minnow // sirius black

epilogue

November 26th, 1981
           Azkaban

She came through the door to my cell quietly, her hair pulled out of her face, a navy colored scarf loosely wrapped around her throat. She turned to thank the Auror, and I could tell she was avoiding looking at me. I took the time that she spent avoiding my gaze, choosing to look through her purse - which I knew contained nothing - to admire how well-dressed she looked.

She wore a dark blue pencil skirt that came to her mid-thigh. I couldn't help staring at her bare legs for a moment longer than I should have. She wore a black top, one that she would call a halter, under a black draping blazer coat thing. She wore black heels and carried a black purse. She wore the clothes of a woman in mourning, as she was one.

I couldn't imagine the pain in her heart.

The fact that she was here was deeply surprising. After her parents died, she couldn't leave the house for nearly three months, yet here she was, less than a month after her twin brother and her best friend were murdered. Less than a month after her husband was thrown in Azkaban for crimes he legally didn't do.

I couldn't imagine the anger within her.

Well, at least I didn't until she looked at me.

Her face turned towards mine, and I suddenly wished she wasn't here. There was a deep stab of pain in my heart.

Jemina was always better at hiding her emotions than she knew, but there was no doubt in my mind that she felt nothing but the kind of anger that burns at the soul, that makes a person murderous - even if you are the kindest person in the world.

And no matter how wonderful she was, my wife was not the kindest person in the world, so Merlin only knew what she was capable in this moment.

"Why didn't you demand a trial."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand. Another thing about her, when she was this angry she had no room in her mind for questions. They were always phrased as statements, and in extreme moments, demands. I could not tell where her anger was placed, or what it was caused by. The simple fact that the first words out of her mouth were an accusatory demand to know why I didn't want a trial told me that she was currently angry at me for being in Azkaban, and not at home with her.

There was no way she didn't feel the same guilt. She had to know. Maybe she just wanted to hear it from me.

"Answer me!"

"Alright," I sputtered, surprise rattling through me. She rarely raised her voice at me like that, and the last time she did, she shattered a couple of windows. "I don't want one."

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Sirius. Why?"

She rarely said that, and so a little trickle of fear ran down my spine. As insanely hot she was this angry, I knew was Jemina was capable of. I'd seen it first hand, many times. I was surprised the walls weren't rattling.

"I don't deserve one."

"Bullshit."

"I don't, Jem. I got them kil-"

"If we're going by that logic, they might as well shoot me where I stand. I was the one that told them to use Peter, so don't you dare say that it was your fault. You were NOT the one who told them to choose him."

"But everyone already believes it was me. And they all believe I killed Pettigrew and twelve Muggles."

Her entire energy shifted from anger to sympathetic concern. She squatted down, her bum resting on her heels, her hands clutching the small purse on her lap. I could just barely see between her legs, but I kept my thoughts to myself. I avoided looking at her face, as all it did was bring me pain.