Imprisoned

You fucking bastard, was Sirius's Black's last sane thought that day.

Around him, people were screaming and yelling. Bodies were strewn about the sidewalk like fallen leaves. Sirens were wailing in the distance, coming closer and closer. And all he could do was stand there, laughing.

Sirius did not remember being taken away by Ministry of Magic officials. He did not remember the looks they gave him, the hushed tones, the mournful weeping, the angry voices. Physically, he was in a large office building disguised as an abandoned department store, but mentally, he was still standing in the street. Fucking bastard.

Before the day had ended, he was magically bound and transported, almost dragged, to a small island in the North Sea. Freezing winds whipped across the land's surface, buffeted only by sharp rocks. Icy waves crashed against its shores.

Azkaban Island was harsh and unforgiving, but even it seemed like a tropical paradise in comparison to the single manmade structure that stood in its center, Azkaban Prison.

A heavy wooden door was its only entrance, and its small cells were lit only by tiny windows that were set high in the walls. Each cell was sparsely furnished with a simple cot, a blanket, a toilet, and a roll of toilet paper, and each was contained behind simple iron bars. However, the prison's occupants never gave much thought to their surroundings or creature comforts. Those were not what made a stay in Azkaban so terrifying.

Whoosh! Something flew over Sirius's head as he trudged, still bound and still laughing, across the sharp rocks. He did not look up. His captors, on the other hand, did, and they each shuddered, each glad that they would be able to turn back in a few minutes and return to London and the comfort of their warm beds.

"Stop laughing, asshole," one of the men muttered. "You're going to Azkaban. This is not a laughing matter." But Sirius continued, his eyes darting around wildly.

"We'll see if he's still laughing once the Dementors have hold of him," said the other man, smirking.

The first man smiled. "Well, Frank, I don't think I'll be coming to see him on visiting day, if it's all the same to you."

Whoosh! A dark-hooded creature had descended several yards ahead of the trio. It hovered a few feet from the ground and extended an arm towards them, a bony white hand breaking free from beneath its frayed robes, its index finger pointed at Sirius.

Both captors stopped dead, all the blood draining from their faces. "This is Sirius Black," said the one called Frank said finally, his voice weak and cracking like a pubescent boy's. "We're taking him to the prison." Both men pushed Sirius forward slightly.

The creature lowered its arms and remained hovering in the air, watching the three men. Finally, it nodded its head and turned, drifting lazily above the ground in the direction of the prison. The captors looked at each other and continued on their way, no longer amused. It took virtually no time to reach the prison's one door, but it felt like hours. The two men pulled the door open and shoved Sirius inside. "Have fun," they said, and walked away as quickly as they could.

***

Sirius Black did not regain his sanity for two weeks, and even then, it did not return in full.

He awakened one cold and cloudy morning and glanced around, and the reality of what had happened and where he was hit him like a curse.

Azkaban, he thought, his heart pounding. I'm in Azkaban. Because... because... And he saw that day again in his mind.

When Sirius had caught word of Lily and James Potter's horrific deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort, he had wasted no time in jumping onto his flying motorcycle and speeding towards their simple cottage in Godric's Hollow.

He prayed and prayed on the journey there that the story of their deaths was in fact some misinformed rumor, but the condition of their house suggested that he had, in fact, been told the truth.

The cottage was standing, but only barely. Much of it had been burned by magical fires that had left whole sections black and rotted and had filled the air with a sickening sweet smell. Several windows had been shattered--he could see thousands of shards of glass in the lawn, glinting in the light of a streetlamp.

He looked towards the front door, his body numb from shock, and saw someone there, someone very hard to miss. Rubeus Hagrid was on the front steps, sitting on the fallen and charred front door, his massive head in his hands.

Sirius landed and walked towards him slowly, a sick feeling in his stomach. "Hagrid?" he choked. "It's true, then?"

Hagrid lifted his head and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. "It's true," he said.

Sirius squeezed past him and through the doorway. Inside, he saw a small table on the floor. The knickknacks that had been on it were scattered about and broken in pieces that crunched beneath his feet as he moved past towards the drawing room. There, he stopped cold.

James and Lily Potter were lying on the floor amidst toppled furniture and fallen books, their bodies apparently uninjured but clearly dead. Lily's hair was fanned out around her face, a face that was contorted in agony. Her husband lay further away, his wand still in his hand and a determined scowl on his face.

Sirius took in the scene for a moment, the color draining from his face, and suddenly rushed to James's side. "James! No!" he shouted, grabbing his friend's cold hand in his own. "James, please! No!" Tears were streaming down his face. His best friend, his childhood best friend, was gone. "Prongs..." His head fell onto James's lifeless chest, where he sobbed like a little boy. What have I done? Oh god, what have I done?

His mind traveled back to the boy and man he had known: James as a little boy with unruly hair and glasses and a mischievous grin. James on his mother's nonmagical broom, running around his back garden, willing it with all his might to fly. James at Hogwarts, whispering secret plans and ideas into Sirius's ear during class. James and he playing nasty pranks on other students, mostly on a young Severus Snape. James on a broom, one that really could fly, soaring higher and higher into the cold blue sky above the pitch. James after his first winning game, leaping into the air, whooping with joy, and playfully tossing a bludger towards Snape. James as he ran through Hogwarts' secret passages with his friends, intent on mischief that only a young boy could create. James by Lily's side, his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, his mischief momentarily forgotten. James in a rental tuxedo, his soft voice as he said, "I do."

Sirius lifted his head to look towards Lily--sweet, kindly Lily. Lily, who had nagged him lovingly, as if she were his own wife. Lily, the woman who looked upon him in sadness in his darkest moments. Lily, giggling with her friends in the corridors of Hogwarts, teasing the Marauders. Lily, and her love-hate relationship with James, the electricity that sparked between them every time they were near each other. Lily on her wedding day, dressed in white, flowers everywhere, her face beaming. Lily, pregnant with Harry--her round belly, her swollen ankles, her kindly eyes. Lily as that child was brought into the world, grunting and screaming in pain, then Lily as she held Harry in her arms for the first time, tears welling up in her eyes, a grin on her face.

"I'll kill him," was all Sirius could say, stroking Lily's hair and then moving over to collapse again upon James's body.

"Erm, Sirius?" said a gruff voice. Sirius had forgotten all about Hagrid.

"Yes?" he asked softly, not looking up.

"I'm so sorry," Hagrid said.

"I know," muttered Sirius.

"Anyway, Sirius, I came to tell you that I need to go now. Gotta take young Harry here to live with his aunt and uncle and all."

Harry.

Sirius jumped to his feet. "Harry?" he sputtered. Hagrid held the little baby in his massive arms, cradling it like a mother. Harry is alive?

"Yes, Dumbledore asked me to bring him. I need to go," the other man said, turning.

"Wait! Wait! You're not going anywhere. I'm his godfather. He's my responsibility."

"Yes, Sirius, but Dumbledore says he must stay with the Dursleys. For his own safety." Hagrid beamed at the little child, tickling his chin.

Sirius looked at the floor. Safety. Something his parents didn't have. Something I could probably never give him. He looked up again. "Wait, what safety? From Voldemort? What would Voldemort want with him? He's just a baby. He's harmless!"

Hagrid brushed back the soft hair on Harry's head and held him out so that his godfather could see.

Sirius moved closer and stopped cold. The baby had a lightning bolt-shaped scar burned into his skin. "He... he survived." His wand fell with a clatter to the floor.

"Yes," Hagrid replied.

Sirius stared at the baby, full of wonder at the small miracle. "Wow," he breathed.

"Yes. He needs to be kept safe from You-Know-Who," said Hagrid. He thought for a moment. "Have you got any floo powder on you?"

Sirius stared at him. "Of course not," he replied. He glanced at the Potters' fireplace and saw that their little pot of powder had been spilled all over the carpet.

"Only I need to get to Privet Drive, you see," Hagrid said.

"Take my motorcycle," Sirius said without thinking, still staring at the baby.

"But how will you--?"

"Don't worry about me. I don't need it," said Sirius, picking up his wand from the floor. He turned back to look at James and Lily's bodies one last time, then faced Hagrid again. "Pardon me, Rubeus, but I have some business to take care of." He marched out the door and stormed up the street on foot.

Sirius Black's memories of what happened next were dim and hazy. He remembered hurrying off in search of Peter Pettigrew, James and Lily's betrayer. He remembered finding him on a muggle street, dressed in muggle clothes, trying to blend in, frightened and panicked. He only barely recalled confronting him, pulling out his wand, not caring about the Ministry's rules concerning magic around muggles. He remembered yelling. He remembered flashes of green light all around him. He remembered screams. But it all seemed to happen very quickly, and the details were blurred. He did not remember being taken to the Ministry of Magic, and he did not remember being taken away.

Now he was in Azkaban Prison, many miles away from Surrey and little Harry Potter, the only thing that remained of James. I missed Prongs's funeral, he thought suddenly, and his eyes filled with tears. He had not been able to say goodbye to his best friend.

He remembered his simple London flat and the bed he shared with Remus Lupin, his old friend and long-term lover. Remus. He wept silently for several minutes, kicking the blankets on his bed and pounding the mattress, his body wracked with pain. "No, no, no..." Everything was gone. James and Lily were dead. Remus was... Maybe he had met the same fate as James and Lily? For one split second, Sirius thought it would have been better for Remus to have died, blissfully unaware of all this pain and loss.

It's all my fault, he thought. Lord Voldemort may have killed my friends, and Peter may have given them up to him, but I was the one who trusted Peter. I was the one who gave him to Lord Voldemort.

He lifted his head. What does Remus think of me? Assuming Remus was still alive, he believed that Sirius was either a traitor and murderer or an innocent victim. Of course he believes I'm innocent. He knows me better than anyone alive. He knows I could never do this. Maybe he's working on proving my innocence right now! He felt a small ray of hope, but it diminished quickly. But then why wouldn't he doubt me? I doubted him. I thought he was a spy for Voldemort, for fuck's sake. Remus, the most beautiful man alive.

Sirius wept again, cursing even the tiny amount of light reaching him in his cell, wanting desperately to slit his wrists or hang himself with his bed sheets, anything to make his agony end.

But Wormtail's dead, said a tiny voice in the back of his mind suddenly. You killed him. Peter paid for what he did. Sirius smiled wanly. He would have much rather brought him down with a series of Cruciatus curses, so many that the pain would eventually rip his organs apart inside him. But at least he's dead. He can never betray another friend.

And Harry lived, the voice said. Harry is the boy... who lived. Sirius jerked his head up, staring at the black and slimy wall in front of him. Harry had lived.

Sirius had attended little Harry's christening only a year before. He had worn his best suit, a wrinkled, lint-covered eyesore two sizes too large and smelling of mothballs. James and Lily had been dressed in their Sunday best, grinning as they stood before the altar, Lily clutching her small baby in her arms. Sirius had always been a tough guy, a rebel, a man's man (in more ways than one), so he was shocked and horrified when a tear rolled down his cheek during the ceremony, watching the drops of water land on the little baby's head, hearing it wail, watching it wriggle in the priest's arms as it tried futilely to escape.

Harry had lived. Harry had been hit by the killing curse, a curse that not even the most powerful wizard could survive, and he was still alive, untouched except for a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. How the hell could a baby survive? he thought, but no answer came to him.

***

Sirius Black was the only man in the history of Azkaban Prison to retain what sanity he had come in with.

The doors to the cells had simple key locks that were easy to pick, but they were sometimes absentmindedly left unlocked by Dementors when they brought food or supplies.

The Dementors were Azkaban's guards, horrid wraiths that sucked all the joy from a person's soul. They left their prisoners weakened and depressed, soulless and without hope. The few criminals who left their cells only ended up returning a short time later and closing the cell door behind them again.

Sirius was different. Sirius left his cell often, although he found that there was little point in doing so. He spoke with the other prisoners, but the conversations would peter out after only a few minutes, his conversation partner curling into a ball on the floor and weeping.

Very few people in Azkaban understood how Sirius was able to escape the worst of the Dementors' torment, and the Dementors themselves knew nothing.

Sirius Black, along with his friends James and Peter, had become an unregistered animagus--a large black dog--in his fifth year at Hogwarts. The transformation process had been very difficult to master, but the boys had done it to protect their werewolf friend, Remus, from the dangers of his monthly lycanthropic transformations. James had taken the form of a stag, and little Peter had, appropriately enough, taken the form of a rat.

Sirius found that when he was in his animagus form, the Dementors ignored him. He did not even feel the usual bone-chilling cold as they passed nearby. Sirius remained in dog form as often as possible.

When he was in human form, the Dementors had only a slight effect, only enough to make him feel down. Their efforts were thwarted by the misery he already felt--how could they make a depressed person even more depressed? However, they occasionally tapped into his memories of his friend and eventual lover, Remus, so he struggled to maintain his animagus form, even when the strain weakened every bone and muscle in his canine body.

He and Remus Lupin had been involved with each other, in one form or another, since they were 14, since the night Sirius had gotten drunk in the common room and accidentally climbed into Remus's bed instead of his own.

"Wha--?" a sleepy voice had asked as he settled onto the bed.

"Move over," Sirius had growled.

"Sirius? You have a bed of your own, you know!"

Sirius had lain his head down on the pillow, watching Remus, and a sneaky grin had crept across his face. "I think this one will be more fun."

His friend's eyes had boggled. "What are you going to do?"

Sirius had snuggled up to him, his erection pressed against Remus's thigh.

"Let's play, Moony," Sirius had whispered, stroking his friend's cheek.

What had began as drunken lust between two inexperienced boys had grown into a deep love, a bond of two souls. For the first time in his life, Sirius had found himself spending most of his days with someone other than his best friend, James, and his homosexuality had come as a shock to everyone, especially himself.

Remus and Sirius had moved in together after graduating Hogwarts, fighting the forces of darkness as Aurors all day and curled up together, naked and sweaty, all night. Sirius remembered Remus's musky scent, his soft skin, and wished he could be in his bed now. Remus, my love, he thought, his eyes watering again. If it had not been for Lord Voldemort and his followers, Sirius's life would have been perfect. If it had not been for Lord Voldemort... Because of one man who had chosen to follow the path of evil, three of Sirius's friends lay dead, and Sirius himself had been snatched from his lover's arms and left to rot in Azkaban, believed guilty of some of the worst crimes the wizarding world had ever seen.

New prisoners were brought in regularly for several months after Sirius's arrival, all of them Death Eaters or those who had in some way assisted them. He was in a building full of traitors and murders, just like Peter. He wanted to project his feelings towards his old friend onto these men and women, to imagine Wormtail's sniveling face as he tortured and killed them, but he knew that they were suffering enough without his help, and really, he realized, they were not Peter.

After a while, the influx of prisoners slowed to a trickle. Sirius had been able to find out from some of them about life on the outside before their souls were too badly damaged. He knew that Lord Voldemort had been defeated, destroyed in his attempt to kill Harry Potter. He was comforted by the thought that James and Lily's killer had died or been weakened to a mere wisp of a man while standing amongst their very bodies. Baby Harry had, intentionally or not, exacted vengeance for his parents' deaths only moments after their lives had been taken. Sirius grinned at the thought, one of the few times he had ever shown a positive emotion since his arrival. Good boy, he thought, but he was soon sad again. That's what Remus used to say... after.

***

Sirius was unaware of the passage of time while he sat in his cell. Had mere months passed? Years? Decades? He looked down at his arms. He seemed to have aged, but he could not tell if it was due to the length of his stay or the quality of it. Since his arrival, the cold weather had grown even colder, then less cold, then colder, indicating the passage of seasons.

Occasionally, he thought of leaving. There were times that he almost did it. He would walk all the way to the front door. But he could not go further. Some of his fellow prisoners had heard of him and told him that the entire wizarding world believed him to be a mass murderer. Even if he could escape the tiny island, he could not return to the life he had known.

But the worst of it was Remus. Moony had not saved him from prison. He had not visited or helped him escape. He had not sent him an owl. Sirius knew that these things were probably difficult to do, but if Remus loved him the way he used to, he would have found a way. If it were him in here, I'd save him. A hundred Dementors couldn't stop me from reaching him. If Remus had not visited him or contacted him, it could only mean one thing: he had stopped loving him. And if Remus did not love him, it could only be because he believed him to be guilty.

Fucking asshole! he thought. How could he think I'd do that? He should know that I would never betray my best friend, that I would gladly suffer the worst torture under Voldemort himself rather than give them up. I shared my deepest secrets with him. I shared my bed with him. Hell, I lost my virginity to him! OK, maybe I worried a little bit about his ability to keep the secret, but it was only because he's a werewolf! Who knows how those Death Eaters could have used that to make him talk. But me? He's out there somewhere, seriously believing that I killed those people?

Sirius felt his heart ache in his chest at the thought of Remus hating him. He never loved me. He couldn't have loved me. If he had loved me even half as much as I thought he did, he would know I had been framed. He would come help me. Somehow...

Maybe he wasn't the spy after all. But who knows. Anyone who could betray my love like that...

He hit his head against the wall repeatedly. I've lost Remus. I've lost James. If I hadn't been such a fucking moron, I would have made Remus the Secret Keeper instead. At least then if he abandoned me, I'd still have James.

Sirius collapsed on the floor in a heap. I deserve to die here. I deserve to die for betraying my only friends.

From that moment on, Sirius remained in his cell, entertaining no more thoughts of escape. The days passed, the sun rising and setting over and over in the sky over his broken form, his time only interrupted by visits from Dementors. The creatures had been confused by Sirius's strength, his ability to resist their dark powers, but now they seemed satisfied as they peered at him through the bars.

Sirius was sitting in his cell one day, picking listlessly at a piece of stale bread, when he heard voices--apparently sane, human voices--some short distance away.

"Fudge, please, no!" cried a man. There was a scuffling sound.

"Shut up," came another's voice, closer to Sirius's cell now. "You're going to rot here forever."

There was a brief pause, and the man called Fudge cleared his throat and spoke again. "I've brought you a particularly nasty little criminal for you to torment." He chuckled weakly. Sirius knew he was speaking to a Dementor, a futile task. "In fact, he's so nasty that I had to help bring him here myself and see the look on the his face as you sucked out his pitiful little soul."

For a few minutes, Sirius heard only a small whimpering noise and laughter. Then, "It was worth it!" Fudge said. "Have a pleasant stay."

Sirius heard heavy shoes on the stone floor outside his cell, growing closer and closer. A portly, gray-haired little man began to walk past his cell, but he stopped short. He turned to face Sirius, grinning, and grabbed hold of the cell bars.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Sirius Black, the infamous murderer and traitor! How's prison life treating you?" Sirius just stared at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear man. Do allow me to introduce myself. I'm Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic."

Sirius shrugged. "Good for you."

Fudge seemed noticeably flustered. "You seem to have held up well."

"Yeah, life's grand," Sirius said, scowling, wishing the silly little man would go away.

Fudge smiled and puffed himself up. "These days, yes, I think it's going rather well. You know, a lot has happened since you came in here." He grinned. "You'll be sorely disappointed to know that Voldemort was killed. You have no Dark Lord to bow down to anymore."

Sirius looked the man over, unimpressed. "Lord Voldemort is not that easy to kill," he said. "He's out there, somewhere. He'll be back."

Fudge scowled. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But I doubt he could survive that Avada Kedavra curse."

Sirius laughed. "I don't see why not. A baby did!"

Fudge shook his head. "Who knows if those old stories were true? Whose word do we have for any of it? I think, Mr. Black, that you'd do better to let go of your precious Dark Lord. He won't save you. No one will!" With that, Fudge whirled around and marched off down the hall, laughing.

Idiot, Sirius thought.

He looked up as a Dementor flew past. Hope it gives that stupid old man a big, sloppy kiss. He chuckled to himself.

As Sirius looked around his cell, something caught his eye--something on the floor just outside his cell, something that looked remarkably like a copy of... The Daily Prophet! He leaped off his bed and ran to the bars, grabbing it desperately. That idiot lost his paper!

Sirius hurried back to his bed with it and unfolded it slowly. His eyes shifted immediately to the date at the top. Twelve years. I've been here for 12 years. He glanced over the front page. Some wizard family had traveled to Egypt--who cared? And some other wizard had just been sentenced to life in Azkaban for crimes against the Ministry. Must be the same guy, Sirius thought. He leafed through the pages quickly, skimming the headlines. Same old crap. I guess that's comforting. But just then, a headline caught his attention: "What Really Happened at Hogwarts." Something happened at Hogwarts? He read the story quickly. When he had finished, he sat back against the wall, stunned. The newspaper fell from his hands and landed on the mattress in front of him.

A Death Eater (who remained anonymous throughout) had given a little black book to a girl at Hogwarts. The book had turned out to be the diary of Tom Riddle, a student of many years ago who would later change his name to Lord Voldemort and terrorize the wizarding world for years. The little girl had written to Tom through his diary, and his preserved self had convinced her to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.

The Chamber had always been believed to be a legend--it was supposed to hold a dangerous monster that, when released, would kill every muggle-born child in the school. But it was apparently legend no more. The monster--a basilisk--had petrified three students. But by the end of the year, both it and Tom Riddle had been defeated. Defeated by none other than Harry Potter.

Sirius's mind was whirling. Little Harry... Harry, who was a little baby the last time Sirius had seen him ... Harry was, what? Almost 13, maybe? And he had brought down a basilisk and a young Lord Voldemort single-handedly. Sirius's heart sang in his chest. That little baby, now clearly a powerful wizard... maybe even stronger than Dumbledore himself? Does he look like James? Is James back? Tears welled up in eyes at the thought. I need to see him. I'm his godfather. He's never known me.

Sirius sighed and picked up the newspaper again. His eyes fell on the red-haired wizards in the photograph on the front page, standing in front of an old pyramid. The parents seemed very happy, waving at the camera, talking, and laughing. Next to them, the oldest brothers seemed to be more sedate, smiling politely. Two other boys, identical twins, seemed to be up to no good, whispering and giggling. They reminded Sirius of his days at school with James. The youngest children were in front of the others, foremost in the photo. The little boy was giving his sister bunny ears, and she was slapping him playfully on the shoulder. He would turn slightly and wave her off, laughing, the pet rat on his shoulder clinging desperately to the fabric of his robes as he moved.

Sirius froze cold, staring at the photo.

No, it can't be. It can't. He's dead.

But there it was in front of him, a little gray rat, a rat he knew all too well--none other than Peter Pettigrew.

***

Later that night, a large black dog padded softly down the corridor between the cells, its attention focused on the heavy door ahead. Sirius reached it and morphed smoothly into human form again, which was necessary if he was ever to pull the door open. He heard a whooshing noise and knew that there was no time to waste. He wrenched the door open with what little strength he had left and slipped into the cold night, transforming back into a dog again mere moments before two Dementors swept past. The dog stood in the shadows until they were out of sight.

Above him, the sky was clear, and the moon was full. He thought of Moony, who would be in werewolf form somewhere, perhaps suffering with none of his old friends by his side, perhaps wishing that he had never doubted his old lover's loyalties.

Then Sirius's thoughts turned to the little rat sitting on a boy's shoulder, soaking up the warm sun of Egypt. You fucking bastard, he thought. And he disappeared into the night.