"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. How true this statement was. Sirius also kept in contact with someone else that neither Harry nor Dumbledore knew about…
On The Run To You
Chapter Two: "Unhappiness"
Sirius gorged himself on whatever scraps of food her could find, these mere morsels of food tasting like fine cuisine when compared to the food he had received in Azkaban. When he finished, he threw up and then threw up again but after some rest, he felt as though he were able to go on. For three days Sirius found shelter by curling up inside bushes or even under a park bench and lived quite suitably off scraps of food he found in garbage bins behind restaurants and other eating establishments.
The world had changed since he had been imprisoned. No longer were Voldemort's Death Eaters roaming the streets, taking innocent people into their custody and brutally torturing or killing them if they did not join the league of dark wizards. Sirius looked around him, trying not to make himself too conspicuous. It was not only muggles who found an inquisitive dog alarming.
"He's at Hogwarts…"He knew he had been muttering this sentence in his sleep. He knew because that was all he ever thought about these days. Ever since he saw that newspaper article. He was the one that put Sirius in prison. He was the one that made the very life that Sirius led a hell, only bearable to some and excruciating to most.
And then there was her.
She made a promise to him that she would wait for him. No matter what happened, he always knew that when, if, he ever got out, she would be waiting for him, arms open and inviting, just like they always were.
All Sirius knew was that he wanted to find a place where he could become human again and write to her, to tell her that he was out and he was coming to find her.
You escaped from Azkaban, a voice in his head reasoned with him, how could she not already know?
"Honey, can you pick up some fish for dinner?" A woman in her early forties called out to her husband as he rushed past her, tie hanging limply around his neck, cup of coffee in his hand. The hem of his black pinstripe cloak was all she saw as he rushed from the room, late for work as usual. Sheepish, the man appeared in the doorway once again, flushed from the running.
"Sure thing," he said with a smile as he came over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek before racing out of the door once again. She sighed as she watched him through their living room window, getting into his car and driving down the street before turning the corner and speeding out of sight. This was the part of the day that pained her most. She didn't mind that her husband was rarely around enough in the mornings to discuss certain matters with as he got home at a reasonable hour every night. However, being alone in a huge house from 7:30 in the morning until 6 at night often took a toll on a person after a while.
She had never liked working in an office. She was a writer. When she was younger, she started a book, a novel, a story about two lovers. She never finished it. Years later when she showed her husband the story, he asked why she never finished it and she just sighed and told him she lost her inspiration. That was true. He was her inspiration and when he left her, all the words, all the ideas that seemed to flow like water when he was around vanished suddenly and unexpectedly and had not since returned.
Her new career was slightly less exciting than when she wrote for her own enjoyment. Now the only things she wrote were the occasional columns for the magazine 'Witch Weekly'. Only her husband and those closest to her knew that she was actually the one who wrote the self-help column every month. Month after month she churned out articles entitled 'Dinner Do's – how to make that extra special meal even more special!' and 'Tired of your old dress robes? How to make them sparklingly fabulous again!'
It was actually a miracle that she wrote for a wizarding magazine at all. She had met a muggle man one day whilst shopping and after a few days, they went out and after a few months they got engaged and a year later, they were married. They moved to the suburbs where he got a job as an accountant and they had two children, which, thank goodness, displayed magical characteristics and were sent to Hogwarts the year before. She had told her husband about her 'heritage' after they were engaged but he did not believe her until after they were married. Now, 12 years later, he was still not fully accustomed to the idea and sent their children to 'normal' day camp every summer holidays for the past three years.
She sighed and looked down at the piece of parchment she was supposed to be using to jot down ideas for her next article and realised with a shock that she had been sitting there for almost an hour and written absolutely nothing. Shaking herself mentally, she dipped her quill into the small bottle of ink sitting on the desk next to her and poised it above the paper, ready to write the first thing that came into her head.
Nothing.
With a small sound of frustration, she dropped the quill onto the parchment and watched it leave tiny droplets of ink as it rolled to a stop. She was not entirely unhappy with her life; she had a husband, a big house, two children and a career but sometimes when nobody was looking, she sat down and thought about how she just wanted that little bit extra to make her life truly spectacular.
She used to view her life that way. With him around, life was never dull, it always held some form of surprise or another and she always felt safe and wonderful being around him. Even though, looking back with a small smile, life was anything but safe.
Shaking her head softly to clear it, she wandered over to the kitchen bench and flicked on the kettle, watching as the steam coming from the spout grew thicker and thicker. Once she had poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, she turned on the radio, thinking that maybe it would give her a little bit of inspiration or at least an idea to get her started on this month's article.
The radio crackled, the reception terrible in their part of the suburbs. She listened as advertisements for insurance companies, toothpaste and real estate floated from the speakers. A song or two played, nothing of real interest and then the news started. She wrinkled her nose, uninterested in current affairs and rose to turn the radio off at the switch when she heard something that caused her breath to catch in her throat. Turning the volume up a few notches, she made a face as the static also became louder. Listening as hard as she could to what the newsreader was saying, the following sentence was the only one she could make out.
"And it has been confirmed by British governments static local man, Sirius Black static escaped last night from static prison. Black is considered highl- static -gerous and should not be-"
That was all she heard before she flicked off the switch at the wall and sat down at the kitchen table in shock.