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The pain in Sirius’ chest was worse than anything he’d ever experienced before. He felt like his lungs would never be full again. He felt— No, he knew blissful happiness would never be possible again. He’d heard this was what being attacked by Dementors felt like, but Dementors had not attacked Sirius. He wasn’t forced to relive his most painful memories.
Because his most painful memory would forever be this.
Sitting at the bottom of the Potter’s staircase, staring down at the body of his best friend, his brother. His hands, empty of all but his tear-stained face, clawed at his cheeks. The scratches hurt less than the emptiness he felt in his heart, and the pain was a nice distraction.
When he arrived, and he found Harry alone in his crib, his heart had ached. And when Hagrid came insisting Dumbledore wanted to take his godson to the Dursleys, Sirius had refused. Try as he might, Hagrid was not at fault for his naïve following of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore. Why didn’t he come himself? Why hadn’t he sent anyone yet to retrieve the bodies? Instead, Sirius had sat there for hours staring down at James, unable to move. Unable to act. Wholly consumed by grief.
An unexpected vibration near his leg made his head snap up, wand at the ready. Yet, when he looked up, he had to hold himself back from kicking the horrifying orange beast away.
He’d always hated that monstrous excuse for a cat. Of course, it wasn’t entirely a cat. It was half Kneazle, but still, Kneazles usually got along with Animagi. Not this one, This ridiculous monstrosity would scratch and hiss at Sirius from the moment he walked into the house.
He wondered why it had taken so long for the damned animal to show up but briefly remembered having glimpsed at him lying close to Lily when he walked into the nursery.
Sirius’ hands fell, and Cephalus quickly nuzzled his head against it. That’s how he’d earned his moniker. Remus had chosen it when the cat always touched everyone with his head first.
At first, Lily and James had refused, insisting everyone call the cat Chester. But Remus, Sirius, and Peter refused to use the name.
“Chester sounds like a prick,” Peter would say as the cat scratched at him.
Sirius scoffed at the memory.
That fucking rat.
The damn cat had better intuition than the rest of them. The cat would hiss and hide whenever Peter arrived and if Peter tried to touch it, the cat would scratch at him mercilessly.
Of course, in the beginning, they thought it just didn’t like other animals. It didn’t like Sirius, because he was a dog, and it didn’t like Peter, because he was a rat.
He’d always been a rat. Sirius should have known since the moment they found out about Moony’s furry little problem and he’d had the gall to grimace at his friend, his brother .
They’d all been brothers. Now only he and Remus remained if Remus would have him. But Remus would never believe him. Nobody would ever believe that Sirius hadn’t been the one that handed over the Potter’s to Voldemort.
Not unless he caught him. Not unless he caught Peter fucking Pettigrew and brought him to justice.
Sirius stood abruptly, beady yellows eyes following the action.
He didn’t have to think twice about it. He had to do this.
He stared down at the cat.
“I’ll go find the damned rat,” he began. The half-Kneazle cocked its head to the side. “And then, I’ll come back and you and Remus and I will take care of Harry, okay?”
He was greeted with silence.
“Wait for me, Cephalus, I’ll be back soon.” Sirius reached down and stroked the purring cat’s head.
That was the plan.
With a loud crack, he appeared away, leaving the creature standing in the same place.
There, Cephallus waited… and waited… and waited… until... who was he waiting for?