Inner Pain

The moment he swallowed it, Sirius Black's gaunt face twisted into a savage grimace, just like his Azkaban mugshot. Tall as he was, he doubled over at once, one hand braced against the rim of the Stone Basin, the veins on the back of it standing out starkly. His deep gray eyes bulged wide, threaded with red blood. With a trembling hand, he thrust the cup into the Stone Basin again, and after a brief moment of steeling himself, he viciously scooped up one full cup after another and drank them down fast.

Somewhat surprised, Allen rubbed his chin. The agony this potion brought—if his memory served, even someone as formidable as Dumbledore had not lasted long before losing his balance, collapsing uncontrollably to the ground and needing Harry to feed it to him. Yet Sirius Black had managed to drink so many cups in a row and still stand before the Stone Basin. It seemed that in the years since leaving prison, his body had recovered rather well.

The muscles in Sirius Black's face were twitching. He strained to stretch out his shaking hand and sink the shell back into the liquid. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he resolutely lifted the cup—only for it to fall back into the Stone Basin before it reached his lips. Sirius Black staggered and collapsed to the ground, his eyes shut, his breathing heavy. The pain brought by the poison You-Know-Who had made was not entirely physical.

Just as Sirius Black had lifted the cup halfway, an illusion of that familiar house in Godric's Hollow suddenly appeared in his mind: the fate of the Potter family as he had imagined it countless times over the years. James Potter bravely faced You-Know-Who and his Death Eater followers head-on, his