All Harry Potter characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me!
Yet Another Halloween – Third Chapter – Hate.
Yet another Halloween came, and he felt just the same as the one before.
He was crawling at the corner of his dirty cell, hugging himself to keep his warmth, to stay sane. His overly-long black hair was sweeping the floor dust as he was sitting, withdrawing into himself – the only thing he has left there.
How much longer will this torture take? When will he finally be able to take his revenge? Sirius's mind flew with questions of which he had thought of thousands of times already in this closed cell. He was so lonely, nothing could change it.
"Give them back," he hissed to no-one's ears, as for no one heard him. The only company he had was the bloody creepy Dementors, setting despair in his poor soul, "protecting", so to speak, the closed area of Azkaban prison. And yet, sometimes he did get to see some people – every once in a while someone from the ministry would come to check that everything is okay, giving Sirius, the condemned criminal some newspaper to read and some cryptic crossword games to pass the time. Sirius was, in fact, blessed with such a visit three days ago. The paper that the minister bloke gave him was laid on the dirty floor in front of the dog-like man, and his once-beautiful eyes were staring at it, his mind working and calculating dates. Today was Halloween.
Sirius could remember that one Halloween, in which his life were torn apart and stepped on by that lousy, disgusting brat, Peter Pettigrew. Hatred towards that damned, devious rat had raised once again – that pitiful murderer…
The prisoner slammed his hand at the cell's stone wall, but no one heard it. He hated Wormtail, hated his very existence, his sight, his voice. It was him, that so-called "best friend" of James and Lily, that should have died, just like James and Lily would have done for him, to save him – but he betrayed, just like that, to gain honor from the biggest bully, to be seen as an important Death Eater, to gain respect.
Sirius's shallow, bark-like laugh broke the silence of the closed area. Wormtail was so close to gain his respect, and yet Voldemort has lost, ruining Peter's plans. He may have murdered James and Lily, but Harry – oh, that cute little boy that remained in Sirius's memory, flying on the little broomstick, completely joyful – was alive, and Voldemort lost, vanished, evaporated to air. Harry was alive. Totally, amazingly, impossibly alive.
The man laughed, and laughed, until his laughter turned to tears. How much could he suffer not seeing his cute godson, the only remaining memory that will show that James and Lily have once existed? He kept on crying into the night, just like last Halloween, knowing that the hatred and pain will stay, yet for another Halloween.