A Glimmer of Light
Par la Plume de S.
"The ones that love us
never really leave us."
– Sirius Black
He stood in the farthest corner of his cell, expecting the next wave of despair and sorrow that would soon crash onto him as they'd feed from his bare, tortured, broken soul. He stood there, hopeless. Minutes and hours passed as he stared at the bars in front of him, empty, his heart shattered in pieces.
As much as he had run from them, tried to prove the world he was different, better, none of his efforts had mattered in the end. Toujours pur: his blood had always been in the way, preventing others from ever trusting him to be the man he truly was.
How could he blame them? He too had once been suspicious of almost everyone he knew. How could one not be in such dark times? If only he hadn't been so reckless. If only he'd trusted the right friend. If only he'd trusted himself. Then, maybe…
"Padfoot?" he heard from the other side of the room.
He couldn't see through the darkness, but the voice he had heard was one he could recognize anywhere. There was no doubt in his mind as to who stood outside of this cell calling his name, a name just as secret as the story behind it, shared only with the people he trusted most.
But this couldn't be. Azkaban had gotten to him at last. He was going mad. There was no way the man he had heard could be here. Surely, someone must've been playing with his already barely held together mind.
He had seen him. He had seen him the night his life had fallen apart, the night he'd lost a brother. He remembered how much he had wanted to scream, how he couldn't even make a sound that night. The sight of his best friend's lifeless body lying on the ground had ripped his soul to shreds.
Yet he was there, before his eyes, very much alive. He felt warm tears of relief running down his cheeks as he smiled for the first time in what seemed to have been forever.
"Padfoot?" James asked again.
Still, no answer came. James ruffled his hair and adjusted his glasses. He frowned, seemingly worried about his friend's sudden lack of basic conversational skills.
"Sirius, mate, I'm alright. We're all going to be alright."
Sirius's heart went racing. He felt the weight of the world was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. They were alright. He was alright. Could've all of the horrors he had faced recently just been a horrible nightmare? His smile spread into a wide grin. It was all over. It was just a bad dream. James was alive and well. He and his best mate were reunited at last, as if nothing had ever happened.
"We're all going to be alright." James told him once more.
Sirius smiled as he finally began believing James' words: he and the ones he loved had made it through the war, it was all over. The nightmare was over. James was here: they would all be alright.
Then, just as Sirius had started to feel whole again, things went horribly wrong.
All of a sudden, he watched as life left his best friend's eyes and his body fell to the ground with a green flash of light. He heard Harry's cries from afar once more. The grief, the pain, the betrayal, the guilt, the thirst for revenge, it all became real again. He vividly remembered how Peter had killed 12 innocents that fateful night, framing him for his cowardice. He shivered with bitterness as he thought about how he was brought here, like the traitor they believed him to be, laughing hysterically, on the verge of a mental breakdown, overwhelmed and denied of any form of trial. In a second, it all came back to him and it hurt just as much as it had the first time.
The nightmare he thought he had finally escaped from for a few seconds was now his reality.
That's when he woke up, sweating in his torn prison uniform stained with filth, desperately searching for air as he felt the mold covered walls of his cell slowly closing in on his now weak, emaciated frame. The darkness was swallowing him whole; he was being buried alive in a coffin of hard cold stone. Soon after, dementors would visit him again, as they frequently would for the rest of his life, ripping him of every single drop of happiness he'd ever felt. Every time, he'd be left emptier than the last, on the verge of madness. He felt as though he had nothing left to hold on to.
But he was innocent. Despite everything that was said about him, he was just that, innocent.
And he knew his innocence would be the key to his sanity. Because, as proud as he was of his fierce loyalty, of his beliefs, of how much they set him apart from the rest of his so-called family, he felt like James and Lily had died on his watch. He had failed them. He'd put their lives in the wrong person's hands and hadn't realized it in time to save them.
He was innocent, and yet no one believed him. He would have to remain in prison for the rest of his life knowing that, unjustly, his godson would grow up without his parents. He could never make sure the boy felt loved and cared for. Actually, Harry would probably grow to hate the man believed to have betrayed his parents and caused their demise.
He would miss so much while the traitorous murderous rat would roam free.
No one would want to believe the truth if it came from him. But it was true: he hadn't betrayed his friends. He was, after all, the man he had tried to prove himself to be. As long as he could, he'd have to hold on to his innocence with all the strength he had because, as long as he'd remain sane enough to remember, they'd never truly die.
It was the only glimmer of light left in his world of darkness.