Sirius hated Peter. No, hate is too kind a word. With every fiber of his being, Sirius desired to see Peter unmade.
With this hate comes clarity and with clarity comes purpose. Sirius clung to this hate as he was brought to Azkaban. The place itself is devoid of all hope. Towering black stone in a sea of dark, frigid water, all who enter become a mockery of themselves.
As Sirius was brought onto shore, he felt his mind begin to snap and shatter and crumble into a million jagged pieces. However, one thing remained. His desire to unmake Peter was not a good thought, it was the antithesis of it in fact. And due to this, the Dementors could not touch it.
Dressed in rags and chains, Sirius was dragged into the belly of the prison, his body racked with shivers and his mind a pinprick of desire and rage. As he’s assailed by the cold and fear and madness the dementors exude, Sirius clings to the slivers of consciousness that border the madness his mind has become.
As he’s thrust into a small, dark cell, Sirius takes a deep breath and lies still, his head pressed against the cold stone of the cramped space he now resides in.
Months pass, maybe even years. There is no way for Sirius to count the days or nights, his cell does not have a window or a crack to the outside world. There was one… positive (if you squint and have a concussion) in Azkaban. The stone walls were quite thin, so prisoners could hear each other’s screams of terror and the Dementors could further revel in their collective misery.
Some time into Sirius’ imprisonment, he began to hear tapping through the rightmost wall in his cell. He ignored it at first, his mind too occupied or lost to really grasp it, but the incessant noise cut through the haze and fog, and eventually a sliver of Sirius’ mind returned.
With a jagged jigsaw puzzle of a mind, Sirius tapped back. With time came understanding and with understanding came reason. The first coherent thought Sirius had consisted of one thing, one name. Harry. The godson Sirius couldn’t believe he had forgotten. With this newfound remembrance came a flood of other memories. Memories filled with grief and self-loathing that, like the hatred of Peter Pettigrew, could not be stolen by the Dementors.
With a raspy, unused voice Sirius spoke to the mystery on the other side of the wall. Words were exchanged and desires aligned. His cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, offered her aid in helping him escape if he would grant amnesty through his position as Lord Black. Sirius, devoid of all other options, took the offer with open arms and for the first time in years, felt a spark of hope.
It took months of work, but eventually, Sirius and Bellatrix wormed a small hole in their shared wall. It wasn’t much, barely a finger could fit inside, but a finger was enough. Though they could not see it, the pair of dimly lit desperate individuals named after the stars in the sky sensed when the new moon was born. At the height of its ascension in the sky, Sirius and Bellatrix made a blood pact. One born of desire and rage and hope.
On the 28th of July, 1991, Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban. Sirius shifted into his canine form and with the thin, underfed frame, slipped through the bars of his cell, and tore the throat out of the unsuspecting guard before he could reach for his wand. Shifting back, Sirius grasped the wand, his mind a pinprick of desire and excitement. The wand was not a good fit, but Sirius would not be deterred and his will could not be undermined. Without a spell, Sirius simply thrust his magic through the stick in his hand, and the bars to Bellatrix’s cell disintegrated.
For the first time in a decade, Sirius saw the face of his cousin. For a moment, the two locked eyes, temporarily lost in what it meant to be free once more. However, they quickly broke apart as the second guard, who turned the corner and upon seeing his dead ally, began to shout out.
Quicker than someone of his condition should be able, Sirius struck down the guard, knocking him to the ground. Bellatrix strode over, deftly picking up his wand and giving it a forceful flick. Jet black sparks shot out the end, the wand appearing as unwilling as the first to work. However, like Sirius, Bellatrix’s will could not be usurped and she would remain in control.
With magic flowing freely and hope growing in their chests, Sirius and Bellatrix moved down the corridors, moving within shadows and striking out when necessary. After minutes of tense travel, the two reached their destination. Sirius glanced at his cousin and with one last push, forced as much magic as he could through the wand in his hand. The wand shuddered, cracks forming, spreading from the base to the tip, but it nonetheless complied. Power, rage, and hope combined into an unholy trinity that obliterated the wards and splintered the doors into pieces.
Sirius and Bellatrix strode through the shattered doors and for the first time in a decade felt the wind on their faces and saw the stars in the sky. Under the light of a thousand stars, two cousins torn apart by war are brought back together through promise and desire. Leaving a bloody trail in their wake, the two shining stars made their way to the small boats, taking the wands of any guards they passed. Unfiltered thoughts and simple wishes powered the craft as the two sailed away from Azkaban.
As a small island appeared on the horizon, hope bloomed tenfold as Sirius and Bellatrix knew they had made it out. Collapsed upon the rocky beach, the two unbending stars laughed and laughed, reveling in achieving what was considered an impossible feat. In the early morning on the 29th of July, 1991, Sirius and Bellatrix made their way up the cliff to a small hut and for the first time either of them could remember, breathe easy.
Two days later, Sirius awoke to the sound of shouting and grunting, his canine ears sharper perked up shaken from a restless slumber. Quietly, he woke Bellatrix and with feeble, drained magic, hid the second room where they slept.
In the dead of night, the Dursleys, along with their nephew Harry, rowed their way to the hut-on-the-rock, running from strange letters and peculiar owls. As the Dursleys settled in, they remained unaware the hut had other occupants. However, one young boy noticed a shimmer on the wall at the edge of his vision as he curled up under a tattered blanket in front of the waterlogged fire.
At midnight on the 31st of July, 1991, the young boy sang happy birthday to himself. At midnight on the 31st of July, 1991, a frail, broken man shifted form and slowly opened the second door in the small hut, and padded out to the main room.
As he walked, he heard a small voice singing quietly. As he moved around the couch, he heard one line that changed his life evermore.
“Happy birthday dear Harry, happy birthday to you.”
With a strangled gasp, Sirius violently shifted back to his human form, eyes wide as he realized the small, underfed boy in front of him was Harry. His godson. As Harry drifted off to sleep, wishing he could be anywhere else, Sirius Black collapsed on the other side of the couch, crying softly as he realized his godson was right there.
As he slunk back to the second room behind thin glass illusions, Sirius looked at Bellatrix and knew what he had to do.
“Harry is here, I don’t know why and right now I don’t care. He’s my godson and I’d rather swim back to Azkaban than leave him again.” With grim determination painted in his eyes, Sirius tightened his grip on one of the spare wands and smiled tightly at Bellatrix. “He’s a member of my family and therefore yours. We don’t abandon each other, not again.”
Bellatrix nodded and grabbed her chosen wand from its place on the counter. “Let the House of Black rise once more. And may all who stand in our way tremble.”
With magic flowing, powered by emotions stronger than rage and hate, focused by desire, the Dursleys were locked up in the bedroom, unaware that life for their wayward nephew was about to change.