Sirius Black: The Azkaban Chronicles

Sirius Black - The Azkaban Chronicles: Part I

Sirius hardly noticed when the dementors on either side of him grabbed both of his arms with their clammy, rotting hands. Neither did he notice as they led him down cold stone corridors, nor when they stopped outside of a small, dank, empty cell. The whole time he moved as if in a trance, his mind and body numb, but not as numb as his soul.

"No trial."

Those two words kept repeating in his head, echoing in the chasm of despair that yawned before him, threatening to swallow him whole. This can't be happening, Sirius thought frantically. It's just a nightmare, brought on by anxiety for my friends. Yes, that's all it is.

I'll wake up soon, send an owl to James describing this weird dream. Hell, I'll pop in and visit. It's been a while since I've seen Lily and Harry. Yeah, I'll go over there and tell James and Lily about it. Then Lily will fuss, and invite me to stay for supper, and James will laugh and tell me to quit being stupid, and he won't quit taunting me for the rest of the evening.

'Ah, did ickle Siwius have a bad dweam?' he'll coo in that sing-song baby voice. Then he'll laugh madly, because he thinks he's so witty, and he won't shut up until Lily scolds him and I throw something at him. And when I peg James in the head with, oh, say...a dinner roll, Harry will giggle and clap his little hands, wanting to see more comedy at his daddy's expense. So I'll gladly oblige, chucking silverware and whatnot at James' head, until James comes over and gets me in a headlock, or Lily proceeds to beat me with a dish towel.

He smiled.

The dementors inhaled deeply as they shoved him into the filthy cell. The faces of James, Lily, and Harry were sucked away from him, leaving him with only the repeated phrase and his cold disbelief. "No trial...no trial...no trial..."

The sound of a bolt sliding into place penetrated the fog in Sirius' brain, brought him crashing fully back to reality.

"No!" he cried, lunging at the door. "No!" Over and over he shouted, hurling himself bodily against the solid wooden door again and again, clawing at it until his hands and face were torn and bleeding.

Exhausted, he sank slowly to the dirty floor. Blood from a cut on his cheek mingled with the tears that streamed from his eyes. Too worn out to stand back up, Sirius crawled over to the small rickety cot pushed against the opposite wall and dragged himself onto it.

Lying on his side, he studied the room that was to be his new home. Stone, damp and slimy, it was small without actually making him claustrophobic. Still, it didn't exactly make him feel welcome. Cobwebs were in every corner and all over the ceiling, and several species of mold and fungus were growing on the walls and parts of the floor. And as for the floor, it was covered in dirt and filth, and was that a rat lurking in the far corner? Sirius shuddered.

Looking around at the dreary stone walls, Sirius noticed an area, cleared of fungus and grime, that had several groups of shallow score marks. Near each group was a name. He stood up and stared at them, wondering. How many people have lain here, surveying this cell just like I am? How many of them counted out their days on this crude calendar, until they were too weak - or too crazy - to continue?

Sirius picked up a jagged shard of rock from the floor near the base of the wall. He studied it for a moment, then, with a shaking hand, set about carving his name in the stone.

SIRIUS BLACK

When he had finished, Sirius stepped back to examine his work. There was a terrible finality about seeing his name engraved in the prison wall. Looking at it at it, he felt as though he were gazing upon his own tombstone. Seeing his name there, Sirius came to a disturbing realization.

No matter what happens, he thought. I'm now a part of Azkaban, and Azkaban is a part of me. He cringed.

Lying down again, Sirius tried to fall asleep. He pushed the sting of injustice, and the hurt of Peter's betrayal from his mind and imagined himself back at Hogwarts with James and the gang.

Yeah, we've just gotten back from robbing the kitchens. It was a close one this time. We were all four of us huddled under James' invisibility cloak, so it was kind of crowded. And as if it wasn't hard enough for four people to move quietly under those circumstances, Peter (of course, it's always Peter) went and trod on Remus' foot. Yeah, I know Peter's small, but he's a little heavy, if you know what I mean, especially when all his weight is resting on one foot. Poor Remmy, of course he started cursing. Who wouldn't?

As funny as it was to hear Mr. Dignified-well-behaved-prefect lose his cool and swear like that, the rest of us were unable to enjoy it. You see, good old Remmy had been cursing rather loudly, and Filch (evil old git), having ears like a fox, overheard. So in came Filch, followed by that bitchy cat of his, bellowing about profanity and students being out of bed. He would have had us too, except James had the presence of mind to chuck a dungbomb in the opposite direction. Then Filch went roaring off after the dungbomb and we scampered back to Gryffindor Tower, Remmy muttering under his breath the whole while.

As we were climbing through the portrait hole after giving the password, Peter slipped again, and his foot flew out and hit poor Remmy in the nose. I swear, we all thought it was broken. I mean, why else would it bleed so much? Peter (who nearly fainted at the sight of all that blood) was really apologetic, but seemed reluctant to be anywhere near Remus. He probably figured Remmy would make like a werewolf and tear his throat out. Remmy was about that mad.

Naturally, James and I yelled at Peter for being such a clumsy ass, nearly getting us caught, and nearly breaking Remmy's nose. I mean, those were not the acts of a friend. Then Peter, being somewhat of a pansy, started looking like he was about to cry. Of course Remmy, who by that time had managed to stop most of the bleeding with a corner of his robes, had to stick up for the wimp. He assured Peter that his nose wasn't broken, and it didn't hurt a bit, especially when compared to being a werewolf.

Then Remus lunged at Peter, pretending he was transforming, and proceeded to chase him all around the common room, snapping at his heels all the while. Peter, the silly ass, actually believed Remus was serious. He ended up standing on a table, cowering away from the "werewolf." The look of terror on his pudgy face nearly had James and me pissing in our pants. Good old Remmy. He can be a little stiff sometimes, but he does know how to have fun. And of course, Peter's always good for a laugh.

Finally, after we managed to calm Peter down and convince him that Remus wasn't due to transform for a good week or two, we crept up the stairs to our room in the boys' dormitory. Now I'm lying here, listening to my fellow Marauders fall asleep. I can hear James' soft snore, Remmy's quiet breathing, and Peter's squeaky, whistling snore. Annoying as hell at first, but I guess I've gotten used to it. And I guess I can put up with it, especially as long as I've got the memory of "Peter Pettigrew, werewolf bait" to laugh at.

Sirius grinned.

A dementor breathed in as it passed is cell on its patrol. All of a sudden, Sirius found himself back in his prison cell. He felt as though he was drowning in cold loneliness.

James is gone, he reminded himself. The days of the Marauders are over. James is dead, and it's my fault. Well, partly my fault, he ammended. Peter betrayed us all. Dumbledore and Remus probably both think I'm a betrayer and murderer. Lily is dead. Harry is an orphan. And here I am in Azkaban, surrounded by soul-sucking monsters. Life is just peachy. Not.

Wow, he thought wryly. A few days ago, I would have told anyone who asked that living with my family was the most depressing experience of my life. This puts depressing in a whole new light. He smirked, and congratulated himself on his wit.

The dementor passed on its way back down the cell block. Again, any shred of happiness fled.

What wit?! Sirius raged silently. If I had any wit at all, I would have stayed the secret-keeper, would have told Dumbledore. I wouldn't have trusted Peter, wouldn't have confronted him. It's my fault James and Lily are dead, my fault Harry's an orphan, my fault Peter's free - my fault I'm trapped here in this hellhole!

The footsteps receded down the corridor. Sirius sighed and relaxed. The footsteps approached again. Then they retreated. Approached. Retreated. Approached. Retreated.

All night long, the footsteps came and went. Each time they passed, he was drowning in empty despair, then he could breath again, only to have waves of hopelessness wash over him once more. The night wore on.

Over and over, the dementors passed. Over and over Sirius was forced to relive his worst memories. Finally, he slipped into sleep.

But sleep provided no solace for him. Sirius' dreams were troubled. Several times during the night, he was awakened by screams, some of them coming from neighboring cells, some from his own throat. At other times, he would wake, heart pounding from fear, covered in sweat, shaking from some unknown terror. His was far from a restful slumber.

Finally, after hours of tossing and turning to disturbed dreams, Sirius awoke to a dementor's deep breath outside his cell. It's like waking up by plunging into an icy pool, he reflected, only minus the refreshing tingle.

The door was opened slightly, and a small tray thrust hastily through the narrow aperture. The door was closed quickly, and the dementor moved on to the next cell.

Sirius sat up slowly, reluctantly. His whole body ached from the previous night's outburst. His eyes were gritty and hot from crying, his throat sore from screaming. Dried blood was caked on his face, which was streaked with dirt and tears. He stood up with a hoarse groan, and reeled from dizziness brought on by the sudden movement.

Reaching out for support, Sirius' raw, torn hand brushed the spot on the wall where his name was engraved. Shaken by the sight, he walked toward the door and picked up the tray.

Upon examining its meager contents, Sirius surmised that this was intended to be his breakfast. He sniffed the food gingerly, and grimaced in distaste. The aroma was not exactly appetizing. Oh well, he reassured himself mentally. It can't be as bad as Madam Pomfrey's hellish concoctions. With that encouraging thought, he grinned and took a hearty bite -

- then choked and spat it quickly back out, the grin gone from his face. Alright, I was wrong, he observed silently. Damn, but this place has a lousy kitchen. Probably has a house-elf like Kreatcher doing the cooking here. No way would the gang and I steal food in this place.

Sirius toyed with his food for a while, unwilling to ingest such lousy cuisine. Eventually, though, his hunger got the better of him. He heaved a resigned sigh, then brought the bowl to his lips.

"Cheers," he said to the empty cell with a sardonic smile. He ate quickly, trying very hard not to taste anything.

"Ah," he sighed to the emptiness when he had finished, setting the bowl back down and smacked his lips exaggeratedly. "My first meal as an inmate of Azkaban. I do hope the fare improves somewhat." He laughed, then halted abruptly. Still speaking aloud, he questioned his mental state.

"Does talking to myself make me crazy? Shit, am I cracking up? Oh shit, oh damn. Am I losing it? Bloody hell! Dammit, dammit!" He was hysterical now, yelling hoarsely, beating futilely at the walls of his cell.

"Is this what's to become of me?" he screamed. "Will I turn into a bloody nutcase? Fucking hell! What's happening to me?!"

Sirius collapsed on the filthy floor, sobbing as he sank into unconsciousness.

Again, he awoke to a dementor's deep breath, an icy chill, and the opening of his cell door. The old tray was removed and replaced with a new one. Must be suppertime, Sirius thought dully.

He lay there for a while, uninterested in eating, or even moving.

What the hell's the point? He wondered bitterly. It'd be so much easier just to lay here until I rot. Then they'll come to bury me and make room for some other poor bastard. That's the only time I'll ever be free is when I'm dead. So why not speed it up and get out of here sooner?

Suddenly, Sirius sat bolt upright. That's what they want, he realized. They're all of them hoping for me to just lay down and die, make it easy for 'em. Well screw them, it's not going to happen! I'll survive, I'll show them all. And someday I'll get out of here and make that ratty little bastard pay!

Sirius straightened up, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. One must eat to live, he reflected, with a mournful glance at the tray's pitiful contents. Yes, one must eat to live, but that doesn't mean one has to taste any of it. He held his nose, tipped his head back, and swallowed the food as quickly as he could, not bothering to chew, for that might mean getting a taste.

When he had finished, Sirius gathered up all of his newfound resolve and turned to look at the wall he'd been avoiding. His name, and the names of his predecessors stares back. He stood up gingerly, then moved, trance-like, until he was standing in front of the wall. Picking up the fragment of stone, he hesitated a moment before bringing his hand up to the empty space beside his name. There was no going back.

Sirius took a deep breath, steadied his shaking hand, and the slowly, deliberately, drew the stone down to create a solitary score mark.

Day one, he thought.

TO BE CONTINUED...