Author's note: This is the prologue to my newest brain fart. Thank you for reading! Any words you may have with me are more than welcomed!
As you may have guessed, this is a SiriusxOC type of story. However, it's not the usual narration. It will be presented in the form of a diary, along with scenes I deem worthy of putting in a narrative form. You will see what I mean if you read the next chapter. Tell me if you like, tell me if you loathe, tell me if I may have missed a few things along the way.
As a disclaimer, I don't own Harry Potter, I only own Jemima Kingsley.
Much love,
Katt
Prologue
"Is the prisoner confined?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he civil?"
"Not in the least, sir."
"Doesn't matter either way," an old man, resembling a snowy owl said, while adjusting his glasses further up his nose. "He will be taken to Azkaban in two hours' time."
"Two – two hours, sir?"
"Did I stutter, Gilesbie, or did your ears flap? Two hours' time."
The man called Gilesbie frowned, picking up a stack of papers from the old man's desk. His brows furrowed in confusion, he took one of the official looking notes from the stack and quickly skimmed through the writing.
"But, sir, that doesn't give him enough time for a trial! A – a crime of this degree…"
"That is precisely why he will not have a trial, Gilesbie," the old man sighed, seemingly annoyed by his assistant's useless chattering.
"No trial?" Gilesbie looked downright outraged. It was unheard of! Being sentenced to life in Azkaban without even so much as a chance to speak for himself. Surely his crimes were scandalous, heinous even! But no trial… That was inhumane.
"You are truly a thick one, Gilesbie," his superior, William Puddephatt, stated, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The prisoner's crimes are obvious and many. Let's see…" he said, browsing through a voluminous bunch of sheets, looking for a certain one. "There it is! The murders of James and Lily Potter, the murder of Peter Pettigrew, the murders of twelve Muggles, allegiance to Lord Voldemort – " he continued, regardless of his assistant's visible discomfort at hearing the awful name, " – disrupting the order and revealing himself and the wizarding community to more than fifty Muggles, endangering said Muggles – but those last ones are rather small crimes comparing to the others. I would say that is enough for immediate imprisonment."
"Y – yes… Indeed." Gilesbie seemed resigned with his superior's decision. What a poor, unfortunate man, he thought. Gilesbie was a kind soul who had chosen the wrong career. Even upon hearing of the atrocious crimes, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor sod that was Sirius Black. No man, as evil as he may have been, deserved spending the rest of his days at Azkaban Prison, surrounded by terrifying, Godless creatures such as Dementors.
"Nevermind that. Had he anything in possession?" inquired Puddephatt. "He needs to be stripped of his belongings immediately."
"Nothing but his wand and clothes, I believe," and his still intact sanity, added Gilesbie, but only to himself.
"Good. Make sure those are taken away and put in the vault. He will not be needing them where he goes," he said, earning a deep frown from his assistant. Sometimes, Gilesbie thought, his superior rather enjoyed sending off men to Azkaban.
"There's something else, I think, sir…" he said, suddenly remembering the visit to the prisoner's temporary cell. The guards were already stripping him down at that point, ravaging his belongings as though they were mere nothings, and not the perhaps precious properties of a human being.
"Oh? And what may that be, Gilesbie?" Puddephatt inquired, his interest suddenly peaked. "Speak at once, boy, I don't have all day!"
"A – a diary, I believe, sir."
"A diary?"
"Yes…" he replied, resisting the urge to throw Puddephatt's comment about stuttering right back at his face. "He insisted we do not take that."
"And why is that?"
"I haven't the slightest, sir… He seemed rather vehement. It seemed really important to him, sir," Gilesbie stated, remembering the prisoner's terrified face and thrashes as the guards found said diary. His desperate pleads strung a feeling of hopelessness in Gilesbie's heart. "No! Not that! Don't take it away! It's all I have! It's all I have! She's all I have! I've nothing left!" he could hear loud and clear, memory etched into his brain.
"Take it away with his other belongings and see that they're put in the right vault. Number 3-2-1-2-2-7, I presume. With the rest of… Death Eater 'memorabilia'. Label it after his name."
"But, sir…"
"What now, Gilesbie?" Puddephatt was undoubtedly annoyed out of his mind by now. "What can it possibly be now?"
"Nothing… nothing, sir," he wanted to say that maybe they could let him keep the diary, if it was so dear to him. It was anything but dangerous; just a notebook. He doubted that even a hit to the head with that diary could hurt anyone. But he knew that his words would've hit deaf ears – there was no way Puddephatt would've allowed such a thing, even if it meant keeping the man sane for a few more months in the Hell that was Azkaban. Sirius Black was to be punished for his crimes. Without a trial. Without as much as a questioning glance. Without being regarded as a human being. Without… without anything really.
"Take the wand! I've no care for it! Take everything! But let me keep IT! It's all I've left! They're all dead and it's all I've left! I can't… You can't take it from me! I won't let you!