The Prisoner in Azkaban: Year Five (Harry Potter)
Title: The Prisoner in Azkaban
Chapter: Year Five
Word Count: 1,934
Author’s Note: I apologize in advance if anyone finds this chapter disturbing. Poor Sirius is not well?
Year Four
Four thick paws padded through the night. It should have been completely quiet but he could hear every twig snap under his weight, every animal that tried to scatter from his path. He knew which ones to ignore and which to follow; could smell his prey and almost taste it. Canine eyes pierced through the night. Sirius was used to being the dog, but this was not the familiar Padfoot. He had plenty of years to get used to the heightened vision, hearing, smell and taste but the senses were even stronger now and the instincts irresistible. He looked up to see what he already knew would be watching from the sky.
The wolf howled at the full moon as soon as he saw it. He was surprised by just how natural it all was. There was no response and he briefly wondered why he had expected there to be one. He shook his head and returned to his hunt-if the other wolf existed, that was not what mattered. He had to catch his prey. Blood lust made his mouth water and his feet move faster.
“Kill,” the wolf told him, and every part of him leapt to respond. “Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill.”
This one thought completely possessed the creature and yet he was running out of time. If the moon went, the wolf would leave. Without the wolf, Sirius would be too weak, too cowardly, too human. He wanted this, wanted to feel ice in his veins. The wolf didn’t know why he wanted to murder, didn’t care what his victim had done, wouldn’t remember that killing was what the enemy did. He wouldn’t falter despite all the anger. Emotions were alien, there was no chance they would complicate the hunt. Only his own strength and the enemy’s wit mattered now; the wolf knew he had the better odds.
“Kill.”
His eyes caught something shifting ahead. He stopped immediately and without the sound of his racing feet, the forest would have been completely silent to even Padfoot’s ears. The wolf could hear breathing far ahead, slow breathing that told him whatever it was did not want him to hear it. He was sure he was only moments away.
“Kill.”
Stealthily he pressed forward making no sound that his prey would hear. He had gotten close and he could smell blood. It was wrong somehow, off. There was something else, something he didn’t want to hurt. But the prey was there and that was all that mattered. If casualties were necessary, the wolf wouldn’t be too stupid, too human to stop.
He lifted his eyes from the path in front of him, no longer needing to watch his step. He was too close to hope they couldn’t see him, but he was stronger than whatever was there and his victims had no escape. They were afraid, he could smell it. For a moment the urge to kill grew even more powerful-he almost thought that he might enjoy it if he had to kill them both.
Until he saw what he had been hunting and the wolf took a terrified step back. Even the wolf could recognize a friend when he saw it. For the first time since the sun set, Sirius heard another word.
“Mate.”
The boy was trembling and the wolf was shamed by the fear he could see in his eyes. He glanced back towards the sky as if double-checking, confused by what his eyes saw and what his instincts told him was supposed to be. The trees blocked out the moon, but he knew it was still there, he could still feel it.
“Shouldn’t he be a wolf?” the part of him that was almost-human asked.
“You’re the monster now,” it responded moments later.
He nearly lost track, nearly forgot what mattered. The boy was younger, younger than he should have been by now and even younger than he had been when Sirius last saw him. He was as frightened and lost as he had been when Sirius knew him-when he had been the wolf and had been as afraid of himself as he now was of the beast in front of him. Of course, the wolf didn’t know all that. All the wolf knew was that instead of letting the scent of human blood that was supposed to make him more dangerous than anything take hold, he wanted to kneel in front of the boy and show him that he was not dangerous.
“Sirius?” the boy asked, his voice weak and uneven.
The wolf didn’t recognize what he was saying but he understood the tone. The boy had no trust for the wolf; he thought he was as good as dead. He almost gave up, turned around, and left the boy alone so he wouldn’t have to fear anymore and so that the wolf wouldn’t have to feel that fear.
He heard something shift behind the boy-the reaction was instantaneous, nobody could have tracked the time it took to shift from the nearly-human state this boy had put him in back into the monster. His prey was there, hiding like the coward he knew it to be. He had known, somehow he knew the wolf would not attack the boy, that he could use the weakness against him. Sirius felt anger surge in the wolf, he could already taste blood-he didn’t care if the boy was afraid. He couldn’t care.
The guttural growl sharply broke the silence. Both the boy and the intended victim let out terrified cries. The wolf felt strong, confident, hungry. He took a step forward, trying to avoid the boy but focusing on the kill.
The rat tried to hide, tried to run, the wolf snapped at it too quickly-it froze, paralyzed by fear and the knowledge that it had no hope now that its cowardly plan had backfired. The wolf prepared to spring but when he leapt towards the rat, he collided with something much larger.
The boy had stepped in front of the creature, trying to shield it from attack. If the wolf’s reflexes had been anything less than what they were, he would have torn into him before he even realized what he was doing. Furious at being thwarted, the wolf snarled at the boy and attempted to seize his prey again.
“Please don’t, Sirius,” he begged weakly. “He’s our friend.”
The wolf ignored him. There were more important things. The boy didn’t know the truth, didn’t know what the rat had done and what Sirius had not done. Sirius had no way to tell him, Sirius was weak and helpless. It was up to the wolf to get even, nothing was more important than revenge. He didn’t care anymore if the boy was wrong, if he hated him for what he was about to do.
He shook the boy off with little effort. He approached the rat slowly, taking moments to savor the terror emanating from his victim. It was over in a moment. His strong jaws closed around the rat in one easy bite. He dropped it, glad it was still alive though fading quickly. He tore the creature open-biting and scratching and tasting warm metallic blood. Although the rat was small, the wolf took pains to cover himself in the blood and taste every drop of it. For the second time, he let out a howl-no longer frustrated with blood lust; his cry was thick with triumph and the taste of death. It wasn’t until he realized the blood was half-human that the cry faltered.
____________________________________________________________________________
For a while, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to happen. I spent all that time planning to escape, thinking there was a way out of this prison and I planned out every aspect of what life would be like once I was out. But I could never settle this question: How to deal with Peter Pettigrew? Instinct was, of course, to kill him. The little rat certainly deserved that much. But they didn’t kill me, they sent me here and I’ve spent so much time wishing I was dead that for a while, I changed my mind. Let justice have him, I thought, let them do to him exactly what they did to me. Better, let the dementors have him…I can tell from personal observation that nothing could be worse than a kiss. I spent a lot of time bouncing between all of these arguments but now I’m sure.
I need something to hold on to. Something that will keep me sane without driving me crazy. I stopped feeling, I had to. Remus? I’ve killed the memory, forgotten what I could, buried the thought of him when it has threatened to resurface. Remus was something beautiful to live for but Remus was Love and Love is weakness. I couldn’t go on pining away forever, that way lies madness. I made a choice, I let myself go mad. For Love I let myself go mad. But I’ve changed my mind, reversed it before it was too late. Love be damned, I won’t sit here and talk to someone I know doesn’t exist until I’ve wasted away. If feelings are what got me here, what confused everything, I can stop feeling. Peter figured this out before any of us, Peter used emotion against us…Peter wasn’t as stupid as we imagined.
Now all I think about is what I would do if I caught the bastard-there wouldn’t be anything left for the dementors to kiss. Revenge completely possesses me. Justice? No amount of justice can satisfy me. He’d be more miserable here, but I wouldn’t be able to see it. I want to feel him suffer and I want to cause the pain. It’s rather sad that this is how I’ve had to become to keep myself from turning into a raving lunatic. Love is crazy, irrational, dangerous. Vengeance is safe, logical; wanting revenge makes sense at least. What an abysmal thing to learn, I can’t decide if I understand or resent the logic behind the happy lies Dumbledore fed us about Love overcoming everything.
Sometimes I can’t stop it completely and a part of me does still care. James or Remus or Harry will come to my mind and I feel sick to the stomach at the idea of pushing them away. I’m a shell; I’ve murdered the person that I used to be. James’s best friend doesn’t exist anymore; the only thing that’s left of him is a body, dead inside. But James is gone, there’s no one left who believes in that person. I’ve turned into something sadistic but luckily I don’t have a conscience left to trouble me about that. Maybe I have betrayed the people I cared about by losing the person they Loved but what choice did I have? No, no, I can’t care, can’t try to convince myself that James would understand. James isn’t supposed to matter anymore.
I don’t think I can do it, and sometimes I wonder if I really want to do it. Stop caring, stop loving, let James and Remus and Lily and Harry die? What’s the point of being sane without something to live for? I tried to live for revenge, to survive only in my hatred for Peter. I froze my heart. Instead of the lunatic, I turned into a monster. That hardly seems sane to me. I want to survive, but I need something less extreme to survive through. Something I can feel that will keep me human as well as rational.
Year Six
Chapter: Year Five
Word Count: 1,934
Author’s Note: I apologize in advance if anyone finds this chapter disturbing. Poor Sirius is not well?
Year Four
Four thick paws padded through the night. It should have been completely quiet but he could hear every twig snap under his weight, every animal that tried to scatter from his path. He knew which ones to ignore and which to follow; could smell his prey and almost taste it. Canine eyes pierced through the night. Sirius was used to being the dog, but this was not the familiar Padfoot. He had plenty of years to get used to the heightened vision, hearing, smell and taste but the senses were even stronger now and the instincts irresistible. He looked up to see what he already knew would be watching from the sky.
The wolf howled at the full moon as soon as he saw it. He was surprised by just how natural it all was. There was no response and he briefly wondered why he had expected there to be one. He shook his head and returned to his hunt-if the other wolf existed, that was not what mattered. He had to catch his prey. Blood lust made his mouth water and his feet move faster.
“Kill,” the wolf told him, and every part of him leapt to respond. “Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill.”
This one thought completely possessed the creature and yet he was running out of time. If the moon went, the wolf would leave. Without the wolf, Sirius would be too weak, too cowardly, too human. He wanted this, wanted to feel ice in his veins. The wolf didn’t know why he wanted to murder, didn’t care what his victim had done, wouldn’t remember that killing was what the enemy did. He wouldn’t falter despite all the anger. Emotions were alien, there was no chance they would complicate the hunt. Only his own strength and the enemy’s wit mattered now; the wolf knew he had the better odds.
“Kill.”
His eyes caught something shifting ahead. He stopped immediately and without the sound of his racing feet, the forest would have been completely silent to even Padfoot’s ears. The wolf could hear breathing far ahead, slow breathing that told him whatever it was did not want him to hear it. He was sure he was only moments away.
“Kill.”
Stealthily he pressed forward making no sound that his prey would hear. He had gotten close and he could smell blood. It was wrong somehow, off. There was something else, something he didn’t want to hurt. But the prey was there and that was all that mattered. If casualties were necessary, the wolf wouldn’t be too stupid, too human to stop.
He lifted his eyes from the path in front of him, no longer needing to watch his step. He was too close to hope they couldn’t see him, but he was stronger than whatever was there and his victims had no escape. They were afraid, he could smell it. For a moment the urge to kill grew even more powerful-he almost thought that he might enjoy it if he had to kill them both.
Until he saw what he had been hunting and the wolf took a terrified step back. Even the wolf could recognize a friend when he saw it. For the first time since the sun set, Sirius heard another word.
“Mate.”
The boy was trembling and the wolf was shamed by the fear he could see in his eyes. He glanced back towards the sky as if double-checking, confused by what his eyes saw and what his instincts told him was supposed to be. The trees blocked out the moon, but he knew it was still there, he could still feel it.
“Shouldn’t he be a wolf?” the part of him that was almost-human asked.
“You’re the monster now,” it responded moments later.
He nearly lost track, nearly forgot what mattered. The boy was younger, younger than he should have been by now and even younger than he had been when Sirius last saw him. He was as frightened and lost as he had been when Sirius knew him-when he had been the wolf and had been as afraid of himself as he now was of the beast in front of him. Of course, the wolf didn’t know all that. All the wolf knew was that instead of letting the scent of human blood that was supposed to make him more dangerous than anything take hold, he wanted to kneel in front of the boy and show him that he was not dangerous.
“Sirius?” the boy asked, his voice weak and uneven.
The wolf didn’t recognize what he was saying but he understood the tone. The boy had no trust for the wolf; he thought he was as good as dead. He almost gave up, turned around, and left the boy alone so he wouldn’t have to fear anymore and so that the wolf wouldn’t have to feel that fear.
He heard something shift behind the boy-the reaction was instantaneous, nobody could have tracked the time it took to shift from the nearly-human state this boy had put him in back into the monster. His prey was there, hiding like the coward he knew it to be. He had known, somehow he knew the wolf would not attack the boy, that he could use the weakness against him. Sirius felt anger surge in the wolf, he could already taste blood-he didn’t care if the boy was afraid. He couldn’t care.
The guttural growl sharply broke the silence. Both the boy and the intended victim let out terrified cries. The wolf felt strong, confident, hungry. He took a step forward, trying to avoid the boy but focusing on the kill.
The rat tried to hide, tried to run, the wolf snapped at it too quickly-it froze, paralyzed by fear and the knowledge that it had no hope now that its cowardly plan had backfired. The wolf prepared to spring but when he leapt towards the rat, he collided with something much larger.
The boy had stepped in front of the creature, trying to shield it from attack. If the wolf’s reflexes had been anything less than what they were, he would have torn into him before he even realized what he was doing. Furious at being thwarted, the wolf snarled at the boy and attempted to seize his prey again.
“Please don’t, Sirius,” he begged weakly. “He’s our friend.”
The wolf ignored him. There were more important things. The boy didn’t know the truth, didn’t know what the rat had done and what Sirius had not done. Sirius had no way to tell him, Sirius was weak and helpless. It was up to the wolf to get even, nothing was more important than revenge. He didn’t care anymore if the boy was wrong, if he hated him for what he was about to do.
He shook the boy off with little effort. He approached the rat slowly, taking moments to savor the terror emanating from his victim. It was over in a moment. His strong jaws closed around the rat in one easy bite. He dropped it, glad it was still alive though fading quickly. He tore the creature open-biting and scratching and tasting warm metallic blood. Although the rat was small, the wolf took pains to cover himself in the blood and taste every drop of it. For the second time, he let out a howl-no longer frustrated with blood lust; his cry was thick with triumph and the taste of death. It wasn’t until he realized the blood was half-human that the cry faltered.
____________________________________________________________________________
For a while, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to happen. I spent all that time planning to escape, thinking there was a way out of this prison and I planned out every aspect of what life would be like once I was out. But I could never settle this question: How to deal with Peter Pettigrew? Instinct was, of course, to kill him. The little rat certainly deserved that much. But they didn’t kill me, they sent me here and I’ve spent so much time wishing I was dead that for a while, I changed my mind. Let justice have him, I thought, let them do to him exactly what they did to me. Better, let the dementors have him…I can tell from personal observation that nothing could be worse than a kiss. I spent a lot of time bouncing between all of these arguments but now I’m sure.
I need something to hold on to. Something that will keep me sane without driving me crazy. I stopped feeling, I had to. Remus? I’ve killed the memory, forgotten what I could, buried the thought of him when it has threatened to resurface. Remus was something beautiful to live for but Remus was Love and Love is weakness. I couldn’t go on pining away forever, that way lies madness. I made a choice, I let myself go mad. For Love I let myself go mad. But I’ve changed my mind, reversed it before it was too late. Love be damned, I won’t sit here and talk to someone I know doesn’t exist until I’ve wasted away. If feelings are what got me here, what confused everything, I can stop feeling. Peter figured this out before any of us, Peter used emotion against us…Peter wasn’t as stupid as we imagined.
Now all I think about is what I would do if I caught the bastard-there wouldn’t be anything left for the dementors to kiss. Revenge completely possesses me. Justice? No amount of justice can satisfy me. He’d be more miserable here, but I wouldn’t be able to see it. I want to feel him suffer and I want to cause the pain. It’s rather sad that this is how I’ve had to become to keep myself from turning into a raving lunatic. Love is crazy, irrational, dangerous. Vengeance is safe, logical; wanting revenge makes sense at least. What an abysmal thing to learn, I can’t decide if I understand or resent the logic behind the happy lies Dumbledore fed us about Love overcoming everything.
Sometimes I can’t stop it completely and a part of me does still care. James or Remus or Harry will come to my mind and I feel sick to the stomach at the idea of pushing them away. I’m a shell; I’ve murdered the person that I used to be. James’s best friend doesn’t exist anymore; the only thing that’s left of him is a body, dead inside. But James is gone, there’s no one left who believes in that person. I’ve turned into something sadistic but luckily I don’t have a conscience left to trouble me about that. Maybe I have betrayed the people I cared about by losing the person they Loved but what choice did I have? No, no, I can’t care, can’t try to convince myself that James would understand. James isn’t supposed to matter anymore.
I don’t think I can do it, and sometimes I wonder if I really want to do it. Stop caring, stop loving, let James and Remus and Lily and Harry die? What’s the point of being sane without something to live for? I tried to live for revenge, to survive only in my hatred for Peter. I froze my heart. Instead of the lunatic, I turned into a monster. That hardly seems sane to me. I want to survive, but I need something less extreme to survive through. Something I can feel that will keep me human as well as rational.
Year Six