“Food,” he breathed. How long had it been?


Food, right. Sirius seemed to settle into some kind of quiet acceptance of his current situation. For that alone Regulus was able to pull his eyes away from his brother and stand. On his way to the kitchen area he knocked Eames on the shoulder and nodded for him to help.


“Uh, Sirius- I think there’s something...” Sirius had been going on earlier in the week about the place being stocked with food so there had to be something in this kitchen. And it wasn’t as if Regulus knew what to do with the stuff once it was found. If anything, it got his mind off the hollowed out, wasted version of his brother sitting cowed and broken on the sofa, he couldn’t process all of that right now.


Eames followed after Regulus, having picked up Sirius’ dropped mug. The spilt tea could be left for later, that would be easily tidied up, but he didn’t fancy leaving the mug there to get stood on. He left the mug on the counter once they were in the kitchen, and then turned to face Regulus. “Don’t bother looking for meals, not right now. His stomach won’t be able to take it, not the way he looks. He’ll need soup. Vegetable soup, if possible,” he said, unable to keep from glancing back in to see how Ariadne and Sirius were getting on.


“Oh, right,” Regulus nodded, “soup...” He started opening the cupboards with out much direction or idea where to find soup. He’d not been in this flat in close to a week, plus Regulus never cooked, he either ate out or let who ever he was staying with do the cooking. But, the version of Sirius before this current wreck had been responsible and Regulus was hoping that meant there was something, just something in these blasted cupboards.


Around rummaging through the third cupboard Regulus found some cans, there were two varieties. One called ‘chicken noodle’ and another ‘tomato’. “Uh?” with a very confused look on his face he held them both out for Eames to take and do something with.


Eames took the two tins, and did not say anything along the lines of “teleporting is nothing, but soup is confusing?” although he may have thought it quite loudly. He looked between the tins for a moment, before settling on the tomato for no reason other than he liked it better. “Can you get a bowl and a spoon, please?” he asked, as he hunted for a saucepan and a tin opener. Once everything was found and he’d opened the tin, he looked round at Regulus once more. “Watch and learn, mate. You never know when you’ll need to do this for yourself, and it’s easy enough.”


With that, he set about heating the soup up, adding another tinful of water after a while and telling Reg what he was doing (and why) at the same time. He knew what he’d be doing later, he realised, when he started writing out a shopping list in his head. He wasn’t the world’s greatest cook, but he was able to make decent enough food. Sirius would be sick of vegetable soup by the end of this. “Are you busy later?”


Regulus watched the opening of the can, the dumping of the contents into the pan and the gentle stirring of the spoon as if mesmerized. Doing so helped keep him from sinking deep in his thoughts and wallowing in the idea of how much his small and insignificant existence had contributed to destroying his brother.


“Huh?” He looked up slowly and almost didn’t focus on Eames, “What, later?” He thought for a moment, forced himself to come up with an answer, “I promised Juno I’d see her later, but I can push that back... why?”


“I was wondering if you wanted to go grocery-shopping with me, that’s all. Don’t worry about it if you’ve already made plans,” he said with a shrug, then tasted the soup. It was weak, but it was also hot and good for Sirius, which was the main thing. He poured some into the bowl, then put the lid over the saucepan to keep it covered.


“Let's see how this goes down, shall we?” he asked, then lifted the bowl and spoon to pass them to Regulus. “He doesn’t know me. He’ll probably like it better if you give him the food,” he explained.


“No,” Regulus shook his head, “I can go.” He wasn’t sure why he was insisting he be included in going to the grocery store, but there he was. He’d think about that later when he had time or the desire to figure his own motives.


He stared dubiously at the bowl and then looked towards his brother. This Eames hadn’t been around long enough to know that statement was completely ridiculous. Regulus was fairly certain his brother would not accept food from him. But it’s not like Sirius knew anyone else in the flat. “Right, might as well give it a go.” He took the bowl from Eames and walked back over to his brother, hesitating one second before lowering it before him to take.


Sirius sat quietly, chewing gently on his already split lip, trying to force his reluctant thoughts through the heavy blanket of sleep which was trying to suffocate them. He’d been taken from his cell, thrown into some street, met by his apparently dead brother and load of people who seemed to know him (and, if he was completely honest, were also faintly familiar), taken a flat and fed soup. And apparently it wasn’t a dream or a very vivid hallucination. Which meant it was happening. Which meant he could go find Peter. Finally.


Sirius had spent the whole time in Azkaban becoming more and more obsessed with Pettigrew. The fact that he was innocent was the only thing that had kept him from going completely barmy. Again, working on the assumption he was sane. And although his immediate reaction right now was to grab the wand he’d seen in his brother's hand and leg it away, off to find the slimy bastard who had destroyed his whole life, his exhausted body wouldn’t let him.


Sirius glanced up in time to see Regulus holding out a bowl of soup in his direction. Normally the idea of this man offering him any kind of food was laughable, but Sirius' hunger was enough to have him overlook almost everything. He took the bowl clumsily, slid off the sofa to sit cross legged on the floor and began to spoon it into his mouth with the urgency of a dying man. A moment past before he completely abandoned the spoon and all but poured the liquid into his gaping mouth. Placing the bowl down on the floor, Sirius wiped his mouth messily with the back of his hand and turned his gaze back up to the group.


“Where am I?” he rasped, although the warmth suddenly spreading from his full stomach was easily enough to make him curl up and sleep right there on the carpet.


"A city called Colligo," Ariadne replied easily. She hadn't tried to draw Sirius out further while Eames and Regulus chatted in the kitchen and got the food ready. It was like dealing with a wounded wild animal or stray, you couldn't move too fast and startle them or they might only hurt themselves further. So she didn't do what she wanted to, which was hug Sirius as tightly as she was able; she just left her arm wrapped around him till Regulus gave Sirius the soup and the collection of bones masquerading as her friend moved down to the floor.


"We're not sure where we are, but it's not Earth. And we've all been given apartments like this. This one's yours," she added rather unnecessarily, her hand back on his shoulder.


Sirius swiped a bony finger around the edge of the bowl, licking the last few drops from the shaking digit as he looked around the place. This was his? Sirius' memory of his flat back in London was vague - even before he had spent more time in Godric’s hollow than he had there. But there was definitely something weirdly familiar about this. Perhaps they’d based it off his home there?


Then the fact that he wasn’t on earth crashed home, and he twisted to stare at Ariadne so fast there was a horrible cracking nose from his bones. “I’m not... But... Pettigrew. He... I need to find him. I have to fucking find him. Or what’s the point?!” Sirius’ voice rose as much as it was able to in some mix of anger and panic, catching painfully and rasping in his throat, that mad glint back in his otherwise dead eyes.


He’d spent years obsessing over finding that man. And to be told that now, after all this, now he finally out he possibly wouldn’t be able to find him... Sirius felt like screaming. Or crying. Tearing his hair out. Possibly a mixture of all three. It was like someone had swiped the last bit of comfort from underneath him.


Eames had been about to go and get some more soup for Sirius, but he stopped when he heard what Sirius was saying and saw how he was looking at Ariadne. And yes, this was Sirius and they were friends, and sure, he knew Ariadne could take care of herself, but Sirius was more than a bit insane right now, and he wasn’t going to risk anything happening to either of them. Moving quickly, he made his way round to crouch down beside Sirius, and if he happened to end up between his two friends, well. Coincidence, maybe?


“Sirius. Sirius, look at me, there’s a good lad,” he said, talking quickly and firmly, his hand resting gently on Sirius’ shoulder to try and keep the wizard paying attention to him. “The point is that you need to get your strength back. If you ran off to find him now, I don’t think you’d make it very far at all, do you? Possibly the front door, maybe even to the top of the stairs if you’re lucky. And do you know what you’d do to him once you find him? Actually, you probably do. But can you do that right now? Are you strong enough? Listen to me, come on. You need to rest, mate. You need to build yourself back up and you’ll need help with your planning because everyone always needs help with planning. And I swear, I’ll help you tear this place apart to look for this Pettigrew bloke if you want me to, but you are staying here until you’re better, okay? Okay?”


Morgana had kept her hand on Sirius a short moment before they apparated, easing what she could. And when they arrived she only stumbled slightly. She'd had plenty of time by the period she was pulled from to get used to that method of travel. Which was why she managed to pull herself together much more quickly than Ariadne and Eames had. That didn't necessarily mean that she was much more of a fan of it. While the others talked, Morgana made her way into Sirius' room to clean some things out. She was surprised to find it, for the most part, neat. Someone had already been there and had done their best to make the room livable, especially for a person who'd spent years in a place like Azkaban.


Quickly she righted anything else that might have been missed. She cast a few spells on his bed, taking out any lumps, and assuring that the mattress and cover would automatically keep him warm should he need it. She then took out some clothing from his closet and her gray eyes bled gold. Magically the clothes shrunk a bit in size as to not hang from the now emaciated body of their owner. Morgana spent the next minutes going over things that might make living and healing in his new environment easier for Sirius.


She was closing the door behind her when she heard Eames promise to help Sirius look for Peter. "He's right you know. You'll do yourself more harm than good if you try to leave now. And then what would that solve?" She asked with an arched brow, her tone wasn't unsympathetic but it was firm. She knew just how pig-headed Sirius could be. Especially, it came to Peter. "If Peter's here, we'll help you find him. I promise you that I will and I promise you that no one will stop you from beating the bloody hell out of him. However, not before you're stronger. You must rest regain some of your health first."


Sirius’ attention snapped easily onto Eames, his wide eyes fixing on another face with no obvious sign that he realized someone new was talking to him. Wormtail’s name, which had sounded like a drum in his thoughts for as long as he could remember, increased in volume and tempo until everything else was drowned out completely. Terrible, heartbreaking images flashed briefly before his eyes, and Eames’ words seemed to echo from a long distance away.


“I can do it,” he growled, “I don’t need a fucking wand. I’ll rip his throat out. I’ve had six fucking years to plan. Six years knowing I didn’t belong there with those things making me see their faces night after night and with that lot muttering at me through the fucking walls in the cold and the fucking damp and I’ve been planning. Six fucking years. I’m not waiting any longer. I don’t care.” He was muttering, his voice falling and the words tumbling madly into each other, staring at a point past Eames’ head, in the middle distance, at something which had happened long ago and had haunted him ever since. Morgana’s voice rang from someone else in the room, and Sirius shook his head anxiously in an attempt to ignore her, long hair swinging like a curtain.


“You don’t know me!” he snapped, angrily. “None of you have any fucking idea who I am! I’ve never seen you before!!” He stretched out a hand, bony fingers suddenly wrapping around Eames’ forearm. “You don’t know what Wormtail did. He killed them. The house burned. I saw what he’d done. The only real family I ever had, and he fucking took it all away. I have to find him. He fucking ruined everything. It’s all his fault. He killed them, after we would have done anything for him…. You don’t know.”


Regulus ran through the options on hand and reluctantly dismissed knocking Sirius out and forcing his brother to sleep, for a long period of time. No, he tried to convince himself, that wouldn’t be the right thing to do, no matter how desirable.


“Eames is right, though, Sirius,” Regulus said from back in the chair furthest away, where he had retreated once Sirius took the bowl. “Pettigrew has been hiding in a comfortable home for six years, while you’ve been on the edge of dying. You think if you met him now he wouldn’t just destroy you as he did them?” Regulus tried really hard to keep his voice even though he was seething with jealousy, he wasn’t ‘real’ family, despite his presence trying to help, despite the patronus, despite anything. But a glance towards everyone else and Regulus knew now really, really was’t the time to get into that. “What kind of revenge would that be?”


Morgana looked at Regulus as he spoke with a slightly arched expression. He had taken the words right out of her mouth. However, she could see that Sirius wasn't taking well to it being pointed out what he couldn't do. He had never been one for common sense before six years in a place that sucked away his sanity.


Her features softened slightly when Regulus continued but she quickly masked it. Knowing that neither brother would appreciate it at the moment. "Sirius, stop it!" Steel entered her tone but she didn't raise it. . She hated seeing him like that and he certainly wasn't doing himself any favors by getting worked up. In a few short steps she was in front of him, she didn't hesitate in cupping his face and looking straight in the eyes. "I know.", Morgana swallowed the dryness in her throat, her fingers and her tone soothing. "I do know what he did." Gray eyes held dark ones, "I do and I understand that feeling. That rage. That need to stop at nothing to hurt the person who destroyed what means so much to you, that is so much a part of you. If I could bring him to you, I would. If that would solve anything ... but right now, you can't even work yourself into a proper tantrum without feeling the need to keel over. Going after him now, what would that solve?” Her words a much more mild repetition of what Regulus had said. “Listen to your brother. What would that bring except your death. If he's here, we will find him. When you're stronger. Revenge will be better when you're strong enough." Seven years in this place, six years of motherhood didn't erase who a person was. As good-hearted as Morgana would always be, she was still more than a little bit gray. Still the young woman who wouldn't hesitate a king for his wrong doings. Except she could actually do it without being in the same room now, except now, her vision was a little bit less tunnel. "You know I'm right. You know that we all have a point."


Morgana had the over-whelming need to hug him, though she didn’t give into it, she leaned into him slightly. Uncaring that there were others watching. She would always be there for Sirius, he meant so much to her; even though he had no idea who she was. Even if that meant knocking him out if he continued on insisting to go after a man that might not even be in the city. Morgana couldn’t sense him but as powerful as she was, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She didn’t know exactly what she was sensing for as she’d never even met the man before.


Eames had shifted over when he realised Morgana was about to join in their little huddle on the floor, making sure that he’d still be able to intervene if Sirius tried to go for her. Sure, she was another all-powerful magic-user with spells up to her eyeballs, but he was the one that wasn’t going to let Sirius hurt his friends if it came down to it. The wizard still had his arm in a vice-like grip, and he was fairly certain there would be bruising in the morning, but as long as they were the only bruises that were given out, then everything was fine.


He stayed quiet as Morgana spoke, not really paying attention to her words since he was more interested in watching how Sirius was moving in case he had to move suddenly, and then he tensed for a brief moment when he noticed the way Morgana was leaning in towards the other man. Fuck, was she going to hug him? That would be either a brilliant idea or a spectacularly horrible one, depending on how Sirius reacted and Eames was of the opinion that it would be spectacularly horrible given the ranting from a few moments previous.


“C’mon, mate. You can rip his throat out, pour petrol up his arse and set fire to his innards, and we’ll probably fight each other for the privilege of holding the ballbag down for you. But not now. Right now, you need more soup if you’d like, and sleep.”


Sirius was exhausted past a point he could ever remember being, but even that did little to still the furious roundabout of his thoughts. It never had. He was quite sure Azkaban could have ripped his limbs off and had him bleed over the stone and he’d still have found more than enough strength to tear Pettigrew apart, fuelled by hatred and spite and agonizing hurt alone. He glared at his brother, silently challenging him over the room before Morgana blocked his view, warm, elegant hands coming to cradle his sharpened jaw as she stared him down with strong gray eyes. That shiver of recognition went up Sirius’ spine again, but was ignored. He was painfully aware of the unfamiliar feeling of hands against his skin, of another warm body clutched in his strong grip.


“I should just let him,” he spat out. “Wish he’d done it when I last saw him. Would have been better for both of us.”


Morgana seemed to move closer, and Eames spoke at his shoulder, and there were so many people talking at him. All telling him the same thing. To give up on the one thing which had kept him alive and breathing through everything. The one obsession which had stopped him giving up completely. Sirius felt like there was suddenly pressure pressing in on him at all times. He shied away from Morgana’s touch, snatched his hand from Eames’ wrist, and did exactly what he had learnt to do when things got too much.


The familiar, gaunt dog was suddenly sat in his place, quickly backing away from the group with its thick hair raised, teeth bared. Padfoot pressed his long body into the floor, ribs clearly visible as he fought for breath. He didn’t transform back. Just remained there, hidden in the corner, watching the group warily until his eyelids started to droop.