"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
Written for Drabble Club in the Hogwarts House Challenges forum.
Prompt: "Were they caught in the gravitational pull of your arrogance?"
What few people knew about Azkaban, Sirius mused, was that there were actually slightly sane wizards there. They came to check up on the prisoners, assess their mental states. Determine if they required an extra Dementor by the door. Or, sometimes, they led visitors through the prison. To taunt, or torture.
Or kill.
Sirius absently traced the lines on the floor. He'd created each one of them- there were three hundred and fifty two- and many of the more recent ones were laced with dried blood. He'd barely been there a year, technically not even one, and yet he felt he was already missing things, that he'd forgotten a day here or there. It was hard to tell, in the deep black of the prison, the only light what little reflected off the sea that churned at the doorways. More than one 'morning' he had awoken to water splashing through his cell and his ratty blanket damp, both with water and the blood it washed off his wounds. He was on the second story, so it wasn't much of a stretch for waves to reach him.
But today, thankfully, dampness was not his concern. Unfortunately, his concern was how much they decided to torture him. Despite Voldemort's disappearance, they thought he would know something of his Death Eaters' whereabouts. Obviously he did not, as he was innocent. ("You bloody fools," he'd said more than once. "Is there a Dark Mark on me?") There wasn't, for the record. Apparently as Voldemort's protégée he must be magically hiding it somehow.
Sirius thought it was ridiculous. In fact, last time the Minister had passed by to do his little 'tsk-tsk' routine, he'd purposefully attempted to look as if he had the mental acuity of an infant. Of course, his eyes had given him away, but Fudge hadn't been observant enough to notice. The chubby little man had just nodded and smirked as he passed. What shook him from his reverie, however, was not the sudden appearance of two Dementors by his door. It was the fact that they were accompanied by a smug Fudge and a twitching assistant, staring fearfully at the Dementors. Sirius resisted the urge to laugh.
He wasn't scared of those anymore.
His more immediate problem was the Minister.
"And how is Black doing?" the loathsome man asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Sirius decided not to sit there and take it.
"Black would be doing wonderfully, thank you very much, if not for the immense headache your arrogance has caused me. That much gravity can't be good for my head." Fudge started at his reply, then glared at him. If not for the lime bowler, it might have scared a woodrat.
"Y-you d-do not have p-permission t-to address the Minister!" Fudge's assistant stuttered, his thin frame moving slightly to 'protect' his boss. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Wonderful. Care to relay a message for me?" Without a response, he continued. "Tell Minister Fudge that I am doing just fabulously, if not for the fact his little friends are causing me rather incurable depression." Sirius smiled brightly to throw the man off guard. "In fact, I respectfully request that the Minister, if he should so want information, put aside his overbearing arrogance and go speak to Albus Dumbledore. It'd also be just amazing if he could give up his ancient stereotypes of the family to which I have been forcefully disowned and judge me on my own merit. Have a nice day!" With that, he waved with a self-satisfied smirk and turned back to his bare leg, where he had been carefully inscribing a Gryffindor tattoo. By hand. With ink made from a dead squid washed into his cell.
To say the least, he was rather bored.
Confinement did not suit him, and it certainly did not suit his Animagus form. Occasionally he'd feel as if he was doing something because his dog side wanted to, not himself. He'd always been in tune with his Animagus before- he had no disconnect like this- but the Dementors were doing something to him. Beyond the obvious insanity. Sirius felt like he had a voice speaking for him, encouraging him to stand up for what was right and not bow down. Of course he was grateful that something was keeping him as some resemblance of himself, but still. Hearing voices was not a good thing. Even for wizards. Especially for wizards.