Fanfic: The Fall And Rise Of Sirius Black (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: The Fall and Rise of Sirius Black
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: -
Spoilers: HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Summary: 3 pivotal scenes from the tragic life of Sirius Black, as imagined by me.
Word Count: 7488
Date First Posted: 2005
Date Revised - 21-05-2011
Beta: Derek
Awards: -
Notes: When I posted this on FFN not long ago, I got a reply that said the title seemed to be of a misnomer, because really, there is no 'rise' for him, at least, not in these 3 pieces. And I have to say, that was a conscious decision on my part. Because I don't believe that Sirius ever recovered from his fall from grace. Not really, anyway. The rise in the title and the rise in this fic is the turning point which begins the events that ultimately finally clear Sirius' name.
Unfortunately, he doesn't live to see it. First HP fic. I liked how this one turned out, personally. My favourite chapter is the 2nd one, my favourite part being the aftermath of the explosion. I also didn't realise until ages after I wrote this, that each chapter ends with a sound; a crack, a laugh, a scream. That was completely accidental.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ | FFN

 

ACT ONE
Godric's Hollow

 

The sleek, black motorcycle sped through the starry sky like a heat-seeking missile.

Sirius Black clung to the vehicle desperately, eyes squinting as the cold air assaulted his face. It whipped his hair and flapped his clothes, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to prevent either, his mind totally focused on his destination. The closer he got, the more twisted his stomach became.

There was a haziness ahead tinged green. Sirius pushed his hair roughly out of his face to get a better look at it. The nearer he got, the more it took the shape of a large skull, snake protruding from its mouth. The ominous mark tainted the air over a familiar street; the fact that he had seen it before made it no less terrifying. "No."

Tires squealed as he touched down on the road heavily, and Sirius lifted from his seat to lessen the accompanying shockwaves. He skidded onto a particular front lawn, tearing up some of the green turf. Leaving the motorcycle on its side, he stepped off it and looked up at the dwelling, an expression of slow horror dawning on his face.

The dust hadn't quite settled on the little house in Godric's Hollow. Part of the roof had caved in, creaking dangerously at the slightest breeze. Beams that had once formed the structure of the roof were snapped and pointed towards the sky, their jagged, sharp edges like skeletal fingers. The front windows stared like vacant sockets, and glass littered the flowerbeds as though they had been blown out.

Sirius took a few stumbling and graceless steps towards the house. "No," he repeated, his voice shaking with rage and disbelief.

There were no signs of life; the night was eerily still. Crickets barely chirped, no police sirens cut through the air, and no neighbours crowded the street to find out why the young and well-liked family's house had been violently torn asunder. Fear soaked the street, invading Sirius's pores, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, nearly detaching from its hinges. A large figure that needed to duck through the frame stumbled onto the front lawn, the roof groaning in protest. Sirius's wand was in his hand instantly in a practiced movement, half a dozen hexes swarming the tip of his tongue.

It took him only a moment to recognise the lumbering form was not a Death Eater, and lowered his wand. "Hagrid!"

Visibly startled behind his mounds of facial hair, Hagrid scrabbled for a ratty pink umbrella, brandishing it from side to side. "Who's that?" the Hogwarts gamekeeper yelled back fiercely.

Sirius held his hands up and out in a non-threatening gesture, licking dry lips. "Hagrid, it's Sirius."

Hagrid's umbrella dropped slightly in recognition, shoulders sagging in relief. "Sirius."

Sirius broke out into a run, however he was not running to Hagrid. He continued past the giant man to the Potter's door, yelling for the house occupants. "James! Lily! JAMES!"

"No, Sirius!" Hagrid roared, immediately regretting it as the small bundle in his arms yowled in protest.

"Why?!" he shouted back, slowing down as he reached the splintered doorframe.

Sirius could see inside. The living room was a mess, demolished furniture and roof tiles. It smelled odd, stale and decayed, and it turned his stomach. His eyes found a pair of spectacles on the floor, the lenses shattered. Behind the overturned couch he saw a limp hand, a shock of messy black hair... and the bile began to rise in his throat.

"James," he choked out, and took a step inside. The house itself gave another disturbing groan.

"You can' go in! The house is about ta come down," Hagrid began edging away from the structure. "It's not safe."

"I can fix that," Sirius snapped, pointing his wand to the ceiling he could barely see with tears blurring his vision. "We have to get them out -- Reparo!" The magic coursed through his body, carried along the wand, but fizzled out as it got to the torn roof. All the spell did was knock a few more roof tiles down.

Sirius retreated, coughing as he inhaled rising dust. "Why didn't it work?" His knuckles turned white with the force in which he gripped his wand.

Hagrid moved a little closer to Sirius, trying to lure him away from the house. "The magic of an Unforgivable curse causes damage that can not be fixed so easily, lad."

Sirius's throat burned and his eyes went unwillingly to the dark and unmoving shape again. "Unforgivable?" he uttered softly.

"Aye," Hagrid confirmed with a choke, "Avada Kedavra."

Instant, green oblivion. Sirius's vision dimmed. He thought for a moment he might fall and bit the inside of his cheek to regain composure. His grief and anger coalesced, burning brightly and looking for someone to blame.

"Why..." Sirius wheeled on Hagrid, his face ashen. "Why didn't you get them out?! You were in there, you could have--"

"Easy there," Hagrid interrupted, gripping Sirius's shoulder firmly, almost painfully. "I needed ta get somethin' else."

Sirius's waxen face was slack for a moment, unable to comprehend what could have been more important than James and Lily. Then a tiny noise came from the confines of Hagrid's jacket and Sirius's eyes widened like saucers.

"God... Harry?"

In answer, Hagrid opened his furry coat and the small form of the year old Harry Potter was revealed. Despite everything, the wizard's heart leapt. "Harry," Sirius nearly sobbed, trembling hands moving to cup his godson's face.

Harry squirmed again, uncomfortable. There was a smear of blood on his forehead that Sirius wiped away with the cuff of his shirt. Beneath it was a jagged and ugly looking scar. With tentative fingers, he touched it. Harry let out a plaintive cry, and Sirius withdrew his hand sharply with a hiss.

"What... what did that?" his voice was barely a whisper.

"You-Know-Who," Hagrid said, his voice cracking. Harry gave another cry, and the large man swayed awkwardly from side to side, trying to comfort the boy. "Turned up personally ta get James and Lily."

"And Harry," Sirius finished, looking at the child of his friend dwarfed by the large man who held him. "Why isn't Harry dead? Where is V- he now?"

"I don' know," Hagrid shrugged helplessly. He looked down at the fretting baby, loath to bring up the topic. "And You-Know-Who is gone." Hagrid rocked Harry gently.

"Gone..." Sirius cradled the trembling hand that touched Harry's head gingerly, his thoughts a garbled mess. His eyes were drawn back to the ruin of what had been a happy house. In his mind's eye, he saw James and Lily's bodies, lifeless and dull. Things would never be the same again.

Cold and clammy, Sirius nevertheless wiped perspiration away from his upper lip.

He'd thought they were out of harm's way. He thought he'd taken care of the Potters' safety once and for all. He thought he'd made the right decision.

James was stupid to listen to him. Whatever Sirius wanted, Sirius got. James had listened, put his ultimate trust in Peter because Sirius had said so.

And Peter had betrayed them all.

Sirius's heart hammered against his ribcage painfully, threatening to burst out. He thrust the heels of his hands into his eyes and wiped furiously. They were still there. Eyes wide and vacant, mouths open, James and Lily stared accusingly at Sirius.

He had failed them. Failed them in the worst possible way.

"It's my fault."

"No, lad. I'm sure it wasn'," Hagrid shook his head, sorrow in his eyes and voice.

"It is. I... I did this."

Anger -- at himself for being so brash and impulsive, for suspecting everyone but the culprit, for arriving too late -- filled his empty chest cavity quickly. It was bitter and acrid, but it gave him strength.

Strength to do what, exactly?

He wanted to find whoever was responsible -- find Peter -- and avenge his mistakes, avenge his dead friends. The idea made his eyes burn and the blood thrum in his veins. Nagging thoughts in the back of his mind told him to uphold James and Lily's memories and undertake his responsibilities as godfather to Harry; told him to take the boy far, far away and make him safe.

He did not know which would be better, and there was not enough time to do both. Already Peter's trail was growing cold; Sirius was sure he would go to ground for his misdeeds like the rat he was. His impulse told him to chase the betrayer. But looking into Harry's

(Lily's)

eyes, Sirius made his tough decision.

"Give him to me, Hagrid. I'll make sure he's safe."

Hagrid looked confused, and more than a little taken aback at the madness that touched Sirius's eyes. "I'm takin' him ta his Aunt and Uncle."

"Aunt and Uncle... Lily's Muggle sister and her husband? Hagrid, I'm his godfather. Give him to me and I'll look after him. I promised... I promised James," Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat.

Hagrid looked at the young man sympathetically, but pulled Harry closer to his body. "I understand, but my orders come from Dumbledore himself. He's ta go to his Aunt and Uncle."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue again, but snapped it shut instead. With Harry under Dumbledore's protection, he was free to pursue Peter. He could always get Harry afterwards. As long as the boy was safe from harm, Sirius could follow the treachery back to its source and bring justice for James and Lily and their son.

"Alright," he conceded, "but take my bike, it'll be faster and will get you there safely. I don't need it anymore."

Hagrid -- surprised at the quick change of mind -- walked towards the motorcycle lying on the grass and stood it upright with one hand, still cradling Harry tenderly in the other.

Sirius walked over to Hagrid and reached out for Harry again. He brushed the fine, dark hair away from his forehead, steering clear of the ugly scar. "I'll be back for you," he whispered. With that, he stepped away from Hagrid as the gameskeeper kicked the cycle's engine over.

"What're you going ta do?"

"I have unfinished business," Sirius said, his voice strangely hollow.

With an ear-splitting crack, he disappeared.

 

ACT TWO
Battersea

 

Sirius caught up with Pettigrew at a dingy crossroads in Battersea, surrounded by harassed-looking mothers dragging their children on morning errands and men in overalls going to work.

His hunt had begun at Peter's flat in Bethnal Green. After almost an hour of searching, he picked up a faint trail in Newington, which led him southwest.

If the people of London noticed the shaggy, bear-like canine at all, they didn't care.   Sirius ran through the night, nose to the ground. Working from his animal instincts and tracking ability, he didn't access higher brain functions or emotions. He didn't have need or desire to think about why he was doing what he did; only that he had to.

He had to meet the trail's end.

In Southwark, he stopped to drink from a bucket that had filled with rainwater. The sun rose as he passed through Vauxhall, and he nearly lost the trail once by following a false scent.

And just after nine o'clock, after nearly twelve hours of relentless pursuit, Padfoot found Wormtail.

Part of Sirius's animalistic instincts told him to stay as the dog; stay and it would be so much easier. He could bite and rip and tear and end the pain. Make everything right. But he had to hear it, hear it from Peter's mouth. Maybe he was sorry. Maybe he had been acting under the Imperius curse.

Sirius had to know.

Pettigrew's eyes widened when he saw the black dog. Hands tensed and clenched into fists in the pockets of the long, brown overcoat he wore.

There was nowhere to go.

Sirius sped up and his loping steps landed further apart, until he had enough room to leap. In midair between ascent and descent, the dog became the man. He landed gracefully in two steps and kept his balance, mere feet from his quarry. It took much of Sirius's tiny reserve of control to keep that distance between them.

"Sirius!" Peter said cheerfully. "This is a surprise!"

"I'm sure it is, Peter." Sirius shrugged his slim shoulders and took a trial step towards the man. "I'm sure you weren't expecting anyone for a while, given your head start."   His voice was modulated and calm, which surprised him. It was as though someone else used his vocal chords.

"Head start?" He forced a laugh and moved back, doing his best to make it seem he wasn't moving back. "I really don't know what you mean..."

Sirius took another step forward, and Peter scuttled back the same distance. Sirius smiled an ugly smile, little more than teeth bared. "What's the matter?"

"I- nothing. Sirius, you're being so strange." Sirius sniffed the air and flared his nostrils. Abject terror.

"I suppose I am," he said in a conversational manner, "then again, you're awfully composed for a murderer."

"T-That's not true! Sirius, I-"

"No, no, no. The correct answer for an innocent man would have been what murders?" Sirius snapped, dropping any and all pretences. Blood pounded in his ears, and his control began to fray at the edges.

Pettigrew flinched at Sirius's aggression, and he shrank back from him physically. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Do to you, Peter. What am I going to do to you," Sirius intoned flatly, barely hearing his own voice, let alone Peter's. The roar in his head drowned out their talking. Peter sounded as though he were very far away.

"You'd kill your friend?" Peter's voice cracked on the second syllable. He refused to keep eye contact with Sirius, looking everywhere but -- the street, behind Sirius's head, or at his mouth -- anything to save him from looking into the pair of grey eyes that never left his face.

"Didn't seem to be a problem for you." Pettigrew made a quick sidestep to his left and Sirius instantly matched it. There was no chance Sirius would let him get away.

The rounded face Sirius had thought he'd known so well flashed with a resentful anger the dark-haired wizard had never seen. "Do you have any idea how arrogant you and James sounded?" A strange, gurgling laugh escaped his throat. "Did you really think the Order stood a chance against him?"

"We had to try!" Sirius bit back. "Good people were dying. James and I-" Sirius stopped and began again as his voice showed signs of strain, "for all our arrogance, we at least knew right from wrong."

Peter wiped sweat away from his upper lip on the shoulder of his jacket. The mention of Voldermort seemed to frighten him. "I wanted to be on the side that wasn't losing its members right and left. I wanted to be on the winning side."

The colour had drained from Sirius's face and his hands shook with wrath. "So that's the reason. You killed him -- them -- so you could be on the glorious winning side?" Sirius's mouth was as close to a rabid snarl as it could get without him being a dog.

"Well, bad luck," Sirius retorted with considerable venom, "your wonderful master was beaten by a toddler, you bastard, and you'll be joining him soon enough." The grey eyes had more than a hint of madness to them. "When I'm done with you, they'll be finding bits of you for weeks. And everyone will know you for the murdering coward you are."

Peter shrugged jerkily, his hands still buried deep in the overcoat pockets. "Things haven't turned out as planned, but no-one knows about me yet."

"Not yet," Sirius smiled his revenge and intent, and was off put to see Peter smile back at him. Of all the response he expected -- begging and pleading, lies, recrimination, remorse -- a smile was not one of them.

A nagging thought occurred, somewhere deep in the recesses of Sirius's mind. Peter couldn't be so calm and collected. He couldn't be mistaken that Sirius was going to kill him, and had to have known Sirius was going to be the one to give chase; No one else knew to look for Peter, no one else -- not even Remus or Dumbledore -- knew Peter had become the Secret Keeper.

It was a trap.

Sirius's head whipped around, looking for the fleets of Death Eaters that could have been sent to back Peter up. He maneuvered himself and Peter around slowly, making sure his unprotected back was facing the brick wall of a store.

Peter gave a mockery of his genuine smile. "You see, Sirius, I may have betrayed James and Lily, but you failed them."

"Shut up!"

"Wasn't it your idea to switch Secret Keepers? Didn't you pick me yourself? You worked so hard to convince them to change..."

Sirius's stomach plummeted into his feet, and his body felt cold. The guilt and blame he'd been suppressing for twelve hours before came back to flood his system.

With vivid clarity, Sirius remembered the exchange with James arguing Peter's suitability. James hadn't wanted to change Secret Keepers -- he trusted Sirius implicitly, no matter what the situation. He placed the lives of himself and his family without question into Sirius's hands.

And now he was dead.

Sirius tried not to listen to Peter's words, but it was hard when they were so convincing.

"They were your friends," Peter raised his voice unnecessarily, taking a step back, further into the moving crowd. His words began to draw the attention of passers-by. To Sirius's mind, his former compatriot was making the most of the fact he was going to die. Going for broke, as the Muggles said.

Everything seemed vaguely suspicious. "What are you up to, Peter?" Sirius's eyes narrowed, brows drawing together.

Peter tried to smile again, but it came out manic and desperate. He took a slightly trembling left hand out of his pocket, and held a penknife. Sirius choked on his laugh. "You think that's going to stop me?" The knife was held close to his chest. The way Peter stood with his back to the public, it made the weapon visible only to Sirius.

"James and Lily, Sirius! How could you?" Peter's voice rose in volume above the regular chatter of the street, and all those who passed in their immediate vicinity turned to look at the two wizards.

In that instant, Sirius knew Peter's trap -- whatever it was -- had been sprung.

Unexpectedly, the short Animagus pulled the right hand out of his pocket, thumb and forefinger curled around his wand. With a quick and severe downward stroke, Pettigrew brought the knife down with calculated accuracy onto one of his fingers. Sirius, who had immediately reached for his wand at the sight of Peter's, stopped. His face screwed up in disgust as a spray of crimson flew in his direction, close enough to spatter on his shoes.

He did not scream, oddly enough, though it would have been difficult not to. Hunched over in pain, Peter pointed the wobbling wand towards Sirius, lips moving quickly.

Sirius continued his halted action to get his wand, but it was too little, too late. For the first time in his life, he was out-drawn and out-thought.

A shielding spell came to mind, and he felt the magic just begin to course through his body and surge through his wand when the concussive force of Pettigrew's spell hurled Sirius four feet into the air and against the brick wall behind him. Pain exploded in the back of Sirius's skull, and he fell heavily into a crumpled heap, bits of brick and dirt raining down on his unconscious body.

--

The devastation that greeted Sirius Black's eyes when he awoke made him wish the blast had killed him.

The old section of street he'd been standing on was little more than a smoking crater. An acrid smell that Sirius dimly recognised as burnt flesh filled the air, and bowed on his hands and knees on the broken pavement, he retched.

The wizard stumbled painfully to his feet, every inch of his body seemingly grazed, bruised or bleeding in some manner. He gathered the tatters of his leather jacket around his shoulders, tentatively reaching a hand up. The hair at the base of his skull was matted and gritty and his fingertips came back bloody. There was a dull roar between his ears, spiking with excruciating accuracy every few seconds.

Sirius could barely think through the agony; it took a lot of control to focus on his surroundings.

A geyser of water from a burst pipe spurted twenty feet in the air, falling like rain onto smoldering bodies. Some couldn't be called bodies -- they were just spare parts strewn around and charred at the edges.

Pieces aside, Sirius could see at least seven unmoving lumps within the field of his vision. Other Muggles lay further from the immediate blast zone, crying weakly for help or howling in pain. Some of those who hadn't been injured screamed -- they screamed as if they were witnessing the worst horror in their lives. Sirens in the distance alerted him to the fact that fire engines and ambulances were speeding his way.

Sirius's head swam, the sights and sounds and smells overwhelmed him. He had never seen a spell cause so much destruction, even after visiting places where the Dark Mark had appeared.

His grazed legs shook in their ripped jeans and he took an uncertain step forward. The movement brought a lancing pain to Sirius's abdomen and he clutched at his torn shirt. It was a miracle that he too wasn't a pile of body parts. His shielding charm, though not perfect, had saved his life. Even so, the destructive curse that had been unleashed had penetrated his spell extremely effectively, which was surprising. Peter had never shown such talent.

Peter...

Sirius turned to the last place he'd seen Pettigrew, and scrambled over broken pavement to get there. He fell to his knees on the spot, cursing as grazed skin came into contact with warm gravel. Sirius thrust his hands into a pile of rags that turned out to be the remains of the brown, camelhair coat and some tattered robes. He tore at the bloodstained apparel, frantically looking for something, anything.

A single, stubby digit was all that remained of his traitorous friend. He remembered the knife and the spray of red, calculated moves. Peter had escaped, once again letting innocent people die.

The finger fell through Sirius's nerveless grip and got lost in the folds of the stained robes. Peter was gone, along with any hope of the truth of James and Lily's murders coming out; his complicity was buried.

As far as the Order of the Phoenix's remaining inner circle was concerned, Sirius was the Secret Keeper. No one would believe the change, there was no one alive to back up his claim.

Sirius's chest hurt, but only partly because of an ugly scorch mark. Most of the pain was inside, alternating between squeezing his heart too tight, and rending it apart. He stared into space, eyes misted with moisture, trying to bear an unbearable ache.

Sirens got closer, they were almost upon him. The wounded people's moans still played at the edges of his subconscious, but he had not the presence of mind to help them. He could barely help himself. Something was bubbling in Sirius's lungs, but he couldn't be sure what.

Sirius used his hands to brace himself against the ground and tottered jerkily to his feet. His legs threatened to give way more than once, but somehow he managed to stay upright.

The engines arrived, all ladders and hoses and men screaming instructions at each other. Paramedics leapt heroically out of white vans and some with less sturdy constitutions vomited at the sight before them. One shouted at him as they leant over a severely burnt man, asking if he was alright, asking him to help.

Sirius could do nothing but stand there, wondering why his insides hiccupped the way they did. And it escaped from his mouth abruptly, almost as though he'd coughed it out. It was a sound, harsh and hideous to hear.

It was the sound of his laughter.

 

ACT THREE
Azkaban

 

A cell in Azkaban didn't seem all that imposing from the inside; it still had three walls of stone and a fourth of bars, similar to any Muggle prison. Any self-respecting wizard would have been able to break out of a cell like it. Even the wards that were placed upon the bars were nothing a wizard who'd passed their N.E.W.Ts couldn't bypass, with or without a wand.

The simplicity of Azkaban lay with the fact that it was not bars nor magic nor isolation that kept prisoners within its walls, but the Dementors.

Sirius had very few visitors. Once or twice a high-ranking Ministry official bribed the right people and arranged a visit to the prison. It was as titillating as it was terrifying; the infamous traitor and Death Eater Sirius Black on display. Once seeing him, no one ever made a return visit.

That was the extent of his human contact. There were human guards in Azkaban, keeping up with the day-to-day bureaucratic red tape that pervaded even magical prisons, but Sirius rarely saw them. In a high security jail for dangerous wizards, he was considered more dangerous than most.

It was Sirius's privilege that the Dementors rarely left his immediate vicinity, except for those times of human visitations. Even his meagre meals came by way of the hooded figures. Their presence was a constant, biting winter of misery and insanity. The cold squeezed his lungs, making each breath spiky and harsh.

The hooded faces and gaping maws haunted him during his waking hours, but in the early days, he could escape in his dreams. That did not last. Sirius lost count of the number of nights he awoke to find a Dementor floating overhead, raping his mind of what few happy memories he possessed.

That situation didn't bother him for long. After a time Sirius's mind refused to let him dream anything but nightmares.

With so much lost to him, he did not think of a way to make his time remotely bearable for a few years. He'd forgotten he'd read books once. Books on dogs. Years ago he'd taken upon himself to study the anatomy and habits of dogs to get the most out of his transformations. He learnt exactly what whimpers and howls meant what and how the pack structure worked. He also learnt that dogs dreamed, albeit in far simpler terms than humans did.

With the Dementors circling, screaming in his mind for sustenance, he began sleeping as his canine counterpart. Instead of dreaming of skulls and snakes in the sky, burnt out houses and dead friends, he dreamt of chasing rabbits under a full moon. It seemed to put them off. They appeared confused, unable to lock as clearly onto his thoughts.

It made a big change from their overwhelming and miserable constant presence. They did still hover on the fringes, however, which was why he felt it so distinctly when they were absent altogether.

The sound of footsteps on the stone floor grew closer and closer. It had been a while since he'd had any human visitors -- nine months since he'd seen any wizard guards, at least two years since anyone else.

The fog that tended to shroud his mind with the Dementors' presence lifted. It was a blessed curse, the times without his spectral guards. It gave him relief from their torment, and at the same time clarity to his awful predicament.

It was not the usual clandestine meeting; it was an official Ministry party surrounded by Azkaban guards. They seemed to be crowded around a portly man in a pinstripe suit and matching robes.

Sirius rested his head back against the wall of his cell. It seemed time for another inspection. The murmur of voices ceased abruptly when they reached him.

"Please don't stop on my account," Sirius croaked, voice thick from disuse, "I don't get much opportunity for conversation." He gave a humourless laugh. "The Dementors aren't big talkers."

One of the wizard guards pointedly ignored Sirius. Instead, he turned to the round, well-dressed man in the centre of the official party and announced: "Sirius Black, Minister."

"I know who Black is," the man admonished, his voice low and nervous.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Sirius spoke up to the guard's chagrin. Sirius hated being talked about as though he wasn't there, though he was used to it.

Those in the party looked at each other furtively, their gazes flitting from Sirius to the Minister and back again. There was quiet discussion between the Minister and the Azkaban guards before the official straightened his tie and introduced himself.

"I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic." His voice was carefully modulated, but Sirius heard the apprehension clearly.

Sirius stretched and tilted his head from side to side, hearing the vertebrae in his neck click. "Delighted, to be sure."

No one spoke. Fudge's moustache twitched and he opened his mouth a few times, looking like he wanted to begin speaking, though he always snapped it shut before any sound came out.

There was something going on. Sirius looked up at them and cocked his head to the side, very much like a large canine. "Why are you here?"

Out of all of the assembled party, only Fudge came close to looking at Sirius. Even then, he didn't make eye contact; his attention was fixed firmly on Sirius's chest.

"I'll be blunt, Black. There was an... incident-- alleged incident -- last month. It was thought you might know something about it."

Sirius chuckled, and those gathered winced at the wheezing and unhealthy sound. "Gentlemen... I don't know what year this is, let alone last month."

"It's 1993. July," the man to the left of Fudge spoke, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. It reminded him of James. Not the glasses shape, that was all wrong, and his hair was light mousy brown, not black, and cut too long. He had pale and blotchy skin, which wasn't like James at all, and his voice had none of his friend's robust humour to it. In actual fact, the man bore no resemblance to James whatsoever except that he was a man with glasses and he was talking to Sirius and that was somehow enough to make him wheeze a few more chortles--

"Pay attention, Black!" The guard rapped his wand against Sirius's prison bars. Sirius snapped to attention, focus coming back to the room.

"I apologise." The corner of his mouth curled and looked more like a grimace than the intended wry smile. "My mind is...   not what it was."

Everyone on the other side of the bars had to be thinking it, but it seemed the admittance of Sirius's less than full deck of playing cards made the Minister's flunkies even more nervous. Not-James looked ill, and Fudge produced a silk handkerchief out of a pocket to dab sweat from his brow. "Now, where was I?" he muttered to himself.

"An incident," Sirius said, sounding unusually helpful, "last month."

Fudge looked as though he would thank Sirius for the prompt, then thought better of it. "Alleged incident," he corrected instead. The Minister blustered, trying to collect himself. "There was an apparent issue -- though a full investigation is still underway -- with the, er, so-called Chamber of Secrets at-"

"Hogwarts?" Sirius sat up so suddenly he startled his visitors. Not-James and the other aides took reflexive steps back. Fudge and the guards seemed to stand their ground, though Fudge by not very much.

"Yes," the round man answered hoarsely. "There are rumours -- entirely unsubstantiated, obviously -- of You-Know-Who's involvement."

"Who?" Sirius cocked his head to the side again, grey eyes strangely guileless.

The party seemed quite put out. They whispered amongst themselves, and Fudge opened and shut his mouth a few times without a sound.

"You-Know-Who?" he said again, fervently.

"I-Know-Who..." Sirius's dark brows drew together in a parody of deep thought. After a moment of silence, he shrugged. "No, I don't think I do. Can you give me a hint?"

"Don't play silly buggers, Black," one of the guards snarled at him, gripping a wand in a white-knuckled fist.

Sirius's haggard face looked as innocent as was possible. "I really don't know."

"Of course you do," snapped Fudge, losing his patience slightly. "I mean He Who Must Not Be Named, er... Vol- er, Vvvvo- v--" Another fine sheen of sweat broke out on his red brow.

"Oh," Sirius clicked his fingers. "Volderm-"

There was a wheeze as air was sucked into the lungs of all those assembled as a collective gasp. In that same instant, the guard hissed 'Silencio’, cutting Sirius's words off abruptly.

"That's quite enough," Fudge said. The sigh of relief from those gathered was palpable. Sirius brought a hand to his throat, but couldn't make so much as a whisper. He didn't seem particularly surprised by the turn of events.

"I trust you won't be doing that again," the Minister said. Sirius nodded his head once. With the assurance, Fudge looked at the guard who reluctantly broke the charm.  

Sirius laid his palms flat against the stone wall behind him and got unsteadily to his feet. "You think I know something about this?"

"Perhaps," Fudge swallowed, as though his mouth was very dry.

Sirius's brow furrowed as he walked his cell. His movements seemed to make everyone jittery. "Sounds like something that would involve Malfoy." Sirius gestured his arms to his surroundings. "Shall I make room for him here? It would be a tight fit, but I could use the company," he grinned, all stained and yellow teeth. "I haven't bunked with anyone since my schooldays. I wonder if I still snore..."

Fudge's face was pinched and pale. "Lucius Malfoy is now an upstanding member of the wizarding community. There is absolutely no legitimate evidence of his involvement."

"Besides being a pureblood fanatic and a Death Eater?"

"Malfoy was under the influence of the Imperius when he was a D- at that time, and has been formally acquitted for years," Fudge's voice had risen in volume with the statement. Realising this, he dropped it back to a whisper quickly.   Sirius let a short bark of laughter escape his lips, but was ignored as he was no longer being addressed.

"He doesn't know anything," Fudge informed his aides with some authority, "and he's obviously quite mad." The Ministerial party shuffled their feet, anxious to go. Fudge thanked the guards and turned away from Sirius.

Sirius stopped grinning antagonistically and took a step forward. "Wait!" The Minister turned slowly back to Sirius, looking pensive. Not-James was green and shaking.

Sirius held his hands out, palms up. "It's true. I am quite, quite mad, and I don't know anything about last month. I used to know a lot of things." He pointed a shaking index finger to Fudge. "Do you think I could have that?"

Cornelius Fudge looked worriedly to where Sirius pointed -- at the forgotten and folded newspaper clamped under his right arm. "I- er..."

"It's just that I haven't done the crossword in so long... is it still on page forty-eight?"

"Fifty-two," Fudge murmured.

"Oh," Sirius seemed momentarily dismayed by the news, but still took a step forward, hands outstretched. He was aware of the wands pointed directly at his heart.

Fudge unfolded the paper and perused it once again. He'd already read it from cover to cover, and there was nothing in it remotely inflammatory. He looked at the guard to his left, who did not take his eyes away from Sirius for a moment.

"It's your choice, Minister," he said through clenched teeth, "there's not much he can do with parchment."

Fudge considered Sirius carefully, still avoiding staring directly into his eyes. Trembling hands with dirty and broken nails were proffered towards him. Not letting his eyes slip from Sirius's outstretched hands, Fudge refolded the paper and handed it to the closest guard. With the utmost caution, and not a small amount of animosity, the guard slipped it through the bars.

Sirius made no sudden movements as to provoke reprisal. He reached out slowly -- fighting the urge to snatch -- taking the paper with great care. Once in his hands, Sirius retreated to the back of his cell and put his back against the wall, sliding down. He clutched the curling parchment to his chest.

"There is nothing more to be gained here," Fudge said. It was with much relief that both his aides and the Azkaban guards received this information. The guard who had passed the paper leant into Fudge and murmured something, and the only word Sirius was able to catch was 'LeStrange'. Not-James blanched.

No one looked at Sirius again. The party moved on without so much as a by your leave. Sirius listened to their footsteps grow fainter, head full of all he'd learnt.

It was easy to assemble his thoughts in the moment. The Dementors wouldn't return until the people were out of range. A few precious moments allowed for some startling clarity.

Cornelius Fudge was Minister for Magic. Someone had opened, or tried to open the Chamber of Secrets. Malfoy -- probably along with other 'reformed' Death Eaters -- was in a place of prominence in the community. People were still scared of him and thought him mad.

Sirius looked down at the butter yellow parchment in his trembling hands. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd touched something that wasn't cold and hard. The slight rough texture under his fingertips felt strange and wonderful.

For the first time in years he knew the date. '24 July, 1993' was printed in perfect copperplate lettering at the top right hand corner of the page.

There was no point looking for stories on the Chamber. Fudge gave him the clear impression that the information -- especially if there was an inkling Voldermort was involved -- had not been widely distributed.

Sirius barely glanced at the front page, or the pages that came after it, flicking past them quickly. It was wizarding news from a wizarding world that no longer held him in any regard, nor he it. As awful as Azkaban was, at least he knew where he stood.

His reality was that of the three best friends he'd ever had on the outside, one had betrayed him, one thought him the betrayer, and the third was dead because of it. It was easier to stay and put up with the torment he knew was coming to him.

Put up with what he thought he in some way deserved.

He shuffled over to the corner and curled into it, the paper resting on knobbly knees. Sirius flicked through the corners until he found page fifty-four. His breathing hitched and his vision blurred as he saw the black and white grid of boxes. Something familiar and untainted and good, right after the human-interest stories.

Sirius Black knew he was mad when he felt tears on his cheeks over a crossword puzzle.

He sniffed and wiped at the wetness on his cheeks, trying to compose himself. The movement of a photograph on the opposite page caught his eye with its repetitive actions.

It was a photo of a Ministerial employee's family on their trip to Egypt. They seemed happy and cheerful and waved to the camera wearing bizarre combinations of robes and Muggle clothes. It seemed they'd even taken their household pets on the trip. One of the boys, looking maybe twelve or thirteen, had a rat upon his shoulder.

A rat. Sirius squinted at it, checking out of habit for any familiar features.

He most certainly didn't expect to actually find any.

It was the tufted ears that caught him first, sticking out oddly from the long face. The rat's tail curved around on the boy's shoulder, the very tip missing after a tangle with an overenthusiastic boy-werewolf. Sirius's fingers trailed over the picture. "Wormtail."

There was only one thing left to look at. He scrutinised the picture carefully, heart thundering in his ears. The rodent's tiny front paws were buried within the folds of the boy's clothes, but he could see clearly enough. There was a pointed toe missing on the animal's right forepaw. Specifically, the toe that one would call the index finger, were the subject human.

Or an animagus.

It took a moment for the idea to sink in. Sirius breathed faster, his lungs going into spasms for air. Pettigrew was alive.

He tried to steady his breathing as he skimmed the article quickly One of the sons... thirteen... attended Hogwarts. Something tickled at his brain, but it wasn't readily apparent to him. Sirius swore, smacking his flat palm against his forehead repeatedly, trying to remember.

He turned back to the front page and looked at the date again. 1993. A thirteen year old boy. Hogwarts. Peter.

Harry was turning thirteen soon, undoubtedly attending Hogwarts in the same year the boy and his rat were in. A cold lump settled in his stomach.

Peter had access to Harry.

Peter was alive and had access to Harry.

Sirius remembered Harry's christening -- a quiet affair in the midst of the terror Voldermort was causing -- only himself, James, Lily and a priest in attendance. He remembered holding the tiny baby with a shock of dark hair and promising to care for him.

It was a memory the Dementors could never purge from him because it wasn't happy. He remembered James's furrowed brow, and Lily's trembling lips. They were worried for their son and their future. They didn't want Sirius to be godfather, not because they didn't love him, but because the idea that they wouldn't be around to raise their own son was abhorrent. Sirius had looked into their eyes as he held the bundle, and staked his life on keeping Harry safe from harm.

There was a tearing sound. Sirius realised he was gripping the parchment so tightly it had begun to rip. Peter was free. He was in the right place to cause the most damage to one of only a few people left in the world Sirius owed any remaining loyalty.

Sirius's hands were trembling, and he felt nauseated. The thought of being in Azkaban while Peter went after the closest thing to family he had left made him want to retch. An idea that hadn't occurred to him since his earliest days of incarceration filtered through his mind again.

He had to escape. To warn Harry. To kill Peter. To avenge James and Lily.

To put things right.

No one had ever escaped from Azkaban before, but if anyone deserved to, Sirius reasoned, the honour should go to the innocent man. An escape would be problematic for someone possessing all of his or her mental faculties. For Sirius, who'd been teetering on insanity for the last few years, it was unbelievably difficult to think of a rational and plausible plan.

Sirius put his head in his hands and pressed them against the paper on his knees, trying to sort his disjointed thoughts. He wanted to curl up as a dog; things seemed so much simpler then. Everything was clearer.

The paper crinkled as Sirius looked up. An idea began to form slowly, crawling under his skin like an army of ants. As a dog, he was far less affected by the Dementor's presence. Maybe if he--

The air turned frigid and Sirius saw his moist breath leave his mouth.

The Dementors were coming back.

"No, no, no no nonononot yet not yet--" He began, raising his voice. The cold made his chest constrict and each breath hurt like knives in his throat. They were coming back before he'd had a chance to think clearly, to plan his escape.

"--not yet please please not yet I can't thinknot yet --"

The fog was beginning to descend on his mind once again. He saw a flutter of tattered black fabric in his peripheral vision. They were back to investigate, to check if they could rip anything from his vulnerable mind.

There was nothing joyous to take, but enough despair to interest them.

With a moving photograph from a torn paper clutched in his hands, Sirius Black screamed.

 

~finis