Lost in Darkness
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Lost in Darkness
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Sirius Black
Summary:
Lost in Darkness
February 2005
Disclaimer: All character rights belong to the great JK Rowling.
A/N: This one-shot is in response to Timeturner’s challenge to write a fic about an HP character’s most tragic day. I chose Sirius, because really, every day is a tragic day in Azkaban.
Standing by the window
Eyes upon the moon
Hoping that the memory will leave her spirit soon
She shuts the doors and lights
And lays her body on the bed
Where images and words are running deep
She has too much pride to pull the sheets above her head
So quietly she lies and waits for sleep
Waiting for Sleep, Dream Theater, Images and Words
He waits for sleep, crouching in the corner of his cell, grey eyes reflecting the silvery moonlight trickling in through a small window. The window, like every window there, is near the ceiling, tall, narrow, and too high to see out of. When he first arrived, he’d stare at it hopelessly, aching for the chance to see light reflecting off gentle waves or seasonal constellations in the sky.
Every day he hopes to smell even the faintest trace of fresh, salt air carried in from a breeze, but there is nothing. Always nothing. Instead, he’s forced to keep to the far end of his tiny prison cell, away from the hallway draft that carries the stench of a mixture of things. He can smell rotting food, unkempt hygiene, and feculence, along with a dozen other things, none of them good.
In another cell, a man is moaning.
A shiver runs down his spine, and he pulls his robes around him, not caring anymore of how shabby and worn they’d become. He doesn’t even notice that his knees are knobbier and that his whole body is sharp edges and angles. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t seen a comb in days, not to mention a toothbrush.
There is no room for vanity in Azkaban.
He hears the dementors moving and his eyes dart to the front of his cell, glimpsing a pale, scaly hand just beyond the bars. He shuts his eyes, clenching his teeth tightly to keep them from chattering, but the chill sets in quickly.
In front of him, he sees James Potter lying crumpled against a table, his hair sticking up in untidy clumps, glasses askew on his face. This James isn’t smiling, or laughing, or flushing in embarrassment. This James isn’t lithely gliding on the wind, face raw and wind burned. This James is pale and shocked looking, lying defeated on the floor.
More importantly, this James is dead.
His eyes snap open and he bows his head, pounding his fists against his skull as if the action would knock the memory away. He is filled with the same emotions that he felt at the exact moment he’d spotted James. Guilt, rage, horror, sorrow, and shock course through his veins like an electric current, eating away at him from the inside. He pulls his fingers down the length of his face, tugging at his skin. It’s dry and tight from malnutrition.
Despite the pain, he knows that he deserves this. If he has learned anything from his months in Azkaban, it’s that he deserves reliving the memories. He should have been able to help James and Lily, and he can’t stand to see them dead, especially knowing that it’s purely his fault.
He hopes James didn’t see Lily fall. Poor, lovely Lily.
Sirius doesn’t need to shut his eyes to see her. In the nursery, her pale, delicate hand is outstretched toward an empty crib. A mane of dark red hair surrounds her head like a fiery halo that is, sadly, appropriate. Her green eyes are fixed on the sky, wide and unseeing, and her other hand is on her chest; clutched there like she is protecting her heart. Her soul.
He hates himself because he can’t remember her dimpled smile any more. He can’t remember the timbre of her laugh, and he can’t remember her mothering Harry. Harry is his Godson, he thinks.
Sadly, he can hardly remember Harry at all, except for the fact that the small boy is an orphan now, and living with Lily’s beastly relatives. Another flood of guilt washes over him as he bitterly realizes that he will never be a mentor to Harry. In fact, he is quite certain that Harry will want nothing to do with him, and it saddens him because he knows that there is no fault in that.
“Nooo!” A shrill voice howls, piercing through the grim fortress. Its hideous protest resounds off the stone walls, echoing into Sirius’s bones, temporarily filling the emptiness inside of him.
He shifts uncomfortably, tilting his head up towards the window. He is unable to see the moon, and wonders if it is full.
“Remus,” he means to whisper, “Moony,” only it comes out in cracked syllables, not quite enough to make any sense. He resigns himself to the fact that his only friend left must think of him as a traitor. Some of the prisoners here still get the occasional visitor, but Sirius knows that Remus won’t come for him, and he is the only one that would.
He leans his head back against the damp, cool wall, shuts his eyes, and bathes his face in the moonlight. The memories come quickly, and now he is reliving the last time he saw Remus, during an argument.
Remus moves in front of him, glowering at him bitterly. “I can’t believe you’re questioning my motives.”
“I watched you in Knockturn Alley with him, Remus.”
Remus’s eyes widen and he flushes, his cheeks turning pink. “You were following me?”
“I’ve had my suspicions about the leak in the Order. I was just following up on them.”
“I can’t believe this,” Remus replies, snorting angrily. “Sirius, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. You’re sniffing down the wrong trail.”
“Any trail involving Severus Snape can’t be innocent, Remus.”
Remus narrows his eyes immediately. “Stop being such a fool. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I know that you’ve become awfully secretive of late; slipping off and not letting anyone know where you’re going. Both Lily and James have mentioned that you’re becoming distant, and now I find you having a clandestine meeting with Snivellus? It seems highly suspect.”
Remus’s teeth are gritting so tightly that he barely annunciates his next sentence. “It’s nothing that should concern you, James, or Lily.”
“Peter’s heard that whatever it is concerns werewolves. Are you recruiting them?” Sirius knows his voice is hard and cold.
“Merlin, you can’t be serious, Sirius.” A moment hangs between them, and where before what Remus said might have been amusing, now it is lost in the waves of tension.
“I am.” He pauses and then blurts out what he thinks will hurt Moony the most. “You know, Remus, you may always have been a half-breed, but I never suspected you to act like one.”
Remus twitches violently, and for a second, Sirius wonders if Moony will hit him.
“Go on,” he goads.
“No,” Remus says, his voice quiet and strained, “It would be a waste of energy, and I don’t want to risk knocking what few brain cells you have left from your head.” He gives Sirius another scathing look before leaving the safe house, shutting the door quietly behind him.
In the cell, Sirius opens his eyes. He constantly replays that particular scene in his mind, guiltily recognizing that Remus wasn’t the leak. Sirius is the only one that knows that Peter truly is the dirty, filthy rat who betrayed James and Lily. He realizes just how foolish he was for letting the little dumpy Gryffindor convince him that Remus was the untrustworthy one. He also knows that it is too late for him to apologize, and that Remus is gone. Not gone in the way that James and Lily are gone, but Sirius knows that he will never see Remus again, either.
He sighs, and the sigh turns into a yawn as he moves to his threadbare cot, settling himself into the large dent in the centre. The stone floor is hard and rough against his protruding ribcage. His eyes are still open, and from his position he can just see the edge of his cousin Bellatrix’s cell. Her shadow moves across the far wall.
Seeing her always makes him think of his family, and mostly Regulus. Outside of Azkaban, he never let himself dwell on Regulus’ death for very long, but in his cell, the memories of his brother come as often as the others. He regrets the fact that he left Regulus to be raised by people like Lucius, Bella, and Snape.
He rolls over to face the wall. Regulus is with him now, and he remembers the first time he heard the rumour that his brother had joined up with Voldemort. They had seen each other in Hogsmeade, and once their gazes locked, Sirius could see the triumphant glitter in Regulus’s eyes. He had no doubts from then on where his brother’s loyalty lied.
Now he wishes that he would have pulled Regulus aside and told him not to be such an imbecile, following in the Black family footsteps. He shouldn’t have been so stubborn and unforgiving. He should have taught Regulus from the beginning. He wonders if Regulus would have listened.
“It’s too late,” he mutters to himself, heaving a great sigh. “Too late.”
It’s well past midnight and he’s still awake, hoping that his body will give up and succumb to sleep soon. Physically, he doesn’t have much energy left to stay awake. His mind, however, is unrelenting; images and words surfacing one after another, making him feel useless, weak, and above all else, miserable.
He knows that it’s too late for any visitors, so he curls up into a ball, out of the other prisoners’ lines of sight. Concentrating with what little energy he has left, he begins to transform into his animagus form. Moments later, a black, shaggy dog with matted fur is curled up on the cot.
It is his one small triumph here in Azkaban.
Not long after Sirius arrived at the fortress, he realized that one of his only defences against the Dementors would be the fact that animals have less complex feelings than humans do. As soon as he learned the routine of the Azkaban guards, he began to transform at night. Because it is harder for memories to plague him while in dog form, it makes it a little easier get a few hours of sleep each night.
It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, and the dog snuffles quietly, its rib cage gently rising and falling. Every so often its leg twitches from a dream.
The moonlight from the window wanes, and a rattling cough echoes from another cell. The dog stirs. Blinking slowly, it realizes that it is just before dawn and quickly changes back into human form. At once, Sirius is confronted with all of the memories that he was avoiding the night before. This time he can picture the first time he made Remus really angry with him. It’s the time he tricked Snape into following Remus down the tunnel of the whomping willow.
His shoulders already begin to droop from the heavy weight of his guilt.
Part of him still acknowledges the fact that he deserves this. It is his fault that Lily and James are dead, that Remus hates him, that Regulus was murdered… Having to live through the worst days of his life is nothing but comeuppance. To live through this will be punishment enough, he knows, yet he still can’t forgive himself.
The dementor in front of his cell turns and peers in, and Sirius breaks into gooseflesh under his thin robes. The memories are coming.
He shuts his eyes.
Lost in Darkness
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Sirius Black
Summary:
Lost in Darkness
February 2005
Disclaimer: All character rights belong to the great JK Rowling.
A/N: This one-shot is in response to Timeturner’s challenge to write a fic about an HP character’s most tragic day. I chose Sirius, because really, every day is a tragic day in Azkaban.
Standing by the window
Eyes upon the moon
Hoping that the memory will leave her spirit soon
She shuts the doors and lights
And lays her body on the bed
Where images and words are running deep
She has too much pride to pull the sheets above her head
So quietly she lies and waits for sleep
Waiting for Sleep, Dream Theater, Images and Words
He waits for sleep, crouching in the corner of his cell, grey eyes reflecting the silvery moonlight trickling in through a small window. The window, like every window there, is near the ceiling, tall, narrow, and too high to see out of. When he first arrived, he’d stare at it hopelessly, aching for the chance to see light reflecting off gentle waves or seasonal constellations in the sky.
Every day he hopes to smell even the faintest trace of fresh, salt air carried in from a breeze, but there is nothing. Always nothing. Instead, he’s forced to keep to the far end of his tiny prison cell, away from the hallway draft that carries the stench of a mixture of things. He can smell rotting food, unkempt hygiene, and feculence, along with a dozen other things, none of them good.
In another cell, a man is moaning.
A shiver runs down his spine, and he pulls his robes around him, not caring anymore of how shabby and worn they’d become. He doesn’t even notice that his knees are knobbier and that his whole body is sharp edges and angles. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t seen a comb in days, not to mention a toothbrush.
There is no room for vanity in Azkaban.
He hears the dementors moving and his eyes dart to the front of his cell, glimpsing a pale, scaly hand just beyond the bars. He shuts his eyes, clenching his teeth tightly to keep them from chattering, but the chill sets in quickly.
In front of him, he sees James Potter lying crumpled against a table, his hair sticking up in untidy clumps, glasses askew on his face. This James isn’t smiling, or laughing, or flushing in embarrassment. This James isn’t lithely gliding on the wind, face raw and wind burned. This James is pale and shocked looking, lying defeated on the floor.
More importantly, this James is dead.
His eyes snap open and he bows his head, pounding his fists against his skull as if the action would knock the memory away. He is filled with the same emotions that he felt at the exact moment he’d spotted James. Guilt, rage, horror, sorrow, and shock course through his veins like an electric current, eating away at him from the inside. He pulls his fingers down the length of his face, tugging at his skin. It’s dry and tight from malnutrition.
Despite the pain, he knows that he deserves this. If he has learned anything from his months in Azkaban, it’s that he deserves reliving the memories. He should have been able to help James and Lily, and he can’t stand to see them dead, especially knowing that it’s purely his fault.
He hopes James didn’t see Lily fall. Poor, lovely Lily.
Sirius doesn’t need to shut his eyes to see her. In the nursery, her pale, delicate hand is outstretched toward an empty crib. A mane of dark red hair surrounds her head like a fiery halo that is, sadly, appropriate. Her green eyes are fixed on the sky, wide and unseeing, and her other hand is on her chest; clutched there like she is protecting her heart. Her soul.
He hates himself because he can’t remember her dimpled smile any more. He can’t remember the timbre of her laugh, and he can’t remember her mothering Harry. Harry is his Godson, he thinks.
Sadly, he can hardly remember Harry at all, except for the fact that the small boy is an orphan now, and living with Lily’s beastly relatives. Another flood of guilt washes over him as he bitterly realizes that he will never be a mentor to Harry. In fact, he is quite certain that Harry will want nothing to do with him, and it saddens him because he knows that there is no fault in that.
“Nooo!” A shrill voice howls, piercing through the grim fortress. Its hideous protest resounds off the stone walls, echoing into Sirius’s bones, temporarily filling the emptiness inside of him.
He shifts uncomfortably, tilting his head up towards the window. He is unable to see the moon, and wonders if it is full.
“Remus,” he means to whisper, “Moony,” only it comes out in cracked syllables, not quite enough to make any sense. He resigns himself to the fact that his only friend left must think of him as a traitor. Some of the prisoners here still get the occasional visitor, but Sirius knows that Remus won’t come for him, and he is the only one that would.
He leans his head back against the damp, cool wall, shuts his eyes, and bathes his face in the moonlight. The memories come quickly, and now he is reliving the last time he saw Remus, during an argument.
Remus moves in front of him, glowering at him bitterly. “I can’t believe you’re questioning my motives.”
“I watched you in Knockturn Alley with him, Remus.”
Remus’s eyes widen and he flushes, his cheeks turning pink. “You were following me?”
“I’ve had my suspicions about the leak in the Order. I was just following up on them.”
“I can’t believe this,” Remus replies, snorting angrily. “Sirius, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. You’re sniffing down the wrong trail.”
“Any trail involving Severus Snape can’t be innocent, Remus.”
Remus narrows his eyes immediately. “Stop being such a fool. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I know that you’ve become awfully secretive of late; slipping off and not letting anyone know where you’re going. Both Lily and James have mentioned that you’re becoming distant, and now I find you having a clandestine meeting with Snivellus? It seems highly suspect.”
Remus’s teeth are gritting so tightly that he barely annunciates his next sentence. “It’s nothing that should concern you, James, or Lily.”
“Peter’s heard that whatever it is concerns werewolves. Are you recruiting them?” Sirius knows his voice is hard and cold.
“Merlin, you can’t be serious, Sirius.” A moment hangs between them, and where before what Remus said might have been amusing, now it is lost in the waves of tension.
“I am.” He pauses and then blurts out what he thinks will hurt Moony the most. “You know, Remus, you may always have been a half-breed, but I never suspected you to act like one.”
Remus twitches violently, and for a second, Sirius wonders if Moony will hit him.
“Go on,” he goads.
“No,” Remus says, his voice quiet and strained, “It would be a waste of energy, and I don’t want to risk knocking what few brain cells you have left from your head.” He gives Sirius another scathing look before leaving the safe house, shutting the door quietly behind him.
In the cell, Sirius opens his eyes. He constantly replays that particular scene in his mind, guiltily recognizing that Remus wasn’t the leak. Sirius is the only one that knows that Peter truly is the dirty, filthy rat who betrayed James and Lily. He realizes just how foolish he was for letting the little dumpy Gryffindor convince him that Remus was the untrustworthy one. He also knows that it is too late for him to apologize, and that Remus is gone. Not gone in the way that James and Lily are gone, but Sirius knows that he will never see Remus again, either.
He sighs, and the sigh turns into a yawn as he moves to his threadbare cot, settling himself into the large dent in the centre. The stone floor is hard and rough against his protruding ribcage. His eyes are still open, and from his position he can just see the edge of his cousin Bellatrix’s cell. Her shadow moves across the far wall.
Seeing her always makes him think of his family, and mostly Regulus. Outside of Azkaban, he never let himself dwell on Regulus’ death for very long, but in his cell, the memories of his brother come as often as the others. He regrets the fact that he left Regulus to be raised by people like Lucius, Bella, and Snape.
He rolls over to face the wall. Regulus is with him now, and he remembers the first time he heard the rumour that his brother had joined up with Voldemort. They had seen each other in Hogsmeade, and once their gazes locked, Sirius could see the triumphant glitter in Regulus’s eyes. He had no doubts from then on where his brother’s loyalty lied.
Now he wishes that he would have pulled Regulus aside and told him not to be such an imbecile, following in the Black family footsteps. He shouldn’t have been so stubborn and unforgiving. He should have taught Regulus from the beginning. He wonders if Regulus would have listened.
“It’s too late,” he mutters to himself, heaving a great sigh. “Too late.”
It’s well past midnight and he’s still awake, hoping that his body will give up and succumb to sleep soon. Physically, he doesn’t have much energy left to stay awake. His mind, however, is unrelenting; images and words surfacing one after another, making him feel useless, weak, and above all else, miserable.
He knows that it’s too late for any visitors, so he curls up into a ball, out of the other prisoners’ lines of sight. Concentrating with what little energy he has left, he begins to transform into his animagus form. Moments later, a black, shaggy dog with matted fur is curled up on the cot.
It is his one small triumph here in Azkaban.
Not long after Sirius arrived at the fortress, he realized that one of his only defences against the Dementors would be the fact that animals have less complex feelings than humans do. As soon as he learned the routine of the Azkaban guards, he began to transform at night. Because it is harder for memories to plague him while in dog form, it makes it a little easier get a few hours of sleep each night.
It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, and the dog snuffles quietly, its rib cage gently rising and falling. Every so often its leg twitches from a dream.
The moonlight from the window wanes, and a rattling cough echoes from another cell. The dog stirs. Blinking slowly, it realizes that it is just before dawn and quickly changes back into human form. At once, Sirius is confronted with all of the memories that he was avoiding the night before. This time he can picture the first time he made Remus really angry with him. It’s the time he tricked Snape into following Remus down the tunnel of the whomping willow.
His shoulders already begin to droop from the heavy weight of his guilt.
Part of him still acknowledges the fact that he deserves this. It is his fault that Lily and James are dead, that Remus hates him, that Regulus was murdered… Having to live through the worst days of his life is nothing but comeuppance. To live through this will be punishment enough, he knows, yet he still can’t forgive himself.
The dementor in front of his cell turns and peers in, and Sirius breaks into gooseflesh under his thin robes. The memories are coming.
He shuts his eyes.