The Sun is a star, and all stars die sometime.
They maintained their iron grip on his arms as they apparrated, twisting through space. It was uncomfortable to be sure. They appeared with a crack in the Ministry lobby. It being about 2 in the morning, it was empty. The Aurors marched Sirius up to a booth off to the right hand side of the gaping room, with tall ceilings you couldn’t quite see the tops off, simply disappearing into darkness.
There was a sleepy looking night monitor sitting behind the welcome desk, seemingly unaware of the men in front of her. The witch couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, with stick-straight ebony hair and piercing green eyes. The eyes that narrowed when they came into contact with Sirius’. Like Regs eyes.
Pain bubbled up again from his stomach, and he jerked his shoulders in an effort for them to lessen their hold on his biceps, but all he achieved was an elbow to the gut. The witch scanned the group, and spoke in a cool tone.
“Present your identification and purpose for visit.” The Auror to the left of Sirius huffed, and drew a silver badge from behind the first layer of his jacket, in front of his breast pocket. He all but flung it in the witches direction, to which she only raised a singular eyebrow and swept her gaze over to the Auror on the right. This man, shorter and leaner than his partner, pulled an identical badge out and set it on the desk, albeit more respectfully than the former. The witch drew her wand, and non-verbally levitated the two badges in the air. A fuchsia glimmer surrounded the two pieces of metal, coating them and disappearing with a pop. The badge of the first man rose a little higher in the air, and the witch looked at it intently as if it was speaking to her.
“Stone, Oliver. Department of Magical Misuse and Muggle Memory Modification. Date of Birth, the sixth of August, 1947. Years of employ: twelve.” The copper haired man nodded in confirmation. His badge sank back down to the desk, where Stone picked it back up and pinned it on. The second badge rose, and the witch scanned it before turning to the second man.
“Wallace, Stephen. Auror Office, Head. Date of Birth, the thirteenth of December, 1925. Years of employ: 32. Thank you for your service, Mr. Wallace.” She then drew her gaze to Sirius, who looked a sight. Still struggling every so often, garnering more shoves and elbows to various body parts, covered in soot and sweat, with tear tracks cut down his face, breathing heavily. He had come back to himself just as the Aurors seized him, ringing still echoing in his ears.
“Killed them. I killed them all. I killed them- i” His voice cut off, a throaty sob escaping his lips.
“James, no, no, NO! It’s all my fault, I did it, James and Lily, and - oh Merlin, they’re dead too, and I can’t, I can’t, I- Clara. Clara. Her name, her name was-” He had looked at Stone, who was hauling him to his feet, an implacable look on his face.
“They’re all gone, because of me- I didn’t even know their names, and I killed people. Fourteen people. And he- the little rat, just-” The hysteria lacing Sirius’ lips turned to poison in his mouth, sliding down his esophagus and into his lungs, toxifying the air and forcing itself out in what seemed, impossibly, a laugh. And once one escaped, the floodgates were open. He heard his own laughter, but it wasn’t his. Because this wasn’t funny. And somehow, it was. So fucking funny that his best friend was dead, and Sirius had caused it.
He had been the one to go to Dumbledore, plead with him, that he would transfer his responsibility as secret keeper over to Peter, that it would keep them safe, safer than they would have been with Sirius. Sirius wasn’t afraid of torture, no. He would have laid his life at the altar of the dark lord before he ever uttered the address of the house in Godric's Hollow. He wasn’t afraid. But even the strongest of will couldn’t keep their thoughts from those most practiced at Legilimency, and Sirius happened to have a brother who was one of the most practiced Occlemens the wizarding world had seen. Reggie was in Voldemort's upper ranks, and Sirius knew he would jump at the chance to surpass Bella as right hand, even if it came to invading his older brother's psyche to do it. So, for the Potters “safety”, Peter had been suggested. Peter had been in hiding too, protected by a separate Fidelius charm, and hopefully kept safe.
Sirius had been required on missions, and been so out of his head with worry for Moony that it was all he could do not to hunt Greyback down himself. He had needed an outlet, and being a kid soldier in Dumbledore's Army had done the trick. So he had gone on the missions, evaded Death Eaters, enjoying less than pleasant “family reunions” while on the job, all to keep his friends safe, and his Moon by proxy. He thought he was doing the right thing. Thought that he was doing all he could. But instead, his choice had been the final nail in James and Lily’s coffin. He had killed them. It was all his fault.
Ironic, isn’t it? That the one thing he hoped would ensure his best friend's protection was the thing that single handedly brought about his passing. No, not passing. Murder. And of course, irony is classed as humor, and humor makes people laugh.
So he laughed.
But it hadn’t been warm, or full, or life-bringing. It had been manic, insane cackling that he had maintained until the Aurors drug him up to the counter with the welcome-witch, and he had seen Reggie's eyes.
Hello, bright star.
“Purpose for visit?” The witch demanded, less patient the second time. It was two in the morning, after all, no matter what crazed looking men stumbled into the lobby.
“Miss, we are here to escort Sirius Black to the holding cells, in order for him to await trial by the Wizagamot for the murders of twelve muggles, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Lily Evans Potter.” Sirius’ stomach dropped out from beneath him.
What?
What.
No.
No.
No
Sirius looked up, confused. Horrified. Bewildered beyond belief.
“I- no. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn- He is-was, my best fucking friend, i didn’t kill him!”
Wallace looked at him strangely.
“Mr. Black, you confessed. Many times. We couldn’t get you to say anything else. You admitted to being responsible for the deaths of fourteen innocents.”
The welcome witch was staring, but jolted her attention to a quiet *ding* as something metal and round and circular slid into a tray adjacent to her desk. Upon her picking it up, Sirius saw it to be a button with a clasp on the back. It reminded him oddly of the family-crest brooches his mother used to wear. Cold, metal, and telling the world who she was. Sirius’ badge was circular and made of tin, with an inscription:
SIRIUS ORION BLACK
MURDERER?
Property of the Ministry of Magic, Britain
“Murderer? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was Peter! Peter Pettigrew! Well, it was Voldemort because of Peter, and then just Peter, but Peter Pettigrew is the man responsible!” Sirius’ heart rate skyrocketed. It wasn’t that they didn’t know it was Peter, it was that they thought he would kill James. Did everyone think that? If they hadn’t before, apparently they did now, and it was enough to start the tears again. Whoever said crying was cathartic is one hell of a mother fucker, thats for bloody sure.
At this point, the three Ministry employees looked done with his antics, and the welcome witch passed the button to Stone, who pinned it onto Sirius’ jacket. His leather jacket. The one James had bought him to go riding on his motorcycle with. The motorcycle Hagrid now had. The one that he had used to take Harry away with. His leather jacket. No. This was the last straw. He sobbed and laughed and screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to pull away from Stone and Wallace. The welcome witch rose her voice somehow above Sirius, and practically yelled,
“The button has a permanent sticking charm, it will hold to whatever it is placed on, in this case, your jacket. The pin in the back is charmed, you will lot be able to hurt yourself or anyone else with it while in the holding cell. If you attempt to do so, it will alert personnel, even though you wouldn’t be successful anyway. Whether or not you are guilty is up to the Wizagamot, and you will be informed about your trial dates and times when the information is necessary. You are free to go.” She nodded at the Aurors, who practically picked Sirius up and pulled him down the hall into the lift. Down, down, down they went, past more floors than Sirius even knew existed in the Ministry. He had stopped thrashing, and his mind proceeded into active fight or flight mode, his senses heightened like prey being hunted. When they got to the 10th floor, the lift stopped. Doors clanged open, and revealed a dimly lit corridor. Wallace drug Sirius’ body forcefully down the hallway, and after Sirius counted two group holding cells and 13 individual cells, they reached their destination, Number 14. How fucking serendipitous. They shoved him inside, and the door clunked shut. There was a small camp bed with a mattress, a pillow, and a blue blanket folded on the end, a toilet, and not much else. It was dark, with the only light coming from flickering fluorescent lights in the main hallway that Sirius could see from the bars on the door.
“Get comfy, Mr. Black. I will return with information regarding your trial as soon as it is relevant.” Wallace offered curtly.
Sirius didn’t bother dignifying a response. Clearly he would get his chance to prove himself, and make Peter pay, the bastard. Most of all, he had to get back to his Moony.
So, miserable, he flung himself out on the camp bed, pulled the blanket up over his head, and cried himself to a semblance of fitful sleep.
-//-
Upon waking, Sirius’ brain remained foggy for a few moments too many. He blinked, slowly, tasting the morning breath on his tongue. A blue blanket was pulled up over his head, and it reminded him of waking up with Remus in their flat. They wouldn’t often sleep pressed together; they both slept too hot, and their attempts at the beginning of moving in resulted only in them being sticky and sweaty, with Sirius trying to kick the sheets off for relief, which generally resulted in accidentally kneeing Moony in the groin. So, they slept on their own sides of the bed, Remus on the left, and Sirius on the right. Sirius exhaled, sleepily, and turned over to press his face into Moony’s neck, only to roll right off the camp bed and onto the cool concrete floor of his cell. As he crashed to the ground, the world came crashing back down around him.
No.
James and Lily: dead. Peter: a traitor. Regulus: a Death Eater. Remus: in danger with the werewolves. No. His breathing started to pick up again, and he began to pace the cell. The fluorescent lights outside flickering gave no indication for how long he had slept, or what time it was. What had the Auror said? That he would come back when he had information for his trial.
His trial. For Prongs and Lils murder. That they thought he was responsible for. Not to mention he was also being tried for Peters death, although the rat wasn’t really dead, just escaped, and the muggles that died during their struggle.
His trial.
He sat there, contemplating and ruminating over the past 24 hours. Everything that had ended. His best friends lives. His friendship with Peter. He cried. He screamed. He cackled. He threw up. Well, he didn’t throw up. He dry heaved, because there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. The last of its contents lay somewhere in a muggle suburb, along with the remnants of 12 innocent people. The thought that in and of itself made him heave once more, the only thing coming out of his mouth being saliva.
He got up and paced. He felt disgusting. He ran his fingers through his hair, caked with ash and dirt and probably fragments of person. His teeth felt fuzzy, and his mouth was dry. This made him more agitated, and he wheeled around and punched the wall, not exactly feeling relieved when he began to cry again, cradling his fist to his chest.
He just wanted Moony. He wanted his Moon to come to him, to hold him, to brush his hair out of his face and rub circles on his back, and to tell him it would be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay. It never would be again. The Sun was gone.
What do you do when the Sun is gone?
It brightened the days, and kept you warm.
Even when things got dark, you knew the Sun would always rise again.
It wasn’t dependent on the silly goings on of humans.
The rising of the Sun is cosmic, a fact of life.
Like gravity, or the ocean tides.
But the Sun is a star.
And stars die.
Stars fucking die.
So when the Sun that was always a star expires, how does the world go on?
Without the Sun, everything freezes.
Everything relies on the Sun, so when the Sun can’t take it anymore,
it
all
ends.
Gone.
In a supernova.
A catastrophic explosion that destroys everything in its path.
That's certainly how it feels to Sirius. He is left frozen, everything good and warm and happy destroyed in the wake of the most cataclysmic supernova to ever exist.
He remembers how bright James was, and warm. How he brought life to everything he came into contact with. Some thought it was all a facade, that there was something more sinister lurking beneath the surface. They had just only lived under florescent lights before.
“Lily, hey, Lily!OI, EVANS!” Sirius was watching James run after Lily, again, after dinner, trying to get her to give him the time of day, or even simply acknowledge his presence. Sirius thought that he should have had an easy enough time with it. Quidditch star, top of his class (behind Sirius himself, at least in transfiguration) and he wasn’t the ugliest tosser to strut gryffindors towers (despite what Sirius told him every day). Besides, he had been trying for three years, ever since he decided Evans was the girl for him. Even as a 4th year, he seemed convinced that he was one day going to marry her. Sirius thought it was highly unlikely.
“Where exactly does he think this is getting him?” Remus had appeared to Sirius’ right, where they had stopped outside the great hall. He was rubbing his hip gingerly, and it had taken him a few moments longer than Sirius to chase James chasing Lily out after dinner.
“You know how he is. Lovesick puppy.” Sirius thought it was funny, and a bit stupid. He could probably have any girl he wanted, if he simply thought to pursue other options. Sirius himself had been getting little notes and gifts; a chocolate frog slipped into his bookbag, a sappy poem folded up into a heart on pink parchment, smelling of roses, the like. Sirius hated roses. You know what he liked? Chocolate. The smell of chocolate, ink and parchment, and that one tea he always found Moony in the common room with late at night when he was studying, what was it called-
“I personally don’t know what he sees in her.” Peter sniffed. Of course he didn’t, silly sod was just jealous nobody was pining after him.
“I do.” Moony said, thoughtfully.
“Oh ho, careful there Lupin, you may have just launched full scale war. Might want to brush up on those knockback jinxes, the fulls not for another two-and-a-half weeks-”
“Not like that, Black, and hush. You don’t know when Snape is gonna poke his slimy head ‘round the corner. I just meant that she had morals, and she's nice. She's good at classes, right up there with you and James and Snivillus, knows just as many jinxes as charms, and she's funny. And a good friend. I like her.” Remus finished. Sirius huffed. He realized that he had seen Moony spending an awful lot of time with the girls “studying”, but seeing as he couldn’t make himself go into the library, he didn’t know how much coursework they were doing. A strange feeling coated his stomach. He hadn’t felt it much, and couldn’t put a name to it. He wished Moony would just study with him instead, away from the stupid library, with its high ceilings and dark, tall shelves, and…
“Well, don’t tell James.” Peter squeaked. Merlin, he was always worrying about something. The boys looked down the corridor to see James walking towards them, light as a cloud, with honest to goodness turnips growing out of his ears. He somehow had a grin plastered to his face, though his eyes looked a little unfocused. Remus sighed deeply.
“Went well, eh Potter?” Sirius chuckled and clapped him on the back, beginning to steer him in the direction of the hospital wing. Poppy would be able to sort it.
“Pretty good, I think. Better than last time.” James giggled-giggled, and allowed his friends to direct him up the staircase.
“You know, James, some lads opt for the “let them come to you” method.” Remus, who had one hand on James' right shoulder and the other on his clicking hip, was trying to suppress a smile-and failing miserably.
“Nah. It’s a competition, and you know I love a good challenge. Besides, I’m wearing her down, I can feel it.”
“How exactly did you end up with brassica rapa in your ears, James?” Peter asked, following them and wringing his hands. Figures. The only class Peter was passable at was Herbology.
“Pete, english, s’il vous plait.”
“It means turnip, Sirius, and I was always speaking english. Not everyone knows french though.”
“ANYWAYS,” Remus interrupted, bumping James' shoulder lightly.
“How’d it happen, Potter?”
“Well, I was running after her and calling her name-”
“As you do every day without fail-” -Sirius.
“Hush, Black.” -Remus.
“Yeah, and so I was calling her name, lovely name too, Lily. She wouldn’t turn around, being stubborn I ‘spose. So, I yelled at her-”
“Always a good start.” -Sirius.
“Sirius-” -Remus.
“And I said, ‘I know you’re not deaf, Evans, I’m talkin to yous!' in one of those funny American accents, you know, Refurbished York.”
“Oh crickey.” -Peter.
"New York, James." Remus corrected quietly with a smile. James ignored this.
“Then she turned ‘round, and said ‘I am not, I have selective hearing. Wish I was. Would you like to be?’ Then, she made turnips grow out my ears!” James announced, looking ecstatic about it.
“Oh bugger all.” Remus grumbled under his breath as they rounded the last corner to the hospital wing.
“But Moony, she did it nonverbally. Isn’t that the most impressive thing you’ve ever seen? My future wife is the smartest witch alive.”
“Okay, Romeo. Lets get these-what the fuck did you call them, Pettigrew?”
That was one of many instances Lily turned James down, but the man persisted, and damn if he wasn’t successful. Sirius admired his tenacity, especially seeing as that wasn’t the last time vegetables spawned out of one of his body parts due to a certain redhead.
After dropping a seemingly content James with a decidedly confused Madame Pomfrey, the Marauders headed back to the common room, where Lily had already found her way back. She was sitting, curled up on one of the common room chairs, red hair looking ablaze in the fire's amber light. She was reading Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander, one of Remus’ favorites. She looked up as they traipsed in, rolling her eyes and flicking her hand to turn the page. After a second, Sirius walked over to her and flopped down on his favorite couch. Her eyes didn’t move, but her shoulders tensed, just a little.
“I’m certainly not going to make a move on ya, Evans. I’m no chaser. I just enjoy being chased.” Lily snorted.
“You guys are all the same. So superficial and egotistical.”
“Me? Eh, yeah, probably. But James, he’s different.”
“You two are carbon copies of each other, don’t make me laugh.” She wasn’t laughing, though.
“Lily, we really aren’t. Hes funny, yeah, and roguishly good looking, like someone else I know” he wriggled his eyebrows-
“But really, we are very different. He’s kind, and looks out for the little guys, ya know?” Lily finally drew her gaze level with his. Her green eyes seemed to pierce his. It was a tad unsettling.
“You date him then.”
“Oh hardy har. I just mean, he likes you, like a lot, even when you continue to stuff his ears with increasingly niche vegetables.”
“I know what you guys are doing, and I think it's shite. You have all of these girls you could easily go out with, and instead you want to play hopscotch with peoples feelings.” Sirius was confused at this remark. James had only ever liked one girl, the one currently sitting in front of him, and Sirius-well, Sirius didn’t pretend to really care about his-entanglements. They weren’t love for him, he just supposed he would know the feeling when it came along. But to go as far as to say that James didn’t care about Lily’s feelings? That felt like a stretch. Sirius was sure the boy would willingly surrender his new Nimbus to go on one date with Lily Evans.
“Hopscotch? I don’t-what are you on about?”
“Sirius, I’m not stupid. However many galleons you have on it, I don’t know, or if its just a dare or a prank or something- but its immature, and its mean.” Sirius was confused, and then he was more confused. Wait-
“Lily! It’s nothing like that. At all. James really likes you, and has for a long time. What kind of prank you take three years of build up? At that point, its just a prank on us. Besides, hes not that kind of guy.”
Even Evans at the time didn’t know how James was. And it would take years, but eventually she would step into the sunlight, and realize how long she could have been soaking up its rays. James did that. He was never really the “sneak up on you” type. He came in with bells and whistles, declarations of love and lofty goals, loud and energetic and unapologetic. And kind. James Potter was kind. And he seemed to have the talent to search out souls like his. Or at least, souls who had the capacity for it. And those he couldn’t infect, he would surround. Wrapping up the most miserable and fragmented, and giving them new life. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Lily. All planets that he made just a little bit brighter, just by being near them, the gravitational pull being too strong to resist. And fuck if Sirius wasn’t grateful for gravity.
A clanging sound reached Sirius’ ears, and he looked up. One of the Aurors from before-Wallace, was thrumming the bars of his cell with his wand, manilla folder in one hand.
“Mr. Black, before you speak, know anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law, and will be shown to the members of the Wizengamot though the application of a judicial pensieve. I am here today to explain your rights, and inform you of your upcoming trial. You are here because two days ago, on the thirty-first night of October, 1981, you murdered James Fleamont Potter, and Lily J. Evans-Potter, in their home, on orders given to you by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You proceeded to attempt to take their child, Harry James Potter, but were then apprehended by the half-human, Rubeus Hagrid, who took the child to his relatives. Following this collision, you apparated to a muggle suburb in Caterham where a certain Peter Pettigrew confronted you for the death of his friends. You murdered him, and took the lives of 12 muggle bystanders. This is the account of events as to be presented to the Wizengamot at your trial, placed this the second of November, 1981. Let it be known to the court members that the defendant has received this information.”
Sirius was once again found with nothing to say. Or at least nothing to say that might dig himself a deeper hole. Fuck, why did he have to go getting all hysterical like that, practically admitting to it? Of course, it was his fault, but he hadn’t been the one to point the wand, not once! So, his trial. He would be having a trial tomorow. In front of the Wizengamot. The Wizen- fuck. His father had a seat. No doubt he would be scrambling to watch this atrocity unfold. Orion always said Sirius would take his place in the family's seat. He certainly never thought the Black family seat would be used to judge his own son. Although Sirius didn’t consider it that way. Orion was as much his father as Dumbledore was, even less so. Fuck. Even the thought of seeing his parents again sent a shiver down his spine. James had told Sirius that he would never have to see them again. In his life, that may have been true, but now… Even James couldn’t protect his best friend from the wrath of the Blacks from beyond the grave. So Sirius just swallowed numbly, and said,
“How exactly does this work? Seems to me like you guys have got it all figured out. You wrote it right there on your paper.” Sirius winced. Probably not the best way to start.
“Mr. Black, you will be judged by the full might of the Wizengamot. Each seat will cast a vote, and then the presiding judge will make a ruling, but first you will be administered Veriteserum to ensure the honesty of your answers.”
Veritaserum? That was the one potion Snape slipped Moony that one day in retaliation. Piece of shite. The uncovering of Moonys biggest secret for a couple of lighthearted pranks? Geez. Moony. Oh no. Oh no no no. Remus wasn’t registered as a werewolf. None of the Mauraders would have told, and Phoenix members looked the other way because his condition favored Dumbledore's orders. But not even Sirius could keep his lips sealed if Veritaserum was thrown into the mix. No. No. The price for failing to register himself as a werewolf would be Azkaban, or worse. Torture? Potentially. Research? Likely. Not to mention that Moony would have to be sequestered in the Ministry every full moon, locked up behind heavy silver doors and chained to the wall, treated like an animal. When he could be running the woods, free, with Sirius, and Wormtail- well, not Wormtail. But Prongs- well, not Prongs. But anything, anything was comparable to being treated like a monster. Remus would never hurt anyone, never! Well, there was that one time he got James' arm, and another when he got Sirius across the chest-but it was never on purpose! And he didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. No. Sirius wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t.
“No.”
“What exactly do you mean by no, Mr. Black?”
“Just that, sir. No. I won’t be taking Veritaserum.”
“It is a requirement of the trial, son. You will be administered Veritaserum before you are tried.”
“Then I won’t be tried.”
“Son,” said Wallace, looking at him intently now,
“You do understand that if you refuse trial, the court will have no choice but to assume the validity of the assessment that was made pending your capture, and punish you accordingly?”
Sirius swallowed, weighing his options. What was the likelihood that Remus would even come up? They would ask about Peter, certainly, and James, and the only variable left out of that equation was Moony. They would want to hear his motivations for tracking Peter down, and why it was such a betrayal. Why Sirius had trusted him so much. He had trusted him because he had trusted him with becoming an animagus. He had been faithful all of those years, risking so much to bring Lupin just a smidgen of comfort during the hardest parts of his life. He had trusted Pettigrew more than he wished to admit. So it would come up, whether he wanted it to, or not. And it wasn’t as if he could ask them to use a Pensieve, Sirius wasn’t as adept at specific memory retrieval as a Memory Master, and its not as if he could go up to the officer and ask him specifically for what he wanted and what he didn’t. ‘Erm, Mr. Memory Specialist, Sir, could you just kip in there and grab a couple memories that prove I’m innocent, but leave out the bits about my boyfriend being a werewolf and me and my friends being unregistered animagi? Cheers, mate.’ Bugger it. He was woefully and royally screwed. There was nothing he could do that would result in him being able to prove his innocence and protect Moony’s secret. He set his shoulders. No matter what would come, he would do it. He would do it for Moony.
“I understand, sir. Do what you must.”
The Aurors' eyebrows went, if possible, higher. He scrawled something on a notepad with a muggle quill, what were they called-pems? And looked at Sirius with a strange look.
“Very well, Mr. Black. I will return with the judges' ruling. The trial will commence tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours as scheduled, but without your attendance. Since we cannot verify any of your statements to be true, it will not be necessary for you to make an appearance.”
Sirius nodded, resignedly.
He hears the footsteps fall away, clicking down the hallway. He sighs. He stands from where he was crunched up next to the bars, stretching. Cracking his neck and back, then springing into a few lunges, stiff material of his three day old clothing rubbing unpleasantly against his skin. A few push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, any other kind of ups. Burpees, and a spontaneous cartwheel, and he collapses onto the mattress with the blue blanket, springs groaning against his weight. He sheds his leather jacket, too warm after the exercise, and lays it reverently on the bed, button and all. His eyes land and stick on the word “MURDERER?” flashing black. He knew the truth. He knew, he knew. James and Lilys deaths may have been his fault, but it was Peter who did the unthinkable. Though nothing was unthinkable now. How could Sirius have ever thought Moony was the spy? He feels betrayed, and the betrayer all in one. Moony felt them growing apart, could sense when Sirius started to pull away, and let him out of respect. Sirius never would have respected Moony in that way. He loved him too much. Enough to fall on the sword for him.
Sirius was beginning to feel hopeless, though he had no idea at the time how bleak things would get. What could he have done differently? What would James have done? Probably not have threatened Pettigrew. Actually, he would have. But he wouldn't have killed 12 muggles to do it. He would have made sure everyone was out of the way. Wouldn’t have allowed that blunder to ever happen. But Sirius had never been out for the good of the people, had no glorious purpose to be fulfilled in protecting the masses. But the Sun never had to be told its impetus. It was ingrained within its very being. Just like you don’t have to be told the sky is blue, the Sun knew in order to keep the earth on its axis, that it had to keep shining, and warming, and spinning. When the Sun is plucked out of the sky, when it dies, horrifically, inexplicably, too soon, humanity wonders what they could have done to reverse their fate. But it was always to happen. As inescapable as death itself. Because the Sun is a star, and all stars have to die, sometime.