When Sirius Black was a young boy, nothing gave him more displeasure than visiting his grandmother Melania Black. She was his paternal grandmother, and her home was located in the dreary magical province of Effarmeck, which Orion Black and his small family had the privilege of visiting every month on the second to last Tuesday.

Whereas the traditional Black infatuation with taxidermy had only slightly trickled down to her son—Orion had beheaded three house elves in his life time and stuffed each of them and tacked them to a plaque—it had hit Melania full on. (His Grandfather Arcturus Black had remarked that Melania wasn't even a Black by birth, but by marriage.) She had taken it upon herself to build upon the small collection of stuffed animals that already was in the family home, and took it to a new level, with dead creatures lining every hallway, in various arrays.

He had been six years old when he'd wandered away from his mother at one of those Tuesday night dinners; he'd walked down the hallway to his grandfather's library, a task that he had done many times with his parents with him in broad daylight.

But then, at nearly nine in the evening, when no candles were lit, only the dim light that came from the faraway beacon of the library, Sirius had begun to panic. The animals that were on either side of him no longer were cute or pretty or any other adjective he had referred to them previously. Now they had shape-shifted into sinister forms with evil glinting in their glassy black eyes, their sewn shut mouths smirking at him evilly.

He had back up, eyes fixed upon the creatures, only to bump into another beast that had taken residence behind his back.

He had let out a shriek and ran back to his mother—who had merely grimaced at the small boy that was clutching to her side and pushed him away.

For months following those figures had haunted his dreams.

It wasn't until now, nearly two decades later, that Sirius remembered those dreams.

Instead of the bright boy he had been then, he had transformed into the haggard, hunched character that was currently holding his head in the corner of a dark, dank cell.

As he was in high security imprisonment, he was not allowed to have a cell mate—for fear that Sirius would do to him the very thing he had done to get into the wretched place. Not that Sirius minded. He wasn't immune to the horror stories of prison rape and hazing.

It was better, he thought, to be left alone and to rot from the inside out from festering bad memories than to be torn from both inside and out.

But he had only been in Azkaban for two months.

He had plenty of time to change his mind still.

--

Two months later, Sirius began to go insane. The continuing pursuance of happiness-sucking Dementors was finally taking a toll on him as his once seemingly unending supply of happy memories was depleting rapidly. The only memory that he had to cling to was one of his last before being imprisoned: the memory of himself being dragged away to Azkaban, laughing in the Auror's faces as he went—knowing that he was innocent.

And it was a shame.

He sometimes thought to himself that it would be so much better if he would just become a shell and get on with it already. It had to be better than living like this. Anything has to be better than this.

But that one memory kept him from going over that edge to insanity.

He shivered as a Dementor glided past his cell. A small chunk of who he was went with the gloomy figure.

He focused on the happy memory that was slipping away—a forest romp with his three best friends.

Prongs and he were racing, Prongs's long legs beating him easily, but he wouldn't give up quite that easily, so he was putting in twice as much effort at the stag. Moony was ahead of them, howling at the moon, and Wormtail was somewhere behind.

The memory slipped away fully.

He looked down at his hands thoughtfully. "I wonder…" he croaked, throat clamping up from the lack of hydration and hoarseness from screaming.

He focused all the magic he could muster into turning into the same shaggy dog that had been running in the lost memory.

A pop later, where the gaunt man had been sitting was an underfed dog, whose tongue was lolling out of his mouth and tail was wagging happily.

Another Dementor swept by, and Padfoot was surprised to feel that none of his memories were being taken away.

Padfoot let out a whine when he felt a lonely pang hit his stomach. He had no one to play with. Prongs was dead, Wormtail was a traitor, and Moony was far away.

He curled up into a ball and stared morosely at the dirty floor.

He let nothingness take over him as he fell asleep.

--

A few days later, Sirius remembered that a human guard was scheduled to come in to check in on them. After all, he chuckled to himself darkly, the Dementors wouldn't be able to let them know if someone was dead in their cell. He knew that Ministry didn't really care—they just sent the guards to see if there was another open cell to shove some poor soul in and let rot.

So with a heart full of woe, he turned back into his human self.

He sat in his usual spot against the back of the wall and stared at his feet.

They were bare, as the Ministry didn't deem it necessary for prisoners to protect their feet. Sirius sneered.

What a regular Snape I'm turning into, he thought, dropping the sneer as quickly as it had come upon his face. He hung his head low.

James would have told him that, "You'd better not turn into a Snape, Pads—I'd have to stop being your friend and start pranking you!" His face would have lit up with a superior grin. Then he would stop to shake his messy fringe off of the tops of his glasses, not settling until his bangs were laying neatly above his brow—a signature James move.

Peter would have laughed, egging on James to make fun of Snape some more. His watery blue eyes would crinkle on each side and his dimple in his left cheek would deepen.

Remus would have merely frowned in disapproval and told them that, "Severus really is a decent person once you take the time to get to know him."

Sirius shuddered and smacked his head against the wall. He couldn't afford to think of Remus now.

On the first day he had arrived at Azkaban he had resolved to keep all his memories of Remus in the farthest corner of his mind, with the hopes that the Dementors wouldn't be able to touch them.

He couldn't bear to lose all of his good memories, all of the times he had been with his wolf.

To the top of his mind floated a silvery thought, reminding Sirius thoroughly of a Pensieve. A fifth year Sirius and Remus were walking around the Lake on a warm April day. Sirius was obviously trying to show off, levitating rocks from the side of the path and making them skip across the water, and Remus was rolling his eyes at the other boy's antics.

"Sirius," Remus said as Sirius was levitating another rock.

Sirius let the rock drop into the water with a noticeable splash and then twirled his wand around his fingers and put it, tip first, into his back pocket. "Yes?" he replied, batting his eyelashes, a small smirk on his lips.

Remus frowned. "Why do you do that?" he asked, dropping what he was previously going to say in this question's stead.

"Do what?" Sirius replied, seriously unaware of what he had been doing. He ran a hand through his hair, letting his lips part slightly whilst doing so.

Remus's face flushed and he said loudly, "That!" When he realized that he was on the verge of making a scene, he dropped his eyes to the ground, clearly abashed. "You know…you know that I'm gay," Remus continued, voice low so that Sirius had to focus to hear him.

"Yeah," Sirius said puzzledly, "and you know that none of us have a problem with that…"

"And you know that you're obviously straight," Remus went on.

"Well, yeah," Sirius grinned, while his stomach churned nervously.

"So stop flirting with me, okay?" Remus finished. "Because I know you're just playing around, and I can't handle it any more."

Remus kept on walking, but Sirius stopped. He let Remus's words sink in, before jogging to catch up to the speedy werewolf.

"Remus, wait," Sirius called. He caught up to him and let his hand clasp Remus on the shoulder. Remus shrugged it off but stopped.

"What do you want, Sirius?" he asked irritably. His amber eyes flashed with annoyance and hurt.

Sirius's hand brushed against the nape of Remus's neck. He tentatively stroked the line of Remus's jaw with the back of his fingers, barely touching so that they were ghosting over the pale skin.

Their lips met.

The memory dove into a fuzzy, grey nothing and before Sirius could try to hide it away once more, it was lost to the passing-by Dementor.

"NO!" Sirius roared, eyes tearing up, as he tried to recall the first kiss and could not.

"Damn it!" Sirius cried, tears falling freely, "Damn it all!"

He jumped to his feet and paced around his small cell, furiously trying to figure out a way to keep his memories in tact.

After the twentieth or thirtieth round, he allowed himself to drop to his uncomfortable cot. He knew it was useless.

He curled himself into a ball. His long hair fell into his face. Black upon grey upon ashen.

"Oh, Remus," he whispered. His fingers clawed at the metal bars that sustained his slight weight.

"I love you," he promised fiercely.

--

"How is England's number one prisoner doing?" the guard's superior inquired when the guard reported back to his office in the Ministry.

"As well as a prisoner can be expected to be doing," the guard answered, not lying to his boss yet not telling the truth either.

"What was he doing?" his superior joked, "Laughing hysterically, I suppose?"

The guard laughed nervously, hoping that he wouldn't be goaded into making any jokes in return. "Surprisingly, no. He was just sitting there. Staring at the floor."

"When I went in the cell to make sure he had a pulse," the guard continued, "I saw that he was crying. But it wasn't really like he was crying. He wasn't moving at all, not even when I touched his wrist. Tears were just running down his face, and every so often he would blink or shudder faintly."

The guard looked up at his superior, face confused, "It was so strange."

"Azkaban'll do strange things to a man," the other man said nonchalantly. "Good work, O'Leary. Lucky for you, you won't have to check in on Black for a coupl'a months. The other boys'll get a turn."

O'Leary nodded glumly and checked out of the office.

On his way home, all he could hear was that blank nothingness and all he could see was Black's sullen face.

Here you go! Sorry for the lack of Remus/Ifan-ness, they'll come back next chapter. =D Review, please and thank you.