I don't think it came out as good as I had hoped; I ended up going out on tangents, I feel like. Written for XxXRegretXxX's 61 Themes Competition.
I don't own anything here.
Pulling and struggling against the hands holding him in front of the camera, Sirius Black continued to shout his claims of innocence. He couldn't fathom that the picture to be taken would repeat his display in twelve years, haunting the Wizarding World. The camera flashed, and Sirius stopped tugging his arms back; the papers had been filed, forms were filled, and now this picture would identify him on every document recording his crime, capture and arrest. It would probably be on the front page of the Prophet by morning: story on page five, continued on thirteen.
Sirius allowed the cold, skeletal hands of the Dementors to guide him through Azkaban prison. Though feeling frozen now, he would thaw once in his high-security cell and come, in time, to appreciate the out-right pleasant temperature maintained in the place, disturbed only by the chill of a passing Dementor.
The dark figures brought Sirius through the entrance of the cell, let go of him and retreated, locking the enforced door on their way. Perhaps the door could still be opened by magic; however no-one knew for sure because wands and all other objects with magical qualities were confiscated from prisoners. The island situated in the middle of a body of water was Unplottable, hidden from Muggles and had anti-Apparation charms stronger than the ones in place at Hogwarts school.
Once the Dementors were too far to be felt, Sirius felt one fleeting moment of absolute joy. Turning to observe his surroundings, the man's thoughts turned dark once again.
Here he was: a prisoner of Azkaban; probably the only member of his family who didn't deserve the title. He was more alone than he had been in his entire life, even his damned miserable childhood in that godforsaken house. Not because of the solitary confinement he had been sent to, but because of the events that put him there.
It was now the eve of the second of November, if Sirius was correct. Today should have been a happy day, not a day of terror and sadness. It was the anniversary marking the day Prongs had started dating Lily at Hogwarts. But the two would never see another anniversary. Lily and James Potter were dead.
Sirius sat in the fading light of his cell, tears dripping off the end of his nose. Bowing his head, Sirius blamed himself for everything.
Dumbledore had put the Fidelus charm over the Potter's home when they found out that Voldemort had marked them for death. Sirius was supposed to be the Secret Keeper, but they decided at the last moment to give Wormtail the honor in attempt to throw off He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Wormtail was a Death Eater all along, as Sirius saw now. He ran to his Master and told him James and Lily's location, giving them away. The first thing Sirius did the night he finally understood it was run to Godric's Hollow—only it was already too late. Looking over the rubble that was left of his best friend's house, Sirius heard a cry—baby Harry, the Boy Who Lived, as he would be known. He fetched the infant from the torn-apart boards of the house and wrapped the small boy as tightly as he could with the blue blanket Harry's pudgy hand had been grasping. Sitting on the seat of his motorbike, Sirius rocked the baby, speaking to himself as much as to Harry.
"It will be okay eventually, Harry. Mummy and Daddy aren't gone; they'll never be gone. You have Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony, too. You're going to be just fine, and your mummy and daddy will see everything you do." Sirius felt the anger he had harbored moments before flee as he held baby Harry. Perhaps he was supposed to be his guardian; Prongs had often joked about what would happen if Sirius ended up raising Harry, though neither of them thought it would ever happen. He was going see to it that his best friend's son grew up right. And Prongs and Lily could rest in peace, knowing their baby boy would be okay.
Harry fell asleep quickly, wrapped up in his tight bundle. Soon after, however, Sirius was startled to be tapped on the shoulder by Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper of Hogwarts. Sirius told Hagrid he had found Harry; Hagrid said that Dumbledore had sent Hagrid to fetch the infant for him. Sirius trusted Dumbledore with his life, so he handed his Godson over to the half-giant and asked he used the old motorbike to return to Dumbledore. Sirius didn't truly trust any other means of transportation.
After the motorbike flew off, Sirius had bittersweet thoughts. Harry was in good hands and it would stay that way his whole life. James and Lily can rest in peace, he kept telling himself. Yet James and Lily were gone, and that was the most terrifying thought he had had in his entire life. And even worse, they had been wrong.
They had thought Moony was the one who would betray them; no-one had seen him in months, though they had kept in touch by owl. None of the three really wanted to cut off contact with Moony; they had been such good friends for so long. Lily didn't believe for a second that Remus would turn traitor, but Prongs cared too much for his wife and son to risk anything. So letters were shared.
Yet it was the man who had been in Godric's Hollow with the family almost as much as Sirius had been that caused their death. Peter Pettigrew—he didn't deserve the childhood nickname anymore. Though his animagus form was accurate. He was a rat.
Rage boiled in Sirius in an instant, and without thinking he turned on the spot and Disapparated. He was in a Muggle city. He knew Peter would be here somewhere; there was no doubt. Walking into an alley, he transformed into Snuffles and used his nose to track the rat.
It was morning before he could pick up on Peter. He wasn't in his animagus form, something Sirius found odd. He stood in the shadows and once again became a man, but now he had dark circles around his eyes. Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened when he saw Sirius, and he tried to run. Sirius followed him, and the stupid, stubby man got himself cornered. Sirius had his wand out in a flash but it was still too late. Pettigrew, using his wand, severed a finger from his hand; an act that would confuse the life out of Sirius for hours. He then used a spell Sirius could not identify that caused a blast, and when it cleared, Sirius found about a dozen Muggles dead on the floor, and Pettigrew was gone. The bastard had crawled away as a rat.
Sirius stood screaming in the street, the agony in his heart too much. Soon enough officials came and took him away.
He rubbed at his face with his rough sleeve, sniffling. He was all alone in the world. Prongs and Lily were dead. Pettigrew was nothing but a traitor. And Moony would probably never forgive him even if he got out of this place.
But Harry had it worse than Sirius. Now, Sirius knew, he would be left with Lily's Muggle sister, and based on what he had heard, Harry would have a hard life ahead of him.
Yet, oh-so more horrifying was a fact that at the moment, only Sirius knew: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not truly gone. He would be back, and Harry would be vulnerable.
Pettigrew was out there, hiding, waiting to help his master return. Harry was alone in the world.
Sirius blinked the tears out of his eyes, stood from the floor and took his place lying on his bed. He was determined, now: he would stay in this prison cell until the opportunity allowed him to escape, then he would save Harry from the nightmare the poor orphaned infant could never imagine. He would stay strong for his Godson; his best friend's son. He had found the will to survive: he would not lose his sanity. Only the guilty do, after all, and Sirius was innocent.