Chapter Two
November 4th, 1981
Azkaban Prison: Day Three
"I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while."
- Cornelius Fudge
Sirius sat on the floor, his back against the cold, stone wall on one side of the cell. His eyes slid shut as he braced himself against a wave of pain that pulsed just under his skull. He gritted his teeth, willing the pain to pass. These episodes had been sporadic at first, but now they were becoming frustratingly common and were lasting longer in duration.
At first he had attributed these headaches – along with his shaky hands and constantly feeling short of breath – to nicotine withdrawal. He had been addicted to Muggle cigarettes since he was sixteen, a vice that had only escalated during the war, to the point where he was able to easily go through at least two packs a day. He hadn't had a smoke since just before James and Lily's death, and it was clearly affecting him.
However, at this point he wasn't so sure withdrawal was completely to blame for his symptoms. He had been sitting in this exact spot, in a daze for so long that he had completely lost track of the passage of time. There was a small, barred window set high in one wall of his cell, but strangely there had yet to be any real deviation in the lighting to indicate a time of day. At least not that he'd noticed. Even so, he guessed that several days had to have passed by now. In that time, he had yet to be given any food or water. He suspected dehydration and perhaps even the beginnings of malnutrition shared at least some of the blame for these blinding headaches.
Finally, the pain in his head began to dull as the episode passed, though he knew at this point not to expect it to completely disappear. Carefully, he opened his eyes. The cell was blurry and had a strange floating quality to it. The sight made him feel nauseous, so he closed his eyes again. The room wasn't much to look at anyway.
He wondered vaguely if this had been the plan all along. Perhaps they threw him in Azkaban to let him wither away and starve to death as punishment for the heinous crime they believe he committed. He found this to be annoying. If they wanted to kill him, they couldn't have picked a quicker method and just been done with it?
"Why? Do you think you deserve for it to be quick?"
Sirius' eyes flew open at the sound of the painfully familiar voice. But, as he blinked around he saw that he was just as alone in the cell as ever. His heart was pounding hard in his chest as his eyes searched the empty corners of the room. There was no one there. Even if there was somebody there, it couldn't have been the person he thought he had heard. Could it?
He shook his head, causing the pain in his head to pulsate and he winced. He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. He tried to tell himself that he must have nodded off. That was the only logical explanation. He must have fallen asleep and dreamed that he had heard that voice.
"It's all your fault, you know."
Sirius gasped, as his eyes flew open once again. There had been no mistaking it this time. But even though he had heard the voice as clear as day, his cell was still empty. He shot a glance at the barred door, but all that could be seen was the usual Dementor floating just outside of it. So far, it had been hard to tell if the Dementors were really having any effect at all on him, or if it the emptiness he felt was just a result of his own devastation at having his whole life torn apart in one night.
But, whether it was an effect of the Dementors, his own emotional instability, or even because of his dehydration and malnutrition, the fact was clear in his mind. He had heard James Potter's voice.
James had reprimanded him very few times in his life. To that point, he had only really been angry with him one time during the course of their entire friendship: the night that Sirius had sent Severus Snape to the Whomping Willow on the night of a full moon. However, in this moment, Sirius couldn't recall James ever speaking to him kindly. All he heard was malice and disgust in the disembodied voice of his dead friend.
Not even a week into his stay in Azkaban Prison and Sirius was already starting to question his sanity.
"I trusted you!" The voice echoed around the empty, stone cell, the accusation seeming to surround him. "We trusted you! We put our lives in your hands!"
Sirius felt the weight of the world falling down on top of him, crushing him. "I… I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dragging painfully out of his throat. He had spent most of his first day in Azkaban muttering apologies over and over, but no matter how many times he said it, it never seemed to be enough. James and Lily were still dead. He had since fell silent, this being the first time he had spoken out loud in days.
"It's your fault! You killed us! Lily and I are dead because of you! Harry is an orphan because of you!"
That one cut Sirius the deepest and he winced as if it were a physical assault. "Please… James…" he moaned as he put his hands up over his head as if he could protect himself. "Please, stop…"
"Traitor!"
"No…"
"You betrayed us!"
That sparked something inside of him. That wasn't right. It hadn't been him to betray his friends. Sirius may be guilty of putting his friends in the situation that got them killed, but he wasn't the one who had knowingly betrayed them to the man who murdered them. That had been Peter.
"I am no traitor," Sirius mumbled, conviction in his tortured voice. "Just foolish enough to have never questioned Peter's loyalty to us."
That's what it all came down to, wasn't it? It wasn't about his loyalty to the Order or to Dumbledore. None of that mattered in the end. During the war, they had found that it was more important to be loyal to your friends, to the ones fighting by your side that you trusted to watch your back, than anything else. It was all they had during a time where it felt like the world was falling apart around them. Trust. Loyalty. Friendship. And Peter had thrown all of that away. Peter had betrayed them.
He felt a spark of anger rising up within him at this thought. It was the first strong emotion he had felt in days, breaking through the numbness that had consumed him. Finally, it seemed the shock of what had happened was beginning to fade and in its place was a burning fury. He could feel it bubbling up from deep within him. Peter Pettigrew was the boy that they had helped with his homework and had protected from bullies at school. He had been a Marauder. They had shared laughs and worries with him just as they had anyone else in their close group. And how had he repaid them? He had completely destroyed all of their lives in one night.
In a burst of energy that was fueled by pure rage, Sirius lifted one hand up before bringing it down hard, hitting the stone wall behind him. The pain that action caused hardly even registered in his mind. He repeated the motion several times, each time hitting the wall with just a bit more force. It wasn't enough though. Suddenly, adrenalin was coursing through his body, all fatigue from lack of food and water forgotten. He was on his feet, screaming in fury. Words would not form on his tongue, the sounds coming out of his mouth sounding more like an enraged animal than a person. He crossed the small room in two steps and flipped the small cot that had sat against the opposite wall, letting it crash up against the stone barrier. Not satisfied by the noise alone, he proceeded to kick the upturned cot repeatedly, letting out shouts of frustration every time he landed a blow.
He was in such a state that he didn't immediately realize that the cell door had scraped open. It wasn't until a cold wind tore through his thin clothing that he realized anything had changed. Slowly, he turned to find that a Dementor had entered his small space, hovering no more than a foot from where he stood.
Sirius slowly started backing away. The rage he had felt was slowly melting away and he wasn't quite sure if that was an effect of the Dementor's presence or simply the adrenalin of the situation leaving him. As the Dementor followed his retreat, he felt a flicker of fear igniting deep within his chest. What did it want from him? Why had it entered his cell?
His back hit the wall of his cell, signaling that he could go no farther. The Dementor didn't stop though. It drifted still closer to him, it's hood lowering until it was inches from his face. Sirius was gasping for breath, his lungs protesting the frigid air that entered them. The dark creature reached out both of its scabbed hands, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him in place.
"N-no," Sirius whimpered. "Please…"
Slowly, the Dementor took in a loud, rattling breath and Sirius was assaulted by horrific memories, moments in time that he had pushed deep down and hadn't thought of in a very long time. He tried to fight back, he tried to push the Dementor away from him but he was too weak. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but suddenly it was as if he had never been happy in his entire life. It was like a filmstrip set to fast forward, all his worst memories forcefully pulled to the surface of his consciousness, consuming him.
After a minute, the Dementor took another breath, and one particular memory crystalized in Sirius' mind. Suddenly, it was as if he were reliving the memory again, just as clear as if he had just plunged into a Pensieve. The memory consumed him as the walls of this prison seemingly fell away, sending him to a different level of hell.
The sun was not even up yet as a small figure padded it's way down the stairs toward the Gryffindor common room. Young Sirius Black held onto the railing tightly as he made his descent, feeling unsteady. He found the common room to be vacant. He paused, contemplating crawling into one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace, which looked particularly inviting. He quickly decided against it though. The warmth and coziness of the common room made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Instead he headed for the portrait hole, oblivious of the fact that he was still in his pajamas and bare feet, and climbed out into the stone corridor.
Sirius started walking, no particular destination in mind. It wasn't as if he knew where anything was anyhow. This had been his first night in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was supposed to be the start of a new and exciting part of his young life. However, he couldn't help but feel as if a terrible mistake had been made. The night before, the Sorting Hat had declared that he would be placed in Gryffindor rather than Slytherin. His stomach turned uneasily at the memory. He couldn't understand what had happened. His father had assured him that he would be Sorted into Slytherin, just like everyone else in their family. A Black hadn't been Sorted into any other House in their entire history – or so he had been told, anyway. Sirius had felt confident that he would follow in his ancestors' footsteps. Now what was he supposed to do?
He hardly paid any attention to where he was going, though when given the option as he approached a staircase he chose to go up rather than down. Down, he knew, would lead him closer to the dungeons where the Slytherins were. He didn't belong there. So, whenever he came upon a set of stairs he moved up. Finally, he found himself pushing open a door to find that he had come to the top of the tallest tower in the castle, and he could not go any farther.
The tower was open aired, with telescopes positioned at intervals around on top of the stone wall, which circled the perimeter. Sirius realized vaguely that this must be where the Astronomy Class was taught. The early morning air was cool and seemed to whip right through his pajamas, but he didn't care. He liked the isolation of this place; he liked feeling as if he was far above the rest of the school. He had felt horribly on display after his Sorting the night before, with the other students and even some of the teachers openly gawking at him. Right now, all he wanted to do was disappear. He sat down with his back up against the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest, and took in a shuttering breath as a tear escaped down his cheek, finally allowing himself to give in to the emotions that had been threatening to overwhelm him since the night before.
He an eleven years old child and he was terrified to be separated from his family like this.
Sirius wasn't sure how long he sat there and cried, but it had to have been a while as was aware that his surroundings were getting brighter with the rising sun. He heard the door to the tower creak open, but he didn't look up, unable to face anyone in his current state. He buried his head in his arms as they rested on top of his knees and prayed that he would go unnoticed.
"Sirius?"
He was vaguely surprised by how familiar the voice was that reached out to him. "How did you find me?" he mumbled in a thick voice, not looking up.
Andromeda Black carefully took a seat next to him. "I figured you'd have run off this morning," she said gently. "I've been walking the castle for the past hour looking for you."
"Oh," was all he could think of to say. He lifted his head as he wiped at the tears staining his face, not looking at the seventh year that sat next to him. There was a quiet pause as he tried to get his emotions under control. He took a couple deep breaths, desperately trying to stop the tears from falling in front of his cousin. It wasn't the most dignified state for a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to be found in, even if he was only eleven years old.
"Are you okay?" Andromeda asked carefully after a few minutes of awkward silence.
Sirius sniffed. "Do I look okay?" he muttered darkly. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "That bloody hat must be broken or something. It made a mistake." Suddenly, he looked up at Andromeda hopefully, overcome by an idea. "If I go to the Headmaster, do you think that he'll let me be Sorted again? I'm sure if the hat gets another chance it'll do it right this time."
Andromeda slowly shook her head, frowning. "No, I don't think that's how it works," she said. Sirius felt his face fall in disappointment. He felt tears gathering in his eyes again, and he blinked furiously against them. After a moment Andromeda spoke again, trying to sound reassuring. "It's not the end of the world, you know."
"That's easy for you to say," Sirius snapped. "You were Sorted into Slytherin just like you were suppose to be." He eyed the green trim on her freshly pressed school robes with envy for a moment. Then he dropped his head into his hands, despair washing over him. "Mother and Father are going to be so angry with me."
"Forget them," Andromeda declared. Sirius looked up at her in surprised. "Sirius, I've been among the Slytherins for seven years now and I'll tell you something if you promise never to tell anyone in our family."
"What's that?" Sirius asked curiously.
"You don't belong among them," she said with a careful smile. "You are better than them. I'm sure if you just give it a chance, you'll find that Gryffindor will help you to become a better man than Slytherin ever could."
Sirius stared at his cousin in disbelief. No one had ever spoken to him of Slytherin that way before. The way Mother and Father spoke, you would have thought that anyone Sorted into Slytherin was practically royalty. This was the first moment that Sirius ever considered that might not be the case.
"You think so?" Sirius asked cautiously.
Andromeda reached over and wound an arm around his shoulders. "I do," she told him sincerely.
"But… but you're in Slytherin," he felt the need to point out.
Andromeda sighed heavily at that. "I know," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "And sometimes, I feel like I don't belong there either."
Sirius stared wide-eyed up at his cousin, unable to even comprehend what that meant. How could a Black not belong in Slytherin? It didn't make any sense to him.
"I'm supposed to be in Slytherin," Sirius said stubbornly.
Andromeda gave him a sad smile, but didn't say anything else. She simply held him as he struggled to hold back tears, terrified of what his parents were going to think of him now.
At eleven years old, Sirius had felt as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He had felt like he had let down his entire family. At that time, it had felt like the worst moment of his entire life. It had taken him weeks to finally start to feel at ease amongst the Gryffindors. James had played a big part in that. It had been months before he finally started to realize that he could be his own person, someone that didn't conform to what his parents wanted him to be, but rather someone who could be whatever kind of person they pleased.
But, as the Dementor loomed over him, he couldn't remember that feeling of belonging and happiness he had felt there. He could not remember the feeling of safety and reassurance that had come with Andromeda's arm wound around him protectively. As the Dementor took in another breath, he could only remember the hopeless devastation he had felt as the world as he had known it had been shattered. He had been afraid when he had first been Sorted into Gryffindor. And that fear now seemed magnified to an impossible level.
Finally, everything became too much. Between his exhaustion, dehydration and the hopeless despair that now consumed his every fiber, he couldn't hold on any longer. And with his eleven-year-old self's sobs echoing in his head, he lost all consciousness.
