"Listen to me, cough..."
"I'm not listening, traitor!"
Bang, bang!
"I really... ow..."
"Shut up and let me beat you to death!"
Bang, bang, bang!
"Stop for a second... ngh..."
"Die! Die!"
Thump, thump, thump, thump!
In the silent high-security wing, this exchange and the sounds of fists striking flesh kept repeating from the innermost cell.
Oh, and there was the click-click of a camera, too.
The prisoners on this floor were almost all among Voldemort's most loyal and fanatical Death Eaters.
Normally, they should have been craning their necks to watch the spectacle, jeering madly, or even cheering them on.
After all, they were just as brazen when the Minister occasionally came to inspect the prison.
Yet now, every one of them huddled obediently in a corner, as though terrified of being noticed.
Inside Sirius's cell.
Harry had tired himself out punching and leaned against a corner, panting. Sirius's bruised, swollen face looked as though someone had dumped a bucket of paint over it, and he lay on the floor catching his breath, looking even more wretched.
In excellent spirits, Shawn put away his camera with satisfaction, then took several bottles of potions from his ring, some for healing and some for restoring strength.
He stepped forward, crouched down, and roughly poured them into Sirius's mouth. His face was already a horrifying sight.
Anything brewed by Snape was guaranteed to be top quality. For injuries from a beating, his potions were practically miraculous.
Sirius coughed violently a few times, then looked much livelier.
Having rested, Harry's eyes lit up. He looked eager to get back to beating him.
Sirius shuddered in fright and hastily shrank into a corner, speaking as fast as he could.
"Harry, don't do anything rash. I'm not the one who got your parents killed. It