Disclaimer: Nah. Still have nothing to do with owning it.
Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I loved reading your thoughts about what Harry wrote to Sirius. You'll find out what it is in this chapter.
I'm glad you're loving Sturgis, and he is in this chapter too. Writing him is absolutely wonderful.
Now, I need to tell you all about something. I received an absolutely vile review that has nothing whatsoever to do with the story. It was a troll that felt the need to post something with incredibly horrific language. It was full of sexual fantasies and a racial slur that I won't repeat. I never, ever say that word even if I'm quoting someone else.
I wrote to Support and told them about the review, and also tried to report it for abuse. I hope they can take it down. Obviously I don't want the entire story to be taken down, I would be beyond heartbroken if that happened. So much work and love has gone into this story, and I'm not letting this stop me from writing it. As a blind user, I'm not sure that it worked when I clicked on "report review for abuse". Is there some kind of menu that's supposed to come up if I do that? I've never had to do it before. This site is mostly accessible for blind users, but there are some hiccups with it. Thankfully, they don't stop me from posting stories - knock on wood.
I know I shouldn't let trolls get to me, and so I won't with this one. But I don't want that foul language and that racial epithet posted anywhere online. It's vile.
Anyway, here's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.
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Sirius Black sat in one of the holding cells at the Ministry. It had been several days since he had turned himself in, and he was bored out of his skull. It was cold, but not overly so, and thankfully, there were no Dementors.
As he thought over recent events, he realized that in Azkaban, he had never been bored. He was either lost in unimaginable grief or helpless rage as he paced back and forth, back and forth in the tiny, cramped cell. He constantly relived finding James and Lily in their destroyed house, their lifeless eyes staring up at him. When he'd held James in his arms and begged him to just wake up, there had been no warmth in his body. Those eyes of his were the hazel color they had always been, but they stared ahead at some distant place Sirius couldn't see. His hair had been just as messy and tousled as ever - death had not changed that one iota. The look of heartbreak that was frozen on his face caused Sirius's own heart to shatter. He didn't know how many times he both yelled and whispered the words, "I'm sorry," as he held him close.
And Lily. Merlin, she had been such a firecracker. Her tongue could be incredibly sharp at times, but Sirius had grown to love her like a sister. And there wasn't a thing she wouldn't do for her friends, for her family. She'd die for them, and that was exactly what she had done. With a broken sob, Sirius had cradled her in his arms too, her vivid emerald eyes staring into nothingness just like James's. At least they were together in death, Sirius had thought as he rocked her back and forth. Neither one of them would be able to live without the other. Sirius had known that was the case even when Lily had professed to hate James with all her might. They had always had chemistry, and Sirius felt like it was only right that if they were to go, they'd go together. Sirius wished he had died with them - that would have made it complete. They were his family, not Walburga, Orion, Kreacher, and Regulus Black.
Harry. He had been Sirius's salvation that night, but when Hagrid told him that the boy was to go to his aunt and uncle, Sirius had lost all sense. He had had too much time to reflect on that catastrophic decision to seek revenge, and even now, as he sat in the holding cell, those memories came back. Obviously, they weren't as vivid or as potent as when the Dementors had endlessly feasted on his misery, but they were there nonetheless.
Harry. He missed him terribly. He felt that his very sanity had been saved by the presence of that boy. Before Sirius had taken him into hiding, he knew his mental health had been deteriorating quickly. He remembered how the rats he had eaten had felt in his mouth; it was the only way to survive while he was on the run - that, and scouting out piles of rubbish like a normal stray dog would, scarfing down whatever he could get his paws on. But he also couldn't deny that there was a sick, twisted kind of satisfaction that came along with chomping on the rats - he imagined every single last one of them with Peter's face. He knew it was unhealthy and wrong, but he couldn't help himself.
He'd been worried about Harry the entire year. It had started when the boy had written him a letter telling him that his scar hurt. For some unfathomable reason, he'd known that something horrible was going to happen on the night of the Third Task. How he knew that, he honestly had no clue, but every one of his senses was on heightened alert. That was why he had been at Hogwarts, waiting in Hagrid's pumpkin patch for any sign of trouble.
And the outcome had been worse than he'd ever imagined. Events had spun out of control, and the next thing he knew, he was hiding in the last place he ever wanted to be. But it truly didn't matter, because he now had the responsibility of keeping Harry safe. On their first night in the house, he remembered how Harry's eyes had looked - full of despair and guilt and grief. But there was also a spark of hope there, too, hope that he had found a place where he could truly be loved. And Sirius had vowed with every fiber of his being to give Harry everything he needed.
He couldn't believe they'd spent a month and a half together, and how far Harry had come during that time. They'd developed a bond that could never be broken. They'd shared so much in such a short time, and Sirius felt that he had really gotten to know his godson. He'd imagined the boy to be just like James, and during his days on the run, he'd built up fantasies of reliving his glory days. Looking back at that period, he was terribly ashamed of the daydreams he'd indulged in.
Because the fact of the matter was that Harry was so very different from James. Sure, he reminded Sirius of his late best friend in many ways, but he was not him in miniature. He had been forced to grow up a lot faster than James had, and he hadn't lived in the lap of luxury. The last month and a half had forced Sirius to admit to himself that, as wonderful as James had been, he had grown up a very spoiled child, and a very arrogant teenager. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had had James late in life, and they indulged his every whim. It was amazing how much James was allowed to get away with, and when Sirius came to live with them after running away from his own family, he and James pushed the boundaries, seeing how badly they could behave before they got into trouble. And if they did, all they had to do was act contrite even if they weren't, and the Potters would be all smiles again.
Harry ... Harry wasn't like that at all. He certainly hadn't grown up loved, and during his years at Hogwarts, he had been forced to endure things that no one should have to, let alone a child his age. He never spoke back to Sirius, nor did he misbehave in any other way. He certainly was no bully, which Sirius knew deep down that he and James had both been guilty of in their day. Harry gave off all the signs of someone who had been on the other end of it - he had been the one bullied. Selfishly, Sirius hoped Harry would never, ever find out how his father and godfather had once truly behaved at Hogwarts.
And so it was that during the past month and a half, Sirius had stopped daydreaming about living those days again. Having Harry all to himself had forced him to come to terms with parts of himself that he never had had the chance to process in Azkaban. Inside that prison cell, there was nothing but hate for Pettigrew, grief for Lily and James, excruciating guilt for inadvertently causing their deaths, and rage at Voldemort and every single Death Eater that existed. The Dementors didn't let him remember the joy of holding Harry, of loving him. He was only able to get lost in the guilt of making him an orphan. It was only when he got hold of the newspaper with Peter's fat little face on it that fear for his godson's life broke through. And that was not a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn't take it from him.
During the past month and a half, Sirius had also realized that there was something else about Harry that was so different from either of his parents. He had an incredible capacity for forgiveness. Both Lily and James had become hardened as the war had progressed, and honestly, neither of them had been all that forgiving in the first place. He remembered how Lily's emerald eyes got hard and flinty whenever she was angry, and how James clenched his fists, his face uncompromising whenever rage swamped him. Sirius, however, knew he looked worse than the two of them combined whenever he was angry. Harry, however ... sure, he'd seen him look angry when discussing certain people and events at Hogwarts, but it was nothing compared to the way Lily and James had walked around in those last days of the war before they had gone into hiding. All the members of the Order of the Phoenix had had no innocence left in them.
His heart ached when he thought of the prophecy. He couldn't stand that Voldemort believed it, and that he wouldn't stop hunting Harry down until it was fulfilled, one way or the other. It made Sirius feel sick. He knew that Harry had every right to know its contents, but how could he ever look him in the eye and tell him? He would never forget when Lily and James had told Sirius of its contents - they had confided that he was the only one they had told. Sirius's throat had constricted - he was deeply honored to be trusted with such information, but at the same time, it was terrifying. He was incredibly afraid of letting them down, of betraying the trust they had put in him. He had messed up before, and was determined not to again. To receive any forgiveness from James for his past mistakes, when it took an awful lot for his best friend to forgive anything, was monumental. And to be trusted with a secret like this ... it was incredible.
And he knew Harry would lose his innocence in this war. It would be impossible for him not to. Sirius knew he had none left to lose, but he couldn't help but worry that he would become even more hardened and bitter than he already was. How much further could he fall?
But every time the fear and doubt would set in, he remembered the many days and nights that he and Harry had sat together, seeking solace and comfort in each other. Harry had helped Sirius not to lose himself - he had brought him back, given him the strength to find himself again. When he was with Harry, he didn't relive the screams of the Azkaban prisoners, the stench of bodily fluids as the inmates lost control of themselves while reliving their very, very worst memories over and over again. He didn't constantly hear himself sobbing brokenly over the two empty, lifeless shells of his best friends. It was like he'd awoken from a long, long nightmare, and he could feel the sun on his face once more, even in a house that had caused him nothing but bitterness. Harry was his cure, his reason to live. He was not Lily, and he was not James. He was Harry. And Sirius couldn't have loved him more if he tried.
Sirius still felt his heart aching when he thought about their goodbye three days ago. It was now Friday, and there wasn't a moment that went by that he didn't miss the boy. He still heard Harry's cracking voice as he thanked him for everything, telling him that he would speak at the trial. He was trying so hard to be brave and strong for him, and that brought Sirius to tears himself. He was terrified of what it would be like, being back in the Ministry's clutches - and worst of all, being away from his lifeline, his joy, his purpose.
It had been Sirius who shed the first tear, and Harry couldn't help himself after that. He remembered how Harry's tears had fallen on his neck as they embraced, both reassuring each other that it would be okay, that everything they had talked about the night before would come to fruition.
That had definitely been an unforgettable conversation. They had stayed up till almost dawn, discussing everything they would do once Sirius was free. Some of it was serious, but there had been plenty of laughter interspersed with the seriousness as they discussed how their lives would change for the better.
"I'll buy us a huge mansion with one hundred rooms," Sirius had joked. "And then you can invite all the people from Hogwarts that you'd like."
"So, I suppose that if you let them stay for a week, they can spend each night in a different room?" Harry had bantered back.
"Oh, no. They have to pick one and stick with it," Sirius chortled.
"Oh? Well, what's the use of having one hundred rooms, then?"
"Don't you know the meaning of decoration, kiddo?"
Both of them had dissolved into full-blown laughter then, and it felt wonderful. It was amazing to daydream of a future that both could long for.
And now, as he sat in the holding cell, he held onto the memory of Harry's smile, Harry's laughter, Harry's hope. He would see him again soon - he had to believe that. If he didn't grasp that hope in his hands, his sanity would finally leave him. And he would not need any Dementors in his vicinity for it to do so.
Merlin, it was so quiet here. There were silencing charms placed on each holding cell so that no one could talk to the other occupants of the space. Too bad. He would give anything to taunt Lucius sodding Malfoy, or swear violently at the Mind Healers who had hurt Dumbledore so terribly. But he remembered that today was Friday, so their trial had been yesterday - he was wondering how it had gone. Despite his current feelings towards Dumbledore, Sirius wondered how he was faring. It nauseated him when he thought about what had been done to him. Growing up, he had hero-worshiped the man - he represented everything that his diabolical family despised. He had entered Hogwarts as an eleven-year-old with a rather cynical mindset, but when he'd looked at Dumbledore, he'd felt instantly reassured. The man had smiled at him when he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, and despite knowing that his family would be furious and ashamed of him, he felt hope. The great and mighty Albus Dumbledore was smiling at him - that must mean something.
But he was no longer that eleven-year-old. Too much had happened since then, and Albus Dumbledore was no longer that Godlike figure. He was a fallible man who had made too many mistakes, some that Sirius knew he'd never be able to forgive. But right now, the old man was recovering from being brutally attacked by two goons who had, apparently, enjoyed every second of it.
Suddenly, Sirius was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. Though there were silencing charms placed on the holding cells themselves, there were none in the hallway. And if someone actually entered your holding cell, you would be able to have a discussion with that person. Sirius wondered whether the visitor was coming to his cell. He had eaten not long ago, so he doubted it was anyone bringing more food.
In the next moment, the door opened, and a face from his past walked into the cell. Every day since he had gotten here, this particular man had visited him, bringing a torrent of emotions with him. Pain. Betrayal. Sadness. But strangely enough, gratitude.
Sturgis Podmore had worked with Sirius when he was training to be an Auror. Both of them, of course, had been Order members as well. Since the First War was in full swing, the Auror training had been truncated. Instead of it lasting three years, it only lasted two. There had been much controversy over that decision, with people not quite trusting that Aurors would be ready to go out into battle after only two years. But many people realized that this was wartime, and certain protocols had to be sacrificed.
Sturgis had been several years older than him, and had been assigned as Sirius's mentor throughout the training. As they worked together, Sirius noticed that Sturgis was very much like him. Sirius had often been told that he was charismatic and possessed a wild sense of humor, and Sturgis was just the same. There was a roughness about him that was also very visible in Sirius.
One major difference, though, was that Sturgis seemed extremely wise, which Sirius could freely admit that he was not. Throughout their training, Sturgis told him little tidbits about his life, but there was one thing that was noticeably missing - he hardly ever spoke of his years at Hogwarts at all. When Sirius thought back to his own years there, he couldn't remember if he'd seen Sturgis's face in the crowd or not. He hadn't been that interested in the older students, and the one thing that Sturgis had told him was that he had been in Ravenclaw. Sirius didn't really mingle with them much, and if they were older Ravenclaws, forget it. He didn't know them at all. But in any case, that was all Sturgis had really said - he was tight-lipped about the rest of his time at the school, and Sirius got the firm impression that he shouldn't pry - so he didn't.
He had really grown to trust and respect Sturgis, and it wasn't going too far to call him a friend in those days. He wasn't at all as close to him by any stretch of the imagination as he was to the Marauders and Lily, but Sirius knew that Sturgis could be depended upon and trusted implicitly. He was a huge asset to the Order, and helped tremendously when morale was low, which happened all too frequently during those last years of the war.
And then, there was that terrible day - November 1, 1981. For one glorious, blessed moment when he'd seen Sturgis's face in the crowd of Aurors and hit wizards who had come to arrest him, he thought he was saved. Sturgis would understand. Sturgis would ask questions. Sturgis wouldn't let him go to Azkaban without wanting to know why the man he'd mentored had apparently done what he'd done.
But instead, Sturgis had been the one to Stun him. For a split second, he felt his world collapse around him even more than it had already, when an obviously enraged Sturgis had hit him with that powerful Stunner. Sirius never thought he'd seen his mentor look so possessed - he looked like he was restraining himself from murdering Sirius. Then, his world had darkened as he was plunged into unconsciousness, Sturgis's livid face being the last thing he'd seen before waking up in the Ministry holding cell.
And throughout the following years, Sturgis didn't visit him. Not once. Granted, it was almost impossible to visit Azkaban, even for Aurors. But Sturgis had always had a knack for knowing exactly what he was doing in order to achieve a goal. He knew which strings to pull, and knew precisely what to say. Sturgis could have visited him, if he'd wanted to.
But he didn't.
But now, as Sirius looked at the man for the fourth day in a row, he could see how haunted he looked. He still had that air of confidence about him, that optimism that had always defined him. The rough-around-the-edges feeling that he'd once given off had smoothed out, and he looked much more put together. The last fourteen years had changed him immensely - Sirius could sense it. The man had been through a lot - exactly what, Sirius did not know. But he'd changed - that much was for certain.
And though the feelings of betrayal, grief, and anger were still there, the gratitude was not to be denied. Sturgis had been the one who made sure Sirius was fed properly, and that no Dementors came anywhere near him. Sturgis had been the one to pass Sirius messages from Harry, which Sirius kept beside him at all times so he could stay strong. Sturgis had come to this cell, every single day, so he could update him on everything that was going on. And even though he hadn't said the words, Sirius could see the apology written all over his face. He wanted to say he was sorry, but didn't know how. And if Sirius knew one emotion well, it was guilt.
"Hello, Sirius." Sturgis gave him a soft smile as he entered the cell and conjured a chair for himself and for Sirius. That was another thing - Ministry personnel weren't allowed to give prisoners special treatment. He always vanished the chair as soon as he left, but for now, Sirius would be comfortable. Sturgis was breaking the rules, and if he was caught at it, he would get in a massive amount of trouble. This was his own way of apologizing.
"Hello, Auror Podmore," said Sirius. Despite his gratitude, he could not bring himself to call the man "Sturgis".
Sturgis nodded, accepting that this was how things must be. "Only three more days," he said quietly.
Sirius appreciated that Sturgis didn't ask, "How are you?" That question seemed so inane and empty for these circumstances, and it was obvious he knew the answer as well. How was Sirius? Bored. Sad. Hurting. Scared. Missing Harry terribly.
"I know," Sirius sighed. "Did you see Harry yesterday? Is he okay?"
"I did," Sturgis said, and Sirius also appreciated the fact that Sturgis had been stopping by the Burrow every evening after his shift. And he knew it was first thing in the morning now - Sturgis was obviously making it his priority to visit Sirius when he first arrived. "The Weasleys are treating him well. He was playing Exploding Snap with his friends when I arrived."
Sirius smiled, though his heart was aching - he could just imagine the scene. "That's good," he said softly.
"I know he's missing you something awful," Sturgis said, and Sirius could detect underlying guilt in his voice.
"I miss him, too," Sirius couldn't help but reply. The longing was burning inside him - each second without Harry by his side felt like an hour.
"It won't be long now," Sturgis whispered reassuringly as he took a folded piece of parchment from his robe pocket and handed it to Sirius, who knew it was another message from the boy.
"Thank you," Sirius said sincerely. "Thank you for continuing to check up on him."
"Of course." Sturgis said with a small smile. "He's been through so much. It's all been so unfair."
He looked at Sirius then, a look that conveyed so much meaning. Sturgis had always been able to say so much with just one look - that hadn't changed in fourteen years. He didn't confirm it out loud, but Sirius knew that those words he'd just spoken about Harry were also meant for him.
Feeling uncomfortable, Sirius only nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly.
There was silence between the two men for a while, a silence that said too many things. Things that they did not want to grapple with right now. Demons that were too difficult to face, especially in this environment - a Ministry holding cell.
Finally, Sturgis cleared his throat and broke the silence. "As I'm sure you remember, the Mind Healers' trial was yesterday."
Sirius nodded. "How did it go?"
"They wouldn't talk, at first," Sturgis informed him. "But there was so much evidence against them. Healer Dixon gave testimony." He visibly shuddered, which was an unusual gesture for Sturgis. "It was ... quite horrible. Healers Pollander and Shaddock realized that they weren't going to escape conviction, so they confessed."
He looked Sirius directly in the eye then. "They said that Fudge knew you were innocent," he said softly. "They told him so, after they looked into Albus's mind."
Sirius remembered how Harry had told him that Fudge had completely refused to believe that Peter was alive and that Sirius was innocent on the night they had first met. Obviously, Fudge had seen Pettigrew when he had been shown the memory in the courtroom of Cedric's murder and Voldemort's return, but it was new information that Healers Pollander and Shaddock had confirmed Sirius's innocence. "Oh," he breathed, not knowing what else to say as another vicious burst of anger at Fudge clawed through him.
Sturgis gazed at him, his eyes so sad in that moment that Sirius suddenly wanted to reach out to him, but there was still a lot that held him back. All the old memories of being mentored by him were surfacing - they'd had so many good times. Sirius had learned so many valuable lessons from him that he knew he'd carry with him through life. But the remembered snarl of, "Stupefy!" and the red light careening into him kept blocking him from reaching out to the obviously guilt-stricken man.
And then, Sturgis finally said it, though the words were an almost inaudible whisper. "Sirius." Haunted blue eyes met haunted gray ones. "I am so very, very sorry."
Sirius felt his throat close up. What could he say? There were so many things that could come out of his mouth. How do you expect me to forgive you? How could you not have visited me? Didn't you want to know why? Why did you think the worst of me?
But there was also: I know you're trying to make up for it. I know you're making sure I'm being treated the best I can be while I'm here. I know you insist on visiting me every day. I know you're not letting any Dementors come anywhere near me. And I know you care about Harry.
In the end, though, he just nodded and said the only two words he knew he could say right now. "Thank you."
Sturgis nodded back. "I will see you tomorrow," he said, his voice still quiet.
"Tomorrow?" Sirius asked, unable to hide his surprise. "But tomorrow's Saturday." Sturgis didn't have to come to the Ministry on weekends, unless there were special circumstances.
But Sturgis only smiled softly. "I will see you tomorrow," he repeated, sounding very sure of the fact.
Sirius gave the man a small smile in return, a flicker of warmth filling him. "Will you be seeing Harry today?" he asked.
"I will." Sturgis nodded. "Don't worry. Right after work today, I will check on him."
"Thank you," Sirius said, standing up. Sturgis vanished the chair, and Sirius noticed the apologetic glance he gave him as he did so. Sirius smiled again, letting him know that he understood.
Sturgis gave him one last glance before he left the cell, the door clicking shut behind him.
Sirius sighed quietly as he sat down on the uncomfortable bed that occupied one corner of the cell. It wasn't great, but he couldn't complain too much. It was nothing compared to how painfully awful the beds were in Azkaban.
Smiling softly, Sirius retrieved the parchment Sturgis had given him, and glanced at the message Harry had written. Even before he saw it, he knew what it would say.
Every day, his godson had written him the same message, and Sirius understood why. It was a reminder, a way for Harry to let Sirius know that he wasn't about to forget that special moment they had shared on his birthday, the moment that had cemented their bond forever. The moment when they knew that as long as they had each other, their world was complete. Harry would never forget that moment - and neither would Sirius.
The message spoke of the memory of when they'd sat together on the couch, holding onto each other as the song on the stereo faded into silence, the words of the singer repeating over and over again as it did so. The words captured what Harry and Sirius meant to each other perfectly.
And as Sirius glanced at the message, he was right. It simply said:
You're not alone
And as tears fell from Sirius's eyes, he held the parchment close to his heart. As those words echoed through his mind, the memory of Harry's face filling him with hope, he knew he could endure anything.