A/n: This is just a little one-chapter story that was lurking around on my computer half finished for about two years until I finally decided to finish it about three days ago. I began writing this before Order of the Phoenix so elements from that book and from Half Blood Prince are not going to be used in this story. This is told in Sirius's point of view and begins on the fateful morning of October 31, 1981.
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I woke that day in 1981 with a strong sense of foreboding. I stepped outside my one bedroom flat and felt the crisp, cool October air surround me. Today was Halloween, a favorite holiday among witches and wizards. I smiled at the thought of all the little muggle children who would approach my door this evening, bedecked in costumes, and begging for candy. I never really understood the muggle custom of dressing up, but I went along with it anyway.
I stepped back inside my flat and opened my refrigerator to see what there was to eat. I took out a three-day old carton of Chinese food, grabbed a fork, and flopped on my couch with my feet sitting on the coffee table. As I was eating my wontons, the sense of foreboding once again came over me. The first time, I brushed it off as just being the morning; this time . . . it must have been the food. Perhaps Mr. Chu's food ISN'T good for a week, as he claims. I set the carton down and made my way to the bathroom to take a shower.
As the hot water pounded against my back, my thoughts drifted back to where they often go . . . to Hogwarts. Seven years spent in a giant castle. Seven years pulling pranks on the Slytherins, especially Severus Snape. How I loathed him. I was almost rid of him too but my best friend had to go save him. Now I'm stuck with that slimy git forever. I chuckled at the memory of how I had almost been expelled. I had gotten away with so many things. My thoughts turned to my friends. I missed them so much. Good old Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs. Or, as the rest of the world knew them: Remus, Peter, and James. Add myself and that equals the Marauders, our little group of friends that played not so little pranks.
When was the last time I had seen Remus? Or Peter? Or James? I didn't really care where Remus was at the moment; I had suspicions about him. I've heard tell that one in our group is a traitor. I myself think its Remus. Peter, when did I last see him? It must have been right before the Fidelius charm was preformed. That reminds me, I should go check on him tonight. James . . . he was as close as a brother was. I hadn't seen him in over a month; he and his family had to go into hiding. I love James's family. His beautiful wife Lily, with her red hair, vibrant green eyes, and full red lips that love to laugh. And Harry, their son . . . my godson. He has jet-black hair that is obviously genetic, seeing how it is almost as completely out of control as his father's is. In fact, he looks almost like an exact replica of James, except for Lily's green eyes.
I love that little guy. We had so much fun when Lily would be in a good mood and deem me responsible to baby-sit. Of course, that usually ended in broken furniture, spilled liquids, and crayon on the wall, not to mention the little broom incident. But I would always make sure that Harry had fallen asleep, most of the time on top of me as I lay on the couch and slumbered also. I knew it would melt Lily's heart and I would escape without punishment . . . until the next day when she would clobber me with a pot and lecture me on my responsibilities of being an adult and taking care of another life blah, blah, blah . . .
After my shower, I went down to the store to buy candy for the "Trick or Treaters" as they called them. I never know why kids always want the treat. I would want the trick. I made sure to buy muggle candy, remembering the incident a few years ago when I had given a little muggle dinosaur a levitating sherbet ball by mistake. It would have been funny had the Ministry of Magic not gotten involved and threatened to snap my wand.
I smiled slightly at the recollection. My first smile in weeks. With all the tragedy going on, I hadn't found anything worth smiling about lately. Last week the Bones had been killed. I used to sit next to Eddie in Transfiguration. He was smart, just starting out in the Ministry of Magic . . . he could have been Minister of Magic too, someday. I read the report in the Daily Prophet. He and his wife, both aurors, had been at their home having dinner. Their little daughter Hannah, I think she's about Harry's age, was at the neighbor's house. She's being put up for adoption now. Poor girl. At least I know that if anything ever happens to Lily and James, which nothing will, I'll be there to take care of Harry.
I returned home, arms laden with grocery bags. I had picked up some essentials to get me through the week seeing as how my 24 hour, 7 day a week buffet à la refrigerator de Potter had been shut off when they went under the Fidelius charm. After putting the items away, I searched for my jacket, having decided to go for a walk and force myself to enjoy the beauty of nature. Ten minutes later, I found it under the couch and headed outside. I walked along a trail behind my flat that led to a small stream. I reached the stream and sat on a large rock at the water's edge, carelessly skimming stones across.
I watched as it skipped and then disappeared from sight. One little stone swallowed up in a great body of water. It suddenly occurred to me that that was exactly how I was. One little person swallowed up in a sea of people, completely alone. That was the first time it hit me how alone I truly was. Who knew when I would see Lily and James again? Who knew if I would ever see Remus again? Would I ever be able to figure out if he truly was the one betraying us? I would see Peter tonight. I would go to his house; the poor boy still lived with his mother, and talk. About what, I didn't care. Anything to get my mind off of how alone I was.
It was a quiet time for the Order. We were having fewer meetings since most of the members were either undercover or dead. They were being picked off like flies. One of them had been murdered last week; we still haven't found his body. I suddenly wished Voldemort was doing something again, just so that we could meet. But that was foolish, I wanted it for my own selfish reasons. Just because I'm lonely . . .. Voldemort had been quiet for a few weeks now. In fact, only the killing of the member of the Order showed any proof that he was still out there.
And that scared us.
If he was quiet, he was plotting. Plotting something horrible. Something that would be beyond words. I felt that sense of foreboding swell in me again and decided it was time to head back to my flat. I walked along the tree-lined path, hands in my coat pockets, whistling some tune I head heard playing in a shop earlier. I unlocked the door, entered my flat, securely locked the door behind me with a spell, and glanced at the clock. It was later than I thought. I must have sat by the stream for hours.
The sky outside my window was slowly starting to darken. I would have to wait for dark to travel since I intended on taking my flying motorcycle. My bike was one of my greatest accomplishments. I had bought it from a muggle who sold it for a song. I completely refurbished it and then enchanted it to fly. The spell was tricky and I didn't get it right the first few times, as some of the dents on the motorcycle would show.
I grabbed something to eat, not even glancing at what it was, and washed it down with a can of soda. The feeling that something major was about to happen pressed itself into my head. I looked outside. It was dark enough. I quickly grabbed my gloves, helmet, and keys. I exited my flat and slid down the banister of the flight of stairs to my second-story flat. I nearly raced to where my motorcycle was parked. I quickly pulled on my gloves and helmet, zipped up my jacket, and started my bike. The engine came to life and I kicked up the kickstand with my foot and sped off into the night.
My sole purpose was to get to Peter. I had to make sure he was okay. I sped down the roads of the small town in which I lived, having to stop occasionally for muggle children crossing the street in the bright and festive costumes, holding their parent's hand and lugging a bag filled with candy. I thought of the candy up in my flat that wouldn't be passed out to any children. More for me.
I soon reached a secluded stretch of road and pressed the button that lifted my motorcycle off the ground. I quickly pressed another button that activated an invisibility charm, knowing that it would work for myself as well. I sped over houses and towns, now desperate to reach Peter's home.
A half-hour later, the wheels of my motorcycle touched pavement. Certain that no one was watching, as it was nearly ten o'clock, I threw off the invisibility charm. A few moments later, I shut off the engine in front of a quaint, green-shuttered house. I propped up the motorcycle on its kickstand and ran up to the front door. I rapped loudly and took of my helmet, shaking the hair out of my eyes. A moment later, a short, plump woman answered.
"Hello Sirius," she said pleasantly.
"Hello Mrs. Pettigrew," I said quickly, hoping my voice didn't sound too eager, "Is Peter home?" She shook her head.
"Didn't he tell you?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice, "He moved out a few weeks ago. He's been acting quite strange for a while." My eyes widened.
"Where's he gone?" I asked.
"A few streets down," she replied, "Number 8, Withers Place."
"Thanks Mrs. Pettigrew," I said, turning to leave. She sighed.
"He doesn't talk to me anymore," she mumbled, "The other day I saw this strange dark thing on his arm. Very strangely shaped, almost like human head with something sticking out of it. Of course, I saw it from a distance so I really couldn't tell. It looked like a very bad bruise. I asked him about it and he said it was nothing."
"Thanks again Mrs. Pettigrew," I said I headed back towards my bike, her words not really connecting. I hopped back on my motorcycle and quickly sped towards Peter's new lodgings. I wondered why he hadn't told me. He had been acting strangle lately.
I quickly found the place and dismounted my bike. The door was open a crack. Not a good sign. I quickly took off my helmet and set it on my seat before slowly striding towards the door, drawing my wand only after checking to make sure no one else could be watching. There was a small flicker of light coming from within. I pushed open the door and found it was a lone candle, nearly burnt out.
I looked around the small house. Possessions were strewn everywhere. Books were on the floor, furniture was upturned, and pieces of parchment littered the floor.
"Peter?" I called out. No answer. I entered the house, keeping my wand ready at all times. A quick search had confirmed the absence of the one I sought. It also had revealed the same disarray I saw when I first looked through the door. It looked as though someone had been attacked and had struggled against the attackers . . .
Or that someone wanted to make a quick getaway.
Mrs. Pettigrew's words that I had previously ignored echoed in my mind. The other day I saw this strange dark thing on his arm. Very strangely shaped, almost like human head with something sticking out of it. I suddenly felt my heart drop to my toes. I knew what she had been describing. I had seen it before. I had been fighting against its bearers.
It was the Dark Mark.
I put a hand out to the wall to steady myself. Peter was a Death Eater. Not Remus as I had suspected, but Peter. Sweet, innocent, clumsy, bumbling Peter. Peter, the boy who no one thought would amount to anything. Peter, the boy who had been one of my best friends at Hogwarts. Peter, the Death Eater. Another thought ran through my mind, sending my body into little shakes.
Peter, the secret keeper of the Potters.
I now understood what all my feelings of foreboding had meant. Voldemort wanted nothing more than to destroy the Potters. And now . . . now that Peter . . .
I tore out of the house, racing for my motorcycle, knocking my helmet of the seat so it clattered onto the pavement. I didn't bother to pick it up and put it on, but instead started the engine and lifted into the air, not giving a damn about who was watching. It was a race I was running now. A race against time. As I soared over towns at the highest speed my bike was capable of going, one thought and one thought only was on my mind:
Let me get there first.
Seconds seemed like hours, minutes seemed like months, and hours seemed like years. I saw lights from houses down below twinkling merrily. An hour and a half later, at around 11:45, I descended from the clouds, not caring that I wasn't invisible, not caring if I was breaking the International Code of Whatever. My body was running on pure adrenaline. The wheels touched down and I sped down the road to the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow. I turned down the street and quickly roared down it.
I had never been a religious person, but right now, I was whispering every single prayer I could think of. I threw off the engine, leaped off my bike as I reached the house, not caring that the motorcycle was still moving, and that it tipped over, and fell with a sickening scraping sound on the pavement moments later. I turned towards the house and ran up the walkway. I banged on the front door for so long that my hand began to throb. My heart leapt into my throat as no one answered. Maybe they were asleep. Please, God let them be asleep.
I ran through the side gate, planning on using the back door to the kitchen, completely ignoring the fact that there were lights on in the house. I approached the door and found it cracked open. That was NOT a good sign. Drawing my wand, I pushed open the door and entered the sparkling clean kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. I walked on towards the living room, my heart pounding in my throat. I stepped on something and heard the shattering of glass.
I knew the sound. It had happened countless times before. I prayed to any god that existed that it would not be what I already knew it was. I removed my foot and looked down, my fears confirmed. Lying on the floor, bent and broken, were James's glasses.
I felt as I was in a daze, like I was dreaming this. I pointed my wand at them and muttered 'Reparo.' The glasses magically mended, as they had done all the other times they had broken. I picked them up and stared at them. The glasses were a part of James. His hazel eyes were always alight with mischief behind them. Whenever I would slap James on the back, the glasses would usually come flying off his face. James would have to bend down and search for them, muttering all the time about how he was as blind as a bat without them. I would usually relent and hand them to him, cracking my usual joke about how we should put a permanent sticking charm on them.
I put them in my pocket, took a deep breath, and continued on. I rounded the corner and my foot caught something. I fell to the ground and moaned. Quickly sitting up, I turned around to see what it was that I had tripped over. I froze, my body paralyzed. It was not a question of what I had tripped over, rather than whom. I stared ahead of me at the motionless body lying only a foot away.
James.
I scrambled to him. His eyes were wide and a small trickle of blood ran down his face, his wand still clutched in his hand. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him shouting "Snap out of it mate!" as if he was only sleeping or in a trance and that I could break it. I didn't want to admit it to myself. I wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't allow myself to believe that he was-
"Dead," I whispered, no longer caring if Voldemort might be lurking in the house. I stood, still in my dreamlike state, refusing to believe that any of this was happening. I looked behind me and saw a broken vase at the foot of the stairs. I walked over to it and looked up the foot of the stairs. A picture was knocked down and had shattered.
I walked up the stairs; my heart sinking with every step I took. I ignored the picture that had fallen, the one shot on our graduation day. I reached the top and looked to the right, then to the left. On the right, nothing was amiss. On the left, papers littered the floor and one lone door stood open. Wishing my legs were not forcing me to move, I walked to the left towards the open door.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what I already knew was lying in the room. I looked inside. The door was lying in the middle of the room; it had obviously been blasted off. I knew where I was. I was in the nursery. I looked up from the door, and my suspicions were confirmed. There, lying by the crib, her thick red hair covering her face . . . was Lily.
I crossed to her and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping that it would pass through and that she wasn't really there. It didn't. I didn't move her hair. I had no desire to see the look of horror on her face. I heard a noise and leapt up, my wand in the ready position. I heard it again, and there was something familiar about it. It sounded almost like-
"No," I whispered softly. It couldn't be. I didn't want to get my hopes up. I heard it again, this time louder. There was no mistaking the sound of a baby crying.
"H-H-Harry?" I stuttered, not able to believe it. Forcing myself to look, I peered inside the crib. There sat Harry in a blue romper, crying his eyes out. Quickly stuffing my wand in my pocket, I picked him up and held him against my shoulder.
"Sshh," I whispered soothingly, "Uncle Sirius is here." Little Harry cooed softly.
"Unca See-us," he mumbled. I grinned as I felt tears that had been building slide down my cheeks in great torrents. I held him to me, rocking him, not even caring that he had survived an attack and that his parents did not. I heard a loud cough. My blood ran cold as I wheeled around to face the door of the nursery, nearly dropping Harry in my panic.
"It's only you Hagrid," I said, relieved. The giant man nodded solemnly. Something overtook me that instant, for the next thing I knew I was sobbing into his giant shoulder, balancing Harry on my hip. Hagrid brought one of his trash can lid hands down to pat my back. He said nothing; there were no words. Finally, when I had no more tears left to cry, he spoke.
"Give him ter me," he said softly.
"What?" I asked, not understanding.
"Give 'arry ter me," repeated Hagrid. My eyes widened and I clutched the small child to my chest.
"No!" I cried, "He's mine! I'm his godfather!" I had lost James, and I had lost Lily, but I would be damned if I were going to lose Harry.
"Dumbledore's orders," Hagrid said. I bit my lip and felt new tears rising. Voldemort had taken away my friends, and now Dumbledore was going to take away the only thing I had left. But I couldn't go against Dumbledore, what he said went.
I held Harry close to me, gently ruffling his hair before kissing his forehead. "I will see you again," I whispered, "I promise you." I looked, really looked, at the infant for the first time that night. I brushed a wisp of his soft hair that was already threatening to look like James's and gasped. There was a thin; lightning bolt shaped cut on his forehead. I didn't know what it meant. I kissed him one last time, hugging him as tight as I dared before closing my eyes and holding him out to Hagrid, not wanted to see him be taken away.
"It'll be okay Sirius," mumbled Hagrid as he took my last reason for living away from me, "Just yeh wait and see." I sniffed and doubted anything would ever be okay again.
"Take my bike," I said, "It'll help you go wherever you're going. I won't be needing it anymore."
"Thanks Sirius," said Hagrid. I heard his footsteps leave the room and slowly fade. A distant rumble told me that he had indeed taken my flying motorcycle. Faced in a situation like this, a man can do two things: He can cry and break down or he can become furious.
I was stark raving mad.
I wanted revenge. Sweet revenge. Peter. He was a rat after all. I didn't just want to kill him, I wanted to blow him to bits, to break every bone in his body, gouge out his eyes, and cut him with knives and pour salt in the wounds. I wanted to cause that traitor as much pain as possible, to make him feel the pain that I was now beginning to feel. He would wish he never picked up a wand.
I tore out of the house, my body being controlled by my heart and not my mind. I had no plan, no way of knowing exactly where he was, and no idea of the consequences of my actions that would soon befall me.
OOOOOOOOOOIt was about one in the afternoon when I entered Lucky's Food and Drug Mart on the corner 47th and Broadway. It was one of those quickie marts that Muggles were starting to attach to their gas station things. I had been scouring the town for over twelve hours searching for Peter, my rage building with every step I took. I still didn't believe that the Potters were dead. I couldn't believe it. I refused to think about it until I found Peter. My adrenaline had worn off by now and I was beginning to tire, but a thought that had entered my head about an hour ago had renewed my energy.
No one knew that Peter was the Potters secret keeper, not even Dumbledore. I was supposed to have been the secret keeper but I thought that I would be too obvious as a choice. After all, just about everyone knew that James and I love each other like brothers. Which meant that everyone thought that I was the Potters' secret keeper . . . which now meant that everyone would think that I was responsible for their murder. Me, responsible for killing my dearest friend in the entire world. I was a force to be reckoned with. Peter would never know what hit him.
I had spent the entire time since leaving the Potters' house looking at every restaurant, bar, and fast food place in the city. Peter always had a weakness for food and I had no doubt that he would want to fill his fat stomach before making a getaway- if he had even planned to make a getaway, that is. Peter was also incredibly stupid.
Naturally the emotional turmoil I was experiencing and all the searching had taken its toll on me. I planned on stopping in Lucky's for a quick cup of coffee to re-energize myself before getting back to the hunt. As I stepped towards the doors, they whooshed open electronically. I flinched and hesitated a second. Stupid muggles and their electricity. I entered the shop and the sweet smell of coffee immediately reached my nostrils. The scent carried me over to the brewing station and I quickly poured myself a large cup and took a large sip. The hot liquid rushed through my veins and began restoring the energy back to my body. As I walked over to the register to pay for the drink, I happened to glance down the candy isle. What I saw made me freeze in shock.
Peter Pettigrew, the traitorous rat himself, was greedily eyeing a bag of sweets and had just reached out his fat fingers to get it when he turned his head towards me and his beady little eyes met mine. His face paled and he looked as though he had just seen a ghost. I could only stare at him in shock. I had been searching for the weasel for twelve hours and the one place where I go to take a break I find him. Needless to say, my shock did not last for long as rage coursed through my entire body.
"PETTIGREW!" I roared, throwing aside my coffee. The fat worm squeaked and did the only thing his pea-brain could think of: he bolted out of the shop. I, of course, ran after him, withdrawing my wand as I did so.
On the very first day of school at Hogwarts, each witch or wizard is taught that they are to never expose their wand to muggles unless in the case of a dire emergency. The professors drill it into each student's head all day long to the point that they don't even want to look at their wand anymore. Right now, however, my best friend and his wife were dead, my godson had been taken away from me, my former friend had betrayed us all, and I was going to be blamed for the whole thing. I was taking out my bloody wand and I would wag it in the muggles' faces if I had to to get my point across.
I was chasing Peter out of the store and for a split second he hesitated on which direction to run. He was scared. Perfect. He turned right and ran straight into an alley that came to a dead end. Stupid, stupid Peter. He stared at the fifteen-foot brick wall as if hoping it would offer him a way of escape. I took advantage of that time and advanced on him, my wand at the ready and a smile creeping across my face. Revenge would be sweet.
He whirled around and looked at me, fear in his eyes. He knew he was going to pay. "Hello Peter," I hissed. Suddenly, the look of fear left his eyes and was replaced with something different. I felt my smile falter slightly. I knew that look. For all intents and purposes, it was my look. It was cockiness.
"Oh Sirius!" he cried dramatically. What the hell was he doing? And why was he talking so loud? "Lily and James, Sirius! They LOVED you! HOW COULD YOU BETRAY THEM?"
"SHUT UP!" I screamed. It was only then that I noticed him taking his wand out of his pocket. I pointed my wand right between his eyes. "Put it away Peter or I'll blow you to bits." He merely laughed.
"If you were going to do it you would have already done it, you coward," Peter spat, glaring at me. "That's right, you the most popular boy in school. Always number one with the ladies. You're nothing but a coward, Sirius, always pushing around people who were smaller than you. If you didn't have your looks you'd be nothing."
"Well at least I have that," I growled. A smirk appeared on Peter's face. When did he grow a backbone?
"James was your best friend, Sirius!" Peter screamed, continuing on in his dramatic rant. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he was up to until I saw the first muggle poke their head around the corner and look into the alley. He was drawing a crowd. "And Lily! Sweet, sweet Lily! A flower cut in her prime! And it's all your fault. And dear sweet baby Harry only a year old-"
"HARRY ISN'T DEAD, YOU FOOL!" I screeched, absolutely livid now. How dare he accuse me of this? How dare he attract a crowd to watch me settle the score. Peter had been toying with his wand by drawing the tip back and forth across one of his fingers. When I told him that Harry had survived, he blanched and cried out in pain. I looked at his finger and saw blood gushing out from a stub. The idiot had cut his finger off.
"You offered them up on a silver platter to Voldemort," I growled, advancing on him. "And now you're going to die."
"You're absolutely right, Sirius," he replied calmly, his bloody smirk returning. "You're a murderer, Sirius Black! A MURDERER!" he said, resuming his melodramatic wailing. "And now that I've caught you, are you going to murder me too? Sirius please don't! You've already taken two lives! DON'T KILL AGAIN! SIRIUS! ARRRRGGGGGGGG!" He let out a long scream and slashed the air with his wand.
I was thrown off my feet and fell back a few yards due to what felt like a massive explosion rocking the earth. Smoke filled the air and for the briefest of moments I saw Peter looking down on me with that damned smirk on his face. "Have fun with the dementors, Black" he said with a cackle. I lunged at him, but all I got was armfuls of air. The little rat had disappeared.
Slowly, I got to my feet and could hear wails and screams from the crowd that had gathered to watch our exchange. People were pointing at me and screaming hell bloody murder. Approximately one minute later, swarms of Ministry workers appeared on the scene, their robes billowing in the breeze. They quickly assessed the situation and a group of them made a beeline towards me to prevent me from leaving.
They needn't have bothered, though. I wasn't going anywhere. I was in such a daze I didn't even notice when they gripped me by the arms and I only snapped out of it long enough to hear one official mutter, "Looks like thirteen muggles, sir."
"Anyone else?" another official asked. The first official removed his hat and shuffled his feet.
"One of the survivors is saying that Black cornered another man. We . . . we think it was Pettigrew, sir."
"Little Peter Pettigrew?"
"Yes, sir. We can't find any evidence that he was here except for this," the first official said, holding up a clear bag. It was the finger Peter had cut off. The official moved a step closer to his commander and lowered his voice. "Witnesses are also saying that Pettigrew blamed Black for the murders of the Potters as well." The second man's eyebrows shot up as he turned towards me.
"Well, Black, what do you have to say for yourself?" he asked gruffly as he folded his arms. That was a good question. What did I have to sayfor myself? What could be said? More importantly, what the hell just happened? The official had said something about thirteen muggles . . . I presumed that meant thirteen muggles had died in the explosion. He also said something about Peter. Damn it, he thought Peter was dead too! Let's summarize the past twenty-four hours:
My best friend in the entire world and his wife had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, their child and my godson had somehow miraculously survived only to be ripped from my arms moments later to be taken to Merlin only knows where, our trust had been betrayed by one of our oldest friends who most likely skipped the whole way to tell Voldemort that he could give him the Potters, I had spent the whole night tracking down Peter to seek revenge, and when I finally cornered him and had been about to rip him to shreds he caused a massive explosion that killed thirteen muggles and provided him an opportunity to escape under the presumption that he was dead as well. And I was going to be blamed for the entire thing because everyone though that I was the Potters' secret keeper and that Peter had tracked down me to get revenge and that I had caused the explosion.
What else could I do? I had always been the class clown at Hogwarts and was always able to find hilarity in a situation. Right now my options were to either completely break down in sobs or laugh at the horribleness of the situation.
I laughed.
It started as a small giggle deep in my chest and then grew to a quiet chuckle before blossoming into full-blown hysterical, maniacal laughter. I laughed at the irony of it all. I laughed because I was going to be labeled a murderer and sent to Azkaban. I laughed because no one would believe my innocence. I laughed until tears rolled down my face because I would never see my closest friends in the world ever again or get to see my godson grow up.
I laughed as the Ministry official waved a few more workers over. I laughed as they wrestled me to the ground. I laughed as I was apparated to Azkaban. I laughed as I was marched down the dismal halls of the prison that reeked of suffering and sorrow. And as the bars to my cell that I was to inhabit for the rest of my life clanged shut, I was still laughing.