[There is something half-feral in Sirius that curls away from all of this, shows teeth and shrinks from the earnestness that he can feel ebbing in to his awareness. Close contact and conversation and an agglomeration that he can neither resist nor ignore. Despair is a deep well in him and now it begins to seep in, filling in the hollow places where there used to be so much more.
He hasn't needed to speak in so long. Last conversation was with Fudge. Words don't come easy, but that's all right, isn't it, because now it should all be feeling and consciousness, only he barely trusts that either. Food and shopping and musicals. A willingness to help. Bright. Everything feels very far away. What does he like? What does he want?]
I want to kill him.
[Quiet. Tight. His fingers are shaking. Him. Peter. Traitor. Despair turns black, curdling to hate. What he really wants, he will never get; this is what he will take instead.]
no subject
He hasn't needed to speak in so long. Last conversation was with Fudge. Words don't come easy, but that's all right, isn't it, because now it should all be feeling and consciousness, only he barely trusts that either. Food and shopping and musicals. A willingness to help. Bright. Everything feels very far away. What does he like? What does he want?]
I want to kill him.
[Quiet. Tight. His fingers are shaking. Him. Peter. Traitor. Despair turns black, curdling to hate. What he really wants, he will never get; this is what he will take instead.]