Cold

by Hawkcat

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all characters and places. None are mine.


Cold.

Always cold here, but I suppose that's what a prison is supposed to be like. Cold. Eerie. And most especially dull. But again, I guess that's the point. Nothing to do here in Azkaban. Nothing to do but sit and think about whatever it is that got you shoved up here in the hellhole. Personally, I couldn't stop thinking about what sent me here even if I tried.

I was framed. Sure, sounds like absolute crap, coming from a man who has been locked up in Azkaban for years. How many? I'm not sure. You lose count of how many days it's been. The time here seems like it slowly ebbs on, like its been centuries since you first heard that barred door slam shut behind you, causing shivers to run up your back.

But… in a way… it also seems like yesterday. I can remember being sent here, I remember it so well. I remember how scared I was. Nothing's really changed; I'm still scared. But fear comes natural here. You deal with it.

But yes, I was framed. I was accused with killing thirteen Muggles with a single spell (which in a way was kind of flattering, seeing as how they thought I was good enough at magic to pull that off), as well as passing on information, very valuable information, to Voldemort, which resulted in the deaths of Lily and James Potter. My best mate. His beautiful, beautiful wife. Dead. Because of me.

One thing that plays over and over in my head is my 'trial' and coming here. One of the worst days of my life. And that is saying something. Barty Crouch had been Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, and it was by his order that I was sent to Azkaban- without a trial. Slimy git. I take pride in knowing that his own son, a Death Eater, sleeps in the cell next to mine.

Anyway, Crouch had decided that I was guilty, before I could even warn them about him. So they lead me away, chains on my feet, my hands, and a sort of 'collar' and 'leash' around my neck. So fitting, for a person who was named after a dog. They lead me away quickly, but so many people were there, watching. I remember seeing Professor Dumbledore sitting a few feet away from me. He was the Headmaster at Hogwarts School, the school I went to only a few years earlier. His eyes were on me, the usual happy twinkle in them misplaced with something this day I cannot recognize. I didn't like it.

Behind him had sat Alastor Moody, one of the most powerful Aurors of his time. His magical eye had been fixed on me, as if it were trying to look inside of me, trying to figure out why I had 'killed the Potters.' His face had been red, furious. The Potters had been a big part in the resistance and were very popular with everyone. It was treachery for me, Sirius Black, James Potter's best friend, to basically hand him and his wife over to Voldemort. I couldn't agree more, except it wasn't really me.

On the other side of the courtroom sat Remus Lupin. My other best mate. We, that being James, Remus, Peter Pettigrew, and I, had hit it off right from the start. We were the best of friends; always together, pulling pranks, laughing, sitting in detention. It didn't matter. Where there was one, you'd find the other three, not very far behind.

Thank God we were so close. James, Peter, and myself noticed that Remus would have a tendency to disappear for a couple days once a month. So, we decided to find out what was going on. As it turned out, Remus was a werewolf. He would transform into a wolf creature in the confides of the Shrieking Shack on every full moon, which usually resulted in him injuring himself since he wasn't allowed out to hunt. We decided that we wanted to keep Remus company, so he wouldn't attack himself during his 'furry little problem.'

Werewolves are dangerous creatures, killing a human as soon as it saw one. Seeing as how Peter, James and I were human, we couldn't just go sit in a shack, trapped with a hungry, murderous werewolf and tell the tale. So we illegally became Animagi, that is, we practiced the art of becoming animals. James became a stag, Peter a rat, and I became a dog. And so, we spent all our time together, even with the moon shining over our heads.

Now, James is dead, and Remus hasn't spoken to me in months. I feel lost. And I know he does too. I would know, we used to be friends.

Remus had stared at me when Crouch had read off the names of those I had 'killed.' He had winced at James's name, and glared at me. Hatred was coursing through him. I was so grateful he couldn't turn into a werewolf at will, like I could a dog, but had to wait till the full moon, otherwise I'm sure I would have been killed. Desperately I had searched Remus's face, for a sign of friendship. Anything at all, that could tell me that he was still my friend. But no, the pain and shock of losing James and Lily, and the idea of me being behind it had turned Remus cold.

In a way, he's in Azkaban as well.

And then I remember seeing someone else in the committee, someone I was actually surprised to see. Severus Snape, James's rival, the darkest wizard I had met at school. Slime ball. We hated each other and I know he relished seeing me being lead away in chains. But his expression was one that I had never seen before. Grief.

I would have understood anger. Many people were angry at what I had supposedly done. It was a betrayal. But grief? Grief is something you show when you've lost something you already had. What had Snape lost? An enemy? Well, technically two, since I was leaving. Shouldn't he have been rejoicing?

Then, the one I had been looking for caught my eye. A giant man, named Hagrid, had walked in from the back, and spoke to Professor Dumbledore, who continued to glare at me. Following his gaze Hagrid's normally happy expression turned into one of pure fury, but one of unease as well. He seemed to know the thought that ran through my head.

Where is he? Where is Lily's baby boy? Where was James's carbon copy? Where, dear God, was Harry Potter, my godson? Since Lily and James were dead, wasn't he mine?

No, he shook his head slightly. No. I won't tell. He's not yours.

I had narrowed my eyes and took a step toward him, but never had the chance to demand Hagrid where he was out loud, for Barty Crouch had declared me guilty and the Dementers had entered the room, changing the angry mood into the one in Albus's eyes.

Cold fury.

They led me away, their presence chilling me to the bone. They were feeding off my unhappiness. Making me so ill that I followed them willingly. Had it been wizards leading me away, they would have had a horrible time controlling me, seeing as how I would fight to my last breath to prove I was innocent.

With one last look into Dumbledore's eyes, we left.

It took a few hours to make it to Azkaban. The great castle loomed over the land, casting it into shadows. Dragons stood perched outside the gates, thankfully sleeping, as well as chained to the walls. We traveled up many staircases, through many hallways. Some were noisier than others. Moans seemed to bounce off the walls and slam into your ears, echoing inside your brain. Laughter, screams, sobs. All were there. All were heard.

Suddenly I had heard a voice that made my blood boil.

"Well, well. Look what the hippogriff dragged in," she taunted, her cat like eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction. "Knew you'd end up here eventually. All the others have." She cackled like it was the most amusing thing in the world for me to be there.

"Bellatrix," I had growled. Yes, my cousin, Bellatrix. I hate her. And she hates me.

"Poor, poor Sirius," she cooed, as if I hadn't said anything. "Poor Siri, always resisting the winning side, always having to be different. And in the end, all your little efforts failed. Because you're in here too, dearest cousin. Along with the rest of the Blacks!" She had screamed the last part. Then she had charged and gripped the cell bars, shaking them while she laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

They led me down to the end of the hall, away from Bellatrix. I was, and still am grateful. I can just imagine her, laughing at me, the entire twelve years I've been here. I probably would've lost it. But I haven't yet, nor do I think I will. I'm innocent. I have no reason to feel guilty.

Finally we had made it to my cell. The cell I sit in now. The Dementers led me in, shutting the door behind me, a horribly cold feeling washing over me. As soon as the Dementers left, I changed into the big black dog that was my Patronus, which James, Remus, and Peter had christened as Padfoot.

Peter. He was the one. It was he who basically murdered James and Lily. And framed me. He had given Lord Voldemort information on where the Potters were hiding. Because of him, Voldemort had appeared at their house, killing James and demanding Lily to give up her son. She had refused, and now was dead.

I had tracked Peter into a Muggle city, where I had cornered him. But the little devil had another cowardly plan. He screamed that I had betrayed Lily and James, so that everyone in the crowded city had heard. Then he had cut off his finger, which at the time was one of the weirdest things I thought he could've done, especially at a time like that. But he knew what he was doing. Or maybe he didn't.

With his wand he blew up the streets and sent people to the ground, screaming as the impact of the spell overtook their bodies. Blood welled from their wounds, their eyes screwed shut in pain. I had fallen to the ground too, and fainted, but not before I saw a small, bloody rat scampering into the sewer and disappear below.

I was brought to Azkaban for killing Lily and James Potter, as well as thirteen Muggles. I'm innocent though. Don't you see? The first night I slept here, all I did was huddle up in the corner as Padfoot and fall asleep, hoping to wake up and it all just be a horrible nightmare.

But as we all know, it wasn't. I woke up day after day, year after year to realize bitterly that I was still here. In Azkaban. In cold, cold Azkaban.

I will get out. One day I will be free. I will finally find Peter and kill him, even if it sends me back to this very cell. I don't care. I will have my revenge. In cold blooded murder.

This my friends is where I leave you. You know my story know, whether you believe it or not is your choice. It won't change a thing anyway. Not until the rat is dead.

Go now. The Minister of Magic is coming this way. Him, the one with the newspaper. Hurry, run.


A/N: Good? Yes? No? Maybe? What do I need to work on? R&R please. Construtive critism greatly appreaciated.