Written for Sirius Black's Birthday Challenge (Write about one of Sirius' birthdays), Variety of Prompts (Occasion: Birthday)
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He didn't even care that it was his birthday. Twenty two, what a load of waste.
Sitting in the holding cell, Sirius stared down at his dried out hands. November third. He had once looked onto this day with much celebration. Growing up, no matter how disappointed his parents were of him, they always remembered and celebrated his birthday. It had mostly been for show, but a younger Sirius had once seen it as true affection from affectionless parents.
In Hogwarts years his second family had never missed the opportunity to celebrate with him. James had always concocted an elaborate party for him. Remus would hang the decorations in the dorm. Peter would weasel some snacks from the elves. It was always a fun affair, and every year they made him forget that his parents had stopped sending cards.
There was no one now. No one to wake him at midnight with celebrations calls. No one to hang the streamers and light the candles. No snacks were being brought to his cell, and he doubted any of the Aurous were going to bring him cake. He was utterly alone.
It wasn't the way to spend a birthday. No, a dank prison cell, clothes that had dawned the body of dozens if not hundreds of criminals before him, a murdered couple behind him, and guilt written on his soul, it wasn't how he saw himself spending his twenty second.
Twenty two. James would never reach twenty two. Lily would have never seen past twenty one. Peter, stupid, traitorous, naïve, too trusting Peter would end himself at twenty one. And Remus. Remus who still had his life ahead at twenty one. A lonely life, one most likely plagued by bitterness from the death of his friends, and the supposed betray of another, but a life indeed.
Twenty two, and Sirius didn't have the option for a life. He was surprised they hadn't directed a dementor into his cell already and finished him off. A Death Eater they called him. He knew it was a lie. He was innocent. But they refused to believe that. They thought him a Death Eater. And one didn't let a Death Eater live.
The door to his cell was thrown open. There was a blinding light. Sirius squinted through the mess in sight for the ragged robes he expected would end his life.
"Get up," a voice grumbled. Narrowing his eyes, Sirius recognized the figure standing in the doorway. Rising to his feet, he found himself weak. He'd been in this cell for a little over three days now. Since that night. Since the end of October.
"Stand up straight," the voice, the raspy voice belonging to Mad Eye, held no concern as it snarled. The man was next to Sirius, his iron grip tight around the young man's arm. He was pinching a nerve, but Sirius knew that calling out would change nothing.
"Damn Death Eater," Mad Eye continued to grumble. He was pulling on Sirius now, guiding him out from the cell. The mass of light was almost too much for Sirius after the day in darkness.
"Where are we going?" Sirius' voice was coarse. Lack of water he told himself.
"Shut up," Mad Eye tightened his grip on Sirius. The Aurors with him flanked around them, their wands were drawn on Sirius. "Damn Death Eater."
Sirius didn't speak again. His eyes hurt too much from the light and his throat burned when he spoke. His only option was to look down the halls they traveled through, but they provided nothing of interest.
After a few minutes of walking, enough for Sirius' legs to burn from the strain, the group entered into a large room. It was the trial room. Sirius sighed a sigh of relief. After three days of confinement, they would allow him his trial. They would allow him his moment to right the false pretenses they thought of him.
Standing in that room were a select few that Sirius didn't recognized. Some of them had cameras. Fudge stood in the center. Fear was in his eyes as Sirius was lead forward. They strapped chains to his wrists and ankles. Heavy, cold chains that sent shivers down Sirius' spine.
"Sirius Black," Fudge spoke, his voice holding that tremble, "you are accused of thirteen counts of murder, including that of Peter Pettigrew. You are accused of delivering information to He Who Must Not Be Names. You are found to be an accessory to the murders of Lily and James Potter, as well as the attempted murder of infant Harry James Potter. You are found to be in service to He Who Must Not Be Named. For these chargers, you are sentenced to solitary life in Azkaban, without the chance for parole. Have you anything to say for yourself Mr. Black?"
Sirius had been crying as the list of charges had been read to him. He didn't realize until those tears chocked him when he spoke. "It wasn't me. Please, I can tell you the truth."
"We do not have time for your lies Mr. Black," Fudge cut him off. There was a confidence in his voice now, and Sirius swore he saw him smiling towards one of the flashing cameras. "We have testimonies on file of the night of October thirty first placing you there at the time of the murder of twelve muggles, as well as that of Peter Pettigrew. We have documented memories of those who were able to hear Pettigrew's testimonies before you slaughtered him. You yourself confessed your quilt on the night you were arrested."
"I didn't," Sirius pleaded. "I didn't, I didn't do it."
"You said it yourself, you scum," Mad Eye dug his nails into Sirius's arm. He had forgotten the elder Auror was still gripping his upper arm. "You confessed that it was your fault. That you were responsible."
"I didn't meant that," Sirius turned to face Made Eye. "You have to believe me. I would never. They were my friends. My family."
"You are found guilty of all charges laid against you Mr. Black." Fudge's voice silenced Sirius's mad chants. "You should consider yourself lucky that mercy is being shown."
"Mercy?" Sirius hissed through gritted teeth. The clinching pain in his arm was becoming too much. He was weak from hunger and dehydration. He was tired, and hadn't yet had the chance to coup with the pain that losing his family had plagued him with. The shackles were chilling his body and soul.
"Yes, Mr. Black," Fudge answered. "Mercy. For your crimes, a dementor should take your soul. But that sentence would not allow you to fully suffer for your crimes. No, you Mr. Black will live. Knowing that your actions, your decision to turn towards the Dark Lord, resulted in the death those you cared about. As well, it resulted in the death of He Who Must Not Be Named. You will live knowing that your precious Lord is dead."
"I don't care," Sirius fought against the hand holding him. "I don't follow him. I am not a Death Eater. Please, listen to me. Just listen. It wasn't me, it was Peter!"
"Pettigrew is dead," Mad Eye hissed. "You killed him."
"It was the rat," Sirius screamed. He was practically jumping up and down in an attempt to free himself. "It was the rat. He told. He betrayed James and Lily. He killed them. Not me. I'm innocent."
"Take him to his cell gentleman."
With Fudge's command, a second Auror gripped Sirius' arm. There was one behind him, holding his shoulders and forcing him to stop his movements. Sirius fought back, and found himself gasping in pain as a fist was slammed into his spine. He would have fallen over, had the three men not been holding him up right.
Sirius was openly sobbing now as they lead him from the room. The shackles on his wrists were weighing him down. The ones around his ankles were making it hard to walk.
"It was the rat," Sirius sobbed. "That rat. You have to believe me."
There were too many tears in Sirius' eye to really see where he was going or what was around him. He only knew they were in Azkaban after they stepped out of the Floo and he was hit with the sudden sense of depression and the scent of moldy.
They lead him down winding halls full of despair and the screams of residents. It wasn't soon after they stopped by an empty cell. The door was thrown open, and Sirius thrown forward. He stumbled hard, and landed sharp against the cold stone floor.
He rolled onto his side, and sat up slowly. His eyes were trained on Mad Eye's form as the man who had taken him in, who had trained him, glared down at him.
"I hope you rot in here," Mad Eye snarled. "By the way, happy birthday."
The door was slammed and the locked clicked heavily in place. Sirius sat there, the last few days trailing through his mind as he adjusted to the darkness.
He had forgotten it was his birthday. Twenty two, he reminded himself. What a waste.