Each cat has their own unique vocabulary that they use to communicate with their owners consistently when in the same context. MeowTalk by Akvelon gives your cat a voice! Here you give the app 5 to 10 examples of a specific meow for your cat e. The meow recognition is updated once a day so it may take up to 24 hours for the app to start gold engraved earrings the new word after you have provided the training information. To train the app to learn a specific meow pick a context where you know with certainty what your cat is trying to say e.
Hello Marcelo, for transforming security through. Table of contents. Trustworthy, in this.
The One With the Christmas Kiss The One With the Letter The One With the Sorting The One With Zee The One Where Harry is Homesick The One With the Sex Talk The One With Prophecies and Horcruxes The One With Theo The One with Nyx The One With Moody The One With Lily's Ghost The One With the Gaunt Property The One With the Defence Club The One With the Wizengamot The One With the Insomniacs Club The One With the Time Turner The One With the Wolf in the Cage The One With the Elder Wand The One With Winky The One With Babymort The One Where Harry's in Denial The One With the Love Potion The One With the Bats from the Crotch The One Where Everyone Dies The One With the Lullabye Chapter The One With Australia The One Where Harry's Naked The One With the Return of a Phoenix The One With Auror Arsehole The One With 'Always' The One With Hidden Passions The One With the Amethyst Inferno The One With BS The One With the Mayo The One With Grayson The One With the Lover's Kiss The One With the Overprotective Mama The One With the Green Lace The One With Tonks' Mouth The One Where They're Alive The One With the Soot on the Carpet The One With the Snowman Abs The One With the Accidental Chevalier The One With D and J The One With the Gorgeous Eyelashes The One With the Cappuccino The One With the Antiquing The One With Theo's Patronus The One With the Nap The One With the Attack on Hogsmeade The One With the Magic of the Movies The One With the Master of Death.
What if Sirius didn't spent twelve years in prison, but was given a trial after four years? M for later. Eventual Hinny. Someone posted this adorable fan art of Sirius riding his motorbike with a toddler Harry on a kid's motorbike and I just thought, oh my God, I want this so much! This is very much alternate universe obviously as Harry was not raised by Sirius, but it's the start of a story and I'm trying to stick to canon as much as I can while also not; so it's alternate universe, but also semi-canon compliant, if that makes sense?
It is rated M because of language, violence, and sexual scenes, which will be present later on in the story. It is about how they find each other; how Harry learns about the Marauders; and how his life is different. This story is about Sirius and Harry, but also about Remus Lupin.
It will ultimately be a Hinny fic in the end as that is what I love to write about and my favourite couple in the Harry Potter universe outside of Jily and Remadora. It is slow-building and long and I think worth the wait at least I hope so.
See the end of the chapter for more notes. To any artists out there — if anyone is interested in sending me a drawing of young Harry and Sirius, I would love to use it for the cover. For updates, mood boards, and other things related to this story or Harry Potter, please check out my tumblr — breaniebree. Your reviews give me life!
They give me inspiration! And they make me want to keep writing for more than just myself! Thank you! He didn't cry. He had no tears left in him to cry. He didn't rage; he'd spent weeks doing just that, slamming his fists into the stones until his knuckles had bled; until his fingers were broken, but the pain never fazed him.
He ate mechanically as the healer fixed his hands and the next day, he'd punched the stone all over again. And again trying to feel something… anything. He screamed. He shouted that he was innocent. He threatened to kill his former best friend, his brother. But it was for nothing. He was the one who had been betrayed; the spy who wasn't. He was guilty in the eyes of the world and nothing he could say was going to change that. At first, he thought that at least he would come.
His best friend; the one who he had trusted most outside of the one who was his blood brother. The one who he had kept secrets for. The one who was so thankful and confused as to why they even called him friend and called him brother in the first place.
He too thought he was guilty; that he was just like the family that he had tried so hard to run from. The days turned into weeks which turned into months. He paced; he ran on the spot; he spent hours doing push-ups and sit-ups; contemplated making a noose with his thin shabby sheet and just ending it until the rage consumed him once more. He was not going to take his own life; not while he was out there, the truly guilty party. The spy. The one that he had once called friend and brother.
The months dragged into that first year and his thin hold on his own sanity started to slip away from him as he counted the days, digging the rock into the stone to tally his sentence. On his twenty-third birthday, he spent the day in fitful dreams; memories of the woman that he had called mother holding her wand above him and telling him how worthless he was; how spineless and unworthy he was to be in the Most Ancient and Noble House.
He relived the feel of the torture curse, seeing his mother holding the wand; relived the pain of the belt that his father struck across his back and when he heard his own screams echoing in the stone cell — he clawed at the stone until his nails bled. They give me inspiration! And they make me want to keep writing for more than just myself! Thank you! He didn't cry. He had no tears left in him to cry.
He didn't rage; he'd spent weeks doing just that, slamming his fists into the stones until his knuckles had bled; until his fingers were broken, but the pain never fazed him. He ate mechanically as the healer fixed his hands and the next day, he'd punched the stone all over again.
And again trying to feel something… anything. He screamed. He shouted that he was innocent. He threatened to kill his former best friend, his brother. But it was for nothing. He was the one who had been betrayed; the spy who wasn't. He was guilty in the eyes of the world and nothing he could say was going to change that. At first, he thought that at least he would come. His best friend; the one who he had trusted most outside of the one who was his blood brother.
The one who he had kept secrets for. The one who was so thankful and confused as to why they even called him friend and called him brother in the first place. He too thought he was guilty; that he was just like the family that he had tried so hard to run from. The days turned into weeks which turned into months. He paced; he ran on the spot; he spent hours doing push-ups and sit-ups; contemplated making a noose with his thin shabby sheet and just ending it until the rage consumed him once more.
He was not going to take his own life; not while he was out there, the truly guilty party. The spy. The one that he had once called friend and brother. The months dragged into that first year and his thin hold on his own sanity started to slip away from him as he counted the days, digging the rock into the stone to tally his sentence. On his twenty-third birthday, he spent the day in fitful dreams; memories of the woman that he had called mother holding her wand above him and telling him how worthless he was; how spineless and unworthy he was to be in the Most Ancient and Noble House.
He relived the feel of the torture curse, seeing his mother holding the wand; relived the pain of the belt that his father struck across his back and when he heard his own screams echoing in the stone cell — he clawed at the stone until his nails bled. By the second year, he'd forced himself to transform the moment the memories came to the surface.
He forced himself to think of happy thoughts, but he couldn't remember any. Had he ever been truly happy? He was innocent. It wasn't a happy thought, but it wasn't a miserable thought either so they couldn't take it away from him. He hadn't murdered those people, true. But could he really be considered innocent? He paced the cell back and forth as far as the chains would allow him; back and forth, marking the days each morning when he woke.
He slept as a dog; woke to eat the gruel that they called porridge; one hour of push-ups; one hour of sit-ups… keep the body disciplined, keep the mind sane, he told himself repeatedly. He'd nap as a dog; wake to eat the gruel that they called stew and as the first wave of unhappy memories would unfold into his system, he'd transform and whimper in the corner. By the third year, he had his routine down to a science. No one spoke to him. The healer came to check on him once a month; let him wash with a bowl of lukewarm water and a clean cloth.
The healer never spoke and the soul-sucking creatures hovered as the healer trembled, waiting for him to finish so that he could leave. The moment that the healer was gone, he became a dog once more. When he started his count into year four, he knew that he would die alone in this very cell. No one would ever discover that his old friend had been the real one to betray them; the real one to trick those who cared for him.
The voice sounded foreign, almost too far away. He recognized the Scottish burr, but he couldn't place it. No one had spoken to him in four years, six months, and seventeen days. Was that his name? His head pounded, but for the first time all day it was clear, telling him that the soul sucking creatures had distanced themselves, at least partially, from his cell.
The hesitation in the voice now got his attention and he realized that it wasn't a memory; someone was actually speaking to him. He moved towards the bars, long thin fingers gripping the iron and his grey eyes bruised around the edges meeting the square beady brown eyes that he recognized so well and his heart stopped at the sight of them.
The brown eyes rolled in exaggeration at him and for the first time in four years, six months, and seventeen days — he felt a bubble of laughter rising in his throat. I was worried that I might have been too late. The healer said… never mind. You know me. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs that lingered there. Her eyes looked sad as she gripped his hands tightly from where they were clutched around the bars. I'm so sorry, but you are finally getting a trial.
A trial to prove your innocence. I never have. James was like a brother to you and you… you loved that little boy. You deserve a trial. Maybe if we can understand why you…". Sirius snorted now, his fingers gripping hers as he realized what she was saying. Interesting view you have of me, Minnie, my dear. Finally, the Minister has taken heed of my words and agreed to give you the trial that you should have been given years ago.
It will be in three days time. Sirius squeezed her fingers gently. I would never have betrayed them, never! McGonagall nodded, smiling at him. I will see you in three days, Sirius. I'm rooting for you. As he watched her leave, he felt the darkness pressing in on him once again and he moved away from the bars, letting his back rest against the cool stone. Plain text with limited HTML? Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled.
Get an Invitation. Comments: Kudos: Bookmarks: Hits: A Second Chance Breanie Summary: What if Sirius didn't spent twelve years in prison, but was given a trial after four years? Thank you very much for reading and please, please review! They were both dead and it was all his fault.
It was all for nothing. And no one was listening anyway. But he never came. It was his fault that they were dead. His decision. His stupid mistake. He was guilty. No one would ever know his story. Someone was outside of his cell. Maybe if we can understand why you…" Sirius snorted now, his fingers gripping hers as he realized what she was saying. Four years, six months, seventeen days — but he was getting a trial. Notes: End Author's Note: Thank you for reading and please review.
Post Comment Note: All fields are required.
Hate, for the green eyed boy who gives them their hope. Jealousy, yes for the first time since taking the name Lord Voldemort, he was jealous. As she was bouncing up she threw her leg out in front of her, putting her in an L shape. Coming down she bounced on the trampoline with her butt. Fics like sacrificial second chance? Just rediscovered this fic and was wondering if someone else picked it up or write a similar version.