He Pleaded Insanity

An auror seized him roughly by the arm, wrenching him from the dark, cold interview room and Sirius didn't fight back. He didn't do anything anymore. What was the point? Peter had gotten away from him. Now he was in a rough inquiry, not even a trial. He had a public defender but Sirius was really no help to him at all. The attorney thought he was guilty, and convinced him into a plea of insanity but Sirius didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he was guilty. It was his fault. He had been an accessory to the murders of Lily and James Potter. He'd killed his best friends. He'd suspected Remus of being the traitor and now Remus thought he was a traitor. He didn't care. If it were possible, he imagined that he were hollow. His emotions were numb. He felt lost in a fog of indifference.

He was thrust into a chair, and forced to listen as people took the stand and told the jury what'd happened. An elderly gentleman with knobby knees, knowing green eyes and crooked old fingers took the stand. He was sworn in and he waited impatiently for the questioning to begin.

"Where were you on the morning of November 1, 1981?"

"North Pine Street, sir," the elderly man replied, a sadness creeping across his weathered features.

"About what time?"

"Ten o' clock, sharp."

"What did you see?"

"A saw two men meeting up in the middle of the street."

"Please describe them for the court."

"One was short, and squat; he had mouse-coloured brown hair, and he also had large front teeth."

"And the other?"

"The other had long black hair that reached his shoulders; he was muscular, approximately six feet, and he had the darkest eyes I've ever seen."

"Is he in the court room today?"

The old man looked around, and then his eyes met Sirius's. "Yes. That's him," he said, raising a slow withered arm and pointing. Sirius looked down; he'd been identified. He was going to Azkaban. He was going to spend life in prison.

'Good,' Sirius thought, 'I deserve it.' And then the memories began to surface.

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He was walking down the cold London street. October had ended, fall had set in. It was raining, Sirius didn't care. He was after Peter. Peter betrayed the Potters. Peter orphaned Harry. Peter sold them to Voldemort. Peter had to die.

Sirius found him. He advanced driving that rat into an alleyway, a dead end. Sirius didn't care about the street full of muggle witnesses. He didn't care about anything; he was numb. He reached for his wand as Peter yelled, "Lily and James, Sirius! Why?"

Then the street blew up. Sirius only just caught a glimpse of a miniscule rat running down the sewers. He laughed. He laughed so very hard that he was struggling to breathe. That worthless piece of nothing, Pettigrew, had bested him! He'd bested Sirius Black, one of the top wizards in his class. He'd gotten away. Sirius laughed.

Then the aurors came. They found him laughing. They thought he was insane; deranged. He didn't care. Perhaps he was a bit deranged. After all, he'd suspected Remus of being the traitor. He'd suspected Remus of being in league with Voldemort! They loaded him into a Ministry van full of highly trained and dangerous aurors. They took his wand and snapped it in front of him. He didn't care. His laugher gave way to great and terrible sobs. He cried for a time that he couldn't fathom. He just sat and wept. Now they thought he was really disturbed. But he still didn't care.

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He snapped back to the present. The man was telling the story of what he saw. He told about the laughter, and Sirius cringed. He remembered every second of the madness that had taken him then. His attorney stood up for the cross examination and stepping forward to ask the first question.

"Did you get a close look at the defendant's face?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did he look?"

"He was upset about something; violently so."

"And when he laughed, was it the laugh of an ordinary man?"

"No, he seemed, well, insane, sir."

"Your honor, no further questions."

Sirius looked down at his chafed and shackled hands. Blood was creeping out from underneath the cold steel, but he forced himself not to care. 'This isn't anything compared to death,' came the whisper of his mind. When he looked up again, the jury left the make-shift inquiry room. Most of them were aurors. He didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of getting out of Azkaban on the plead of insanity. They filed in. They returned a unanimous verdict, guilty as charged. Sane and accountable for his actions. He was going to Azkaban. Sirius felt so emptied, he doubted even the dementors of Azkaban could possibly make him feel worse. He submitted and was lead to a cold, dark cell. He stayed in there for nearly twelve years as a dark-haired boy with green eyes like his mother grew up alone. Parentless. And Sirius couldn't help but think, 'It's my fault.'