Time was standing still.
He could no longer tell night from day, nor could he count the days on fingers or toes. He was lost, he was alone, and he was terrified.
It had been twelve years. Four thousand and two hundred days…the longest days he'd ever endured.
He could no longer say the names of those who meant the most to him, he'd attempted. But the words would always catch, just on the top of his tongue.
He was no longer worthy.
And still their faces haunted his every sleep. They weaved in and out, happy and sad, their disappoint, their laughter, their love prevailed and ensured he'd never, never sleep a peaceful night again.
But then it had come, quite suddenly to him, a day, which had seemingly been like any other. The minister had been making his regular visit to the prison, carrying with him the Daily Prophet.
And he had, just had, to have it. It was his only ticket to the real world.
It had been given to him, after several moments of pathetic begging and pleading, but there it was…right on the front page. His reason, his escape, and the only thing keeping his sane.
There on the front page sat the traitor. Sitting on the shoulder of a young boy, Peter Pettigrew made no attempts to hide himself. Everyone believed him dead. But now, now they would know the truth. Sirius would make sure of that.
Staring at the picture it came to him, quite suddenly, he was about to do the dumbest, single most ridiculous thing he'd ever done. James would be proud of him. And with such thoughts still running through his head, Sirius laughed.
It was not the laugh of a crazy man.
Instead it was the loud, echoing, happy laughter of a man who was returning to his boyhood. And then the words, the ones who he hadn't said in nearly twelve's years, came so suddenly, so easily to him. He knew then that he was finally, finally going home.
