Chapter Text
Sirius's body is frail. He has never been particularly prone to putting on muscles or fat - some childhood carences can never be made up for - but he can see the blue veins showing up under the pale transparent skin of his arms. If he touches his face, he can feel his cheekbones stretching the skin, sharp and hollow. His hair is longer and thinner than it’s ever been, matted with some dirt the small sink that passes for a shower in the corner cannot do anything about.
He wishes he had scissors to cut all of it. The hair that used to be his pride, his first obvious rebellion against his parents’ control, he wishes it was all gone. Now, it’s a constant reminder of his many failings.
There is a silent wind that chills into the marrow of his bones. A perpetual cold that penetrates the wall, the ground and sips into his heart.
The need for a cigarette is dull in contrast, and quitting is a lot easier when you can’t feel your toes. He could try breathing on his fingers for warmth but it would be useless. He hasn’t been able to take a full breath since the night of the attack. His chest is always heavy and his throat hurts whenever he tries to breathe in more than he can.
He wishes he would get used to the chill though, it would make it easier to slip into inconscience when he tries to disappear.
He barely eats the bread that appears on a plate on the side of his coat everyday. Hunger or nausea is one of the last choices he can make for himself. It reminds him he is still alive.
He hasn’t cried since they’ve brought him in. He expected to be devastated but he didn’t know it could be beyond the point of tears. The sadness and despair that keeps him down on the ground don’t allow for this one small comfort. He deserves it though. His heart has withered, his body has weakened, his mind is fading but he won’t die. That is the sentence he has judged onto himself.
Sirius could escape. He knows about it after the first few weeks. He wakes up as Padfoot one night - the body of the dog a place of less torture his unconscious mind seeked refuge in - and takes a stroll around the prison. No dementors stop him, they don't seem to sense his presence in the slightest.
The sadness is muted inside the dog's mind, but the scent of anguish is heightened, and the whimpers sound closer. The unease brings him back to his own cell. He doesn't have anywhere else to go. With a low whine, the dog slips back in through the bars and lies down, turning back into Sirius as someone’s scream starts to resonate in the far back of the prison, an echo of what his heart can no longer express after that walk.
What would he even do if he went outside ? Why would he even leave ?
The only good thing he could do for his godson he has already done when he killed Peter.
Dumbledore had taken the kid away anyway. The old man would make sure the boy was brought up in a loving place, he had promised as much before they sent him to Azkaban.
That was more than Sirius could achieve. He lacks the basic knowledge of what foundations to build a loving home upon. He cannot give the environment the boy deserves, it would be like letting James down again.
And anyway, his love is toxic, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. He would not do that to Harry. He is guilty, he feels guilty.
There is no point in defending his name : it is a name he has always despised anyway, and he had killed his best friends, that much was true. One of them in cold blood, one of them with his incompetence. He is guilty, and the name Black would bear the shame with him as it is forgotten.
——
“MOM, NO MOM, PLEASE PLEASE MOM, LOOK AT ME PLEASE IT’S NOT, MOM MOOOM! ”
The screams wake him up. He is in his own body and not in the dog.
It never happens these days, Padfoot always takes over when he falls asleep, a desperate attempt of comforting himself that leaves him all the more hollow when he turns back. He must not have been out for long then. He knows there is someone new in the cell next to his, he heard the Dementors bring them in at some point that day (it might have been night, but there is no sense of rhythm to the passing of time in Azkaban).
Sirius knows the prison wasn’t always this full but only because he remembers his parents complaining there was a decline in Dementors when he was younger. The Azkaban he knows now could feel like a school reunion with all the Hogwarts alumni that are inhabiting it. Maybe even a family reunion if one looks closely enough.
As it goes, he has avoided Bellatrix’s cells, her screams for the Dark Lord, for her husband, for revenge, don’t feel like those of someone losing her mind. She always had a mean streak and some unhinged reactions to the most benign situations. Sirius couldn’t know if she was crazier now than the last time he saw her, but walking by her cell is a taunt he doesn’t have the strength for.
In the next cell, the screams turn into cries and into desperate whispers. The throat of the man is raw and his breath labors. Sirius imagines him lying on the floor, holding the small cover they are given like a lifeline, the tears drying in his eyes as the despair settles in. The sleep that creeps in is terrifying, it’s dark and full of terrors. The nightmares closing in are hard to ignore in a place like this. Sirius can hear the small whimpers as his neighbor tries to stay awake, repeating over and over like a prayer “mom, mom, mom”.
Begging for someone is something Sirius has never done. He wouldn’t know who to call for. Everyone he loves is dead or missing. On the edge of his mind, questions about Moony threaten to form, but he keeps them at bay easily. The gloom muddying his brain is enough to prevent the wheels of his thoughts from turning.
Rotting away is a reprieve from memories and feelings. Humans can get used to anything if given enough time, this is not any different.
The man in the next cell has lost his fight and fell asleep. Sirius sights and lies back down. He doesn expect it to last long and he wants to be unconscious for as long as possible. He is always tired from the emptiness. Fading away is more of an effort than you’d think.
—-
“NO DAD, STOP, PLEASE STOP, I WON’T DO IT AGAIN, PLEASE STOP, DON’T HURT ME, DAD NO…”
The sobbing is starting again. Some days ago, Sirius figured out who the man was.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The realization that he knows the voice is an uncomfortable one. He keeps the memories of his life before the attack locked away so he doesn't even try to match the tone to a face in the beginning. The ache at the base of his neck spreads in his back with unease though. He has stayed far from anyone he might actually know so far, in an attempt to find some respite from acknowledging he once existed out of this place.
Of course, the realization creeps upon him unexpectedly. The boy in the other cell has been silent for a while as Sirius is now counting the bars of his cell. 15, always 15. He would count, again and again, just to saturate his mind with the number. 15. Fifteen. One, two, three… all the way up to Fifteen. 1. 5. Fif. Teen.
Bartelemius Crouch Junior, but I call him Barty, he is my roomate.
Sirius stands back up so fast, he is immediately dizzy, head heavy and vision black. He wants to throw up, but there is nothing inside of him. He does anyway, something acidic coating his mouth as he falls back on his hands and knees violently, scratching the skin through the thin layer of clothes. The pain is so sudden, it’s a throbbing reminder of how alive his body still is despite the dulling of his senses.
It’s the voice of a dead man.
Dead to the world only recently, dead to Sirius a long time ago.
A sharp coppery scent assaults his nose and keeps him grounded. He is unable to dissociate for the first time in a long time, forced to face the moment. Sirius doesn’t know what to do about the blood coating his knees. It is real, he is alive. He is still alive.
He tastes something salty on his tongue, mixing with the acid that makes him want to retch again. He only gags, his stomach twisting angrily in response.
He brings a hand to his face to get the tears away but only ends up smearing a bit of blood from the cuts around his nails where he has eaten the skin. For a second he thinks the sobs he hears must be from another cell, but his throat is sore and the pain is only his own.
How can he still have so much blood ? How can he still be alive if he is purging his penitence in a purgatory ? This is unfair, he shouldn’t be so alive, it’s too much for his mind and not enough for his heart.
He is alive and he doesn’t know what to do, but thankfully his body does.
Slowly, and with more care than he’s ever consciously had since they put him in Azkaban, Sirius turns into Padfoot and starts licking his wound.
After a while, he goes for a walk and passes for the first time in front of his neighbor’s cell. He stops there.
The man is asleep, back turned to him, body curled upon himself.
The dog goes back to his own cell and lies down on the floor. The magic of the place has already cleaned up the blood and his cuts have stopped bleeding. He doesn’t turn back into Sirius right away. He needs to keep Sirius aliveness far away for now.
So when the sobbing starts again, Sirius can deal with knowing it’s Barty’s.
—-
Days pass, maybe even months, the weather changes a little. It goes from cold and windy to cold and rainy. His cell is damp, the humidity penetrates his bones. Sirius avoids thinking about Barty. A semblance of routine between the both of them, one that the death eater is unaware of, has settled though.
Sirius wouldn’t know if it can be counted in minutes, hours or days but regularly, Barty will start screaming in his sleep. He screams for his Mother’s forgiveness or for his Father’s mercy. He repeats in a raw voice that they don’t know the truth. It’s like a mantra he inevitably ends up whispering to himself as he gets back to sleep a while later.
Sirius can’t tell if Azkaban has broken the man or if his begging are a desperate attempt at keeping the darkness at bay.
Nevertheless, Barty cries.
That’s when Padfoot leaves the cell and wanders around, keeping far away from the sobbing and the begging.
Sirius’ heart hurts, the sharp pain like a knife twisting his inside every time he hears Barty’s tears and moans.
He’s heard some crying, it’s inevitable in Azkaban. But the sobbing is not as common as one would think. Most inmates stop after a little while. The prison is generally quiet. It’s a heavy silence filled with dread, as the slow rotting away inside the cells doesn’t make noises.
Sometimes, someone will start screaming at the sky instead. Bellatrix is often one to interrupt the apparent calm. But they have lost their minds, they are calling for revolutions, for fights, for death, they are warning of a new dawn of dark arts, they are invoking the name of their lord and savior, swearing he will come back, for them, always for them.
They are crazy, and they have lost. The only world in their image is the one they are all sharing in these damp cells.
When he walks, there are some whispers between bars. Sirius has figured that some inmates try to fill their time talking to each other. He doesn’t listen in, there is no point. He doesn’t blame them for their denial but he knows there is so much that can be shared when you fade away. What would he even talk about ? He wouldn’t dare sully the names of those he loved by uttering them here, they might be caught and eaten away into oblivion.
When he goes back to his cell, Barty is almost asleep. Sirius lets himself slip into darkness to the whispers of his words.
You don’t know the truth.
You don’t know the truth.
You don’t know the truth.
——
“HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME!”
Sirius barely opens an eye when Barty wakes up with a scream.
“PLEASE, HELP ME, I NEED YOU, PLEASE!”
He will soon shift to his side and turn into Padfoot but there is still a little time.
“HELP ME PLEASE, REGULUS, PLEASE!”
The name jolts something inside Sirius. His entire body contracts as he sits up suddenly. His fingers tingle, pins and needles all over his digits. The acid on his tongue feels familiar as the pounding in his head grows deafening.
He tries to hear. What did Barty say ? The ringing in his ears makes him feel dizzy, but he forces himself to crawl to the side of his cells by the bars. His knees are weak, they creak as he moves forward.
He sits against the wall, head thrown back as he breathes in slowly hoping to get his head to settle.
It works a bit.
“HELP ME, I NEED YOU, I STILL NEED YOU, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME, PLEASE!”
Sirius tries to slip a hand through his hair, but the matted strands can’t be detangled. He realizes the movement as he tries to comb some of it. When he grew his hair as he left Grimmauld, he would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and let his fingers slip through the strands, a reminder that he had made a decision for himself and that his Mother hadn’t cut all of it yet. Through the years, it became a gesture of comfort.
It’s the first time he’s done it since being thrown in Azkaban.
“Please, don’t leave me, please…”
Barty’s voice is dimmer, Sirius can hear the sobs coming in.
“Please Regulus, why did you leave me ?”
The question is whispered with a terrible sadness, and Sirius feels some words forming on his own tongue in response.
But his lips are dried, cracked , and his voice comes out in a small croak, his throat bobbing as he shallows them back with difficulty.
He tries to wet his lips and tastes the blood that crusted there. He coughs with his entire body, his chest burning from the effort. His head feels dizzy again, and he almost gives up but Barty starts sobbing in the next cell.
With more strengh, Sirius tries again.
“Barty.”
His voice comes out raspier than he remembers and he coughs again.
But the sobbing has stopped.
He tries again, preparing himself for the fire in his lungs as he goes a little louder.
“Barty!”
The two syllables are clear this time. Unmistakable. They don’t resonate much, most sounds are eaten away by the gray air around them anyway.
In the next cell, he can hear some shuffling.
“Regulus,… is that you ?”
Barty’s voice is clearer than Sirius. His hope is overwhelming.
The name shakes Sirius to his core, the beating of his heart is pounding in his chest, he is trembling all over.
It was the last name he thought he’d ever hear again, but it is one that cuts him so deeply, the simple sound of it would bring tears to his eyes if he had any left in his body.
The name is a punch to his gut, a visceral reminder he is still alive despite all his attempt to forget about it. The mixture of emotions running through his veins are bittersweet but primal. An instinct learned in his early childhood.
The only world where Sirius would not respond to Regulus’ name would be one where he can still hear Regulus’ voice.
His neck hurts when he tries and fails to lift his eyes to the sky. He should know better anyway, they can’t ever see the stars.
He wishes he could cry as he answers in a broken voice.
“No, no, it’s Sirius.”
In the other cell, Barty starts crying again, the sound distorted.
Well no. No, that’s not it.
He isn’t crying, Sirius realizes, he is… laughing ?
So, there it is, the breaking point of Barty Crouch Jr then.
Sirius doesn’t know what he expected but disappointment settles in.
He sighs. His entire body hurts, it will take him sometimes before his nerves are dulled and his thoughts disappear again.
He should have stayed lying down on the floor. He should have turned into Padfoot.
Anything better than the manic sound of broken laughter in the next cell.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sirius.” Barty snorts, interrupting his train of thoughts. He sounds almost… sarcastic ?
Sirius furrows his brows on reflex.
“It’s just, it feels ironic that two of the people your brother loved the most would find themselves next door neighbors ! Or should I say next cell neighbors ? Next bars ? What do you think ?”
The man is mad. He must be. Sirius doesn’t even know how to react, he is at a loss, mouth gaping open.
“Hey Sirius, Sirius ? Are you still there ? Shit, I hope you’re not a figment of my imagination,… that would suck, you are my least favorite Black brother, I’d much rather have Reg telling me to shut up than…”
Barty rambles on, but hearing his brother's name is still an electric shock.
Sirius groans and Barty effectively shuts up.
“I’m here.”
There is some silence then. It’s a lot more fragile than the absence of sounds in the rest of the prison. It’s no less heavy as it carries so many unformed thoughts.
There is relief in Barty’s tone as he finally whispers “You really are, aren’t you ?”
The realization hits him then too. Sirius is not alone anymore.
He is not alone. Someone knows him, recognizes him. He exists still.
Slowly, and against all of his strong held belief, tears start to spill out of his eyes and Sirius sobs for a long time, as Barty repeats a new prayer on his lips to fall asleep to “you are real, you are here, you are real…”
——
The next time Sirius wakes up, his muscles are groggy but the pain in his head has dimmed. His eyes are sticky and crusted and his neck is aching. He fell into oblivion with tears in his eyes, sitting up at an uncomfortable angle against the wall of the cell.
He listens intently to his surroundings. Barty has stopped murmuring. Sirius doesn’t know if the silence of the other man is asleep or catatonic. Probably the latter, Sirius has learned that Barty is not a restful sleeper, he whimpers and clenches his teeth with a cracking sound. Even taken over with exhaustion, the man fights not to be swallowed by the prison. A pointless fight.
Sirius crawls to the bowl of water by the sink. Maybe Barty is stronger than Sirius ever gave him credit for. He has only known him as the unhinged best friend of his little brother. A boy with a chip on his shoulder, often found in detentions after provoking a fight.
They had gotten into a brawl only once. Before that they would usually avoid each other, for his brother’s sake maybe.
It was in December after Sirius had left Grimmauld.
James and him were coming back from the pitch as they stumbled upon Barty, the Rosier kid and Regulus. There was snow everywhere, but his brother was sitting, cross-legged on a bench, while Barty was obviously fussing over him, forcing a green beanie on his head, black curls sticking out everywhere. Some snow sticked to their robes, and the uneven path around them was proof that some sort of snow fight had taken place. The three slytherins had not seen them yet, and their demeanors were so relaxed and at ease. They had fun, they looked like kids.
Regulus' pale skin was flushed and he was smiling, an open and sincere smile Sirius hadn’t seen since the first time he left for Hogwarts. His heart, however withered and dry as it currently was, could still clench at the memory.
For some reason, maybe the smile, maybe the relaxed atmosphere, maybe the upcoming Christmas break, Sirius had called out a small “Hey !”, as James put a grounding hand on his shoulder.
James’ kindness could transpire with the simplest of touch.
His best friend had seen him the night he had left the house he grew up in, he knew in the most awful details the scars that lingered on his skin and on his mind. He was also the keeper of Sirius' darkest shame, as he had whispered his fears regarding his brother to the gryffindor.
The hand was a most welcomed support in this moment.
Regulus' eyes had widened as his smile disappeared. Evan Rosier’s hand grabbed his brother’s shoulder, a mirror image of him and James. Sirius took a step forward in their direction, trying again “Hi…”
This time however, Barty stopped him, physically putting himself between Sirius and the bench.
“No.” the boy said in a firm voice that had surprised Sirius. He had heard Barty’s taunts and mockery in school, but he didn’t think he had ever heard him sound this serious. “No” the boy repeated with a stern look “You don’t get to do that.”
Sirius frowned. James hand gripped him tighter, holding him back. He tried to shake him and leaned to the side to watch his brother but Barty shoved him in the chest.
It was a strong push but not violent, which destabilized Sirius all the more.
“You leave him alone.” Barty insisted.
“You don’t get to tell me shit about him!” Sirius answered with more anger than he realized he held, taking another step.
This time the push was stronger and he stumbled back. He would have fell if not for James’ intervention.
“Alright Crouch, we were just going back to our dorm anyway.” His best friend intervened.
“There’s nothing alright about that!” Sirius interrupted, temper flaring, “You need a guard dog now Reg ? ”
He should have expected the punch that hit his nose a second later. But Sirius relished a fight, and even out of the blue, he could throw himself into one without a second thought, as his fist connected with Barty’s gut.
James tried to intervene but Barty was already on him again. The boy was a year younger, but he was stronger than he looked. Sirius could feel the strong muscles of his arms as they pushed each other around. With a sneaky kick to the feet, Barty got him pinned down to the ground in a few seconds. The boy’s dark eyes were full of intent as he held Sirius hand above his head in the snow. Sirius tried to squirm beneath him, angry at the shameful outcome of the fight, as Barty leaned closer to his face. For a second Sirius thought he might spit on him in disgust, but the slytherin only whispered in a cold, measured voice “you left him there Black, you don’t get to decide if you want to talk to him, so now you keep on doing what you’ve been doing this entire time and leave Regulus alone.”
The accusation, sharp and precise, cut him deeper than any knife. He still had the scar on his heart years later, ugly and painful if you prod it a little.
Barty had stood up and left with Rosier and Regulus. His brother had given him a look that Sirius thought was full of sadness, but it might have been his delusion as he laid on his back in the snow as James asked him if he was okay.
He can still feel the cold of the snow in the fabric of his clothes, as he takes a gulp of water, trying not to choke on it. He knows it’s only the humidity of the prison but for a moment, he is in two places at once anyway.
—
After a while, he goes back to the wall by the bars. His body aches less, and his throat doesn’t feel as raw when he shallows anymore. He can feel the blood thrumming through his veins in apprehension, but the pounding is a tender beat that diffuses some warmth.
He tries, unsure. “Barty ?”
He tries, louder. “Barty ?”
Finally he tries, confident, “Barty ?!”
A groan answers him.
So the bastard is alive.
“Is that you Black ? I thought you had broken down yesterday when you started crying ? I honestly didn't think a human could cry that much…”
That was rich coming from the man who had been sobbing in his sleep for as long as he’d been here.
Sirius refrains from saying so. He needs to be careful with his words, they are a currency he didn’t have the luxury to use up until now, and he doesn’t want to squander it.
“Yes.” he answers instead, and then after a beat, “why did you call for him ?”
“What ?” consternation is clear in Barty’s tone.
“Why did you call for him ?” Sirius repeats, enunciating as well as he can with his jaw tender from the effort.
“Regulus ?” Barty asks, the three syllables clear and bright in the man’s mouth.
“Yes.” Sirius confirms.
“Because… Because he is my best friend of course. Because he is my person. Because… I love him.” Barty sounds so sure, and Sirius can’t help but notice. He loves him, not loved him.
He doesn’t want to dwell on it and asks instead “Wasn’t Rosier your best friend ?”
Barty huffs “Yeah Black, he was too. But did you love all your friends the same ?”
Sirius thinks on it for a moment.
A lover, a soulmate, a traitor. All of them gone.
No he didn’t love them the same, but maybe he should have loved them better.
“How did you love him then ?” The question is too direct, too intimate, but curiosity is nagging at him.
Regulus.
He lets himself think of the name but he can’t find the strength to say it out loud. His brother. His baby brother. A Slytherin. A death-eater. A boy dead before becoming a man.
Tears threaten to spill behind his eyelids but he keeps his eyes shut until they relent. He doesn’t want to think but he can listen.
And Barty,… Well Barty likes to talk, has many things he wants to say and he only needed the occasion to be given to him.
“So much Black. I love him so much I don’t want to die. He was torned up inside, he could be mean and prickly, sarcastic and selfish, but there was nothing like to be loved by Regulus… I don’t want to die Black, I don’t want to die and for this love to die with me. He deserves better. I can't let this place take that from me, you understand ? It must be my terrible kharma that brought me to share this space with you of all people, Black. The one man who didn’t realize his luck when it came to your brother. Did you make Regulus to be the bogeyman in your head when you heard he got the mark ? Did you mourn him when he was declared dead ? No body ever found. And I searched, Merlin, I searched for a long time. Are you still judging him from your cell as you’re surrounded by everyone you tried to run away from ?”
Sirius was silent, Barty’s words eating at him, some truth and some guilt mixing in the pit of his stomach.
But Barty didn’t expect an answer as he continued.
“Your brother Black… He was a devout. You know why he got sorted into Slytherin ? It wasn’t because he was a mean motherfucker that seeked power and world domination like the cliche you make of us. It was because he would burn the world down before letting anything happen to those he loved. He could have been a Gryffindor but there was nothing honorable about it, your brother would poison and maim. If it came down to killing the ones he loved to save the world, he would let the world die in agony. He didn’t love many people Regulus, he didn’t have the space in his heart to do so but it was fierce and strong and like nothing else. Shit, the first time he kissed me I felt like I had been chosen among men.”
Barty sighs, his voice cracking under the weight of the memory.
Oh. Oh . Realization downs upon him.
“You loved him.” Sirius states.
“I love him.” Barty answered.
“And he loved you ?” a question this time.
“Yes. He loved me.” Barty’s voice breaks, and Sirius can hear the quiet sob stuck in the man’s throat vibrating against his vocal chords.
Something heavy grows in his chest, uneasy and scratching at his ribs. The ghost of a tear runs down his face. He thinks of Moony, of the soft skin inside the pad of his hands and of the rough fingertips as he caressed his face.
He shakes his head and the memory fades.
“Can you tell me about him ?” Sirius finally asks. What else is there that he doesn’t know of his brother ?
The intake of breath lets him know Barty is considering his question. Good. It’s a loaded request that has no easy answer.
“I need you to promise something Black.” Barty offers as a way of reply.
“What ?” Sirius can compromise, but there are things he is unwilling to give away.
“I’m not going to ask you to not judge him, I don’t think the Gryffindor in you is even capable of that.” Barty pauses but Sirius doesn’t deny it, he isn’t sure he is in any position to judge anyone, but he wants to cling to the Sirius that Barty expects him to be.
“I want you to promise that if I die, you won’t let yourself go without finding a way to get your brother’s name on a tombstone. You know he doesn’t even have one right ?” Barty doesn’t give Sirius the time to answer the question, which is better, and continues, “Regulus never deserves to be forgotten, and something should be done so people know someone loved him enough to mark his name in stone. I would scratch it in the walls here myself, but I haven’t found anything that leaves a mark, and my fingernails are chipped now.”
The admission sends a shiver down his spine and Sirius nods, understanding dawning upon him.
“Yes, I can promise that Barty.” His voice is softer than before, the ghost of his brother floating somewhere between their two cells, haunting them both.
He can hear Barty’s labored breath through the wall, the way he is gulping for air to keep himself from crying again. “I need some sleep for now, but later.”
“We have time…” Sirius confirms.
And after a while, as the silence settles in again, he can’t help but whisper, giving life to his thoughts “You really did love him. You love Re…” and stops with a sharp intake of breath that burns his chest.
“I just wished it had been enough to save him.” The confession is so quiet, it barely disturbs the heavy soundless air around them. Sirius doesn’t think Barty wished it to be heard.
He doesn’t answer then, just lies down and closes his eyes as a thought forms in his mind.
Love had never been enough to save his brother.
—