11

Chapter 11: XINotes:

First I all but promise a second update, and then I almost forget it...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sirius was nervous walking through London. He suspected wizards around every corner, aurors waiting for him. Even the muggles were on the lookout for him. Although he knew that they couldn't possibly know about his animagus form part of him feared it still. Part of him was almost convinced they knew all his secrets and he walked right into a trap. He hadn't been that close to the ministry ever since his brief stint in the ministry holding cell before they had shipped him off to Azkaban. Getting so close to it again so shortly after his escape wasn't his plan.

Still, Sirius loved this city. He grew up here, and although he always hated the way he was raised, had few fond memories of his childhood and had left his family – and London – as early as he possibly could – at the age of 16 – he had always loved this city. He was, after all a Londoner. In his adulthood, the few years he had lived as a free man, he had moved back here, rented a small apartment in muggle London, and painted the town red. He'd lived the bohemian life in the late Seventies. He had listened to muggle rock music, danced in clubs and bars, bought his bike – magically tuned of course, which wasn't quite legal. The muggle youth had felt daring and rebellious, striking out against their parents and their boring conventions, and although he was no muggle, he had felt a certain kinship with them.

Whenever he thought back about his years before Azkaban, he would call his time in Hogwarts easily the best time in his life. The time right after Hogwarts, however, had all the potential to be even better. And then the war escalated. Then the McKinnon's died, and Benji Fenwick and the Prewett-twins. Then Lily and James were murdered. Then Azkaban.

Yet now, a decade later he was back here. But there was no pretending. Time had moved on. His friends stayed dead and London had changed.

It still smelled familiar. Fewer stinking factories, but more traffic, but still. The pavement smelled the same. The summer heat still reflected off the street; the air hung stuck between asphalt and brick walls, dry and perfectly still. The buildings still looked the same although there were a few new ones and although the names on the shops were different now. But it seemed cleaner. London as he remembered it, was a wild place full of the arts, but also of street gangs, trash, and smog. Now instead it was a busy place, with people in suits hurrying from A to B and no time to linger in between. He was looking out for leather-clad gangs lounging around corners and found none. The youth wore different clothes now and he could hardly make them out in the constant traffic. He felt no kinship to them anymore.

There were fewer graffiti's on the walls as if the city paid to have them removed, advertisements were everywhere and even the political banners, slogans, and flags that people had hung around their houses… half of them he didn't even know what they were about anymore.

Still, this was London, and Sirius was a Londoner, so despite the changes to London and despite the danger of being here… this was home.

He whacked his tail happily as they crossed a bridge over well-known train tracks and passed a bar he had gone to in his youth. For a moment, he forgot all about the teenager traveling with him, and followed the well-known path up to the entry, sniffing the single step leading to the door. Could he recognize any of the scents? Were there still some of the people he had partied with so many years ago, that might still frequent this place? Was it still the same owner?

But it all smelled different.

And then, everything happened very quickly! He heard the rattling from the oncoming train already before it arrived. Felt the vibration of the earth in his paws. The trains had evolved too, he realized, as it closed in with unheard-of speed. And then the whole bridge rattled, there was the sound of metal ringing, and it had passed by right under them.

Then a loud honking, the squeaking of tires. An odd sound, like the chirping of birds, for a split second he saw his own shadow flicker in blueish light. Sirius whirled around, to see what was happening:

There stood Kakashi panting heavily in the middle of the road. He had gone pale, hands pulled from his pocket in a gesture as if he wanted to punch through the hood of the car that had come to a screeching halt right in front of him.

How did he get there? Sirius was certain, that Kakashi had been right beside him just a second ago. Admittedly, he hadn't looked out for Kakashi, forgetting all about him at the fond memory of a bar he had liked to frequent during the best years of his life… but he was still certain. Kakashi had been right there. He'd been right next to Sirius all day. How did he get into the middle of the street? And why?

Even more so, what did he think, raising his palm against the hood of a car? Jumping into traffic was dangerous, Sirius knew at least that much.

He barked loudly, trying to get Kakashi's attention. All around them, cars had come to a sudden halt, now honking wildly. Sirius barked again, to tell Kakashi to get off the road.

The boy turned to him. He was still so pale. His eyes were impossibly wide, blinking slowly at Sirius as if he didn't know himself what was happening.

"Bloody hell! Kid, get off the road!" The drive of the black Ford that almost run him over, leaned out of his window, waving Kakashi off the road. "Look out, damn it!"

Kakashi stared at the man, then he finally retracted his hand that was still harmlessly hovering in the air…

And then he was gone.

Just gone! Vanished, out of sight. Sirius didn't even hear the typical bang of an apparition. It was perfectly quiet. And where Kakashi had just stood, there was only a small cloud of dust and a few leaves settling as if a wind had rushed through the street.

Shit! That was magic! He was certain. And Kakashi was a teenager, doing this right in front of muggles. It was only a matter of time until the ministry got wind of it, and then this whole place would be swarming with aurors. They'd look for Kakashi, fine him for Underage Sorcery, and for breaking the Statute of Secrecy. The ministry had its ways… They would find Kakashi and with Kakashi, they would find Sirius.

He had to get away from here!

And with that final thought, Sirius turned to run. He ran back over the bridge, took a sharp turn away from the busy road, and then jumped over a short wall, onto a small parking lot. He pressed his body against the wall, and finally caught his breath, panting.

Only then, when his heart rate eventually calmed down again, and his rational thought caught up to him, did he realize that he had done exactly what he had told himself he wouldn't do. Abandoning Kakashi in a foreign country and a foreign city, one he found obviously discomfortingly big, with a panic attack … or whatever had happened? But that must have been it, Sirius assumed. He couldn't explain it any other way. Kakashi might have panicked at the sound of the oncoming train. Had he never seen a train before? – if he'd never been in a real city, that was certainly possible. Or was it just the onslaught of impressions overwhelming his senses?

It didn't matter what it was, Sirius decided. Something had spooked the boy into jumping into oncoming traffic and then… disapparating.

Finally, that part too caught up to Sirius. He had apparated. Sure, there was no banging sound, sure it had looked different, but it was still magic. A different spell maybe, some form of accidental magic, but magic, nonetheless.

So, Kakashi had likely used that same method to get to England in the first place, which meant… if his accidental apparitions spread so far and wide, he could be anywhere! Was he even still in the city? Or in some other country across the world with a different language, he had to learn from scratch. Abandoned, alone, and frightened!

Sirius knew that feeling. And he didn't wish it upon anybody. Least of all the first person who had been kind to him in over a decade.

**

He was shivering. The cold permeated through thin cotton; it made his skin rough and brittle from dryness, hurting like a thousand tiny needle pricks.

A month. Sirius was here for a month now. His tears had dried on his face, the anger had washed away, and the grief had turned in his stomach, the dementors making mourning so much more difficult. He couldn't even think about all his good memories with James and Lily, lest the dementors would swoop down upon him, feast upon the few good things he had left in his life, and leave him with nothing but sorrow. So, he had locked those memories away, deep within him, where nobody could access them, not even he himself. It was impossible to mourn like that.

It left him with a purposeless sense of dread and exhaustion. And an impatient longing.

He wouldn't be here long, he knew. It was just a matter of days until the ministry would see their mistake before somebody would tell them that they had put an innocent man in Azkaban. Moony could tell them – Moony knew him! Moony knew he wouldn't do what they thought he had done. Dumbledore could tell them! Dumbledore even had the pull to get him out of this wretched place. After serving with the order for years, Dumbledore knew him well enough. The other order members did too. Even the ministry ought to know, after all, Sirius had been one of their newest recruits into the auror office, one of the most promising young trainees. During the war, Sirius had caught record numbers of death eaters at least among his peers. They knew his stance on all things pureblood, they knew his opinions of Voldemort and death eaters…

Soon, they would realize their mistake. It was just a matter of time. He knew these people and these people knew him. Currently, with Voldemort gone, there would be chaos, he assumed. Therefore, it was possible that one man would slip through the cracks. It was even understandable…

Peter. Who would have suspected Peter of all people?

Sirius tried not to think about his friend… former friend. The traitor. The name was bitter on his tongue. Peter Pettigrew… Just a month ago, he would have died for Peter, and gladly so, and now… Was Peter dead? If so, was Sirius glad about it? Had he hunted his old friend into committing suicide? Should he be glad for it? Or mourn the friend?

Thankfully, the memories of a young Peter were locked away in his mind, far away, with his memories of his other friends, of better times, when the marauders were still complete.

Soon… He told himself, soon. Today, he'd think every morning. Tomorrow, he thought just before he went to sleep. Soon, they would see their mistake.

Sirius knew!

Because he knew his friends. And they knew him. And they'd know that he'd rather forsake his life to constant torture through Voldemort than betray the people he loved most.

They knew him!

Yet 'soon' didn't come. 'Today' nobody came to get him out of Azkaban. 'Tomorrow' would never be the day he waited for.

Where was Harry? James and Lily had left him in his care, and yet… How was he supposed to raise Harry if he was locked up here? It felt like failing James and Lily all over again.

To his family, Hagrid had said, to his relatives.

They had fought about that because Sirius was the only family Harry had left. His godfather. And Moony of course, but Sirius knew, that neither the ministry nor broader society would trust a werewolf with a child. Moony wouldn't either, Sirius knew, no matter how much Sirius would trust him with Harry. But Hagrid hadn't meant Moony. And he hadn't meant Sirius. He'd talked about Lily's family. Her muggle sister and her muggle husband. Sirius had met the sister only once before the marriage when Lily's parents were still alive. After their deaths, Penny… Pe…Petunia was her name. After their parents' deaths, Petunia had blocked any attempts to keep in contact. Even when their sons were born, Harry and … what was the boy's name? Dave? They had never met. Petunia and her family hated magic.

And that was the family, Harry was supposed to grow up with?

No, Sirius was the rightful legal guardian, and once free of Azkaban he would fulfill this role. Not just because he owed it to Lily and James, but he owed it to Harry too. Especially Harry! He had already failed the boy enough as a godfather by missing this first month… Never mind that it was his fault, that Lily and James…

He shouldn't be thinking about that. Thinking about his own guilt in their deaths would drain him of all his energy, all his will to fight and hold out. Soon…

He flexed his hands, dry skin hurting with the way it stretched over his knuckles. He was sitting on stone floor, a stone wall in his back. His cell was made of nothing but stone. Only on one side, there were the iron bars through which he saw the dim corridor… more stone. It was all cold. The stone and the iron. The simple cotton prison garbs didn't offer much protection against it.

The cold was the worst, he decided, purposefully ignoring the dementors.

Sirius listened. He listened to the noises of the prison as he did all day, every day for an entire month now. The noises of strangers breathing and crying and screaming, of them moving around in their cells, clothes brushing against stone, the thin wool slippers shuffling over the ground, people knocking against stone and bars… He kept telling himself, they were knocking. Just knocking. With knuckles dry and hurting from the cold like his own. Yet, it never sounded right. It didn't sound like knuckles but like something heavier. And the moans he always heard after…

His mind conjured up images of people bashing their heads against the walls, but he tried to suppress them. Knocking. Just knocking.

The one thing he hoped to hear, he never heard. No steps on the corridor, nobody coming to get him out. The only things moving on the corridor were the dementors, and they moved almost soundlessly, apart from the rattling air in their lungs.

As he listened, his fingers played around with the manacles on his wrists. 'Playing' wasn't the right word for it. He shifted and turned them, tried pushing them up and over his hands but they were too tight, leaving bloody trails where they scratched dry skin open. When he let go of them, the heavy iron would slip back into place, tight against his wrists, hurting where they were a little bit too tight.

Clink clink. The sound of his manacles. The chains clinking together. Another sound he had become disturbingly familiar with. Clink Clink.

Clack, clack.

He had waited so long for it, and now he almost missed it, almost mistook it for the ringing of his chains. But it wasn't. It was the sound of hard soles on stone. A brisk pace down the corridor, two people moving next to each other, the steps only slightly out of rhythm.

Clackclack, Clackclack.

The second step like an echo to the first.

Sirius raised himself. The sound got louder. They were moving in his direction. Finally! He pushed himself up, stood on shaky feet, weak from a month of being barely fed. But when they came to take him back home, he wouldn't be too weak to stand, he told himself. He'd walk out of this place, and he'd keep standing until he had Harry in his arms, with him in his apartment. Home.

That left another question open. Where even was home, now?

When he thought of home, he still had the image of Lily and James in his mind. Their house in Godric's Hollow. He imagined them and Harry, but also James' parents, who had lived there before they'd died just two years ago. That was home for Sirius. At sixteen he had left his parents' house and moved to the Potters. Home. Remus and Peter would visit over the holidays and after Hogwarts almost every day. But now, four members of his family were dead, and Peter…

Don't think about it! He told himself.

He couldn't allow the dementors to smell the good memories, the image in his mind that the word 'home' had conjured up out of thin air. When the aurors came to take him home, he didn't want to be the jabbering mess he was right after a dementor attack.

What would Harry think, if he saw him like that? No, he had to be strong for Harry.

Where would they even live? He doubted he still had his apartment in London, after being stuck here for a month. But even if, that place was too small to raise a child there. He could think about that later, he decided. All in due order.

First, he would get out of here.

The light was the first thing he saw. The pale shine of a Lumos charm illuminating the corridor. Shadows dancing over stone walls. It looked quite frightening, but to Sirius, it was a welcome sight. His friends finally came for him. They could have hurried a little, he thought almost jokingly.

He looked over his shoulder to the far wall. Under the tiny window high above his head, he had used a stone to scratch lines into the wall. One for each day. Thirty-seven days now. He wondered if there would be any compensation for his lost time, but truth be told, he barely cared about that, as long as he could hold Harry and see Moony within the day. Or maybe tomorrow, as it was already late evening.

He blinked against the light, as it came closer. Azkaban itself had no source of light on its own. The dementors were factually blind and didn't need light, so, although there were torch holders all along the corridor, nobody bothered to light them up. That didn't mean, that Azkaban was a place of perpetual darkness. There were windows, tiny barred holes in rough stone that let daylight in. It was dim by day and dark by night. This bright Lumos light hurt in his eyes, but he welcomed it, nonetheless.

People. He hadn't actually seen other humans in weeks.

There was somebody in the cell right opposite Sirius' but he rarely came to the bars, and even with the dim daylight the angle was so that the other prisoner had to press their face against the bars right at the corner that was closest to Sirius so that Sirius could see him at all. When Sirius had first been thrown in his cell, the other prisoner had talked to Sirius, pressed his face against the bars, so Sirius could see him. Sirius still remembered a pale face half-hidden by a shaggy grey beard. The man had mostly complained about Sirius whining, and screaming whenever Sirius had yelled into the corridor, that he wanted to talk to somebody in charge.

Once Sirius had calmed down a little, the prisoner had lost all interest in him. Now, Sirius was only certain that he hadn't died yet because he sometimes heard his dry coughing from the other cell.

The two people now coming close to him, were harshly silhouetted against the light. For Sirius, half-blinded by the Lumos, it was difficult to make out more than dark shapes that looked vaguely humanlike.

"Can you…Can you take down the wand?" he asked, but his voice was rough and quiet, and his throat hurt from speaking just a few words. He was shocked at his own voice. It didn't sound like him. "It's blinding me." He added nonetheless when they failed to follow his plea.

They stopped in front of his cell, but instead of lowering the wand, the one on the right lifted it even higher. Shone it right into Sirius' face. Sirius ducked away from it. He raised his hands to shadow his eyes.

Clink clink. The chains jingled.

"Is that him?" An unknown voice said. Sirius didn't even know which of the two was speaking. "Prison number 390, Cellblock D. It has to be him."

"That's him alright. I'd recognize him anywhere." That voice!

"Alastor." Sirius recognized him immediately. He put his hands down blinking against the bright light, trying to make out the face of his mentor, but it was impossible. They were still just dark and blurry shapes. "Alastor, take down the wand," he asked again this time more casual, knowing that he spoke to a friend. When he joined the order, Alastor was already a veteran member. He had taught Sirius and his friends how to duel. He'd even suggested that Sirius could join the auror office.

"We need young blood like you, Black. The new recruits are all weaklings. They'd pee themselves at the sight of a real death eater," he had said. Sirius still heard his gruff voice in his head. Sirius had laughed, and answered, that he'd much rather break the law than help enforcing it. He had followed the invitation anyway just half a year after James' wedding because it felt like James was moving on with his life and Sirius thought he should do the same.

"I can't see anything." But again, nobody did what he asked for.

"You're Sirius Black?" the other person asked. Sirius still couldn't place it.

"Yeah, obviously," Sirius responded a bit annoyed now. After all, Moody had already recognized him.

"I'm Steven Dobrint. I work for the administrative office of the Wizengamot. Here, that's for you."

The man held something through the bars. Sirius blinked down at it confused. It wasn't what he had hoped for. Not a key to his shackles or the cell door. Instead, there was a white envelope, the paper clean and pristine that it seemed out of place in this dark and dirty place. It reflected the light from the wand, seemed almost like its own source of light.

"What is that?" Sirius asked confused, but he took it anyway. He turned the envelope around.

Dobrint took his hand back, finally lowering the wand a little bit, though the movement didn't seem purposeful. "The decision is hereby hand-delivered to the addressee," he said.

"What?" Sirius felt on edge. What was going on? They obviously weren't taking him home. "Alastor, what is that?"

"I still can't believe it, Black," Alastor's voice rumbled. There was anger in his tone. "I trusted you all this time. When Dumbledore told me, I was convinced he had it all wrong."

Sirius shook his hand. The envelope felt useless in his hand. "What are you talking about?" he asked agitated. "I didn't do anything."

"I said, I'd go deliver it, 'cause I had to look you in the eyes, but… You don't even feel sorry, do you?"

He believed it… Sirius stared at him, now that the wand had lowered enough, he could make out Moody's features. That wasn't anger on his face. Not just anger at least. A shiver ran down his spine. That was hatred. "Moody," Sirius said, his voice was weak and rough from lack of water. "I didn't do it." He took the last half step right to the bars, stretched his hand out to grab his mentor, but both men immediately retreated backward. Sirius only grabbed empty air. "MOODY!" He yelled out.

Their wands were both raised again. Both tips pointing in his face, as if they feared his wandless attack through the bars. Sirius immediately flinched back, but he stayed close to the bars, caught halfway between trying to grab for Moody again or retreating into his cell.

"Maybe time will help you remember who your true friends were, Black," Alastor said, his voice snide with hatred. "The ones you sold out and murdered."

"I didn't do it!" Sirius's voice was wobbly. "I thought you…" He'd thought Alastor had come to free him.

Alastor knew him! He'd known him for years. They'd spent days and nights hunting down death eaters. Sirius had taken more than one curse for his mentor.

"Why did you even come here if not to help me?" Sirius cried out angrily. But he knew the answer immediately. The envelope. They had come to deliver a letter. "What is that?" he asked, his voice shaky as he pressed the letter against the bars. Raised up like that, he could see the ministry insignia neatly printed on the front.

But Alastor didn't go through the effort of explaining. His back was already to Sirius and he and Dobrint were quickly retreating taking the only source of light with them. "WAIT! MOODY!" Sirius yelled after him, letting go of the letter, to grab the bars with both hands. The iron was freezing cold in his palms. "ALASTOR! You can't just leave me here!"

But they were gone. He rattled against the bars, and he yelled for them to come back, but then his throat gave out and he was condemned to silently stare into the dark corridor. When he turned around, the cell laid before him in darkness.

He found the envelope again where it had fallen and slid into a corner. Unable to read it until the morning, he twisted it in his fingers all night. By the time the sun went up, the formerly pristine paper was dirty with his fingerprints. He ripped it open at first light.

After the meeting with Alastor, he already knew he wouldn't get out of Azkaban easily. They didn't think he was innocent. So, Harry had to wait a little longer. He decided it was too early to give up. All night, he had thought up scenarios and ways to prove his innocence. In that envelope, he was sure, he'd find the court date, and then he could prepare his defense.

Just a little longer, Harry. Moony.

But when he opened the letter, there was no court date there. The only date on the official-looking document was already four days in the past. It was a short letter, followed by a long list of his supposed crimes.

By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic under Minister Millicent Bagnold, and the British community of witches and wizards, I, Bartemius Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hereby sentence the accused Sirius Orion Black (born 3 November 1959 in London) to imprisonment in the Wizarding Prison of Azkaban until the time of his death. In the case presented to me, there can be no doubt as to the guilt of Mr. Black regarding the crimes he is accused of (see attachment 1). The decision shall take legal effect seven days after delivery to the person or persons to whom it may concern but at the latest moment one month after publication. Complaints regarding the decision shall be made in writing to the appropriate authority. The time that Mr. Black has already spent in Azkaban shall be subtracted from his sentence according to §§ 13, 241 Wizarding Criminal Code. This decision was issued in accordance with Art. 17 of Protocol 80/12 to the Wizarding Criminal Code regarding accelerated procedure.

Signed,

Bartemius Crouch Sr.

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Sirius' hands were shaking as he read the decision a second and a third time. That couldn't be right. That wasn't right! He was innocent.

"Until the time of his death," he had read the words so often now, he barely even noticed that he was speaking them out loud. His voice was quiet, shaking, his throat still aching from the screaming during the night. "Until the time of his death."

Dread pooled in his stomach. Crouch… had he even looked at the supposed evidence against him? What evidence was there? Witness testimony of the muggles, before Peter had blown them up? Moony…? Had Moony testified against him, saying he was the secret keeper? Alastor had mentioned even Dumbledore… Had his fellow order members testified against him?

But they knew him!

Tears were running down his cheeks. He'd thought, he'd cried them all after Lily and James' death, but apparently, he'd been wrong. Harry… Harry couldn't wait that long, he thought hiccupping. Not until… until… His eyes searched the line on the paper. Until the time of his death.

No… No! Complaints. They had mentioned something about complaints. He still had a week. Seven days upon delivery. So, a week from now on. He turned the letter around, even looked through the attachment that contained a lengthy list of his crimes – things he wouldn't do if his life depended on it. Nowhere did it say, what the 'appropriate authorities' were. Still, he had to try. If necessary, he would write to every single department of the ministry, until he got the right one.

For that, he had to stay calm and collected. Frantically he wiped the tears from his face and stumbled towards the bars. Rattling against iron, yelling into the corridor, he demanded to be heard. He asked for paper, ink, and quill, he asked to send a letter. He yelled into the corridor that it regarded his sentencing, that he needed to write his complaints.

Nobody listened. Nobody heard.

Just like nobody had listened all those weeks before.

The only answer he got was the screams of his fellow inmates and the dreadful inhaling sounds of the dementors.

"Please!" He begged, even as the dementors were so close that a layer of frost grew over the iron bars. "Please…" His voice was weak. "Harry…"

For a moment, he saw Harry, that bubbling little toddler staring up at him with wide green eyes, raising his arms asking to be lifted into the air. Then the color of the eyes shifted to hazel, the face matured, and he saw James, dead before him, lying discarded over the stairs in his own home. Lily dead in the nursery. Peter…

Notes:

uiuiuiuiuiui

When I wrote this flashback I was so damn proud of it. I feel so bad for Sirius. Honestly, the idea of a corrupt and unjust justice system like this is simply frightening. He's completely and utterly powerless against it. Sirius never got a trial, so I often wondered how the decision to sentence him to life in prison came upon. Did they push him in front of Crouch and he just decided right there? Or was there a time in between his incarceration and when the decision was made? I decided to go with the second option. The idea to just have his fate delivered to him in a letter was absolutely horrifying to me. I imagine that Sirius for a long time after his incarceration must have thought that it was a mistake. He's a member of the order after all - I even decided to make him an aspiring Auror trainee, just for the extra oompf - and nobody even bothered to give him a trial... It's utterly heartbreaking. the abandonment!

For the record I like Moody. (And Sirius likes moody too) I thought long and hard about which character to use here. I wanted this to be a character he knew. This is something that is never addressed in canon. But we know for a fact that there were quite a few Aurors in the order, powerful men like Dumbledore, other employees of the ministry. In the books, it's always just Crouch who passed the sentence and nobody else did anything wrong. At that point in time, however, Moody was a high-ranking Auror known for catching all kinds of death eaters. Dumbledore sat in the Wizengamot and even got a deal brokered for actual known death eaters like Snape. It just doesn't sit right with me, to just blame a bunch of already unlikeable characters like Crouch or Peter, or some other death eaters or OC's (that I can make as hateful as I please) for what happened with Sirius. One of the most horrific aspects of Sirius' fate is the abandonment of his own friends. People he fought in a war with, people that we know he'd take a bullet for if necessary (or an Avada Kedavra). So I wanted to use one of these former comrades and friends.