Five Days

Summary: Five days after the death of his best friend Sirius Black has finally tracked down the traitor.

Disclaimer: I own no characters seeing as this is all about Sirius.

A/N: I plan to have this be a short story with five chapters.


Sirius couldn't think straight, he had always been able to think straight in dangerous situations. It was his element, the one place he could think absolutely clearly. But this was different.

Sirius looked up as Hagrids enormous silhouette disappeared into the night sky, the roaring of the motorcycle growing dimmer and dimmer as Harry was taken away. Just two weeks ago he and James had evaded death eaters on that motorcycle, almost to be caught by a muggle policeman.

His partner in crime was gone, not to be seen again. Sirius looked down at his hands, not wanting to believe anything had changed. Was it not just yesterday that James and he were laughing at the absurdity of James having to be locked away? Was it not just yesterday that Lily had frowned and told him off before laughing herself?

It was not conceivable, it could not be possible. Still the proof was right here in front of Sirius' eyes, the gaping hole in his best friend's roof. The two bodies that lie lifeless on the floor, never to move again.

Sirius couldn't bear to look any longer, maybe there were tears running down his face he didn't know. But as the muggles poked their heads outside to see what had happened, what on earth was that big banging noise, Sirius felt such horrible guilt. Of course Peter would cave; he had always been the Achilles heel of the group.

Why had he let James convince him to let Peter be the secret keeper? Because it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He imagined Peter bloodied, beaten to a pulp, or writhing in pain the Cruciatus curse on him. Peter was probably dead now, his last words the location of James and Lily's home safely tucked away in quiet Godric's Hollow.

Sirius couldn't look at the shocked faces of the people in the street nor could he stand the police sirens blaring in the distance. Without a glance back Sirius turned and ran, not a soul seeing him as he escaped into the darkness.


It was true they were dead. There was not a person in the leaky cauldron toasting to the death of his friends, not singing in praise of the demise of the dark lord at last. Everywhere he heard it "Ha-za to Harry Potter, the boy who Lived."

It was not yet four hours after their death, and still it seemed everyone knew of it. Why weren't women weeping on the streets for the death of Lily and James Potter? Why were they not sorrowful that a boy would never grow to know his parents?

People danced around in the streets of Diagon Alley, prancing around like bloody fools, singing and shouting, spilling drinks down their fronts. Sirius could not see the light in the situation, and he refused to. His best friend was dead, maybe even more than one.