Fifteen minutes.
Sirius had often wondered what the point of quarter-hours was. They were too short to do anything productive, too short for anything interesting, or mind-boggling, or exciting to happen.
Surely quarter-hours were too short for anything notable to happen.
Of course, some of the most important occurrences of Sirius' life had happened in the space of fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes, and he'd made a group of friends that would last him, so he thought, for the rest of his life.
Fifteen minutes and he'd broken family tradition, and been put in Gryffindor.
Fifteen minutes – one evening after years of trying, fifteen minutes and he was a dog. Fifteen minutes and he had a new form.
Fifteen minutes into a detention in sixth year and he was totally and irrevocably in love with Remus Lupin. Fifteen minutes of Remus making sarcastic comments about washing up and various other stupid detention tasks and then nothing else could be done.
Fifteen minutes into his mother screaming at him for the last time and he'd left home, for good. No longer a Black. In fifteen minutes he went from a prisoner to a free man.
Fifteen minutes – a space of fifteen minutes after a full moon, after Peter and James had left and before Madame Pomfrey appeared. Fifteen minutes and he'd had his first kiss. In fifteen minutes he was Remus' and Remus was his.
Fifteen minutes.
In fifteen minutes, he'd lost Remus, through suspicions, through accusations. Through doubt.
If he'd gotten to the Potters' house fifteen minutes earlier – if he'd gotten to Peter fifteen minutes earlier.
Fifteen minutes.
Once in his life, he'd thought that fifteen minutes was a pointless measurement of time.
Now, as he sat in his cell, only left with pangs and shadows of memories, only nightmares and regrets for company…
Now…
Now fifteen minutes…Fifteen more minutes as a free man. Fifteen more minutes spent with Remus, to apologise, to atone…
…Was fifteen minutes too much to ask?
