After about two weeks, Sirius stopped keeping track of time. He stopped doing most things and the days flew past in a haze. Since that day, Harry's face, right before he'd left... It haunted him, picking away at his appetite and stopping him sleeping. The period after the miscarriage was nothing compared to this. At least then he'd still had Harry.

Would he really have said yes? Could they have been engaged by now? He didn't really know what to think about all of this, everything that day. Thinking about it made his head hurt. And he thought about it all the time.

If he hadn't done that, (Stupidstupidstupid!) would they have tried for another baby? Would Harry have been willing to try again after last time? Maybe then, the future wouldn't look so bleak.

He knew his trial couldn't be far off and with all the evidence pointing against him and a dozen or so pictures, what chance did he have to get off?

Sure enough, two men came eventually and took him out of his cell, tying his hands behind his back before taking him out the door, one in front and one behind.

"Why exactly am I being tied up when you're taking me out of here? Where would I run?" He received a box to his ears for his comments. He was cleared for Hell's sake! What was so hard to understand about it?

He wasn't sure exactly where he was taken, but chose not to say anything. It wasn't much bigger than his cell, but it had a bed and a decent sized bathroom, so he didn't complain. He took his first bath that night in eleven months. The water turned black.

Someone had been considerate enough to put a calendar on the wall and he was shocked. It was June already. He'd been in Azkaban almost a year. It would have been two years that he was with Harry last week. Since he'd snuck away one from school right before the end of his fourth year. It hadn't gone past a kiss; he was only fourteen, but what a kiss it was.

There was 'something' there and he hadn't even wasted time telling himself it would be wrong when he knew it wasn't. There was spark. Some tiny little thing that had settled inside both of them and brought them back together at the end of the summer. And before his trial. And again when they'd moved into the house.

Each time they'd agreed that it wouldn't happen again, it did. Eventually, both gave in and though no words were spoken, settled into a relationship, private to them and besides the occasional subtle flirting or hand holding under the table, only demonstrated in their home.

He hadn't realized that there was really was that 'something'…. Until now when he'd lost it. And he missed it more than anyone could ever know…

He'd worked out the date of his trial and though he got food three times a day, he had no visitors and when the day came, no Aurors had turned up.

He started getting annoyed and after another three weeks, finally spoke to the big man delivering his dinner.

"What's happening? Why am I here?" He asked and the man looked at him with piercing blue eyes.

"There was an attack on the Ministry. Your trial's been postponed for a while. All of them have." He turned to leave and as he was about to leave, added something that made Sirius's insides fall out around his feet. "Poor Mr. Potter. I hear he's still recovering. None of the spells or potions are working. They're saying it's you-know-who's spell that did it."

"Wait!" But he'd already gone. Sirius banged on the door and shouted for the next hour. No one answered. The next day, a different person brought him Breakfast and this one wouldn't say a word.

----

Another three weeks and without any warning, two Aurors turned up at his door, tied him up once again and took him out the room. It turned out he'd been staying deep in the ministry and was taken down a long stone corridor to the courtroom.

He was placed into a chair in the centre of the room with seats high up and surrounding him, almost like a Roman amphitheatre. He was the Gladiator, but who was the lion?

He didn't find out that day. Five minutes into the trial, before he'd even been addressed by the Wizengamot, a messenger came in, whispered in the Minister's ear and the court was dismissed in a panic.

Sirius later found out that Azkaban had been attacked. All prisoners who had not declared their support for Voldemort were dead. He'd been saved by a few mere weeks.

He'd found this all out on his way back to his room and when he'd been locked in there, he was in such shock that he fell down onto his bed and just sat. Then the anger came. And it came hard. Once again, the ministry had nearly killed him. And what would he have if he got free. Nothing! No baby! No relationship! No Harry!

Harry. Still in Hospital. Injured. Hurt. Oh Harry!

By that evening, there was nothing left of that room. Glass, wood and cotton lay broken on the floor and Sirius stood panting, his eyes hardened and his fists bloody. He looked in the mirror, looking into his reflexation. It almost seemed to be mocking him.

Look at you, you're nothing but a sad, violent hooligan. Harry's better off without you anyway. It's a good thing the child died, what kind of father would you make for I-

He didn't hear anymore, he shouted, his fist once more flying, shattering the glass and taunting image. He couldn't take anymore, he passed out on the bed, asleep and exhausted.

The next morning when he woke up, his hands bandaged and his body aching, he was in an almost cell-like room again, a white robe keeping him from hurting himself hold him still.

He didn't see his cosy little room again.

---

That last chapter wasn't the best, I know... but thanks to Lady Larissa for attempting to help me, but I warned you, I tend to be, difficult, when it comes to correction.

Big big big huge GIGATANORMOUS thanks to Melenna. A fantastic author, she read over this chapter for me first last night and helped me fix it up a lot and get me on a writing roll from about 9pm to 2 am. huggles

Her stories are fantastic, go read them!