Chapter 210: Painful Memories
I, Sirius, have been stuck in that night—the night James died.
The only reason I stayed alive was to atone.
Peter Pettigrew, who betrayed James... Voldemort, who killed their family... they're both dead. All that's left for me is punishment.
Thankfully, Crouch Sr. never gave me a trial. No Veritaserum. No mind reading. I'm terrible at Occlumency.
What kept me sane in Azkaban was reliving that night. That pain anchored me. It didn't make me happy, so the Dementors didn't feed on it.
They couldn't take it from me. That torment reminded me who I was. Helped me survive. Let me choose to suffer.
Oddly enough… that even helped me conserve magic.
When things got unbearable, Sirius would transform into a dog. Dementors couldn't see Animagi the same way. They sensed feelings—not forms.
Becoming a dog dulled his pain, and made his emotions unreadable. It convinced them he was just another broken soul, fading in madness.
Dumbledore had visited several times. Brilliant man. He knew something was wrong. He suspected the truth.
He even tried reading Sirius's memories once—but Sirius resisted. Not out of skill. Just pain. Sheer agony. And somehow… it worked.
James would've been impressed, Sirius thought bitterly. I actually blocked Dumbledore.
I even mastered that ridiculous Snotlout spell...
But that moment of pride brought a dangerous thing—joy.
And the moment he remembered James's smile or Lily's laugh... it slipped away. Their faces vanished. The pain returned.
He didn't know how long it went on. Time in Azkaban was a fog.
It felt like I had left... like I was given Veritaserum... someone drilled into my brain like Muggles with those machines—what were they called? Power drills?
James and I laughed about that once, when we were going to meet Lily's relatives.
That meeting had gone terribly. Sirius hated it.
And when he was finally freed—really free—he didn't feel relief.
The Black family estate was returned to him. He didn't care. He loathed that legacy.
He vaguely remembered that Narcissa and her husband had taken it. Why the Ministry gave it back, he didn't know.
Worse—people called him a hero.
James's death… a badge of honor on my chest.
Their admiring eyes felt like branding irons on my skin.
And then, to top it off, some Ministry idiots tried to set him up for marriage.
Phineas Nigellus, he thought bitterly, you smug old portrait. Of course this is your doing.
Sirius wanted to reject everything. Give it all away. But Dumbledore advised him to keep it—for Harry's future.
Harry. James's son. How could I forget?
For a moment, he forgot why he needed to live. Why it mattered.
And then Snape came to mind.
Snotlout. That slimy little name.
He's Head of Slytherin? Dumbledore vouched for him?
What is he doing near James's child?!
He had seen Harry again at the old Potter house.
The resemblance was haunting. James's face, clear as day.
I have to get to Hogwarts.
Dumbledore allowed it. Sirius cleaned himself up, drank some potions.
He was stunned—how cheap the potions had become. Had prices dropped? Or had he just stopped noticing things?
Kreacher was still alive. The old portrait of his mother still shrieked.
But none of that mattered. Harry was what mattered now.
He heard there was a Quidditch final that weekend. Harry was playing Seeker—just like James.
He didn't even know what House Harry was in.
Surely Gryffindor…
He dressed in his old robes, met Dumbledore at the pitch. Even saw old Peeves, who greeted him like a long-lost prankster.
Filch was still alive. So was that bloody cat.
He ducked beneath a black cloak and slipped into the crowd.
And there, in the sky—
James was flying again.
No—it was Harry. And he won.
Then Sirius saw him. Peter. On the shoulder of a Weasley boy.
He's alive. That rat-faced traitor is still alive.
I'll kill him.
No… Harry's here. I can't. I have to be patient. If Harry lives with me—I can't lose control.
Everything had changed.
Potter and Malfoy? Friends.
Malfoy and Weasley? Also friends.
Even a mouse and a cat could be bridesmaids together.
And then he slipped. He let his feelings for Lily show—too raw, too exposed.
Will Harry still want to live with me?
It doesn't matter. There's still Peter.
Professor McGonagall had arrived. Sirius steadied himself.
Once the niceties are done, I'll finish it. I'll end that traitor.
Azkaban… maybe that's where I belong.
Not here. Not with these honors. I'm no hero.
It's just a mouse.
Not Peter.
Let me die.
Sirius stood frozen, his wand at his feet. The students had all been cleared away.
Harry and the others were speaking—Sirius couldn't hear them. Didn't care.
Professor McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder and gently returned his wand.
"Sirius, go to my office. Take Potter with you."
Her voice was warm. Familiar. Like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
How many times had he heard those words as a student? With James?
His eyes lit up again.
"Harry," Sirius said, kneeling down, voice low. "You look just like James… but your eyes—they're your mother's."
He glanced up at McGonagall, then back at Harry.
"Also… I'm sorry. For what I said about your mother. And for insulting your friends. For wasting your time."
He paused.
"I just want to make things right."
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