Written for the International Wizarding School Championship
School: Ilvermorny
Year: 1
Theme: Draught of the Living Dead
Prompt: Sirius Black [Main Character]
Word Count: 1,554
I own nothing you recognize.
There had always been a certain recklessness associated with being Sirius Black. His life had been practically defined by it. He had thrown himself into everything he had ever done, without stopping to think of the possible consequences. He had nearly gotten himself, as well as others killed that way, and although he had never regretted it, that was before now.
Why had he gone after Peter! He had given away Harry without a second thought and had left. He had left his godson. He had left the little boy that had wrapped him neatly around his little fingers and had found nothing but the stinging betrayal of one of his greatest friends. But Peter's betrayal wasn't the thing on Sirius' mind.
His mind was stuck seeing the bloody forehead of the black-haired toddler, rather than the slimy, wet walls of his new abode. He couldn't even focus on the injustice of his lack of trial.
He had loved Harry from the moment the kid had been born, waiting in the lobby of 's with Moony and Wormtail. No, not Wormtail. Pettigrew the bloody traitor. He had gotten Prongs and Lily killed, and had almost caused Harry's death as well.
And now he was stuck in Azkaban. Stuck on a tiny island in the middle of the sea, with some if the very people responsible for the Potter's deaths.
A dementor passed by the Rusty iron bars of his cell and he was thrown back to the moment he learned that James and Lily had been killed.
He was sitting at the desk in his rented apartment, writing a letter to James. He had been unable to see his best friend in several weeks, given that they were both in hiding. The room was quiet and dim for the mist part, only being disturbed by Sirius' own quill scratching and lamplight. He had written the day before, but he found himself far too impatient to wait for for their reply. He was lonely and missed his friends. James, Lily and Harry were in hiding, Remus was out of the country for Dumbledore, and Peter was missing again. He knew he should be worried about Peter, but couldn't bring himself to care all that much. Peter could worm his way out of trouble on his own. He'd turn up eventually.
Sirius turned back to his half-finished letter, but had lost his train of thought. Deciding a break was in order, he set down the quill on the desk and stood up. Making his way over to the apartment's little kitchenette to forage for a snack. Rummaging through the fridge, he pulled out a leftover sandwich and begin to walk back to the desk.
Suddenly, through the window came a silvery, glowing Phoenix. Dumbledore's patronus. It opens it's beak and said, "Sirius, I have received word that the Potters have been attacked, stay-". Sirius never gave the message time to finish. He ran to where his robe was hanging, grabbed it and ran out the door to where his motorcycle was and took off.
He landed on the street where he knew the Potter's were. He could see the cottage, even from down the street. That did not bode well. Rather than finding the small cottage in Godric's Hollow he arrived at a smoldering ruin. The entirety of the left side of the house had caved in on itself, leaving wisps of smoke to drift off into wind. It was quiet enough to hear dry leaves scraping against the pavement.
He rushed inside only to see Prongs lying at the foot of the stairs. Sirius checked his pulse. Gone. His eyes slid closed, but the eerie silence was torn apart by a cry. Harry! He rushed up the stairs, pulling his wand out as he went.
He nudged the door to Harry's room open. Lily was crumpled at the foot of the little boy's crib. Sirius' eyes rose to look in the crib, expecting the worst. To his bittersweet joy, Harry peered out from between the bars, very much alive. The man picked up the small boy and inspected the cut on his forehead. It was shaped like a lightning bolt and looked almost as if it had been blasted into the skin rather than being cut.
He carried the child out to the front porch, unable to bear the sight of his closest friends bodies. He made an attempt to get Harry to sleep as he sat on the front steps. The green-eyed boy curled up against his chest and dozed off. He didn't know what to do now.
He started as rather heavy footsteps echoed around the street corner. He got to his feet and made ready to bolt into the house if necessary. A tall, wide man turned the corner. It could be none other than Hagrid with that frame. Sirius hurried towards the man, running down the street.
The memory cut off as the dementor moved on past his cell. He was very glad he didn't have to relive the second bit of the memory. He didn't want to see himself giving away the most important person in his life. He didn't want to see Wormtail completing his final betrayal. He didn't want to see his arrest and feel the tidal wave of regret that swept over him as he realized where his recklessness had landed him.
Oh Merlin! What had he done? He was supposed to take care of Harry if James and Lily died. He was supposed to be there for Remus when the werewolf returned. He should have waited! If he had thought through what he was doing, he would still be with Harry, and Peter would be the one in prison.
And what now? He was stuck in this cell on an island in the middle of the sea, and his godson was who knows where! Sirius hoped that he was with Moony somewhere safe.
Sirius stood and peeked out between the bars of his cell. It seemed that he was the only prisoner in this corridor. He retreated into the small room to transform. The cold might be lessened if he took his Animagus form.
He could do this. For Harry. They would find Wormtail eventually, and he would be free. For the moment, he was stuck. Any thinner and his dog form might be able to squeeze through the bars, but for now he'd have to sit tight. He'd get out...
An unimaginably long time later, Padfoot jumped to his paws, hearing the door at the end of the hall creak open. He shifted back into a man and threw himself down on the pile of rags that was his bed.
A couple human guards and a man in a lime green bowler hat walked to his cell, escorted by several patronus.
"Afternoon, Fudge," Sirius said calmly, "Or is it morning? It's so hard to keep track of time here. Anyway, what brings you here?"
The man looked taken aback at how sane he seemed. "It is the afternoon, ," he tapped his leg nervously, "And I'm making rounds to see the prisoners here."
Sirius smiled. "I see Minister, I won't keep you long then," he glanced at the paper in the Minister's hand, "However, may I have your paper? I miss doing the Sunday crossword."
The man looked at him, obviously confused, but handed over the paper anyway. "Well , you seem to be doing quite alright, have a good day." He retreated down the corridor with his encourage scurrying after him.
Sirius looked down at the paper, with the full intention of turning to the puzzle pages, but the front page caught his eye. There was a huge picture across it. The moving picture showed a very familiar redheaded family. He knew the Weasleys from the Order of the Phoenix and had been quite close to Arthur years ago. And if her remembered correctly, their youngest son was close in age to Harry. He spotted what looked like the youngest boy. He wondered if Harry looked like the kid. Remus would have taken good care of Harry.
There was a grubby rat situated on the boys shoulder. He watched it for a moment. It looked like… Wormtail?
Wormtail living with a family? And one that might be close to Harry! Sirius remembered that the youngest son had been friends with Harry when they were small. He couldn't let the little traitor be anywhere near his godson! But how could he do anything when he was stuck here!
Crossword completely forgotten, he paced back and forth in his little cell, thinking. Even if he could leave his cell, the dementors would sense him, and he would be of no use to Harry without a soul. And then if he got past, how could he get to land?
He leaned against the wall and sunk to the floor. His eyes caught the bars of his cell, stirring up a memory. He'd once thought that he could squeeze through. As a dog. That could swim. He smiled. He had waited long enough to see Harry, now he could save him.
Sirius transformed into Padfoot and made to squeeze through the bars. He could do this. He'd save Harry, and do it right this time.