Black as Night (Sirius Black)

Hides the Face, Lies the Snake

"In guess we can — my place is better furnished and has all our groceries though. I thought we agreed..."

Sirius shook his head, eyes still closed as Colleen worked her magic on his back muscles. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off to give her better access.

"Not my flat. My actual house— the one that's been in the Black family for ages. It's not too far from here at all— in Islington. Pretty sure I'm not supposed to go there, but I'm getting a bit tired of following the rules."

"I'm up for it. Sounds rather exciting, actually. Is the house magical?"

"You have no idea," Sirius replied.

**********

The stone was ice cold against his cheek, not just from the constant presence of the Dementors this time but because winter had officially arrived to the North Sea. Of course that close to the Arctic Circle, most of the year was spent in the clutches of bitterly cold wind, which whipped and whistled through the purposeful cracks in the stone.

Normally Sirius slept sitting up, unless he chose to spend the night as Padfoot. He strived to keep himself as alert as possible, even when catching brief moments of sleep. Tonight the tremors of his cold, aching bones were unbearable against the cell floor. He couldn't transform tonight if he'd wanted to. It had been a testing night, and Sirius's number had been called. Which meant a spellmaster from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had paid him a visit, armed with quill and parchment, a pocket watch that told time down to the millisecond, and emergency medical supplies in case his experiment went too far. The Ministry couldn't afford too much of a scandal.

The Tester had spent the better part of two hours measuring the effects of the Cruciatus Curse— testing new nuances to the spell casting, gauging bodily reactions, timing each one and seeing how long it took for each to respond to a particular curative potion or counter spell. The Testers were covered head to toe in a protective magical suit specially designed to guard them from the effects of the Dementors, so Sirius never saw the face of his torturer. After the man had departed, one of the Dementors floated into the cell in his place, stale bread and lukewarm water suspended in midair in front of it. Supper time. Sirius stomach was in such a knot from the experiments that he didn't give the bread a second glance. It was better that way. The thinner he was, the sooner he could escape.

Dementors didn't emit sounds on their own, unless they were actively attacking, and even then it wasn't a monstrous shriek or roar. It was an eerie suction of air, a hissing, like a haunted whistle cavorting in the winds of the darkest night. Sirius could hear it drifting over from the adjacent cell. It was this low hum that served as the excruciating soundtrack of Azkaban, never ending, like a ringing in the ears. Most of the time he could tune it out, the way one would a fan blowing or a car passing on a Muggle street. But tonight it caught in his brain and made his heart race. He couldn't take an attack tonight. Not after what he'd just been through. Not ever again...he had to break free...before they came again...

Shouting...his own...knowing they were headed to him next, the dark shadowy tentacles becoming visible in the moonlit crack...

Sirius heard the last notes of his shout fade across Colleen's room, and he became aware of his skin, pasted with sweat to her cool satin sheets. His breath was coming in uncontrolled, involuntary waves, and tears hovered at the corners of his eyes.

"Sirius!"

He gazed up in terror at the pale face of his angel-eyed partner, hovering above him in the moonlight streaming in from her window, not the crack of his cold Azkaban cell. Her hand came to his cheek, her thumb capturing his tear. Embarrassment washed over him instantly.