Title: And the Constellations Winked Down on Him
By: Nesma
Disclaimer: Obviously not my world.
AN: Well, hopefully, Adriana will find this heart wrenching. If she doesn't, well this was a failure. Enjoy?
One
Bodies. Everywhere. Lifeless faces, screams in mid throat, hands scrapped and bruised as if they fell down instead of collapsing into death. There is a finger by his toe and he's not sure whose it is and he feels the bile starting to crawl up. There is a crater, and it's deep and dark. It's getting hard to breathe as his nostrils are filling with dead bodies and literal shit. There is a sort of numbness that wraps around his heart and he feels his wand hand dropping slowly. Pops from every direction can be heard-it has to be hit wizards.
Two
Sirius counts the bodies frantically with every beat of his racing heart. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. All muggles from what he can tell. Peter is nowhere on the ground and there is sort of an icy lining that fills his stomach, the thickening of his blood, and his pulse seems to slow down with every trickle of fear. This doesn't look good for him, this looks fucking awful for him as he has a wand and everyone around him is dead. From the corner of his eyes hit wizards are arriving with every pop and a blood curling screams from the live and bleeding victims.
Three
Where is Peter? It's a desperate, frantic, insane thought that pumps throughout his body as he eyes the scene again. There are four men, two are quite old, one is a teenager, and the other had to be in his thirties. Four are women, one had white hair like Mrs. Potter and the rest had to be within their twenties-thirties; one had her running shoe blasted off, as if it slipped off mid run. He doesn't like to think where her foot landed.
The rest were children and his stomach turned when he noticed one was a baby; like Harry.
Four
There are twelve bodies and not one looks like Peter. Not one has his pointed noise, his dirty blonde looks, or his pudgy stomach. Not a single one even closely resembles Peter and Sirius is looking over his shoulder and is short of dropping to the ground to find the scum responsible for this mess. The screaming muggles, the frozen wizards, and a finger near his foot was all he could see- a finger by his foot with a rat close by scurrying away in the crater…
Five
He had to laugh, it was bloody funny. The scum, the dirt, the very vermin that Peter had always sworn to never become had been his exact fate. The man valued his pathetic, disgusting life over those of twelve muggles, Lily, James, and Harry; he valued his life enough to cut off one lonely finger and not another more.
Though, Sirius thought as he laughed harder, perhaps an arm and a leg was too much for Peter. Perhaps Peter thought that by killing he could avoid the high price of his limbs. And he howled when he thought that this very life that Peter valued, might be snatched away as the rat scurried away into the pipes.
Sirius' only hope was that the rat choked on the blood that was filling the crater because my oh my, was there blood. The ground was slick of it as if it had rained and it was impossible not to track a bloody foot print. My oh my, how he hoped Peter was coated with the blood of his victims and how he hoped that the stench of their fear, their death, and their innocence would never leave Peter's nose.
This, Sirius thought, was the least the world could do for him.
The hit wizards were astounded as they were able to bind Sirius' hands together. And Sirius saw one trip out of fright; he stuttered out the instructions to Sirius. And Sirius, numbed by the bodies, exhausted by the amount of deaths he's witnessed in one week, and hopeful that every step led to another, brighter future, followed the instructions blindly.
Sirius assumed that the fear in their voices had to do with the scene of the crime. It hardly occurred to him that these very witches and wizards were terrified of the very sight of him. Witches who've had to reattach limbs for confused muggles. Wizards that had to respond to muggle sites after horrific accidents. Witches who've dealt with Death Eaters. Wizards who've had to deal with the ramification of Death Eaters tortures, killings, and utter destructions. Wizards and Witches who've ended their days by casting memory modification charms on Muggles; erasing every injury, every death, and every destruction they could have possibly witnessed without ever giving in to temptation and turning their wands onto themselves. It never occurred to Sirius that these very people, the very bravery they possessed, could be scared shitless by Sirius Black.
People were whispering his name with horror, as if it were more feared that Voldemort, and hardly anyone dared to look at him. When he caught their glances, they tripped or turned their heads violently around to spot something else. It was if he were Medusa and could turn anyone to stone with a glance.
This was all starting to feel surreal. They were scared of him. Did they even realize that he was still a child most of the time? How many times had Lily rolled her eyes at him and James, hands on her hips as the water in the kitchen ran as she chided them for doing something ridiculous while she was cooking. How many times did she make the joke that she was raising three children, Harry, James, and Sirius? How many times had Remus mockingly pitied her for having such a rebellious adult-child?
For Merlin's sake, he did sleep in the same room as Harry as a dog multiple times. Too many times, James had muttered. But Lily had always slapped James teasingly, resting her hand on his shoulder as she told him that it was not right to mock the free nanny services they got from Uncle Sirius. And Sirius was grateful that she let him help out, that she let him be as involved in the family as he was. Perhaps she knew that he was always yearning and hoping to have a family that accepted him, as if he was trying to pile on as much love and family memories since the lack of it from his own family left a debt that seemed too much to fill. Perhaps Lily understood the love and attention that Sirius so desperately needed more than James ever could.
After all, Lily had a sister who hated her guts and Sirius had seen her rely on friends as if they were sisters. Sure, they were fine with it but never understood why Lily needed that acceptance. Or why she cried as much as she did when she was kicked out of her sister's wedding. Just as Sirius had been after he was kicked out of his family; James was a great distraction but never understood why Sirius sometimes was so bitter against his family, why he was so upset that he was burned off the family tree so quickly ("good, you're better than them anyways." James had said when Sirius told him the news). It didn't matter if his family was literally full of the worst people he's met his entire life, the fact of the matter was that family was supposed to stick together and support you regardless; he felt cheated on some guaranteed life experience and he was bitter for it. Left a sour taste in his mouth whenever someone referred to family with such loving tones. And perhaps that's why him and Lily were able to bond on such a personal level. And why Lily was more than understanding as Sirius kept showing up on their doorstep; never once throwing James an irritated look nor never asking Sirius in a nasty tone why he was there again.
In fact, Lily had humoured his childish ways and his family yearnings. On the nights he stayed with Harry, curled up next to the crib, Lily always tucked a hideously ugly blanket from Petunia around him. She always made sure to turn on the night light that projected constellations the ceiling, a light that was really for Harry but everyone knew that Sirius slept better with the stars above him. Sirius always fell asleep with his heart flushed with the love that Lily and James gave so freely.
There was the other matter that Sirius felt like a fake adult ever since leaving Hogwarts. For fuck's sake, he still had the teddy that he carried around as a child. He often wondered why anyone gave him high scores for the O. or N.E. Did they not realize that he still found Zonko's products one of the most advance forms of magic? Did no one realized that he could be easily entertained by comic books and Honeyduke's candies and the very idea of reading an academic journal could make him cry?
Of course, the war harden him in a sense. Every death was a shock and though they were easier to swallow with time, him and James (the name felt like a dull dagger in his heart) always bought fire-whiskey and drank the whole bottle in response. Every horrible injury that he and James received was always treated as a funny joke. Isn't it hilarious that their clothes are drenched in their own blood? What did you do mate? Trip over your big head? What about your tail? You son of bitch! And they'd laugh for hours.
Lily and he once spent an entire day wrapping every item of James' desk (including the desk) for fun. They giggled and laughed the entire time, especially when Harry tried to unwrap the desk and started to howl when Lily pulled him away from their hard work.
And of course, he still had faith in the system. They had to believe him. They had to question him, they had to realize that he would never hurt a hair on the Potters' heads. Surely someone will come and bail him out as always (like Remus or Dumbledore or perhaps McGonagall).
He followed the directions of the hit wizards because it never occurred to him not to. He continued to laugh because he knew the end was near, this fight, this war, will be done and he was delirious with sleep deprivation from this entire fucking war. He hasn't been able to sleep easily the past few nights, not without the stars shining down on him and not without the flush of his heart. But at least now, now, the war will be won.
He had faith that people would see his innocence. He was naïve enough to think he'd get a fair trial, that he'd be able to throw Peter in jail with the rest of the Death Eaters. He believed, as he did all those weeks ago with James, that he was (and they were) invincible.
He, Sirius Black, had survived this war. Barely. But he was still in one piece and that had to count for something. There were a number of times that he nearly died on the battlefield. But he always laughed it off with James, as if often felt like another full moon incident (the number of times he was almost bitten… well, he really shouldn't laugh). He had all his limbs, organs, and ever hair. If he could survive the war, he could survive anything. He was invincible.
And so he continued to laugh as they escorted him away.
In the holding cells back at the Ministry of Magic, Sirius sat in a plastic white chair. The room was cold, and the bricks were painted over with a dull white color; as if they tried to do something other than a bright white. The chair had bounded him the second he sat down, and the more he fought against the magic; the tighter the ropes until it felt like his rib cage would shatter in a million pieces.
So he sat quietly. Thinking that this was normal. That it was normal to leave a suspect in a room for a long period of time. It felt as if the hours ticked past in the slowest of ways. There was no clock, so Sirius couldn't be certain of the time. But it was only when his mouth was parched and his stomach started to groan for food that he realized that a significant amount of time had to have passed.
The single door of the room swung open, and Sirius could tell that it was Barty Crouch standing in the doorway. His black robes stained at the bottom, a severe look on his face as his dark eyes narrowed on Sirius. His knuckles were pearly white as the clutched tightly the paperwork in front of him. His mouth was thin, and every wrinkle on his face seemed to be lined with utter disgust of the sight of Sirius Black.
Well, Sirius can't deny that it wasn't the first time someone looked at him like that. He wondered what the man would do if he dared to wink at him.
"Sirius Black." Snarled Barty, as he slammed the door shut. Sirius jumped a bit his seat, losing his smile, and hissed as the ropes cut into his skin. It felt raw where it bonded him and he could feel his skin peeling off with every move. But this was his moment, he thought hopefully, this is when he gets to tell the truth. This is when they ask him questions.
This is when he gets to throw Peter Pettigrew in the grave that he so willingly dug for himself.
Barty walked over to the chair that Sirius sat in and looked down on him, his mouth turned down for a frown. His hatred for Sirius radiated so strongly that Sirius almost tried to move back. It was only then that Sirius felt an icy thought enter his mind, perhaps, perhaps it won't be that easy.
Barty looked down at his papers, flickering through and grinning a horrible grin before turning to look back down at Sirius.
"Sirius Black. You are under the arrest for the following: the murder of twelve muggles, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Potter, and James Potter. The attempted murder of Harry James Potter. And for the destruction of a muggle inhabited area-"
"What?!" Sirius snarled, as it felt as if the chair was kicked out underneath him. Arrested? No, no, no, no, no. He couldn't be. His heart pumped as he desperately tried to free himself, his lungs feeling as if they were going to collapse with the pressure of it all.
"Trying to escape, are we?" Snarled Barty, confusing Sirius raw fear of being labeled incorrectly with the arrogance of Death Eater being thrown into Azkaban for Voldemort. Barty continued, looking down at the papers. "You'll be going straight to Azkaban-"
"NO!" Sirius shouted, and the chair did topple to the side. A resounding crack filled the air as he hit his head. White stars exploding his very eyes as Barty laughed cruelly at him. Gasping, panting, trying to take every breath he could as Barty crouched down with him, his foot stepping on Sirius' hair.
"Scared of the dementors are we? It's alright though, you'll have friends at least there. You and those other Death Eaters. We're catching you all now that he's gone." Barty said in a mockingly sweet tone, his smile revealing his horribly yellowing teeth as Sirius felt like his lungs were filling with water. This couldn't be happening. He felt his senses dull as the fear galloped throughout his body, how his legs felt paralyzed, how his stomach felt none existent, how his heart seemed to have the desire to explode, how his lungs felt like they were failing, and how his mind just wanted to fight.
Azkaban? With Death Eaters? And did he really say that Peter was dead?
"You caught Peter?" Sirius grunted, as he screwed up his eyes as the ropes were starting to burn the flesh off of him. He was breaking out in a sweat as he concentrated on every next breath. It was a pity, as he missed the flash of red that was filling Barty's face, the true snarl of a man filled with hatred.
"Peter Pettigrew is dead because of you-"
"You found a body?" Sirius panted, hope was evident his voice. If that bastard was dead, if he died in the crater, if he died in the pipes, if by some miracle a hit wizard smashed him with their great ugly boots…
Perhaps Azkaban wouldn't be so bad. At least the dumb rat would have killed himself, making it entirely easier for Sirius to deal with the life ahead.
Suddenly, lost in his thoughts, buried within the dreams of a world without Peter Pettigrew, Sirius failed to notice that the stinging from his head was gone. That the boot on his hair was gone. That the boot had swung, and collided with ribs.
The pain exploded, there was a crack as Sirius gasped and cried out. He was on his back, the ropes felt as if they were drawing blood, and he was pretty sure a rib was broken. There were more exploding stars in front on him, bursting with colour as he tried to focus the dirty whites of the walls.
"You're going to Azkaban with no trial. The Ministry already signed the papers Black. You're done." Barty whispered softly, as Sirius tried to move his lips, tried to protest, attempted to build a defense. Surely this was illegal, surely someone was trying to stop this, surely the world didn't believe that Sirius Black was capable of killing Lily and James Potter in cold murder, and surely people didn't think he would try to kill a baby, his god son, the one he slept next to nearly every night with the stars winking down on them.
But the ropes had gotten so tight that the colors in front of his eyes morphed into a blinding white light that overshadowed any defense, any emotion, or any thought and they merged into a a pit of black until there was nothing else to focus on.
He could hear before he dared open his eyes. He could hear moans, as if someone was just recovering from a torture. Crying as if he was at a funeral. And screams, as if the people were under the crucio curse. It sounded as if he were on the battle fields, and he had to fight.
His eyes flung open but he was confused by the darkness. His ribs were screaming in agony as his hands brushed over the cold, wet, and damp floor underneath his fingers. This was no battle field, and his heart started to cool after the initial shock of fear. Years waking up in fields without memories had killed his nerves and taught him to fear the second he woke up.
Slowly, and painfully, he stood up as his eyes were adjusted to the darkness. Horrible, sucking sounds were around him and he realized that he was still panting when a hooded figure had glided past his cell; a darken, wrinkled hand was spotted underneath the weak fire torch. As if they were forming, the bars materialized in front of him; humming with magic as they worked to keep him in.
Those… bastards. He was in Azkaban. And the hope drained out of his heart within a beat. No trial. No fight for innocence. Peter was alive. James was dead. Lily was dead. Harry was doomed to a life with the Dursleys no doubt. Remus probably hated, abhorred, and absolutely disgusted with Sirius' choices (Remus probably wants him dead). Remus was completely ignorant of the truth and there was no way to write to him to tell him that three of them were fools, idiots, and completely reckless the day they befriended Peter. James was dead. Lily was dead. There was no trial. And worst of all, worst of all, Peter was alive.
Sirius grunted, yet failed to contain a scream as he stood up, onto the bench where he found little food and water. His lips were cracked and he could taste the rusty blood on them. His stomach was empty and was howling for something. He gingerly took bites and sips, trying to concentrate on the bumpy texture of the food and the sour taste of the meal. Trying to remain focus on the water that tasted as if someone filtered it through dirt. Trying, and failing, to remain hopeful. Trying to only focus on his food rather than the racing thoughts in his mind.
Yet, he was failing. The thoughts were building their own prison, build on irrational fears and memories of the past. There was a vast collection of those in his mind, after all, you don't fight a war without collecting a few special memories.
There were the horrific ones, that seemed to flash through his mind like a feature film; taking time on the close ups of the dying or dead. It was in multicolor with screams as the soundtracks. It seemed to pick at all the times Sirius thought he had drunk himself to the point of no remembrance.
Like when Lily was hit with a curse that made her bleed until the ground around her looked like a pond of blood and him and James were so certain that she was Dead with a capital D. It was Sirius who had to check on her pulse as James had collapsed in the ground with pure agony of the thought that she was dead. She was pregnant at the time.
There was a flashback to the early training days. Except they got ambushed in the middle of it and James was the first to get hit with a stunning spell. The lad didn't even have a chance to turn around properly. Though Sirius eyes had seen green instead of red. He almost got hit with a killing curse as he tried to reach his friend's side.
A particular bad full moon. Fifth year. They had spent the night running through the forest for hours. The early morning hours were spent trying to reassure one another that everything would be okay. The fear as their runs turned into jogs, into defeated walks of shames as they gingerly sniffed the ground every so often. It was only when the sun was bleeding red and gold did they find Remus' mangled body. He was covered in mud, blood, and leaves. It was how he got the scars across his face. He was in the hospital wing for an entire week after that adventure. And it took longer before he smiled again. They never did find out what creature Remus had to wrestle with to get such ghastly scars across his face.
The memories bled into one another, easily switching from one new horror to another. In between the blood and gore, there were the ones that highlighted how unloved he was as a child. He thought he was over the harshness of his mother when he was kicked out, how hollow he felt when he had heard the news that it took mere seconds for his mother to burn him out of the family tree. Or the time when him and Reg had a huge row before he left; how Reg's dark eyes burned with hatred as he yelled at Sirius it was his fault. That he needed to change. How everything was Sirius' fault.
Though, the most powerful ones were his anxious thoughts. These were the ones that left him motionless on this crummy old bench as he clutched his ribs, thinking that they would collapse under the weight of his heart. What if James thought that he was working with Peter? James' last thoughts must have been on the betrayal of his friends- there was no way that one would think Peter had the nerves, guts, or brains to pull off this operation without some help. Did James die thinking that Peter and Sirius were working together to bring the Potters down?
Oh Merlin. Sirius eyes stung with tears as he tried to push the thought away. Of course he didn't die thinking that. But Lily had enough time to think. Lily had enough time to hear her husband drop dead, had enough time to devote a few lasts thoughts of what must have happened. Did Lily think Sirius was capable of this? Did she die thinking that Sirius was out to kill her?
Steadying breaths as he gulped the last sip and finished the last of the stale hard bread. His mind was a prison locking him in and the key was buried deep in his heart. The heavy breathing of the dementors outside his cage was the lullaby he fell asleep to.
Sirius had tried to start a calendar in his cell, marking the walls for the days he was there. After four weeks though, four weeks of waking up to his own screams, eating to the sound of people's hysterical sobs, and four weeks of hearing people pleading to the dementors to kiss them… Sirius officially stopped counting. He made him more miserable to see that he had even cared in the first place to make the markings, so in a rage, he destroyed the last reminder that he had hope at all when coming into hell.
What was the point? The days had melted into one another. The light outside of his cell was hardly an indicator. He had tried to tell the days by his hunger and thirst, but found that as the days dragged on that his desire to eat and even drink water was barely there. He only drank when his lips bleed. He only ate when he remembered (which wasn't very often). And even when he did eat, he could only eat a fistful of food before his stomach protested of the weight of it all.
He had vomited a few times, taking away the little energy he had left. It often was cleaned up after a few days, but it didn't bother Sirius. At least the smell distracted him from his own thoughts.
But after four miserable weeks in Azkaban, something changed. Sirius could tell by the way the dementors were withdrawing from his cell, though it was still impossible to think of a single happy memory, Sirius didn't feel overwhelmed by his own horrors. He just felt numb, his heart hallow, and he found some energy to drink and eat.
"My, my. Sirius Black." Came a whisper, and Sirius jumped, the plate rattled noisily on the ground and the food splattering all over the floor in a spectacular fashion. Sirius' eyes focused on the man in front of his bars and instantly felt his heart shrivel in fear.
Barty Crouch stood in front of him with the nicest of black robes on. His hair was slicked back, and the wedding band on his finger seemed to mock Sirius relentlessly. Sirius looked down at his own robes. They were tattered, they were soiled with the dirt on his bed and the food that he spilled and the vomit that seemed to happen yesterday. Sirius couldn't care to change out of the robe as he couldn't see the point – dementors couldn't see after all. He felt a hand go to his hair and it no longer felt smooth, but rough with knots and there seemed to be enough grease to fill his old motorcycle.
"Do not worry. There are others in far worse state than you my dear boy." Barty grinned, as he placed his hands behind his back as he stepped closer. As if he were a protector, someone who truly cared about Sirius.
Sirius immediately clutched the poorly healed rib. It still throbbed, and the merest touch could send Sirius into hysterics. Barty grinned wider, as if the idea of Sirius with a broken rib was a hilarious joke.
"I have come to potentially offer you a deal. You see, you were part of the elite group of the Dark Lord… the names you must possess would be instrumental to bringing down the last remaining followers. Give us some names and we might reduce your life sentence." Barty said, leaning forwards a bit as Sirius turned his head away from the grinning man.
A life sentence here? Well, at least he knew his fate. He could stop wondering if they were going to kiss him or keep him here till the end of his days.
A deal. A deal sounded nice. Yet not one for Sirius to take, for he had no names. Except for one. But he no longer had faith in the system. He no longer believed that anyone was coming for him anymore. The only name he had would make him the laughing stock of the Wizengamot. How would Dumbledore frowned at Sirius for giving a name, a person who was clearly weaker than him. How the others would find it hilarious that weak little Peter was actually strong enough to bring down Sirius, or that Sirius would think he was possible. Who would take him seriously if he named a 'dead' man? To say that he had cut off his own finger and transformed into a rat rather than face Sirius? Who would fucking believe him?
There was no hope, no light, and no chance for Sirius to redeem himself.
"No. I have no names." Sirius said, breathing heavily as he heard Barty click his tongue.
"Are you sure? Think very carefully. The Dark Lord is gone. He's not coming back for you, for his followers, for anyone. He's dead." Barty said in a nasty tone, snarling at every enunciation as if he wanted to cut Sirius in the most brutal way ever. As if he thought he was stabbing Sirius heart, cutting it in thousands of different ways.
Instead, Sirius grind his teeth in anger. Fuck Voldemort and fuck his supporters. Fuck the Death Eaters and Regulus and Severus Snape. Fuck the Ministry of Magic who put him in here and fuck Barty Crouch who threw him in here with no trial. And an especially big fuck you with both middle fingers high in the air for Peter fucking Pettigrew. Sirius felt like he could feel his teeth reduce to powder.
"No. No names." Sirius repeated. Lifting his head up and shaking his head a bit to see Barty's jaw line harden, the eyes narrowed in such disgust.
"Fine. May you rot in Azkaban." Barty said savagely, turning on his heel when a surge of energy hit Sirius. He was on the floor, banging at the bars, yelling, sticking his head out as Barty stopped in his tracks.
"Peter Pettigrew!" Sirius heard himself, feeling anger like he never felt before as Barty turned around to face him.
"What of him?" Barty said coolly.
"Did you ever find him?" Sirius asked, matching the coolness of Barty's tone with his. He had to know.
How many nights did he wonder if Peter had died in the pipes? How many times had he wondered if Peter's dead body meant Sirius' guilt to the eyes of the public? The thought of Peter alive, enjoying a meal and fresh air and laughter and safety was enough to make Sirius vomit and curl up into a ball in the corner.
Peter's death condemned Sirius to Azkaban. Peter alive meant that he could still work. He could still find Harry and kill him. Peter killed already, what's another time for him? What's another murder for someone who willing cut off a limb rather than go to Azkaban? Rather than face his friends? Rather than do the right thing? Peter Pettigrew clearly didn't give a damn when it comes to right or wrong, as if they blurred together as if everything was alright, as long as it meant that Peter Pettigrew got to live.
Even if that means killing a baby.
Barty paused for a second, than another second to look around him before striding slowly to Sirius. Sirius looked up and was all to reminded of the power this idiotic man held. Barty simply stared down, couldn't even bother to get at the same level of Sirius. Though, to be fair, Barty looked down on him as if he was a bug to be squashed under his enormous shoes.
"All we found was a finger. But you knew that Sirius." Barty said evenly, before continuing on with a sort of defiance in his voice. A sort of, 'rally the troops' tone, a tone that made Sirius' skin crawl with a thousand little creatures. "But his bravery, his courage of standing up to you-" At least Barty was acknowledging Sirius to be more powerful than a fucking rat, "-was rewarded. We gave him Order of Merlin Third Class." Barty said it with a grin, with huge, giant grin on his face. As if this was something inspirational, wonderful even, that the Ministry of Magic bestowed an award to a murderer.
"NO." Sirius snarled, his hands clutching the bars as he shook them with vengeance he didn't even know existed. "NO." Sirius screamed as Barty backed away, a look of fright crossed his face as he seemed to be reminded why and how Sirius ended up in Azkaban.
Sirius couldn't believe it. Order of Merlin? Third Class? The fucking rat got an Order of Merlin for betraying his best mates? For murdering them? The Ministry of Magic gave Peter Pettigrew, a Death Eater, an Order of Merlin for standing up to Sirius? The anger was comparable to the moment he found out that Lily and James were dead. Red hot fire seemed to pulse through his veins and he could hear himself screaming hoarse, yelling as if it would break the walls and the bars.
"IT DOES NOT MATTER BLACK. YOU WILL ROT IN AZKABAN. I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOUR LAST DAYS ARE IN HERE." Barty yelled over Sirius, the veins on his neck throbbing horrendously so that Sirius wondered if they would pop right here in front of him.
Merlin he hoped they did. He wished that they would splatter open and the blood would rain on them all, the dementors and the other prisoners. He hoped that Barty would drop dead right then and there. This horrible, stupid man thought he was the idealist to lead them all. So another fuck you forBarty Crouch. Last Sirius had heard, he was next in line for the Minister of Magic job; what a better man for the job than one who gave a rat an Order of Merlin to honor the deaths of Lily and James Potter.
Sirius could tell that the man ran away for the dementors were swarming him, feasting on the raw emotion that Sirius was emitting. It was the first time in four weeks that he felt anything, the emotion so strong that it felt like he could do anything. He stood up, and continued to bang his fists against the rails, hardly caring that the skin was splitting open, hardly noticing that the other prisoners went silent for Sirius Black hardly made noise. Many thought he had died in his cell, gone mad with grief over the Potters.
It was an odd thing that the handful of people who knew the truth, who could empathize with Sirius Black were the very people he dedicated his life to fight. For every Death Eater felt as betrayed as Sirius did when Voldemort met his end. Every Death Eater was angered beyond comprehension when they discovered that Peter Pettigrew had faked his death, that he had morphed into a fucking rat and disappeared. They all understood Sirius' anger. Every Death Eater, though unwillingly, sympathized with Sirius Black. After all, they had their own horrors, their own memories, and their own revulsion at themselves.
But very few could say that they had been an integral component on the plan that murdered their best friends. They had their own demons and shadows to play with. Though, at least, they weren't Sirius Black. At least they weren't part of the plan to kill their best friend.
So the entire prison listened in fascination as Sirius yelled and shouted and cursed everyone in it. The dementors were elated, they had a feast of Sirius anger and fury. Nearly ten of them were outside his cell, and it only took fifteen minutes until Sirius found himself collapsing, found himself drowning in every painful thought and memory in his mind. But there was a new one, a new thought that seemed to burn his heart and crush his ribs and drown his lungs.
Peter Pettigrew won an award for killing Lily and James Potter. And it was all that Sirius could think about, obsess about as the dementors ebbed away from him. He was huddled in a corner, knees to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards as he tried to stop imagining how the award ceremony must have looked. How many galleons were spent for the hero. How Peter's mother must have donned on her nicest clothes (she didn't even know the truth of her own fucking son). How many speeches were made of his bravery, how many of Sirius closest friends must have lauded this brave man's efforts against the nasty temper of that Sirius Black. Oh, how it broke his heart imagining Remus struggling to make through the speech without a tear in his eye with his shoddy robes and scarred face. Referring to the bastard as his closest friend.
If he stayed here, Remus would never know the truth. He'd go day to day thinking that Peter was this kind, quiet, and sweet soul. And it made Sirius sick, quite literally, at the thought that Remus had been betrayed in such a humiliating way.
Out of all of them, from Peter's cheating ways, to Sirius boiling hot anger that forbid him to even think about getting help to track Peter down… Remus deserved a better fate. Remus deserved far better friends that he actually got.
Remus, the one who ate chocolate in his bed and had a pile of books on his bedside the very first night of Hogwarts; as if worried that his only friends were only between the pages. Sirius guessed it was a symbolic moment when he ran into the bedside table, making every book tumble and fumble over one another. Instead of helping Remus though assemble his wall to hide behind, he just yelled at the prat to get up, grab a pillow, and go at it. Ever since that night, shy little Remus had friends.
Remus who turned the other way when him and James were wrecking havoc in Hogwarts. From one master plot to another with pranks. Destroying countless school property, humiliating their entire groups of friends, losing more points than Sirius cared to remember. Yet, Remus always forgave them and always helped out if he could. Remus always did what he could for his friends and that was something, or at least Sirius thought, that everyone should know about his friend.
Remus, the one every single blasted witch and wizard pointed to fingers to when things started to go array. He's a werewolf after all was the excuse everyone used behind their hands and low whispers with raised eyebrows. The Dark Lord is kind to them, as if forgetting that Remus always placed his personhood before his wolf side. Voldemort was always kind to those who had wished to be wolf and discard their human life. Remus, was never ever that. How it hurt, how it tore at his soul and heart to think that he Sirius ever allowed Peter to talk him into seeing Remus other than who he really was.
There was one scene in particular that seemed to come up. Him and Peter were at this muggle coffee shop, Peter was clutching his black porcelain mug tightly, the scratches on his knuckles evident as he drank the hot chocolate within the mug (that's another thing, what kind of fucking Death Eater drinks hot chocolate?). He remembered Peter's wide watery eyes as he explained in exquisite detail about seeing Remus disappear into the underground world.
"I'm a rat you see, followed him, very concerned for him. Concerned for us!" Peter had said quickly and Sirius nodded along as he felt his heart sink a little bit. He never thought, well, he never wanted to think that Remus would betray them and go to the other world. It was a cliché and far too easy to assume. No, Remus betraying them did make sense. It made the most sense. And so, he had grimly nodded his head as he sipped the coffee in front of him, never once noticing the shaking of Peter's hand or the beads of sweat that was slipping from his forehead or the way that the rat had too eagerly agreed on moving to a new topic; as if the current one made him too nervous. Why did he let Peter take control of the conversation?
Sirius threw up, the little food and water he had stuffed down his throat came up in a burning way that seemed to have scalded his throat and mouth. He realized that he threw up mostly acid and he wondered how long until it destroyed the lining of his stomach, his throat, and his mouth; how long until his body started to physically destroyed itself, forcibly decompose to the point that his addled mind would match his weary body. Panting, gasping on his hands and knees as he looked down at the vomit. At least, at least this time he didn't fall into it. That was something to hold onto. Though that small pride was like a lit match in a thunder storm.
Yes, his friends were raising glasses for Peter as he rotted in Azkaban. Many toasted to his death more likely. The image of his friends gathering together, expressing love for Peter Pettigrew while wishing for Sirius' death was enough to turn him green with envy. But it also broke his heart in a million different pieces.
Perhaps, a bitter thought filtered through his mind, perhaps he wasn't so invincible after all.
After his little destruction of his calendar, he regretted it days later. Resting his weak body against the wall, he could hear the cries of the new comers. And the illicit talks between the prisoners.
Dementors have no eyes and ears.
"I should have given names!"
"They'll be back. Give it two weeks."
Sirius turned his head as he looked up at the bars high above him. Were they telling the truth? Two weeks from now they'll come and pester him for names? Spit on him as he refuses yet again. What names did he have to give? Could he name the Death Eaters he fought? Would that give him less time? Was this all a plot to have everyone name each other without really reducing the time.
In two weeks time, he'd have to face Barty Crouch and he could only close his eyes as he tried to beat away the fear that was eating away at his heart.
"NO FATHER! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T ME. PLEASE FATHER!"
Sirius eyes snapped open as he sat up on his bench. Rushing to his bars, his feet making pitter patter noises as he gripped the slimy bars, his face pressed against the slick metal as his eyes tried to adjust properly to the light.
The dementors glided in as two ministry officials were half dragging a teenage boy. One that had an uncanny resemblance to Barty Crouch… Though, it was the second prisoner that came walking through the doors calmly, walking serenely as if it was a stroll through the park rather than to her own personal hell. Bellatrix looked to the side and locked eyes with Sirius.
Sirius dropped his hands from the bars as his cousin stopped, a terrible grin spread across her face as her eyes narrowed on him.
"Little ickle Sirius is in here? In Azkaban? Oh right, I forgot that you killed your best friends." She said it in a baby tone, her black eyes glittering, as her hair fell over half her face as she started to laugh horribly, causing Sirius's blood to boil in fury.
She knew that he didn't commit the crime. She knew the truth. She was smart, she was far too smart for her own good and knew where to stab someone and when. But Sirius was just as quick.
"And what about you dear cousin? What hell did you cause while I was here like a good little boy?" Sirius whispered, his teeth bared as he forced himself to grip the bars in front of him; otherwise, he would've surely passed out.
"No news here? No allies with your fellow death eaters? You'll be pleased to know that Alice and Frank Longbottom-"
No. No. No. No. No. Not them. Not them, dear Merlin, please, no. Oh Merlin, why?
"You didn't-" He gasped, trying keep himself upright as his heart cracked in a thousand different pieces.
Bellatrix's lips curled into a small smile, she took a step forward, and Sirius had to force himself to stay there. "They're only insane. No use to us to find him if they're dead-" She said lazily, the dementors haven't affected her.
Yet.
"Neville – the baby-" Sirius desperately asked, the words tumbling over his tongue in his hurry, no, need, to ask.
"Move along!" Barked the ministry official, the one that had to drag a boy (who looked half dead), and roughly grabbed Bellatrix who fluttered her heavily lidded eyes. She allowed the man to show her the way, but only so that she could throw a wink over her shoulder.
Sirius grimaced as he backed away. New thoughts. New Fears. New landscapes for him to visit in his dreams. Alice and Frank were insane. No doubt by the crucio curse. No doubt in hopes of finding out about Voldemort. He felt himself back into his bench, as his legs buckled underneath him.
Alice and Frank. Well, everyone talked about Lily and James and their love story. How Lily grew to love the dork within, how James matured, how she joined in on his pranks, how he grew into the Head Boy role, how she nursed him until he was over a treacherous cold, how he proposed after graduation since he claimed he could hardly live a life without her in it, how she said yes, how smart he looked in his suit, how she was a beauty in her wedding dress, and how their vows made everyone cried. Everyone knew the love story of Lily and James.
But if anyone bothered to ask Sirius, he always liked how Alice and Frank fell in love. He loved his mates, but there was something special about two people always liking each other.
How Alice used to walk the long way to Transfiguration so that she could say hi to Frank as he walked to his Herbology class. And how Frank used to do the exact same thing so that he could see Alice. How he used to send her treats on Halloween and swore on Merlin's grave that it wasn't from him. How Alice would send him Christmas cards and mistletoes and promise that she would never be so bold. They finally got together sixth year, in the depths of the library after Alice dropped her book and Frank bent down to help her. When they were caught holding hands, many assumed that this was normal (everyone thought the pair had been dating since first year, when in reality, it was only sixth year). There was a nice sense, almost reassuring sense that the two had spotted each other and knew they were meant to be together. There were no dramatic fights, there were no loud proclamations of love, just two people wondering why it took so long to be together.
But now? Lily and James were dead. Alice and Frank were condemned to the war in their minds. Who the fuck knew about the baby. Sirius didn't put it past them to kill a baby. Or to even torture it. What affects would that have on such a young baby? Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to function?
And the worst? The fact that the sacrifice that Lily and James gave the world wasn't enough. They may have defeated the leader, but failed to squash the ideas. They failed, they all did, in showing the world that there are far more valuable items to cherish than pureblood, that such an ideology was disgusting, revolting, and horrific. They failed to show the world that purity within blood and magic was unnecessary. They failed to stop the murder of Lily and James, and the failed to stop the deaths (because, really, they were worse than dead) of Frank and Alice.
"Sirius Black." Came the cool tone of a man trying to be more impressive. Sirius opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the bleeding ceiling, droplets raining down on him as he turned his head over to face this man. After all, how many times had he heard James deepen his voice to impress Lily?
Though, he scrunched his face in confusion as he saw the man dressed in a purple pinstripe suit, a bowler's hat in his hand. It was the same man that tripped over the sight of him that day. But why was he here?
"My name is Cornelius Fudge, Minster of Magic-"
Well, that was something.
"What about Barty? I thought-"
"You thought wrong." Fudge said coolly, his grip on his hat completely squashed it and it took every ounce of effort on Sirius' part not to snort. Clearly he was feeling unqualified for this position. But there were still a grip of fear in his heart, after all, what sort of devil had to knock Barty's climb to success?
"I came by, in hopes of persuading you of providing some names-"
"I already said I had none." Sirius said roughly, the question hitting a nerve somewhere deep, somewhere exposed.
He had to wonder how many Death Eaters gave his name up for reduced time. Or was he merely a freebie? Something to collect at trial like that awful monopoly game that Lily once forced them play.
Unlike Barty, Fudge left and Sirius was relieved to go back to his prison of memories. He spent many hours revisiting all sorts of memories with the Potters. The happy ones, the angry ones, and the sad ones. They all made him regret that he never appreciated the time spent together. It always made him wonder, what if they survived.
But it was a painful reminder that he was alive and they were gone and he was rotting in this cell and all of his friends wished him death and Peter Pettigrew was alive and his only believers were the Death Eaters in Azkaban.
AN: Love it? Hate it? Review it.