Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.

James agitatedly drummed his fingers on the dining table in the late Mr and Mrs Evans' house and stared out the window, hoping to see the familiar figure of his best friend appear.

Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.

It had been three weeks since their house had been invaded by Voldemort and they'd parted ways with Sirius, and James had spent the whole time in a state of complete nervousness.

Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.

Something was wrong. He just knew it. Lily knew it too, although he could tell she was trying to convince herself it was just because they had no idea what was going on. James was aware that that was a logical assumption to make, considering their natures, but he still wasn't persuaded.

Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.

James just wished Sirius would show up. He was worried about his best friend, especially after what had happened… after hearing him when he scr-

James shook his head angrily to get the thought out of his head. He was just overreacting. Paranoia. That's all it was. Sirius was fine. He wasn't considered a legend among the Hit Wizards for nothing, and James knew that Moody was just itching to move him up into the Auror ranks as soon as possible. Sirius was entirely capable of looking after himself, and his duelling capability and knowledge of Dark spells and tactics was almost unparalleled, curtesy of his family and upbringing.

James looked out into the suburban morning again and sighed. But what if he wasn't alright? What if something had happened? They had no way of knowing what was going on out there; they were completely cut off from the wizarding world, and not knowing was driving him and Lily both crazy.

"James," Lily's determined voice had him glancing over to the sofa where he hadn't noticed her playing with Harry.

"Yes?"

Lily sighed, with a small frown and shifted as though preparing herself, "Look, I know we said we'd wait a month – and I know I'm probably being paranoid – but I- I think something…"

"You think something's wrong, too?" James asked her sharply.

Lily blinked, "Yes, I thought I was just… Anyway, I have a feeling that something's happened. I don't know how to explain it, but I'm worried. About the Order and about… about Sirius, which is stupid, because of course Sirius is fine, but…"

James looked at her as she trailed off, and suddenly his own paranoia seemed a lot more valid, "Me too."

Lily looked at him, seeming both relieved and nervous that he felt the same, which he understood completely. It was both a relief to know that his instincts may not be playing up, and nerve-wracking because if something had happened…

"James, I think we should go and find Sirius," Lily said in resolute voice, one that was not to be argued with and that James always loved hearing.

"Lily-Flower, I think that might be a good idea," he responded and tried to ignore the tumultuous emotions flaring in his belly, at the realisation that his worry might not be as unfounded as he'd hoped.


(Aproximately three weeks ago)

Sirius came to, lying on a freezing, dark, stone floor, with his body stiff, weak and aching, and unable to dispel the sick feelings of terror, horror and hopelessness that crashed through his mind, following him from his torrid nightmares about his life. He immediately began to retch, but the only thing to come up was bile, which burned through his throat. Sirius felt himself completely weaken, and tried to roll away, but found himself falling over with the sound of the clanging chains which had impeded the movement. He collapsed, barely avoiding the puddle of bile, and began trembling violently from what he supposed was a combination of the cold, his physical condition and shock.

"Crucio!" The pain was intense took him completely by surprise. He knew his mother hated him, but he'd never expected-

Sirius forcefully drew himself out of the memory that had assaulted him and tried not to vomit again. Where was he? What the hell was that? What had happened? Had he been captured again?

The sense of dread and hopelessness had returned, but now that Sirius had something to focus on, he was slightly less affected. Have I been captured again? Concentrating on the need to find an answer to that question, Sirius tried to stop his shaking while he properly took in his surroundings.

He was in a tiny, dark, wet, room, that was obviously supposed to function as a cell of some description, and which was barely large enough for him to stand or lay in, as he was doing now. In fact, Sirius suspected that if he stretched, he'd be able to touch either end of the longest part of the room. It was difficult to discern if the cell had corners and edges or not, as there was just dark, grey stone, above, below and around him. The only variance in the room was a crude set of steps that lead up to a dark, heavy wooden door with iron nails and a little metal porthole that was far too high for Sirius to see out of, a tiny slit in the wall near Sirius serving as a window, a bucket that Sirius had missed before and whose purpose he didn't really want to think about, and the thick, heavy chains keeping him attached to the cell. There was no light coming in from the window, so Sirius guessed that it was night, but he could see a spray of water and hear the sound of waves crashing on rocks.

Where the hell am I being kept!?

It was the sounds of the waves and the hopeless, isolation they represented that, more than anything, caused Sirius to slip into the next memory.

"Mother says you're going to be disowned," Regulus' apathetic voice caught Sirius' attention.

"Probably," he replied nonchalantly. He honestly didn't care what his mother said at this point, she'd been going on about how he was a disappointment for years, but Regulus had never talked about it before. He was almost scared to hear what his eleven-year-old brother was going to say next.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with the mudbloods, Sirius. You're bringing shame to the family," it was the certain, accusing tone, that hurt the most. Sirius pushed the pain of rejection from someone who he had hoped to never be rejected by somewhere deep and far away, before pulling up a smirk and retorting.

"I consider that an accomplishment. It's pretty hard to bring shame to a family with such disgusting values, after all."

"Are you saying that because Mother and Father hate you? Because, Mother said that she hates you because you're a disgrace to the family, so it's your own fault they hurt you, you know."

-Sirius wrenched himself free, but the emotions associated with the memory remained, along with the depressing hopelessness. He still didn't know where he was. The freezing temperature and the immersive memories were almost familiar… but he couldn't quite…

Chunks of burnt flesh that had once been Benjy, ditched in the snow in an alley. The sound of James retching just behind him, while he stared stonily at the remains of his friend. The smell would be worse, but Sirius knew that the cold preserved the flesh. Even as he thought it, there was a rat was crawling towards what looked like a finger…

Chunks of burnt flesh. A rat.

Peter had betrayed them and blown himself sky high… or was that Sirius?

Dementors. That's what the sensation was.

Which was bad. Very bad. Really, very bad.

A lot of the dementors had gone over to Voldemort after he'd made some kind of deal with them that allowed them to feed on muggles as much as they wanted.

Voldemort killed James and Lily and Harry, but then Sirius saved them, didn't he?

Was he in some Death Eater dungeon? He wouldn't put it past most of his enemies to have a dungeon like this.

But why would they have one out in the ocean?

The only place like this he knew of was-

Oh. Oh. Shit. Shit shit shit, was he in Azkaban!? Had the ministry lost control of the prison!? Oh, that was really bad. All the Death Eaters that the DMLE, the Order and he had managed to capture alive were in Azkaban, and if Voldemort had taken control of it, then…

Voldemort was dead. Or wasn't dead. He was gone…? Wasn't he?

…All the prisoners would be free, and the Death Eaters would have access to an impenetrable fortress that it was impossible to escape from. The only way to get in and out of Azkaban is with the blessing of its wardens, the dementors.

As if an alliance between them and Voldemort wasn't bad enough on its own. Now, the Death Eaters were in control of the closest thing to hell on Earth.

Voldemort's dead. He tried to kill Lily, James and Harry but Sirius stopped him. Peter tried to blow up a street, but Sirius stopped him. Peter and Voldemort are dead. James, Remus, Lily and Harry are alive.

…Right?


Sirius wasn't sure how much time had passed. He kept slipping into memories which disorientated him, and the only way he had of telling time was the sky, which so far had barely lightened. He wasn't sure if that was because less time had passed than he thought, or because the sun was unable to penetrate the depressing gloom of the prison in the middle of the ocean with its dementor wardens.

He had had horrible dreams about parts of his life he would rather forget, and also a few about a dementor coming in with bread and water. He wasn't sure if he had imagined that or not, because while he was starving and parched, he knew that he'd most likely be dead if he hadn't drunk something yet. Although, he had no reliable recollection of having done so.

Sirius was mostly surprised by that fact that he hadn't seen any Death Eaters yet. If they had taken him prisoner, like he thought, he would have expected them to come and question him sooner rather than later. It was no secret that he was a target for them, as he had one of the highest Death Eater take-down rates and was a known member of the Order. It was also no secret that he was very much hated among the Death Eaters for being a blood traitor of the worst kind; the once heir to the House of Black.

Perhaps they were trying to break him slowly by making him stew in his own worst experiences. He had to admit that this technique was far more effective than the straight Cruciatus session he had experienced the last time he was captured, but they'd still have to do far better than that if they wanted to get anything out of him.

Creeeaaaak… Bang!

Sirius barely had the energy to lift his eyes, from where he was slumped in his cell, at the sound of the door opening. The sight of two human silhouettes in the door frame was enough for him to muster a smile. It seemed they were done waiting. Show time.

"It's him," the deep, male voice was filled with a concoction of rage and glee, but there was something… almost familiar about it that gave Sirius pause.

"Are you sure?" The other voice was higher and sounded almost anxious in cruel anticipation.

"Yeah," the first responded, "yeah, I'd recognise that evil prick anywhere."

The other nodded, "Good. Looks like this shitty post is finally going to pay out."

"Crucio!" Not expecting the torture to begin at that moment, Sirius writhed, and a scream was half-pulled from his throat. After a full ten seconds the pain cut off, and the first voice addressed him with pure hate, "How do you like that, Black? How do you like torture when you're on the other end of the wand?! Crucio!"

Pain. Pain, pain. But not like anything he hadn't had before. This time Sirius was silent as his muscles spasmed. The spell was held for far longer than the first one.

"He's not feeling it; he's too used to it. CRUCIO!" The second voice chimed in, and it was like the voltage had been turned up. Sirius couldn't do more than gasp as he felt his nerves shock with a vivid, acute fire and his mind flood with electricity. The spells, like the two men themselves, were almost feeding off each other as they grew in intensity the longer they were held. Sirius could feel the hate that was flaying him, somewhere that wouldn't leave a mark. Eventually Sirius became aware of the taunts and vicious comments that they were spitting at him as they held the curse and he pushed past his agony just enough to absorb what they were saying.

"-traitor! You deserve the Kiss for what you did to the Potters!"

…What…..?

"-laughing behind our backs all this time! My son looked up to you! He was always talking about the older pranksters in Gryffindor who protected the younger kids, but you're nothing more than Black scum!"

The familiarity of the voice struck him again, somewhere in the back of his mind, and Sirius was finally able to recognise it. He sounded like Ben Simmons, a younger kid who Sirius had looked out for in school. He'd be a sixth year now. Or he would have been, if he hadn't been murdered trying to defend his muggle mother a few months ago in a Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley.

(Ben, I'm so, so sorry.)

But why would Ben's dad…? And why are they angry about James, Lily and Harry? On behalf of them? Sirius felt something terrible begin to bloom somewhere deep inside him. A kind of horror that he hadn't felt in a long time; that suggested that he wasn't resisting Death Eaters.

They're alive. It wasn't your fault and they're alive. You're innocent and they're alive.

But Sirius had seen the house, and hadn't James wanted him to be the Secret Keeper?

They're alive, and Peter's dead because he betrayed them.

Are they? Peter was Sirius' suggestion. ARE THEY ALIVE!?

Aren't they alive!?

The pain didn't lessen in its rage, but the intensity died down.

"Hang on, Simmons, stop!" The second voice called out, almost reluctantly, and if Sirius was able to think coherently he would have realised that he had stopped his half of the Cruciatus. As it was, all he was aware of was his own tormenting thoughts, while the pain turned into white noise.

"WHY!?" The rage fill voice snarled, obviously not ready to let up, "This BASTARD deserves it! You know he does-! You know what he is; what he's done! He's the Dark Lord's right-hand man! It's his fault!" The power behind the torture curse rapidly rose as he spoke, and Sirius was unable to process anything else until it was abruptly cut off, and he was left twitching like a dying insect on the floor.

"If you go too hard on him now then he'll end up like Frank Longbottom and his wife after the Lestranges got at them two days ago-" The voice placated but the mention of Frank and Alice was enough to snap Sirius back into awareness. He felt his blood chill; he knew what the Lestranges were capable of – especially Bella – and whatever had happened… it didn't sound good. They had a son, only a day older than Harry. He hoped, more than anything, that they were all alright, "-and then he won't be useful anymore."

There was a mulish silence, until the second voice tried again.

"We need him alive and able to think until he's given the names of every Death Eater he knows and then he'll be Kissed, just like he deserves."

There was another pause until Simmons growled, reluctantly acquiescing, "Fine. Fine, but I-"

"As long as we don't drive him completely insane, we might as well work on loosening his tongue…"

Sirius heard the voices drift off and the door closed with a bang. He lay there on the cold, grey, stone floor, twitching due to abused nerve endings and with his mental defences shattered, until he succumbed to the effects of Azkaban once more.