Real Life

Sirius Black wondered if he'd ever been sane.

His entire childhood had been spent hating everything his parents stood for. The pureblood nonsense, Slytherin colors, Dark magic. He wanted no part in any of it. Sometimes, he'd sit in his room that he'd decorated in rebellious reds and golds, staring at nothing on the ceiling as he imagined a world where he wouldn't have to be like them.

It wasn't like normal kids rebelling against their parents. At least, he didn't think it was. Most kids that rebelled were angry about bedtimes or curfews or not getting dessert every night, while he disagreed with everything his parents stood for. He was young enough, though, that he had almost no idea why.

He wasn't sure if that was something that normal people did, and yet, it was probably the most normal he'd been in his whole life.

By the time he was fifteen, he wondered more often if his life was real. He was fifteen years old, best friends with two illegal Animagi and a werewolf. He wasn't a Slytherin. He never saw his parents if he could help it, and his best friend had given him a different family. One that accepted him.

Sometimes he still wondered if he was that little kid, wishing for something better. The nights he spent roaming the forest as a dog, playfully fighting off a werewolf with his best friend by his side, just couldn't be real. It seemed hard to imagine ever being close to friends the way he was to James and Remus and Peter.

By the time Sirius turned twenty-two, he was in a cell in Azkaban. He'd lay there, day after day, forgetting more and more as the Dementors sucked the memories out of his mind.

He knew he must be sane now. No one would imagine this in their minds. He wasn't sure any mind was capable of conjuring up feelings that horrible on its own.

He wondered if he'd sat in this cell in Azkaban his whole life, and the vague memories of childhood were all a lie. Fake. A figment of his imagination.

Every night, as he transformed into a dog, he'd remember. They weren't. They were real, and he was a prisoner of Azkaban.

Years later, he learned where Peter was. He didn't know how many years later, exactly, but it didn't matter to him. Sane or not, that was something he could do. He could break out of here, stop Peter with whatever was necessary, and protect Harry.

As he snuck past the Dementor one night in his dog form, he knew it must be all in his mind. No one could break out of Azkaban. It wasn't possible. No one had done it before.

For a brief moment, Sirius truly thought that he was sane. He'd met Harry and captured Peter. Harry would live with him for the summers, and he would tell him about his dad. It was a wonderful feeling. Neither of them had had anyone who loved them in a very long time, and both of them needed it so very much.

Sirius watched that possibility run away. As he rode away from Hogwarts on the back of a hippogriff, it all seemed too tragic to be real. Maybe he was still in Azkaban, or maybe he was still seven, laying in his room and dreaming of red.

A year later, and he found himself back at home. Back in his room, staring up at the red and gold. If it wasn't for the fact his body felt so old and his feet hung off the end of the bed, he'd have wondered if it was all a dream.

He'd come full circle, and sometimes he wondered if it was all dream. Thirty years, dreaming of horrors as he stared blankly at the wall.

A few months later, Sirius felt alive. He was in the Department of Mysteries, protecting his godson. A spell hit him in the chest before he could react, and he was falling.

He wondered if it would ever stop. The ground hadn't been that far below him, but the falling wouldn't end.

He tried to stand. He had to keep fighting. Stop his wretched cousin. Save Harry. It was all he could do in this world. No one would let him do anything else.

He had to get back. Harry needed him.

James would kill him if anything happened to Harry under his care.

He had to stop falling.

The fall slowed, after awhile. He thought of his life, his terrible life. Most of it had been spent trapped with no way out.

But it was real. It was his life, and it had been real. His parents, Hogwarts, his best friends, Azkaban, Harry. Everything.

He never could have faked the emotions. They were real, and the people were real.

The falling had stopped.

Sirius stood, looking around. Everything and nothing were all around. The sight confused him, although he recognized two people in the distance.

People he knew to be dead.

James and Lily.

If they were here with him, that could only mean one thing.

Sirius Black had died.