All of Sirius's worst fears were materialised in an instant, the sound of his name, his full name, hanging in the air like a curse. Berating himself now would do little good, the mistakes already made and the consequences sure to follow. With his ears now flat against his head, hackles rising in near-panic, Sirius both looked and felt like a cornered animal, too afraid to think straight. Looming over him was the cold dread of a cell in Azkaban, a feast for the Dementors once again.
Slowly creeping underneath the table, Sirius backed his way towards the door, a solitary warning bark his only signal (and plea) that he would rather be left alone. Every creak and whisper, footfall and slamming door caused Sirius to jump now, uncertain if he would be able to make it back to the safety of his or Remus's room and escape the fate he was certain was waiting for him.