Back again
In the Department of Mysteries in Harry’s fifth year, when coming to aid his godson in the battle against the Death Eaters, Sirius gets knocked down unconcious. When he wakes up, the Ministry officials have appeared and they assume Sirius was there to fight for the Dark Lord. Naturally, they arrest him immediately. And since they need a trophy after this disastrous incident, they decide to give him the Dementor’s Kiss soon after. After spending some time in Azkaban re-living his old nightmares, he gets a visitor.
The sound of footsteps approaching woke him up from a light doze. Yes, food! he thought, since food was always brought by a human - contrary to two years ago, when dementors were the only guards in the prison (maybe they didn’t completely trust them anymore) - and dementors didn’t have footsteps. But when he sat himself up in his tiny prison cell and listened more closely, he identified two sets of footsteps. Maybe even more. Sirius guessed the delivery of a large banquet probably wouldn’t be the case - unfortunately - so something else must be going on. Maybe a new prisoner? Or were they letting someone out? ‘Cell 311, sir,’ a young squeeky voice said down the hallway. It was the young guard that had brought him food the day before. He was accompanied by someone who only responded with a muffled “Hm”. Sirius moved his head closer to the bars of his cell to try and see who was doing them a pleasure of visiting. “Them” meaning the prisoners, who generally preferred a visit from any human life form with a sane mind gladly over the soul sucking creatures who usually visited them. Ministry people visiting usually meant the dementors would be gone for a while, which was always a pleasant change. In front of Sirius’ cell bars appeared a small group of wizards. Dorian was accompanied by a very familiar face; Cornelius Fudge. With him were three very tall and broad looking men, carrying their wands in a defensive manner, and some pencil pusher carrying a clipboard. Something serious was happening here, that was for sure. Somewhat to Sirius’ surprise the guard, Fudge, and his four men army halted at his cell. Apparently he was the one in cell number 311? Sirius had never bothered to take a look at his cell number. Being a number himself had been bad enough. What was the Minister for Magic doing here? It wasn’t friday already, wasn’t it? Had he miscalculated the days? (The day of his execution would really be the worst deadline ever to misplace in his agenda.) ‘Merlins beard, we can’t show him to the public like this,’ Fudge said with a look of repulsion on his face. ‘We’ll have to clean him up in London.’ ‘I agree, sir,’ the pencil pusher replied, making a note of it. What, London? What was he talking about? Why would he have to be cleaned up and moved to London? Then it dawned upon him: they were going to make this a public thing… ‘Are you giving me my own show, Cornelius?’ Sirius said teasingly but sharply, his voice coarse from not speaking for such a long time. The young guard made a little startled movement, as if scared by the sudden noise from the cell that had been silent most of his shifts. Fudge seemed a little taken aback too, but quickly got himself together and faced Sirius with an unpleasant political smile. ‘Ah, I see you are as attentive as usual, Black,’ he responded. ‘Well, let us just say you might be what the public needs right now. Your death I mean, of course.’ So that was their play. A public execution to show the wizarding community what a great minister Fudge was. ‘And I guess you want me to look extra nice for “the people”, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to suspect anything about how you run this place, wouldn’t you?’ Sirius replied, sitting himself a bit more upright against the wall. Fudge didn’t respond to Sirius’ question, but turned towards the guard: ‘Make sure he is ready for transportation in fifteen minutes.’ And then to the pencil pusher: ‘See to it that you make note of everything that happens.’ He paused for a second. ‘Everything we would like the people to know.’ Fudge gave Sirius one last demeaning look and then vanished into the hallway, leaving his people behind.
‘So, what are your plans concerning transportation?’ the young guard asked the group of armed aurors hesitantly. ‘Broom,’ one of the aurors answered. ‘Williamson will take the prisoner and we’ll form a convoy. We’ve taken the appropriate measures.’ Measures Sirius obviously wasn’t supposed to know. But now he did know he had to survive a broomflight over the North Sea that probably would last several hours. He knew that was the regular way to visit the prison, since the place was unplottable and not connected to the floo network. But Sirius had hoped he could have travelled by apparition. Well, maybe he would just fall of his broom and have an easy death. It sure would beat being publicly robbed of his soul at the Ministry. His cell door opened and the three men entered the small space in which he had been living the past few months. They grabbed him by his skinny arms and dragged him up. He’d been fasting the past weeks, trying to get thin enough to squeeze himself through the bars of his cell. He realised he really was an idiot sometimes. His legs could barely hold his own weight anymore. ‘Just… Be careful,’ the young guard said. ‘He hasn’t eaten in about a week. I don’t know how well he would survive such a long flight.’ Sirius didn’t know if the boy was actually being concerned with his welfare or if he was just afraid of what Fudge might do if his trophy would die on the way to the exposition. Either way, the aurors seemed to agree with the young guard and loosened their firm grip on his arms a bit. Unfortunately they still made him wear those awful heavy shackles around his wrists. They left the cell, dragging Sirius with them, and left the young guard behind. Sirius gave the boy one last glance and then just let his head hang. So this was it. He was either going to die of exhaustion on his way to London or have his soul sucked out on arrival. Neither was anything he would want. He wanted a warm bed. Some food. Someone to tell him it would be alright. Someone to tell him he was safe and he’d never have to be locked up again. Anywhere. Ever. Even though they’d left the area where the dementor’s roamed, Sirius still felt empty inside. Almost numb, if it wasn’t for the gnawing feeling in his stomach and the heavy irons cutting his wrists. They entered a room with almost no furniture, apart from a rack with several broomsticks on it, all marked with the Ministry’s logo. They were all secured to the rack with chains, so no escaped prisoner could grab one and take off with it. Every auror took a broom and unchained it with their wands. Then Sirius was set upon a broom which had two seats; his seat facing backwards. They shackled his feet now too, and tied the chains firmly to the broom using a binding spell. ‘Why do you even bother?’ Sirius asked. ‘It’s not like I can run off or something. I might fall of though.’ He mustered up a grin, but the aurors only responded by putting a linen bag over his head. Great, now he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy the ocean view. When in the air, a cold wind gave Sirius’ skin a burning sensation. But nevertheless, he could still feel that the sun was shining, even though he could not see a thing. Being sat backwards on the broom, he was able to rest his back against the back of the auror riding the broom. The chap sure didn’t like it; he tried to push Sirius away a few times. But eventually he gave up and just let his prisoner enjoy a semi-comfortable backrest. Sirius had never known how long the flight from Azkaban to main land had taken - technically he’d only ever flown the other way, two times - but it felt like hours. Being away from all the dementors and the constant reminder of his false imprisonment he was able to feel a tiny bit of hope. Hope that maybe the aurors were new members of the Order he hadn’t met yet and they were flying him to the Burrow. Hope that maybe Moody, Tonks and Remus would come to rescue him in mid-air. But no such thing happened, and eventually all hope faded again when he heard the sound of the city and then felt solid terrain beneath his shackled feet. It was nice to hear clear human voices again though. Even when they were shouting orders like “tighten those chains, I don’t want him escaping again” and “Gallopin’ gorgons, he smells terrible. Did you have to put up with that the whole journey?”. Yeah, because a bad smell was so much worse than being wrongfully imprisoned, being held in the worst place on earth for the second time in a lifetime and having your soul sucked out in only two days. But of course they didn’t know they were doing this to an innocent man. Or they just didn’t want to know. ‘Get him inside,’ the voice who’d been complaining about the smell said. ‘And don’t take off the bag until I’ve joined you.’ He was being grabbed by his arms again and guided to another location. Some secret Ministry building, he guessed by the long way he had to walk and the many stairs they had to take. Every once in a while the sound of a lock opening and then closing again sounded. And then Sirius was pushed into a hard wooden chair of some sorts. His shackles were removed, but quickly replaced by manacles that kept his arms and feet tight against the chair. He sat there for a few minutes. Maybe alone, maybe with some very stealthy aurors guarding him. He didn’t know, because that bloody itching bag was still over his head. He wanted to say something witty to evoke a response from any possible life forms that were with him, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say. So he just kept silent until eventually a voice called his name.
‘Sirius Black,’ it said. ‘I expected you to be… well, more. There’s hardly anything of you left. But I’m here to fix that. Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Footsteps sounded and in a swift movement the bag covering his head was pulled away. The sudden light blinded his eyes and for a moment he could only see light and dark shapes floating around him. Slowly things became clearer: He was in a room made of stone with no windows. Surrounding him were three guards that didn’t seem familiar. And in front of him stood a tall and skinny man with short blonde hair, wearing light grey robes. He wasn’t a guard for sure, but not an official of great significance either. Or Sirius would probably have recognised him. ‘So you’re here to make me pretty?’ Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Good luck with that.’ The man laughed with a shrill, high pitched voice. ‘Oh no, not pretty. I’m here to make you look like you’ve suffered just enough but are still a very dangerous man. The suffering part you did great on yourself,’ he said, pinching in one of Sirius’ cheeks as if he was a fat aunt measuring his cuteness. ‘But you don’t look very dangerous anymore. It’s a shame.’ He supposed he didn’t look very dangerous indeed. He had never considered himself to look dangerous. Angry maybe. But he had every right to be. Now he just felt tired. And probably looked that way too. With a whip of his wand, the man changed Sirius’ ragged old prison robes to a set of slightly newer ones, but darker in colour. The man mumbled something and Sirius felt his cheeks glow a bit. Apparently rosy cheeks were the new dangerous? Or maybe it was just to make it look like he was more alive than he actually was. Then the man started tucking on his hair. It was like he was going to a beauty salon. A very uncomfortable beauty salon, though. But that was kind of how Sirius had always imagined beauty salons to be. Suddenly there was a short knock on the heavily guarded door and a moment later it swung open, revealing Fudge who had been standing behind it. ‘Ah, I see you have already started. Excellent. Just make sure all the spells last until friday,’ Fudge said to the beautician chap, who seemed now to be examining the tattoo’s and scars on Sirius’ upper body. ‘Yes, of course Minister,’ the blonde man replied with an almost slimy voice. The beautician was clearly an arse-kisser. ‘I assume everything else has been arranged?’ Fudge continued, looking at the guards. They nodded and answered with a “yes sir”. ‘Good, good…’ the Minister said, while inspecting Sirius with his gaze. ‘I’ll see you friday, then,’ he then said, turning to the beautician. He then walked back towards the door, straightening his jacket. When stepping over the doorstep, he suddenly stopped as he had forgotten something. As he had turned around again he took a quick look at Sirius’ head and then said: ‘Oh, and could you cut his hair? I’d like for everyone to see his face when it happens.’ The bastard. Like he hadn’t taken enough from him yet. As Fudge closed the door behind him, Sirius clenched his fists in anger. He wasn’t very vain when it came to his looks - he had had the luck to be quite handsome when he’d been younger - but his hair was something he had always liked about himself. Maybe because not every boy or man could pull off longer hair like he could. Maybe because it showed he wasn’t someone you could just dress up and cut like everyone else. Or maybe because it was very convenient when he wanted to hide his face from the world when he was angry or sad. Either way, it was his hair, and Fudge shouldn’t have any say in it with what haircut he was going to leave this world. But apparently he did. And apparently it was going to be short. And short it was. About fifteen minutes later Sirius was alone in a dark cell with only an inch or so of hair left on his head. They had given him a meal and he had gobbled it down like a hungry stray dog. (Technically he actually was a hungry stray dog.) He hadn’t seen daylight in quite some time and there was no clock in here, so he didn’t have a clue how many hours there were left in the day. Nor how many hours he had left in his life. He would have liked to spend his last hours somewhere in the warm sun or at night by a fire, drinking a butterbeer with the people he loved. (Or even better, drinking an actual beer with the people he loved.) Thinking about Harry, Remus and Tonks and the little kid they were going to have, he also started thinking about what he would leave them with when he was gone. They could have Grimmauld place if they wanted, if it was still any use. And Sirius hoped he had given Harry some valuable life lessons to remember him by. (Like: “it’s not breaking the rules if you don’t get caught” and “you can always bribe Remus with 80% dark chocolate”.) As for Remus, he would be giving him a peaceful life with Tonks and their baby. No more annoying Padfoot having a potential bad influence on their offspring, no more whining about being cooped up in the Order’s headquarters. Because even though they had been very best friends throughout their lives, Sirius had to admit that he himself had been quite a pain in the arse sometimes. He just couldn’t help himself. That’s probably why he ended up being single, instead of being with the one he always considered his best relationship option. And it was probably why he was here in this cell, waiting to have his soul sucked out. In the end, all he would leave his loved ones was an empty shell that was once his body. And it wouldn’t even have nice hair.
Thank you for reading! It really means a lot. It’s been a few years since my last fanfic. And this is actually a modified post I wrote for a HP RPG. (In the RPG, Sirius is arrested and imprisoned at the Department of Mysteries, instead of dying like in the books. While he is in Azkaban, Tonks dies in a mission for the Order, not long after giving birth to Teddy. Remus is knocked into a coma at the same mission, making Sirius the acting parent for Teddy. But since he isn’t really in a position to care for an infant - being in prison and all - Harry is the next in line as a godfather. We’re playing the story out from there, the excerpt above being a (modified) post I wrote not too long ago. I hope it’s not too confusing! And I especially hope you enjoyed reading it :)
