Sirius is well aware it happens, he's heard talk of it himself from a number of sources. But it's not something he's let himself truly think about for some time. After all, if he's to leave this place, where would he go but to Azkaban? Even if it isn't a matter of choice, even if what Kell says is true, Sirius can't help but wonder. Harry at least has something to return to, a glorious future of sorts.
All Sirius has are steel bars and Dementors.
He opens his mouth in protest again, but the words stay stuck in his throat. Harry's presence here has long felt like a second chance, a redemption of sorts. And that's not fair, is it? Harry welcomed here with open arms and no ill feelings despite being perfectly entitled to more than a few. And what Sirius done but cling to him, to the boy whose parents he killed? Foolishly, Sirius had convinced himself that he could protect Harry here, that he could in some small way right his egregious wrong. But Harry's required no protection; at only eighteen years of age, he's ten times the man Sirius could ever hope to be.
It's difficult to swallow he notes, difficult to breathe and Sirius's chest hitches when he sees the utter mess Kell has made of himself. The mess Sirius had selfishly begged him to make. "Your arms," he whispers, nearly drowning now in guilt and grief both. "Kell, I can't-- without my wand, I can't even--"
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momijizukamori
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Date: 2016-10-27 09:28 pm (UTC)All Sirius has are steel bars and Dementors.
He opens his mouth in protest again, but the words stay stuck in his throat. Harry's presence here has long felt like a second chance, a redemption of sorts. And that's not fair, is it? Harry welcomed here with open arms and no ill feelings despite being perfectly entitled to more than a few. And what Sirius done but cling to him, to the boy whose parents he killed? Foolishly, Sirius had convinced himself that he could protect Harry here, that he could in some small way right his egregious wrong. But Harry's required no protection; at only eighteen years of age, he's ten times the man Sirius could ever hope to be.
It's difficult to swallow he notes, difficult to breathe and Sirius's chest hitches when he sees the utter mess Kell has made of himself. The mess Sirius had selfishly begged him to make. "Your arms," he whispers, nearly drowning now in guilt and grief both. "Kell, I can't-- without my wand, I can't even--"