No one listens
It had been a strange few days. It was hard to explain, but everything felt off. The air seemed thick with something—I couldn’t quite put my paw on it. Every corner I turned, I found myself watching Sirius more carefully, waiting for him to notice what I knew. But as always, he was too distracted with other matters, too stubborn to listen.
I had done my part. I had warned him about Kreacher’s lies, about the dark undertones creeping from the house elf. But there were more pressing matters to deal with—more immediate threats. I couldn’t stop myself from worrying, though. Even though I couldn’t speak, my instincts told me there was something even darker waiting on the horizon.
Then came the news—the Ministry. The moment I heard the words "Harry’s in danger" fly out of someone’s mouth, my heart sank. There was no mistaking it. The Ministry of Magic wasn’t a place for children to go on whims. It was far too dangerous.
And Sirius, being Sirius, immediately jumped into action.
I wanted to go with him, to warn him. But it wasn’t my place. There were too many people watching me, too many eyes that would wonder why a cat was following a man into dangerous situations. I stayed behind, pacing restlessly in the corner of Grimmauld Place, my fur standing on end. I could feel it, deep in my bones—something terrible was about to happen.
Sirius didn’t listen to me. He just couldn’t. As much as I wanted him to, as much as I knew something was off, he was already set on his path. He had gone to the Ministry without a second thought, rushing to Harry’s aid without regard for the consequences. And there I was, left to stew in my own helplessness, unable to follow him, unable to do anything to change what was coming.
I had warned him. I tried.
But no amount of meowing, no amount of purring, could change the course of fate. And fate, as it always does, took its turn.
The day had come. The air was thick with tension. I had been up all night, pacing, waiting, hoping against hope that somehow, someway, Sirius would return safe, his reckless charm intact.
But when the door opened, and the news of his death came, it was like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. The sound of it was deafening. Sirius was gone.
I didn’t make a sound. I simply stood there, my fur bristling with a mix of anger and sorrow that I could never fully express. I had known. I had known this would happen, and yet I couldn’t stop it. It had all happened too quickly, too violently.
I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. To warn him one last time.
And now, everything felt wrong. It felt empty. The house was filled with people—Harry, Hermione, and Ron—voices echoing in disbelief, trying to grasp at straws of comfort that couldn’t be found.
But I didn’t join them. I couldn’t.
I slunk off, finding a quiet corner of the room, curling up into a tight ball, my tail wrapped around my body. My thoughts swirled, chaotic and bitter. My friend, my Sirius, was gone.
I thought about the last time I had seen him—so sure, so full of life, so convinced he could save Harry. He hadn’t listened to me. He hadn’t listened to anyone. And now, he was gone, lost in a moment of reckless bravery.
The worst part was that, despite my best efforts to warn him, to keep him safe, I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t have mattered. Sirius had always been a lost cause, determined to run headfirst into danger, no matter the cost.
So, I sat there, alone with my thoughts, my paws tucked tightly against my chest. No amount of meowing, no pleading, no warnings, could change what had happened.
He was gone.
And I was left to clean up the pieces.