Alright, this is by far the darkest story I've ever written. It's just meant to show some of Sirius's thoughts while at Azkaban, and how the place changed him. Please R&R! I'd love some feedback on whether or not I can actually write angst.

He could see nothing. Nothing worth seeing anyways.

Any direction he turned his head, all that could be seen was the polished, black, stone walls of his cell. Well, there was also a door, an iron barred, magically sealed change in the bleak scenery, but Sirius would rather stare at the black walls until he went blind than look through those accursed bars.

This was because of the damned floating specters which floated right outside of his cell day and night. Not that Sirius could tell the bloody difference between the two anymore. Day and night were the same, now; both equally dark and dismal. And cold. So damn cold.

Sirius had long ago forgotten what daylight felt like; his fingers couldn't seem to recall the warmth of the sun, or even how to bend properly. The constant cold rendered them stiff and clumsy.

All the same, Sirius considered himself one of the luckiest prisoners on the rocky island. After all, at least he knew that he was innocent. At least he didn't have the murder of his best friend on his conscience.

James.

He could still remember his friend, so well that he could call up his voice and image at will. Twelve years in Azkaban couldn't change that. Sirius could also visualize Remus with ease. Thinking of him hurt nearly as much as thinking of James did though, for the last Sirius had heard of him, Voldemort's werewolves had recruited him by force, and Sirius knew that Remus would rather die than bite another person.

With some more effort, Sirius could also picture Lily, with her bright, inquisitive eyes and pretty smile.

Funny, how he could remember her but none of his own numerous girlfriends. Prongs would probably laugh at him if he ever found out. Sirius could almost hear the infectious sound, and he felt his mouth turn up in a glimmer of a smile.

Just then, Sirius felt his cell's temperature drop a few degrees. Looking up, he saw cold, white mist emanating from a dementor who had decided to come closer to his door. The damned thing had probably felt the trivial happiness Sirius got by recalling his old friends, and decided to take it from him. Sirius instinctively fled to the corner of his cell which was farthest from the door, but it wasn't far enough.

All too soon Sirius felt the familiar hopelessness and dread which had become his norm. He felt his very worst memories being forced back on him, starting with the worst of all…

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Black?"

"I'm innocent! Bloody innocent! And if you Wizengamot idiots knew the meaning of friendship, you'd believe me!" Sirius cried out in desperation. He'd been at this trial, the trial which would decide the rest of his life, for over three hours now, forced to watch as witness after witness came and testified against him. But he still hadn't resigned himself to Azkaban. He knew that he had truth on his side, and that if he had to go down, he'd at least go down fighting.

"Please, in the name of any justice that is left in this world, believe me! I'd never hurt James, I'd rather die!"

"That's enough, Black! If that's all you have to say –"

"No, that's not all I bloody have to say –"

"I said enough, Mr. Black! As you have no proof of your innocence, and we've had no less than fifteen wizards testify against you, I hereby accuse you of intentionally and directly causing the murder of James Terrence Po –"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Something inside Sirius had snapped as the ugly old, purple robed man started to say James's name. Completely ignoring the scandalized gasps of the old men in the courtroom, Sirius went on.

"Don't you say his name, don't pretend that you gave a damn about him. You didn't; you weren't worthy of knowing him."

"Now, Black, listen to – "

"No, you listen. James was a better person than you'll ever be. He was fun, loyal, friendly, loving and the best damn chaser you'll ever see. I mean, he spent his whole life chasing one girl. Just one! The guy wouldn't even look at other girls, and he got his first kiss when he was seventeen because he wanted it to be with her. And he didn't even tell her that! Lily died not knowing! D'you have any idea how much I teased James when Peter got his first kiss before he did? Well do you?"

"Mr. Black, that is completely irrelevant."

Sirius gave the old man a sad smile, "To you, maybe it is. But to people with hearts, it proves that James was cut of the best damn cloth there is. And if you'd ever had a friend like that you'd know that I'd rather kill myself than him."

The Wizengamot wizard sighed, "Look, Mr. Black. You have no witnesses proving your innocence, no alibi, and no proof. Therefore –"

"Proof, you want proof? Ask me anything about James. Anything! And I'll answer it." Sirius knew that desperation was causing him to do and say stupid and pointless things, but he didn't care. "He made the Gryffindor quidditch team second year, and became head boy without being a prefect. He saved Severus Snape's life, even though he hated him, and his first attempt at a patronous looked like a spoon. He said that his favourite food was Bertie Bott's beans, but it was really gingerbread, because he'd had some right before his first kiss with Lily, and she said that he tasted nice. He was absolutely brilliant; always had top marks in transfiguration and he could turn into a stag and – "

"Enough! Mr. Black, you are obviously experiencing some mental trauma, so I am forced to –"

"No, no please!" Sirius begged , turning around to look imploringly at all of the assembled wizards, "You have to believe me. I –" Sirius paused as he noticed that one of the seats was empty, "Dumbledore…Yeah, Dumbledore. He'd believe me. Please, please can we wait for him? You said that this trial would have all members of the Wizengamot, and he's the head."

The old man in the front of the room sighed, "Young man, Dumbledore owled me this morning, saying that he wouldn't be able to come to court today, for at least a good five hours. We don't have time to wait for him."

Just then, a familiar voice came from behind Sirius's chair, "Actually, Odgen, there is no need to wait for me. I've already arrived."

Sirius, whose limbs had been clamped to the arms and legs of his chair, craned his neck to see his old Professor, to try and catch his eye. He just knew that Dumbledore would be able to sort out this mess. That Dumbledore'd understand how he could never hurt James. He was his last hope.

Dumbledore seemed unaware of this, though, as he calmly made his way to his seat at the centre of the court. So, Sirius addressed him. "Sir, I –"

"Guilty."

Sirius frowned at the old wizard, "Sorry, what? I don't think I understood –"

Dumbledore slowly raised a hand to silence him. Then, in a calm, indifferent tone he said, "Sirius Black, you are found guilty of all charges."

And just like that, Sirius lost the only hope he'd had left. His teacher, his hero, had just condemned him to rot away in Azkaban for the rest of his life, and by doing so, he'd killed a part of Sirius forever.

The look on Sirius's face made Dumbledore feel very sick. The young man looked as if he'd been betrayed, as if all he'd ever believed in had been a lie. Dumbledore hadn't wanted to convict him, but the evidence against him gave him no option. But doing the deed made him feel as dirty as a common death eater.

Dumbledore just couldn't believe that this deranged man with his wild tangle of shoulder length hair and bloodshot eyes was once one of his favorite students. That he was once an intelligent, charming and handsome troublemaker with an aptitude for Transfiguration.

Then again, Dumbledore also found it hard to believe that the Potters were dead. So, closing his eyes with a quiet, sad little sigh, Dumbledore tried his best to tune out the wild screams for help of his former student.

With a jolt, Sirius's memory ended, and he realized that he was still in the prison cell. But Merlin, he'd never been able to visualize that moment so well before. It was like a pensieve, but worse.

Sirius idly began to wonder if the reason he'd been able to re live the memory with such clarity was that he had finally started to lose his mind. James had always jokingly told Sirius that he was mental, and Sirius was starting to wonder how he'd ever found that funny.

Across the hall from Sirius, there had been a man who really was mental. Tortured to insanity by guilt and dementors.

And he'd wail things at night, burst into tears, curse people who weren't there and hurl himself against walls. Then he'd start pretending that Sirius was the reason he was in prison and curse at him as well. He'd even tried clawing his own eyes out and scratching away his flesh, screaming all the while.

But that wasn't the scary bit. No, the scary bit was when his fits ended. Because then he'd become a perfectly normal person. He'd look out of the bars in his door at Sirius, and ask him where he was. He'd inquire as to what time it was and if they'd be getting anything to eat. Sometimes he'd notice the blood on his hands, the scratch marks, and look around warily for the cause of his wounds. He never suspected that he'd made the gashes himself.

The man had died, about a month ago, and Sirius actually found himself missing the company. After all, without it, he found himself talking to people who weren't there. To friends who'd died long ago, and friends who'd he'd not seen for over a decade.

Yes Sirius knew that this was mad, but he honestly didn't care anymore. After all, the other mad man had had one good quality. He could be happy. He could be stupidly happy and grin like an idiot, even when dementors drifted by his door. Heck, he'd even had a smile on his face when he'd strangled himself.

Yes, Sirius thought grimly, if he was going to go mad, he may as well be happy about it.