𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘

ACT I: Crown of Embers

Chapter 7: Prisoner of Azkaban

Previously on Chapter 6:

Harry froze, his heart leaping to his throat.

"Evening, boys," the man said cheerfully, his voice hoarse but unmistakably amused. "Hope you don't mind the detour—I thought it'd be rude not to say hello before you ran off to Gringotts."

The stars had always held a certain allure for Sirius Orion Black. As a child, he would stare at the night sky from the vast windows of Grimmauld Place, tracing the constellations his family held sacred. "You're named after the brightest star, my son," his mother would say, her voice cold and proud, as though she had chosen his destiny herself. But Sirius never wanted to be the brightest. He just wanted to be free.

Freedom, however, was a scarce commodity in the Black family. The House of Black prided itself on tradition, on purity, on the unyielding grip of bloodlines and expectations. Sirius, with his untamed laughter and reckless defiance, was a stain on their perfect tapestry. He would break curfews to wander the streets of London, charm the house-elves into revealing forbidden secrets, and write crude messages in the dust on ancestral portraits.

And then there was James Potter. Sirius's first taste of real rebellion was not in defying his mother, but in finding a kindred spirit. James with his messy hair, his infectious grin, and his unwavering loyalty. It wasn't long before Sirius traded the suffocating halls of Grimmauld Place for the warm chaos of the Potter household, where the only rules were to be kind and have fun.

Hogwarts became his true home. It was there, under the ancient arches and sprawling grounds, that Sirius found himself. He was more than just a Black; he was a Marauder. With James, Remus, and Peter by his side, they were unstoppable. Mischief-makers, map-makers, and protectors of secrets, they lived their years at Hogwarts as though the world beyond the castle walls could never touch them.

But the world did touch them. The war began, quiet at first, like the distant rumble of a storm. Then it was everywhere, in the headlines, in the whispered conversations, in the empty seats at the Great Hall. Sirius's world shifted, and with it, so did he. He joined the Order of the Phoenix, fought battles most would never hear of, and watched friends fall—their faces haunting his dreams.

Loss became a familiar companion. First, Marlene. Then Dorcas. And finally, James and Lily. The night they died, a part of Sirius went with them. He was supposed to have been their Secret Keeper, but in an act of misplaced trust, he had given the responsibility to Peter. Peter, the weak one, the coward. Peter, who betrayed them all.

When Sirius cornered Peter in that crowded street, his rage was a living thing. He wanted justice. No, he wanted vengeance. But Peter was cleverer than any of them had given him credit for. The explosion ripped through the street, leaving twelve dead and Sirius standing in the ruins. Laughing. How could he not laugh? The world thought he was the traitor. His name, his bright star, was smeared with the blood of the innocent, with the blood of his brother.

Azkaban was not built for the living. It thrived on despair, leeching hope from its prisoners until they were hollow. The Dementors swept through Sirius's cell, their cloaks whispering promises of oblivion. Most succumbed to the weight of their memories, but Sirius clung to his. He clung to James's laughter, to Lily's fierce determination, to the night they became Animagi for Remus. And he clung to the knowledge that he was innocent. That single truth burned within him, a tiny, flickering light that the Dementors could not extinguish.

Years passed. Sirius lost track of time, of seasons, of the outside world. He grew thin, his hair matted, his hands trembling. But the fire inside him never went out. It was in his Animagus form, the form of a great black dog, that he found clarity. The Dementors could not reach the animal mind. When he was Padfoot, he could breathe. He could think.

Then he saw the picture. The boy in the newspaper. Harry Potter, his godson. Alive. At Hogwarts. And on that redheaded boy's shoulder, the rat. Peter.

Something snapped inside Sirius that day. The fire roared back to life, consuming him. He would not let Peter win. He would not let James and Lily's sacrifice be in vain. So he escaped, slipping through the bars of his cell as Padfoot and swimming the icy waters of the North Sea. The stars guided him, as they always had, their distant light a reminder that even in the darkest night, there was hope.

Sirius Orion Black was free. And he would fight for the truth, for his godson, and for the friends he had lost. For the brightest star is not one that burns the hottest; it is one that endures.

Harry froze, his heart pounding. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man grinned, his teeth flashing white against the dirt on his face. "Who am I? Oh, Harry… That's the question, isn't it?" He spread his arms dramatically. "Sirius Black. Escaped convict. Azkaban's most famous resident, here to kidnap two poor schoolboys and whisk them off into the night."

Neville's wand trembled, his voice shaking. "Stay back! We—we'll fight you if we have to!"

Sirius raised his hands, palms out. "Oh, I like him," he said, nodding at Neville. "Got some of Alice's fire in you, haven't you? Good. You'll need it."

Neville faltered, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know my mum?"

"I know a lot of things," Sirius replied, his tone turning darker, his gaze settling on Harry. "I know what they did to you, Harry. Locked you away like some unwanted thing. I know how you've been lied to, how they've kept you in the dark."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "What are you talking about? What lies?"

"Where do I start?" Sirius said, pacing in a tight circle. "With the night your parents died? With the fact that they trusted the wrong person? Or with the Ministry, who'd rather shove the truth under the rug than admit they locked up the wrong man?"

Harry blinked, confusion and anger warring in his chest. "Wrong man? What are you talking about? You killed those people! Everyone says so!"

Sirius stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "Everyone says so," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. Then he laughed—a wild, bitter sound that sent chills down Harry's spine. "Oh, they do love their stories, don't they? Mad Sirius Black, traitor, murderer. A Black. The perfect scapegoat."

Neville stepped closer to Harry, his wand steadying. "If you're not a murderer, prove it."

"Prove it?" Sirius barked out another laugh, gesturing wildly. "How do you prove you didn't do something when the whole world's decided you did? Ask the Ministry? Ask Dumbledore? They'll tell you I'm the monster. That I betrayed James and Lily. But I didn't!" His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he pointed at Harry. "I didn't betray them. I'd have died before betraying them."

"Betrayed them? What do you mean my parents were betrayed?"

Sirius stared at Harry, his mouth slightly open, as if the words had been stolen from him. For a moment, there was silence—a suffocating, heavy silence where nothing moved but the cold wind. His eyes, wide and wild, searched Harry's face, as if looking for something he had hoped he wouldn't find. His godson. His flesh and blood. And yet, the boy had no idea.

The shock turned to fury in an instant. Sirius's hands curled into fists, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged gasps. His eyes blazed, the fire of a long-held rage rising from deep within him.

"You—" he started, voice low, trembling, before the words erupted in a growl. "You don't know? You don't know the truth? How is it that the son of my brother, the son of James, doesn't know what happened?!"

He shook his head violently, his hair whipping around his face. "How could they let you grow up like this, Harry? How could they keep you in the dark, blind to everything that matters?"

Harry staggered back, eyes wide in confusion. "W-what are you talking about? Who's 'they'?"

Sirius took a step toward him, his eyes blazing with pent-up fury, the weight of years spent in silence pressing down on him. He wasn't sure whether he was speaking to Harry, to his memories, or to the ghosts of the past that still haunted him. "The Ministry, the people who should have told you the truth. Your guardians, the ones who let you think I was the one who betrayed your parents. They lied to you, Harry. They all lied. Your mother and father… they trusted the wrong person, and it cost them everything."

Harry's breath hitched in his chest, the confusion becoming something heavier. "What do you mean? What do you mean they trusted the wrong person?"

Sirius's voice dropped to a deadly whisper, each word cutting through the night like a blade. "Peter Pettigrew. He was the one who betrayed them. Not me. I was their Secret Keeper, Harry. I was the one who swore to protect them, and I would have. I would have given my life to keep them safe. But we thought ourselves too smart. 'Oh Sirius Black is too obvious a choice. He will play the decoy. Lead You-Know-Who and his band of merry madmen through a wild goose chase. Whereas the unassuming person in the group would keep my brother and his family safe.' And I made a mistake. I trusted Peter. We all did. And Peter…" His voice cracked, and for a moment, it almost seemed as though the fury had left him. But it came back in full force, raw and uncontrollable. "He was a coward. A rat. He sold them out to Voldemort, and because of that, they died. Your parents—James and Lily—they died because of him."

Harry's heart thudded in his chest, the words sinking into him like stones. His mind screamed in disbelief. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "But… but why would Peter do that? Why would he betray them?"

Sirius's eyes darkened, his hands gripping the sides of his head as though he could tear the memories from his skull. "I don't know. I don't know why. But I know this: He was weak. He was always weak. And in the end, he was too afraid to face Voldemort, so he chose to protect himself instead of his friends. And now… now you're living with that lie. You're living in a world where I'm the villain, where I'm the one who betrayed them. And you—you—grew up believing it, Harry." His voice cracked again, a raw edge of agony cutting through his words.

Harry's mind whirled. Betrayed by his own godfather. By the one man he had been taught to believe was a killer. Sirius. His godfather. The man who had seemed so wild, so untamed, yet now, standing before him, was nothing more than a shadow of the man who had once been part of his parents' world.

"You were there," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes struggling to meet Sirius's. "You were there when they died. You saw it happen?"

Sirius nodded, his face twisted with grief. "I only wish. If I was there I would have fought along with James against that noseless bastard. And if I were to die? I would gladly accept dying while saving my family, Harry! But was I allowed to do that? No! I was framed, Harry. For twelve years, I've been locked away, tortured by the lies they told. I've been living with the weight of a crime I didn't commit."

The wind howled between them, carrying the echoes of the past, and for a long moment, Harry could only stare at Sirius, his godfather—this man who had once been part of the family he barely knew. The truth was coming at him like a wave, and he wasn't sure if he could survive it.

"I wanted to be there for you," Sirius said, his voice quieter now, softer, as he stepped closer. "I wanted to protect you, Harry. I never meant for you to be alone. I never meant for you to grow up thinking I was a murderer. But they kept me in the dark, too. They kept me away from you."

"Why should we believe you?" Neville demanded, his voice sharp. "You could be lying to save yourself."

"Believe me, don't believe me—it doesn't matter," Sirius said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "The truth doesn't change. And whether you trust me or not, you're not safe, Harry. Not while the Ministry's hunting me, and certainly not while he's still out there."

Harry swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "He? You mean Voldemort?"

"No," Sirius said grimly. "I mean the rat. Peter Pettigrew"

Harry stared at Sirius, his pulse pounding in his ears. The words hung in the air, sharp and brittle like shards of glass. Peter Pettigrew. The name twisted in his mind, unfamiliar yet heavy with meaning.

"You expect me to believe that the Ministry got it all wrong?" Harry demanded, his voice cracking. "That you've been innocent this entire time? That he's the one who betrayed my parents?"

Sirius's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "You think I'd make this up? Twelve years in Azkaban—twelve years, Harry, with Dementors draining the life out of me every single day. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? If I were lying, I wouldn't have survived it. The truth was not a happy thought. And hence, the one thing the dementors couldn't take away from me."

Neville shifted beside Harry, his wand still pointed at Sirius but wavering slightly. "Even if what you're saying is true… why should we trust you now? You did escape from Azkaban. That's not exactly reassuring."

Sirius let out a bitter laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Reassuring? Do you think I wanted to escape so I could harm you? No, I escaped because of him." He jabbed a finger towards Hogwarts, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity. "Peter's alive. He's been alive this whole time, hiding like the rat he is. And now that I know where he is, I'll be damned if I let him slip through my fingers again."

"Where he is?" Harry repeated, his mind spinning. "What do you mean? How could you possibly know that?"

Sirius fixed him with a piercing stare. "Because he's been close to you, Harry. Closer than you'd ever imagine."

The words struck like a thunderclap, and Harry took a step back, his chest tightening. "What are you talking about? Who—where—"

Sirius's lips curled into a grim smile. "Your dormitory. The pet rat. The one with the Weasley."

Neville let out a startled noise, lowering his wand in shock. "Scabbers? You mean Ron's rat?"

"The same," Sirius said. "That's him. That's Peter. He's been hiding in plain sight for years, right under the noses of the people he betrayed. Coward that he is, it's the perfect cover."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He thought of Scabbers, the scruffy, unremarkable little rat that had spent so much time perched on Ron's shoulder. It seemed impossible. Ridiculous, even. And yet…

The weight of Sirius's gaze bore down on him, and for a moment, Harry couldn't look away. There was something raw and desperate in his eyes, a mixture of guilt and determination that made Harry's stomach churn.

"Even if… even if that's true," Harry began hesitantly, his voice barely audible, "what does that have to do with us? Why are you here now?"

Sirius took a step closer, his hands falling to his sides. "Because you're in danger, Harry. Both of you. I know where you're headed—Gringotts, isn't it?"

Neville's head snapped up, his grip tightening on his wand. "How do you know that?"

"I have my ways," Sirius said cryptically. "And I know what you're hoping to find there. But the goblins… they don't take sides, Harry. They don't care about you or your parents or the truth. If you walk in there unprepared, you'll end up exactly where I did—trapped, betrayed, and alone."

Harry bristled, his anger flaring to life. "You don't know anything about what we're trying to do! You've been gone for twelve years—what could you possibly know about my life or my parents or anything?"

"I know more than you think," Sirius said sharply. "And I know you're not ready for what you're walking into. You think you can just waltz into Gringotts and demand answers? It's not that simple, Harry."

"Then help us," Neville said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Both Harry and Sirius turned to stare at him, startled.

"What?" Neville said, squaring his shoulders. "If you're telling the truth—and I'm not saying I believe you—but if you are, then prove it. Help us get to Gringotts. Help us find the answers we're looking for."

Sirius's eyes softened, his posture relaxing slightly. For a moment, he looked almost human—almost normal. "You want my help?" he said quietly, as if the idea were foreign to him.

Neville nodded. "Yes. But if you try anything, if you so much as look at us the wrong way, I'll hex you into next week."

A slow, crooked grin spread across Sirius's face. "Fair enough. I wouldn't expect anything less from Alice's boy." He turned to Harry, his expression growing serious once more. "Well, Harry? What do you say?"

Harry hesitated, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't trust Sirius—not entirely—but something in his gut told him that the man wasn't lying. And if there was even a chance that he could help…

"Fine," Harry said at last, his voice firm. "But you'd better not make me regret this."

Sirius's grin widened, and he extended a hand. "I won't, Harry. I swear it."

Harry didn't take the hand, but he nodded once, his jaw set. "Let's go."

Sirius let out a low chuckle, turning toward the door. "The goblins won't know what hit them."

AN: Tada! An early chapter for you amazing people out there! The two of us are away for the next few days; and rather than making you wait a couple of days for the next update, we decided to do it today itself. From the next week onwards, our usual update day of Saturday will resume.

As we said in the last chapter, Sirius is probably one of the most interesting characters to write. The Dogstar, the Godfather, the Rebel, and yet the Betrayed. There are so many interesting things a person could do with such an interesting character. And yet, we feel that his death in the cannon was necessary. Not that we wanted it, but it goes on to show that it was a war, and in war, people die. Here's to hoping we don't kill off the Dogfather. We haven't decided yet.

Till next time,
Dragonstaff & Technomage