Time Astral | Sirius Black

2||The Prisoner

It was like Television. 

A rewind - replay happening in his mind. Every step he'd taken - every breath he'd wasted. Every hit, every accusation. 

But nothing had mattered. Not when they'd assumed he was the murderer. Not when they'd told him that everyone he loved had been dead. And one man - a man he'd so wrongly accused - 

Sirius Orion Black was alone, confined in the dark prison of Azkaban - no. 

No, he forced himself to realise. He wasn't. Not anymore. It had been two years since he'd gotten out. 

But it was so clear in his memories. The day he'd tracked Peter across the country. When he'd outwitted Sirius and had yelled about his treason in front of muggles. Had killed them - all of them who'd stopped to watch. And then had blasted himself so bad, only a toe had remained. 

But he knew then, years later that he'd been alive. That the toe wasn't the only part left - but the only part injured. 

Remus trusted him now, he forced himself to remember. He recalled though, how he'd seen his Animagus in the Daily Prophet while still in the prison and how he'd had the first reason in years, years, to run away. And he had. 

And how he'd saved his godson, how Harry loved him, too. He forced himself to remember. 

Yet, the replay went on. Yet, all he could hear was not Peter's screaming, not Remus' yelling, not Hagrid's convincing, not Dumbledore's bellowing but her. Her.

Her wails and her begging, to not leave. Her screaming of how afraid she felt - pleading he not leave her. And he had. 

And when he'd come back and had asked for his godson, when Hagrid had told him that Harry would be given to Petunia because of the blood sacrifice Lily Potter had done, he'd finally - finally agreed. If only for he believed he'd go visit Harry everyday. Maybe even stay with Vernon if that's what it took. 

But that was before they'd blamed him for Peter's death. Blamed him for James and Lily's death. Blamed him for her death. 

Sirius' eyes shot open. 

Yet, even with the clear image of Grimmauld Place in front of him, his mother's portrait yelling upstairs, all he could see was her face as she cried and begged. 

It was all he could see. It was all he had been seeing for years. A voice stood out from her yelling, Dumbledore's voice when he'd followed Sirius to the Ministry where he hadn't even gotten a trial.

His voice, as he looked at Sirius with disgust. As Sirius yelled, asking where she was. And he'd only said Gone, Mister Black. In far different ways than how you would be. But in far similar ways than how James and Lily Potter now are. And he'd shut up. 

He'd shut up so abruptly that everyone had turned to look at him. And he hadn't spoken a word when they asked if he'd done it. Hadn't complained, hadn't justified. He'd let them take him to Azkaban. 

If only to return for his godson. His godson who looked so much like his brother it hurt. It hurt so bad - everything pained. Most of all her absence. 

They had let him go through his belongings once Harry's fourth year had begun. A box of them. There wasn't much that he needed from it, but a few thing he couldn't look away from. 

There were two lockets, a pocket watch and a scrapbook. The lockets - twins to each other. The heart rhythm pendants, he recalled. He'd worn them both around his neck and hadn't removed them once in the entire year. The pocket watch tied around his wrist in similar manners. The watch, she'd gifted him for his birthday, it's scent was still the same as hers.