A House So Noble and Black

Chapter 3: Prisoner

November 2, 1981

There was no trial. He didn't have to look into the Wizarding World's eyes and see the betrayal in the eyes of wizards and witches who knew him to be the best friend of James and Lily. He wouldn't have to see, and for that, he was grateful. It was just as well; Sirius didn't know if he could bear to meet his eyes. His one remaining best friend thought he was a murderer. The feelings of guilt and terror had faded into a dull pain and sorrow that sat in his chest, so heavy, it felt like it weighed him down.

The next several hours after his sentence seemed to drag by. He was left alone in the cell for several more hours after Frank turned around, disgust evident in his voice. It was as if the whole Wizarding World wanted him to disappear, to not exist. He was a symbol of betrayal of good wizards everywhere. Or that's what they thought. He was innocent. He had to remind himself of this every once in a while when his chest began to heave with guilt. He hadn't killed James and Lily.

But you good as did, the ugly little voice in his head was persistent and brittle. It wasn't wrong. He had switched. He knew how Voldemort thought. His family practically breathed the toxic ideals of the Dark Lord, so he'd backed out of being the Secret Keeper, insisting that Peter, a far less formidable wizard would do better to hide the Potter's location. He hadn't told anyone, convinced that it would be better to keep it all hush-hush until the crisis passed. It had been too late when he had realized Peter's strange activity had been to cover up his traitorous tracks.

It was sometime later in the night when two formidable-looking Aurors came and silently unlocked his cell with a wave of their wands. He was dragged roughly to the atrium where he was taken to a small room, and thin grey and black robes were stuffed into his hands. He was shoved in, ordered to don the robes, and come out immediately. There was a small bench, bolted crudely into the wall, and a distorted small mirror that was cracked in several places. He changed quietly, his heart pounding in his chest.

He turned to the mirror after he was changed, and the little he could see was fuzzy and warped. The man standing in front of him was one he didn't recognize. He was miserable, his long hair hanging loose in front of his face, not pulled back on his neck like he usually wore it. He stood there, silently, and blinked hard. This was his fate now. Guilty, or not. He opened the door and was lead from the Ministry. A black car waited for him around the corner from the concealed Ministry. He dragged his feet a little, pulling every last bit of fresh air he could. He'd heard the rumors of Azkaban and the dreadful conditions waiting for him.

The sound of a trash bin falling to the sidewalk and the cry of disgust of several people stopped him in his tracks. He turned slightly to see people passing the discarded bin, casting dark looks as they passed by.

"Punks these days." A man with a briefcase wearing what looked to be a very expensive three-piece suit muttered under his breath. He was so preoccupied looking back at the mess behind him that he bumped into the wizard holding Sirius, causing them to break contact.

It gave Sirius a slight second to look back, closer into the shadows, to see a small figure, a small man, skinny and worn and torn. His clothes hung off of him, his mousy brown hair standing out against the dark reddish-brown brick. There was no movement from the man, he only stood there, his eyes searching Sirius's face.

"Moony," The word escaped Sirius's mouth in barely more than a whisper, but Remus clearly heard it. He stiffened, still unmoving.

What felt like an eternity, was a split-second hesitation before his guard gained his footing, apologized to the Muggle, and had taken hold of Sirius again, pushing him towards the Ministry car. The door opened and in the split second before he was pushed into the car, he craned his neck around to look down the dark alley, to catch one single last look at Remus, but only empty brick met his eye, and the faintest of feelings the words, "How could you?" were whispered through the void.

Too soon, he was strongarmed into the car, and the door was slammed, with only him inside. There was a black barrier that separated him from the door, keeping him from speaking to the driver. The windows were blacked out as well, letting very little light break into the cab. The drive, aided by the Ministry vehicle which should have taken several hours at least, took only three-quarters of an hour. There were no tears, there was no anger. Just numbness. He stared at the black screen separating him from the driver, his limbs felt like they were floating weightless and unattached to the rest of his body.

He knew they were drawing near when the temperature in the car began to fall, the glass fogging and then icing over. The car finally came to a stop, and his door was opened and two Aurors were there to pull him into a small boat, rickety and shambled. The sea air whipped at Sirius's face, the sea spray flecking against his face like little whispers of ice-cold kisses. In the distance, a dark building, shaped like a child's clock loomed, cold and foreboding. He could only just make out small black figures circling the building, and for the first time, a gross pang of fear ripped through him. He was barely about to comprehend the feeling curdling in his stomach before he was led to the boat and a spell was cast, covering his face, and binding his body, keeping him from jumping ship the first chance he got.
Water splashed his face and body as the boat pressed on through the waves, chilling his body to the bone, but the body bind curse kept him from shivering, even though his entire body ached. The bumping of the boat against the solid ground would have knocked him sideways, except for the Auror's hand to keep him from keeling into the watery depths below him. They kept the body bind on him but removed the covering over his eyes as he was carried by the arms into the prison.

The walls rose high into the sky, disappearing into the low hanging clouds far above. Little holes had been cut crudely into the side of the wall, making small windows for the prisoners to have a small glimpse of the world around them. Dementors stood guard at the doors, and if possible, the air seemed to get colder, Sirius's already numb fingers felt as if they were about to fall off. The rattling breath emitting from underneath their hoods was the only sound besides the howling of the wind and splashing of the waves.

As if on command, molding hands emerged from within the robes, and pulled the doors open, granting them access. Sirius shuddered, vowing to never let those hands touch him, scabbed, and gnarled as they were. Screams and howls cascaded from different cells, the guilty and condemned calling out to their new comrade. Sirius was lead higher and higher, passing cells where prisoners dressed in the same ugly gray robes stared at him or tried to reach out and grab him, an evil gleam in their eyes.

His cell was near the top, the air thinner and colder, if at all possible. The larger dementor drew close to the bars, and a stream of cold air expelled from underneath the hood, surrounding the bars, and a door materializing out of nowhere. Its hand pushed the door open, and Sirius was lead inside, and sat on the floor, his back to the window. The door closed with a clang of finality that rang throughout the prison, and for a moment, it felt as if everything had muted. The cold breath of air from the dementor blew across the bars, locking him in. With a wave of his wand, the smaller Auror released Sirius from his body bind, and he sagged to the floor.

He was left there, no energy to move, staring at the black wall in front of him. He wasn't sure how long he laid there, shivering, and weak, no will to move. He had all the time in the world after all. He could move when he wanted to. He could lay here as long as he wanted. No one was waiting for him. Eventually, he dragged himself up, closer to the small sliver of a window. The waves chopped against the small sliver of rock, the clouds a constant tempest of rain and wind. He shivered again, drawing his uniform closer to him, though it did him little.

"Well, it could be worse," He muttered under his breath, leaning his head against the stone, and closing his eyes.