“Thanks, as always,” Sirius murmured sarcastically to no one in particular as a tray was slid under his cell’s bars. He crawled over to it, chains rattling, and pulled it towards him. A slice of bread, blue specks of mould dotting the crust, and a lump of cheese which smelled foul. Fouler even than it was supposed to. He took one sniff of it and held back the urge to wretch.
Sirius had been in Azkaban for as long as he could remember. Time in that place had no measure or barriers; you were there, and you had been there a long time, that was all there was to it. Everything beyond that was hazy and unclear. But something nagging in the back of his brain reminded him of a time when he was happy, when he had friends.
Sitting in a dim jail cell in Azkaban gave him a lot of time to mull over the mistakes he’d made, the good times he’d shared with others. He had once attempted to lure an unknowing Severus Snape into meeting with Remus the werewolf. Of course James, ever noble and faultless, had thwarted him. He remembered the first time he’d kissed Dorcas. Hell, he even remembered the first time he’d seen her, properly, for the first time. Of course she’d always been around, but he’d never really noticed her.
That was, until the day Professor McGonagall had assigned him her Transfiguration tutor. He’d strolled casually into the library to meet her and upon seeing her had been astounded he’d never really noticed her before. She was a classic beauty, with dark brown curls, bordering on black, and pale skin highlighted with plump rose-coloured lips.
Of course it had taken a while to coax her out of her shell, but it had been worth it. Her colourful personality was like a magnet to him. He couldn’t get her out of his head. One day he’d simply followed his instinct, leant in and kissed her. She’d been surprised at first, but soon relaxed and learnt to love him back.
He also remembered the night he’d stormed into the Order of the Phoenix headquarters and broken down on the floor. “She’s dead,” he had sobbed. “Dorcas is dead.” Irony of all ironies, the very night he’d gone to her home to propose he’d found the dark mark hanging over her house. With a rush of panic he’d sprinted inside, losing the engagement ring somewhere along the way, to find her lifeless body on the floor of the living room. She was such a gifted witch, Voldemort had killed her himself. A twisted blessing of sorts.
Finding his breathing shallow and heart wrenching, Sirius snapped himself out of the daze. He’d opened a box that had been closed for many years now; fresh memories swirled around his head, begging him to choose one. He had to pick a good one before Dorcas’ lifeless form re-entered his mind. Lily and James’ wedding. That would be a good start.
Lily had looked beautiful and James had been bursting with pride. Sirius remembered how Lily had loved him all through Hogwarts, but James had been completely ignorant, even to the fact that he loved her back. Sirius even managed to almost smile at the thought. James had buttered her toast, after all. That meant true love.
Of course that had ended badly too. Not long after the couple had had their first son, Harry, Peter had betrayed them to Voldemort and they had been murdered in their own home. Miraculously their son had survived and been taken to his aunt and uncle. Sirius would have willingly taken him in himself. But then of course he had to go and hunt down Peter, like a fool. That had gone awry as well. It seemed as though the lives of everyone around him had been destroyed.
Except of course Bliss and Jacob. They had gotten married and were the proud parents of a daughter whom they named Luna. Jacob had landed editor position at The Quibbler and as far as Sirius knew, their family was still thriving. He had to cling to that hope. Not everyone could have had their lives ruined. It wasn’t possible. Sirius wouldn’t let it be possible.
Without realising it, Sirius had been clenching his fists. He released them now, beads of blood dripping from where his nails had cut right through the skin. There was a time when he could have used magic to heal his cuts, but the whole concept of magic was like a distant memory to him now. He could hardly remember what his wand had looked like.
As if out of nowhere, several sentences popped up in his mind. They were fresh, spoken; as if someone was whispering them in his ear.
“A thin line?”
“Go on. I won’t make the same mistake twice!”
“Our ickle prefects.”
“Please, kids, save your flirting for off the pitch.”
“Almost two years is a long time to hold a grudge, Evans.”
“Couldn’t take it any more, Prongs. I ran away.”
“Jazz got back from America last night and… when they went into the house… there were… death eaters inside and… they killed her entire family.”
“It does not do to dwell on the past or what might have been. We cannot change what has happened, but we can change the future. It is an insult to the memory of those brave few for us to spend the rest of our days in sadness and mourning. We must move on swiftly and enjoy our lives if we are ever to let our lost ones go.”
The whispers ceased. To Sirius, everything seemed to go quiet. He took a deep breath in, opened his mouth and roared a deafening yell that made several of his fellow prisoners look up in alarm. Voldemort had taken his friends from him. His best friend – no, his brother, James, and his charming wife, Lily, and most of all, the only woman he had ever loved, Dorcas Meadowes. Voldemort had taken everything that mattered from him. That was it. He was going to follow Dumbledore’s advice. He wasn’t going to dwell on the past; he was going to move on swiftly.
Sirius Black was going to escape Azkaban.
A/N: Sorry I removed it and put it back. I was considering a sequel, you see, but then changed my mind. I prefer it as a one-time thing. Hope you enjoyed the story =)
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