In the Closet - Internal Beasties Part I

In the Closet - Internal Beasties, Part I

It was after the fire had died down, when the intense, smouldering glow had completely faded from the coals, that Sirius Black began to wake up. He had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs before the hearth. He hadn't slept soundly; it had been that type of half-waking sleep that is haunted by voices and conscious thoughts but manages somehow to be much more restful than true, deep sleep can ever be.

Sirius had realized, suddenly, that there were no sounds left; the symphonies and conversations of the somnolent mind had hushed. He realized, too, that his eyes were closed and responded by opening them. The corners and contours of the common room materialized; they were muted by darkness, but the moon had only just begun to wane and was curvaceously full of pale light. For that he was grateful; when there was too little light, he always felt smothered, blinded. At home the rooms were full of shadows.

Sirius' was suddenly aware of his heart pulsing inexorably inside his chest. They can sense your heartbeat. They can hear you breathing, too. Sirius shuddered, and tried to dissuade his mind from taking the course it inevitably took when he found himself alone in the darkness. Obsessive, Cousin Bella had called him, that his mind became fixed onto one idea and wouldn't let go or look the other way. Back before his sorting last week and her resultant scorning of all things Sirius, Cousin Bella used to tell him stories. She knew everything, and she told stories so well that every time he heard one he felt as if he had learned something new about himself. Sometimes he didn't like it.

'Everyone has their own kind,' she had told him. 'They're all wicked sly though. That's one thing they all have in common. You'll probably never see one coming. Ever. But they always watch you and they know where to find your throat. They find the place where the pulse is strongest.'

Sirius curled his legs underneath him on the cushion, suddenly fearful that malevolent forces lurked beneath his chair and sensed the subtle movement that was his blood reaching out into his toes. Every breath he took brought a mouthful of apprehension into his throat and any moment he could choke, make a stupid move, and then he would be finished, caput: they would take him.

Sirius thought desperately. If only he could get into his dormitory, where the heartbeats of three additional boys would cause confusion; four active circulatory systems meant safety in numbers. Could it be done? Sirius peeked around the back of his chair and scrutinized the staircase, weighing the pros and cons. If he ran for it, he might be taken down as he fled; in his mind he felt himself pushed to the ground, felt bruises forming and the wind knocked out of his chest, clawed hands gripping him, teeth tearing at his stomach and throat - of course, if he stayed in his seat he was only safe temporarily. Either way he could parish.

Slowly, realizing what he must do, Sirius stood in his chair, balancing carefully on the unstable surface. He placed one foot on the solid arm and considered his potential trajectory. He reckoned that if he could leap far enough to land in yonder patch of pale moonlight, he could begin to scale the staircase before anything got its wits together and came galumphing from the corners or slithering on its sinister belly. Of course, the staircase itself was a risk; layers upon layers of shadows that required great speed. But he could do it. He was Sirius Black, after all.

In one mighty burst of energy Sirius vaulted from his chair and hit the carpet running. He ignored the protest that his tendons made upon impact, and pushed himself forward with every ounce of determination he could find within his slender frame. He was running up the stairs as fast as he ever had, almost tripping once but saving himself and regaining speed, barely avoiding the clutches of the sound that was echoing right at his heels. His lungs were labouring under the exertion, and he could see the dormitory now -

At the top of the stairs he tripped, falling forward into the carpet and scraping his wrists. Sirius curled into a tragic knot, sure that this was the end of him and praying that Regulus had the strength to carry on the family line. Sobs were coming in his throat, arresting his breath, but he made no effort to quash them - this was the end, after all.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and twisted to meet his death.

Instead he found himself staring into surprisingly sympathetic, brown eyes. It was that Remus Lupin half-blood, looking rather the worse for wear from his mysterious illness the day before. 'All right?' Remus asked him, and Sirius felt momentarily very young.

He pulled away. 'Yeah,' he said, 'just fell and all. Winded. Trying to get my breath back.' He should have thought of something better - sixth year was chasing me or there was a troll in the common room - but Sirius was paralysed by humiliation. For the sake of Circe, he'd been crying, and this boy, who he'd never spoke to before, had seen it.

Remus looked at him knowingly. 'Don't worry,' he said, bearing his teeth in a mock growl, 'I'm fiercer 'n anything can hide in those shadows.' Remus twisted his lips suddenly, apprehension steeling into his expression.

Sirius failed to note Remus' distress, already envying the boy's courage. 'I'm glad you - you know...' Sirius attempted to articulate. 'Everyone else bangs on about it's all inside me, right. Not real. But you know 'em. You get it.'

'Yes I - well, what's inside is sometimes what you got to worry about the most,' said Remus, turning his pallid face to gaze out the window.

Sirius tried to look thoughtful. 'You reckon?' he said, hoping for further explanation because he didn't quite understand.

The boy offered nothing more.

And Sirius - well, he certainly couldn't distinguish between whether he was seeing loneliness, discontent or sickness in his new companion, but it would be doing him an injustice to say that he couldn't sense unhappiness in some form.

For the first time in Sirius' life, someone else's welfare became his concern. After all, this was the boy who had as good as offered to fight them off for Sirius, and that made it his responsibility to ensure Remus was content, he reasoned. So he punched the boy on the arm, lightly. 'How 'bout a game of chess?' he offered. 'Take your mind off it.'

'I'm not all that good...' Remus said reluctantly.

'I'm sure you're very good,' he insisted. Remus hadn't made fun of him for crying, had made him feel better - Sirius was unable to let this boy think that he was any less than what Sirius was beginning to see him to be.

~

Fin