The Story of the Marauders

Ten: Sirius

SIRIUS

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Two months Sirius had been there. Taken by overwhelming sense of worthlessness, Sirius resolved to pacing his cell, screaming out the barred windows, and thinking of people he figured he'd never see again. He'd never aid Remus during the full moons to come. He'd never see his wife again. Calysta would move on anyways.

The tender skin on Sirius' neck still stung from the prison number burned onto it. Dementors dragged him down into a separate room the day previous, Sirius kicking at them furiously. His mind wasn't right; Sirius felt it. Prisoner organization went unlike any prison Sirius had heard of: instead of all numbers, there were weird symbols as the identification. Something like jagged waves of an ocean was the first, then a Y with a line in the middle to separate the converging lines; 390 followed. Clothed in ugly striped button-ups and matching bottoms, Sirius blended in with every other sorry soul in the place.

Stone surrounded him. It seemed the whole structure was purely rock. So naturally, the room Sirius was taken to was cold and unwelcoming. Chains and sharp objects were strewn along the ground; something like a torture chamber contained Sirius for the short while he was given a number and prison garb.

Margaret, though leaning towards the crazy side like himself, was his only companion, and she turned out not to be all that bad. Hair constantly changing, her tales became weirder and weirder. Sirius felt as if she were making some of it up. Thirty-four years in prison did a lot to one's head, he guessed.

"The serpent was thirty feet high! Fangs the size of children hung from its jaws, just looking at me like I was lunch. And the thing pro'ly thought so too!" The woman's rich Scottish accent cut off into airy cackling. Sirius just watched her, strangely fascinated by her. Sirius finally decided to place the woman in her late fifties or early sixties. The deep lines etched into her tight skin made it hard to tell. Since Sirius had made contact with her every hour of the day, he'd noticed Margaret heeding less attention to the Dementors that had originally tormented her mind with their horrid effects.

"What did you do?" Sirius asked, drumming his fingers on the stones between them. Margaret smiled with what was left of her front teeth.

"I ran for it. Fastest I've ever gone in my life. The serpent was behind me, so close! But I turned the corner and its poor head rammed into the ceiling above it. A great cry escaped the beast, and it fell limp." Her hand jabbed the air as if to signal her victory. Sirius smiled. Margaret provided a sort of distraction from everything going on around him.

"You said you were just out of school then? Which school did you go to?"

"Beauxbatons Academy," Margaret answer through her teeth that were currently biting on her nails. Sirius' eyes widened slightly.

"You're French? But why do you-"

"Sound like a Scott? My father was a traditional Scotsman. Like he'd let me forget where I was born! Silly French speak, ha! My mum attended too. She passed, so my father thought it right to send me to the school she loved dearly. I miss them both." Margaret sighed. Sirius sympathized with her. He'd never known a loving father or mother of his own; only ones Sirius shared with James. Sirius wished he'd thanked them more.

"Why did you never marry?" Sirius rubbed his palms with his thumbs, looking away from Margaret. It was a sudden question. Margaret didn't appreciate them much; never answered them directly.

"Well..." She rubbed her chin between her index finger an thumb, "My father would not allow me to be with the one I truly loved... What about you, Mr. Black? You got a sweetie for yourself?" She watched him expectantly. A Dementor waved past, filling Sirius with a range of emotions. Margaret's hair faded from black to a pastel pink, her breath fogged the air in a sharp exhale. Sirius' chest gave a squeeze.