Eyes in the Dark

The dim glow of the streetlights made golden pools on the pavement, reflecting off the puddles left from the earlier rain. The houses were dark and quiet, the sky cloudy and close. The odd smell of wet ground lingered in the little side street, and Charlie inhaled deeply, not because she liked the smell but because it reminded her of schoolyards in winter and walking in the town after a sudden downpour, watching the people creep out of their little hideouts and dry havens and fill the street once more.

It was quite a familiar road to her house, the one she was traversing now. Old Victorian houses, once upper-class homes for rich families, now avoided dereliction as one-bed flats. The paintwork was tatty and the gardens unkempt - a pity, in Charlie's opinion.

She began to walk along the street, her smart black court shoes echoing off the high buildings. Every so often, she would glance nervously down one of the black little alleyways that led behind the houses, and to the next road as well. A young witch could never be too careful these days. Coming to the final bin-lined passageway, she glanced down into it - and froze.

There were eyes in the dark.

She stared at them for a while, paralysed by uncertainty and vague fear. All she could see were gleaming orbs, unblinking, animal, reflecting the lamps' orange glow.

Instinctively, without thinking, she pulled out her wand. A mistake. Her fear became real, materialised in the shadow of the lurking beast, and she gasped as with a snarl that was not quite animal the eyes leapt towards her. Hands grabbed her, a palm over her mouth and fingers round her wrist - with pure fear, she felt a flurry of robes and a strong, sinewy and death-cold touch - her bare skin connecting with her attacker's. She fought furiously with the darkness, writhing and struggling with not a chance to scream or think as the man wrested for her wand and her surrender. Lashing out, she felt a foot connect with something, inducing a grunt of pain in her attacker. Feeling the fingers on her wrist slacken, she twisted her arm, pulled away, made a break for the alley entrance. She staggered, tripped, fell and then staggered back up again, losing her wand in the process but caring little. She could not think, or take it in, or ask the question why; all she could do was fight for her life.

But dustbins intervened. With an unholy clash, they were overturned as she tripped and was grabbed round the waist. She fell to the ground, her head met the wall with a sickening crack, and the warning orange glow dimmed to black.

*

For a long time, Charlotte lay still, in that silent and blissfully dark space that is always there before waking up, if you spend some time to enjoy it. For a second, all she thought about was how warm she was, and how she wished that annoying little ache would go away, and how her arm was cold in its position on top of the blanket. Then she began wondering who was breathing on her face. Then, with a hideous jolt to reality, she realised the situation she had been in. Memories flooded back. Dark, fear, streetlamps, cold wrists...

Her eyes snapped open and adrenalin shot through her, preparing her to run before even being fully awake. She saw, in distorting close proximity, the waxy-skinned face of the man who had been breathing on her. She attempted to rise with a cry, but her vision dissolved and an agonising headache struck her. A firm but gentle hand pushed her shoulder down, and a hoarse voice whispered,

"Shh, steady!"

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be ordered. She was probably, hopefully, surely in hospital. Alarmed by the prospect of her potential injuries, she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on wriggling fingers and toes. All there. No aches and pains except from a sore ankle and the battering of an alleyway floor. She felt the slight weight of the doctor shift from leaning across her, and slowly, with a vague unsettled feeling, like there was something she'd missed when she'd first glimpsed the room, she opened her eyes.

The ceiling was grey and cracked. I don't think much to this hospital, she thought, with an undercurrent of anxiety. Something wasn't right. She opened her eyes again from her position on her side, and tried to spot what it was that was making her uneasy. Then the rags, the mouldy walls, the coldness and the dank smell all entered her befuddled awareness. In no way was this a hospital.

She shot up again, but almost instantly moaned and clapped a hand over her face, succumbing to the agony in her head and lying down, screwing up her eyes, doing anything to make it stop.

"Drink?" said the hoarse voice with a tinge of irony. She tried to turn her head to squint at her company. It hurt, but it was bearable. She opened her eyes a little further, then a little more...they flicked open.

And she beheld Sirius Black.

He was almost exactly the way the pictures showed - his hair had been cut roughly, but apart from that, the skin, the thinness, the horrible hollow shadowed eyes - all were the same. She recoiled in terror. Memories rose and fought for dominance in her mind - reading the paper in the great hall in horror and seeing the despicable deeds her former idol had committed - the whispered conversations about the case, conversations unwittingly overheard - the feelings of joy for the dark lord's demise so tinged with atrocities - and, more recently, the ripple of fear that had rocked the magical community to its core as something impossible occurred - a Death Eater, possibly the most dangerous of all, had escaped. Her first emotion was horror.

"I don't usually have to rugby tackle then knock out and abduct women to offer them a drink - mind you, it has been a long time." He gave a sinister grin, and offered her the cup. "Do you think I look old?"

"No," she said, croaking her response automatically. Horrible, terrifying, vampire-like - that was more like it. She'd be horrified at what Azkaban had done to a face that had looked so handsome - if it hadn't been for what he'd done. She was rocked by his tormenting presence, his clear callous evil. That he could joke with thirteen people dying in his eyes...she could see them, and the image made her feel physically sick.

"You're just saying that because you're scared of me," he said in a teasing voice. "Don't worry - I'm just going to check you haven't got a major brain haemorrhage and then clear this whole event from your mind."

She suppressed her fear and sickness and tried to absorb this information slowly. Thinking was proving difficult. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling suddenly unbearably nauseous. She was trapped in a room with a ruthless mass murderer with nothing to lose, who could kill her at any time. What could she do? The only thing she could do was hold her breath and pray she could escape. At the moment he didn't appear to have any intention of harming her. She decided to risk a little defiance - she couldn't bear the idea of submitting to this evil creature.

"What if I don't want my memory erased?"

She found it preferable to other possible ways of shutting her up, but still the idea of not remembering something that had happened to her, to have a whole section of her life utterly lost to her yet accessible to him was detestable.

"Well, I am a mass murderer, you know," he said, confirming what she already knew - she wouldn't be able to stop him from doing whatever he liked. He also made this comment with apparent great amusement. She felt horror at the fact that he could shrug off the murder of thirteen people. How could he laugh and joke and tease like this, with all the death and blood and slaughter on his hands?

"Why not just kill me?" she said, disgusted at him, feeling utter contempt, wanting to show her defiance even if he made her regret it.

"Good question. My compassionate heart," he volunteered, with another nasty grin. She was repulsed.

"And yet your compassionate heart does not extend to thirteen innocent people?"

"Twelve innocent people. One of them was as guilty and fully deserved to be blown to smithereens." All trace of a grin was gone now.

"Rubbish! You are the only guilty one here, but you don't even care. And so what if it was 'only' twelve?"

He looked at her contemplatively.

"Well the truth is I didn't kill them."

"Don't be ridiculous. Think of the witnesses!"

He sighed. There were the shadows of Dementors in his eyes, and Charlie was glad.

"I'm not going to spend any time attempting to convince you of my innocence. It barely matters. All I need to do is get rid of you, so I can get out of this country and find some sun."

Charlie swallowed. She hoped he did not decide it would be easier just to do away with her now and save himself this hassle. Her next comment hovered in the air for a while, held back by fear, before recklessly, daringly, she said it.

"All the more reason to kill me quickly then."

"Perhaps it is," he growled. He twiddled his wand thoughtfully. "But that just makes the fact that I'm not going to all the more out of my character as a madman. Doesn't it?"

He lapsed into a brooding silence, leaving Charlie very confused.

"I knew you, you know."

"Pardon?" asked Black gruffly. He looked up from where he was disembowelling a rabbit, probably caught from the local park or even some poor child's back garden. Charlie had been watching him in morbid fascination for the past ten minutes. He put the thing now only vaguely resembling an animal down, apparently finished, and wiped the knife on the newspaper he had put the unpleasant leftovers from his job on. She shivered at the sight of the six-inch blade.

"Thought I'd make an effort, what with company and all that." He gestured at the neatly cut meat and grinned at her disgusted expression. "What were you saying?"

"I knew you at Hogwarts," she answered dully.

He frowned, trying to place her face.

"Oh no, you wouldn't know me. I was an official member of the Sirius Black fan club, started by some of my friends while you were in fifth year. At age eleven I thought you were all I could ever desire in a man."

He laughed, a more innocently amused laugh than she had seen before; she caught a glimpse of the Sirius Black of old, the one she and a large proportion of the Gryffindor girls had stalked for two years. It frightened her.

"Of course, a lot has changed since then," she said coldly. He looked at her and sighed.

"I know. I'd kill to get back to how it was then."

His wry smile left her contemplating the infinite irony of that statement, and wondering if he really would.

There was silence in the room as she stared at his wrecked visage, remembering it in better light. It was tragic, how Voldemort could sow so many seeds of dissent, cause so much fear and hate and enmity that whole worlds of friendship and trust could just disintegrate...

Black conjured a fire and ate the rabbit like an animal, offering her some with extreme reluctance. She refused - she didn't want to deprive him. She was hungry, but she could tell he was hungrier. She blinked at this thought, trying to think why this was illogical, then remembered with a jolt that he was a mass-murderer and deserved to starve to death for what he did. The fact that she had forgotten made her feel shivery and ill. She had hit her head hard - her head was in complete disarray. She curled up under the ragged blanket he'd given her, and fell into a fitful sleep.

It was dark when she woke up. Black was huddled close to the fire, staring at the boarded-up window and looking very cold. She herself was freezing, but drenched in a cold sweat. She still felt shivery, and realised it must be an after-effect of her fall. She was ill, he could have done serious damage, she needed a healer. She was just about to ask when she would be released when it occurred to her - she could make a break for it. Now, while he was absorbed in brooding over the rotting wood nailed haphazardly over the window. She shifted slightly. Did she dare? She moved onto her knees. She had to...she had to escape...she put one foot flat on the ground. Her heart was beating erratically, and the shivery feeling increased. She felt sick and dizzy.

Now! She leapt up and ran for the door, but with shocking reflexes, Black jumped up and grabbed her round the waist. She remembered from her earlier struggle how sinewy strong he was; she kicked out viciously as he grabbed her shoulders, wriggling out of his grip - he groaned as a foot connected with his groin - grasping for the door handle, elbowing his arm away, she nearly opened it - but Sirius, as desperate as she, managed to slam it shut again. He pulled her away and tried to force her against the wall and pin her there, and at the same time tried to get out his wand - she kicked it out of his grasp and then dived for it, knowing it was now her only hope since she could never win against his height and strength. He lunged and fell on top of her, brushing the wand far away to the corner of the room and struggling to prevent her pushing him away. She elbowed, clawed, kicked and bit, but he had the upper hand now and she couldn't win. He was holding her down too securely. She began to tire of the struggle and stopped, involuntarily looking into his face.

His eyes were intense and he was frowning with effort. His chest was rising and falling against hers, and every time she breathed in she pressed her chest close against him. He was sitting on top of her with his legs tangled between hers, pinning her down completely and rendering her utterly helpless. She was suddenly very aware of her body, and gripped with the most terrible, consuming, paralysing terror. Her breathing shallowed despite the lack of movement, but that was worse because she was pressing harder against him, and she noticed his breathing wasn't slowing down either. She was helpless and at the whims of a madman, a madman who'd been deprived of human contact for twelve years...

Locked to his gaze, all she could do was breathe and stare. His eyes remained intense but the wrinkles on his forehead were relaxing, frown turning to intense gaze. His hand was gripping round her thigh but she didn't notice until he tried to remove it from its pinned position under his own body, which involved him moving it awkwardly up her leg. She drew in a sharp breath and he stopped, but now she knew it was there she could feel it gripping her tightly, hot and firm. She closed her eyes - but this just made it easier to focus on what his body was doing, the heat that radiated from his body and the points where his bare skin connected to hers. She opened them, staring back up at Black. His haunted eyes flicked all over her face and down her neck, and he abruptly put his mouth to hers in a hard kiss.

She gasped, tensed and wriggled, managing to kick him in the shin. He didn't stop at first, but then suddenly launched himself off her, grabbed her arm and threw her violently as far away from him as he could. Winded, sweat-drenched and terrified, she stayed where she fell, breathing shakily and closing her eyes. He began pacing like a trapped animal, not looking at her and walking into the wall before pushing himself off it and resuming his pacing. Sufficiently calmed from his burst of angry passion, he leant his head and arms against the wall again and stayed there for quite some time, before tilting his face slightly to one side and looking at her.

She was in a mess from the struggle, with her hair sticking to her face and her robes crumpled and twisted. She noticed his gaze and drew herself into the corner, pulling her blanket over her knees. Her breathing had not yet calmed. She was scared, ill and completely confused. Silent tears streamed down her face.

Black sat down and stared into the fire.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. He looked sideways at her from his hunched position. She didn't answer, too confused and shaken up to try. Why did he look so scared and distraught? He was not the one who'd been pinned to the floor and scared for his life and virtue.

"I didn't hurt you," he asked, but his voice seemed too heavy to make it sound like a question. He looked at her again expectantly. She shook her head - nothing hurt. He nodded too and went back to staring at the fire. He looked troubled by a plague of feelings, and his shoulders were drooping under the weight of whatever it was he was thinking of. Charlie didn't know what to think or what to make of the situation at all. Nothing was making sense.

"It's been..." he started again after another period of silence. "It's been a long time since..." He didn't appear to be able to say any more, and she made no answer. She didn't have one.

"In Azkaban - there's nothing...nothing at all. No contact, I mean. Not even a voice. And you lose all kind of desire. Desire for anything."

He seemed to be trying to explain something, or apologise, or just get this off his chest. Charlie just listened, suspending her brain so she wouldn't have to try to straighten her thoughts. He appeared to be struggling with that task as well.

"God, it was such a rush when I got out. You wouldn't believe it. The best feeling in the world. All I wanted to do was frolic in the grass again, do all the things I'd been missing out on all those years."

Charlie found it odd to imagine Sirius Black the mass-murderer frolicking in grass, and it was to her rather an odd desire. But then again, he was mad.

"But it's been so difficult. Even though I'm free, there were and still are things I have to do, things that were more important. When you're wanted for murder and trying to convince people of your innocence so you can save their lives, the little things that make life fun just can't happen." He laughed in a doglike and bitter way.

Charlie realised she was tensed into a tight ball and relaxed suddenly, her neck and arms falling away to hit the walls. She closed her eyes and tried to frown the oncoming headache away. It wasn't working. The situation was spiralling even further out of her control, and she couldn't be bothered to fight it any more.

"You do understand?" asked Sirius desperately, trying to get a response, any response. She looked at him, no more than a dark shadow behind the flames.

"Yes," she replied automatically, but found she did, for the most part. She began to realise that he was trying to apologise more than anything else, and this almost made her laugh at the irony. He could kill thirteen people and joke about it, but kissing a woman without her consent and he was wracked with guilt. Ridiculous. He was mad, dangerous and evil.

But something was telling her that that particular version of his character wasn't quite adding up.

Charlie didn't realise she'd been dosing until she awoke with a jerk. The room was still dark; the fire was playing on the mouldy walls and dancing on the pale face of Sirius Black. She glanced at the door again and wondered if he was asleep, but the glint of the fire on his eyes showed he was not. She wondered how long she'd been sleeping. She also wondered. If she went back to sleep now, she could wake up somewhere completely different, with no memory of this at all. She needed to know if that was going to happen.

"When are you going to let me go?" she asked softly, and he started; he hadn't seen her wake. He frowned.

"Well... I've been thinking. If you were a muggle it would be alright, but if you go into a wizarding hospital or something saying you've got no memory of the past two days alarm bells are going to ring at the ministry. They're going to be on the alert for any tiny little clue of where I am. So I don't know if I can risk that."

Charlie panicked.

"So...what will you do? Are you going to kill me? I'd like to know, don't just wait until I'm asleep."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not doing any killing."

"Never stopped you before," she commented coldly, but with a lack of both venom and conviction. She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"I'm innocent."

"And how exactly-" she was cut off mid-sentence by a shiver. "How exactly do you explain the witnesses who swear blind you killed Peter Pettigrew?"

"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," she answered truthfully. The wall she was leaning on was very cold, her bum was numb and she ached all over from her cramped position. The blanket was next to useless.

"Come closer to the fire."

Charlie didn't move.

"I promise I won't touch you," he said with a bitter laugh. She gathered up her blanket and scurried towards the warmth.

"And now I'm closer to the door than you are, so you're less likely to make a break for it." He grinned.

Charlie was glad she moved; the warmth spread across her, making her feel a little safer and a lot less ill. She couldn't see Black's face very well from here.

"I think I missed out on something while we were at Hogwarts," he said, looking at her appraisingly. She stared at him. He unmistakably winked. "Fancy a drink?"

She realised he was playing with her - he was still the ever-frivolous and rarely tasteful Padfoot.

She never did find out why that was his nickname. She suddenly thought of a hundred questions she wanted answers for.

"Can I ask you something? Several somethings, actually."

"Ask away. And I was serious about the drink. Only water, but you must be gasping."

She realised with shock that she was, and took the battered water bottle gratefully.

"Anyway," she started again, being deliberately as light and teasing as he had been, as if they really were old acquaintances chatting over a drink. "First - why on earth was your nickname at school Padfoot? We had some theories about Moony, and someone suggested James potter was horny all the time, hence Prongs, and Wormtail - I'm not even going to touch that, because I have the feeling I don't want to know. But you... we had no idea where yours came from. Secondly - how the hell did you escape from Azkaban? And thirdly, as I asked you a minute ago, what is the case for your innocence?" Sirius laughed at the nickname theories, sobered suddenly at the mention of Azkaban and frowned at the final question.

"Well, it's all a very complex tale. But the gist of it can be explained by this." And quite unexpectedly, he turned into a dog.

"You're an Animagus," she breathed amazedly. He became human once more and smirked at her expression. She stared into the fire, eyes flicking from side to side as if seeing things fall into place.

"So that's how you escaped...slipped through the bars, I suppose...but you must have had to swim all the way to the mainland! And Padfoot - of course, it all makes sense now..." she looked at Sirius suddenly. "You four - you weren't - all Animagi, were you?"

"Yes, all except Remus. He went through an - ah - slightly different transformation."

"Moony..." she said, puzzled. "Moony. He wasn't - he couldn't have been - he was never a werewolf!"

"You are quick," he commented. "He was a werewolf and a better man than all of us, so don't you dare voice any anti-werewolf opinions you might have in my hearing."

"Don't worry, I won't. So if you were a dog and Remus was a werewolf, 'Prongs' was a ... a what? Stag?"

"Right first time."

"And Wormtail was something with a wormy tail...a mouse?"

"Rat. A slimy horrible evil rat."

"Don't you like rats?"

"No, I don't like traitors."

"But Pettigrew wasn't - and your ability doesn't answer my third question-"

"In a roundabout way, it does. Think about what Peter's ability to change into a small and unnoticeable creature might change in that last scene between me and him."

"I - I don't know enough about it..."

"Then I'll tell you. The Potters were hiding from Voldemort. Only one person knew their whereabouts, and no one else could find them unless that person told them. It's called the Fidelius charm.

"Now everyone thought I was that one person. In fact, I encouraged that thought, because then Voldemort would go after me and ignore the real Secret-Keeper. And that was Peter. However, there was one thing I overlooked when I suggested to James that Peter should be the Secret-Keeper - the fact that he was a lying, cheating, ruthless, evil traitor who would trade in any one of his best friends for whatever pathetic little promise his master had to offer. He told Voldemort where to find the Potters, and Voldemort killed them. And when I found out I vowed to kill him."

He spoke almost matter-of-factly, but Charlie could hear the rippling feeling beneath his words. She wrestled with this new information, but came to the conclusion it was not enough.

"You vowed to kill him - even if it was at the expense of twelve innocent muggles."

"I said I vowed to kill him. I never said I actually did."

"But you did though! You cornered him in a street and you blasted the place apart and you killed him! That, to me, does not define you as innocent."

"I didn't kill him. This is where the rat part comes in. do you know the story of Pettigrew's finger in a box?"

She nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Well, he cut that finger off the night I got arrested. Then he shouted that I betrayed Lily and James, blew the street apart and dashed away."

"He - he pretended you'd killed him? Faked his own death? That's - ridiculous."

"It's the truth. Believe me or not, it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."

"But you escaped. Why then?" Sirius looked suddenly tired.

"What does it matter? I get the feeling that I'm spending all this energy on telling you my side of the story, only to have you laugh at it at the end."

"I won't laugh," she promised in a low voice. "I want to know."

The whole situation hadn't been quite gelling with what she thought she knew about Sirius Black, and the truth was, his tale made more sense. However far-fetched it sounded.

"I escaped then because I found out that Peter was at Hogwarts with my godson."

"How?"

"A newspaper. Fudge was on a visit. He gave it to me. It had a picture of Peter as some schoolboy's pet. Happy now?"

"I think so." Charlie was still confused and still rather scared, but the story was adding up.

"And do you believe me?"

"I-"

She thought. Could she really believe such a dubious story? Where was the proof? What had he done to make her trust him? Kidnap, actual bodily harm and sexual assault was pretty much it. It was absurd.

"I don't think I can."

Sirius growled.

"I thought so," he said darkly, and lapsed into silence. Charlie lay down on the old floorboards, curled around the fire with her legs quite near to Black. She didn't feel too scared any more - mass murderer or not, he had had plenty of opportunities to hurt or kill her, and so far, he hadn't done more than cause a few bruises. Bruises she had repaid to him with as much force. There was nothing she could do but trust him just a little.

He looked at her legs. Her robes had fallen in such a way as to leave her ankle and part of her calf exposed, and he looked at her bare skin in disturbing fascination. He raised a hand and she froze, but he let it flop to his side.

"I-" he began, and sighed. "I don't even think I know your name."

"Charlotte," she said, moving her legs. "My friends all call me Charlie though. But you can call me whatever you like, you're the armed one."

He grinned wryly.

"That's very true, Charlie," he agreed. "Nice to meet you." He offered her his hand, and there was doubt in the air as she contemplated the prudence of responding to his move. But after all, it was only a handshake. She sat up, grinned and took it. His fingers were icy and pale, thin and spidery and soft. She looked at their intertwined fingers in fascination, then looked up into his face.

The effect was immediate and electric. His eyes were fiercely intense, and she was mesmerised by them, feeling a curl of frightened exhilaration in her stomach. His hand began to stroke tentatively down her wrist, and she was frozen, a million desires and fears and unthinkable thoughts running through her head. He gave up all pretence of being slow and gentle - putting his hands on her chest firmly, he pushed her down and began kissing her, hungrily exploring her mouth, which was inexplicably open for him. Sudden fears shot through her - she shouldn't be doing this - but unable to do anything else but let it happen, she gave in to it.

His hands were already searching for a way to open her robes. She put her hands on his chest firmly, and he pulled away from her with apologies already halfway to his mouth - Charlie caught them in her mouth as they got there, hands wound round his robes so as to pull him down closer. Planting a hand either side of her head and his legs wrapped around hers, he looked at her in disbelief.

"Don't think about talking or my brain will remind me I shouldn't be doing this," she said quickly, and pulled him down for a fierce kiss. Her robes were slid off her shoulders and Sirius licked her neck, her shoulders, everywhere, biting, kissing; he was tasting every inch of her like a favourite dessert at the end of a long diet. She eased his robes off too and gasped softly as he pressed close to her. It was illicit, and dangerous, and fierce, and animal; it was fantastic.

Afterwards she lay in shell-shocked silence, hiding in the cool dark behind her eyes. She heard the shufflings of Sirius, and felt him lean over her and pull a blanket slowly over her body. The brush of his tattered robes on her skin let her know he was dressed.

"Do you regret it?" he whispered, tickling her ear.

"No."

He lay down beside her, and thoughtlessly blocked the heat from the fire - not that it mattered though, as he slid a warm and over her to hold her protectively.

"Just so you don't escape," he murmured laughingly, and together they drifted off to sleep.

The morning woke her with a start. The first thing she realised was that Sirius was not there - eyes closed still, she moved her arm over where he'd been sleeping, finding it still warm. The second thing she noticed was that it was very cold - despite her robes and a blanket covering her, the floor was chilly and the fire was out. It was very unkind to have let it go out when she wasn't wearing anything and the room was icy. She opened her eyes to tell him so, and found the room bare. He was not there.

Her immediate reaction was anger. He'd left her! Alone in a cold house!

As this thought struck her she was filled with a cripplingly intense vulnerability. Lying naked in an empty room in an abandoned house, after all this - it was too much for her to bear - she'd been painfully deserted, left all alone and in unfamiliar territory in every possible sense, physically and emotionally. Tears pricked her eyes and she quickly pulled on her clothes. She stared at the ash and dust in a pile beside her, feeling blank and drained and scared and empty. How could this have happened to her? He'd left her.

It was a few seconds after she had got up that she noticed it. Scrawled on the wall with what appeared to be charcoal was a note from Sirius.

To my dear Charlie,

I'm very sorry to have left you like this - contrary to those popular Hogwarts rumours, I am not the type to love and leave. I think I owe you at least a drink, a chat-up line and an owl for the morning after. I probably owe you more for kidnapping you and bashing you about and now locking you in a cold room; we'll have to come to an arrangement. And about the cold room - the door won't open until this afternoon and your wand is on the other side of it. Sorry, but it was the only and best option. I'll be out of Britain and on to sunnier climes by the time you get out, just in case you do decide you want to turn me in, though I rather hoped we were past that stage. I've lovingly stolen you a Mars bar (muggle chocolate) and a packet of crisps for the day, and I've left the water bottle.

Once again, I am most wretchedly, terribly sorry. For absolutely any and every little and large grievance I have caused you. I didn't want to leave you like this, but I have no choice. I hope you understand. I promise I will look you up if I'm ever back in England, though that is very unlikely until that hideous traitorous rat is caught. I am so sorry.

Yours,

Sirius

-x-

She kicked the door down, retrieved her wand and headed for home.