Azkaban, Deep Within the Cells
The dark, suffocating silence of Azkaban's depths was broken. Murmurs and shouts echoed through the stone corridors, growing louder with every passing moment.
"The Master is here!"
"We're saved!"
"Those damn Aurors will pay—revenge is ours!"
Prisoners stirred in their cells, their voices filled with hope, desperation, or raw malice.
In one shadowed corner of a grimy cell, Sirius Black sat huddled against the cold stone wall. His knees were drawn to his chest, his head resting limply on them. The commotion outside reached his ears, but he barely reacted.
If one looked closely, they might mistake him for a corpse. His eyes were dull, unfocused, and his body eerily still, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
He had been here too long, his mind eroded by grief and guilt. Memories of another life—another Sirius—felt like whispers of a dream. The faces of James and Lily haunted his thoughts, their deaths a constant reminder of his failure.
This is my punishment, he thought. I deserve to die here. This cell is where I belong.
The sounds of battle interrupted his grim reverie.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The walls trembled as spells collided in the narrow corridors outside. Shouts rang out—some defiant, others filled with terror. Dust and debris rained down, settling in Sirius's unkempt hair and on his tattered robes.
Still, he didn't move. The chaos beyond the iron bars of his cell was just noise to him.
"Ahhh!"
"Death Eaters! The Dark Lord is here!"
"Cast the Killing Curse! Stop the intruders!"
Aurors' desperate cries mingled with the triumphant cheers of Death Eaters. It was clear that Azkaban's defenses were crumbling.
In nearby cells, prisoners pressed themselves against the bars, their faces alight with excitement.
"Let us out!"
"The Dark Lord has come to free us!"
"Death to the Aurors!"
A Death Eater, Horsman, marched through the corridor, his wand pressed to his throat to amplify his voice.
"Quiet!" he bellowed. The cacophony ceased instantly, the prisoners hanging on his every word.
"You would have rotted here, forgotten and alone. But the great Dark Lord has given you an opportunity—a chance to reclaim your freedom and rise to glory!"
Horsman's voice echoed through the chamber, heavy with authority.
"Swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, and your chains will be broken. Will you serve him?"
A thunderous chorus of agreement erupted from the cells. Hands clawed through the iron bars, prisoners shouting their pledges of allegiance.
In his corner, Sirius remained still, unmoved by Horsman's words. He didn't care about freedom. It was meaningless to him now.
He heard the crackling of spells, the splintering of wood, and the triumphant laughter of freed Death Eaters. Yet he stayed where he was, his head resting against the cold stone wall.
Hours passed. Silence fell over Azkaban once more, broken only by the distant, bone-chilling screeches of dementors.
Sirius trembled as their cold aura seeped into his cell, but he didn't react otherwise. The dementors lingered briefly, as if testing him, before moving on. There was nothing left to take from him—no hope, no joy, not even fear.
Footsteps echoed through the corridors, hurried and purposeful.
"All the Aurors are dead," a voice said grimly.
"Search the cells," another commanded. "We need to know who's left. Dumbledore and the Minister are on their way."
The noise stirred Sirius from his despondent state. He opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again.
"Hey, why is he still here?"
The voice startled him, its tone filled with confusion.
"Sirius Black," another voice said, surprised. "Wasn't he supposed to escape with the other Death Eaters?"
The group of Aurors stood outside Sirius's cell, peering at the haggard figure huddled within.
"Strange. He's the only Death Eater who stayed behind."
"Doesn't matter," their leader said after a pause. "Take him out. We need to interrogate him. Dumbledore and the Minister will want to speak with him."
The Aurors waved their wands, casting a levitation spell to lift Sirius's limp form. He didn't resist. His body floated behind them like a broken puppet as they made their way to the interrogation room.
Boom.
The heavy door slammed shut, and a burst of bright light filled the room. Sirius squinted, his eyes accustomed to the darkness.
He was lowered onto a stool, his hands bound in front of him. For a moment, he remained still, his head bowed. Then a voice—calm and familiar—broke the silence.
"Sirius."
The name, spoken with a mixture of kindness and sadness, made Sirius flinch. Slowly, he raised his head, his unfocused eyes struggling to adjust to the light.
In front of him stood an old man with a long silver beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul.
"Why are you still here, Sirius?"
The question was simple, yet it struck Sirius like a hammer. He stared at the man, his mind sluggish, as though submerged in molasses. Memories stirred—fragments of a past life.
"Headmaster..." he rasped finally, his voice dry and cracked.
Albus Dumbledore nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Yes, Sirius," he said softly. "It's me."
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