the_debt_of_time

Sirius stood up and kicked the nearby table. "How the fuck was I supposed to know
that? I come home, and my witch is crying her heart out. Tells me that she's been keeping
more bloody secrets, and she starts stuttering―"
"That was the spell," Remus interjected with a sigh. "Dumbledore put some spell
on her to prevent her from talking about the future. Prevent her from changing anything.
Any time she got close to talking about it, she'd start stuttering and black out."
"Fuck." Sirius rubbed his face. "So, she knew?"
Remus frowned, looking up into the grief-stricken eyes of his friend, his only friend
left in the world. He watched as some pain buried deep down inside of Sirius came to life.
Just by the devastated look on his face, Remus knew exactly what Sirius was thinking: Mia
knew about Lily and James.
Sirius let the thought roll over in his head repeatedly, trying to make sense of it all.
Nothing made sense, but it seemed to be the truth regardless of how awful and insane it
sounded. He swallowed hard, his saliva feeling acidic as it slid down his dry throat. "She
knew about Prongs and Lily. Mia let James die."
Remus nodded, but then quietly added, "We all let them die."
And it was the truth in a way. Sirius had been reckless, hiding his grief and pain with
alcohol, fighting, and eventually espionage. He had cut ties with Remus, catered to Peter,
and relied too heavily on James and Lily. Despite his good intentions, he still blamed
himself for their deaths, at least in part.
But Mia had known everything. Known about Peter, about the attack and the war and
Voldemort's destruction. She had obviously known about Harry, considering the girl—
Hermione—was his best friend now. Worst of all—or, at least the most personal revelation,
was that Mia had known about Azkaban. Sirius struggled with feeling betrayed over her
secrets and relieved that she was, in fact, alive.
"I don't know whether to hate her or love her," he admitted, the tension and
confusion in his own voice actually frightening him a bit. "How could she let James die?
She loved him. How could she... ?" His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands—
hands that were callused and scarred and filthy. "She left me there. She let me rot there.
Twelve years."
Remus walked over and sat down beside him. "Love her," he advised. "She suffered,
believe me. She couldn't change anything, Pads. Even one thing out of place might have