PROLOGUE: 000

❝this could be the end of me and everything I know, but it's not my time❞

3 Doors Down, It's Not My Time

in which his world falls apart

October 31st, 1981

Dread. That had been the first thing he'd remembered feeling.

An anxious, gut-wrenching feeling that gnawed at the back of his mind ― insistently shouting at him that something was wrong, that something had happened.

Something none of them had anticipated, and yet, should've all seen coming.

Actually, no. Perhaps not. It was only as he stood, sobbing at the foot of Harry's crib with the infant wriggling restlessly in his arms that Sirius had that reflective thought.

It's what made Peter's betrayal all that more heartbreaking. They did not need to question his loyalty because he was their friend, their brother ―the fourth member of their troublesome quartet.

At first, he hadn't believed it. Hadn't wanted to believe it.

Sirius had gone to check on Peter ― who'd been made the Potter's Secret Keeper mere days ago after Sirius and James had both agreed it would be too obvious to pass the role on to him.

Everyone knew the relationship between James Potter and Sirius Black ― brothers born to different patens, though connected in ways that made blood seem utterly insignificant. Sirius Black would've gladly laid down his own life to protect James and Lily ― to protect their son who'd brought him so much joy and light in a world that was infiltrated with darkness.

Unfortunately, the semantics of the Fidelius Charm, as Dumbledore had explained, meant that Sirius' death would break the Secret Keeper bond and leave the Potters vulnerable. No. It was too risky ― Sirius was the obvious choice. They'd kill him without hesitation.

Moony wouldn't have worked either. The Fidelius Charm requires a human soul to tether itself to and thanks to Greyback and his vicious teeth, Remus' soul was splintered.

It had to be Peter. Shy, defenceless, loyal, Peter. Nobody would've expected it to be him. They'd get to Sirius and Remus first and by the time they figured out Peter was the Secret Keeper, Dumbledore would've had enough time to move Peter into his own safe house.

So, when Sirius arrived at Peter's flat to find him gone ― the cold house void of any sign that anyone had lived there in quite some time, it was no surprise that he had panicked. Dread. Cold and unforgiving as the feeling nestled into the root of his spine.

At first, he'd thought the Death Eaters had caught him. That they were holding him hostage, torturing him until he relented and gave up the information Voldemort wanted so desperately. Perhaps they'd killed him already.

It was that thought that left Sirius struck with suffocating fear.

He had jumped back on his motorbike and flew to Godric's Hollow as fast as the magically enchanted bike would allow.

But he hadn't been fast enough.

The sight of the once grand cottage reduced to nothing more than rubble on one side ― the side where Harry's nursery was located ― was enough to still Sirius' heart.

His feet worked ahead of his mind as he forced himself to walk through the rubble of the house, following the sound of Harry's cries. He was mindful to keep his gaze locked solely on the stairs, not allowing them to drift towards James, his brother, who laid still and cold under the rubble.

It was the sound of Harry's mournful cries that fuelled his adrenaline and kept him focused on his mission. He would allow himself to cry later ― right now, all his mind was centred on was ensuring Harry was safe.

When he made it to the nursery, it was Lily's vibrant red hair that caught his attention first ― and though he'd willed himself not to, Sirius was defenceless against the stray tear that leaked from his eye as he kneeled beside Lily Potter's still body.

Sirius took a sharp breath as he tried to halt the onslaught of tears threatening to break free ― the sheer harshness of it rattling his chest, though the ache was no comparison to the suffocating grief that encompassed him.

With a shaky hand, Sirius closed Lily's eyes and allowed the woman to rest as he muttered a sorrowful goodbye. His eyes drifted to Harry next, the boys cries instantly hushing at the familiar sight of his Uncle Padfoot.

He allowed the tears to descend, then. Staggering to his feet, Sirius lifted Harry out of his crib and clutched him tightly ― noting the lightning-shaped wound on his forehead as he looked the boy over.

It took every effort for Sirius not to growl in rage at the sight, not wanting to unsettle Harry and cause the boy any more distress.

Sirius wasn't sure how long he'd stood clinging to Harry as though the boy was his final tether to life itself, but that was how Hagrid had found the pair as his large figure appeared in the doorway of the nursery.

The half-giant spared a brief look at the fallen body of Lily Potter, his expression clouding with grief and sadness before he moved his teary eyes to Sirius. The sorrow he saw upon the young man's face rattled Hagrid's soul.

"Sirius."

Hagrid's voice was gentle whisper (or at least, as much of a whisper as the half-giant could muster), as if not to disturb Lily's rest. As though he couldn't stand to disturb the suffocating blanket of mourning and grief that had settled itself over Potter Cottage.

"Sirius, give him here to me―" Hagrid spoke with a more firm tone as he slowly approached the wizard, "―Dumbledore said I'm to take him."

Sirius turned finally, his hold on Harry not letting up as the infant snuggled his head into the base of Sirius' neck. "Peter―" he croaked, voice haughty from the tears he'd shed, "―have you seen Peter?"

If the Charm had been broken, it meant Peter had also perished ― he could not stomach the thought of the alternative ― and Sirius could not allow himself to leave his brother to rest uneasily and alone.

Hagrid shook his head softly, tears running freely from his eyes as he held his arms out in waiting.

Sirius was hesitant to let go as if a subconscious part of him knew that these were his last moments with his Godson ― his last moments with the only tether he still had to his fallen brother.

He closed his eyes tightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Harry's head before passing him over to Hagrid. "I need to find Peter. Keep him safe, Hagrid― take him to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts, whilst we figure out what happened."

Hagrid nodded as he took Harry in one arm, using his other hand to clasp Sirius' shoulder affectionately. "I'll take him straight there."

Sirius had no idea that Hagrid's destination of 'there' was much different than his own. The man nodded, sniffling as he wiped his eyes on the back of his leather jacket and willed his mind to focus on his next task.

Harry was safe, Dumbledore would ensure it. Even if Sirius had been a little weary of the older wizard's tactics and riddles over the years, James' unwavering faith in

Dumbledore was all the proof that Sirius needed to hand Harry over to Hagrid. "Take my bike―" Sirius insisted as he offered the half-giant a small smile, appreciative for the small offer of comfort, "―it'll be much safer than you trying to Apparate with Harry.

Hagrid nodded once more and made a move to leave the nursery, only for Harry to begin wailing once again. Sirius frowned, staying Hagrid's hand for a moment as he leant forward towards the rowdy infant.

"Everything will be okay, Prongslet―" the mere utterance of the nickname felt thick with the grief of everything that had been lost as he spoke it "―I'll come back for you. You'll be safe with Hagrid. I'll be back for you soon, I promise."

Had he known he was going to break that promise, even though it had never been his intention to do so, Sirius probably would've never made it.

Pressing one final kiss to Harry's forehead that seemed to settle the boy, Sirius backed away and allowed Hagrid to leave the destroyed Cottage with Harry in tow.

It was only when the pair were out of sight that Sirius allowed himself to break completely. He crashed at the top of the stairs, his head pressed tightly against the wall that had not been destroyed in the blast that had killed both of his closest friends.

He was on the precipice of surrendering to his heartache ― the darkness that clouded his heart and threatened to snuff out whatever hope remained. It was Harry that kept him holding on; the promise he'd made him.

Except, Sirius didn't know where to start. He didn't know how to contact Remus ― the pair had not spoken for months, both having become far too distrusting as the darkness of the War crept into the foundations of their friendship.

He didn't know how to find Peter ― or rather, Peter's body considering that was the only option Sirius could think of that the Charm had been broken.

Should he contact the rest of the Auror's? No doubt Moody would already be aware of what had happened if Dumbledore had already sent Hagrid to get Harry.

They would move James and Lily's bodies from the rubble, a task Sirius himself could not fathom having to do. No, his task was finding Peter's body. To ensure his other fallen friend did not waste away alone and could be mourned properly.

Sirius had almost made it out of the shattered home when something crunched under his foot, a resonating 'snap' echoing in the harsh October wind as it blew through the house. He'd almost not dared to look down ― unable to stand being in the Cottage any longer.

His eyes seemed to move on accord of their own, forcing him to look at the split piece of Mahogany wood that laid broken under his dragonhide boot. James' wand, he realised with a frown.

James had always been an excellent dueller ― he'd bragged about being Hogwarts' undefeated Duelling Champion enough for Sirius to have the knowledge burnt into the forefront of his brain.

So why ― for the love of Merlin and Circe and whoever else would listen ― had he not had his wand in his hand when Voldemort attacked? James was the first line of defence between Voldemort getting to Lily and Harry, it was a fool's errand to try and face off against the Dark Wizard wandlessly. James knew better than that ― he knew better than to be unprepared, so why was he?

Because he hadn't been expecting the fight.

Peter had never sent a patronus to warn them.

Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe the Death Eaters had slaughtered him before he'd even had the chance to raise his wand.

But even as the thoughts (albeit very sound and entirely plausible) passed through his mind, they were shadowed by the memories of Peter's inconsistency over the past few months.

His lack of attendance on the nights of the full moon which even James turned up to despite being on house arrest. The excuses he'd used when questioned ― his mother was ill, or he didn't trust Remus―

"He's spending a lot of time with the werewolf packs, Sirius ― people who are able to understand him far better than you or me or James ever could. Are you not worried his loyalties may have shifted?"

Sirius was sickened he'd ever entertained the possibility of Remus betraying them.

It was the memory of Peter's flat that clarified Sirius' idea regarding what had truly happened that night. The empty, eerily quiet, dust-covered flat that looked as though it hadn't been lived in for months.

If he hadn't been in his home, where had he gone all those times he'd not bothered to show up for Order meetings? Or the times he'd been too busy to go to James

and Lily's for dinner as they all usually did?

It took every effort for Sirius not to throw up as the truth unravelled tauntingly in his mind. The wickedness of it sent him staggering into the wall, gripping on to any sturdy thing he could find as rage threatened to consume him.

No. His own break down could wait. Right now, Sirius wanted revenge.

Revenge for the brother who laid crippled under the rubble of fallen plaster, not 2ft away from him and the woman who'd given him so much since the very moment he'd known her. Revenge for his Godson who had been forced to grow up an orphan, unable to feel the overwhelming love of his parents ever again.

Revenge for the shattered friendship he now had to mourn and the taunting what if's that plagued his mind.

His vision was tinted with a blistering rage, and the only thought that seemed to consume his mind was one he'd never had imagined he'd have.

Sirius wanted Peter dead.

Peter moved quickly through the crowded streets of Muggle London, cautiously looking over his shoulder after every footfall as if he knew he was being hunted. It was fear that drove him ― fear had always been his driving force.

It was why he'd felt no remorse when he'd reached out to the Dark Lord. He'd be protected now, safe. He'd done what the Dark Lord had asked ― he'd given him the information he wanted, betrayed his friends, his brothers.

In return, he'd be given a high position in the new world. He'd be important, needed ― for the first time in his life, he'd be front and centre instead of being forced to linger in the background.

As timid as Peter was, he wasn't as naive as everyone thought him to be. He knew Sirius would've worked out what had happened by now ― he and James were bonded in such a way that they'd always been able to tell when the other was in trouble.

Peter had always been envious of their connection. Of the easiness of their brotherhood ― Remus had slotted himself so easily amongst them, Peter had never been able to. He didn't fit. A jagged piece trying to force himself into an already completed puzzle.

The only tether of hope that Peter had to cling to was that Sirius would be too stricken with grief to bother trying to find out what had happened to him yet ― that Sirius' love for James outshone any concern the man had for him.

But Peter had always been foolish ― allowing his envy and self-deprecation to cloud reality.

The short man stumbled backwards as he was faced with the blazing silver eyes of Sirius Black, all colour draining from his face.

Peter wasn't sure how Sirius had managed to find him, not that he had time to think much on the matter before Sirius sent a fist barrelling into his nose.

The fine line of sanity that Sirius was teetering on was slowly becoming more pliable as he towered over Peter who'd fallen to the stone floor, clutching his bloody nose after Sirius' attack.

A traitor. The friend he'd known since he was eleven years old. The cowering little boy who'd been taunted by Lucius Malfoy and Apollo Avery on the Hogwarts Express on their first day at Hogwarts.

The brother who'd pranked, and laughed, and shared a dorm with him for seven years ― who'd been a part of so many of Sirius' fondest and most treasured memories.

Peter Pettigrew had been his friend, his family ― how befitting that Sirius had once again been so completely destroyed by the people who were supposed to love him. Peter had stolen everything from Sirius ― he was prepared to return the favour.

"Pettigrew!" The name was snarled with as much viciousness as Sirius could muster without falling completely from the tightrope of his sanity.

The small crowd of Muggles had stopped, all looking at the pair with vague interest. Sirius ignored them ― ignored the fact that they were all gaping at the wicked madness he knew had glistened over his eyes.

He had purposefully not drawn his wand. Despite the persistent, blinding rage he felt towards the traitor before him, Sirius wanted Peter to suffer ― and, as many vicious ways Sirius could think of to torture him, he'd decided none would be more painful than the Dementor's Kiss.

Peter deserved to rot in Azkaban. He deserved a lifetime of pain and suffering with nothing else to do but to repent his traitorous ways and the harm he'd caused until he was begging for death.

It seemed, however, that Sirius had not yet learned not to underestimate his traitorous friend. Peter had always been driven by fear and self-preservation, and when he was backed into a corner, he knew exactly how to crawl free from it.

"How could you?!" Peter shouted loudly, gaining the attention of the hoard of people. "Lily and James trusted you. How could you betray them so heartlessly?"

Sirius' eyes widened as he realised what Peter was trying to do. He lunged forward, as though to grab the collar of Peter's robes but the stout man was faster.

He'd barely noticed Peter reach for his wand before an explosion knocked him backwards, sending his body sliding into the concrete path as bits of gravel rained down and scratched at his face.

Sirius heaved a cough, wheezing as he attempted to gain back the breath that had been knocked from him as he tried to pick himself up from the ground. His sight was bleary, eye ducts littered with fallen debris as he gazed at the destruction Peter had caused.

His hearing returned next. The deafening, frightful screams of innocent Muggles ringing in his ears as they either ran from the scene or rushed towards the fallen bodies killed by the explosion.

Sirius' attention was locked only on one thing. His legs were wobbly, his face set into a permanent manic snarl as he lunged towards Peter's dust-covered, bloodied robes and patted them fitfully as he searched for the tricky traitor before he managed to escape.

He was only acutely aware of the severed finger that fell from the robes as he picked them up, coating his hands in blood as he realised what Peter had done. A manic laugh escaped his lips as he held the robes to his forehead, curling his body into his knees as tears fell from his eyes.

In that moment, it was hardly a surprise he'd been believed to be guilty. He looked the very definition of insanity as he rocked on his knees, crying and laughing like a madman.

That had been the sight the team of Auror's ━ lead by Bartemius Crouch and Cornelius Fudge ━ had witnessed when they surrounded Sirius on the destroyed street of Muggle London, warns drawn and aimed.

And, despite not having his own wand drawn, Sirius' hands were covered in blood ━ both literally and figuratively. He may not have been the one that sold out James and Lily, but he had pushed for Peter to be their Secret Keeper. He had not kept them safe. He had failed them.

He had failed Harry.

Sirius knew himself that he was guilty.

It came as no shock to him that he hadn't been granted a fair trial.