The Intentional Accident

"He can't be dead! Just let me help him!" cried Sirius as he struggled against Patrick. Tears began to run down his face, but his subconscious told him that they were tears of frustration, not of grief.

"Sirius ...please don't ..." With one huge effort, Sirius broke free of Patrick's grip. So much so that he actually knocked him over as he ran towards the group of people. He didn't care about Patrick. Michael needed him and now. With the same force he shoved aside those standing in his way. He threw himself on to his knees at Michael's side, looking for anything he could do to stabilise Michael's condition. It was here that all hope drained from Sirius' being. Michael's face was stuck in a startled look. The lower back of his head was caved in. Blood, Michael's blood, stained the sand of the goal area. The Bludger had also struck his neck, effectively breaking it. Sirius' training in Healing told him this much: death had been instantaneous.

One cannot describe what Sirius was feeling. Those who have never seen a loved one dead before them cannot even claim to know how it feels. They dare not. Even those who have do not know the words. Sirius let out an inhuman cry, holding nothing back. The general racket of the crowd died down to make way for his howl. Sirius slowly sank down onto Michael's chest. His on-flowing tears trickled onto the dazzling blue Quidditch robes that Sirius loved to see him in.

When he finally tore himself off of Michael, Sirius saw that Scott had landed and was surrounded by security guards. Naturally, when a death occurred during an official match it had to be investigated. Sirius could feel his strength rush back into him. His emotions had him under their control, and right now vengeance was holding the strings. He took off in Scott's direction, fully prepared to kill him with his bare hands. He was almost there when Patrick and two security guards grabbed him by the arms.

"YOU KILLED HIM! YOU BASTARD! YOU MURDERED HIM!" bawled Sirius. Two other security guards had moved to Scott's side.

"Sirius ...I never meant to ...you've got to believe me ...it was an accident," choked Scott. His face was pale and sweaty. One of the security guards stepped between them.

"Well, that remains to be seen. A full enquiry will be carried out, of course. Whether or not the captains want to proceed with the game is up to them ..." His voice was tuned out by Sirius. Over the guard's shoulder he could see Scott's face. It was twisted in a sick, dark, satisfied smile. His eyes were locked into Sirius'. It had all been an act. He had taken his cruel, petty revenge and did not regret it. Sirius could feel something deeper than physical strength shoot up from within him. Fuelled by his hatred, an instinctive power began to pulse through him. With the mere flick of his arms, Patrick and the security guards were sent flying. They landed several yards away. In a flash of anger, Sirius drew his wand and pointed it directly at Scott. He wanted to do it. He wanted to kill Scott. For the first time in his life he felt the urge to take a life. Something was keeping him back. Despite how much he wanted to do it, he couldn't. Not even at the lowest point in his life could he actually bring himself to kill. He felt his arm droop down to his side. He couldn't keep it up, no matter how hard he willed it otherwise. In his despair, he didn't see Scott draw his own wand from his Quidditch robes.

"Crucio!"

Sirius' already weakened body was thrown down to the ground, convulsing in agony. The guards had only just scrambled to their feet after Sirius' display of raw power. Sirius suddenly felt the curse being lifted, though he was now unaware of what was happening around him. Just before he slid out of consciousness, he could have sworn he heard the loud crack of someone Disapparating.

~|~

"Sirius ...Sirius, come on now. Wake up, dear." Sirius awoke to a familiar, soft Irish accent. Upon opening his eyes, he found himself in a room at St. Mungo's. He went to rise all to quickly and felt dizzy almost immediately. "Easy there now, you've been through a lot," said Agatha softly. When Sirius' vision cleared, he could see his colleague and friend standing at his side, her hand on his forehead.

"Agatha ...tell me ...please tell me I've just woken up from a terrible dream." There was a note of desperation in his plea, though he knew he was asking to be told something he knew not to be true.

"I can't do that, my dear ...no matter how much I'd like to." Despite the traumatic state Sirius' mind was in, he was able to think clearly enough to remember his little one.

"David ...where ...where is he?"

"Your mum and dad are with him. Oliver's here as well. They know all about it. They caught that rat Finnigan, he'll be going to Azkaban for sure."

"I-I don't care ...about him. Nothing they can do to him can bring Michael back." In a sickly instant, the grief Sirius had felt on the Quidditch pitch came flooding back to him. At such a time he could do nothing but weep. It was all his senses would allow. Agatha gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Sirius ...I know what you're going through right now, but you'll always have the people who love you. Your parents, me, David ..." Sirius knocked her hand off his shoulder violently.

"I don't care! I don't care about any of you!" Sirius began to scream, his voice knotted with his sobs. "How can you understand what's happened to me? You can't! He's been taken from me!"

"He's been taken from us." By this, Sirius knew she meant everyone he knew and loved. He hadn't meant any of the things he said; yet he had said them. A heavy sense of guilt landed on top of the overwhelming sorrow he was still dealing with. At a point where any words failed him, he simply buried himself in Agatha's warm embrace, and wept into her jumper.