All Debts Must be Paid

Chapter Three: Sirius

All along the rocky coast the waves broke ceaselessly, crashing onto the beach of shingle and grinding down rocks fallen from the cliffs. Cliffs the sea might wear away in a million or so years. It hadn't done too well so far. The shingle banks were strewn with all sorts of flotsam washed up by the tide, orange plastic balls from fishing nets, packing crates, bits of rope, rubbish flung off oil rigs, the occasional shoe. Amongst all the human detritus, there was even the odd bit of seaweed. Sometimes the rubbish stayed on the banks of shingle, at others it was washed back off by the tide and taken further south by the currents, to Wick, or down into the Moray Firth. At one time, the people who lived along the coast would have scavenged the beaches, but few people lived on this stretch of coast now, and the hills above the cliffs were bare of habitation. The only scavengers now were seagulls, their raucous cries echoing from the cliffs and stacks.

Anything unusual caught their keen eyes and they would swoop low to investigate. Today, the incoming tide had left a heap of filthy rags and dark, matted fibres, still half in the water when the first gulls arrived. They flapped cautiously down to it, and beadily inspected it. It smelt strange. One, braver than the rest, or perhaps scenting carrion, took a peck.

The heap of rags twitched and gave a hoarse croak, resolving itself into a vaguely human shape that huddled up onto its knees. The birds flapped backwards in disgust. Not carrion, or not yet. The shape dragged itself fully out of the water onto the shingle bank, where it was violently sick, throwing up a mixture of seawater and bile. Then it pulled itself further, onto the other side of the shingle bank, above the tide line, and collapsed, unmoving. The seagulls waited; they could always wait.

It was the screaming that woke Sirius. It was always the screaming. Sometimes it was in his head, at others it was from outside, occasionally he couldn't tell which. Today it was definitely from outside. He opened his eyes and was momentarily surprised to see a human arm in front of his face instead of Padfoot's front leg. The surprise was wiped out by the discovery that he was lying on pebbles and dried seaweed, and that the screaming was from seagulls. He pulled himself up onto his elbows, looking around him in bewilderment at the cliffs, the rain-heavy sky and the empty horizon. He felt strangely numb inside as if something were missing and realised that he wasn't being eaten alive by those filthy creatures any more. That realisation brought the return of memory and he knew what had happened, who he was, what he had done, and panic flared in his guts. He tried to transform but didn't have the strength so he tried to stand up, but his legs shook too much. Instead, he crawled into the lee of a boulder at the foot of the cliff, and cowered there, desperate to get out from under the sky and spying eyes. They would be coming after him; of that, there could be no doubt, and they mustn't find him, not when what he had to do was so important.

He hadn't meant to pass out again, but realised he must have done so when he opened his eyes and the light was different. The light wasn't the only thing that was different. He could hear voices.

"…Fudge is an idiot," someone said. "We should've been out here yesterday, but the stupid bastard sits and spends the whole day dithering."

"For God's sake, calm down, Crusher," replied another voice, sounding exasperated and placating at the same time.

"Calm down! It's all very well for you to say calm down! You didn't lose all your family to Death Eaters," the first one, Crusher snapped.

"No, I only lost some of my family to them. Now get a hold of yourself, man! This isn't helping us find Black."

Instantly Sirius froze, suppressing a whimper of fear. He couldn't transform now, they might notice. Unfortunately, the boulder he was huddled behind blocked most of the beach from view and he couldn't see where the men - they must be Hit Wizards or Aurors, were standing - so he didn't know how much of him they might be able to see. If they did notice him transform they would know about Padfoot, and he couldn't let them find out about Padfoot. If he didn't have Padfoot, he'd go mad. If he were mad, he wouldn't be able to get the Rat. He had to get the Rat. So he crouched where he was, unmoving and hoped he looked like just another piece of flotsam.

The voices died away as the men moved off and he began to relax slightly. Then something was jabbed against his head and Crusher's voice said, very distinctly in his ear, "Move an inch you bastard and I'll forget that I'm not allowed to use the Killing Curse."

Oh no, no please, you don't understand! Sirius wanted to scream at them. Don't take me back! I have to kill him - get the bastard - it was him … his thoughts rattled off into incoherence.

The other Hit Wizard remarked, "Bloody hell! I didn't think it was going to be this easy! Well, what are you waiting for, Crusher? Knock him out!"

---

Sirius blinked groggily and groaned. Someone had kicked him in the ribs as they woke him up. He tried to sit up but realised the Hit Wizards had tied him up with magical cords and his wrists and ankles were firmly bound.

"Crusher! What the bloody fuck do you think you're doing?" the second Hit Wizard yelled.

"Paying off some old scores," snarled Crusher. "I don't think I'm going to get the chance again."

The man kicked Sirius in the ribs again and he gasped in pain. "To think that this pathetic heap of shit was responsible for all those deaths." Sirius tried to curl up to protect himself, but the Hit Wizard was going berserk.

It wasn't me, I didn't do it, he yelled at them in his mind, but all he managed to say out loud was, "Noo…please…"

The other Hit Wizard managed to pull Crusher away. "Cut it out, Stan!" he yelled.

Crusher yelled back at him and it almost seemed as if they had forgotten him. At least Crusher had stopped kicking him. Sirius' eyes flickered between them. The other Hit Wizard, a tall man with short greying hair, was looking distinctly panic-stricken as he remonstrated with Crusher, who in turn, looked as demented as any Azkaban inmate. Sirius began to cautiously inch backwards away from them.

But Crusher seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. "Don't move!" he snarled, and kicked backwards catching Sirius' kneecap with the heel of his boot. Sirius choked back a scream.

"Merlin, am I talking to myself?" demanded the other one. "I said cut it out! For God's sake let's just get back to the Sinclair's, so we can get him to Azkaban where he belongs."

"What's the hurry, Jacks?" demanded Crusher. "It's not as if they'll care if he's in one piece."

"That's hardly the point. You can satisfy your need for revenge by making him walk."

Crusher removed the cords from Sirius' ankles and then kicked him until he managed to stand up. The pain from his knee was so bad he thought they were asking for miracles if they expected him to walk anywhere. He hadn't walked for more than a few metres at a time in nearly twelve years. Eventually, just as he thought he would, he fell over, and no matter how much Crusher kicked him, he couldn't force himself to get up again, so he just rolled into a defensive ball.

He was hardly aware when the kicking stopped and someone pulled back his head by the hair and poured some foul tasting potion down his throat. He choked on the searing warmth, as it sent tendrils of strength curling into his body. But it wasn't enough to stop the pain in his rapidly stiffening knee, and after a moment the wizard, it was the other one, Jacks gave an exasperated sigh and tapped his knee with his wand muttering a charm under his breath. This time Sirius found he could stay upright when they roughly pulled him to his feet.

Jacks gave him a push in the small of his back and Sirius started to walk. His mind had gone almost completely blank, as he slowly put one foot in front of the other. Then a drop of something wet spattered onto his neck, and another drop spattered onto his front. He stopped in surprise and looked upwards, letting the scattered rain drops fall onto his face and dribble down his chin. He had forgotten what rain felt like. It wasn't particularly pleasant, because it was cold, and he was still bone cold despite the potion. But it was different and it jerked him out of the blankness, let him think again which was good, he thought.

"Come on, get a move on!" Jacks yelled in his ear.

Sirius started walking again, watching each foot as he stepped on the shingle. The walk seemed interminable, although of course when it ended it would be back to the Dementors, so he wished it would really be interminable. When they sent him back, he didn't know if he would have the strength to carry on, to try again - because he had to find a way, he just had to. He had to get the Rat - make him pay - and try to protect Harry from him, even if he was twelve years too late. But he was afraid that taste of freedom, however brief it had been, after so long, would destroy him.

Eventually, as his legs had started to shake from the unaccustomed exercise, they rounded a curve in the cliffs to see a small sandy bay with a stream emptying into the sea. On the stretch of pasture that rose up behind the beach a small, white-harled croft stood, with a scatter of old stone buildings around it. Fields of ripening barley and hay ran behind it up to the moorland beyond.

"Right," Sirius heard Jacks say behind him, "I'm not taking any chances. Stupefy!" And everything went dark.