Sirius Black (dogstar) wrote in linia, @ 2012-02-11 18:28:00 |
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The candlelight from the hard-wood desk flickered back and forth a few times from the breeze billowing in from the nearby open window. A tantalising odour floated through the air, quite possibly coming from the Great Hall below. Arid scents of meat and pastries filtered through the hallways, teasing the senses of whoever so much as opened their mouths to talk.
From the corner of the room, a man lay sprawled out across a divan. His black hair was tousled in every direction, and a light dusting of beard had overtaken much of his face and part of his neck. There was beside him a small pile of innumerable cigars, all having been smoked and discarded fairly quickly. Though he appeared to be sleeping at first glance, the man was indeed awake; grey eyes remained fixated upon the opposite wall. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be a lazy, worn-out old professor. But on the inside of his mind, he was so much more.
Sirius Black had never in his life felt so helpless. Certainly there were times in which he had been powerless-- pretending to be a Death Eater meant watching things you hated get by. It meant you had to let the bad things happen. And sometimes, the bad things meant they happened to your friends. The thought forced out of Sirius a low groan, like the bourdon note of an organ. He brought one hand up to his face and dug his fingers roughly into his flesh. Losing James had been a horrible tragedy, and he still didn't know if he had fully processed it yet. It was all too much to bear at times, and to have to see Karkaroff's face and be completely normal in his presence...
"Damn it," he said, his voice coarse. He rolled onto his side and forced himself upright, the rush of sitting up after he had been lying still for so long causing him to pause a moment. His eyes darted round the room as he collected himself and for the first time in a long time, he felt as though there was a tremendous pressure pushing down upon him. Where one might imagine he would have become accustomed to it by now, for he did have quite a lot beforehand anyway, there was no denying for Sirius a feeling of inability. This time around, there was no certainty on his ability to cope with it.
Once again he raised his hand to rub his face, his forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment while he attempted in vain to herd his thoughts. His hand slid down his face and stopped to pull at his mouth, his tired eyes raising so he could stare at the candle sitting on his desk. Despite his best attempts, there was no stopping his brain from going to the places he didn't know how to escape from.
Why did it have to be James?
"Damn it!" he said again, this time louder. He stood from his seat angrily, pacing the floor back and forth. Sirius was at a loss; he didn't know what to do, and he didn't even know where to start.
"It should have been me," he mumbled, lowly. "I should have been the one to die. James, why did y--"
A rustling noise reached his ears. His head jerked up in the direction of his window, almost as if he had just barely realised it was still open. Angry at himself for blurting out what could have been interpreted by another Death Eater as proof of his allegiances, Sirius whipped out his wand and waved it at the window. It slammed shut so hard that the glass shattered, a couple of the shards fell out to knock over the candle and spill wax all over the papers on his desk.
"Shit!" Sirius hissed as he scrambled about, attempting to salvage what parchments had been savaged by the wax. His journal lie open, a few spots of wax having splattered against the blank pages. While he wiped down his desk, careful not to ruin his work, he realised that he was shaking a little. He paused and stared at his arm briefly, the quivering of his muscles making his jaw tighten while he stared blankly. Why did he shake? Was he really so angry? Slowly, he lowered himself into the chair behind him and turned his attention to the blank, wax-littered pages of his journal. His conversation with Lily, with Andromeda, with everyone.
Everyone but James.
Prongs was dead, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He had been killed in cold blood while Sirius was busy playing professor. His best friend, his proverbial brother, had died and the only thing Sirius could do was pretend it didn't happen, that it didn't affect him. Only now was it catching up to him, so many days after the fact, and he felt his throat constrict as he tried to swallow. His eyes began to sting as he steeled his jaw and leaned back in his seat. Everything just seemed to fall in front of him uncontrollably and he felt powerless to stop it. The promises he'd made, to keep his friends safe...
What good was he in protecting Lily and Harry, when he didn't even manage to help James?