Hallo! I own nothing. : (
Just a quick thing that came to me when i was riding on the train, about Sirius and his time in Azkaban. It's a bit short (and angsty) so sorry. : P
On the good days, he dreams of sunshine. Of lying in the grass how green it seems. When was the last time I saw grass? of watching clouds they float across the beautiful open sky. Is it really so blue? of laughing with Lily and James and Remus. He dreams of the old days. The good days. Sometimes he even sees a faceless, gawky teenager sprawled out next to Lily in the grass, chuckling at something she's said. Harry...oh Harry...What I wouldn't give to see you now, so grown up.
On the good days, everything is bathed in coloured light. Possibilities and might-have-beens shine brighter than anything he can see with his eyes. The birds chirp from their perches in the trees, the sound of their flight making its way to the group in the grass. He can smell the salt from the ocean, somewhere in the distance. The sun beats down on them, warming them to the core and warding off the evil fighting it's way in. Warding off the bad memories.
On the good days, he remembers who he is and who he was. He talks to the human attendants, begging newspapers from them, catching up on the wizarding world. For the day when I can get out of this hell. He fills in crosswords, reminiscing of years long gone when he would complete them by the fireside in a certain dormitory. Not necessarily a happy memory, just nostalgic.
On the bad days, the rain drips through the cracks of the stone walls, amassing in puddles on the floor of the cell. The metal bars are cold and unforgiving; like his parents, like the Blacks. The only sounds he can hear are the moans of the dying, the shrieks of the insane and the sobs of the repentant. Their 'guards' drift back and forth, making rounds in their ghostly manner, slowly sucking the very life out of the prisoners.
On the bad days he slips in and out of consciousness, losing track of time and simply floating. Mostly it feels like he has been confunded. He examines his skeletal hands, memorizing the calluses and scars on them, reminiscing of the once muscled and toned body he'd been so proud of. It has withered away to nothing more than a sack of skin draped loosely over bone, shaggy hair falling down to the small of his back.
On the hard days he alters his form, rejoicing in the creature he has become with every fibre of his being. Mutt. Animal. He dreams of death and a broken house, of a crying infant and a giant flying away on his precious motorbike. I would never ride my motorbike again James, if it would bring you back. You thought there was nothing you could do to make me give it up, but I would do it in a heartbeat if it meant that everything could go back to the way it was. He remembers every blow he has suffered, counts ever day that he has spent in his miserable, dingy cell, and curses the rat with every breath. Why didn't I see it. It's too late to go back now, but if I could...
On the hard days, he regrets. If only I hadn't made them switch. If only there was a way to bring them back. He feels like his regrets will eat him alive, swallow him whole. I'm so sorry Remus. On the hard days, he apologizes for his existence. I'm so sorry Harry (Heaven only knows where you are now). He apologizes for all the mistakes he has made. I'm so sorry Lily. He apologizes for failing the only people who ever believed in him, I'm so sorry... the ones who had adopted him into their family.. I'm so sorry James... Please forgive me.