"Here puppy, puppy, puppy," the woman croons, hand outstretched and sticking out between the bars of her cell. "Come here, puppy! I just want to pet you- you're soft, aren't you? Warm? Good boy puppy, you make a nice warm coat for Bella? Come here! Bella just wants a bit of your skin- here puppy, puppy, puppy."
Padfoot growls a low warning growl, but that just makes the woman light up and redouble her efforts.
Padfoot huffs and stands up, shaking off- then he turns in place and settles back down on his makeshift paper bed, back turned towards the scary woman. He should know better than to acknowledge her by now.
Padfoot doesn't quite remember why he doesn't like that woman, just that he doesn't. Padfoot doesn't remember a lot of things. Padfoot doesn't think at all, really.
It's better that way- everything is better that way. A particularly cold and salty wind blows through the cells, ruffling Padfoot's fur. He shivers, and curls up into a tighter ball, whimpering quietly.
Padfoot settles his head down on his paws, closing his eyes. It's a losing game, trying to fall asleep here, but it's one Padfoot plays again and again and again. Not much else to do here.
Another gust of icy wind, and Padfoot's eyes snap back open. His breath has started fogging up the air. Padfoot feels his tail try to tuck itself underneath him, and his ears go pinned back against his head.
Padfoot knows what this means- but it gets harder every time. One day, one day soon, Padfoot will just… be Padfoot. Forever. Or, at least until his doggy soul gets sucked out of him.
Padfoot huffs again. Today isn't that day. Not yet.
Sirius doesn't bother standing up to transform. He doesn't bother standing up after he's transformed, either. He just lays there, shivering in his prison rags and trying not to think of anything at all.
The dementor is floating closer and closer- Sirius can tell because Bellatrix has started laughing again. Great. It had taken her four days to stop, last time.
Sirius blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the cold stone walls and the damp feeling of old newspaper underneath him instead of the memories threatening to overwhelm him. It's a grounding technique that's helped Sirius deal with the dementors before- one that Moony had taught him, back during the war.
Ah, fuck.
Sirius scrunches his eyes closed and shrinks in on himself, shaking arms covering his head. He beats his closed fist on the back of his head a couple times, as though that'll do anything to stop the flood of images rushing through his mind: Moony, Prongs, Lils, Reggie, Pete- gone. They're all gone, one way or another. Dead or traitor or all… all alone.
And it's Sirius's fault. All of it.
Sirius wants to die.
A dry sob racks through Sirius's frame. He's never felt so cold in his whole life. Then, just like that, the dementor is gone and Sirius can think again- or rather, not think.
Sirius takes a shaky breath, then lets it out again slowly. His teeth are chattering so hard that he's bit through his tongue- he hadn't even noticed. The cold slowly recedes as the pain in his mouth becomes more noticeable. Sirius grimaces. His head hurts and he aches all over.
Sirius forces one eye open. He's facing down, so his gaze is pointed directly at one of the newspapers.
It's a newer edition- one of the later pages, not a headliner or anything. There, at the bottom: a tiny moving picture above the words 'Arthur Weasley receives big bonus, takes family on trip to Egypt'.
Sirius snorts despite everything. The Prophet is really skimming the bottom of the barrel, huh? Reporting on what- family vacations?
Sirius presses his face closer to the ground, squinting at the little picture. How are the Weasleys? Sirius hadn't thought about Molly or Arthur in… in a long time. Looks like they had a brand new kid! A girl, maybe? Regardless: good for them.
And that baby they had- right there towards the end of the war. Is that him? Sirius's face is so close to the picture that his nose is being squished right up against the ground.
There, a scrawny, red-headed freckle-y boy. He's… he looks pretty much like all the other Weasleys. Sirius sighs contentedly- it's nice to be reminded that despite it all, life goes on outside of Azkaban. Well, Sirius amends to himself, both nice and horrible.
Sirius goes to turn into Padfoot once more when a bit of movement coming from the boy's pocket catches his eye.
Sirius freezes, then shoots up, grabbing the paper and shoving it into his face. The paper tears a bit, but not over the picture, so Sirius doesn't worry about it. His heart is pounding suddenly very loudly in his head.
There. Poking his nose out of the boy's pocket. He only appears for a fraction of a second, but Padfoot spent countless full moons running with him- he could recognize that particular rat from half a mile away with his eyes closed.
Still, Sirius waits with bated breath as the picture cycles back, watching. He needs to be sure. He narrows his eyes, watching as the rat once again sticks its head out of the boy's pocket, followed by its paw. One, two, three, four- four. Four fingers.
Sirius feels something of a manic grin spread over his face, his first smile in over a decade.
Peter Pettigrew is alive.
And Sirius Black is going to hunt him down and tear him to shreds.