The days seemed to drag by once in Azkaban, day melting to night and night melting to dreary day. We ate, we slept, we sat awake according to our own schedules, with little else to keep us going except for this often trodden routine...

Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far; here's your next chapter. Much shorter than the last, but a section of its own. Meaning I will probably be posting the next chapter sooner. So read and review (which always motivates me to post sooner)

Note about the last chapter: It was supposed to be in first person view throughout, that was my editing mistake, so I apologize for any confusion.

That oh-so-bothersome Disclaimer: I still don't own anything...only the ideas that float around in my spacey little head.

And thanks to all of my reviewers, I'm waiting for the end of the story for responses for now

So get reading!

I believed only once that it was my time, I had spilled gruel onto a dementor's head in pure anger and it swooped down upon me. I felt first the familiar sensation of happiness being drained, but there was little happiness left, and then I felt my entire mind beginning to dim. I forgot who I was, and why I was there, which was nice for a moment. I learned something that day. When a dementor had almost completed his "job" as I would say, every happy thought goes rushing through your mind, disappearing in a flash. Then the grayness began to take over, but the dementor did not finish its job as it drew back in a fury. Screams from several younger women brought it from its concentration and woke me from my dreamlike state. The gray edges that had been dripping through my mind cleared almost instantly and the first image that came to my mind was an image of my godson; my precious godson Harry.

I realized how little I thought of him as a feeling of immense happiness washed over me. He had been the only survivor out of the Potters'. I hung my head at the thought of James and Lily, and the happiness dimmed, melting away as the familiar darkness closed in. But further thoughts of the giggling baby filled my mind, and the dementors couldn't ever suck that happy a thought away. I had seen Harry in the wreckage, had fought to keep my godson in my possession. But I had been talked out of it, and had gone on to this. I sighed, a deep, tired and sad sigh. The prisoner next to me started to imitate me, not the one who muttered obscenities on the other side, but a different one. He sighed several times and then began to mutter as I shot a dark look at him.

I found a rather interesting game to play with this one man that came in a few days ago. He replaced the mumbling man that had been screaming at the dementor before. He had gone within two days, and the good thing about Azkaban is that they waste no time getting them out. I shudder to think what would happen if my neighbor had been…I shivered rather violently at this thought. Even worse, I continued, beginning to enjoy these twisted thoughts, a cellmate. Luckily I had remained solitary, and upon questioning Fudge all I received was a disgruntled noise and an undistinguished mumble.

Anyways, the game. I would pick up a rock and chuck it through the bars and oftentimes it would bounce against the wall. The other man found it amusing and would retrieve it like a dog for hours. Speaking of dogs, I think that may be a great help to my sanity. The dementors have one single quality to my advantage; they can't see. Therefore I am able to easily transform into my animagus form, a dog. But I also have realized that the only way to transform is to actually have a clear mind. A good sign that I am not crazy. Which I'm not.
The dog leads me to another story--I just realized how quickly my thoughts jump, but once in here for awhile, it is quite easy to skim over memories, letting each revel for a moment before a dementor may get wind of a happy thought. Back to my thoughts. I tossed a rock mindlessly across the cell and the man eyed it suspiciously. I was a dog anamagi, one of my well-guarded secrets. I had become an animagus, in short, for my best friend Remus Lupin. Remus was a werewolf, and he was ashamed. We eventually figured it out, being his best friends, and we had each worked to become animagi. James was a stag, Peter a rat…THAT HORRIBLE RAT! Sorry… I saw a dementor stir with an anxiety and excitement at my sudden rush of anger but I quickly calmed myself, leaving it to bristle in the chill atmosphere and glide away. Anyway, I was a great black dog. Once beautiful and sleek, I realized that my fur had become matted and dull. Of course, it was Azkaban--they didn't believe in showering often.

Or feeding for that matter. I think the food was the worst part; I always eat--always. Now I'm down to one meal of rock hard bread (actually pretty good if you gnaw on it for awhile) and a large splash of gruel that I barely touch. I must say, if there is anything semi-positive at all to say that I have become quite slim, although in a little while more I will be so thin it will be sickly. I know my face must be sunken and ghostly pale, and I truly don't deserve this much suffering. I moaned loudly to myself, and a rock fell at my feet. Sure, I deserved some amount of torture for the terror I had caused during school, but I fully believed that I had paid it over at least double since my arrival. Pile my best friends' death on top of it and I could have paid off a lifetime of debt.

I gazed down at the floor, lost in a sudden wave of misery, and saw the rock, rather large and oddly shaped, that had fallen by my feet. With a sudden jolt I realized it must have been the original rock I had thrown and a whine from next door confirmed my thoughts. I threw the rock with a sudden burst of energy and it bounced loudly against the wall. It was a good sign that I continued to be energized, I thought as I heard the man scrambling weakly towards the rock. The chamber had fallen into a lapse of silence, something rarely heard. I felt something; the man that had been begging for death was silent. I felt a strange shiver run through me and heard only the sound of the rock clattering around the floor. When the rock clattered to my feet in the dim light, I did not pick it up nor throw it back, but stared at in an unusually strange manner. I felt nothing, heard nothing; yet I felt everything and heard every steady, rhythmic pattern of the prison called Azkaban.

Hope you enjoyed :)

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Love,
Siri