Written for Camp Potter: Paint ball
Word count: 285
This isn't happening.
Sirius was running and running and running as hard as he could towards that figure, that oh so familiar figure who was frantically shoving people out of his path.
I shouldn't have trusted him.
His breath was hitching in his throat, dry and harsh, and for a precarious moment, he thought he was going to cry. But he bit his lip instead, hard enough that he could taste copper in his mouth.
Remus. What'll happen to him now?
He would not cry for that traitor.
He narrowed his focus, his gaze, on that retreating back, and pumped his legs the fastest it could go. He had always been the quicker one. Skidding the corner into the alleyway, he held a bloodied hand against the wall to steady himself. There was no running now.
"S-Sirus," Peter squeaked, eyes wide, pupils dilated. They darted around the dead end alley in fear. Sirius could only imagine what he looked like now.
"Peter," he spat in disgust, readying his wand in front of him. He opened his mouth to say a spell to end it all, but instead, what came out was, "Why?"
"I-I-I-I," he stammered. "I-It was the Dark Lord! He made me do it! You have to understand Sirius, it wasn't my fault!"
"Liar!" Sirius roared, advancing on him again. "I don't want to hear any more of your excuses!"
He began moving his wrist in the necessary movements, but he had, for the last time, severely underestimated Peter. The last thing he saw was Peter's wand, even faster than his, and the blinding light that made him pass out on the sidewalk.
Harry Potter.
When he next woke up, he was in Azkaban.