A/N: Sorry... this is a repost. Somehow, I managed to delete it without meaning to.
He could hear them before he could see them. Heart racing and feet pounding on the stone floor, Sirius ran, only dimly aware of his companions thundering after him. Far behind, he could hear the irregular thunk of Moody's wooden leg and the anxious, alarmed voices heralding caution. They were asking him to wait, to regroup before he stormed inside. They were asking him to think.
Sirius didn't listen. The string of anguished, tortured screams coming from the chamber before him told him what was happening. He knew that sound, so familiar to the one he'd heard over and over for twelve years in Azkaban. As if he had been there only yesterday, the memories of that dark, putrid cell assaulted him. He remembered the sounds of the prisoners, of himself, on occasion, as the dementors fed on all traces of joy and happiness. He could hear their screams as they were struck with the realization that there was no hope left for them. That no matter how hard they tried, how valiantly they fought, there would be no return to the light while they remained in that seaside hell. The thought of Harry making such a sound only drove him harder, the sick feeling in his middle intensifying.
As he neared the door, he heard her, her words sending a heavy jolt of panic through him. Sirius knew she was merciless. He knew she was little better than a brutish animal, with her mindless, rabid devotion to the dark arts and a twisted adoration for the suffering of others. Sirius knew she would not hesitate to unleash her sadism on his godson, no matter how much Lord Voldemort might want him alive.
Bellatrix had always been an impulsive little fiend.
"That was just a taster!" she called as the screaming stopped.
"Sirius, wait!" He ignored the plea, and continued madly towards the door.
"Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!"
With a bellow, Sirius put on a surge of speed, rushing the door and flinging it open. He barely had time to register the stunned, wide-eyed face of his godson before he raised his wand high in the air and brought it down on a masked enemy. He briefly noticed Lucius Malfoy, his arm outstretched towards Harry, but felt a deep-seated satisfaction when the jet of light from Moody's wand sailed towards him.
Sirius dodged a curse from the Death Eater in front of him, and felt anger, hot and righteous, rise up inside him. This man, he thought, had assaulted the one he'd sworn to protect. The lingering feelings of self-doubt and loathing rose up like bile at the thought of this newest failure. He'd sworn to look after the boy. He remembered that warm, summer's night so long ago when he'd looked James in the eye and made the promise to love and care for the tiny baby nestled in his mother's arms. Back then, Harry had resembled only a red, squishy ball, squalling and whimpering as his mother prepared to feed him. Despite the fact that the new baby was neither miraculous nor spectacular, Sirius had felt the beginnings of affection.
At the time, the idea of James as a father had been ludicrous to Sirius. Looking back, Sirius supposed it was that way with everyone—there was always a strange feeling of mingled anxiety, nostalgia, and joy when a boyhood friend established a footing in the adult world. For Sirius, nothing could be more grown up than being in charge of an impossibly tiny, delicate human.
So when James had looked him dead in the eye, voice steady and somber, Sirius had not hesitated to agree.
He had never expected to have to act on that promise. Sirius had expected to be the godfather he'd wished he'd had growing up. Sirius would be the one Harry came to when he wanted advice his father couldn't give. Sirius would be the one to advise him of all the illicit secret passageways and tricks for escaping detention. While James would be responsible and fatherly, Sirius would be the one to encourage mischief and fun. Sirius knew that once he settled down with a woman, and maybe had little ones of his own, that James would not hesitate to do the same for his children.
But it was not to be.
When he'd gone to check on the house, to make sure all was well with James, Lily and baby Harry, Sirius had not been prepared for what he had found. Wormtail had been missing from his hideaway. Sirius had feared the worst, but had never expected his fears to come to fruition. He remembered, clear as day, the crumbled remains of the house, the smoke from the smoldering fire, and the alarmed voices from neighbours, coming out in their dressing gowns to stare…
Sirius shot another curse at the Death Eater in front of him, barking a laugh when the man flew backwards and tumbled down the rough stone steps. He turned to face another.
Landing himself in Azkaban had been the second biggest mistake of his life. Sirius would always feel the guilt, the sting, of knowing that it had been he who had convinced Lily and James to change secret keepers. Surely no one would suspect Peter. Surely no one would dare to imagine that the Potters would leave their safety, and the safety of their young son, in the hands of such an incompetent, sniveling rat. Surely, Lord Voldemort would assume that someone with more power, with more finesse, would be hold the key.
That had been the first of Sirius' many failures.
Harry had been right, that night two years ago, to attack him. He had been right to accuse him of murder. The hatred, hurt and anger in the child's eyes had been so well-deserved, that Sirius had been ready to let him have at it—to let Harry curse him into oblivion in feeble recompense for the deaths he had caused. It was at that moment, coming face-to-face with the confused, angry boy that Sirius had felt the full weight of his actions, and wondered whether or not he would have been better off staying away.
But looking into that face, so like his father's before him, Sirius felt a spark of hope he hadn't felt in over a decade. James might be gone, mere ashes under a slab of granite in Godric's Hollow, but here was his son, his living image. True, Harry's eyes were not his father's, but everything else from his nose and cheeks to his mop of dark unruly hair belonged to James.
Now, Sirius turned from the newest fallen foe to survey the scene around him, searching frantically for the face of his best friend's son, who he knew he must protect.
He spotted Harry, some fifteen feet away, his face bleeding as he stared down the end of Antonin Dolohov's wand. With a great roar of fury, Sirius forgot all wizarding duels and rushed forward, ramming Dolohov with his shoulder. He saw the coveted glass prophecy slip to the ends of Harry's fingers, sighing in relief when he managed to hold onto it. Sirius shook his long, shaggy hair out of his face and gripped his wand tighter, prepared when Dolohov sent a deadly curse his way.
The two fought fiercely, wands waving like swords through the echoing chamber. Sirius was careful to keep far away from the dais at the center of the room as Dolohov herded him in that direction, no doubt trying to force him through.
Sirius knew, with renewed determination, that tonight was not his night to die.
In a moment of inattention, Sirius saw Dolohov's wand raise up, the slit in the mask emitting a loud hissing noise as he began his curse. He raised his wand higher as well, brain working frantically to think of an appropriate response before Dolohov could administer his deadly curse…
"Petrificus totalus!" yelled a familiar voice from his side, and Sirius beamed as Harry's spell hit Dolohov square in the chest. The Death Eater's body stiffened and fell back, immobile.
"Nice one!" shouted Sirius, grinning over at Harry. Seeing the wands raised behind him, Sirius forced Harry's head down as stunners passed over them.
He had to get him out.
"Now, I want you to get out of—" Sirius sentence was cut off by a jet of green light narrowly missing his shoulder. It hit the stone behind him with a deafening crack, causing the stone step to crumble.
In that moment, as they sat huddled on the floor trying to keep out of harm's way, Sirius noticed just how young Harry really was. In the summer of last year, Sirius had insisted that Harry was grown. He had insisted on giving Harry information, so that he might be able to make his own decisions. Now, he realized how small Harry really was. He might have faced more, endured more, survived more than most grown wizards, but none of this changed the fact that he was only fifteen.
When he and James were fifteen, they had been at school, playing pranks and earning detentions together.
Not fighting a wizarding war.
He had to get Harry out.
In the next second, he saw his cousin laughing and dashing to rejoin the fray, and Sirius wondered who she'd finished off this time. He glanced back and saw with a rush of anger that Tonks lay still and silent on the stone steps, her body having tumbled down.
"Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville, and run!" he shouted, letting his feet find their own way down towards the fighting. With one last glance back, Sirius saw Harry rushing forward to grab Neville Longbottom under the arms, trying to heave him up.
His well-placed curse grazed the side of Bellatrix's face, her eyes going from gleeful to enraged. She turned and screeched a curse back at him, making him grin.
"Is that all?" he taunted, smiling as she shot three curses in quick succession.
When he dodged all three, he began to laugh. His wand whipped over his head and he brought it down with a great flash of light, forcing her to dance away to avoid injury.
Both Bellatrix and Sirius were blind to the events around them. Neither noticed Lucius Malfoy soaring past them, Harry's well-placed impediment jinx throwing him far. Neither noticed when the pearly, vaporous figure of Sybill Trelawney rose from the remains of shattered glass, her voice speaking unheard in the din.
Neither noticed when the room fell silent, the tall, formidable figure of Albus Dumbledore crossing the threshold.
Sirius ducked a jet of red light from Bellatrix's wand, still laughing.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" he taunted, not realizing that his voice was the only one that echoed in the silence.
When the second jet of light hit him, square in the chest, he felt the surge of energy flow through him. He faltered, stunned as he held his breath, stumbling backwards. He felt himself falling, as if in slow motion, and began to brace himself for the fall. In a rush, Sirius remembered where he had been standing when the curse had found its mark, and a surge of fear shot through him. The veil, right behind him as he fought, would surely…
He was about to die.
He felt the light, cool fluttering of the veil as it caressed his shoulders, easing him gently through the archway. His cousin's triumphant scream seemed muffled and dim as the top of the archway passed above him, the stone marking a clear divide between the darkness of the dais and a strange, ethereal light on the other side. As his feet left the ground, he poised himself for the inevitable fall, bracing his arms out behind him. As if on instinct, Sirius closed his eyes and pinched them tight, holding his breath.
The ground never came.
A/N: Let me know what you think! This is new for me, as I don't usually post in this fandom.