I have been waiting for this day for months now. It's ironic how the day that I am ready to break into Hogwarts is the anniversary of the day my life ended. Twelve long years ago…there were so many things I wish I could have done differently. But now I am here to avenge my mistakes.
On the biting cold nights on the run from the Dementors, I would lie awake in my dog form, huddled in a ball. Whether in Azkaban or not, I never slept. I couldn't let myself sleep. I owed it to James…James, my best friend. They say I killed my best friend. They are right.
It's no use denying to myself that if it wasn't for me, James and Lily wouldn't have died. I can still hear my confident-no, arrogant- voice telling James my brilliant idea. Use Peter as their secret keeper. A bluff. Who would suspect? I was a blind man. Peter had the perfect cover. He was in the perfect position to attack.
All those times he looked me in the eyes and told me he didn't know who would be out for such good people as the Potters. All those times he asked for my help, for my guidance, for my support. His eyes wide, his fat cheeks trembling, his chin raised defiantly, he asked how he could help the Order. How his chest puffed in pride when I suggested he be the Potter's Secret Keeper. I shake my head in disgust. Blind.
Instead I suspected Remus. I knew he would never, and yet I suspected him. Kind, gentle Remus, called a monster by the Ministry, but would never hurt a fly. He would never betray his friends; he cared too much for them. He was like a tolerating older brother to James and me. At Hogwarts, I trusted him with my life. How must he feel now? Three of his best friends, betrayed and killed by another. My stomach churns at the thought. If he only knew…Gods, how I wanted him to know. But would he even speak to me?
He shouldn't. He has no right to. I killed my best friends. I suspected him. He must have known I did. I virtually shut him out of my life in those last, anxiety-filled months. (All the more reason for him to suspect me, I think ruefully.) I have no reason to call him a friend, no reason to hope.
But it's all I have.
I take out the dagger hidden in the rags I call my robes. Sliding my thumb over the edge of the blade, I relish the pain. For so long I felt nothing. It was a constant tugging at my insides, living in a small cell in Azkaban. After years of it, I almost grew accustomed to the dull pain. But the sharpness of this pain excites me. I can feel the adrenaline pulsing through my blood, my blood that is now dripping down my palm, slowly staining the dirt.
I shed my blood for you, Peter Pettigrew! How I want to scream out loud, just to hear my voice again, just to hear it echo in the dark forest. I want the world to know that I am innocent. I'm not crazy. I want them to remember me for how I used to be. I want them to remember Sirius Black, the "bad boy" of the Marauders, the rebel, the flirt, the best friend of James Edward Potter. I want them to realize that there is no way that young boy at Hogwarts could be the same as the notorious Azkaban fugitive. I loved the Potters, my family. No, not even that. I want them to know that Pettigrew was the traitor, the murderer, the one who ruined all those lives. That he is staying at Hogwarts, among sleeping children, living in the same room as the son of the man who's death he arranged.
Harry.
I had caught one quick glance at him when he ran away from Petunia's house. For a moment, I thought that I had died and was indeed seeing James. But the eyes…they haunted me. Just as Lily's tearful, dubious eyes haunted me after I insisted Peter be their Secret Keeper. As I made my trek to Hogwarts, Harry's green eyes followed me, reminding me why I had to go on.
Harry, living all of his days without his parents. He must know by now that I am his godfather. Gods, I had felt so much pride that day James asked me to be his son's godfather. For once, I would have somebody who would look up to me. I knew I could be a father-figure, no matter what anybody else said. I was going to be a role model, the cool Uncle Sirius. And now, the boy I swore to protect is probably feeling the deepest of shame, of hurt, of anger…
I didn't, Harry. I would never. I could never.
If I was able to talk to him, would he care? Would he listen? Nobody else in the world would. I would be naïve to think that anybody cares at all about my well-being. All those nervous mothers I passed in my dog form, whispering with fearful eyes, were terrified that I would murder their families. For on that fatal Halloween, I had lost my honor, my dignity, my self-respect, and my faith, along with my best friends.
If I had gone through all of this earlier in life, I would have killed myself. I never would have surrendered, laughing, no less. But I had to live. I had to make it through the hell. James knew I never betrayed him, and that helped me to make it through. Every time I thought of the people who believed that I could betray my best friend, I felt a knife stabbing my stomach, twisting and wrenching until I could feel no more. But I couldn't give into the feeling. If I did, that would be letting Peter win. Letting him live.
Again I touch the cold blade. It may have only been a few months, but it felt like an entire lifetime since I found out where Peter was. He was smarter than any of us had given him credit for. Hiding out with a wizarding family, disguised as an innocent pet, he could still know what was going on in the wizarding world. Since everybody thought he was dead, nobody would worry about him, think about him, look for him…
The bastard.
Blood trickles down my hand, but I don't notice. The sky has darkened. By my estimations, now is the safest time to enter the castle. I tuck the knife safely in my robes and transform into my dog form. Oh, the times when Padfoot would playfully carry Wormtail by the tail under the luminescence of the full moon …not tonight. Tonight Padfoot wouldn't carry him. He would clench the filthy rodent in his teeth, the rat would not live…Saliva drips down my black, matted fur.
I walked stealthily in the shadows towards my alma mater. Young Sirius Black would have flaunted himself, would have done everything to stand out. But now he is forced to hide in the dark. How much longer? How long will I have to repent? But now is not the time to get emotional. Now is not the time to show weakness. For I have a mission, and I will accomplish it. He doesn't know it now, but Harry's future lies in my hands. Peter Pettigrew may have destroyed my life. He may have killed my best friends. But I will not have him kill Harry.
I will not let him.
I will not be haunted.