Disclaimer: I do not own anything so brilliantly created as Harry Potter and the characters, places, ideas associated with it. It isn't mine. If it was, my name would be J K Rowling. And it isn't.

Laughter

What the heck. What the heck is going on here? Where am i? What am I doing? Am I laughing? No. I can't be. No sane person could possibly even remember the concept of laughter after the horrifying events that occurred today. But... I am laughing. What's wrong with me? I'm insane. Crazy. Off my bloody rocker. Why am I laughing?

The street is littered with dead bodies. How did that happen? There is noise everywhere. People are gasping, screaming, calling for help. No one is laughing. None of these people are laughing. These sane, normal, terror struck people are crying, yelling, groaning, anything but laughing. I am the only one laughing. What is wrong with me? I ought to be put... somewhere. Somewhere with no doors, no windows, and padded walls. There are sirens now. Screeching tires. Vaguely the popping sound of many wizards appararting near me registers through my tired mind. But it's muffled. Everything is muffled by the laughter, which is coming out of my mouth. My wand is in my hand. I just noticed. But I know I didn't kill the muggles. But if I didn't, who did? I can't remember. I know it wasn't me, but who else would believe me? Especially since I can't remember who did it. Or why my wand is out. Or why I'm laughing. The wizards who just apparated, they're Ministry wizards, Aurors, I can tell now, approach me slowly, wands cautiously outstretched. When they drag me away I give them no trouble. Maybe they're taking me somewhere with padded walls.

I finally manage to make myself almost stop laughing. Some of the Aurors' conversation slowly flies into my ear. My brain, ever so slowly, processes the sounds and eventually, words are floating around in my head. "Sirius Black... Peter Pettigrew... murder...twelve muggles... You-Know-Who... Azkaban..." That gets my attention. Azkaban. That is a place with no windows or doors, but I'm quite sure there are no padded walls in Azkaban. I'm pretty positive there is a lot of iron and stone and dirt there. No padding. There probably aren't even beds. Pallets. Anything. They're taking me to Azkaban, but by now I'm in no position to protest, struggle, escape. About ten Aurors are making a human box around me, one of which I suppose has my wand because it's not in my hand anymore. My hands are currently bound behind my back, and I've stopped laughing. I have? I have. When did that happen? Oh. One of the Aurors must have cast a silencing spell on me. I can tell I'm still laughing, well, trying to laugh anyway, but no sound escapes my lips. Just like I can't escape my fate.

I'm not sure how long it takes to get to Azkaban. I have no idea what time it is, what day it is. It's dark. But I expect it is always dark over Azkaban. I can feel the dementors. The cold. It's creeping in on me, reaching for my heart, my soul, attempting to steal it, take it for it's own. They can't have it. The dementors can't have it. It's mine. I have to find out what happened. I don't know if the silencing charm is still in effect, but as I'm pushed into a dank, dark, slimy, smelly cell, my laughing has ceased.

It is not long before I remember what happened. The dementors make me remember. James and Lily's deaths. Peter, that rat, betrayed them, betrayed us all. He killed the muggles. He cut off his finger. He transformed, escaped. I still have no idea why I was laughing. I can scarcely recall the sound of laughter, the feel of it bubbling up from my stomach and bursting from my lips.

I have to get out, escape. Find Peter. Kill Peter. Find Harry. Explain. I have to escape. This is a mantra in my mind, constantly repeating. It is the sole reason I have not succumbed to the insanity dementors feed to the prisoners of Azkaban. It's been twelve years since I was first stuffed in this evil cell, not that I actually know that. I have enough strength to transform. So with a pop, Sirius Black is gone. In his place is a black dog. Mangy, thin, very ragged looking, but a dog nonetheless. And he escapes.

At least I found Harry. The thought is very bleak. I may have found Harry and I may have proved my innocence to the people who really matter to me, but that won't help me now. Half my life has been spent in prison, and here I am again. Granted, the cell in the tower of Hogwarts is much less horrid than the one in Azkaban. But that's where I'll be soon. I don't suppose I'll know where I am though, seeing as how they're sure to let the dementors Kiss me. I shudder at the thought. At least Harry knows it wasn't me. And Remus. They believe me.

The, rather loud, flutter of wings. The squawking neigh of, I look over, a higgogriff? "What the heck..." I whisper.

"Sirius!" It's Harry. Then the voice of Hermione.

"Alohamora."

"What the heck are you doing here?" This time I make myself heard.

"Getting you out," is the only reply.

Minutes later I'm on the back of a hippogriff. And I'm laughing.

Author Notes: I wrote this one around 1:30am. I like "Memories" more, but this one is terrible. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought of it. Ta!