Title: And the Constellations Winked Down on Him
By: Nesma
Disclaimer: Not my world, obvi.
AN: Right. One more part and I'm DONE. I swear. Also, curious for tumblr stuff... find me at writingrosesandcoffee.


Sirius started to realize that he was a rather special prisoner. After Fudge left, he noticed that the amount of dementors outside his cell. There was, always, always, at least two if not more. As if they wanted to make absolute sure that Sirius felt like shit, garbage, complete waste of space 24/7.

When Sirius studied about dementors, they always highlight that a person is rendered of all their happy thoughts. How logic arguments tends to fail with prisoners as they have a difficult time engaging with that aspect their brain; everything is emotional. He recalls writing an essay, and writing this line at least five times because of a particular charm that James pranked on his quill, that those who are constantly exposed to dementors constantly on a 24/7 basis, are rendered to their worst possible thoughts and memories. Those who are exposed to dementors, low security prisoners, have the opportunity to get a break from the awful thoughts. They are weak and numb but still had the opportunity to hope. They were able to recover much faster than those who were under long duress (and duress was the word because Sirius found it so odd to describe an emotional hell).

With every glance outside his cell, with every pacing as he viewed the dementors slink and glide outside of his cell, he often had the logical thought (and this was purely logical unfortunately), that there was no hope for him.

Even if he did get out of this maddening place, what hope was there for him? He grew up during a war, he was trained to be a fighter, and he was unsure how to handle a time of peace. How to deal with diplomatic deals and friendly negotiations.

He only understood defensive spells and healing charms. Memories in the fields haunt him more than ever whenever he has his logical thoughts.

There was the time that it was just him and Remus at the safe house. How they couldn't even build a fire or light their wand in fear that it would attract attention. How they took turns sleeping, taking shifts, because that's the only way they knew how to sleep. Countless missions meant that their sleeping schedule was fucked, and even when they were off the clock; well, it's hard to sleep in your comfy bed for a full eight hours knowing that the building could crumble upon you in an attack (especially if you lived in building with muggles, Death Eaters loved causing spontaneously collapsing buildings on muggle inhabitants). Anyways, they made it through the night, but that was merely the calm before the storm.

They were outnumbered, as usual, it was just him and Remus against ten Death Eaters. A green curse almost hit Remus. Sirius, his quick rising temper, threw a sectumsempra curse at the Death Eater. He fell to the ground, distracting the others as Sirius and Remus were able to take more down. But Remus was hit was something and folded upon himself within seconds.

It was a draw, but Sirius took Remus and apperated back to another safe house. He sent a message to headquarters as he tried to shake Remus awake. But when he got his friend to open his grey eyes, he started to scream and thrashed around. It was as if he was under a permanent crucio curse when he was awake.

Sirius must have tried a thousand spells. He tried to reverse the spell – nothing. He tried a calming spell – nothing. He tried a calming draught – nothing. He tried a cheering charm – nothing. He tried a sleeping charm – nothing. He tried a sleeping draught – nothing. He tried another potion in hopes of reversing the spell – nothing. He tried contacting the headquarters for help – they gave him list of spells that did nothing. He tried a few of his own – nothing. He writes back for more help and they suggest putting a silencing charm if necessary until the effects wear off.

Sirius thought he read the letter wrong as Remus continued to yell in the background. But three times rereading it, he snarled at the letter, crumpled it with one hand and threw it on the ground. Making sure to stomp on it two times as he goes back to the living room with Remus.

Remus, who has the highest pain tolerance he's ever encountered. Sirius has seen him after full moon adventures with wounds that cause him to bleed for days; but Remus always shrugs and claims they feel like a splinter. But at that moment, Remus just screams. No words, just intelligible sounds that communicate just exactly how much pain he really is in.

And so Sirius sat there on the wooden floor and watched his friend thrash on the floor and yell. Sometimes, Remus stis up and continues to scream. Sirius charms the floor to be comfier, though unsure if that helped. It took a few hours till Sirius fell asleep in the same room, and he woke up to another round of screaming. He felt guilty for falling asleep, shocked at his own ability to shut Remus out.

It took 48 hours for the effects to wear off. And Sirius was nearly mad, driven insane by his friend's screams and shouts and tears and yells. Remus panted heavily after the spell lifted, but he quickly fell asleep on the floor. Sirius levitated him onto the couch and covered him with a blanket. He slept on the floor next to his friend because he doesn't know what else to do.

He finally appreciated the saying that silence is golden.

Remus and Sirius never talked about the incident. It was a painful memory for the both of them, and they both stashed it away in hard to reach places in their minds. But they would both be lying if they claimed it didn't cause them to wake up in the middle of the night screaming or cause them to go into defensive mode if they did hear yelling.

When they re-entered the real world, they find out that a known Death Eater is dead. Bled to death. Ministry officials found the body in a field. Their field.

Remus and Sirius never discuss it.

Sirius thinks about those 48 hours with Remus screaming a lot these days. He hasn't talked in days and he wonders if the dementors took his vocal chords away like in that faerie tale that Lily used to read to Harry about the mermaid.

Then again, everyone goes quiet here eventually. Some fight harder and longer, but they still go silent. Like that mini Crouch child. Sirius was very interested in his screams. Lots of yelling about his father betraying him, how he was hurting mother, how he remembers the punishments. All boring things really, I mean, this was a prison filled with murders and killers and tortures and professional life ruiners.

If you're not screaming about a skeleton in your closet, then it begs to ask how on Earth did the court find you guilty?

It takes a while, but then the boy shouts about the Death Eaters. He screams about the tortures from the Dark Lord and how he failed him (not his parents, he seems very distraught that he failed the Dark Lord though hardly a care in the world for disappointing his parents). He screams a lot about Wormtail.

And that's when Sirius has another logical thought, another wave of burning sensation that hits him again. They all called him wormtail. Every shout, every yell, every cry that had to deal with stinking Peter Pettigrew… he was always referred to as wormtail.

Sirius bites down on his bottom lip so hard that he draws blood (not that hard when he's constantly dehydrated and his lips are cracked).

Wormtail, Moony, Prongs, Padfoot. Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, Wormtail. Prongs, Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, Wromtail. Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, Moony. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot. Moony, Wormtail, Prongs, Padfoot.

How many times did they rearrange their names on that blasted map? Until they came upon Moony, Wormtail, Prongs, and Padfoot. They thought they were so clever. No one would be able to tell what their names stood for. Merlin, they thought they were fucking geniuses at fifteen years old. They used the names with one another but gave a dirty look whenever someone else used it. It was Padfoot's wedding gift to Lily to allow her to call him Padfoot. And even then, she used it rarely; as she knew the personal attachment they had to the names.

She wasn't there the time they found out about Remus. She wasn't there the first time they seriously fucked up the transformation (Prongs had to visit the Hospital Wing and Sirius had to pretend that he said a random word that made him have antlers. He got detention and Prongs stayed in the wing for two weeks). Lily wasn't there was they spent hours in the bloody library, hiding under James' cloak in the restricted area, stealing every transfiguration book they can find. Lily wasn't there the time they finally got it right, when they got the nicknames. She wasn't there for the first full moon adventures. She never knew what it was like to have a fully bodied werewolf nip at your heels. She never knew the panic of trying to find Moony at the dead of night and she never knew the relief of when you find the bloodied body, scratched from head to toe but at least alive. She never knew what it was like to be a marauder, and so she never got the nicknames.

Yet, Peter seemed to have felt differently. The followers using the name, clever considering very few knew who it could refer to. It was a clever guise but it hurt as if Sirius was walking on a pile of broken glass. How rude to take something that the four created and use it against them? How cruel was it that he gave away his nickname to his enemies but Lily couldn't use it? How fucking despicable was it that Peter got the best fucking disguise this century has seen as a bloody rat when he basically threw Sirius into this hell hole.

There were many things that haunted Sirius in this cell, but every time he thought of Peter, it was as if the rat had found new ways to taunt him. Things started to make sense and it was painful to think that they were all so blind for years. How they all loved him like a brother yet he stabbed them in the back, not even giving them the curtsey to stab them in front. At least when Sirius tracked him down, he made sure to make his goals clear.

Kill the rat. And he failed, he failed Lily and James. He failed to avenge them. He failed to recognize the signs earlier, except now he was catching up but it was far too late. Their graves were dug and the dirt was thrown on them. And another split in his soul as he realized that James always wanted him to give the eulogy.

"Just talk about my blazing good looks, my marvelous quidditch skills, and please try to convince someone to write my biography. Those always sell better when the person is dead." He used to joke at the kitchen table, chair tilted back lazily as his foot was carefully balanced, as Lily scoffed. She was usually cleaning the dishes, she always did it the muggle way. A habit that she never quite broke, with her elbows in some suds and her hair pulled back into a messy pony tail. She had to remind her dear (dead now) husband that those dead folks made some contributions to history. And James would always retort that his good looks was a contribution. Sirius always barked out in laughter as Lily rolled her eyes, and he always grinned when James would jump up and give her a hug from behind, kissing her on the cheek as Lily leaned back on him.

Sirius had to wonder who gave the eulogy. It had to be Remus. Peter was 'dead' and Sirius was worse than dead (though, he's sure some funeral goers wished he was dead). Remus probably gave a sappy speech about the two. Which would be fine. It just could have done with the humour that Sirius would have obviously provided if he was allowed to attend the funeral.

He didn't even dare ask the ministry officials here if he could. If Barty Crouch broke a rib because of a question about Peter, what would they do about him asking to attend the most celebrated wizard and witch of the century's funeral? The week it took him to track down Peter, he clipped every newspaper article that lauded the bravery of Lily and James.

How could he not? He loved them more than he could express in words. He cried over every article that wrote about Lily's battle in Hogwarsts, the bullies and insults hurled her way because she was a Muggle born. He cried over every piece that mentioned James' courage to go after the darkest wizard of their time with no wand. He sobbed over every little article about Lily's courage, about her wits and brains because she would have never wanted to be remembered solely as a mother but as a fighter (she was getting her wish). And of course, he clutched every piece about James in school tightly to his chest. Those clippings were in a shoebox in the hotel room that he stayed out. He has no doubt that Ministry officials found those and thought there were sick trophies to him. They were probably thrown out and Sirius is bitter that he didn't stuff at least one article in his robes for him to keep.

There was an odd thing about grief. He wanted everyone to know how amazing the Potters were. He wanted everyone to remember Lily as the smart fire spitting flame that she was. He wanted them all to remember James for his childish antics but brilliant magic. He wanted them to all know that a complete shame that not everyone got to know the Potters. He wanted them to regret the chance they turned down to get to know them.

But he always wanted to keep them close to his chest. He had memories that he didn't want to share to the world. Like how him and James use sneak out of the Potter household and drink at the local muggle pub. Curious to see what it was like to live in a world where there was no magic and no fear of going out in night. He didn't want the world to know that Lily could out drink him in firewhiskey but puked at the first drop of wiztequlia. He certainly didn't want the world to know that there were times when he was sad (especially after deaths in the order) that he would transform into a dog in the Potters house, browse for a room only to find Prongs as a deer, curled up in the middle of the floor. And how Padfoot would curl up next to him, because it was easier to process through sad emotions as an animal. And they both knew it.

He wanted everyone to know about the Potters, but he didn't want them to know everything. He wanted the world to know that it was a tragedy.

He hopes that Remus was able to communicate that at the funeral. The one that Sirius was cheated at. The one that Sirius never got to attend to give a proper goodbye. The one where people missed the memory of Sirius but not the person.

The crimes that Peter committed are growing day by day and Sirius has a hot ball of anger in his heart that is constantly fueling his regret at himself for not killing the man when he had the chance.


The textbooks only ever claimed that dementors make the person relive their worst memories. That part is true. That part is undeniably, stab me in the eyes to blind me true. But they failed how the dead haunt your thoughts. How they infiltrate your mind and make you think of nothing but them. How every memory you visit of them, especially the happy ones, make you yearn for a time turner. Makes you scream in absolute horror that they are gone and you are well alive. The dementors are able to tint every solidly happy memory, makes you look at it with a heavy heart rather than laugh with joy.

Sirius is convinced that they stole his vocal chords and laughter. Meant to be reclaimed once he's discharged along with his original clothes. He wonders if they kept his wand. Investigate the mad mind of Sirius Black, strip the wand to its core and see if it'll betray him like Peter betrayed him. He wonders if he'll get it back.

He wonders if he'll ever perform magic again. If he'll ever know what it's like to grip a wand, to have magic pulsing through your veins, to know just exactly what to do. He wishes he appreciated the moment more when he was staring into the rat's face. He wishes that he hid his wand before they wrapped the ropes around his wrists. He doesn't like the idea of his wand betraying him. Or worse, them not even bothering to examine it. As Lily used to say, "they caught him red handed". A confession from a fallen hero and twelve dead muggles, all at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He wonders what they told the muggle families. He never envied the job of the hit wizards. He could hardly imagine what it would be like to go to dead muggle's family, calmly telling them that they died in a wizarding accident. How there was enough magic in the air to cure the most wretched of diseases but no magic could ever awaken the dead. Ask them enough questions to see if the family had any previous knowledge of magic. And once the interview was over, to lift a wand and oblivate their memories. Calmly telling them for the second time that their loved one died in a freak accident. How sorry, and walk away as a person's world crumbled for the second time that day.

Yes, there was the obscene chance that they didn't even bother to look through the wand. Maybe they did and found no incriminating spells. Except the time he cast the patronus spell for what felt like twenty times in a row for Harry to clap and giggle and to point at around the room as the dog bounded around him. If the investigating James' wand, they'd find the same thing, as the dog and the dear used to play around with each other. Lily joined in, eventually, after she heard all three of them laugh until their tears fell down their face. Her doe was always the faster of the two as the dog and deer tried to catch it.

It's another dreary day in Azkaban. The wind is howling with the prisoners within. The sky is particular shade of grey, more blue than white but more black than blue. The clouds are twisted as if someone created them in a fit of rage rather than with a peaceful paintbrush. He's given up on seeing sunlight again. He knows that they charm the weather to isolate the prisoners. He remembers reading it in textbooks, how the prisoners would cry if they saw the sun. It was too bright for their weak eyes that had given up long ago to see and most of the prisoners hit under the benches. And then, there were the few who hardly noticed the bright rays; too wrapped up in their own world to notice a difference.

Sirius quite likes the moody weather. At least if he's having the miserable time, so should the weather.


Weeks, months, certainly not years, but certainly weeks and months. There isn't a calendar or a clock for him to track.

But he's started to hate himself. There is a mirror in the cell, he has no idea why since he's lost interest in his appearance, but there is one. And he's starting to be revolted by the very site of him. He averts his eyes whenever he's pacing. He would try to cover it up, but all he has is the rain water that pours in and the fabric (it would be exaggerating if he called it a 'robe') on his back. He can't destroy it, his cracked and bruised knuckles are his trophies of his failures.

So he tries to avert his eyes but is still sicken whenever he sees his reflection. It has to do with the fact that he hates himself for missing Peter.

He should clarify. He hates Peter, he thinks that the little meekly man should die. But a part of him, the eleven year old self that's terrified of Mr. and Mrs. Black, misses Peter. He misses the lame jokes that the boy used to say. He misses how observant the boy was and how willing he was to share.

In fourth year, Sirius was breaking everything in the dorm room. James' glasses were snapped in half, Sirius' essay for Slughorn was ripped to shreds, Remus secret snack collection was walked all over and the room was a general mess. It had something to do with a fight that he had with his parents (as usual) and little Peter tottered in. His watery eyes grew wide and the books in his arms dropped to the floor.

Sirius just huffed and puffed before collapsing to the ground, sitting cross legged as it just dawned on him that it wasn't normal to smash your roommates things. He sullenly repaired the glasses and Peter immediately went ahead and started cleaning the snacks. Sirius started to spellotape his essay together, and Peter sat down next to him, not saying a word, and helped him fit the pieces together. Once that was done, Peter stood up and rushed to his trunk, rummaged through, and found his stash of fudge. He held out the package for Sirius to eat some. Sirius grabbed a piece and Peter set it down in front of Sirius, and sat across from the fudge, gingerly taking a piece. The munched on the food noisily until it seemed to become a competition on who can eat in the most obnoxious way ever. By the time James and Remus walked in on them, they both had fudge all over their cheeks and crumbs were flying everywhere as the two boys laughed at each other. Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust as James dove, literally dove, to get the last piece of fudge.

Sirius aches for that Peter. How the hell did the Death Eaters get him? What did they promise him to convince him to betray his best mates? How did he get away with lying to them all, for at least a year? Why did he do it?

Did he no longer feel included in the group? Was there something that Sirius could've done? Was there something any of them could have done to make him feel more included? To make him think that they valued him more than Death Eaters?

Sirius knows, far too well, that the past few years have been rough on their friend group. Especially with James getting married and Lily getting pregnant and Remus disappearing into the full moon nights underground. And then, him and Peter were never on the same mission for the Order. There wasn't a real reason, it just how it happened. Like Lily used to say, "it's just how the cookie crumbles."

He doesn't believe that there will never be a time when he thinks of the muggle proverb or sayings to every bad things. He knows that he'll never forget her voice or how she bit her lip before she said the line, or how she'd look confused when both him and James stared at her weirdly because who says, 'that's how the cookie crumbles'?

He's starting to wish that her voice will go away, it always means a nightmare, which means only a few hours of sleep. Which means another few days that he stares wide eyed at the walls, hoping the cracks would widen for him to go through and so the wall will trap him in. He just wants this all to stop.

He hopes she understands.


Every few days, the ministry officials come around asking if the prisoners want to go outside for a bit. There is clearly no schedule to how often they ask this. It had to be whenever a ministry official felt guilty about the prisoners here. After all, there had to be one guard that had a heart.

At first, Sirius declines. Mostly because the guard that would ask was a complete bastard. He would take a stick and start banging the bars until Sirius fell off of his bench. And the guard would shout at him, and ask him in such aggressive way. Sirius was often scared and just said no.

But then, after every incident, he realizes that Lily would have wanted him to go outside.

When the Potters went into hiding, Lily would often sit by the window with Harry in her lap and stare outside longingly. She would twirl her hair as Harry would make gibberish noises. Sometimes, he would turn around and pull on his mother's hair, thinking it was a game and Lily would snap out of her day dreams.

Whenever Sirius left the house, she would always put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to enjoy the weather outside a little extra, just for her. Sirius would try to make a joke saying how awful the rain was since it matted his hair or how it was too bloody hot outside to do anything but melt. But Lily would give him a small smile, shrug her shoulders, and walk away.

So now, in Azkaban, where his only companions are the ghosts inside his head… he thinks it's the perfect time to listen to them. Therefore, he made a resolution that the next time a guard ask him if he wants to go outside, he'll accept. For her. To enjoy the weather a little extra.

And when the rude guard came around, and clanked at the bars, and crudely asked him; Sirius took a deep breath and nodded. The guard stared at him stupidly for a minute, blinking rapidly until he called for back ups. Two other ministry officials came hurrying by, staring fearfully at Black as he stood near the bars.

He wondered why they were scared. He had no wand. His hair was in knots. He was sure that he wore this robe a week too long. And he could barely remember the last time he took a shower. Perhaps he looked menacing this way, though, the cartoons that Harry used to watch had villains that looked really good. Or had ugly noses. Neither qualities that Sirius possessed.

After a minute of frantic whispers, did he feel the invisible ropes hind his hands together. Then his feet were tied together. Sirius sighed, looked down as the bars swung open. He shuffled along with the other prisoners, but none of them spoke to one another. Each one in their lonely world. Sirius noticed that his cousin was here nor was that mini-Crouch kid.

Perhaps they died. That would be nice.

The prisoners are led to a small court yard, with high walls, and the gloomy clouds stare down on them, as if debating if it's worth it to rain on their parade. At first, the prisoners just glare at the sky, shielding their face as the shuffle about. There are dementors in the courtyard, three. But with so many people, Sirius barely feels them.

He feels numb. He feels like he could sleep out in the cold for days and days with dreamless sleeps and wake up with the possibility of feeling hopeful of his future. He takes a deep breath as he wonders a bit deeper into the courtyard, his neck craned as he stares up into the sky.

The clouds are gloomy. There is plenty of grey in them, like the walls of Azkaban. The whites of the clouds barely show with all the darkness, but if he squints, he can see them. There is a rumbling from far away, as if warning about thunder. While the other prisoners complained about the excess guards (clearly low security inmates) and the crappy weather (what did they expect?), Sirius just stared up in the sky to enjoy the weather a little extra for those who couldn't.

It was one of the first times he felt hopeful in Azkaban and the ghosts in his head seemed less judgmental, less angry, less hateful and more loving and caring.

Just as their live versions. And he tries to desperately hang onto that perspective as he marches back into his cell. He tries to hold on to James' laughter and Lily's smile and Harry's gibberish (James claimed the kid was brilliant but the kids' talking pattern begged to differ).

It takes an hour till their ghosts turns back to demons.


It takes another few weeks for him to notice something strange. He's located near the entrance of Azkaban. Though, he cannot understand why it took him so long. He's angry at himself for not figuring it out sooner. He spends an hour mentally insulting himself: stupid, foolish, idiotic, what were you thinking, you created a map of Hogwarts but couldn't bothered to figure out the floor plan of this hell?, what kind of brains do you have?, Gone soft now that you're in this ickle hell?, how long will it take you to learn something new?, aren't you young?, seems like you're old…

Especially since it was so obvious. He saw nearly every prisoner coming through. He learned their screams before they settled in. He could guess if they would be a crier or a yeller. He made eye contact most of the time with the newbies, silencing them as they gaped at him.

Sirius was a little trophy that the Ministry liked to place at the front. As if this was Hogwarts and he was the house championship trophy. Though, he was hardly cleaned or shined on a regular basis. His only goal was to scare the prisoners shitless. Make them go quiet for a second before they pass the lesser prisoners.

Did he take the thunder away from the real heroes from this tragedy? His stomach constricts as he hunches over on the bench. This thought, oddly enough, never crossed his mind. He always assumed that his arrest was a small column in the Daily Prophet. After all, he was almost certain that him getting beaten by Crouch was highly illegal (as if anyone cared for this body with brittle bones). He never saw anyone else other than Crouch and this Fudge character. There was no other official ministry members that interacted with him. He assumed that this had to do with the fact that he was such a lowly criminal, someone to just throw away and forget about.

But, thinking about it now, it seemed clear that he was a far bigger deal than he could have ever imagined. Why else would they place him in the front? Why else would every yelling, screaming, crying, and blabbering prisoner quiet down upon seeing him? More than once he saw someone pale when he made contact with them. And then there were the few, extremely rate, that passed out upon first glance.

Perhaps they used an old photo of him from school. Something from his glory days, as a before and after to place in the newspaper. Look at this nice young man, look how he smiles widely to the camera and watch as he morphs into this murderer, killing two of his best friends and he laughs like without a care in the world. As if this was the happiest moment of his life instead of his worst.

He thinks this his hilarious. Well, he always knew he'd be famous, and Merlin knows James had made enough jokes that his face would always appear on a 'Wanted' sign. It's something odd to be happy about, underneath it all it still sicken him, but there was that sort of madness that wrapped around his brain and smothered him.

Who gave a fuck anymore what he did? He was here until forever ended.

And so, the next time a prisoner came stumbling in, Sirius barked out laughing. Howling as loud as he could while clutching his weak ribs. Even the ministry officials stopped to give him a petrified look.

At least he wasn't only scaring himself anymore.


Months go by. He thinks a year and a half must have crept by. It felt as if time was taking its sweet time to inch by. As if there was no rush to make it to tomorrow, next week, next month, or even next year.

Another thing that Sirius learns, based on the lack of screaming and crying, that prisoners do not exit the way they came in. Sirius never sees a prisoner leaves. Unless it is in body bag, and he tries hard not to think when the time will come for him.

He knows that it's his future. He knows that one day, his body will stop fighting, he is surprised that it is still fighting. Why his body convinced him to eat. Why it convinced him to drink. Why it convinced him to go outside. Why it convinced him to maintain any routine of personal hygiene (he is quite proud of that). He wasn't sure why he seemed to care to survive when deep down, buried in his heart underneath his guilt and sadness, beyond a place where Lily and James roam with a crying Harry; he just wishes he would never wake up. Go to sleep and let it be.

He curses himself every morning that he wakes to see another day, then spends another hour hating the skin on his bones and the withering guilty guts within since he knows that Lily and James would trade places in an instant if it meant being alive and having just the chance to be with Harry.

He starts to think that they're stronger than him and that it should have been him that died that night. Once Hagrid took away Harry, he should have taken the wand to his head, screwed up his eyes and muttered the words. Merlin knows there was enough self-loathing that night to kill himself. Splitting his soul in half would be a fair price if he didn't have to think, if he didn't have to live in a world without Lily and James.

And then he hates himself even more for having that thought. How incredibly selfish for him to think that. He had Harry and Remus and that was enough reasons to live. And another dead body at the scene would have given Peter a clean slate to live his life and to go after Harry. No one knew the truth except the four of them, and a secret can be kept if three of them were dead. So at least there was a reason, a purpose for Sirius to still be breathing, even if it is a weak excuse.

Either way, Sirius can only envision himself dying in this ratty cell. Thirteen paces by thirteen paces. Though some days it seems smaller or larger. He thinks there are charms in place to randomly change the size to give the illusion that prisoners are crazy.

Or perhaps he's really lost his mind.

Either way, there was no mistaking it the day Barty Crouch and this whimsy woman, she looked as if one huff and puff would blow her over, came stumbling into Azkaban.

Sirius rushed forward and gripped his bars as Barty had to hold his wife up, and literally drag her across the floor. She's sobbing, clutching at his robes as if trying to tear pass the fabrics and skin and get to the heart. There was a sense of desperation there that Sirius hadn't seen in a long time.

And as she screamed pass, not even a glance his way, it oddly reminded him of Lily. He never had children and Harry was the closest thing but it was amazing to see what sacrifices parents were willing to make for their children. There was a fierceness in Lily that seemed to have arisen with Harry being born. There was a sense of happiness that erupted in James and even though the kid cried, yelled, crapped, and barfed; James still was seen smiling throughout the whole thing. It was a beautiful thing to watch really.

And there was this fight in this woman that he hadn't seen since Lily sobbed for Harry's life in the kitchen tables when the discussion came about for secret keepers.

They passed by his bars and he tried to follow them but lost tracked as they were led down another hallway. Sirius breathes deeply as he tries to crane his neck to follow their movements. He's not sure why it's important but it is.

A half an hour later, or so, the pair comes back. The wife is still leaning heavily on Crouch. He's struggling to support her. She's not sobbing or crying or yelling but clearly numbed by this insane asylum. Crouch has to ask for assistance as another ministry official supports her out. It's only as their bodies disappear out of the entrance that Sirius lets go of the bars.

A week later, ministry officials walk down the hallway with a black bag, letting it drag to the floor as the emptiness rattles through the prison. Minutes later, a levitating bag, filled with a body is floats down the hall.

This time, Sirius rushes to his bench and stands on his toes to look outside. The guards are waving their wands to clear away some dirt. To clear a grave away, and to Sirius horror, dump the bag lazily in before levitating the dirt back on there. There is a grave stone but no writing.

Sirius monitors the grave site for days on afterwards, trying to see if they had to dig out the bag and the body for the family.

No one comes back. Not even the sobbing mother.

And he wonders if he's allowed to get a guest when he's dying. If Remus would come upon his request. If Remus would come solely to spit on his face, to yell and shout until the guards drag him out as Sirius takes his last breath. He thinks company would be nice, at least one person at his death bed.

Because there will not be a single soul picking up his body. No mother, no father, no uncle, no aunt, no trusted cousins, and the Potters are dead. He has no hope of ever leaving this place, after all, he'll be buried here.

Maybe, just maybe, they'll let him pick his grave yard spot. That would be nice.


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