Waiting For the Rest Of My Life
Sirius Black sat in the Ministry of Magic building, his wrists bound together with spells. His dark eyes looked up at the Ministry workers inspecting his wand, and at the woman that was staring at him with sheer disgust on her face. He sighed miserably, and looked down at the floor.
He had killed them. He had killed the Potters. Though he hadn't shouted the curse, he had told them to use Peter instead of himself. He had called it "the perfect bluff", when it had become "the perfect death trap".
Worst of all, Peter had got off Scott-free. Remus would find him a traitor, and without Remus he was alone without a friend in the world. He knew he was guilty and that he would be convicted, but he was scared out of his mind at the mere thought of Azkaban. He wanted to jump up and scream, "No! It was Peter! He killed them!", but his legs weren't cooperating, nor was his voice. Or for that matter, his mind.
He had been Sirius: the joker. Sirius: the comedian. Sirius: the prankster. Sirius: the best friend. Sirius: the person-to-talk-to. Sirius: the girl-chaser. Sirius: the Quidditch player. Sirius: the popular. Now he was Sirius: the traitor. Soon to be Sirius: the tried and convicted. Sirius Black: Prisoner of Azkaban.
And the worst of it all was that Harry was off living with muggles. He would never know who he really was, or what he had done. Sirius knew Petunia, and had met Vernon. They were both the definition of muggle, and he knew they would treat Harry like a nuisance, if he was even that lucky.
He, Sirius Black, had again failed his best friend. He shook his head in disgust and curled his lip at the thought of it all.
He had promised he would watch Harry if anything happened to James and Lily. Well, something had happened. Now he was waiting to go to Azkaban instead of holding Harry in his arms and crying along with the infant.
If only Hagrid had given him Harry, then he would have waited until the boy was old enough to take care of himself before he went off to kill Peter. But it probably wouldn't have been much of a life, he thought. The Ministry would have been after them in a second, and poor Harry would grow up in some orphanage. Or. he and Harry would have to live in a cave somewhere, eating wild flowers every day of their lives.
Sirius sighed. He wouldn't mind being escorted to Azkaban if he had at least killed Peter. But he had missed (but then, he supposed, he wouldn't be carted off to that horrible place if Peter was dead.) He remembered how he had laughed maniacally in the middle of the street, thinking he had avenged the Potters. Two Ministry workers had swept him up under the arms just before he saw a white rat scuttling away.
He knew what happened to people in Azkaban. He had heard the tales from his cousin, who had been a guard there. He looked up at the mirror across the room from him, taking in every detail of his face while he was still sane. He examined his shiny black hair, and looked into his own eyes. His eyes still held a somewhat mischievous shine, but he knew it was duller than it had been, and it would soon be gone altogether.
"One wrong move Black, and the dementors will give you a little kiss."
All the color drained from him, not just his face. He was already torturing himself over the Potters' deaths, but at least he had his soul. He sat as still as he possibly he could- he still wanted his soul.
James was dead. Peter, his "friend" was a betrayer. Remus thought he was a traitor and a murderer. Now he was off to face Azkaban. The people he had ran around the Hogwarts grounds with at night thought he was a murderer, and the other was dead. The other was probably off laughing his head off, saying he had committed the perfect crime. His only other friend hated him now.
Another guard looked at him and shook his head. "Never would have thought you had it in ya Black. You were never this deranged at Hogwarts. Never would have thought you would kill James and Lily. Ya always were goin' on about how ya loved James like a brother, Lily like a sister."
His blood ran cold in his veins at the mere thought of it all. James- his best friend, his partner in crime, his buddy, his advice column, the one who was practically a brother- was dead. No longer would he be able to drop by on Friday nights to sip butterbeer and tell jokes or stories. He would never again hear James' infectious laughter ring through the air, warm enough to melt away any chill the December nights brought. He could never see him smile again- he would never see him frown again. He would never again witness the twinkle in his best friend's eyes when a new idea sprouted to mind, or the way he looked at Lily.
He would never again see the fair Lily giggle as she wiped flour from her nose after baking. He would never be able to tease her or admire her beautiful, rhythmic lullabies. He would never again see stubbornness or sternness in her warm green eyes when she heard the latest prank he and James had pulled. Never again would he hug her as he left their house after the Christmas gifts had been opened, have her shove a hot mug of butterbeer in his hand, and turn away from the Potter home to walk home with Remus and Peter.
Sirius tried to grasp all the memories- all the pictures of James and Lily he could remember- and hold onto them before they slipped away into nothingness.
He couldn't register this. It was impossible. It was all a dream. A joke. James, Lily, Peter and Remus were probably kicking back in Sirius's living room sipping hot chocolate and laughing.
Or it was true.
He began to shake. His whole family was gone now, all but Remus, who would never look at him again, let alone believe him. He couldn't think straight. All of his memories of the Marauders and his happy childhood went flashing through his head so quickly they weren't even clear, and they were mixing his brain like a muggle electric mixer.
He couldn't take it.
He let out a horrible scream, a scream that let out his desperations, his shattered dreams, hopes and life. A scream that told the story of a broken man who had once been happy and on top of the world. A scream that told of the pain that a young man of 23 had already gone through, enough to last four men their entire lives. A scream that told all that he was shattered.
After the guards took away his voice with a spell, and pushed him back into his chair, he began to think. Which is a very scary thing to do if you are Sirius Black, and especially if you are Sirius Black and you've just lost everything that your life revolved around.
And then a sudden idea struck him.
He would be the first to ever escape Azkaban, and he would prove his innocence by capturing Peter and killing him. He would turn the body in for identification, and they would know the horrible truth.
He would be a free man then. A lonely, rejected-from-society man, but he would be free. That would be better than being couped up with the sadness Dementors brought for the rest of his life.
He would have killed for Veritusum- no, wait, no killing. He smiled. That was for when he got out of Azkaban and met up with little Peter.
"Come on Black, we're off to Azkaban now."
He got up obediently. He wanted to scream out like he had earlier, but this time for a trial, he wanted to scream out Peter had done it, he wanted to scream at the Lord for stealing his friends and sending him to that Hell-hole of Azkaban. But he didn't, and he couldn't have anyway.
Instead, he just followed the guards and drown in cold when the dementors swarmed around him.
Sirius Black sat in the Ministry of Magic building, his wrists bound together with spells. His dark eyes looked up at the Ministry workers inspecting his wand, and at the woman that was staring at him with sheer disgust on her face. He sighed miserably, and looked down at the floor.
He had killed them. He had killed the Potters. Though he hadn't shouted the curse, he had told them to use Peter instead of himself. He had called it "the perfect bluff", when it had become "the perfect death trap".
Worst of all, Peter had got off Scott-free. Remus would find him a traitor, and without Remus he was alone without a friend in the world. He knew he was guilty and that he would be convicted, but he was scared out of his mind at the mere thought of Azkaban. He wanted to jump up and scream, "No! It was Peter! He killed them!", but his legs weren't cooperating, nor was his voice. Or for that matter, his mind.
He had been Sirius: the joker. Sirius: the comedian. Sirius: the prankster. Sirius: the best friend. Sirius: the person-to-talk-to. Sirius: the girl-chaser. Sirius: the Quidditch player. Sirius: the popular. Now he was Sirius: the traitor. Soon to be Sirius: the tried and convicted. Sirius Black: Prisoner of Azkaban.
And the worst of it all was that Harry was off living with muggles. He would never know who he really was, or what he had done. Sirius knew Petunia, and had met Vernon. They were both the definition of muggle, and he knew they would treat Harry like a nuisance, if he was even that lucky.
He, Sirius Black, had again failed his best friend. He shook his head in disgust and curled his lip at the thought of it all.
He had promised he would watch Harry if anything happened to James and Lily. Well, something had happened. Now he was waiting to go to Azkaban instead of holding Harry in his arms and crying along with the infant.
If only Hagrid had given him Harry, then he would have waited until the boy was old enough to take care of himself before he went off to kill Peter. But it probably wouldn't have been much of a life, he thought. The Ministry would have been after them in a second, and poor Harry would grow up in some orphanage. Or. he and Harry would have to live in a cave somewhere, eating wild flowers every day of their lives.
Sirius sighed. He wouldn't mind being escorted to Azkaban if he had at least killed Peter. But he had missed (but then, he supposed, he wouldn't be carted off to that horrible place if Peter was dead.) He remembered how he had laughed maniacally in the middle of the street, thinking he had avenged the Potters. Two Ministry workers had swept him up under the arms just before he saw a white rat scuttling away.
He knew what happened to people in Azkaban. He had heard the tales from his cousin, who had been a guard there. He looked up at the mirror across the room from him, taking in every detail of his face while he was still sane. He examined his shiny black hair, and looked into his own eyes. His eyes still held a somewhat mischievous shine, but he knew it was duller than it had been, and it would soon be gone altogether.
"One wrong move Black, and the dementors will give you a little kiss."
All the color drained from him, not just his face. He was already torturing himself over the Potters' deaths, but at least he had his soul. He sat as still as he possibly he could- he still wanted his soul.
James was dead. Peter, his "friend" was a betrayer. Remus thought he was a traitor and a murderer. Now he was off to face Azkaban. The people he had ran around the Hogwarts grounds with at night thought he was a murderer, and the other was dead. The other was probably off laughing his head off, saying he had committed the perfect crime. His only other friend hated him now.
Another guard looked at him and shook his head. "Never would have thought you had it in ya Black. You were never this deranged at Hogwarts. Never would have thought you would kill James and Lily. Ya always were goin' on about how ya loved James like a brother, Lily like a sister."
His blood ran cold in his veins at the mere thought of it all. James- his best friend, his partner in crime, his buddy, his advice column, the one who was practically a brother- was dead. No longer would he be able to drop by on Friday nights to sip butterbeer and tell jokes or stories. He would never again hear James' infectious laughter ring through the air, warm enough to melt away any chill the December nights brought. He could never see him smile again- he would never see him frown again. He would never again witness the twinkle in his best friend's eyes when a new idea sprouted to mind, or the way he looked at Lily.
He would never again see the fair Lily giggle as she wiped flour from her nose after baking. He would never be able to tease her or admire her beautiful, rhythmic lullabies. He would never again see stubbornness or sternness in her warm green eyes when she heard the latest prank he and James had pulled. Never again would he hug her as he left their house after the Christmas gifts had been opened, have her shove a hot mug of butterbeer in his hand, and turn away from the Potter home to walk home with Remus and Peter.
Sirius tried to grasp all the memories- all the pictures of James and Lily he could remember- and hold onto them before they slipped away into nothingness.
He couldn't register this. It was impossible. It was all a dream. A joke. James, Lily, Peter and Remus were probably kicking back in Sirius's living room sipping hot chocolate and laughing.
Or it was true.
He began to shake. His whole family was gone now, all but Remus, who would never look at him again, let alone believe him. He couldn't think straight. All of his memories of the Marauders and his happy childhood went flashing through his head so quickly they weren't even clear, and they were mixing his brain like a muggle electric mixer.
He couldn't take it.
He let out a horrible scream, a scream that let out his desperations, his shattered dreams, hopes and life. A scream that told the story of a broken man who had once been happy and on top of the world. A scream that told of the pain that a young man of 23 had already gone through, enough to last four men their entire lives. A scream that told all that he was shattered.
After the guards took away his voice with a spell, and pushed him back into his chair, he began to think. Which is a very scary thing to do if you are Sirius Black, and especially if you are Sirius Black and you've just lost everything that your life revolved around.
And then a sudden idea struck him.
He would be the first to ever escape Azkaban, and he would prove his innocence by capturing Peter and killing him. He would turn the body in for identification, and they would know the horrible truth.
He would be a free man then. A lonely, rejected-from-society man, but he would be free. That would be better than being couped up with the sadness Dementors brought for the rest of his life.
He would have killed for Veritusum- no, wait, no killing. He smiled. That was for when he got out of Azkaban and met up with little Peter.
"Come on Black, we're off to Azkaban now."
He got up obediently. He wanted to scream out like he had earlier, but this time for a trial, he wanted to scream out Peter had done it, he wanted to scream at the Lord for stealing his friends and sending him to that Hell-hole of Azkaban. But he didn't, and he couldn't have anyway.
Instead, he just followed the guards and drown in cold when the dementors swarmed around him.