DISCLAIMER : All rights to J K Rowling

Death haunts me. It overwhelms me in a way that someone like you would never understand, or for that matter, imagine. You, in your sugar coated world, a tiresome path's distance away from the reality of the ones who live beneath the glory of the good old days and the joys that the victories brought. It takes control of your mind, and your soul, coursing through every joint in your body, until the ache is mundane, almost expected, as though you were born to fight with every essence of your being against this supernova that is trying to consume you. It warps your entire existence with fear, fear of tomorrow, and fear of the known; like a silent cry from the ones below us, the ones who never made it, the ones who never will. It's ironic, isn't it? Living most of your life afraid of death, and yet, now that it's so near, you tremble at the thought of living again. You can't judge me, for you don't know who I am or where I come from. My life is unlike yours; where adolescence cuts you free from the shackles of your imprisonment your carers like to believe was a protected womb. I believe otherwise. I didn't choose this life, it chose me. And until you know my story, you can not judge me.

BEGIN AGAIN

Sitting here, in this dingy cell, on the eve of what seemed like a holiday, judging by the number of visitors, is not how I would've imagined my life a few years ago. If you had known me 20 years ago or so, it wouldn't have surprised you very much to know that I had landed up in Azkaban, it was almost a family custom of sorts; I'm sure there were hardly three or four people in my family that hadn't been to this lovely place I now called home, for there was hardly a doubt in my mind that I'd ever be getting out of here. Most days were depressing, filled with loneliness, boredom, and self loath. But some days were a little better, eggnog was passed around, which I must say I used to find utterly disgusting but had grown fond of over the last few years. Funny how things had changed. If my friends knew that I found happiness in things like eggnog, they'd never stop taking the mickey out of me. Ha, what friends? Everyone I trusted now hated me with a vengeance, and the only ones who didn't were dead. My life seems rather terrific, doesn't it? Well, it had been worse. The pain, and regret that had filled me for the first few years had been washed away little by little over the years, only brought to the forefront of my mind by the pleasant dementors who practiced soul sucking rather regularly. On the bad days, I would spend hours unable to move, unable to think if anything, unable to see anything but flaming red, messy black and lopsided glasses. It would seize me with the kind of agony that only those who have lost someone will be able to relate to. But then again, even they'd never be able to, for who else other than I had killed the ones they love?

"Sirius Black. How are things?" came a voice a few metres away from my cell.

Cornelius Fudge, looking as unhappy as ever to be in this place he often called hell's dungeon.

I was in a particularly cheerful mood that day, what with the little brownies that Mr Lammeter's lovely daughter had baked for everyone, and the fact that she had looked rather stunning in her low cut dress. Oh, cut me some slack, this is the only sort of pleasure I had received in the last 12 years.

"Absolutely lovely. The kids are off to college this year, was thinking about gardening myself, perhaps get a cook to take care of the meals. You know I'm not very good in the kitchen, don't you, Minister?" I asked casually, with the hint of a smirk.

I'd like to believe he found me so hilarious that he dropped his paper, but whatever the reason may be, he took a while to respond.

"Very funny, Black. See you haven't lost your wit yet."

That's when I saw it. My heart dropped at least 20 feet and I hoped he couldn't hear it thump loudly in my chest. My head was pounding, hatred coursing through every vain in my body, my fists balled as I advanced towards the Minister. He looked slightly taken aback.

I let go of a deep breath, and shook my messy hair out of my face. "Would you mind passing me the Prophet, Minister? It gets awfully boring round here," I asked as calmly as I could.

He gulped, slightly wary of just what I was planning to do with the paper, and when he realized that the possibility of any danger due to a newspaper was minimal, he handed it to me, with a bit of hesitation.

I skimmed through the cover page, confirming my doubt immediately without arising any undue suspicion. James did always say I was very subtle, when I needed to be. I quickly made my way to the sports section, casually chatting with him about the weather and wondering if the Ministry had added any new departments. He seemed extremely discerned by the casual manner in which I chatted with him, asking me very pointed questions, studying my reactions. But this new information that I had received from him deemed a new level of calm in me, I now had a goal, I had something to work towards. My mind, which had sat idle for a decade was rejoicing, and yet, it was irate, from the moment I had laid my eyes on that wretched picture, indescribable anger had overtaken me, something I had managed to keep at bay for a few minutes. He left, with a small goodbye, and made his way to the security, no doubt to ask them to keep an eye on me.

I tore through the pages, making it to the cover page studying closely the large photo splashed over it, of 9 redheads, and him. Laughter shook me. Retribution was near.

A/N: This is a story revolving around the life Sirius lead, and therefore will fully include all the Marauders; their youth, the war, drama, revenge and all. Flashbacks will be in italics going forth.

Hope you liked it! Reviews are love. Feel free to constructively criticize; always helpful.

Loads of love

~ MLPP