Author's Note: Hi everybody! I'm still here! So, so sorry this is so incredibly late. I've been a little distracted the past couple months with stories for other fandoms. My mind just hasn't been able to focus on this, even though I've had the majority of this particular chapter written for several months now. So… is anybody still following this? Because I am still hoping to continue with this and cover several more aspects of Sirius' incarceration. So if you're reading this and would like to see more, please sound off like you got a pair in the form of a review! I'll probably continue working on this either way, but it'd be nice to know if anyone else is still interested in this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Eight

March 19th, 1983
Azkaban Prison: Day 503

"I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me . . . but it kept me sane and knowing who I am . . ."

- Sirius Black

Sirius slowly inhaled and then exhaled, focusing on the feeling of air flowing through his lungs. Bracing his feet on the stone floor, he pushed himself further back into the corner of his cell, trying to get as far away from the door as physically possible in the small space. With his spine pressing up against the back wall, he leaned his head to one side in order to feel the cool stone of the adjacent wall against the fevered skin of his cheek.

"C'mon, Sirius," he murmured to himself. He tried to put force behind his tone, as if he could command his weary body to cooperate. However his voice came out raspy and weak. "Concentrate, damnit."

He lifted his hands once again, holding them so that they were hovering a few inches apart up close to his chest, just under his chin. Despite his battle for calm and focus, his fingers were trembling. After a minute of staring at the empty space between his palms, he pulled his knees up, folding himself even more completely into the corner, as if he could make himself small enough to escape the reach of the dementors that resided just outside of his cell.

He had been foolish. It took him over a year in this place to really comprehend the effect the dementors were having on him. He had been so inclined to blame his symptoms on anything else – nicotine withdrawal, dehydration, malnutrition – to avoid the reality of the situation. Now that he was fighting for some kind of control of his life, he realized just how much the dementors were taking from him.

He glared down at the space between his hands as it remained frustratingly empty. He noticed the way his fingers shook even more with his attempt at concentration, sending tremors up through his thin wrists. He closed his eyes, trying to gather what energy he could and push it toward his hands. This was something he used to do back at Grimmauld Place. His parents often confiscated his wand from him and would lock him in his room for punishments. He would use that time to practice what little wandless magic he could. Even a small display – sparks from his fingers or perhaps a small flame floating between his palms – would assure him that he was not powerless and was not helpless, even without the aid of his wand.

After several minutes of concentration, he opened his eyes and found that nothing had changed. He let out a groan of annoyance that echoed throughout his cell and caused the dementors to shift restlessly just outside the door. Sirius eyed the front of his cell wearily, but thankfully the door stayed firmly shut.

It had been relatively uneventful over the past couple weeks – or had it been months? – within the prison. This didn't sit well with the dementors. They became more restless as the prisoners lost parts of themselves and had less for the dementors to feed off of. The lack of much in the way of new prisoners also probably added to the problem, making the dementors hungrier than usual. Because the dark creatures were the only beings running this prison, they took any liberties that they pleased, beginning to frequent the prisoners' cells more often for no apparent reason in order to get a better taste of the waning humanity within. Sirius suspected that was the cause of several of the unexpected deaths in the last couple weeks. It hardly mattered though; it wasn't as if the Ministry of Magic was going to waste any of their time looking into the deaths of the inmates of Azkaban Prison, no matter how suspicious they might be.

It would be so easy to just lie down and give up. He had contemplated that very thing so many times over the past year. He could so easily let go and just let the dementors take everything from him. But something about that didn't sit right with him. So much of his life had been dictated for him; his parents had controlled him for most of his life, and then his life had been consumed by fighting the war against Voldemort. So if there was any way for him to take charge of his own life, he had to try.

After he was sure that the dementors weren't about to pay him a visit, he took another deep breath and lifted his hands again. He had nothing but time and he was determined to make some kind of progress and take some kind of small control over his life. He had no hopes of producing something as powerful as a Patronus – he knew that even overlooking the amount of magical energy he would need to perform that spell, holding on to a strong enough happy memory in this place was next to impossible—but if he could tap into some of his powers, perhaps he could figure out some other way to protect himself. For now though, he was just grateful for a task to focus on in order to pass the time and exercise his mind.

He took a deep breath and willed his energy to gather in his fingertips once again. He stared at the empty space between his hands, frowning. He had always been good at wandless magic at some level.

You never were as smart as you thought you were, came his mother's condescending voice.

"Thank you for your input, mother," Sirius murmured sarcastically, his gaze and concentration never wavering. His mother's insults always scraped at his skin, but at the same time it had become a bit mundane in a sense, especially in this place where they were a common attack to his psyche.

He brought his hands together and carefully rubbed his fingers. His extremities were cold and sore at this point. He had been at this for days, at least by his flawed estimation. In any case, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time, so after flexing out the kinks in his fingers he brought his hands up and concentrated once more.

Time kept passing, but the space between Sirius' palms remained empty. He let out a frustrated breath as he dropped his hands down into his lap, suddenly short of breath as if he had just run a great distance.

Frustration and anger filled him. Even children were capable of some form of wandless magic, however accidental and unpredictable it might be. A wand was simply a tool, a way to focus and control magical energy. It shouldn't be this difficult for Sirius to access his magical energy and have it manifest itself in some small way.

"You need to put more force into it."

Sirius hung his head at the sound of James' voice, feeling himself being pulled toward the past against his will.

"I did put more force into it," Sirius snapped in irritation.

"Clearly not enough," James pointed out with an annoying amount of calm.

"Shut it," Sirius said, raising his wand once more. "Expecto Patronum!" A weak puff of white smoke drifted lazily from the tip of his wand. Sirius let out a groan of irritation, only barely resisting the urge to chuck his wand across the dormitory.

It was their third year at Hogwarts, and they had only recently started kicking around the idea of becoming Animagi in order to accompany Remus during his monthly transformations. Before they could pursue this idea though, they had to find out what their Animagi forms would be in order to see if they would be up to the task of keeping a full grown werewolf in check. Sirius had joked that it would do Remus no good to have a group of rabbits hopping around the Shrieking Shack. After more research, they had found out that a wizard's Patronus would take the same form that the wizard would turn into as an Animagus. So, while Remus was otherwise occupied on the night of the full moon, the three remaining Marauders were trying to learn to cast corporal Patronus charms.

Even though this was advanced magic that should have been several years at least beyond their abilities as thirteen year old wizards, Sirius and James had gone into this with the same confidence they did any of the rest of their studies. Without trying, they were at the top of most of their classes. Surely this would come just as naturally to them as anything else they put their minds to would.

It took more time than they had anticipated. Three months after they had first attempted the spell – working only when Remus was away so as not to tip him off to their plans just yet – James had finally produced a Patronus that took the clear form of a stag. The following month, Peter had surprised all three of them by being the next to produce a corporal Patronus, taking the form of a rat.

That had been two months before, and Sirius still hadn't been able to create a corporal Patronus of his own.

"Well, clearly you're doing something wrong," James drawled, watching him wearily from where he sat on the end of his bed.

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," Sirius said, his voice sharp with sarcasm. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on a memory of a particularly exciting Quidditch game from a few weeks before. "Expecto Patronum!" he practically shouted. This time nothing at all happened. He let out a loud groan of frustration.

"Maybe your memory isn't strong enough," Peter spoke up from where he sat next to James. "I had just switched my memory right before I got the spell to work for me."

Sirius knew that Peter was only trying to be helpful, but he couldn't help but notice that he sounded just a little bit smug; obviously enjoying the fact that he wasn't the last one in their group to learn a new spell for once.

"I swear on my mother's grave, Peter, if you don't shut your mouth I'm going to hex you back into first year," Sirius growled. He really didn't need to be reminded that Peter of all people had performed this spell before he had.

Peter blinked at him, confusion working its way into his features. "But… you're mother isn't dead. She doesn't have a grave."

"That's it!" Sirius snapped, turning his wand on Peter.

"Hey!" James said loudly, quick to action as he had clearly anticipated what was about to happen. He was on his feet and pushing Sirius' hand so that his wand was no longer pointing at Peter, who had fallen off the bed in his surprise, his eyes wide with fear.

"Get off me," Sirius hissed. Anger bubbling its way to the surface, he shoved James away from him with enough force to send him stumbling. But when James looked at him, he didn't look annoyed, but rather sympathetic.

"Peter, why don't you run down to the kitchens," James suggested mildly as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "We could use some fuel if we're going to be staying up late practicing tonight."

"But…" Peter started unsurely as he slowly pulled himself to his feet, looking back and forth between Sirius – who practically had steam coming out of his ears – and James.

"It's still early, you'll be fine," James assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If anyone catches you, just tell them you got lost on the way back from the library."

"Um, okay," Peter said, still looking thrown off balance, as if he weren't entirely sure what just happened. He turned and walked out of the room as if he were in a trance.

"So, you want to tell me what's really going on?" James said, turning back to Sirius once they were alone.

Sirius gave him a blank look. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't been focused on this in months," James pointed out.

"Well, this is a stupid spell," Sirius said, scowling. "It isn't as if we're ever going to need it, it's only used to repel dementors and when the hell are we ever going to run into those? We should just move on and start working on the Animagus transformation. That's what really matters."

"You know that we need to find out what kind of animal you'll turn into before we devote our time to that," James said with an annoying amount of patience. "The stag will fair okay against a werewolf, but we really need another big animal if we want any hope of keeping it in check. Peter certainly isn't going to help us in that way as a rat." He paused then continued carefully. "Which memory are you using?"

"What?" Sirius said, even though he knew exactly what he was asking. He just desperately didn't want to answer that question.

"Which happy memory are you using when you're trying to cast the spell?" James repeated calmly. "The book said that it has to be a pure and strong memory in order to produce a corporal Patronus."

"I know what the book said," Sirius huffed.

"So, what's the memory?" James asked again, trying a little too hard to sound casual.

"That Quidditch game a few weeks ago against Hufflepuff," Sirius answered, trying to sound more sure of the memory than he felt.

James contemplated that carefully. "Maybe that's not a strong enough memory?"

"Well, we've been at this for months and I'm running out of memories to try," Sirius said angrily. This time he did throw his wand in frustration, sending it clattering across the floor as it emitted a few sparks, before he stomped off to his bed and flung himself onto it.

"Which memories have you tried?" James asked slowly as he watched him carefully.

Sirius sighed heavily. "Getting on the train first year. Seeing the castle the first time. Getting Sorted into Gryffindor."

James looked surprised at that. "None of those worked?"

"No," Sirius said quietly, his gaze falling to study his hands in his lap. "I shouldn't be surprised though. On the train, I was convinced I was going to get Sorted into Slytherin, even though I didn't want to. Same with when I saw the castle for the first time. I thought that getting into Gryffindor would have been the memory that worked… but then I remembered that even though I felt relieved, I couldn't help but think of my parents' reaction when they found out."

"Oh," James said softly.

"They ruin everything," Sirius mumbled, the anger that he surrounded himself with finally draining out of him, leaving anguish in its wake that threatened to drag him down into a deep hole of depression. He didn't look up as he softly continued. "Everything I should have been happy about is ruined by them." He paused and then dropped his head into his hands. "Maybe I don't have a happy enough memory to produce a corporeal Patronus."

Sirius tried to hold on to the memory, even as it began to fade away. It had been a devastating thing for him to admit at the time, but James had talked him through it. He had managed to produce a corporal Patronus that night. What memory had finally done it? What had been his happy memory? It was like it was floating just beyond his grasp, trickling through his fingers each time he tried to reach for it. He tried to think of any of the other times he had created a Patronus and tried to remember the memories that went with them. But it was as if none of his happy memories had ever existed.

No, he had no hope of producing a Patronus in this place, with or without a wand.

Sirius tried to focus on his hands again, still hoping to produce some evidence of magic, no matter how small. But his concentration was slipping away from him, even more so than it had been before the memory had overwhelmed him.

"I swear on my mother's grave, Peter, if you don't shut your mouth I'm going to hex you back into first year."

Sirius swallowed. He hadn't thought of Peter much since he had been sent here. He wasn't quite sure why that was, why he wasn't obsessing over the person who had destroyed his life as well as the lives of his closest friends. But suddenly he could clearly see Peter's thirteen year old face, fear in his eyes as he looked up at him.

But that had been a rare occurrence. There were very few times that he could think of where he was outright mean or cruel to Peter. He had a habit of losing his temper, he had no delusions about that, and he knew that whoever happened to be in his path felt the wrath of it. It wasn't just Peter; he had done the same to James and Remus on several occasions.

"So why did you betray us?" Sirius whispered hoarsely, staring vacantly across his cell at nothing in particular.

You just couldn't stand it that I had learned that spell before you. Never before had Sirius heard Peter's voice sound so vicious.

"No… no that wasn't it…"

You brought this on yourself, you know. You drove me to this. This is all your fault! If you had been a better friend, this never would have happened!

"I was never perfect," Sirius whispered. Then he slowly raised his head, glaring at nothing in particular. "But I would have died to protect my friends. I would have died to protect you, Peter." He snorted, a noise as close to a condescending laugh as he could manage. "Loyal as a dog, as they say." His voice was bitter, painfully scraping out of his throat.

Liar! You never cared for me like you cared for James and Remus! You even cared for Lily more than you cared for me!

"I trusted you, didn't I?" Sirius murmured. Had he been more aware, he would have realized how pointless it was to argue with a figment of his imagination. But the delusion had consumed him and he couldn't quite separate the real from the imagined. He couldn't quite be sure he wasn't actually having this conversation with Peter. "I pushed Remus away while I placed James and Lily's lives in your hands."

You always thought you were more clever than me. It serves you right that you ended up here because you underestimated me.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut as he rubbed his temples. "Maybe you're right."

The final confrontation with Peter suddenly appeared clearly in his mind's eye.

Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?

It was like all the air had been sucked out of his cell. Peter had shouted that at him, knowing full well that would cause Sirius to hesitate. Knowing full well where exactly Sirius' insecurities and weaknesses lay.

It was the one time that Peter beat him to the draw. He could still hear the sound of the explosion that had torn up that street and had killed twelve innocent bystanders. The impact had knocked him off his feet and dazed him. In the chaos that followed – Muggles running every which way and screaming – Sirius had looked up just in time to see that familiar rat disappearing down a nearby sewer.

Sirius hadn't immediately known that Peter had cut off one of his fingers before he transformed. That bit of information had made its way to him only after he had been arrested.

For the first time, Sirius wondered if Peter was still even alive. He knew that kind of injury on a person would be fatal; he would have bled out without medical attention and he knew for a fact that Peter was no good at healing spells. But on a rat, it was probably a much more minor injury. Even so, how would Peter fare, living his life as a rat in a sewer? That had been over a year ago – had that much time really passed? – it was hard to imagine Peter surviving in the sewers that long.

It was comforting to think that maybe after all that, Peter transformed into a rat only to be eaten by an alley cat somewhere in the bowels of London.

And it's comforting to me to know that you are rotting away in here and will never walk free again.

Sirius snorted at that. Because in all honestly, he had no real desire to be free. What was left for him in the outside world? Everyone out there was better off without him. He may not be guilty of the crime that had landed him here, but that didn't mean that he deserved his freedom after he had failed his friends so severely. But that didn't mean that he wanted to be drained by dementors until he was nothing but an empty shell. He still had some sense of self preservation, and he knew he had to at least try.

He slowly inhaled through his nose before quickly exhaling through his mouth, grabbing hold of his focus with a new determination. He rolled his head on his shoulders as he raised his hands once more. He reminded himself that a wand was simply a tool that was used to focus magical energy that was within a witch or wizard. They could take away his wand, but they couldn't take away the energy within him.

There was a new intensity within him as he stared at his hands, focusing any scraps of magical energy he had left within him to pool in his fingertips. For several minutes, nothing happened. But he did not allow his concentration to waiver, even for a moment.

Then finally, with a soft crackle, he saw blue sparks jump between his fingertips. They were gone in the blink of an eye, but there was no denying what he had seen and felt.

He smirked.