Sirius Expelled

Sirius Expelled Part 17

The turning point! This is it. Everything that comes next is an effect of this chapter and further. This is, to date, the longest chapter that I've ever written and posted. I'm so excited for the one to go up! Please remember to be kind to yourself. TW for torture, abuse, death, child death, killing, self-harm, self-hate and a bit of a panic attack. Honestly, take it slow but I'm so excited for this chapter.

Time was a strange concept, Sirius realized. It truly meant nothing. At least, it felt that way. He spent the following two months in a strange daze. Part of him wanted to return, to come to the present and live. But the main part of him couldn't. The numbness was strange. It felt like he was choking but he knew there was air all around him. It was sudden too. He could be sitting on his bed, mindlessly reading a book, when suddenly the tendrils of fear would stir in his heart. It was like ice cold water that sloshed around his stomach, making him double over as he fought to control the fear, unable to breathe. His mind would roll with possible scenarios, imagining Adomendra's fear and what Walburga would make him do. The thought of his cousin's body splayed, and the pain she would suffer through. The unease was sickening, leaving his stomach twisting in constant paranoia. He was so sick, so scared of what was going to happen, and he couldn't stop it. Sirius was becoming weaker, unable to keep going. When the terror got particularly bad, his stomach would twist until it cramped with fear, leaving Sirius half-paralyzed in his pain. When it got like this, his breath would catch in hysteria, because he was so utterly terrified. The feelings would last for hours, or even days, until he cut. That's what Sirius learned. Cutting stopped the fear.

It hurt, of course, which could pull his mind out of the fog. It also directed his attention to what he was doing, distracting him from the uncomfortable sickness in his stomach. But most of all, it meant he could actually feel something. Something besides the thick haze that overwhelmed every feeling he had. So Sirius cut, again and again and again. He couldn't stop and he didn't want to stop. Scars built up, overlapping with pure white marks across the cruel black ink, red lines being replaced day after day. The throbbing, fiery pain became natural, a part of Sirius's life. Every day it got worse and worse, the cuts sinking deeper, bleeding more, lasting longer and scarring harder. Because as much as Sirius tried to deny it, the days were flying by. They were slow and drawn out sometimes, but others it seemed like the time was vanishing. But either way, the time was moving forward, no matter how desperately Sirius wanted to stop it.

Truely, he didn't know how he was still alive. The amount of meals he missed, the sleepless nights and the emotional toll of the spells Walburga had him practice were building up. Maybe it was a fight to protect Regulus or his natural instinct to live. Either way, he lived in dread of the upcoming day. August 31st, the day before Regulus returned to Hogwarts. How poetic.

Sirius woke up that day as the sun crossed the horizon. He didn't bother to move from his position as he stared out his window. The grip of fear held his heart so tightly it felt impossible to breathe. He couldn't stop Andromeda but he wanted to, he needed to. James Potter always had a need to save everybody. Sirius needed saving and he needed to save. But Sirius Black was not James Potter. He never was and he never would be. Trying to rid himself of the thought of his best friend, he turned over in his bed, shutting his eyes in an attempt to sleep. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He wasn't able to send owls to his friends, the mirror was broken, but he had one more chance. While he wasn't going back to Hogwarts, Regulus was. This was all it took for Sirius to get out of his bed and go back to his desk. He grabbed an inkwell and a quill, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper.

To the Marauders, he wrote, and then hesitated.

Sirius didn't know what to do. He was lost, so confused on what to say. He could apologize to them, not that he hadn't already done it a million times. Maybe warn them of what was happening, but Sirius didn't know enough himself to tell them. There was the matter of the Mark and the torture but how could he ever put his tormented thoughts into words? After hesitating for another moment, he dipped the quill into more ink and continued writing, trying to let his subconscious take over his writing.