Author's Note - I don't own Sirius or the world. But the words are my own.
Griffindor55goddess - Thanks for the review. I'm sorry you didn't like it. I guess I wasn't trying to write a story but more a character background. I always found it strange Sirius laughed when he was being arrested. Can't be everyones cup of tea.
Silverpheonix2 - Ta for liking part 1. Hope you like part 2.
Hours, days, weeks, months, years. Funny how they all melded into one. How after a while. You stopped noticing time. Stopped wondering what was happening in the outside world. Stopped caring. The dementors soon put a stop to that.
He knew every inch of his cell. Every brick. Every shadow that fell through his tiny window. Every bit of rust on the bars. Every pattern of every section of the floor. Every knot in the wood in the door.
He sat there day after day, year after year. Unconcerned by anything. Not even raising his head when the Minister for Magic himself visited him on occasion. He had no interest in attempting to convince anyone he was innocent. He knew it would be futile.
"Why yes Minister, Peter Pettigrew faked his own death, turned into a rat and disappeared into the sewers."
He had long since given up hope. Hope of anything. Hope of getting out of Azkaban. Hope of escaping. Hope of finding Peter and doing what he should have done all those years ago. Hope of finally uttering those two final words. Hope of explaining to Harry. Hope of Harry believing him.
It was all gone. He supposed that was the Dementors. Everytime they came near he saw Lily's smile. Saw James messing up his hair as if he'd just gotten off a broomstick. Heard Harry's giggle.
At the very beginning it was all he could do not to go mad. In fact he sometimes thought he must have. But now, those images brought him a kind of cold comfort. He knew he had not betrayed them. Failed them yes. But not betrayed.
He was innocent and he held on to that thought with every fibre of his being. Held on to it so tight it hurt.
To them he didn't move. Hardly slept. Barely ate. But inside was a battle so fierce he was left too exhausted to stand. The battle for his sanity. The battle to remember he was still human and would always be innocent.
When it got too much. When the walls closed in on him and he almost lost his grip he transformed. Everything was so much simpler as Padfoot. And above all it reminded him of Prongs and Moony.
Moony who he had suspected. Moony who now believed him to be a murderer and betrayer. To Sirius the latter was worse. He had fully intended to be a murderer. He wanted to be. With every part of him he wished he had killed Peter. With his bare hands if need be.
The hate also kept him going. Hate of Peter. Of the friend he had trusted. The friend he had believed to be weak. Who turned out to be the strongest of them all.
He didn't even know how long it had been, he guessed at least ten years, when Fudge came to visit him for the last time. He strutted in and glared at Sirius, as if annoyed he was still alive, saying something about an inspection.
Sirius stared back, in what he hoped was an insolent way. Fudge was fiddling with his lime green bowler hat and holding a paper under his arm. It was only when he glanced at the front page that he noticed a picture.
A picture of a large wizzarding family standing infront of the pyramids waving enthusiastically at the camera. But it was who was perched on top of the shoulder of the smallest boy that made Sirius' blood run cold. So cold he thought a Dementor had stepped into the cell.
"Can I borrow your paper?" He asked in what he hoped was a bored fashion, standing up he advanced on Fudge who stepped back. Then seemed to bristle and glared at Sirius. "I do miss doing the crosswords." Fudge practically threw the paper at him, a look of deep disgust on his face. "Thank you." Sirius murmured then went back to his seat.
Fudge muttered something about doing the decent thing and dying and stalked out. As soon as Sirius was alone he stared at the picture.
He had known that he would have recognised Peter as a rat. But seeing him there on the front page of the Daily Prophet was like being punched in the stomach. Sitting there bold as brass. With a toe missing.
He stared at the picture for what seemed like hours. And then it eventually sank in. He had always known Peter was on the outside, always known he would be hiding. But in such plan sight? As happy and fat as he had always been?
Sirius hadn't thought he could feel any worse. Then he read the article. Hogwarts. Harry. How old was Harry now?
Glancing at the picture of the young boy who had the rat on his shoulder, he looked thirteen maybe fourteen. The date on the newspaper told Sirius Harry would be around the same age and at Hogwarts as well.
His blood was now like ice in his veins.
Now he had a purpose. An aim. A desperate hope. Get to Peter. Get to Harry.
A/N- All R&R's welcome.
