Air rushed past the back of his teeth into the chilly night air. His rib cage shrunk back a few millimeters into the roughly hewn stone at his back. The difference between caution and fear was as thin as the edge of a knife--a breath too loud and his hopes for tonight would be sliced into shreds.
The shimmering form of the Bloody Baron slowly glided through the air towards the place where he stood hidden in the shadows. Rays of moonlight caught in the shadowy smears of blood covering his robes and face. "D’you know, Padfoot, I reckon that’s what the Baron used to look like when he was our age… spotty-faced and pissed at the world."
He shut his eyes to ward off the memory of James’ whisper--what carefree fools they had been then. Pity he had remained a fool for so many years after they left Hogwarts. The price for his folly had been paid with his best friend’s blood. Oh, Prongs. Would that it had been me instead. He blinked away the burning sensation behind his eyes. He couldn’t think about James now, not when there were debts that needed to be repaid. I will not fail this time.
Without a backward glance or pause, the Baron disappeared into the wall at the end of the corridor, and Sirius stepped away from the wall, swiftly making his way towards the silhouette of the crouched gargoyle a few meters away.
"Cockroach Clusters," he whispered. The gargoyle uncurled from its crouch to peer at him suspiciously. Let me pass, you thickheaded beast! It cocked its head sideways at him.
"Cockroach Clusters," he repeated. He stared at it fiercely, willing it to submit to the command, his stomach fluttering. Steady now, you’ve faced worse than a stubborn gargoyle… He couldn’t afford to surrender now.
Finally, the statue inched aside, grudgingly leaving a small gap in the wall. Immediately, Sirius squeezed his way into the opening, not giving the creature a chance to reconsider. His nerves soared as the spiral staircase rose under him, carrying him toward a familiar oak door. This time, the stakes were much higher than detention or a ban on Hogsmeade visits. This time, the stake was his freedom, his life… his redemption.
He stared at the griffin knocker. Only a fool would enter the office of Albus Dumbledore without knocking. Only a fool, or someone with nothing to lose. Steeling himself, he twisted the door knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the candle-lit room.
And then, he couldn’t move. Not his hands, nor his feet, not even his chest, the air in his lungs immobilized for precious seconds as he stared into the sparkling blue eyes of the wizard who vanquished Grindelwald.
"Hello, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said quietly around the crackling of the fire, his voice as hard as nails. "Welcome back to Hogwarts Castle."
His vision blackened around the edges, every muscle in his body tense. Air. Twelve years in Azkaban, dreaming of this moment, of this revelation--would it end now as he stood here frozen, powerless? The reflection of the fire danced in Dumbledore’s glasses. Faerie lights to welcome me home… A face appeared before him, smiling, and he reached out a hand in his mind. James!
The moment snapped. Cool air rushed into his lungs like wildfire, burning away the breathless wonder that had held him captive for a heartbeat. He shuddered, gasping his way back into the oval office, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face, seeing the wizard before him.
"How careless of me," Albus mused. "Immobilus is such a useful spell, but its nuances are so easily forgotten in one’s old age."
Though his arms and legs still felt as though they were surrounded by stone, Sirius found that his muscles of his chest and face had been freed. Relief flooded him. It seemed Dumbledore had decided to hear him out.
"Al-Albus," he managed, his tongue stumbling to find its strength again. "I didn’t know you’d be here."
Dumbledore raised his thin shoulders in a shrug. "I must admit, I feel like an unwelcome guest tonight. Rather like my Aunt Eugenia entering the office when Uncle Roland had his hand in the front left drawer of his desk, about to snag a gulp of Scotch straight from the flask."
Sirius shook his head, shaggy hair flopping against his ears. He could feel the powerful magic surging around him, iron bands of air which could squeeze together and crush him at a moment's notice. "I didn't come here to steal from you. I've spent twelve years without a single possession in my name; there's nothing that I…" To have him back! He swallowed the lump in his throat. The time for regrets would come later. "There's nothing material that I want."
Dumbledore sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. Each word he had spoken seemed to hang in the air, and the headmaster's eyes glittered. Sirius waited warily, feeling those eyes weighing his words, judging their veracity, measuring his worth. He stared back, raising his chin defiantly in the face of Dumbledore's doubt. Give me a chance.
"Then what is it that you want, Mr. Black?"
"Justice," Sirius blurted. Redemption.
"Justice," the headmaster murmured, tasting the word on his tongue. "So you escaped from Azkaban, seeking justice. Is the sentence of life in Azkaban insufficient for the killer of James and Lily Potter? If you came to me seeking a more painful punishment, I shall have to disappoint you--I know of nothing worse than that for you, Mr. Black."
Every muscle in Sirius' body clenched, and fiery bile burned in the back of his throat. For better or for worse, he had reached his final destination--he was standing before the man who Lily and James had trusted above anyone else (except for me, for all the good I did them, he reminded himself), and he was completely powerless. If Albus wanted to send him back to Azkaban, if Albus didn't believe him, there was nothing he could do. And without Albus' help, there was no way to find Peter and avenge James and Lily… nothing left to live for. This was the confrontation he had been seeking every second since his escape, the moment where he could speak the truth, admit his sins, and accept whatever judgment was to come. There was no more need for hiding, no more need for silence.
"DO YOU THINK THAT AZKABAN IS MY PUNISHMENT? THAT DEMENTORS COULD DO ANYTHING WORSE TO ME THAN WHAT I HAVE DONE TO MYSELF?" He roared, pain cracking his brittle voice, too long restrained to whispers in shadowy corners. "WITH EVERY BREATH, I REMEMBER THEM. I HEAR JAMES' VOICE WHEN I DREAM. I SEE HIS FACE WHEN I SHUT MY EYES. WHEN I LOOK AT MY HANDS, I’M SURPRISED THEY'RE NOT STAINED RED WITH HIS BLOOD!"
He drew in a shuddering breath, fought for equilibrium. The next part was important… Albus had to understand. "I handed them to Pettigrew on a bloody platter, Albus. As good as killed them myself." A sob slipped from between his lips, but he fought through the next words, blinded by tears. "I stepped away from him, turned my back on him when he needed me the most… because I thought I was being clever, outwitting Voldemort with my tricks," he spat hatefully. "James deserved better than a fucking fool for his best friend."
"You were the only one who knew where James and Lily were, Sirius. And the Fidelius Charm is unassailable. I fail to see how Peter Pettigrew can be held responsible for their deaths," Dumbledore said slowly, doubt evident in his expression.
"No, Albus. James wanted me to be his Secret-Keeper and I refused him. I thought--" Sirius bit his lip, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. "I thought we could be more cunning. Wouldn't Voldemort guess that I was James' Secret Keeper? After all, we were best friends. I told him to pick someone else. And who would guess that James and Lily Potter would pick Peter Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper? Who would think that he could be entrusted with the safety of some of the most powerful wizards of our time?" Sirius looked into the fire, "I told James to pick him. Lily fought him on it at first, she thought I was the best choice, but when he told her I had suggested him, she agreed. So I handed them off to the scum who betrayed them."
"You know I can't take you for your word." Sirius looked straight into the headmaster's bright blue eyes and nodded. "Legilimens!"
Memories streamed past his eyes in a blur. James and Lily's wedding, dumping champagne on James' head as he spluttered incoherently and Lily laughed. The hospital, holding Harry for the first time, awestruck that his mates had created something so delicate without the aid of any wandwork whatsoever. Dinner at the Potters' house, not understanding why James looked so hurt and Lily so grim even as they joked… the conversation over dessert where James admitted that Lily had decided to go in hiding, for Harry's sake. And then, years of history flying by more quickly that he could have imagined, the last time he ever saw them.
"Albus thinks we should do it as soon as possible," James said, sprawled out on the end of the sofa, Lily tucked into his side, her head on his shoulder, Harry just a small blue bundle in her lap.
Lily tilted her head upward to catch her husband's eye. "He… seems scared," she admitted, her voice tense. "I mean, Albus isn't one to reveal his hand, you know, but this is as tense as I've ever seen him. Something's wrong."
Sirius swallowed hard. "Dumbledore's the closest match to Voldemort that we have, so if he thinks this is the only option you have left, you've got to do it."
Tears glimmered in Lily's eyes. "Sirius, you know we wouldn't do this unless we had to, right?" She glanced down at her son before looking up at her husband's best friend. "We just--we have Harry now, to take care of." She reached out across the coffee table, hand outstretched, trembling.
Sirius sighed, reaching out to wrap his fingers around hers, squeezing them hard in support. "We've done much worse in this war," he said, forcing his voice to sound jovial. "Besides, it can't be longer than a few months before we finally find a way to kill that bastard, right? It'll be over before Harry even gets his first tooth."
James curved his lips up into a ghost of a smile, his cheeks pale. "Miss his second birthday and I'll kill you myself, Padfoot."
Lily poked her husband in the side. "You'll have to get through me first. Peter's no match for Harry's tantrums; I need Sirius to make him laugh when he's teething."
Sirius reached his hand out, and James grasped it immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for it. "Won't miss it for the world," he promised gruffly, and the three friends sat there, hands clasped, until the fire burning in the hearth died down to embers.
Sirius crumpled to the floor, the salt of his tears shining on his cheeks in the firelight. Dumbledore murmured a word under his breath, and the stones felt like silk beneath his knees.
"I am deeply sorry, Sirius, that you have had to pay the price for a crime which you did not commit," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice heavy and solemn. "I have made many mistakes in the past twelve years, but few as serious as believing in your guilt and allowing you to be sentenced without a trial." He cleared his throat. "I will think over this for many years to come."
Sirius got to his feet and shook the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head so that he could meet Dumbledore's eyes with his own to convey his acceptance. "My punishment fit my crimes, Albus... I'm still the reason that James and Lily died that night. I'll never forgive myself for that."
"Sirius, I understand why you feel that you share some degree of responsibility for James and Lily's death. But unlike the time when you sent Severus to the Whomping Willow, you had no idea that you were risking James and Lily's life when you asked them to switch Secret Keepers. Yet, years ago, you absolved yourself of all guilt in the incident with Severus and remain ashamed of your role in James and Lily's death.
"You must admit that you are being unreasonable. You know that James and Lily would have forgiven you the moment they realized what had happened; this was simply an unknowing mistake, and no fault can be assigned for errors that are a result simply of lack of information, rather than poor judgment."
"I HAD NO OBLIGATION TO THAT SLIMY SNAKE!" Sirius shouted angrily. Dumbledore had no right to put the two men in the same sentence as one another; it was like equating day with night. "JAMES AND LILY WERE MY BEST--" His voice broke; he shook his head, fighting for control. After Azkaban, his emotions--the grief he had never been able to process while hiding from the Dementors in his Animagus form--swam too close to the surface. "James and Lily were my best friends. I should have protected them myself; I should have been standing there beside them when Voldemort came. I should have stared into his eyes and fought alongside them." He took a deep breath. "I should have died beside them. That was my place."
Dumbledore frowned. "And what of Harry, Sirius? What of the son that they left behind? Do you think James and Lily would want him to be without a godfather when he's already lost his parents?" Sirius flinched, but Dumbledore didn't pause for an instant. "I can't insist that you change your mind at this moment, Sirius, but consider what I have said. Our time is indeed limited--this castle has more eyes than even I am aware of. You said you came to seek justice--if you believe that you deserved the time you spent in Azkaban, then what justice remains to be served?"
"Pettigrew must pay for his sins," Sirius spat.
Dumbledore raised his hands slightly. "Didn't you make sure of that before you were sent to Azkaban, Sirius? The biggest part they ever found of Peter Pettigrew after you were done with him was his finger."
Sirius tilted his head back and laughed. "Oh, but you see, we Marauders kept a secret from you even then! Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail... They were nicknames which referred to our Animagi forms... Lupin was a werewolf, of course; James, a stag; I, a dog; and Pettigrew, a rat. When I tried to kill Peter--and believe me, I tried--I saw him change into a rat right before I cast the spell. He escaped, and I've been searching for him ever since, a rat with a missing toe."
Dumbledore stroked his beard pensively. "A rat with a missing toe..." he repeated to himself. Suddenly his eyes widened.
Sirius sniffed the air as if it held clues to the answer. "You know where he hides?"
"H-He's the boy's familiar," Dumbledore murmured.
"You mean the youngest Weasley boy? I found a picture of him with a rat on his shoulder in the paper--it has a missing toe; it's why I came here," Sirius explained. "But getting inside this castle and laying my hands on him--that's proved near impossible. I cannot do it without the help of your help as Hogwarts Headmaster."
"Yes..." Dumbledore murmured. "The family's rat Scabbers has lasted an unaccountably long time; I remember Molly sending me an owl once to check whether there were any Dark Magic spells which could extend the life of a rodent. I dismissed it at the time, but he could be our missing Marauder."
"Will you help me?" Sirius growled, prowling back and forth across the room. "Will you help me find him?" he pleaded.
Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid..." Sirius tensed. "As simple as this must seem, after twelve years of seeking out a single person, whom you've now found... the killer of your best friends," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle, "there are many factors to take into consideration. Pettigrew is a beloved pet, and the children will take it to heart and ask questions if he disappears. Your precarious status as a fugitive puts you at great risk of exposure, Sirius.
"Of utmost importance is Pettigrew's position, literally centimeters away from where Harry sleeps tonight," Dumbledore continued. "If we assume that he maintains the same loyalties as he did twelve years ago, this could be a very dangerous situation indeed. He could use Harry to ensure his own safety, if we are not careful in our approach."
"All the more reason to go in there and make sure the rat gets what's coming to him!" cried Sirius. "Get him away from my godson and into Azkaban where he belongs!"
"All the more reason to hide from Pettigrew that his position has been revealed," Dumbledore countered, "until the children have gone home for the summer and Harry is safely out of his reach back at Privet Drive."
Sirius' hands clenched into fists. "I've been waiting twelve years for this, Albus. Pettigrew is mine."
Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you still a child, Sirius Black, insisting that you have ownership of a particular doll in the toy box? Regrettably, I have other things to consider besides your pride, chiefly the safety of Harry Potter, the child of whom you were to be the guardian. Take his interests to heart!"
Sirius thought of the shining green eyes of the baby he held so many years ago. He had Lily's eyes, her eyes and James' hair, even as a baby--he's the only thing that's left of them now, A lump formed in his throat. "Alright," he conceded heavily. "You'll handle Pettigrew at the end of this school year?"
"I swear it on the sword of Godric Gryffindor himself," the headmaster promised. "And you should remain in hiding until then. Once I finish Pettigrew, I can use my recollection of your memories to clear your name."
Sirius nodded, too moved for words. I can meet your son, James, he thought wonderingly, and tell him about his ponce of a father. The ghosts of James and Lily's laughter rang in his ears. He started towards the door again.
"Use my Floo, Sirius. It's warded against all monitoring and it will get you safely beyond the grounds. If I may drop a hint, I would explore your old haunt past the Whomping Willow... it's quite abandoned now, and it'd be good if the legend was revived a little this year."
"Oh, I'm sure I can manage to be a bit... legendary." Sirius grinned wolfishly, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth.
As Sirius grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder, Dumbledore's voice caused him to pause once again. "Harry's been asking questions about you, Sirius," Dumbledore murmured quietly. "He misses his father--I think, this year more than any other, he's been seeking that guidance in others." He raised his hands in a helpless shrug. "I cannot provide for him in this regard--I can only afford to be a fond professor lest I grow too attached to truly watch for his safety. For now, I think he's found some semblance of that attachment in Remus Lupin, but as James' best friend, I think what he'll want is you, above all else. Keep yourself safe for him."
Sirius swallowed once, twice. "I..." He tried again. "I swear it." He looked back at Dumbledore, daring to ask, "Is he--is he like James, at all?"
Dumbledore smiled. "The burden he bears has not succeeded in defeating his love of Quidditch or his friends; he is every inch his father's son. And he has Lily's compassion and gentle soul as well. He would do his parents proud."
Sirius breathed a deep sigh. For the first time in over twelve years, satisfaction settled into the pit of his stomach, and something fluttered in his chest. "Until next time," he told Dumbledore as he stepped into the fire.
Hope. The butterflies are hope.
Sirius' stomach growled as he lay on the hard floor, listless. I'll have to go out soon. He remained on the floor. Fatigue sunk like lead into every inch of his bones, and his eyes slid shut once more.
He had thought hiding in the Shrieking Shack would be a respite. For the first time since he escaped, he felt safe, under Dumbledore's unseen protection--ironic, considering he was closer to Dementors than he had been in months--but that safety had not come with any sense of peace. Rage and guilt still burned in his gut, a molten fire that kept him up late into the night. Even the little sleep he managed did not relieve his burden; dreams of James and Lily haunted him, and the picture of the Weasleys with that damnable rat flashed through his mind constantly.
Three weeks since Dumbledore had promised him he'd take care of Pettigrew, and Sirius couldn't stop the irrational hope that each creak the old floorboards of the Shack made was in fact the squeak of a rat, that Pettigrew had come to him of his own accord at last. Sirius couldn't understand how that man--even as gormless as he was--how any man could survive thirteen years without feeling the need to come forth and redeem himself, to find honor once again. What a truly contemptible excuse for a human being.
But are you any better? You've been hiding for weeks in this decrepit old house. You told Dumbledore that you should have fought and died besides James and Lily, but what are you doing to avenge their deaths now?
Albus said it would be better to wait until summer, and he's the only one who can reach the Weasley boy then. He promised he would take care of it.
Did you learn absolutely nothing twelve years ago? You trusted Pettigrew to protect James and Lily when that was your duty as their best friend. Never allow anyone else to handle a job that you should finish yourself.
Albus Dumbledore is no Peter Pettigrew. He commanded the Order of the Phoenix in the last War and we won.
So Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in Britain, says one command and you fall to his heel like a dog on a leash. We didn't win under because of Albus Dumbledore, you know. We won because your best friend's wife died for their son, because you didn't protect their family.
Sirius sprung to his feet with a snarl, pacing back and forth. A fugitive in hiding, and a rat that couldn't be found... what could he do?
You couldn't find the rat before because you couldn't get into Hogwarts. Now Dumbledore himself has allowed you onto the grounds--he practically told you to hide in the Shack, only meters away from the castle! Pettigrew is right here, within your reach... you're just not hunting for him.
But he had given his word to Albus Dumbledore three weeks ago, and a man with nothing to lose couldn't give up the little honor he had left; he had to keep his promise. His hands were tied.
Just like Regulus gave his word to Voldemort so many years ago, hm?
Sirius froze. Part of the reason why he had been so wary of being the Potter's Secret Keeper was because of his brother. Just weeks before James and Lily had asked him to assist with their Fidelius, an owl had deposited a blood-stained letter at his doorstep.
Dear brother,
Remember when we were children and Mother and Father would show us the Black Family Tree and tell us our forefathers had been the greatest of men, and their nobility coursed through our veins? Mother insisted that you could tell the difference between pure blood and all the rest of it. Toujours Pur, you know.
Well, in these last few months, I have seen all kinds of blood--Mudblood, our cousins' blood, half-bloods--there's no end to the slaughter both of the enemy (you and your friends, though I try not to think about that if I can help it) and of our own side. And I can tell you that our Mother has never had to endure the sight of blood spilled across stone floors until it runs in rivers; I promise you, brother, I have seen no difference between our blood and that of any other.
I have been thinking back to the books we read when we were younger... the wizard-poet Pessoa, do you remember him? The words of a poem he wrote frequent my daily thoughts now.
With the whole town indifferent toward me.
Since then I've been like mown grass,
Piles of it scattered in uneven rows.
Since then I've been myself--yes, myself, to my own misfortune,
And I, with that misfortune, am not myself, neither another nor anyone else.
I cannot accept the terms that the life I've chosen offers. I have made a mistake, you know--I don't hesitate to tell you that our cause, in which I once so believed, has been overrun by the hegemony of a madman. And just a few days ago, I overhead a conversation which shook me to my very core; all is not as it seems with the man who used to call himself Tom Riddle. His blood and my blood are not the same. How could I have sworn my allegiance to such a man? Our parents used to teach us that a promise made with our name should bind us as if it were iron. But what of a promise built on a falsehood?
I do not know what lies ahead--I only know that I cannot rest until I correct this grievous error, avenge myself and the honor of my family. As Pessoa said, "I've been myself--yes, myself to my own misfortune, and I, with that misfortune, am not myself, neither another nor anyone else." For years, I have not been my own master. Now, I have learned that I can trust neither the Cause nor the Dark Lord himself to guide me.
The Truth shall be my Master, come whatever may.
Your brother always,
RAB
Sirius blinked back tears. That was another duty in which he had failed--his little brother had reconsidered, had finally "come around," as Lily had always sworn he would. But all of the owls Sirius sent had been returned to him, unopened, and with the constant demands of the War, he had been unable to abandon his duties to the Order to search for Regulus.
At the time, he had worried that because his brother had communicated with him in such a direct manner, he would be at risk for attack by Death Eaters if his brother's betrayal was discovered. If he was James and Lily's Secret-Keeper, their location would not be safe, either. But his worry was for naught--Regulus had been discovered and killed, and Death Eaters never came for him. Soon after, James and Lily would join his brother on the other side of that green light because of the misstep that Sirius had made.
Now Regulus was screaming up from the grave in his memories, and Sirius couldn't stand to ignore him again, to repeat the mistakes he had made before. "And I, with my misfortune, am not myself, neither another nor anyone else," he murmured reflectively. Not he, not the Order, not Dumbledore could stop what must be. He could not be his own master again until James and Lily were avenged.
Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, Sirius propped his chin on his hands and stared at the spider-cracks on the wall, planning his strategy.
Pettigrew must pay.