A House So Noble and Black

Prologue

November 1, 1981

"How could you?"

It wasn't the numbness that shocked Sirius. It couldn't be. He'd been numb before, and this was nothing like what he'd felt before. Drinking himself into oblivion with Mooney, Prongs, and Wormtail after a particularly spectacular Quidditch match against Slytherin. There had been the time when he had shown up at the Potter's house, sporting a cracked lip, a black eye, and an even more bruised pride. Even worse, only four months ago, he'd gone to James and Lily's home for what he had assumed would be a lighthearted Sunday night dinner with Mooney. Wormtail had declined the invitation, complaining of a horrible cold. Sirius should have known better.

They were halfway through dinner when Mad-Eye's Moody shapeless Patronus came crashing into the room, throwing the kitchen walls into an eerie blue light. Harry had reached for the orb, giggling as it twisted in the air. He recoiled and whined when Moody's formless voice echoed throughout the house. The words seemed garbled in his ears, unfathomable, and completely ridiculous. The McKinnon's were safe in Ireland. Sirius had made sure of that. There was no way...

For several weeks after that, he drank, he smoked, he drove. Did anything to make the pain go away. Mooney showed up on a daily basis to Sirius's house to ensure he was eating. The guilt ripped through him anytime the alcohol faded. I should have invited her to dinner. I should have insisted that she come with me. Twenty-one, he was twenty-one. He'd had everything planned out for the rest of his life. As if to remind him, Mar's ring dug into the sensitive skin of his thigh. He gritted his teeth. The guilt was horrible, almost worse than the numbness that settled in after a while. The Potter's went into hiding soon after that, afraid for their lives, and Harry's.

But this feeling, it was a whole new level of dulled pain. Ash fell above, people screamed, and distantly he heard the sirens of the Muggle emergency vehicles. Bodies of Muggles caught in the crossfire were strewn across the blast radius Peter had created with his blasting charm. He stood there as if his feet were molded to the cracked concrete beneath him.

Harry, he had to find Harry, they could run. They could run and no one would be the wiser. He tried to move, but his feet wouldn't find the command. Instead, he spat out the bile rising in his throat. He ground it under his heel. It was all horribly hysterical. It had all gone wrong so, so fast. How had it all gone away in less than six months? He shook his head furiously, trying to rid the pressure that was building in his temples, and an ugly bubble of laughter flew from his throat and suddenly he was laughing, a horrible cackle that echoed off the remainder of the buildings surrounding him. Peter is gone

Muggles hid behind cars, and in storefronts, trying to make themselves as small as possible. They thought he was the threat. Another ironic laugh choked from his mouth. He could practically taste their fear.

The popping sounds of Apparition surrounded him, and almost instantly, thirty Auror wands were directed straight at his chest.

"Where is he, Black? Peter?" A man, balding, despite his young age, demanded. Sirius shook his head. He wished he could speak, but all he could do was laugh, his wand hanging limply by his side. The man raised his wand higher, leveling it right between the eyes. It was in this minute when Sirius could care less if they all cursed him every Unforgivable in the book. He didn't have anything else to live for. He would be with friends if they decided to end it right here. He would be with Marlene...

"I said, man, where is he? Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew."

"Gone, Fudge. He's gone." Sirius choked out, the bile growing worse, bubbling and curdling in his chest by the moment. The man bent, his face twisting his prematurely lined face, his wand still directed straight at Sirius. He nudged something with his toe, nestled in the crumpled pile of clothing Peter had left when he fled. Because of course, he had. It was his oldest trick, one that Sirius had witnessed multiple times. Sirius saw Fudge's eyes widen, pause, and then swallow hard

"Dawlish, get a crew on clean up. Get the street back to normal before those bloody sirens reach us. Hastings, get eye witness reports from the witnesses. We'll need the memories if we can. Then, wipe their memories. I don't want them to remember any of this. The rest of you," Fudge broke off, swallowing hard once again. "Escort this vermin to the Ministry. I expect Fudge will be wanting an immediate hearing for him."

His wand was wrestled from his hand and led to a safe place to Apparition. Sirius made a point to kick the discarded robes, figuring it was his last chance to prove not everything seemed as it was. Maybe Peter hid in the folds, biding his time to run for it. No such luck. Firm, strong hands gripped his forearms like vices as they Apparated to the Ministry.

He'd been thrown unceremoniously into a cold, dark holding cell in some dark, secluded part of the Ministry, miles underground. It'd taken him several hours to recognize the telltale signs of Dementors outside his cage. The cold, frozen feeling in his chest had been there since Halloween, he'd realized the mistake of making Peter Secret Keeper. Only after he came out of the stupor did he recognize the rasping breaths and rancid smells that came from outside the bars of his prison.

He huddled in the corner of the cell, his hands wrapped underneath his hands, trying to keep his hands warm. At one point, he must have pulled Marlene's ring from his pocket, because when the sounds of footsteps approaching reached his ears, he gripped it tight, the points digging into the tender parts of his palm, drawing pinpricks of blood.

The light blue of a Patronus charm bounced across the walls, growing brighter and brighter until a man appeared in front of Sirius's prison. The man's face held no pity, only anger, and betrayal. Sirius stared back blankly at his friend. He didn't know what to say. He knew there was no point begging for mercy. His sick, twisted fate was laid out before him. Frank Longbottom rolled a parchment he'd had clutched in his hand.

"Sirius Orion Black has hereby been sentenced to life in Azkaban for the deaths of Lily and James Potter."