To Dream
A man stood in a cell in Azkaban, watching one of the inmates. The stranger was deathly pale, with long black hair. His long, elaborate robes trailed on the floor in a small train behind him. His eyes glittered strangely as he watched another man sleeping on the small cot.
The inmate was in poor shape. He was painfully thin with sunken cheeks; veins clearly marked on the back of his hands. He was dressed in a thin nightshirt and it was evident that he had not use of a razor in a long while.
Sudden movement at his side made distracted the stranger from his study of the prisoner. A young woman appeared next to him, dressed in far less formal clothes. She was wearing was a black spaghetti-strap top with tight black jeans and black boots. Her trademark ankh hung around her neck on a long silver chain.
"Hey Dream, what's up?"
His eyes flicked sideways to look at his sister but he gave no response. His gaze returned to the man lying before him.
Death tapped her boots on the floor. "Dreeeaaaam…"
He frowned, mildly annoyed at his sister for disturbing his peace. "I was observing this man, sister." The prisoner moaned slightly in his sleep, hands twitching, as if trying to touch things that were not there. He uttered a soft moan and tossed about restlessly.
"You've got to be joking. You came all the way down here just to watch a man? That's ridiculous!" She laughed, watching his face twist with displeasure. Dream hated being the butt of a joke.
Dream ignored his sister, replying instead with a question. "Why are you here?"
Death shifted her weight absently. "The usual. Nothing else would make me come here, anyway. Azkaban doesn't exactly emanate good vibes. It's such a miserable place to be in. Heck, it makes me depressed."
She bent closely over the man, inspecting him. She frowned, not liking what she saw. "Anyway, what's so special about this one? Isn't he like all the others? He's most probably insane. It really bugs me, you know, for a perfectly sane person to end up going mad after their time here. There's almost nothing left for me to collect when they're done with their lives."
Dream finally spoke, his deep voice reverberating around the small cell. Curiously, the man failed to awaken despite the presence of the two visitors. "This man is not supposed to be here. He was betrayed by a friend, judged without trial and condemned to spend the rest of his life as a prisoner."
"Ah." Understanding dawned upon Death, her black eyes growing wider. That particular story was very familiar. The details weren't identical but the end result was the same - unfair incarceration in a cruel prison for an indefinite period.
"Feeling sympathetic, Dream?"
The Lord of Dreams kept silent.
Death sighed. She'd expected that. She straightened up from her observation of the prisoner, stretching her joints. "How long has he been here, anyway?"
The reply was immediate. "Seven years."
She whistled. "That's long." Death of all beings knew the meaning of mortality. After all, she defined it.
"Seven years? And he isn't crazy?"
"No, that is what attracted me to him in the first place. He is in full control of his mental faculties. He has made forays into Despair's kingdom but has never stayed. A remarkable feat."
"Damned stubborn bugger, isn't he? That's really something."
Dream nodded. "He possesses a will stronger than that of the average man."
"He's not mad and he's not depressed either. So how does he do it? There's absolutely nothing here to distract you, you know. Not to mention those Dementors outside…"
"I have never approved of Despair's creations." Dream moved to stand next to the cot. He looked down to his sister's eyes, studying the curling tattoo around her eye.
"How does he do it, you ask? He dreams, sister. Many volumes in my library came from him, seven years' worth. He dreams of his school days, of friends, family, and lovers he might never see again. Often, he dreams of revenge. Sometimes he dreams of his godson. But most of all, he dreams of freedom. He wishes to be free."
"Well, you could easily do something about that, you know." Unspoken between the two of them was the fact that if Dream so desired, he could easily use his powers to free the prisoner.
Dream shook his head. "That would be interfering. Destiny will not be pleased."
"Oh, sod Destiny. This is an injustice! The man doesn't belong here!" Death's voice rose animatedly.
"No. I cannot do that. And I will not do that."
Death crossed her arms and frowned. "You're such a stickler for the rules, Dream."
He raised an arch eyebrow, challenging her mildly. "We are not above the rules, sister. You know that."
She shrugged. She had known that Dream would never have freed the prisoner but it was worth a shot. "Fine. It's your call, not mine. Anyway, I'm sick of hanging around here, let's go somewhere else."
"Where do you wish to go?"
"Oh, I don't know, does it matter? I don't want to hang around Azkaban, that's all. Can we just go? You're not going to free him, he's still going to be stuck here and the situation's not going to improve with you mooning over him. I'm leaving," With that, his older sister vanished.
Dream moved to follow his sister but was held back when the prisoner moaned loudly, calling out a name. His voice was hoarse from disuse. "Remus…"
He looked down on the slumbering man, something stirring inside him. The Lord of Dreams was rarely moved to interfere in the lives of mortals, but there was something about this particular prisoner that struck a chord with Dream.
Like the man lying before him, Dream knew the pain of being a prisoner. He was intimately familiar with the feeling of helplessness as one lay behind bars, knowing that the world was passing him by. He could easily feel the anger at the injustice of it all.
Unlike the prisoner however, Dream was almost immortal. Seventy years of captivity had been pure torture for him but it was not, overall a significant part of his life. This mortal was doomed to waste his life away in prison.
"Just let me finish this one last task." Dream reached inside his voluminous robes to take out a small pouch.
"I am sorry I cannot free you, for that decision is not mine to make. However, I can do something to make your sleep more bearable." Dream grabbed a fistful of sand, sprinkling it softly over the sleeping man. Then, he vanished, leaving the man alone again.
**********
And since that night and for the nights to come, the man called Sirius Black had a peaceful night's sleep. In his dreams, he was young again. There was the earnest company of a short, plump boy who was always eager to follow. He planned new audacious stunts with his raven-haired best friend. And he dreamt of the gentle smile of a sandy-haired boy with clear hazel eyes.
~ End ~