All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Guilty

And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time

‘Til touchdown brings me ‘round again to find

I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh no, no, no

I’m a rocket man

Rocket man, burning out his fuse up here alone

“Sirius Black,” the voice echoed in his ears, overloud, booming, “According to the Emergency Order on the Capture and Detention of Death Eaters, section 14c—is he awake? Excuse me—has anyone checked that he’s awake?”

“The spell’s been lifted, sir, he should be fully conscious.”

Sirius blinked, squinting into the dim room, groggy and confused. He tried to move, to lift a hand and rub at his eyes—he couldn’t. When he looked down, he realised that he was strapped to a wooden chair, arms and legs firmly restrained. He jerked against the straps, but it was no use; he was completely immobilised.

Panic struck him, like an arrow through the heart.

“Ah, good, he’s awake.” The man speaking cleared his throat, then went on, “Pursuant to section 14c—”

“Where am I?” Sirius croaked, interrupting. He stared around, helplessly—he was in some sort of circular room, surrounded by mostly-empty stands. There was a podium, directly in front of him; he had to crane his neck upwards to see who was speaking.

It was a man, some politician that Sirius only vaguely recognised—he was wearing the robes for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with some sort of shiny gold badge pinned to the front. There were a few wizards scattered in the stands behind him, half-shadowed, faces that swam before his eyes.

It was all coming back—James—Lily—Harry—Peter—

“Instruct the defendant not to interrupt, please.”

Sirius realised, suddenly, that there was another man standing behind him, off to the side—considerably younger, but wearing the same Department of Magical Law Enforcement Robes. There was a scroll hovering in front of him, a quill moving rapidly across the parchment. Sirius twisted, trying to see.

The young man stepped forward, nervously, and leaned down a bit.

“Er…you’re not supposed to interrupt.”

“Where’s Peter?” Sirius asked, desperately, “Peter Pettigrew—you have to find him—”

“Mr. Black!” Barked the man on the podium, sharply—Bartemius Crouch, that’s who it was. “Mr. Pettigrew is dead, as you very well know!” Barty Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—he oversaw all wizarding trials.

“He’s not—” Sirius jerked against the restraints, adrenaline crackling like lightning under his skin, “He’s not—you have to find him—the rat, find the rat—”

“There, you see?” Crouch turned to address the wizards arrayed behind him, “The man is clearly insane. If the witness testimony wasn’t enough…”