A/N: hello again, sorry for the wait, and thank you for your reviews, they're much appreciated. This chapter borrows a little from Prisoner of Azkaban, the movie, because I like a minor detail they gave to Sirius and decided to keep in the fic for various plot and character reasons. You'll see what I mean. Anyway, please let me know what you think!

Chapter 3

"Unbelievable. Isn't it enough that Denbright has been sacked?" Mather complained out loud in front of Madam Strout.

India rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. He has only been demoted."

"To the Third Floor!" he retorted, growing a darker shade of red. "To take care of "uncontrollable giggling" and other related nonsense. He's as good as sacked."

"A Healer is still a Healer, no matter the nature of the assignment," Madam Strout interjected severely. "I am frankly shocked to hear this language from you, Doctor Mather. I would certainly refrain from speaking so freely if I were you. I gave clear instructions to our staff that we should show the utmost degree of professionalism in this matter and you have failed us."

Mather couldn't conceal his outrage anymore. "Sirius Black is a Death Eater! Denbright's girlfriend, Lucy? Her uncle and aunt were killed in cold blood by this monster and others like him! And we're just supposed to pretend this is business as usual? We shouldn't have to accommodate him! He belongs in Azkaban! And as for you, Stephens, it's honestly disgusting how you defend him -"

"I'm not defending him!" India protested hotly. "But I don't think we should pay violence with violence! We're better than that!"

"Oh, so now you think you're morally superior to us; you, the Healer who has taken pity upon the poor, sad Death Eater –"

"I have not taken pity on him, you are distorting the facts and casting aspersions–" India cried back.

"That is quite enough, the both of you!" Miriam Strout thundered, rising stately from her seat. "Doctor Mather, you are on a period of probation. If you decide to follow in Doctor Denbright's footsteps, you will find yourself swiftly working alongside him on the Third Floor. Should that prospect be beneath you, you can always find a job elsewhere. And as for you, Doctor Stephens, as a Junior Healer, you ought to have consulted with your seniors and myself before implementing treatment changes. Administering a Sleeping Draught to your patient out of bounds, it was not a risk worth taking."

India looked down at her feet, thoroughly chastened by Madam Strout's words.

"I wasn't trying to take risks," she said humbly. "I was assigned to be one of Mr. Black's Healers and I thought I had the authority to…do what I did. I didn't see it as a harmful measure. The patient complained of fatigue and inability to sleep. I had already prepared a fresh batch for the Janus Thickey Ward. I just wanted to speed up the healing process."

"No," Mather muttered scathingly. "You were just trying to make him more comfortable."

"I wasn't thinking of that! I was just… being practical," India argued, faltering slightly in her denial. The truth was, she might have wanted to make things less painful for Black. But that was only as a means of getting him to talk.

In the following days that she went to see him, she did not have much luck prying useful information out of him. Black was not very chatty, not only because he was suspicious, but also because he was always tired. He suffered from violent nightmares, which he would hardly discuss with her, but which kept him up at night. She suspected there were other factors involved, probably having to do with psychological trauma, but Black was stubbornly silent on the matter. The only way she could find out more about him, as a case study, was to help him sleep. Of course, telling this to Madam Strout would incur a whole other series of questions, such as "Why are you trying to find out more about him?"

"Regardless of intentions, the Sleeping Draught is not a suitable drug for a patient as unstable as Mr. Black. I expected you to know this, India," Madam Strout observed pointedly.

India had, in fact, known; which is why she had concocted a less diluted version of the potion, but admitting to that would have gotten her in bigger trouble. She chewed on her lip in remorse. Strout did not usually call her by first name unless she was upset.

"I am deeply sorry, Madam Strout. Will I be demoted too?"

"No, not quite yet. You are a valuable Junior. You will be given a second chance."

India let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

But Mather only sneered. "It is good to know that helping a Death Eater is not a punishable crime."

India had received quite a lecture from Madam Strout about proper treatment care, but she did not expect to receive a second one from her friend, Rosy.

"How could you even think of doing that?!" Rosy demanded, drawing the attention of half the tables around them.

India shushed her promptly. "Will you keep it down? It's bad enough the other Juniors know. I don't want to get a reputation."

"No, I will not keep it down, and your reputation should be the least of your concerns right now, since you have clearly gone mental. I don't know if it's Black's influence or –"

"Look," India interjected impatiently, "I was stupid, all right? I thought helping him sleep would get him to open up more during our sessions."

"Open up about what?" Rosy demanded.

"About…you know, his past, his beginnings. How it all started. I wanted to gouge his mental state in anamnesis. I read up on Gilbert's theories of Anamnesis, and he says that wizards and witches inadvertently create magical blockages in their brains whenever any painful memories are unearthed –"

"I can't believe you are looking into this!" Rosy protested, scandalized.

"He may be blocking the memory of his conversion to the Dark Arts," India persisted, undeterred. "I mean, one does not get born a Death Eater, does one? One may have the potential for it, given one's family and background, but nothing can clinically predict such an outcome. So I wanted to find out –"

"How to make a Death Eater?" Rosy drawled sarcastically.

"You mock, but I've also been reading up on cults and cult mentality," India said, extracting a book from her bag.

"Oh, Merlin save us," Rosy muttered, shaking her head. "You know, other people pick up a hobby."

"And even with a powerful leader like You Know Who," India continued, ignoring her comments, "it still does not make sense why some young people are more drawn to him than others. I mean not all Slytherins joined him, and Black was a Gryffindor."

Rosy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you remember when we were at school and you wanted to find out how the owls were capable of delivering packages to unknown destinations, and you stayed up in the owlery like a crazy person and monitored their habits?"

India scoffed. "I wasn't crazy."

"You're right, that was child's play. I frankly wish you could go back to studying owls instead of this."

India shook her head. "I won't try to give him any more helpful potions, all right? But I'm not giving up on this."

"Why not? What do you stand to gain from it?" Rosy questioned, exasperated.

"We all stand to gain a lot!" India protested. "Instead of sending everyone to Azkaban and letting them rot there, we could get at the root of the problem and prevent pointless tragedies."

Her friend regarded her skeptically. "You know I love you, Indie, but I've known you for a while now. This isn't a humanitarian act. You're not trying to save the wizarding world. You're just an incurable busybody."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You're the most curious person I know."

"That's rich coming from you, you love to gossip!"

"Yeah, but I don't pry like you do. I do it for fun. You tend to develop…er…obsessions."

India huffed. "That's such an exaggeration. I'm hardly obsessed. We're Healers, we're supposed to get at the bottom of things."

"The problem is, you don't know when you've hit bottom, Indie."

"Well, I'm sure you'll let me know," India replied tartly. "Come on, I'm not harming anyone."

"Other than yourself, and potentially Black, you mean," Rosy observed. "Although, I suppose I wouldn't mind the second that much."

"I'm not going to harm him, I'm not like Denbright and Mather! I'm trying to help him. Trying to help everyone, actually."

Rosy narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

India threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll admit it. I…I am doing this for myself too."

"Ha. So you admit you're developing an obsession?"

India smiled ruefully. "Never."

"I heard you got into trouble because of me."

India looked up from the chart she was perusing. Her expression might have been qualified as "deer caught in the headlights".

Black's face betrayed nothing, but she could have sworn his dark eyes were more brilliant than usual.

"Where did you hear that?"

He shrugged. "Overheard some of the nurses on the ward."

India rested her hands on her hips. "What did they say exactly?"

"Mm," he hummed uncomfortably. "I'd rather not repeat it word for word. But…I gathered they didn't like it that you gave me something for my nightmares."

India suppressed a sigh. Suppose gossip couldn't be helped.

"No, they did not."

"I'm sorry…" he trailed off, looking sideways. "I didn't mean to put you in that position."

India frowned. "It was my choice, Mr. Black. I gave you the Sleeping Draught. I'll live with the consequences."

She saw him flinch momentarily at the use of his name.

"Still. You didn't have to. Thank you," he murmured.

India smiled uneasily. "No use thanking me now. I can't administer it anymore. So you're back to square one, I'm afraid. Although your recovery has shown very positive signs, recently."

Black raised himself a little against the pillow. "It's the thought that counts, as they always say."

Well…actions count too, especially yours, she thought grimly.

"So then," she continued perfunctorily, "how are you feeling today, Mr. Black?"

She saw the familiar flicker in his eyes, the aversion that the name inspired.

He said he felt sleepy and tired, but a little stronger than the last time she had checked on him. As she drew her wand over his vitals, she spoke quietly to him,

"You really hate the name, don't you?"

He blinked, startled.

"What?"

"Black…you don't like it."

He snorted wearily. "What gave you that idea?"

India chewed on her lip in thought. She felt an idea hatching. Something for which Rosy might scold her later. But it was less foolish than administering him sleeping potions.

"What if we made a deal?"

He regarded her attentively. "A deal?"

India nodded. "I could call you Sirius from now on."

Black narrowed his eyes slightly. "In exchange for…?"

"Three reasons why you hate your family name," she replied promptly before she lost her nerve.

She was surprised to hear him chuckle gloomily. "Impressive. Were you a Slytherin by any chance?"

India flushed a little. "Ravenclaw, actually. And I don't see how –"

"Only three reasons?" he interrupted her.

She smiled in a show of assurance. "Only three."

"You promise?"

"I do," she said firmly.

"Not that I trust you very much…Granted, you've been much nicer than the rest, but niceness has fooled me in the past," he commented with a resentful edge to his voice.

India frowned. She had rarely heard him sound angry. "What do you mean? Who was it that fooled you?"

"Nice try. All right. I'll take the deal. Do you want to shake on it?" he asked sardonically.

But India actually raised her hand obligingly. She had read in her books that such gestures usually encouraged trust between patient and doctor.

He chewed on his lip for a moment or two, before raising his own more feeble hand and gripping hers.

The contact was disturbing, on both ends, but not completely unpleasant. His palm was dry and cool, hers was warm and soft. The touch seemed to last a bit longer than necessary, mainly because she was distracted by his fingers. She noticed his nails were bitten to the quick and that there were small black engravings around the knuckles. She had read in his file that he had received several tattoos, both in and out of Azkaban, but she was still curious to see them up close. She knew he sported a few on his chest and shoulders – most of them were Ancient Runes symbols. The Aurors had studied them to see if they offered any information on You Know Who, but most of them turned out to be gibberish. Except for an alchemical symbol by his sternum. It was meant to signify the element known as Antimony. It had few magical properties, except that it was generally poisonous. Some Aurors believed that was a sure sign of his collusion with the Dark Arts, others were not so sure. India made a mental note to study the photos of his tattoos more carefully.

"These aren't tattoos," he said, almost reading her mind. She started at the sound of his voice and released his hold.

"Sorry?"

"The marks around my knuckles. You get those from Dementors."

"How…how exactly does that happen?" she asked in a small voice.

"Oh. It happens if you shove your hand inside their wreaths. Wouldn't recommend it."

India's mouth fell open. "You did what?" Her professionalism was momentarily forgotten.

Black smiled darkly. "One day I'd had enough of their menacing hovering and I decided to antagonize them, like an idiot. It was the last time I did that."

India shook her head. "No wonder you were sorted in Gryffindor."

The words had a strange effect on him. His lips twitched involuntarily and his eyes widened; his whole expression was, for one brief moment, more vulnerable than she had ever witnessed it. But the moment did not last.

"So. Three reasons why I hate my family, was it?" he asked, tapping his fingers against his quilt.

India nodded, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed.

"Number one. And you should jot this down. They're a bunch of tossers who only care about blood purity."

"Does that mean you don't share their views on that?" she questioned, ready to write down his given answer.

"Wouldn't want to be a tosser, would I?" he deflected humorously, but his voice sounded hollow rather than amused.

"Number two," he continued, not giving her time to ask anything else. "They're a bunch of inbreds who force you to marry your sister or your cousin, depending on the mood and time of day."

India stifled a snort. "That's typical of most pureblood families."

Black rounded on her. "Don't be so sure. Some are all talk. But the Blacks never fail to add a little incest to every family gathering."

India made an effort not to laugh. "That sounds ghastly."

"It does, especially if Cousin Wulfrida is twenty years your senior and sports a rather bushy beard."

This time, she couldn't refrain from chuckling out loud.

"You laugh, but she started eyeing me ever since I turned thirteen," he drawled, eyes awash in mischief.

"Stop it," India gasped, practically wheezing.

"And number three," he continued, smirking, "they're the kind of people who destroy anyone that stands in their way, including their own family. Especially their own family."

That had the effect of instantly sobering her up. Her smile vanished.

"I know…you were not welcome in your house anymore," she said awkwardly.

"Read that in my file, did you? They got it wrong. I was the one who ran away."

India didn't argue with him. She suspected there was great animosity on both sides, for various reasons (while pureblood families were notorious for harboring Dark wizards, they did not like it when their offspring were actually caught), but she found it hard to believe that he could break from his family so completely.

She swallowed thickly. "The Blacks are a rather large clan. Was there no one there you had a connection with?"

The question caught him off-guard. His eyes shifted painfully, as if he couldn't bear to think of it.

He cleared his throat in irritation. "I gave you three reasons. That's enough."

India heaved a sigh. "Fair's fair." She didn't want to push him. Already she had made a lot of progress. She couldn't wait to analyze her notes in the privacy of her office.

But she felt a small discomfort about it now. She knew she was doing it for the right reasons, but getting to know him was proving rather painful in some ways.

She checked his vitals once more and administered a small injection to help with his breathing. The X-Ray of his lungs showed that they were congested; there were some deposits in his middle lobes that would need to be cleansed using special magical serums. With that being taken care of, however, she had noticed there was something odd about his intracranial tension. Something which hadn't shown up on the board before.

India lowered the chart. "How would you feel about a brain scan, Sirius?"

He opened his mouth halfway through her question, then closed it again when he heard the sound of his first name. They started at each other for a moment in silence. India felt stupid. Maybe she shouldn't have made this deal. She couldn't really call him that, could she? It was too personal, too –

"The Aurors…performed a few spells on my mind when I was arrested," he said softly, as if not trusting his voice.

"If there's anything wrong with my brain now, it's probably because of that," he added.

India frowned. "I know they administered Veritaserum, among other things."

He grunted. "I was what you'd call hysterical at the time. You probably read the news. The potion wasn't, er, effective, they had to use other means."

She shivered slightly. "Yes…I heard. I'll order a scan, anyway."

He raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes as if he wanted to wipe away a bad memory.

"Why are you doing this?" he said at length.

India pulled a wayward lock from her face. "Doing what?"

"It's all the same, isn't it? I'll always be a bloody convict, here or elsewhere. It doesn't matter. Why are you treating me better? What do you stand to gain from this?"

She looked down guiltily. "Maybe I think you can be salvaged."

He gave a cold laugh. "You're right, you weren't a Slytherin. You're a terrible liar."

India knitted her eyebrows in annoyance. He was mistaking her. She hadn't meant "salvaged" in any idealistic sense of the word. She didn't think he could be returned to any former innocence. But she did believe he could be rehabilitated. Sort of.

"And treating you worse will solve what exactly?" she replied archly.

"It would make sense, at least," he returned.

"No, it wouldn't. The damage is done. The only thing to do now is to make sure it isn't made worse."

He gave a big snort. "Oh, so you think if I'm treated badly, I'll just snap and go on a murderous spree again?"

India felt a sharp tingle run down her spine. He made it sound like a trivial matter. Easy as sport. She remembered who he was.

"You can rest easy," he said, noticing the sudden paleness in her face. "My killing days are over. Even before they began."

Even before they began? She wondered what he meant by that.

His eyes watched her like a bird of prey watches a mouse.

She coughed and straightened up, stepping into the professional mask she knew so well. "You wouldn't be able to start much of a killing spree. We have you detained very well."

He stared at the way she gripped her quill. "You sound very confident."

"I am," she said, raising her chin in defiance. "I'm not afraid of you."

He smiled a sad smile, devoid of smugness or ill intentions. "You don't really fit here do you, India? You're a little strange. Like me. That's what the nurses were saying anyway."

She felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Our time is up, I'm afraid. See you next time, Sirius."

She did not wait to see his reaction or hear his reply. She hurried out of the ward, counting her breaths one at a time.