His eyes. His eyes were always one of the first things you noticed about him. Other people disagreed. Admittedly, the first thing you saw when you looked at him was a shock of hair just long enough to defy the modern trend, angular cheekbones, haughty yet casual posture. But the first thing you noticed, the second he looked straight at you, were his eyes. Smoky grey, illuminated by the promise of mischief, intense love, and the hint of defiance, the urge to rebel that constantly sparked in the corner.

Eyes that were full of life.

I'm standing here before you now. Looking through the bars that hold you captive within your own mind, within your own nightmares. What is it that keeps you twitching and shuddering at irregular moments? Are you thinking of James, Sirius? Are you thinking of Lily?

Everything about you, I recognised as a stick of dynamite, so ready to explode, only needing a spark before you blew up. The first time I met you, I immediately saw the danger, the precarious balance between good humour and an insatiable lust for revenge. That bitter taste for vengeance that you always had on the world. It's so typical of you, isn't it? If someone hit at you, you'd always kick back ten times harder.

There's nothing to kick back at now, Padfoot. You're finished. Dead to the world.

I don't think I like you anymore.

You and James were a unit, a gestalt entity, functioning on each other's thoughts rather than words. You were together in any sense of the word – weaker divided, stronger united. The two of you had the same bull-headed approach to life. Any situation, and you would both go rushing into it, horns first, thoughts later.

Are you reliving the times you had with James, Sirius? Are your Black guts writhing with guilt? I'm standing here before you now, watching your form, curled into a ball on the floor.

You're trembling, Sirius.

I'm half expecting you to throw your head back and howl, like we did on a full moon, us two canines ruling the Forest.

James and Peter lagging behind as we tore up to a hill, my obsession with that round, silver orb in the inky sky driving me faster, you matching me, step for step, leaping agilely from side to side to stop me going off track. Our voices piecing the air, caught by the wind and blowing them far away, leaping and pouncing on each other with wild abandon.

Of course, I don't really remember that.

All I ever remembered from full moons was the vague, passing feeling of untamed delight, coupled with an even poorer memory of a dog's silhouette, created from silver grains.

I want those memories.

I want so many things. It's wrong to want what you can never have, but my mind is screaming so hard inside that it's difficult to keep them in. I want to go back to those Hogwarts day and watch you and James function together once again. I want to break down these bars and haul you by your filthy, matted hair to your feet and roar just what the fuck do you think you're playing at into your miserable face.I want you to roll over and look at me with eyes that are the eyes of my Sirius, my endlessly loving, prank adoring, mischief making, the world-owes-me-something Sirius, not the hard grey eyes of a murderer and traitor.

The eyes of someone who betrayed his brother, his best friend. The eyes of someone who blew apart his other friend when he tried to escape the consequences.

Did it feel good murdering Peter, Sirius? Did you laugh at his pathetic attempts to stop you, knowing he never could? Did he deserve to be kicked back at all ten times harder for daring to try?

It's just me and you now, Padfoot. I won't tell anyone, I promise. Did you relish the sight of his body sprayed in little pieces around you? Come on now. Just look around and tell me. It can our little secret.

I've sunk to the floor, though I have no recollection of how I got there. You look closer from down here. The light from your window is sending a weak stream of light onto your head. Your fingers are clutching your hair – you're rocking. You're broken, aren't you, Sirius?

You're dead. Dead, but somehow permitted to remain alive. Like me, I suppose. I died along with James and Peter when I found out the news. It's only my body that lives.

You really fucked it up this time, Padfoot…

0o0

Well, once again I'm adding something to this story that just popped into my head. This is from Remus's POV, if you hadn't guessed…whether he really is in Azkaban or if he is just dreaming about Sirius is up to you to decide.

Go on, review…let me know what you think…