Whoa, I have no idea what happened. About an hour ago, I got sudden inspiration for my second Sirius fic in two days and whattayaknow, here it is. I still have another HP one-shot in the works, one less angsty and much longer. And not about Sirius (surprise, surprise).
Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling and Scholastic's copyrighted property.
And It's Empty Inside
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
Albus Dumbledore surveyed the two pairs of faces in front of him as the floating form of Sibyll Trelawney faded back into the basin and the room darkened once more, no longer illuminated by the glow of the Pensieve. It was difficult to analyze the emotions whirring through their heads at the current moment. Frank and James looked as if they were frozen in place, still transfixed by the bowl, while Lily was regarding Alice beside her with one expression: an expression of shock.
"What…" James searched for the right words. "What was that?"
His former headmaster regarded him with sad, somber eyes. "It was a prophecy, made by Sibyll Trelawney earlier this year."
Alice looked up at Dumbledore cautiously. "What does it mean?"
"It means precisely what it said," replied Dumbledore simply. "The one with the power to defeat Voldemort - " unlike many other witches and wizards, the two couples do not cringe at the name " - will be born, or was born, at the end of July, and that he must defeat Voldemort or Voldemort must defeat him."
Lily's mouth opened slightly and a gasp came from her lips. "Harry…"
"Neville," Alice whispered.
"How do we know this is a real prophecy?" Frank asked, his voice hoarse. "Maybe it doesn't refer to our sons, either. Surely there are other children that fit those requirements."
The wizened old man shook his head reluctantly. "This is a real prophecy, and has been recorded in the Department of Mysteries. It must refer to Harry or Neville, for only two infants fit the requirements of Sibyll's prophecy. Both were born at the end of July, to parents who escaped Voldemort three times. There are no other children like them."
Dumbledore observed them quietly as they processed this information. It wasn't fair that such a fate must befall these two families. The wizards and witches before him were good at heart, and forces to be reckoned with on the battlefield. They had done no evil to deserve this. This shouldn't be their burden.
"We should get home," James stated quickly. His hand was tightly wrapped around Lily's, and his face was pale. "Sirius is taking care of Harry, and he's probably wondering where we are."
"Yeah," said Frank, "Mum's probably worried sick about us."
They turned without another word and filed out of Dumbledore's office in silence. He sighed and tucked the Pensieve back into the cabinet from which it had came and did not say another word of the prophecy for the rest of the day.
-
Wind whipped his head as the motorcycle pierced through the night sky. It was difficult to steer the bike without being able to see it, but Sirius would manage, as he always did.
Dumbledore's letter clouded his mind like a thick fog. How could this have happened? How could they have really just left him like that, just left all of them like that?
Sirius, the letter had read in hurried scrawl. James and Lily are dead, killed by Voldemort. Harry survived his spell. No time to question you, will talk to you later about the secret.
An "A.D." had marked it at the bottom, and the familiar handwriting told Sirius that the letter was real. How could they be dead? The plan had been perfect. He had switched the spell onto Peter, and he had become the Secret Keeper. Voldemort wouldn't waste his time on Peter. He wouldn't waste his time on such an insignificant wizard. It was a flawless bluff. There was only one thing that could have happened.
Peter had told him. Peter had left the Potters to the Dark Lord. Peter had betrayed them all.
And now it was evident from his letter that Dumbledore suspected him, Sirius Black. If the situation hadn't been so tragic, so horrible, Sirius might have snorted at the very prospect. He would never betray his friends. Never. They were the Marauders, friends until the end. They would be there for each other, and never sell one another out for any reason.
But Peter had.
His fists clenched tightly around the handlebar of the motorcycle as he began his decent into Godric's Hollow. Fire filled the usually peaceful village. Flames danced around the wreckage of one home, that of the Potters. James was dead. Lily was dead. And Harry was left an orphan.
Fate is cruel, Sirius thought bitterly. This isn't the way things are supposed to be.
A sign hanging from a shop window read: "Life is just." Sirius shook his head, the terrible irony of the situation clogging his conscience.
His motorcycle came to a stop and he jumped off of it hurriedly. Harry needed his help. Harry needed someone, anyone.
For the most part, the fire had died down around the house, and now only existed in a few patches of the wreckage. He was about to enter the house when a large figure to his right caught his eye.
Hagrid was standing by a tree with Harry cradled in his arms. The last Potter was fast asleep, and Sirius could have sworn he saw a distinct, bright scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning on his forehead.
"Hello," Hagrid greeted him dryly. "Saw yeh comin' on yer motorbike."
"Yes." Sirius blinked. When had his eyes gotten so wet? "Is Harry alright?"
Hagrid nodded. "Yeah. He'll be fine."
The younger of the two stared at his godson wearily. "Give Harry to me, Hagrid," he said suddenly. "I'm his godfather. I'll look after him."
"No," responded the larger man sharply. "He's ter got ter his aunt an' uncle's. Got me orders from Dumbledore."
"But they're horrible, Hagrid! Have you heard about them? James was talking about how they-"
"There's no arguin' it, Sirius." Harry stirred in Hagrid's arms. "Dumbledore wants me ter take him ter his aunt's an' uncle's, an' that's what I'm goin' ter do."
Sirius looked at Harry one last time sorrowfully. If Dumbledore had insisted… there was no use arguing, he decided. "Fine," he stated. "In fact, take my motorcycle to get Harry there. I won't need it anymore."
The image of Peter seared in Sirius's mind, and he could think of only one thing: revenge. He might not come back, if Peter had some Death Eaters along with him, but he would have to pay, no matter what. James and Lily deserved it.
Hagrid gave him a funny glance and nodded half-heartedly. "Alrigh'," he agreed. "I'll take yer motorbike."
He walked past Sirius, Harry tucked gently into his arms, and threw one leg over the bike. Without looking back, he started the engine and took off into the inky blackness of the heavens above. Sirius couldn't help but feel that the darkness of the night suited him perfectly, that it suited the gnawing pain at the inside of his chest. There was a hollow spot now, a spot that had once been so full of life and happiness, and that emptiness would never fill. This he knew.
All of a sudden, Sirius Black turned on his heel swiftly, his thoughts enveloping him, and disappeared into the blackness.