Sirius POV - Part 2
Where was Peter?
He couldn't have got far, not with his fat stubby legs. Peter wasn't fit. He couldn't run without having to gasp for air. The fat little rat. The stupid idiot couldn't apparate either. Sirius on the other hand, wasn’t a fat liar. Sirius could run. Padfoot could run. Oh, how he wanted to sink his teeth into that fat rat.
It must have sucked being a loser. Must have sucked so much that he had to rat on James and Lily's location to feel some sort of self-worth.
And it was Sirius’ fault. It had been he who had convinced them to have Peter be the secret keeper. They had been unsure at first, but eventually, they gave in.
Peter. He used to be so good at keeping secrets.
A rat stupidly scurried into an alley before him and Sirius knew. After years at school, he could recognise that rat anywhere. He dived after the rat and squeezed it in his hand.
“You fucking arse hole!” he bellowed at it, squeezing it tightly. It squealed in pain but Sirius showed no remorse. He wanted it to feel pain. Wanted to watch its eyes bulge as it struggled to breathe.
“How could you?” he yelled.
He shook the rat, waiting for Peter to transform back into his human form. And he did.
“There you are,” he spat, shoving the fat man into the wall.
“Are you going to kill me too, Sirius?” Peter choked. He was grinning. The bastard was grinning. He thought this was funny. That it was all some fun joke.
“You sold James and Lily to Voldemort! You should be grateful if I kill you!” Sirius shouted, tightening his grip on the fat bastard's throat. A crowd of muggles was starting to form around them, people were screaming and shouting for him to stop.
“You’re insane, Sirius. You sold James and Lily out, not me!” Peter gasped. Sirius let him go and punched him right in the face. Peter pathetically winced and fumbled around for his wand. Fat bastard couldn’t do anything quickly, could he? Sirius reacted quickly and he, much more effectively, slid his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at Peter.
“Don’t bother, Pettigrew,” He spat at Peter, a grin spreading across his face. “You and I both know you could never beat me. Ever.” Peter wasn’t good at fighting. He hardly went on any missions, he sucked at school and always went running to Remus or James or even Sirius for help. The dumbass couldn’t even produce a patronus for more than five seconds. Sirius would’ve laughed at him if he didn’t want to kill him.
“Is that right?” Peter sneered.
Before Sirius could open his mouth to give a snarky reply, there was a loud explosion behind him. He ripped his attention from Peter to see what the commotion was about and his heart dropped at the sight. The muggles. The muggles that had started gathering around them. Most of them were blasted back and were scattered on the floor, motionless. They were dead. Sirius turned back to wrap his hands around Peter’s large, disgusting neck only to find he was gone.
Peter was gone. He had got away. Peter wasn’t- couldn’t get away with this. He couldn’t. Peter killed James. He killed Lily. Where was he? Where did he go? He couldn’t be gone- he couldn't get away with this. That would mean Sirius had failed. Sirius had failed at avenging James. Had failed as a godfather, failed as a secret keeper. He had failed James.
Oh, James. Why James? Why? Of all people-
It didn’t take long for the Aurors to arrive. And Sirius was a mess. It was over. The world had collapsed in on itself, and he fell to his knees, clutching his wand like a lifeline as his breath hitched in his throat. And then he laughed. He didn’t know why, he couldn’t control it. The sound spilled out of him, jagged and bitter. He hated it. It made him feel sick. Made him want to rip the sound out of him.
He had tried his best, he really did. He tried so hard. He had devoted his entire life to proving everyone wrong. To show he wasn’t like his family. He wasn’t like the Blacks. He wasn’t. Was he? No, no. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Could he? No. He couldn’t be like his twisted, hateful parents.
Oh, how proud they would be of him now. Killing James Potter. Oh, how they always hated the Potters. His parents had always despised the Potters. He could still hear their sneering remarks. The cold, hateful scorn they reserved for anyone they considered beneath them. Especially the Potters. Sirius wasn’t like them. Sirius was a Potter. He loved James- James loved him. Fleamont and Euphemia had let him into their home, accepted him as their own. And he failed them. He failed all of them. He failed himself. And worst of all, he had failed James, the one person who had always been there for him.
It was all so absurd. It didn’t feel real- It couldn’t be real. Peter wouldn’t betray James. Nobody in their right mind would betray James! This was all some silly joke.
So Sirius laughed. He laughed while the Aurors grabbed him, hoping and praying someone, preferably James, would jump out from behind a corner or a lamp post or something stupid to tell him it was all a foul joke and that he was fine. That he was still breathing. Maybe if it was a joke he would get to hear James’ laugh again and see his face light up in glee like it did when they were 12 years old and thought they were invincible.
But he didn’t. Nobody did. It was all very, very real.
Sirius’ laughter choked off, leaving only the silence. The Aurors held him tighter now, their expressions grim, as if they knew, as if they could feel the gravity of what was happening. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t fight. He just stood there, numb, as the truth crashed over him like a wave he couldn’t escape. James really was dead, and he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t coming for Sirius.
And Peter really had betrayed them all. Sirius’ knees buckled as the Aurors pulled him away. It wasn’t a joke. It was the painful reality Sirius would have to live with for the rest of his life.
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A rough hand shoved Sirius into a cramped room, there was nothing inside except a camera and a harsh, flickering light casting eerie shadows on the bare walls. His breath came in ragged gasps as the Auror jammed a placard into his hands, the words “Azkaban Prison” scrawled across it, followed by a string of meaningless letters and numbers.
“No. No, you’ve got it wrong!” Sirius stammered, eyes wide with panic. He could barely keep the trembling out of his voice. “I didn’t do anything! Please—!”
But his words were useless. The Auror shot him a cold, indifferent look before stepping out of the room, the heavy door slamming shut, leaving Sirius alone with his frantic thoughts. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt like he was suffocating. He couldn’t go to Azkaban. Bellatrix deserved to be here. Hell, his whole family deserved to be here. Not Sirius though. He wasn’t a monster. He didn’t do anything!
“No!” His voice cracked, rising into a desperate shout. “Please! It’s the rat! The rat!”
But there was no one there to listen, no one to hear him. He wasn’t the killer. He couldn’t be the killer. Sirius would never, never betray James. The thought alone made his stomach churn. But Peter—Peter, the rat, the traitor—it had been him all along. He was the one who should be here, not Sirius. Not him.
"You don’t understand!” Sirius bellowed, his voice raw. “It’s Peter Pettigrew! You’ve got the wrong person! Please!”
A cold voice responded from the hallway. “Peter Pettigrew is dead. You killed him.”
Sirius froze, his blood turning to ice. The weight of those words crushed down on him, choking the breath from his lungs.
“No—no, I didn’t!” he pleaded, shaking his head. “I swear, I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t kill him, I wouldn’t kill anyone! I—!”
There was a bright flash of the camera and then the door behind him swung open again. Before he could protest further, rough hands grabbed him and dragged him out of the room.
His voice cracked from repeating himself, his throat raw from shouting. "I’m not the murderer! I wouldn’t rat out James! I’d never—!" But it didn’t matter. No one believed him.
He was guided up flight after flight of stairs, each step heavier than the last, until finally, they arrived at a series of iron-barred cells. A guard roughly shoved him inside one, and before he could regain his footing, the door slammed shut with a sickening finality. The sound echoed in the empty corridor, and for a moment, Sirius just stood there, staring at the bars in disbelief.
“No!” He threw himself against the door, banging his fists against the cold metal. “Please! I’m innocent!” His voice broke as he shouted into the abyss, but all he heard was his own desperate pleas bouncing back at him.
No one listened.
Sirius’ chest heaved with the effort of trying to force the door open, his strength fading with each futile attempt. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, his heart pounding in his ears as the reality of his situation settled in. He wasn’t getting out. No one would come for him.
He was alone. And the only person that would come to get him out was dead.
The cell was icy cold. He was surrounded by criminals—real criminals, murderers, monsters. And yet, here he was, locked up beside them as if he were one of them. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t.
Sirius sank slowly to the floor, his body trembling with exhaustion, still clutching the metal bars as if they were his last tether to reality. His knees pulled up to his chest, and he sobbed.
He had lost everything—his friends, his freedom, his boyfriend. And worst of all, no one believed him.
Not a single soul believed that Sirius Black was innocent.