Consumption

Sirius sat motionless on the porch of his house, watching as FBI agents rummaged through his belongings. Evidence bags were passed back and forth, hushed whispers and sharp glances directed towards Sirius.

Remus had left his side to talk to Dumbledore, leaving Sirius to sit alone. As Remus made the call, Sirius had finally gotten dressed, allowing himself a minute of peace before he was thrown back into the real world.

“Sirius!” His head shot up, looking for the voice as he stood from the chair. James Potter came running out of the car, skipping over the porch steps and pulling Sirius into a tight hug in a matter of seconds. “Are you okay?”

Sirius pressed his face into James’ neck, his eyes slightly watering as he shook his head. He knew that there would be no explaining this.

“Dumbledore called and-”

“Potter.” Albus’ voice interrupted him, causing James to pull away and struggle to hold himself back from sending a glare to his boss. “I need to talk to Sirius.”

James stepped away from Sirius, giving him one last look before joining Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter off to the side.

Dumbledore sat down in the chair next to Sirius, both of them remaining silent.

“Whose ear is that Sirius?”

Sirius shook his head, his eyes closing for a brief second. There was no escaping this, he knew that. Given his mental state these past few months, no one would believe him, his word was not enough.

“I don’t know.”

Dumbledore sighed, standing from the chair and motioning for two officers. “Go ahead and process him.”

“Albus-” Sirius heard James yell, following behind the officers who were leading him towards one of the cars. He blocked it out, listening to his breath and the wind whistling around him. He glanced to the side, catching sight of shaggy black fur being put into the back of the animal control van. Snuffles’ face poked through one of the windows, watching Sirius as he sat in the back of the van, the door slamming closed.

“Right rear pocket; wallet containing seventeen dollars cash, an ID, and a credit card.” Peter said as Marlene wrote his words down. Sirius stood in the middle of the room in nothing but his boxers and his undershirt.

“Left front pocket,” Peter continued as Sirius closed his eyes, focusing on blocking out the voices of his colleagues, or well, previous colleagues. He probably would not be welcomed back to the FBI.

James stayed quiet as he took Sirius’ picture, which the man was very thankful for. He was tired of the forced conversation as his friends looked at him with mildly veiled distaste. The process was long and boring, Sirius blocking most of it out as he let his friends–could he even call them that anymore? They probably didn’t want to be friends with him–maneuver around him, poking and prodding through his belongings.

He came back to himself when he was instructed to sit at the table, a white sheet of paper laid out in front of him. Dorcas sat on the other side holding his hand gently as she scraped under his fingernails.

“I can’t do the silent treatment.” She finally said, her eyes still focused on his fingers. “I can’t pretend like I don’t know you and I can’t pretend like we don’t both know what I’m finding under your nails.”

Sirius looked down at the paper, very obvious flecks of blood mingled around the dirt.

“You’ve been struggling to trust yourself when knowing what is real…” She took a pause, finally meeting his eyes. “This blood is real, Sirius.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how it got there?” She stopped the prodding of his nails as she spoke.

Sirius took a breath, looking away from his friend, “Not with certainty, no.”

“Certainty comes with evidence, Sirius.” She sighed, going back to work. “I didn’t want to find any evidence on you. I wanted to be certain about who you are, but you can’t even be certain with yourself.”

“Not anymore.”

“If you weren’t certain with yourself, you shouldn’t have been here. This is the FBI.”

“I thought I would get better.” His eyes glazed over, thinking over the many times he had struggled to grasp at reality and the empty promises he told himself that he would be okay, that he would get over this.

“You always said you interpret the evidence.” Dorcas sat back in her chair. “So do it, Sirius. Interpret the evidence.”

“According to the evidence,” Sirius looked down at the flecks of blood, a sad, watery smile covering his face. “I killed and cannibalized someone.”

“We analyzed the tissue,” Marlene said as Dumbledore walked into the room. “It matches Pandora Wesia.”

Before Albus could ask the obvious, Peter spoke, “She was reported missing this morning when the doctor came in to run tests. No one knows how long she’s been gone though.”

“What about the blood under his fingernails?” Dumbledore asked, moving around towards the computer where Peter sat.

“Okay, so get this, we got a match in our system.” Peter pulled up a picture of an FBI officer. “Alex Terell.”

“But it gets worse.” Marlene cut in, moving towards one of the boxes of evidence and pulling out a bag. “This knife was found in Sirius’ bedside drawer, it was checked out of evidence yesterday by one, Alex Terell.”

“Where is he?” Dumbledore’s voice was loud, already pulling out his phone to arrange a team.

“He didn’t show up to work today.”

The SWAT team lined up outside of Mr. Terell’s house, waiting for Dumbledore’s word. The second Albus gave his nod, the door was broken in, agents filing into the house.

“We’ve got a body!” Someone shouted from inside causing Dumbledore to curse under his breath and make his way into the house.

Alex Terell’s body lay splayed out across the coffee table, an array of knives sticking out of him. Besides the body, the house itself showed no signs of a break in or struggle despite the fact that he was obviously killed here.

“Time of death?” Dumbledore asked Marlene and Dorcas who were already leaning over the body.

“I’d say between seven and ten last night.” Marlene said, looking at the man's wounds. “We can get more accurate once we have him back in the lab.”

Dumbledore nodded, now directing his attention to James who looked like he may be sick. “Potter. I need you to tell me the significance of that knife. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble if it didn’t mean something to him.”

James snapped out of his daze, taking his eyes off of the body and looking at his boss. “It was the last thing his brother gave him.”