A Wronged Man, Making Things Right

Chapter 1

Chains rattled. Wind howled. Water drip-drip-dripped from above. A figure shivered. His body frail. Outside, a cloaked being floated past the window, which was no more than bars in a gaping hole. The pouring rain from outside sprinkled between the iron cylinders, splattering the floor with icy water. The shivering figure muttered to himself. “Expecto… patronum…” he whispered through chattering teeth. His mind searched feebly for a happy memory. Any memory. Suddenly he was no longer in that small, cold, damp cell. He stood in a hospital, surrounded by a group of people. There was a tall, lanky man, his hairline receding. He had a brown mustache that covered his upper lip. His face was drawn, tired. The prisoner knew why. The full moon had passed not four days prior. There was another man, tall with messy ebony hair. He wore a smirk on his face, his glasses rested upon the bridge of his small nose. His blue button-down shirt was untucked, the sleeves rolled up. He was sweating, and there were bags under his eyes. Behind him, sleeping in a hospital bed, was a beautiful red-headed woman. Her face was so peaceful when she was asleep. Awake, the prisoner usually only saw a scowl from her. It was a fun scowl though, usually only the result of a bad joke. “What do you think, Padfoot?” the black-haired man asked, his voice low so as to not disturb the slumbering beast behind him. Padfoot, our prisoner, looked down upon the swaddled babe in his arms. This beautiful baby, his godson. He made a disinterested expression as he said, “I think this unfortunate child is going to look far too much like his father. Though he’ll probably have the temper of the Scarlet Dragon over there.” He nodded to the sleeping woman, as the black-haired man attempted not to laugh. “Make no mistake, dog,” the Scarlet Dragon said as she turned her now open eyes upon him. “I may be in bed under doctor’s orders, but that doesn't mean I can't enchant that chair of yours to launch its occupant through that window.” Padfoot smiled and said, “Dear Lily, you couldn't possibly do that! What would happen to young Harry?” “I’d grab him before you went,” the mustachioed man said simply. “Moony, you bastard,” Padfoot laughed. He looked down at the gurgling baby. In a baby voice, he said, “Isn't Moony such a wittle bastard, Harry? Isn't he?” “Padfoot!” Lily snapped. “Oh, come now, Lily, he can't understand a single word I'm saying.” “Still,” Lily urged. “Please don't…” At that moment, the door to their private room burst open, and a short, rotund man came hobbling in. He had wiry cocoa hair, thin and fluffy. His face was that of a rat, scrunched forward so that his mouth was small with two buckteeth. He had beady little eyes, shrewd and untrustworthy. Thinking back, Padfoot couldn't understand how any of them had trusted such a rat. In all fairness, Padfoot thought that perhaps his mind was playing a nasty trick on him. Overexaggerating Wormtail’s features just a bit. This was the point in his memory where it went from happy to angry. He couldn't help but scowl to himself as he lay huddled in his corner, shivering. “Expecto… patronum!” he urged. He knew it was hopeless. Casting a Patronus was hard enough with a wand, but wandless? “Padfoot,” a familiar voice said casually. For the first time in many years, the prisoner looked up from his wall. His black beard was long, unkempt, and scraggly. His eyes were hollow, face drawn. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse with disuse. “James?” he croaked, staring in disbelief at the tall, black-haired man before him. It was as if he had leaped right out of Padfoot’s memory. There was something off about him, however. A certain… translucent property to his skin. “What--?” “You have to get out of here,” James said urgently. Padfoot sighed and sat back against the wall. His left leg was straight out, while the right was pulled toward him. “I wish I could…” he groaned. “I long for freedom. For blue skies… for land. But no one has ever broken out of Azkaban, Prongs.” “That's because they all belong here,” James said, crouching before his old friend. “I know it wasn't you who betrayed me, Sirius. It was that rat, Wormtail. He is the one who deserves to be in Azkaban, not you.” “Doesn't matter now, does it?” Sirius asked the apparition. “He’s dead, and I'm hung. Even Dumbledore believes me to be guilty.” James smiled sadly. “You and I both know that Dumbledore doesn't know everything, mate. Besides, who told you Pettigrew died?” “I saw it,” Sirius said, his voice rising. “I did it! I knew the moment it happened who betrayed us! So, I found that little rodent and I… I…” “You found only a finger afterward,” James said softly. “No other sign of Pettigrew’s remains. He got away.” “No,” the prisoner whispered. “He didn't.” “Think Padfoot,” James urged. “Go back to that night…” The prisoner closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he stood before a cowering figure. That ratty face was scrunched tight, a groveling expression. It made Padfoot’s blood boil. “Please,” Pettigrew begged, reaching his empty hands out. “I'm begging you, please! You're my friend!” Padfoot’s anger erupted from his lips. “Did you grovel and beg to the Dark Lord when you betrayed your two closest friends?!” He was vaguely aware of the fact that a crowd was forming. Muggles. Pettigrew looked around at the bystanders. There was a devious glimmer in his eye as he screamed, “Lily and James! How could you?!” He dove for Padfoot’s wand. Padfoot, startled, uttered out a cry as Pettigrew shrieked out a curse. The next thing Padfoot remembered was being dragged off by Ministry officials. This was when he paid the utmost attention to detail, now, however. His memory showed only what he saw that night, and he must have been focusing on the wrong thing when he was being dragged away. In his hindsight, he watched as Pettigrew’s bloodied robes rustled. A rat scurried away from the scene. And now Padfoot knew… Pettigrew was alive. With a blink, he was back in his cell. James stood before him once more, nodding slowly. “You saw, then?” He asked. “That little rodent escaped!” Padfoot seethed. “He’s out there, Sirius,” James said. “And as long as he is, my boy is in danger.” “That's all unwell and bad, Prongs,” Sirius Black muttered, “but there's still the matter of my imprisonment.” “You can get out, Sirius,” James said optimistically. “The thing that sets you apart from all of the other prisoners here is that you have happy memories! You've had a good life, good friends… you can fight back against the Dementors.” “I can't Prongs!” Sirius boomed, running a hand over his face. “The only memory I can pull up is great, but it involves Pettigrew. And whenever I get to that point, the happiness escapes me.” James looked thoughtful for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Do you remember Harry’s first Christmas? Our only Christmas as a family.” Padfoot’s brow furrowed. “I… I recall a little…” “Just you, me, Lily, and Moony,” James said thoughtfully. “And Harry, of course.” As if those names were a key turning in a lock, the door to Sirius’ memory of that day washed over him. He was sitting on the soft, rugged floor of the Potter house. He was sitting next to a roaring fire, and in front of him was an infant. Little Harry Potter, sitting before a brightly wrapped present. “Gee, I wonder what it is,” Lily said sarcastically. She sat on the couch, looking down at the broomstick shaped parcel. “I figured little Harry was old enough for cigars,” Sirius said with a proud grin. “Go on Harry!” Young Harry was already tearing the paper from the broom. It was a little training broom for children. It didn't go very fast or high, but Sirius made a small adjustment to it. “Oh, that is a nice broom!” James exclaimed with a laugh. Harry climbed aboard and giggled. Then… he was off! Soaring through the house at high speeds. Into the kitchen, through the chair legs, under the table, through into the den, over the coffee table, and past the onlooking wizards. Lily shrieked in fear for her baby, while James and Sirius laughed aloud. “Do something!” Lily shouted. “James!” James turned to Sirius, “Would you care to get my boy back here?” Sirius grinned and stood up. For some reason, his body ached as if he hadn’t moved in ages. Without raising his wand, Sirius croaked, in a rather raspy voice, “Expecto Patronum!” With a flash of brilliant blue light, Sirius was back in his cell. A Dementor wailed before him as it was sent back through the cell door. A blue ghostlike dog chased after it, barking wildly. Sirius let out a breath and stumbled backward. His cell door remained open. “I did it,” he whispered. He licked his cracked lips with anticipation. “I did it, James!” His friend, however, was gone. “Just like Prongs to leave after the easy part is done and over with!” he crept out into the corridor. Azkaban was a large triangular prison in the middle of the ocean, which raged with a never-ending storm. Sirius knew the way out. He had been here plenty of times as an Auror. He hated it here then, too, and he had only been a guest. He limped along, toward the exit. He shoved through the unlocked door and stepped out into the stormy air. He felt the rain on his face, breathed in the clear sea air. He laughed a manic laugh as he looked around. “I'm coming for you, Wormtail,” Sirius called out into the howling wind. “I'll get you!”