THE GLASS ORPHAN

By Miss Mysteria

25th of December 1981
Azkaban Fortress, Northern Tower

Sirius Black shivered as a dark cloaked creature drifted past the wrought iron bars that held him in his cell. Though there were Aurors stationed in Azkaban, Sirius had been here long enough to know that the Dementors were the guards of the Northern Tower, where the Death Eaters were locked away. He supposed it was an almost adequate punishment for those who had supported Lord Voldemort in his reign, although he himself would prefer the Dementors to give a long snog to a select few.

His cell wasn't ideal though it was in better quality than some of the others. Sirius liked to think it was because the Aurors who had chucked him into it had fought with him shoulder-to-shoulder in the war. It was more likely because they knew him well enough to not place his cell next to any of his immediate family members as that would result in deathly fistfights and screaming matches. In the 5-by-9 foot cell there was a block of concrete about two metres off of the ground in the left corner which Sirius had covered with a thin and torn blanket. In every corner of the room there was a slit running from the ceiling to the floor that exposed the inmate to the outside world and allowed the harsh cold sea air to bite at their exposed skin. The rest of the cell was just stone; grey and rock-solid and without a sliver of comfort.

But Sirius knew better than to expect a five-star hotel and knew better than to treat it like one. He deserved this. This was his punishment for his past crimes, his damnation for his wrong-doings when he was supposed to be better. It had taken him a few weeks to accept this fact, but in the end a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother's had racketed throughout his skull listing off every crime or nasty action that had led him to where he was now, and he could then breathe, finally. He was at last facing his punishment for being the son of Death Eaters, a Black. This was whatever higher-powers way of letting him know that his sins had been purged. His misdeeds when he had been a child, misfit, Marauder, were at an end and he felt as though the restrictions that had been wrapped tightly around his chest loosened greatly. It wasn't acceptance of his grief, in fact whenever the thought of James and Lily came to mind Sirius shoved them away and hid behind what was left of his Occlumency shields, but the acceptance of his punishment made his mind calm when the Dementors were around and that was everything that mattered to him.

Only the blankness of his mind and the thoughts of one other person made his life in Azkaban generally liveable and that was Harry Potter, his godson. Sirius spent every waking moment thinking about Harry; what was he doing? How was he coping without his parents? Was Remus his guardian or had someone else taken him in? Had he already begun talking in full sentences, or was he still at the odd one-syllable word? How was the broom Sirius had bought for him faring - had he outgrown it already? Did he look more like James than Lily or the other way around? Of course each question was unanswered but to get to sleep Sirius had started turning into Padfoot for warmth and then begin to imagine scenarios that answered these questions with Harry at the face of them.

He missed him. Harry had been a wonderful, although surprising, light in the middle of the darkness. He brought joy and happiness back into not just Sirius' life, but everyone who met him. Remus had been happier around Harry, happier than Sirius could have remembered seeing for a long, long time. James had been bursting at the seams and beaming with light. Lily had been as calm and cool as ever, but Sirius could tell that the reflection of their own happiness increased her own tenfold. The only person who had not been pleased by Harry's birth had been Peter.

And now Sirius knew why.

At the time he and the others had supposed the frowns and sad looks in his eyes had been about Peter's mother who had been rapidly declining in health. Spattergroit, the Healers at St. Mungos had said, a seriously bad case. Peter had been dark and depressed for months after the announcement of the ailment and it only worsened after Harry had been born in July.

Lily had said that perhaps it was the idea that new life was being born into the world just as his own mother was leaving it. Sirius had called her a poet and she had whipped him with a tea-towel as Harry giggled in James's arms.

But now Sirius knew that the unpleasant man that their friend had turned into wasn't because of grief for his mother, it was due to grief for Harry. For James and Lily, who Peter had known would be dead soon, dead or seriously injured, because Peter would have known that there was no way they would stand aside and allow Voldemort to take Harry instead of them.

Peter might as well have turned his own wand onto his friends - his family - and killed them himself. He was the reason they were dead. Sirius would never, ever, forgive himself for dragging Peter from his flat in Hartfordshire and taking him to Godric's Hollow that night. For forcing them to change Secret Keepers from himself to Peter.

The wards on Sirius's flat had been tampered with, someone unauthorised had tried to enter when he had not been there and he knew he was being followed, years of keeping an eye out for daring Slytherins in Hogwarts who thought they could take him when he was alone and his training as a Hit-Wizard after he graduated made it easy to see that. So he told James, demanded him, to change Secret Keepers. To make sure that he told no one that they changed from Sirius to Peter. No one. Not even Remus or Dumbledore. It was Lily in the end who agreed and James could never deny her anything. Sirius had cast the spell.

Four hours later Sirius was arriving at Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow to find the roof collapsed in and a fire ripping its way through the house.

James and Lily were dead.

Harry was alive.

Peter was the traitor.

Remus was in South America with Greyback's wolf packs spying for the Order of the Phoenix.

And now Sirius was in Azkaban.

Rotting for the crimes he both did and didn't commit; he felt like he had betrayed James and Lily by trusting Peter. It didn't matter to him that Peter had been the one with the dark mark, the one who had been a slave to Voldemort. Sirius was the one, the only one who could have convinced the Potter's to change. It was his fault that they were dead because he had allowed himself to believe in Peter Pettigrew, to trust in someone other than himself with the lives of his loved ones. He was paying the price for that trust now.

Once again he thanked whatever higher-power was present for allowing him to see this.

If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.

Which was why he was now crouched in the far corner of his cell, watching and waiting for the Dementors to roam past. They never explicitly bothered Sirius, preferring to move straight towards either Bellatrix or Barty Crouch Jr., which was fine with him. Sirius supposed it was because they screamed the loudest when the creatures got too close for comfort and the Dementors loved it when they screamed.

As he waited, his grey eyes moved almost against his will towards the stone wall to his right. There were exactly fifty-five white lines that had been scratched onto the wall, each time just before Sirius went to sleep. He liked to think that it meant that he had only been in the prison for a few months but after so long it had taken almost all of his strength to make sure he kept as best count as he could. He had wanted to make sure he was ready for Christmas.

Another Dementor glided past his cell, not stopping to turn and look at him for even a second, too focused on its goal to torture the Lestrange's and Crouch. Sirius cringed as Bellatrix's wails began to pick up noise and echo down the corridor.

This was it, he was going for it. Now or never.

Sirius placed his palms down onto the floor, wincing when a sharp stone dug into his hand. He clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and transformed.

He could feel the magic of his animagus rolling over his skin; his bones inching and breaking smaller and smaller, his skin stretching and tightening, the familiar feeling of his lungs closing over for a split second before his eyes snapped open and he sucked in his first deep breath as Padfoot.

The very first time Sirius had transformed into his animal, he had been slightly disappointed. As a thirteen year-old boy who had dreamed of being a dragon or a wolf like Moony and actually becoming a puppy had been disheartening. But then, of course, James had achieved his Prongs quickly as well, about a day or so behind Sirius's transformation. The sight of proud James Potter as a deer in the Gryffindor dormitory had been funny enough in itself, but the sight of proud James Potter as a fawn with heavy antlers weighing his head down to the floor had forced both him and Peter into hysterics. It had made him feel marginally better seeing that, and when Peter had transformed into Wormtail, a baby rat on his bed surrounded by Self-Transfiguration books they had borrowed from the Library, Sirius had felt that he had no right to complain.

As they themselves grew from young teenagers into fully fledged adults, their animagus's had grown with them. Peter had become the size of a banana, helpful to get into small spaces but not as "badass" as he had expressed a desire to have. James turned from weak fawn who needed help to stand up straight because his antlers were too heavy into a muscular stag, leader of the herd. Sirius had changed the most though and he suspected it was because he had spent more time in his form than the others, making sure he felt comfortable. His inner-animal transformed from a small puppy that Dorcas Meadows had once seen and described as "adorable" (without knowing it was him because knowing her she would have kicked him down some stairs) into an enormous jet-black dog, almost nearing bear-like stature. He was big and strong and whenever people had seen him they had either run in terror or gasped in fright.

Sirius hadn't enjoyed the likeness to the death omen of the Grim. Peter had taken Divination in his third year, the Gryffindors in the years above them having proclaimed loudly at the easiness of the subject, and had been scared of Padfoot for a good month before James had scoffed and asked him where his Gryffindor nerves of steel were. But Sirius supposed it was somewhat fitting now, being surrounded by destruction and decay and sharing a resemblance to an omen of death.

He didn't want to know what his fur looked like and he definitely did not want to know how many ribs were visible, having starved himself for weeks by refusing the 'food' that was shoved through his bars everyday at noon, but it was all worth it when he stepped forward and managed to squeeze through the cage bars. He whimpered as one of the many sharp talons sticking out caught him in his side but ignored the pain even as it shot through his stomach and down to his hip.

Detaching himself from the spike digging into his side, Sirius shot a quick look up the corridor where he could see the two Dementors facing Bellatrix and Barty's cells respectively and looked to be thriving on their shouts that were increasing in volume by the second. He knew they couldn't sense him as an animal as they could only pick up on the emotions of humans nearby, but still, even with that knowledge, a trickle made its way down his spine at the sight of them so close and without a barrier between them. He shook it off, knowing he needed to stay calm and focused on his goal.

He turned back down the corridor to where he remembered the entrance/exit being and quickly padded down to it, occasionally tripping and slipping over a dislodged step or stone that stuck out from the ground. He paused just before the gate that held the prisoners inside the Northern Tower, perked his ears up for a minute to listen for any disturbance before nodding to himself and dropping to his stomach, sliding through a gap under the gate caused by friction over time.

When Sirius managed to get out to the other side, he stopped and stared out at the scene before him. He had known the Northern Tower was one of the most isolated (and therefore the highest security) of the buildings that made up Azkaban Prison, but what he hadn't realised was that whilst the Tower was named for its tall, hollow spire that pointed slightly North, it was also at the top of a narrow cliff surrounded by the vicious and churning ocean that spit up water and mist. There was no bridge to the other section of the Prison where one could get a boat, which had been his plan.

But now he had no boat. Which meant he had no way off of the island without...well. He peered nervously over the edge of the cliff and stared down into the swirling dark mass of waves beneath him. As much as in the past he had been attracted to a bit of danger, after a few months spent in the most dangerous place on Earth, he wasn't really that partial to it anymore. What he wanted, more than anything, was to see Harry and possibly even have a cup of tea.

And a sausage roll.

He needed to get off of the island.

Sirius swallowed and tried to ignore the nerves that rose in his throat.

He took several steps back, eyes darting to the nearby gate that was still locked and his heart and breathing halted simultaneously as he realised there was a Dementor stood on the other side of it, watching him with its hooded dark face and its scaly hands wrapped tightly around the bars of it.

Well, if that wasn't God's way of telling him to get the fuck on with it he didn't know what was.

Sirius took a deep breath, sprinted towards the edge of the cliff and jumped into the dark abyss below.

1st of January 1982
Hogwarts Castle, Great Hall

Albus Dumbledore smiled genially at the collection of students who strolled into the Great Hall for breakfast. Not many had stayed over the holidays for the first time in years, preferring to be with their families at Christmas and New Years and Albus didn't blame them. How nice it was to be able to relax and not have to worry about his students and staff as they shuttered off in the Hogwarts Express, to be able to put them out of his mind.

As soon as the last student was sat, Albus clapped his hands together and breakfast immediately appeared on the table. The young children reached directly for the endless stacks of pancakes, waffles, bacon and fried eggs whilst the staff lent more towards the oatmeal, coffee, fruits and cereals. Albus helped himself to a bowl of fresh fruit and cream along with dragging a bowl of mint humbugs close to his side. He heard Minerva scoff next to him, but ignored her as he generally did. He was being healthier, per her suggestion (more like force, but he appreciated her concern for him so went along with her dietary plan).

There was mostly quiet over the table, with the students who had stayed behind making amicable and polite conversation where needed but otherwise seeming to enjoy the relative silence. The Professors chatted occasionally about the news of the day, although that was somewhat halted by the fact that the usual delivery of newspapers had not arrived yet.

Just as though the thought itself had conjured them into existence, a loud cawing hawk and four brown owls swept through the large open windows in the far uppers of the ceiling in the Great Hall. They flew down one-by-one, gently resting on a non-existent breeze as they descended. At last they landed, carefully avoiding the spread of food, each next to their own individual owners. Albus smiled happily at the barn owl that landed to his right and allowed it to take a piece of orange from his plate as he unattached the newspaper from its leg, again ignoring Minerva's scoff as she also reached for a newspaper on another owl that landed next to her oatmeal bowl.

He unfolded the paper, finally looked down upon the front page of the Daily Prophet and felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach with a splash.

ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN - SIRIUS ORION BLACK

There was a loud clash of silverware being dropped next to him where Minerva sat and Albus did not need to turn to know that her face was deathly pale at the sight of her old student and honorary son splattered across the front page.

His dark and shoulder length hair was matted and knotted, pale skin was stretched across his face and collar bones tight, looking as though it would rip like tissue paper should someone brush their fingertips against it, bruising marring the skin was easy to see underneath the oversized prison uniform. There was a clear set of identification markings scratched into his neck, glaring out at whoever read the page in thick bold writing, as though anyone would need them to recognise the man; ᛈᛉ390. Albus knew enough about the prison island to know that it meant Northern Tower, cell block 3 and cell number 90. In the photograph Sirius Black was pulling aggressively on some chains that were fixed to his wrists and was screaming silently through a set of wrought iron bars with spikes that acted as a barrier between himself and the camera.

Of course now the man was no longer behind those bars.

Albus's burning blue eyes quickly found the beginning of the article.

Sirius Orion Black, once Heir to an Ancient and respected House, ex-Hogwarts Gryffindor student, an accomplished and talented Hit-Wizard for the Ministry of Magic and most recently...Azkaban Escapee.

Sirius Black is most infamously known for his disgusting and horrifying treachery of the Lord and Lady of Potter House, James and Lily Potter. Their son, Harry James, is the lone and orphaned Heir who somehow escaped unharmed a gruesome attack of which Black was responsible. Once thought to be a great ally to the Light in the War, Black instead was spy and traitor who spent his nights kissing the boots of previous and perished Dark Lord, You-Know-Who. The Death Eater was identified by many suspected Dark Lord sympathisers, most famously the Lestrange's, as well as hero and Order of Merlin First Class recipient before his untimely death, Peter Pettigrew.

On the night of October 31st 1981, merely three months ago, You-Know-Who murdered James and Lily Potter in their own home, Potter Cottage, at Godric's Hollow. Their son Harry Potter is now known worldwide for his incredible and mystical defeat of said Dark Lord who wished to kill the infant just like he had his parents. The reason for You-Know-Who's awareness of the location of Potter Cottage and therefore the whereabouts of the last descendants of the Potter line? Sirius Black.

Trusted by James and Lily, having been friends since the first years of their schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was chosen out of a select few to become their Secret Keeper, the person who would stand between the family and death by hand of Dark Forces. Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster and Defeater of Dark Wizard Grindelwald, was the man who has been suspected to have cast the Fidelius Charm and who himself had this to say on that late night in October, "Sirius Black is a murderer. Plain and simple. James and Lily Potter were the best of people, they were a light in this horrible darkness and now that light is passed on in their son, Harry James Potter. Lord ********* may have been at the head of wand, but it in my mind, it was Sirius Orion Black who cast the spell that ended their lives."

Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold, made the following statement earlier this morning.

"Sirius Black is a man of the very worst kind. Not only does he hold crimes for being affiliated with the Dark Mark and You-Know-Who, he betrayed Lord James Potter, his Lady Lily, and their son, last living descendant of the Potter line, Harry James Potter, known more universally as the Boy Who Lived. Black allowed Dark Forces to enter Potter Cottage and in doing so made the the joint efforts of the British and European to vanquish said forces completely moot and worthless.

He is dangerous and at present it is unknown whether he is armed. If seen do NOT engage and instead immediately inform Aurors. We do not wish for the efforts of both living and deceased soldiers from the War to become unnecessary with another Dark figure on the rise."

By request for the Ministry of Magic, we at the Daily Prophet are requesting that ALL citizens of both Britain and Europe keep keen eyes open for any suspicious behaviour and/or the escapee himself. We repeat what our esteemed Minister said within her speech and request that you DO NOT engage with the escapee.

The public is asked by the Ministry to remain vigilante and to be unconcerned with the safety in particular of Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter. His safety is of the highest paramount to the Wizarding World as a whole and the public should be assured that he is well.

More on Sirius Black's life previous to October 31st, see page 3.

Article by Eduardus Lima

The rest of the front page was taken up by large, swirling bold letters that were quotes from several high-up Ministerial members, along with Bartemius Crouch Sr. and up-and-comer Cornelius Fudge, Junior Minister for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Albus ignored these in favour of spying the last line of the article.

"to be unconcerned with the safety of Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter. His safety is of the highest paramount to the Wizarding World as a whole and the public should be assured that he is well."

But was he? Sirius couldn't know where the Dursley's lived, could he? Unless Lily Potter had told him before she died, mentioned it perhaps over tea without realising she was revealing her son's future home and therefore giving the man an invitation to kidnap and kill him when he was most vulnerable? The wards he had set up around Number Four Privet Drive had not been even twinged in those three months, and who knew when Sirius had escaped. It was a well kept secret that the Ministry almost never checked the Northern Tower, preferring to let the Dementors take roam.

It was best to check, however. The trust in his wards that connected to the devices in his office only went so far and after being alive for so long and living through so many tragedies, a man learned to trust only himself with important matters. And Harry James Potter was the pinnacle of all important matters.

1st of January 1982
Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

After examining the wards, hidden beneath a Disillusionment Charm, Albus had come to the conclusion that Sirius Black had not been to visit Harry in Privet Drive. If Harry was injured in an irreparable way, the wards would have let him know, as well as any visitor or persons forcibly taking him from the house against either the Dursley's will or his own.

Of course, it would not hurt to double check, although his heart was now resting comfortably in his chest compared to the last few hours before he could get away from Hogwarts.

He stepped across the boundaries, feeling his own magical signature curl around him and consider him not a threat, as well as the remnants of Lily Potter's own signature. The blood wards she had placed here in what Albus had always suspected as protection for her sister, had been a prime reason to place Harry here long-term. The blood wards were now backed up with several of his own, and would warn him should any unsatisfactory magicals cross the boundaries of whom wished Harry harm.

Admiring the pansies and agapanthuses that lay embedded across their finely cut grass, Albus lifted his aged hand and knocked thrice. He couldn't help the slight jump of heart-rate as he heard light footsteps walking towards the door and straightened himself up, ignoring it as best he could. Before she even opened the door, he could tell by the silhouette that he would today be dealing with the ever delightful Petunia Dursley, Lily's sister. They had never met face to face, however he knew that she would recognise him on sight. After all, there were not many with ties to the magical world that didn't, muggle or not.

Although, he had to admit, not many acted in the way he knew she would. He placed a foot inside her porch in preparation for what he knew was coming.

Albus winced heavily as the front door smashed into his ankle hard and fought the urge to silence the woman as she began to screech and shout about "freaks" and "abnormal people breaking into her home". Well, it would certainly make a scene for the neighbours. He imagined that Arabella was getting a kick out of it down the road in Number Twelve where he had placed her as a look out. After questioning her following walking out of her Floo from his office, she had not seen anyone come and go although Albus knew, she could have missed someone.

"Mrs Dursley, wonderful to see you-"

"Get out! Freak! Trying to enter my house! Illegal-I..I'll call the police!"

Once again, he winced but managed to pry her bony fingers off of the door and gently pushed her back into her hallway. He entered and closed the door behind him, making sure to not touch or go for his wand in any way, should she feel threatened. He smiled. "Mrs Dursley...Petunia, may I call you-"

Petunia Dursley sniffed and stuffed her hands deep inside the pockets of her yellow and pink pinafore. "No, you may not. Ask what I know you're here to ask and then leave."

Albus's eyes widened slightly in alarm. "What you know I am here to ask? Mrs Dursley...has someone...is Harry...?"

The woman's dull and bored face, with a hint of frightenedness, took on an almost mad smile and Albus's thumping heart stopped beating.

"He's not here. They took him."

"They?"

The smile stretched and took over her entire face, dull green eyes lighting up in the same way her sister's bright emerald used to.

"The Blacks."