I am alone.
The stone walls around me were chipped and peeling and grime stuck to them and I couldn't help but think that they looked like me. Dead. Cold. Filthy. I could feel the abyss slithering through the space in my cell and in the hall outside, Don't look, don't look. You know they're there, don't look. The dementors floated past and my traitorous head turned and my eyes fluttered open. It was Them. No… Their eyes watched me, like they always did; the green eyes blank and the hazel eyes accusatory.
"I'm sorry." I whispered. But not to Them, I was too much a coward to actually look at them and apologize for my sins. I was unworthy of their forgiveness and for me to even ask for it—oh God, I'm so useless, no! I am even worse than useless; I actively harmed the ones that I am supposed to protect. Wormtail, Wormtail, Wormtail. "Traitor, traitor, traitor." The words didn't really form in my head, and didn't come out of my mouth with any coherency. My mind flitted back and forth between different things, past things, things that destroyed everything. Wormtail. How could I have been so stupid? Growing up in that place, with those people, my "family" I learned quickly and efficiently that trusting anyone is dangerous. It's stupid. So why did I trust Peter so easily? Because he was a Gryffindor, or because he was weak? Did I tell James to trust him because out of all of the Marauders, he was the most convenient to trust as James' secret-keeper?
The shadow—the dementor—passed my cell and I heard a baby screaming. Harry, Harry, Harry.
"Harry!" I startled out of some kind of trance. I just—it was reality. I couldn't hold onto reality anymore. I've held onto it much longer than any other soulless bastard here and it's because I am Innocent. It's my Innocence that gives me some semblance of solidity in my mind. A scabbed, grey hand wrapped around the bars of my door and all the breath left my lungs.
"No!" I screamed, but it sounded like a moan, there wasn't any air in the world any more—and my insides turned so cold that it burned me. "No! No!" I sputtered and coughed, and my head felt detached from my shoulders. Was this it? Was I going to end now? A sluggish panic stopped my heart and rotted my stomach. God! They stole me, everything that made me a person, and now they were going to just eat my soul and continue on to the next cell? I felt something pull at me, and a part of me seemed to go towards the demon outside in the corridor and a part of me, a heavier part, stayed right there in the cell. I couldn't tell which part I wanted to be more. The hooded creature turned towards me.
"Do what you will. I don't know where we went wrong with the little bastard." My heart leapt again, and I could feel terror claw its way up my throat.
"No, Mother, please don't—!" I hugged myself, and sunk deeper into the Crazy, the abyss that sat and constantly grew within the morphing confines of my mind. I didn't have to look this time, not really, I could feel her watching me. The dementor left then, but the horror stayed.
Oh God, I want tell them all, I am Innocent, Minister. I am betrayed, Moony. I am alone. They've all betrayed me. I wasn't even given a trial, just 'oh the muggles said that I killed them all, well then just chuck me into god-fucking Azkaban. Did they really think that it was me, or did they simply forget about me? Molly, Arthur, Dumbledore—I'm sure Moody was glad to be rid of me—Shaklebolt, and Moony. Moony! I am alone! Moony! I am betrayed! I choked on a sob and fell forward, hugging my stomach, and my eyes shut tight against the darkness around me, tears falling sporadically down my cheeks. Betrayed, betrayed, betrayed. I scooted backwards so that I could lean against the wall more comfortably. I'm not sure how long I sat there, staring at the wall opposite me. I was terrified that if I turned my head, if I tilted it all, that I would see Them again. James' condemning stare and Lily's once-vibrant emerald eyes dull and grey. I'm sorry.
What if my mother was still here? What if she was still watching me, hating me? I'm not fucking sorry Mother! Do you hear me? But it was still so frightening a thought that she might still be there.
"Stay dead, Mother." I told her, in that empty, hated cell.
The door that led from the corridor to the rest of the prison banged open and another dementor floated past me, and I grinned viciously. Did we have a visitor? Perhaps a soulless shell of a prisoner here had a family member that still cared about them enough to visit? Or perhaps a Ministry inspector? I always loved those the most! Sweaty pale morons looking around constantly like they expected something to jump out and eat their soul—ha! Always about to have a heart attack or a stroke.
Someone followed the dementor in, and when I saw who it was—oh it could not have been sweeter! The top dog himself, Cornelius Fudge, pin stripes and all! It was a beautiful opportunity, I will admit. I schooled my face into the closest thing to coolness that I could. I wasn't sure how close I was to achieving neutrality, but it was the closest thing that I could. The man was short, and that normal look on his face, like he was smelling something especially foul, was gone and replaced with the pale terror or a dementor's presence. I enjoyed seeing it. There was a newspaper clasped tightly between his arm and his side.
He walked in hesitantly, glancing around suspiciously. His eyes finally met mine and grew wide in surprise. Maybe he could see the Innocence? Probably not. He probably just saw how far receded the Crazy was.
"Ah, hello Minister. Fine day?" My voice was harsh and rasped with disuse and the cold dampness of the Hell around us. He took a step back like, "it can talk!" His reaction would have been hilarious if I cared enough to try and laugh anymore.
"O-Oh. H-H-Hello B-Black." He shifted uncomfortably. Like he felt some guilt for putting me here. I bit back a snort. Right. Well, at least I still knew that I had a sense of humor. He stood there and I sat there for some immeasurable amount of time just staring at each other. I didn't care to generate any small talk with the selfish jackass and he apparently couldn't find anything to say to me.
"Hey, you done with that newspaper?" I asked, nodding to the Prophet under his arm. He jerked slightly, surprised either by the fact that I could, in fact, talk (again) or the fact that he had a copy of the Daily Prophet under his arm.
"W-Why?" He stuttered. I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. Because I freaking wanted it, idiot!
"Oh, it's just so boring here—I was wondering if I could do the crossword." His shallow eyes narrowed, like he couldn't decide whether or not I actually wanted the newspaper so that I could kill him with it. But after a minute he nodded curtly and handed me the news through the bars. I nodded in thanks to him and then ignored him until he left to inspect the rest of the prison.
Oh, the paper was so clean, even though it was saturated with ink, it was clean ink because it hadn't been there long enough to be tainted by the dementors.
I folded it up and drank in the first page, almost drowning in the feeling of normalcy. The article was trivial, apparently Molly, Arthur, and their litter (which they'd added too since I was last out of here) were vacationing in Egypt because of some contest Arthur had won. I cringed at their smiling faces and there was a twinge in my chest. Molly… Arthur…do they believe my charges? Did they forget me too? I watched their tiny figures grin up at me and hold tears stained my face and I touched the picture as though I would be able to feel the sun if only I could get close enough. I didn't bother wiping my tears, and I didn't have to when I caught sight of their youngest boy. There wasn't much to say about him, tall, lanky, red hair and too many freckles, but that could be said of anyone else in that photo, except,
"WORMTAIL!" I raged, leaping to my feet suddenly and new blood pounded in my ears and heated my face. The BASTARD! He, he would dare live after betraying Lily and James to Voldemort, then framing me? And now some child's pet? A child maybe only twelve or, or thirteen years old. I scanned the article again rushing through all of the pointless chattering and found the mention of their youngest boy, Ron.
"…and Ronald Weasley will be starting his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a Gryffindor…" Bile actually rose in my throat and I had difficulty swallowing it down. That putrid thing was around children? Showing his ugly rat-face in a dorm full of lions no less, almost like he was trying to recreate his childhood, and it'd be complete with a Potter in his midst—my gut clenched and I nearly puked right then. Peter was an arm's length from a dozen wands and Harry Potter. Not only was he the son of the people he'd betrayed, but the Boy-Who-Lived and spelt his Master's demise. I started to hyperventilate and my vision darkened around the edges. I could feel the rage bite at me, and for the first time in years I felt truly helpless. Before I just wanted out of this damned prison because it ate away at my soul and my sanity, but now I needed to get out because no one knew what kind of danger my Harry was in. I had to find him, I had to protect him!
I hadn't been able to protect him so far—in these eleven, twelve?—in these twelve years. They stole TWELVE YEARS from me; they stole MY GODSON from me. I haven't even seen pictures of him in all this time. Was he okay? Was he healthy? Did he still look like James? Were his eyes—they were Lily's eyes, weren't they?—oh God, I can't remember! Did the baby that I love, the baby whose screams haunt me with the dementors; did he have green emeralds for eyes? I have to protect him, from Peter. I have to rectify the damning mistake that I made all those years ago.
Something began to turn in my mind, a fuzzy plan began to form and darkness entered my vision. Nobody really falls asleep in Azkaban because of the nightmares. They all just force themselves awake until their body forces them to slumber. I blacked out.