So this is part 2. As before, none of this belongs to me, everything belongs to Jk Rowling. This chapter references les miserables by Victor Hugo a bit. I just read a very d copy of les miserables and loved it, and couldn't help but draw parallels with Sirius and Jean Valjean. This monolog is from Sirius's point of view. Please review. If you have any suggestions for which order members I should write about, please say.
This world that always hated me
Take an eye for an eye
Turn your heart into stone
This is all I have lived for
This is all I have known
Les miserables.
My name is Sirius Black. Because I got arrested I have an Azkaban number. But I will never write that fucking number down. I swear I am so much more than a number. I was, no am, innocent.
Molly thinks I'm mad. Maybe I am. I joined the order because I need to balance up the evil my family creates. I hate the pureblood elitists, like my parents are. Were. Their dead now. My parents were Orion and Walburga Black. They were both born with the surname Black, because they were second cousins. It's all about the blood purity.
I was sorted into Gryffindor when I joined Hogwarts. My parents were not happy. James told me my parents were abusive. I hadn't realized that they were abusive until he told me. I thought it was normal to be locked in the cellar, or not allowed to eat, or beaten.
I became an animagus for Remus. He did not deserve the cards fate had dealt him. I joined the initial order of the phoenix because I needed to fight against the pain my family helped cause. But I was as bad as them.
In the first war I suspected one of my friends because he was a werewolf. Because all the werewolves were joining Voldermort. I was, at that time, no better than my parents. I judged someone because of something out of their control. I am a monster.
It was my fault James and Lily died, because I suggested they use Peter. I guess maybe I deserved Azkaban after all. After Peter betrayed us, I spent 12 years in Azkaban. In truth, I do not remember much of that time. Incapable of a single happy thought I was almost mad with grief. Pain. Guilt.
The best thing that happened to me after Azkaban was Remus, Dumbledore and James's son finding out the truth. They say pain is temporary. But that is a lie. From someone who has experienced it.
I read a lot, as a child. Not as much as moony, but reading was a form of escape for us both. A way to exit the horrible place known as existence. I read muggle stories. I loved les miserables. I read it when I was 15.
Then I thought I was cossette. abused, and then rescued and raised by someone who loved me like their child. To fall in love, and live as happily as possible. Now though, my role is not cossettes. My role is Jean Valjeans.
Innocent of almost any real crime, but not guilt free, imprisoned by an unjust system, to find my friends innocent abused child, and protect them. And, ultimately, to die. Now, Harry is cossette. Fiction is funny. Ironic. Dark. Twisted. Fiction is the truth. The reality. And it is buried deep within us. Condemned, forever we will follow the paths set down in ink by the great Muggle authors. I will fight, and I will die. I am not suicidal. I just know that in a war, sacrifices must be made. The price must be paid.