Chapter Text
Nov 10th, 1983
Sirius was lying on his cot listlessly when he heard he foot steps approaching. He thought about standing up, greeting his visitors with his usual smirk, taunting them with his sanity, but not today. Today he could barely move- yet alone greet his tormentors with false cheer. He shifting, biting back a whimper as the movement pulled on the barely formed scabs that covered his back. His new position provided some relief to his aching leg, but the fire in his back nearly overwhelmed it. Yesterday they had been angrier than usual. He hadn’t remembered them being so vicious since the first few weeks. Two years ago, at least he thought.
“Get up, Black!” a voice yelled, kicking the bars to his cell.
“You’ve got thirty seconds till we give you a hand!” added the other.
Sirius mustered his strength, pushing himself up off the coat onto his unstable legs. He could barely stand- and it hurt, so much- but he knew from experience the guards’ “help” would be worse. Grimacing, he managed the three steps to the entrance of his cell. He thought his leg might be broken again, but it didn’t matter. That pain would be minuscule in comparison to what was coming. After all, they only took him two days in a row when they were really angry. He only wished he knew what he had done to deserve it this time.
“Hands!” the first guard snapped, and Sirius obliged, sticking his thin wrists through the bar so the guard could cuff them. Magic suppressing cuffs. Sirius could feel himself weaken as the cuffs blocked his magic.
“Step back!” the second guard yelled as he pulled out the key to the door, unlocking it. With a wave of his wand, he directed Sirius out of the cell, into the hallway.
Every step was agonizing, and the hall seemed to last forever. Without his magic, Sirius could feel bone grinding on bone and cuts reopening as he grew weaker and weaker. He stumbled, and the guard behind him shot him with a strong stinging hex, kicking him forward. The only bright side was the lack of dementors. Pain or everlasting misery. Those were his choices- hardly good ones.
Eventually they reached the end of the hall. The guard in front opened a door, and the second pushed him stumbling into a room. He blinked, squinting in the light. This was not where they normally brought him.
“He’s all yours,” grunted the first guard to a tall, thin man standing across the room.
“The cuffs?” the man asked, his voice deep and thick with a rich, aristocratic accent. Sirius wondered who he was. He sounded familiar, but the room was too bright to see, and he was losing focus.
“Fine,” the guard muttered, unlocking the cuffs around Sirius’ wrists. “Now take the bastard and go.”
“Just because you’re getting out on a technicality doesn’t mean you are free,” the second guard whispered into Sirius’ ear, voice full of hatred.
“And the portkey?” the man asked, his voice sharp with command. “I think it best we leave this place as soon as possible.”
Sirius blinked, looking around the room in surprise. Getting out? Portkey? It was the prisoner processing room, he realized as the man stepped forward. He was being let go? How did that happen?
“Merlin, what have they done to you?” the man muttered as he walked over to Sirius, guiding his hand to a small object.
A moment later, the portkey activated, swirling the pair of wizards away. As Sirius and the man landed in a large room, Sirius finally figured out why the man was familiar. He was his grandfather, Lord Arcturus Black. And they had just landed in the receiving room of Black Manor. Interesting, he thought, as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
“How is he?” Arcturus Black asked, looking down at the sleeping form of his grandson.
“He’ll live,” the woman replied, “but they… they tortured him Lord Black.”
“Please, Mrs. Greengrass, call me Arcturus here. And how bad?”
“Right. As you saw, there is extensive scarring and cuts covering his back. They appear to have been made with either a darker whip spell, or an actual whip coated in some sort of poison. I have done my best to close they newer ones and prevent scarring, but much of it is too old to do anything about. Around his wrists there is also extensive scarring. I have applied a salve to reduce it, but I fear not all of it will disappear.”
“Restraints,” Arcturus muttered. “Those barbarians, claiming to be on the side of the light.”
Mrs. Greengrass nodded. “As terrible as the scarring may be to look at, it will be purely cosmetic. It is the damage to his shoulders and legs I am more worried about. His shoulders appear to have been dislocated and set many times over the past two years. The muscles and tendons are strained, and I am concerned about permanent nerve damage. I think he set his own shoulders,” she added in a low voice.
Arcturus merely nodded. “They hung him and whipped him like a common muggle. My grandson. My heir. They will pay.”
“And we will help you, Lord Black,” a man agreed, entering the room. “But first, let my wife continue so we may help Sirius recover the best he can.”
“You are right, Daniel. Please, Mrs. Greengrass, continue.”
She nodded, brushing a loose hair behind her ear. “I have given him nerve repairing potion as well as muscle relaxants, but only time will tell what damage has been done. My last concern is his legs, specifically the right one. They have been broken several times, and not all the fractures healed correctly. I re-broke and set the bones, but I cannot give him skele-gro. I think, given time and rest, the left will heal fine, but the right femur concerns me. It was broken quite badly, most recently only a day or so ago. There is extensive damage.”
“No skele-gro?” Daniel asked his wife, staring down at Sirius’ legs, both of which were splinted extensively.
“It cannot be taken with other potions, and I dare not take him off the pain or nerve regenerative potions.”
“When will he wake?” Arcturus asked, sinking into a chair next to his grandson.
“Later today, perhaps. But the more he sleeps, the better.”
Arcturus nodded, and turned to his grandson, brushing a strand of Sirius’ newly shorten hair back. The two Greengrasses left, leaving the aging Lord in peace.
The first thing Sirius noticed as he slowly awoke was the warmth. It had been two years since he had felt so warm, and it was a welcome change. The second thing he noticed was the pain. Everything seemed to hurt, though it was clearly dulled by a rapidly diminishing amount of pain reliever. Opening his eyes slowly, he groaned as the bright lights assaulted his senses.
“Young Master Sirius is waking. Mipsy will fetch Master Arcturus, she will. Does Young Master Sirius need another potion?” the elf asked in concern, hovering at the edge of his bed.
“Pain reliever,” Sirius croaked, “and water?”
“Mipsy will fetch a pain reliever and tell Lolly to bring up some broth and water. Young Master Sirius is too thin. Too thin. Master Arcturus is most unhappy,” she added, popping away.
Alone, and slightly more awake, Sirius moved to sit up, only to set his back and shoulders on fire. He bit back a scream, falling back onto the pillows, breathing deeply.
“If you wish to sit up, I’ll fetch Mrs. Greengrass,” Arcturus informed Sirius, entering the room. “But you are in no position to do anything by yourself.”
Sirius nodded, his attempt at sitting up definitely made him agree with his grandfather’s assessment. “How?” he asked, as his grandfather sat beside him.
“I convinced the Wizengamont to let you out. I think that should be obvious based on the fact that you are here.”
“But, how did you…” he began, his voice weak with disuse and thirst.
“You never received a trial. I… enlightened… them about this oversight. I think the details can wait until you are stronger. Lolly has arrived with some broth, and I dare say you need it,” he added before turning to the elf. “Fetch Mrs. Greengrass. Let her know Sirius is awake and we require her presence.”
The elf nodded, and a few minutes later Mrs. Greengrass entered the room. Sirius could not say how many, as Arcturus had fed him another pain potion, and his sense of time was a little off.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Greengrass asked, pulling out her wand.
“Weak,” he replied, taking a sip of the water his grandfather held for him.
“I would imagine so. You are severely malnourished. Not to mention I had to re-brake and set several bones in order to for them to heal correctly. I’m afraid you will be trapped here for a while. But let’s get you sitting up so you can eat.”
Sirius nodded, and he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders, gingerly guiding his back up as his grandfather arranged a mound of pillows behind him. He clenched his teeth, biting back the pain as he was slowly lowered back onto the pillows. He wasn’t exactly sitting up, but somehow the change in angle made him feel a little less like an invalid. Though the bandages around his back and shoulders, restraining his arms to his chest certainly did not help.
“You don’t suppose you could unbind by arms? Or at least one?” he asked.
“Not until the nerve regenerative has had more time to work. Tomorrow,” she added at his look of despair.
Sirius sighed, and resigned himself to being fed the broth. It was delicious, light, warm, and definitely the best thing he had tasted in over two years. Even so, after only about half the bowl, he felt himself nodding off.