He arrives to find the Dark Mark hovering menacingly in the sky, the house itself almost in ruins. He rushes inside, shouting for James, for Lily, for Harry.
Sirius twitches and starts to whine, his large canine form trembling.
He finds James, collapsed on the floor of a room downstairs. He might only have been sleeping, were it not for the wide open stare and look of abject fear on his old friend's face. The shock physically hits him in the chest, almost sending him reeling.
He can never sleep well, not here.
Frantic now, he dashes up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He shouts for Lily, for Harry, and at last he hears a baby's cry, piercing and panicked. He freezes at the doorway of Harry's nursery, unable to take his eyes off the slumped body beside the child's cot, red hair fanning out around her head.
Sirius wakes with a jolt, almost expecting to find himself back there, back then. It takes him only a fraction of a moment to register the shadows on the stone walls of his cell, shadows that shake threateningly as the flame of the lone candle on the floor, drawn close in a fruitless attempt at warmth, flickers with Sirius' every breath.
His breathing slows as he focuses on the flame, trying to calm himself. He counts the breaths with a detached interest, looking on as the mist vanishes on contact with the meagre heat radiating from the candle flame. He wonders whether those breaths are a blessing or a curse. He wonders how many more he will take.
He does nothing but stare at the flame, as though if he stares at it long enough he can shut out the darkness surrounding him. The darkness which envelopes not only his body but also his mind, dragging him down into places he has not been since he discovered that two of his best friends were betrayed at the hand of another.
He gingerly approaches the cot, reaching out to pick up the baby. He holds him close to his chest, trying to soothe him as best he can through his own tears, until at last Harry's sobs die down. He tilts his godson back to get a better look and gently strokes a vicious scar on his forehead.
A loud clunk in the distance causes Sirius' head to snap up, and his heightened sense of hearing makes out the sound of a metal door being slammed shut, followed by the sound of footsteps. He is instantly on the alert; the Dementors don't walk, they glide, so whose footsteps are those? He immediately transforms once more, wincing as the intense chill in the air hits his skin, now unprotected by the soft, matted fur of his Animagus form. He can hear the footsteps growing closer, along with the horrible rattling breaths that signal the arrival of the Dementors. Wave after wave of despair hitting him, he shuffles as far back into the wall behind him as he can. The sharp, irregular stones stab into his back as the air around him turns icy cold.
The footsteps draw nearer, footsteps Sirius begins to think he has heard before. He watches as the candle flame begins to tremble violently before finally succumbing to the chill, to the ever-increasing approach of the Dementors. He is now enshrouded in almost-complete darkness, but many years in Azkaban have given him the ability to adjust more quickly than normal, and Sirius' eyes are now able to make out the source of the footsteps.
It is a man, huge and vast, taking up almost the entire width and height of the corridor. His shoulders are slumped, his head, covered with long shaggy hair, bowed low. His hands, magically restrained, are held out in front of him, and he is slowly shuffling along with one Dementor in front and another behind. As the man approaches the cell, Sirius cannot help but lean forward slightly in an attempt to discern more clearly the features of the man's face, before sucking his breath in loudly through his teeth and backing away again in recognition. He suddenly realises why those footsteps are so familiar.
Still cuddling Harry, he hears the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. He is numb by now, unable to do anything but stand and wait. He breathes a sigh of relief as their owner appears, his large frame filling the doorway.
Hagrid.
The shock hits Sirius with an almost physical force. Hagrid, who had treated Sirius so well at Hogwarts, who had seemed to understand something of the isolation he, Sirius, had felt with a family he had never quite fitted into. Hagrid, who had been so friendly to the Marauders and Lily, always ready with a smile, or a cup of tea, or a patient ear. Hagrid, who had turned up to the Potters' house on that dreadful Halloween night, who had taken Harry from him, to safety. Who had taken Harry.
As Sirius hands Harry over, Hagrid tells him not to worry, he tells him he will keep him safe. Sirius wants more than anything to trust him, but he is wary. He has trusted before, and he had been so wrong.
Sirius' breath starts to quicken in panic, coming out ragged and heavy. Has something happened to Harry? Has he done anything to Harry? Sirius can't have put his trust in the wrong man again, he simply can't have. Not again.
He looks on warily as Hagrid mounts his old motorbike, a pang in his throat. For a split second he seriously contemplates changing his mind, wanting to grab Harry out of Hagrid's arms and never let him go. But he sees the way Hagrid is gently cradling him as he prepares to set off, the compassion in his eyes as he gives Sirius one final nod before kicking the bike into life and taking off into the night, and he makes the decision to trust again.
He clenches his fists, forcing himself to take deep breaths. No, not Hagrid. He hasn't hurt Harry. He hasn't hurt anyone. He can't have. It is the Dementors, sucking out all of Sirius' positive thoughts, sucking out his optimism and trust and hope.
He looks on as Hagrid, now passing his cell, briefly stumbles. The Dementors stop and wait, immobile, impassive, as Hagrid regains his footing before they continue to glide down the corridor, heavy cloaks brushing against the floor. Sirius moves forwards to peer through the bars of his cell at Hagrid's retreating figure, already moving in the slow and laboured way characteristic of all those brought in here. Pressed wholly against the cool steel bars now, he can feel the thudding in his chest as he watches the Dementor in front finally slow to a halt before swinging open a creaky cell door.
The metal hinges squeak open as Sirius stares on impassively, flanked by Dementors. He knows they can't see him, but he still holds his head up high in defiance as he enters his cell for the first time. The door shuts behind him with a loud slam, keys jangling in the lock before the Dementors drift off again into the distance. He stands, shellshocked, for what can only be a matter of minutes, although to him they feel like eternity. Flashes of memories shoot through him. The screaming in the street after Sirius had just blasted a man to pieces, a man he had considered one of his closest friends. James and Lily, grinning at him happily on their wedding day. The Dark Mark, floating above their house. He sinks to the floor weakly, looking around at the small space that will be his for the rest of his life.
And then, he cries.
Lost in the past, Sirius almost misses the Dementors passing his cell once more, only alerted to their presence as the bars he is grasping hard almost freeze as they pass. Their horrible rasping breaths fade away as Sirius, kneeling now on the cold stone floor, closes his eyes, concentrates hard and transforms. He stretches out his canine limbs one at a time, relieved that his mind is already starting to feel clearer. He pads around the confines of his cell before returning to his spot away from the door, sinking his head down onto his large front paws. The silence is eerie, growing louder until Sirius can hear the pounding in his ears.
Until he hears Hagrid.
Not loud, heaving sobs as he had expected, but instead quiet, muffled gasps and moans of despair, sounds so heartbreaking that Sirius feels a lump rising in his throat in sympathy. He has been in here for such a long time, has seen so many prisoners brought in. He normally shuts himself off from them, from the wails and the rages and once, the hysterical laughter, but not this time. Not from someone who should never be in here in the first place, of that Sirius is sure.
The soft sobs quietly subside, and the corridor is quiet once more. A calm, resigned sort of quiet this time, although with that pervading chill still in the air. Sirius looks forlornly at the burnt-out candle stump before closing his eyes, surrendering himself to the dreams, to the darkness that eventually ensnares the prisoners of Azkaban.