Harry Potter One Shots

Bloodstone

All rights belong to the author, Artichokie

The darkness shrouded the world, obscuring the outlines of a lone cottage in the midst of a barren forest. The leaves of the trees surrounding the building were bare, leaving nothing to obscure the night. The wind swept past the old cottage, slipping in the cracks in the crumbling grout and stone. His unkempt hair slightly rustled against the skin on his forehead from the drafts. Strands fell into his heavy-lidded eyes, but he did nothing to swipe them away. Ordinarily rumpled, his black hair now looked uncontrollable in its madness, taking on the sickness that plagued its owner.

Sirius Black sat in an overstuffed chair, his back slouched low against the back of it. His legs were stretched out before him crossed at the ankle. His elbows rested on either arm of the chair, one hand supporting his chin while the other unconsciously rolled a small red stone in his palm.

Shadows created from the flames in the hearth before him danced across his pale, pinched face. The nearly empty room glowed from the orange light emanating from the fire, creating an illusion of movement that otherwise didn't exist. Sirius's eyes stared unblinkingly into the fireplace, although he never really saw the dancing flames.

A puff of air escaped Sirius's nostrils. They were gone—truly gone. They wouldn't be back in two weeks; they hadn't gone on a holiday in France like they had on their honeymoon. He couldn't wake from this nightmare and appear on their doorstep, begging them to convince him that the truth did not lie in his dreams. He couldn't ever again feast on the breakfast she had masterfully created while he teased him on how domesticated married life had made him. No, the Potters no longer traveled amongst the living; they were gone.

Sirius clenched his teeth, stifling the sobs that stubbornly persisted in tormenting him. A single tear escaped the folds of his right eye and fell upon his cheek. He felt the cool liquid on his warm skin, but he did nothing to erase its imprint. He felt no shame in showing emotion, despite what most people thought. Two of his best friends had just been murdered; he was allowed to ease the biting pain of his rendering heart with a few drops of tears, damn it! It still didn't do anything to cleanse the wound.

He blinked once, forcing another drop to slip out, and swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. Rolling his head along the back of the chair, his eyes came to rest on the stone in his hand. He couldn't remember picking it up; he couldn't even recall where it had been prior to this night. It was a peculiar stone, one that really didn't mean anything. The opaque red surface was speckled with dried mud; light brown coatings remained where the dirt had been rubbed away. The edges of it were smooth, but it was not flat. It jutted out in round mounds at odd angles except for along one side.

A reminiscent smile flitted across Sirius's lips. He remembered the day they had found it, the Marauders and he. It had been their first official trip to Hogsmeade, made back in their third year. They'd been to the little village many times prior, his group of friends being as mischievous as they had been, but this time had been the first time they weren't jumping at every shadow and sound. They'd been out behind one of the shops that lined the street, the forest a mere step and a half away. It had been James who had initially discovered the stone, his foot stumbling upon it.

They'd called it the Bloodstone, a fitting name in their melodramatic teen minds. Remus had been the one to suggest they give the stone some meaning. The four of them had previously talked about becoming blood brothers, but none of them liked the idea of intentionally carving a hole into their skin. Before the stone had been broken into for pieces, each of them had taken a hold of the stone at the same time and pledged their loyalties to one another. It was a pledge each of them had taken seriously and to this day had stood by.

Sirius's eyebrows fell down in a frown. No, that wasn't entirely true. One of them had been unfaithful.

Even on that long ago day, Pettigrew hadn't meant the pledge. Sirius recalled the nearly imperceptible nod he'd given in agreement while the rest of them had gladly shouted their loyalty. Pettigrew had listlessly taken his piece of the stone and stuffed it in his pocket. Sirius knew he could hardly let go of it, the stone's new meaning so significant to him.

There had always been something aloof about the kid, even before he, James, and Remus, the three of them being fast friends, had accepted Peter in their circle. He was always searching for a security blanket, an invisible shelter that offered safety from the world. While he was in their notorious group, he hadn't been fully accepted, but no one really messed with him, either. The first time Sirius had caught Pettigrew hiding behind James's shadow, Sirius refused to protect him. He accepted cowardice in his friends; he didn't see it as a weakness, only a fault to work on. But as time went on and Peter grew more and more cowardly, Sirius became more disgusted. He didn't even fess up to his own faults, only forcing one of them to stand up in light of his errors. Once—Sirius would only admit to defending the rat once, but no more.

And it had been Pettigrew who was named the Potters' secret keeper. Pettigrew was the only person who had the ability to expose their safe haven. He'd betrayed their sacred pledge; he'd betrayed them all. It was apparent Pettigrew had found a more secure shadow to cower in, and now he was trying to shed himself of the last one. It was only fitting to throw it away in such a fashion.

Sirius's fingers tightened on the stone. His chest began to burn; a ringing began to build in crescendo, a perfect harmony to his rapidly rising pulse echoing in his skull. The dirt marks on the red rock blurred, coming together to form a blurry figure that eventually became Pettigrew's deceitful grin. He'd fooled them all. Out of all of his friends, he'd expect this the least from him. Sirius never thought the rat had it in him. His teeth, now gritted and bared, began to hurt from the force.

Reflexively, Sirius stood and threw the stone against the closest wall. The small rock smashed against the larger stones with a high-pitched smacking noise that echoed throughout the golden room and shattered into pieces. A red residue was left from the impact on the wall. Sirius watched the pieces fall. To his mind, everything was in slow motion; his mind was still trying to catch up to reality. He hadn't meant to destroy the stone, but it was only fitting. The stone's meaning had been tarnished. The stone had no more meaning to it.

"Who's left to save you now, Pettigrew?" Sirius said quietly to the wall. The Dark Lord had been defeated the other night, along with the Potters. The only survivor, baby Harry, was now in safekeeping. The Wizarding World was in chaos, but there was enough clarity to make sense of some of it.

Sirius whirled around and knocked the chair onto its side, stuffing falling from its fragile seams. "Who's left to save you now, Pettigrew?" Sirius shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls. "No one." The quiet sound sent a chill down his own spine.

He grabbed a small, green book from his side pocket, the last memento given to him from Pettigrew, which contained images of them all at their best, and tossed it into the fire burning in the hearth. The flames leapt higher, licking the top edges of the fireplace. The heat pushed into the cooling room, soothing the monster inside Sirius like a swift sweep of a brush's bristles down the spine of a hissing cat. It did nothing to calm Sirius's rage, but it seemed only fitting to the scene.

Sirius slowly turned to face the front of the room, his reflection pronounced against the darkness beyond the grimy glass of the closed window. His chest rose and fell with his panting breath, his face a mask of obscene rage. He knew he was out of his mind, but his blood was screaming justice. Justice had to be served in order for the world to rest in the calm of the aftermath of the storm.

"No one!" Sirius shouted at his reflection. Justice would be met. He paced to the table sitting along the far wall and picked up his wand. He flung the coat he'd tossed across the smooth top of the table and wrapped it hastily around his shoulders. Briskly walking to the door, he flung it open and disappeared into the night with a quiet pop!