Chapter Text
I guess I should have locked the door.
Liara considers that she should have taken any security precautions. A simple charm could have prevented the situation she finds herself in now. Then again, there’s a reason she’d never bothered with locks or spells to keep away intruders. Simply put, there weren’t any other people to be intruders. This deep in the Forbidden Forest, the only other sentient beings she’d come across in the last year were the Centaurs.
Until now.
She had barely gotten in the front door of her cottage before he grabbed her, dragging her the rest of the way into her home. The sack of herbs and roots she’d been out harvesting lays abandoned on the floor, spilling its dirt-covered contents. The man has her by the throat now, the sharp edge of a knife pressing into the side of her neck.
Liara tries to twist in his grasp, hoping to get her wand from the pocket at her waist. He growls, and the blade stings when it catches on her skin. He gets a hold of her wrist despite her flailing, yanking her searching fingers away from the tip of the wand. Her other arm is pinned by his, useless.
“Stop,” he hisses, his grip tight enough to bruise.
She stops struggling for a moment, thoughts racing. She tries to figure out a way out of his hold, to get her hand on her wand. She’s close to panicking, unable to figure out why he’s here or what he wants. Money?
“There’s galleons,” she breathes. “In the top drawer of the-”
“I don’t want your money,” he snaps.
Her stomach drops, her breathing as rapid as his sounds. What do you want, then?
The arm he has wrapped around her shoulders is trembling, she realizes. She hadn’t gotten to see him before he grabbed her, but she guesses that he isn’t in the best shape. Between his hoarse voice and the way he’s shaking, he might be weak enough for her to get away.
Liara hunches forward more, letting her body slacken as if the fight is leaving her. It works, his grip softening slightly. She focuses on the sound of his strained breathing behind her, trying to estimate where his head is in relation to her. She thinks he’s probably taller than her, but he’s hunched over with her.
It’s worth a go. She throws her head back suddenly, cracking her skull into his face.
She ignores the throbbing this causes herself, pleased only with the grunt of pain that escapes him. His hold on her falters for a brief second, but it’s enough. She wrenches at his arm that holds the knife, pulling away from him with as much force as she can muster. For one moment she breaks free, before he snarls like a feral animal.
He lunges to catch her, and she drops the blade, almost falling in her haste to get away from him. The weapon goes scuttling across the floor of her cottage, kicked by one of their feet as she struggles to escape. She isn’t even sure where she’s running, as the only door is behind him.
Liara yanks herself loose from him, avoiding his attempt to snatch her arm again. It’s only when she sinks her hand into her empty pocket, ready to curse him into oblivion, that she realizes he hadn’t been grabbing for her arm.
She freezes, looking up in horror to spot her wand, held in his dirty hand. He’s got it pointed right at her. Her eyes fly across the floor, finding the knife still laying there. It crosses her mind to lunge for it, and he seems to know what she’s thinking.
“Don’t,” he rasps, his voice sounding raw. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to. I’m not going back.”
She looks away from the knife, knowing it’s futile. He’ll curse her before she can even twitch in the direction of it. Liara glares at the intruder, finally able to get a good look at the man who’s invaded her home and threatened her life.
He’s taller than she had estimated, and absolutely filthy. His nose is bleeding, likely from her skull bashing into it. His hair and beard are both dark, long and matted. His face isn’t any better, his skin caked with dirt and grime. Only his eyes are bright, their dark depths sharp and locked onto hers. Liara’s focus drops to his clothes, understanding sinking in.
He’s wearing a matching set, shirt and pants both horizontally striped. It’s the uniform of an Azkaban prisoner, tattered and as unkempt as the rest of him. She looks back up at his face, her stomach sinking when she realizes she recognizes him. The overgrown beard concealed any immediate resemblance, but those glittering eyes give it away…
Sirius Black… Sirius fucking Black.
Infamous mass murderer, Death Eater, pureblood-extremist Sirius Black. It was almost impossible to graduate from Hogwarts without learning about him, and how he had betrayed his childhood best friends for the Dark Lord.
The Daily Prophet would occasionally mark the anniversary of the Potters’ deaths, Black’s infamous mugshot always published with the story. It was hard to forget that angry face, the way he had glared into the camera. The girls in Liara’s dormitory had preferred a stolen picture of him, snuck from the Quidditch trophy case. They had fawned over how cute teenage Black had looked in his keeper uniform, like demented groupies.
If only they could see him now. He narrows his eyes at her, expression full of contempt.
“You know who I am?” he demands.
She just nods, dread setting in as her head aches dully where she’d rammed it into him. What is he doing in the Forbidden Forest? Clearly he has escaped from prison, and ignoring the sheer impossibility of that… Isn’t it impossible to escape from Azkaban? Why would he flee into the forest? Didn’t he have Death Eater friends who could take him in?
Black’s free hand moves towards his chest before he stops himself, pain fleeting across his face. She notices he’s still breathing quite heavy, as if labored.
“Whatever you want-” she begins hesitantly.
“Healing potions,” he interrupts harshly. “Do you have any?”
“No,” she admits, before quickly trying to placate him. “I could brew one, though.”
He turns his glare away from her long enough to glance at the cauldron sitting on the hearth of her fireplace. He jerks his head at it, giving her a motion that is a barely perceptible nod. Liara moves slowly, crossing the room to the shelves where her ingredients are bottled and jarred.
“Your lungs?” she asks quietly. It’s a safe assumption, given that Azkaban is known for being cold and damp.
“What?” he snaps.
She tries to keep her voice calm. “Is it an infection of the lungs?”
“I think so.”
He looks distracted, his eyes restless. They dance around her small cottage, as if he’s expecting someone to lunge out at him at any moment. Liara tries to keep her movements slow and steady, paranoid about how jumpy he seems while holding her wand. Just keep things calm… Keep him calm, and then...Then what?
She gathers the ingredients, grateful to have everything necessary. Her eyes skim over the pot of floo powder on the mantle, a spark of hope lighting up in her chest. With the right opening, she could use that to escape. But maybe she wouldn’t have to.
Maybe if I give him what he wants, he’ll leave. He probably only broke in looking for medicinal potion. She can’t think of any other reason he’d get on someone’s radar. It would be smarter for an escaped convict to go undetected, unless he absolutely needed something. Her cottage wasn’t exactly fancy accommodations, she didn’t own much of value… Nothing except what she’s about to brew for him.
“Can you light the fire, please?” she asks, trying to ignore her fear.
Black moves forward, and she edges away from his approach. Unfortunately, the cottage is small, so it’s not as if she has much space to avoid him. He points her wand at the hearth, before hesitating. No… She follows the way his eyes trail, up and along the mantle- No, no no no-
He snatches the floo powder, smashing it down onto the ground. A muttered spell beneath his breathe, and the scattered powder goes up in a burst of black smoke. Liara stares at the singed remains, not even bothering to conceal the disappointment on her face.
That could have been my only way out. The panic truly starts to get a grip on her now. She curses the fact that the forest is still considered Hogwarts’ grounds. If it weren’t for that, she could have apparated away from this nightmare already.
“Make the potion,” he orders, sounding irritated with her gaping at the destroyed floo powder. “Don’t make me ask again.”
He flicks her wand at the fireplace, and it springs to life with flame. She forces herself to obey, trying to focus despite disbelief over her situation. She’d moved to the forest to be alone, and now she is stuck contemplating if Sirius Black is going to murder her and leave her body rotting there in her cottage.
Just my luck… She uses the mortar and pestle to carefully grind up an ingredient, tipping it into the cauldron. Figures, I come across an escaped murderer in the middle of the Forbidden fucking Forest. What were the chances?
No one from the Ministry dared come out this far, and certainly none of Hogwarts’ students. She doesn’t have any hope of being saved by someone else. Not even Hagrid ventures as deep into the woods as she has settled, and for good reason. There are plenty of dangers, and sometimes she contemplated her chances of dying out here in a freak arachnid incident.
Casting a sidelong glance at Sirius Black, she thinks she’d much prefer the spiders finish her off. Hadn’t he completely obliterated his victims? They said all that was left of the dozen muggles was a crater in the ground. She drags her eyes away from her wand, still in Black’s hand, to look down at the bubbling concoction in the cauldron.
A few more additions to the potion, and she’s got it simmering over the fire. When she looks back at him, he’s watching her. An unpleasant shock wiggles up her spine at how black his eyes look compared to the light of the fire.
“It has to simmer for an hour or so,” she says uncertainly.
“Fine.” He looks away, towards the railing that guards the ladder up to the little loft space. The loft is too small for furniture, so she uses it to store her books. When he looks back at her, goosebumps erupt on her skin.
“Come here,” he demands.
Liara backs away from him instead, disliking where things are going. Black snarls with irritation, sounding more like a feral dog than a human. She attempts to retreat into the kitchen, but he lunges forward to grab her wrist, ignoring her cry of protest.
He tows her across the little living area, letting her almost yank her arm off in the process as she tries to thrash against him. She’s afraid that he’s decided to attack her while he waits for his potion, struggling harder. She lands a punch somewhere on his shoulder with her off hand. If he feels the blow, he doesn’t show it. He gets her around the waist, lifting her right up off the floor to tug her towards the ladder. She tries again to hit him, aiming for his face. Black snatches her arm, forcing it downwards.
She’s left tied to the railing when he’s done using the incarcerous spell, thick rope knotted on one of her wrists and looped around the metal bar. She yanks at her arm, pulling with her free hand, but the rope is too tight to budge. She glares at his back as he crosses the room.
“Is this really necessary? I’m brewing your damn potion-”
“Shut it, before I tie you up the rest of the way,” he threatens, leaving the living area to step into her small bedroom.
Well, this is better than what I thought he was about to do…
She tries to take a deep breath, mostly to keep the tears at bay. She refuses to cry in front of him, her pride too much to allow it. Maybe the aurors know he’s in the area…They could be out there looking for him. It’s an uplifting thought, giving her the smallest bit of hope that she could be helped, however unlikely.
Liara hears him throw open the doors of her wardrobe, and yank open drawers on the dresser. What the hell is he searching for? She’s already offered him her money. Is he going to trash her place before he tortures and murders her? Rude.
“Can I help you find something?” she calls ruefully.
“Bigger clothes.”
She frowns, before it clicks that he’s searching for something to replace his filthy prisoner’s uniform. None of her stuff is likely to fit his larger frame. She hesitates to be helpful, resentment building up for the former Death Eater helping himself to her home. But she also doesn’t need him pawing through everything she owns.
“Bottom drawer,” she suggests curtly.
Black emerges a moment later, shaking out the men’s size shirt. He sizes it up before giving her a hard stare. “Whose clothing is this?”
“What?” Liara stares at him, confused why he cares. She highly doubts the murderer has reservations about borrowing clothes without permission.
“Do you have a husband? Boyfriend?” he demands.
“Why?” she snaps. “Are you jealous?”
He gives her a venomous look, walking over and getting down to her level. She notices the way his chest heaves, the exertion from overpowering her staying with him. He looks like he’s still breathing harder, hinting at whatever infection lingers in his chest. Maybe she should have made the potion a dud. If his illness got worse, it could take care of him for her. Too late now.
“I need to know if someone else is going to show up,” Black says tersely. “If you let them surprise me, they’ll be dead.”
Liara meets his eyes defiantly. “Ex-boyfriend. He won’t be showing up.”
Black holds her gaze a moment longer, as if he’s trying to determine if she’s lying or not. He stands back up, wordlessly taking the clothing into her bathroom. He shuts the door, and she hears the sound of water running.
Help yourself to the bloody tub, you bastard. She thrashes at the rope angrily, taking out her frustration on the binding. It’s a useless endeavor, however. She only succeeds in rubbing her wrist nearly raw, clamping her eyes shut with a sob when she gives up. The knife is still on the floor where it had dropped, but she can already tell she won’t be able to reach it from here.
Sitting there with only the sounds of the bubbling cauldron and the bathing murderer to occupy her attention, her imagination kicks in. She starts to question what plans Black may have for her. The man’s just escaped after being locked up in prison for years… She doesn’t want to know what could be on his mind.
Liara blinks away tears with determination. He said he didn’t want to kill me, right? She’s nearly positive he’d said that at some point, somewhere between all of his demands and manhandling her. Then again, why wouldn’t he tell her that? It would be an easy way to try to take the fight out of her, trick her into cooperating… Even if he did plan to end her life.
I should’ve poisoned the damn potion… Though looking at her shelves of supplies, she isn’t sure she has anything potent enough. Poisons weren’t exactly her specialty, so she never bothered with stocking anything deadly. A sedative, though… That, I might be able to manage…
It’s a useless thought while she’s tied on the opposite side of the room from her cauldron, however. Liara resorts to focusing on her breathing, trying to keep the fear at bay. She ends up wallowing in her anger instead, finding it a better companion. The Forbidden Forest had never been a welcoming home, but she’d at least had her solitude before he showed up.
Some time later, the noise of the bathroom door opening catches her attention. She opens her eyes, surprised to see the much cleaner man in the doorway. Black has taken off most of the long hair, leaving what’s left damp and swept back from his face. Without the layer of dirt, his skin is paler than she’d realized. Dark shadows color beneath his eyes, hinting at a lack of sleep.
“Razor?”
She stares at him for a moment before replying, her voice betraying her irritation with his presence. “What?”
He narrows his eyes. “Do you have one?” he clarifies, as if she’s dense.
I’m sorry, do you think a single word constitutes a question? It’s quite obvious that Black left his manners, if he ever had any, back in his prison cell.
“What, don’t want to use a severing charm on your face?” Liara taunts, eyeing up his unruly beard.
Black strides out of the bathroom, anger lighting up his eyes. “Razor,” he growls. “Now.”
“Untie me and I’ll show you,” she suggests, yanking at the rope for show.
He stops at her feet, looking down at her with disdain. Her wand is loose in his hand, and she contemplates whether a kick to his crotch might make him drop it. Just a step or two closer, and she could try it.
“You think you can bargain with me?” Black asks quietly.
She swallows hard, hoping he doesn’t notice that he is very much succeeding in intimidating her. His eyes really do match his name, and she wonders if they’ve always been so unsettling. Or was it something Azkaban had done to him, like a peek of madness flashing at her from his pupils?
“Show me some basic respect and I’ll return the favor,” Liara suggests. “Keep me chained in my own home, and I’ll keep being a bitch.”
His mouth forms a hard line, his expression too cold to get a read on what he’s thinking. Her eyes drop to his hand, the way his fingers wrap more firmly around her wand. Black steps forward, the wand raising towards the rope.
She levels a kick right between his legs, aiming for the apex of his thighs.