Whispers of the Dove / R.L & S.B

🌼~°7°~🌼

<<<<Sirius>>>

Escaping Azkaban was the hardest thing I've ever done—and the easiest. Twelve years. Twelve years in that hellhole, surrounded by the mindless, soul-sucking void of the Dementors. I can still feel the cold, not just in my bones, but in my very soul. It wasn't the kind of chill you shake off with a blanket or a fire. It was the kind that seeps in, settles, and makes itself at home.

The days blurred into one another, marked only by the occasional screams of the other inmates. Most of them lost their minds within the first year. Me? I held onto my sanity by clinging to one thought: I was innocent. And then there was the longing. The longing for my old life, my friends, and for him.

Remus.

Even now, just thinking his name sends a pang through my chest. Remus Lupin—kind, brilliant, stubborn as hell. I'd known I wasn't entirely straight for as long as I could remember, but it wasn't until Remus that I understood what love really felt like. It crept up on me slowly, like a warm breeze on a cold day, until one day it was just there. Six years of friendship, stolen glances, and shared laughter had been the foundation of something neither of us was brave enough to acknowledge—at least, not until our final year at Hogwarts.

I can still remember the night we finally said it aloud. The firelight flickered across his face in the Gryffindor common room, and for once, we were alone. James and Lily were off somewhere, likely sneaking into the kitchens, and Peter was, as usual, unaccounted for. Remus had been reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, and I—well, I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"I think," I'd said, my voice hesitant, "that I might be in love with you."

Remus had looked up, his amber eyes wide and vulnerable. For a terrifying moment, I thought I'd ruined everything. But then, he'd smiled—a soft, shy thing that I still carry with me.

"Good," he'd replied. "Because I think I might be in love with you too."

We told only our closest friends—James, Lily, Marlene, Frank, Alice, and, ironically, Peter Pettigrew. Peter, the traitorous rat whose Animagus form should have been a dead giveaway. How could we have missed it? How could we have been so blind?

Peter. The thought of him fills me with a rage so potent it threatens to consume me. The lying, spineless coward who betrayed us all. Who handed James and Lily over to Voldemort like they were nothing. Who left Harry an orphan and let me rot in Azkaban for crimes I didn't commit.

I'm going to kill him.

It's not a threat or a boast—it's a promise. I've spent twelve years imagining it, replaying the moment over and over in my mind. My hands around his neck, the life draining from his beady eyes. He deserves no less.

Escaping Azkaban wasn't part of the plan. For a long time, I didn't think escape was even possible. The Dementors can sense any flicker of human emotion, any trace of hope or joy, and they snuff it out. But they can't feel the emotions of animals. That's where my Animagus form—my black dog—became my salvation.

The transformation wasn't easy, not after so many years of disuse. But desperation is a powerful motivator. Once I managed it, I slipped through the bars of my cell and swam. I swam until I thought my lungs would burst, the freezing water threatening to pull me under at every moment. But I made it. By some miracle, I made it.

Now, I'm on the run, a fugitive in the very world I once fought to protect. My destination is clear: Hogwarts. It's the one place I can be sure Peter will go. The little rat always seeks safety in the shadows, and what better place to hide than among children, under the protection of Dumbledore?