Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Insane1 Reviews
Am I insane? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have no way of knowing.
Disclaimer: Never owned Harry Potter, never will. The insanity is mine, though.
A/N: This fic is written for Debbie. :) I hope you have a magical birthday, Debbie.
Insane. In-Sane. Am I? I've always wondered, you know, when I did something that had people in stitches, or frightened. Mostly just angry with me though. Except James, of course. From that first day, I knew he'd stand by me.
I killed him, though. Him and Lily both. I was stupid.
I can hear them, even now. It's strange that my worst memory is one of happy laughter and delighted smiling, isn't it? There are others, but this one... this one is always first, when the soul-suckers approach.
I'm clearly insane. Yet maybe not. In. Sane. Does that mean that the sanity is inside? And what people call insanity is just a layer of protection? Hmm... Perhaps. Perhaps not. I could talk about this with Remus, but well, I'm in prison, and he's all alone. Again.
Another promise I broke. I killed them, the two people who meant more to me than anything else. I deserted my last living friend, cursing him to a loneliness that will destroy him. I killed them, and I good as killed him.
Really fucking brilliant record I have, eh?
It started so nice, that first day.
Sirius bounded down the hallway of the train, dragging a lightened trunk after him, completely ignorant of the shouts and glares he was provoking. At every compartment, he'd look inside, each time starting to walk again.
'/Maybe he's not on the train?' he thought, entering the next to last passenger car. /
"/Oi! Sirius!" a boy called, and Sirius grinned widely. /
"'/ello James!" he called, stepping on the toes of a fourth year who was glaring at him to keep silent. James ran towards him and the two boys shook hands in greeting, before James led Sirius to the compartment he'd secured. /
The boys had known each other for years, as did most of the more prominent wizarding families. Formal dinners and occasions offered plenty occasions for the younger generation to know each other.
The Blacks didn't encourage Sirius' friendship with James, despising the Potter's attitude towards blood purism. They did not restrict Sirius though, and the boy was allowed to visit James, the two of them becoming thick as thieves.
James helped Sirius hoist his trunk up in the baggage rack, and the two 11-year olds sent the first hours chatting the time away, catching up. After an hour, they were certain that nobody was looking for seats anymore, so they left their compartment to look at the other students and see as much of the train as they could.
After passing through two cars filled with younger students, they entered the part of the train that the older students reserved for themselves. Just as James turned to Sirius to suggest that perhaps they didn't need to see another car, mean laughter echoed through the car.
Several heads poked through the doors of some compartment, but most of them pulled back, losing interest at the sight of the large, bulky boy dressed in Slytherin robes and the small, obviously a first-year student.
James lost his smile and he nodded at Sirius. They knew how to handle bullies, having had to deal with Sirius' relatives, not all of them even remotely inclined to let Sirius fraternize with the Potters.
Hands deep in the robe pockets, James walked towards the two students.
The younger student was wearing a worn robe that was a size too big, and his hand was holding the brass handle of an antique and obviously very heavy trunk. He was looking at the older student with a resigned expression, one that James recognized. It was the look of one frequently bullied, who knew that fighting back was not an option. The bully was holding a wand in the air with both his hands, poised as if to break it.
Sirius was right behind him, whistling a cheery tune that made the Slytherin and the first year look at them in surprise. His face hardened at the sight of Sirius, and he lowered his hands, reaching with on to get his own wand.
"/Why, hello, Parkinson," Sirius said, grinning at the small boy when Parkinson glared at him. /
While Sirius began talking about everything and anything, James walked around Parkinson, motioning towards the loo that was located that way. Once he was behind the Slytherin he stopped and grinned at the unknown boy before taking a couple of running steps and jumping feet first in Parkinson's legs.
The large boy toppled over immediately, and the small boy needed to instruction to grab his wand and start running, dragging the heavy trunk after him. James and Sirius joined him after planting a few kicks on the prone body of the Parkinson boy. He was yelling and cursing, but he was having difficulty standing, prevented by the narrowness of the hallway.
The three first years quickly arrived to the compartment James and Sirius had occupied earlier, only to find another boy there, struggling to place his trunk on the rack.
"/H-hello," he stuttered at their arrival. "I saw that it was taken, b-but I didn't have where to stay," he said. /
"/It's okay," Sirius said. "There's enough room here for four. I'm Sirius, this is James. Who are you?" /
"/I'm Remus. Remus Lupin. Thank you for helping me," the bullied boy replied. /
"/Peter. P-Pettigrew," the new boy squeaked, blushing. /
James and Sirius grinned at the two boys and began quizzing them about what they knew about magic, and upon finding out that Remus had a Muggle father, to pester him with questions about Muggles. By the time they arrived at Hogwarts, they were the best of friends.
Friends. They were my friends. Well, they're not my friends now. I killed them. Well, not all of them. Pettigrew escaped, that filthy rat. I wish I could see him now, hiding in some sodden Muggle pipe, eating trash.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
How could I be so stupid? I never should have trusted my brain in that. Stupid!
I should have trusted my instincts. They have never led me wrong, ever. Of course, they led me into danger, but never wrong. Frost forms on my bars.
Strange. The bars themselves never age, never get worn. From the first day, so many years ago, these bars have been the same. I tried marking them, those first few months, raging in despair, throwing myself at them.
Yet they are still the same. Shiny, almost.
Strange, how that thought amuses me. Nothing can ever be shiny in here. Nothing. Ever. Not the brightest flame, not the largest diamond. They take care of that. The air is filled with their presence; with their hunger, their chilling cold.
I'm getting cold. Why...
Oh. They're coming. Usually, I would feel them, but I can't. Not anymore. Maybe it's because they evoke the darkest memories we have, and I always think of that. How could I not? It's all that I have to live for. For the friends I killed, for the friend I abandoned, and for the one I did not kill.
I let myself drop on the cot they call a bed in prison, and close my eyes. I do not want to see Lily's smiling face or James' proud look as I suggest that they kill themselves. That's what I did, you know? When I told them the Peter would be a better Secret Keeper, because nobody would expect it to be him.
They listened to me. And killed themselves.
Stupid! How could we be so stupid!
What's that? Voices?
"Mr. Black, it's good to see you."
I bet it's good to see me, you bastard. I have no words for you, Minister. I wonder what you draw from my silence, which makes you pale so. Or perhaps it's the two Dementors on each side. Yes, maybe it is. What memories could you have to be terrified so? Perhaps throwing a temper tantrum when the crossword wasn't solved properly. Did you cry?
Crossword. You have the paper, Minister. Would it be possible...?
Damn, my voice is rusty. He understood though. It's a surprise. I didn't think him capable of conscious speech. Perhaps I might talk to him... or not. Why are you in such a hurry, Minister? Dementors too much for you? At least you gave me the paper. How long has it been, I wonder.
How dare he! How dare he taunt me so! I will kill you, Wormtail!
Fortunately, I'm too weak for any serious movement, or I would have torn the paper apart in my anger. He is there. In the paper. I know him, I'd recognize him anywhere.
Stay still, Worm. I'm coming for you.
Or you can run. You can always run. And I will find you, and finish what I started. I wonder if I could take a Dementor with me, and lock you in a room with one. Maybe you can suffer what I suffered.
Maybe you'll go insane, like I am.
In. Sane. Am I insane, planning revenge in a prison nobody escaped from?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. My instincts tell me it's right.
I'm insane. But I have a purpose now.
Run, Wormtail, run.