A Letter

I write this from my cell in Azkaban. I know that you hate to be reminded of this place, and do not blame you in the slightest. If I get out, I'm sure I will hate its mention just as much as you.

Perhaps I should say when rather than if. But that would be optimism, something I have little of anymore. It is hard to be optimistic when one is dressed in threadbare robes, hasn't bathed in a year, is fed nothing but two meals of a piece of bread and a bowl of muck a day, and is surrounded by soul-sucking Dementors.

I've stayed sane though. There is room for optimism in that statement. I've stayed sane much the way you did. For I am innocent, as you know from my previous letters, which they allow us to write once every month or so. And I have the abilities of our shared secret, which helps me to no end.

I heard that you were freed. How does that feel? Are you living with Remus? I must admit that I'm jealous. Freedom, and life beyond Hogwarts, the Dursleys, and these cold stone walls is something I have never known. But I won't dwell on that; things are depressing enough around here without me dwelling on things of that sort.

Anger though, anger is a freeing emotion. I'm sure that you already know that, after all, you were here, and you had your anger towards Peter to keep you going. How I wish our situations weren't so similar. How I wish Ron had not betrayed us.

So many memories, Sirius. It was the last day at Hogwarts for the three of us. Ron, Hermione and I. I was with Draco, celebrating, while Ron and Hermione, who were at that point already engaged, went of to do a bit of celebrating of their own. Or so I thought.

Ron came back, with blood on his hands. I had been in the loo at the time and he came in while I was washing up. He saw me, and I suppose that he panicked. He put the full body-bind on me, and then force-fed me a potion. It felt like Imperius, but I couldn't fight it. I was still myself, could still think, but I had no control over my body, none. He finished washing up and I saw the Mark, for just a moment. But it was enough to know exactly what it was. He took me to where Hermione's body was, for she was already dead at that point, and he put the knife in my hand, and the blood stained my robes instead of his.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I suppose that Ron must have raised a fuss up at the school, for moments after he had left me there was suddenly several teachers standing in front of me, staring in shock at both me and Hermione's body. I think that they gave me Veritaserum. Whatever it was, it didn't stop Ron from controlling my answers. I heard my own mouth proclaim that I was guilty while my mind screamed that I was innocent. I couldn't cry, Ron wouldn't allow it. And I could do nothing to stop his control, nothing to fight it. I wanted to scream and to cry and for the first and perhaps only time in my life I truly wanted to kill. I wanted to kill Ron for what he had done. Much as you had wanted to kill Pettigrew.

Again, my memory blurs. There were Aurors, ministry officials, Dumbledore, Draco. Dumbledore looking at me with such sorrow and shame in his eyes that it nearly killed me to see it. But Draco, he looked at me with certainty. I could see it in his eyes that he knew I was innocent. But there was nothing he could do, he was helpless as I. I was handcuffed, and taken quite swiftly to Azkaban. Taken here.

I am so sorry Sirius. So sorry. For leaving you, for all of the times that I put you in danger. For everything. And I promise you this, Sirius. I will get out of here some day. And I'll prove that I'm innocent, and that neither you nor I deserve the disgust that the wizarding world feels towards me, and felt for so long towards you. I love you, Sirius. You are like the father I never had. And I miss you. I wish you the best of luck in all of your endeavors. And I hope that you are happy with Remus. Tell him hello for me, and tell Draco that next month's letter goes to him. And try, please try, to make Dumbledore see that I am innocent.

Thank you,

All my love,

Harry

The young man, gaunt and unshaven after his thus far year-long stay at Azkaban, carefully blew on the parchment to dry the ink, before rolling it up and placing a small seal on it and sliding it out the door. Then he transformed into a rather small grey wolf before curling up in a corner, shivering from the cold.

A human guard walked along the cells, looking for the notes and letters from all of those few prisoners who remained sane. He saw a rolled up parchment with a read wax seal sitting outside the cell inside which the famous and now infamous Harry Potter currently resided. He picked it up and then left, walking towards his office, giving a signal to the Dementors that he was finished with that particular wing of the prison. He walked inside his office and put the letters he carried into the fireplace and lit them with a candle. Yes, the letters made perfect kindling, and looking at how many times a day the fire was put out solely due to the nature of the Dementors, he needed quite a bit of kindling. He watched the letters burn and wondered how the prisoners could ever believe that those letters left the confines of Azkaban. For little ever left Azkaban once it arrived and letters were no exception.