of diminished hope and forgotten musings

(a sirius story)

He wonders if he is insane.

Four days into Azkaban, and his tanned skin has already waned to a sickly white; the prisoner robes, once slightly taut around his body, now hang loose, as if he was wearing a giant's size in width; and laughter has vanished from his face, his shoulders, everywhere.

Bartemius Crouch had visited him twice during the first two days, both times to sneer in his face, apparently proud of this catch. He tried to press his face into the cell, between the bars, but the wide, squat shape of his head didn't let him. That didn't discourage him from coming toward the bars, however. Sirius could pick out every detail of his face from the graying hair to his mouth, curled up in a perfectly-shaped sneer. He could see Bartemius's eyes – hard, like blue-green sapphires, glinting in the little light there was, and their very presence made Sirius shiver slightly. He knew Barty is not a Death Eater, yet his acts could have made him one, a very good one at that.

"I bet you thought you'd sneak away from that crime, eh, Black?" he simpered. "But I caught you, I caught you, didn't I? Along with your loser of a cousin." Sirius tensed, thinking of dear Andromeda, who is married to a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks. She wouldn't be in any trouble, would she?

Crouch, watching Sirius's shoulders tense, laughed, thinking he'd touched a nerve. "Don't worry, dear Bella and her troupe will be out soon. You, unfortunately, won't!" He cackled, and continued on his way, leaving Sirius to roll his eyes. Bellatrix. He should have known she was going to try and seek out the Dark Lord, but never thought she'd do something bad enough to get into Azkaban. Okay, maybe not, but he'd never actually think she would get caught. Top in everything she did at Hogwarts, about three quarters of her year's trophies belonged to her. She had slipped away from many crimes, including the murders of Marlene McKinnon and her family, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Benjy Fenwick, and no more than twenty-four unfortunate Muggles.

The first day was pure torment. After being thrown head-first onto the cold, uneven cement floor, he had several bruises and cuts. Smelling a new captive, the dementors had feasted very happily on his emotions – taking away his happiness for Lily and James. It slipped away into the repulsing creature's hood, as the dementor touched him with a pale, long-fingered bony array of a hand, sending shoots of ice and indifference through him. He tried to pull it back, tried to conjure up a Patronus without a wand, but never did his attempts succeed. He explored the cell, stumbling upon the magically-conjured, invisible bars, a dent in the cement where food was distributed, another for water, and a hole for urinary waste. He crawled into the opening for warmth, thinking how utterly repulsive it was. It took him three hours to fall asleep, as he was not yet used to the cold and hardness of the floor. After all, even though he didn't quite agree with his parents, they still had given him a high-class bed – goose feather pillows and the best unicorn-hide sheets ever made. The contrast is vast, and his head is numb from the cold.

The second day, his happiness for the birth of Harry and the godfather title faded, as easily as it would be to slide a bar of soap across a slick marble floor. He resigned himself to all the attacks of soul-sucking, and the dementors dined hungrily and freely upon his soul. More and more of them came to visit this convict – after all, Sirius was a Gryffindor, and according to Slytherins (and everyone else, but they'd say it much more nicely), Gryffindors displayed their hearts out on their sleeves, for all to see. He continued to rest in the urinal opening, it is slightly warmer than the rest of the floor.

Day three, and all his happiness had gone – he no longer remembered his friends, only their names. He repeated them over and over again, so he wouldn't forget. "Moony…Prongs…Moony…Prongs…" he left out one, not knowing why. "Moony… Prongs… Moon… Prong… Moon… Prong."

The fourth day comes now. "Moon… Pond… Moon… Pond." He repeats quietly to himself, and smiles, proud that he still remembers something from his life, if not a lot. A dementor, sensing action as it passed, swoops upon him.

The little hope he has left flickers and dies.

Merry Christmas, Huffie:)

And please review, it makes my day!

(thank you Grey for beta-ing, and thank you Cupid for the title-format idea!)