A / N : I'm not sure why sure why I'm posting these. They began as a little thought that wouldn't leave me alone - namely, I wonder what it would be like to get inside the minds of everyone in Azkaban? Azkaban drives most of its inhabitants mad eventually, but everyone is different, and so, surely, everyone goes mad differently too. The idea interested me, so I decided to explore it in a little more detail, and combine it with an experiment. It's quite simple - I pick a character and give myself ten minutes to write Azkaban from their POV. Because of the time constraints they're all very short, and not my best writing, in my opinion. But they're interesting. I'm happy to take requests, the only rule being that the character has to have actually set foot in Azkaban in canon, because this isn't an AU. Other than that, feel free to request any canon character you like!

If you do read, please leave a review to let me know what you thought. It would mean a lot to me.

The title is a lyric from the Muse song "Starlight", which I don't own. Nor do I own Harry Potter. (If only!)

Oh, and obviously, I'm cranking the angst up to the maximum here. A group of people are loosing their minds, the angst factor is almot unavoidable. Enjoy!


Sirius Black

He's not mad.

Not like the rest of them.

Not like her.

He watches them bring Bellatrix in, a year after he himself has been thrown into a cell without so much as a trial. (The injustice still rankles. Then again, a great many injustices are currently rankling with Sirius. First and foremost, of course, is the unassailable fact that Lily and James are dead, and Harry is who knows where. This is an injustice that far outstrips everything else, even the knowledge that everyone he once considered a friend has turned their back on him, and – worse, if that were possible – the whole world thinks he betrayed Lily and James. His best friend, and Lily. Harry's parents, for crying out loud. )

He wrenches his thoughts back to the present with an effort, because he doesn't want to miss seeing Bellatrix. Days blur together in Azkaban, an avalanche of misery, and anything that breaks the cycle is to be welcomed. Even if it means laying eyes on someone he hates, someone who is as guilty, in his book, as Peter. Worse. Peter, he knows, would have been weak. He would have caved under pressure, would have craved the protection of someone stronger. But Bellatrix . . . . she didn't need protection, or so she would have the world believe. She was a force to be reckoned with, all on her own, and why she had felt willing to humble herself and be anyone's slave was always something of a mystery to Sirius. He contented himself with the knowledge that his cousin was completely insane and her reasons for doing anything probably lacked, well, reason.

He expects her to be fighting.

She has always been arrogant, and vain. So it shocks him when they drag her through the gates and down the hall. Quite literally drag her. A Dementor has a scabbed and bony hand clamped around each upper arm. Bellatrix seems scarcely conscious, her eyelids flickering in the gloom, and her feet drag along the floor, boots scuffing on the flagstones. She is murmering something, he realizes as she passes his cell. Over and over again, a mantra, a feverish-sounding sort of prayer.

The word "master."

Suddenly repulsed, he flings himself against the opposite wall, tearing his eyes away from her. Hatred is coursing through his veins, thick and heady as the half-remembered taste of mulled mead. He's glad Bellatrix can't seem to tolerate the Dementors. He's glad they make her weak. He doesn't care if they kill her.

She deserves it.

There is so much evil in the world, but if he can just see one tiny piece of it - her – conquered . . . . well. He might not feel so helpless. He might actually recall the meaning of the word "hope".

He waits, wondering how long she will last before she begins to scream. He predicts she'll crack at sunset. He did.

He watches the weak, watery sunlight drain away, and almost as if on cue . . . . she begins to scream. Sirius smirks, just a little. He still knows his family much too well. It's not a happy thought, so the Dementors can't drag it out of him. But it's something that reminds him of who he was – of who he is.

Bellatrix's screams he can take, although any pleasure he derives from the sound is swiftly extinguished by the depressing realization that he will probably spend the rest of his life rotting in here, listening to that sound.

And that's enough to drive anyone mad.