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Sirius had been a dog for nearly three years when something very interesting was thrown into his cell.


He approached it cautiously, not having seen another wizard for his entire internment. It smelled rather good, which was shocking. Nothing ever smelled good in this place. There were only two odours here: horrifying and almost bearable. But this... Sirius inhaled shortly through his canine nostrils. This was very nice. Rich. Expensive-smelling. Rather like the way his bathroom at home used to smell.


He barked a soft, earnest woof, pushing at the lump with his nose. It wasn’t moving, and that was a little frustrating. The Dementors would leave it alone while it was unconscious, but if it had a good dream, they’d arrive in no time, and Sirius had no desire whatsoever to test the limits of their capabilities. He’d gotten by this far in animal form, but there was no telling what would happen if they got too close. He quite enjoyed his happy memories, thankyouverymuch. They were the only thing keeping him going.


Pain does not transfer well onto dog features, and the black beast bared his teeth when he thought of what his happy memories entailed... everything he thought he knew was wrong, so very wrong. And now, Harry was alone. Little Harry, his godson. Sirius had never had the chance to tell him, to explain. And now he was here forever. And forever was daunting when thought of in dog terms, because even if he counted his age in dog years, there were way too many to pass with his sanity intact.


In fact, he was barely holding on as it was.


But now... now there was something interesting to play with, if only it would oblige him! He gave a louder bark, quite sharp and insistent, and the lump groaned pitifully. He bounded a little in excitement, and the lump shifted. It rolled onto its back and the hood covering its head fell away.


White-blond hair came into view, and Sirius growled. This was so not who he wanted to see. Although, it was Azkaban... chances were it would be someone he disliked, since they were all criminals... himself excluded, of course.


Sirius stalked back to his corner, sitting and watching the gods damned bloody Malfoy sit up cautiously. The prat actually straightened his prison robes, as if he were about to meet someone important or something! Why, oh why, could they have not thrown Wormtail into his cell? He could have had revenge and the best meal he’d had in years, all in one fell swoop!


Malfoy looked over at him, and Sirius was surprised to see the depth of the pain in the other man’s eyes. Sirius doubted Malfoys even felt pain, and Sirius would know—this one was, after all, his cousin-in-law. Malfoy got up and went to sit on one of the cots in the room. They were little more than straw-filled sheets sitting on the floor, but the one Malfoy was about to sit on was his, and that just was not allowed!


Sirius leapt across the diminutive cell in one bound, landing on the “bed,” and baring his teeth. Malfoy raised an articulate eyebrow and raised his hands in surrender.


“Okay, that one is yours. Not a problem,” Lucius murmured, moving over to the other bed and sitting heavily upon it. Sirius was pleased to be understood, and he stopped snarling. He walked around in a circle three times, but it wasn’t right... so he turned and walked the other way, and on the fourth turn, it was perfect, so he lay down, keeping a weary eye on his new cellmate.


“Black, are you going to at least say hello? I realize you’re a blood traitor, but I have to assume you were raised with some manners.”


Sirius cocked his head to the side. So much for the element of surprise. He shook his head as humanly as possible, though he suspected it looked as though he was trying to dispel fleas. Lucius sighed and got more comfortable on the bed, leaning against the wall. He looked at the nails of his right hand and grimaced. Resting his head against the wall behind him, Lucius closed his eyes, a telltale crease appearing between his brows. Sirius felt a pang of pity for the man, despite the fact that he strongly suspected the blond had been a Death Eater. Lucius had graduated when Sirius had finished his first year, so they hadn’t known one another well during school, but he knew the man was friends with Snape, and that alone was enough to discredit him. But despite that, Sirius also knew he and Narcissa had a child Harry’s age, and he knew what it felt to be locked away when you were needed most.


While Lucius’ eyes were still closed, Sirius took in his appearance. He’d obviously been treated poorly upon his arrival; Sirius knew better than anyone the heinous treatment new arrivals were treated to by the guards. He’d likely been stripped, scrubbed, searched (thoroughly), ridiculed, possibly beaten, and dehumanized. His hair was tangled and there was a streak of blood marring the blond locks, by his ear. Lucius was already dirty, and he wouldn’t see running water the entire time he was there. Not off to a good start.


Sirius was thinking about transforming into a man for the first time in what felt like forever when he heard the noise. It was like a whistling inside his head, and everything got a little colder, a little more dismal. He whimpered, and Lucius looked up. Sirius knew he felt them too when his eyes widened and he slowly moved back to the far corner of the room. Sirius would have snorted if he could. They weren’t fazed by distance; it was of no consequence to them. And now, thanks to Lucius, Sirius himself might be facing those fuckers, who usually left him alone.


A Dementor, tattered, wraithlike and utterly horrifying, slid through the bars of their cell. It stood motionless for a moment, focused on Lucius, who had his eyes trained on the spectre as if he could will it away. The Dementor floated forward, and a groan escaped the blond’s lips as Sirius imagined his happiest memories were being devoured.


Sirius tried to be impassive as the hell-creature turned Lucius into a cowering child, but when he thought of what Lucius’ happiest memory must be—the birth of his son—Sirius could not stand idly by. He acted before he knew what he was doing (which is how so many bad situations began) and transformed into a man again. For the first time, the shifting actually hurt, and he cried out, once able.


Seeing Lucius’ eyes wide and unseeing, Sirius immediately thought of the first time he held Harry. It had been so very brief, but in that moment, he’d known real happiness. It wasn’t picking up the fittest bird at the bar, or even soaring in the night sky on his motorcycle. No, it was looking into those verdant eyes and seeing in them everything he ever wanted to be, everything he could be.


The Dementor turned on him rapidly, coming towards him so quickly Sirius almost failed to transform again. He wouldn’t let them have that memory, it was his! He shifted into Padfoot, feeling more at home in this body that his human form. While the Dementor was searching for the mind that made the memory it sensed, Sirius stealthily walked over to Lucius’ prone body, sitting in front of it, trying to block it from the Dementors. They were creatures of instinct and they had no rational minds. They just might not look beyond his dog mind to Lucius’ now-traumatized one.


As he’d hoped, the Dementor looked around the cell for the thoughts it knew had been there only moments ago, but found none. It drifted away, taking with it the coldness and horrible despair.


After nearly an hour had passed, Sirius felt safe enough to shift back into his human form. He hadn’t been a man in so long, his movements felt awkward and stilted, and he had to think about what he wanted to do before he did it, rather than letting his mind send signals automatically. Padfoot’s instincts were so much better than his own, his motions smoother and more natural.


Sirius kneeled beside Lucius, who was laying half on the bed, half on the cold cement floor. He hauled him up to recline fully on the bed. Lucius’ eyes had closed, thankfully; the unseeing grey orbs had unnerved Sirius. It seemed as though he was sleeping, but Sirius knew his mind was desperately fighting to handle what had just happened. The Dementors usually only came by once a day, so Sirius felt safe in human form, if more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit.


Wanting to satisfy his curiosity as well as silence that completely Gryffindor instinct that made him want to protect this man, Sirius bared the blond’s left arm. Sure enough, black as death against the palest of flesh was the Dark Mark. Sirius was certain he could feel the tendrils of evil emanating from it, but anyone would imagine such a thing after so long in Azkaban. He covered it again, disgusted at the sight, but highly annoyed to recognize that the need to watch over Lucius had not dissipated, despite the fact that the man was obviously evil.


Lucius groaned and shifted, his eyes scrunching tight as if against his own thoughts, which might very well be the case. He gave a low moan before opening his eyes to look right at Sirius.


He tried to look away, but the stormy silver gaze caught him, and Sirius was never more shocked than at the moment when Lucius’ mask slipped and his face betrayed real sincerity, real gratitude.


“It really is horrible, isn’t it? You hear things... you think you can handle it, feed it different memories instead, but they know, don’t they?” He tried to laugh lightly, but it sounded strangled and Sirius looked away.


“They know,” he confirmed.


“What did they want from you?” Lucius sat back up with his back against the wall, and Sirius settled on the bed beside him. It was better than he remembered to talk to someone, even if it was a Malfoy.


“Harry,” he whispered. Lucius nodded knowingly, and Sirius wondered at that. “You?” he questioned, not wanting to talk about his own experiences before his Animagus form had provided him with an escape.


“Draco,” Lucius intoned, meeting Sirius’ eyes for a brief moment. Knowing that must be his son’s name, Sirius felt glad he’d been able to protect that memory, even if for only another day.


They sat in silence a long while, neither wanting to think too hard about their good memories, lest the monsters return, and yet neither was able to think of much else. Sirius’ mind was in a constant state of turmoil, trying to both hide and relish his memories, succeeding at neither.





Despite spending every waking moment together, the pair had surprisingly little to say. Days passed without words at times, but the two men watched each other as though the other was a strange specimen to be studied and of which to be highly suspicious.


Every day, when Sirius began to sense the impending arrival of the Dementors, he bade Lucius to huddle in the corner or the room, and Sirius shifted in his Animagus form, blocking and sometimes half-covering the proud man to guard him from the wraithlike creatures. It had worked almost every time, and when it didn’t, and the Dementor would swoop lower and lower until Lucius went stiff and cold, Sirius would go across the room, shift, and think of Harry. When the Dementor went to turn on him, he shifted back and hid Lucius again. It was working, and Sirius felt a real pride at being able to do something.


Lucius did thank him, sometimes with his eyes more than with his words, but Sirius knew that despite his coldness, the man was grateful. They didn’t speak about why they were in Azkaban in the first place, but Sirius doubted Lucius could claim innocence like he could. Not that it mattered, because, innocent or not, they were in the exact same position.


Sirius tried not to watch Lucius, tried not to want him. But, gods damn it, the man was impossibly beautiful, strong and fit and so damn haughty, despite everything. He was exactly Sirius’ type, and it had been so long. The last man he’d been with was Remus (the first and last), but Sirius didn’t want to think about that because the Dementors would surely come for that memory.


Sirius knew it was night time because the lights in the halls were put out. There were no torches in the actual cells, that would have been dangerous; but the hallways were lit and the cells were brightened with that shared glow. There were no windows in the cells, so the only indication of time was whether the torches were lit or not. There was residual light at what must have been night, though Sirius didn’t know what gave it off, maybe a solitary torch at the end of the hall. He was always thankful for it though, because total darkness would have made him mad (madder). Total darkness was like confirmation that everything was real, that everything was irrevocable. The faint glittering light meant he could watch Lucius while he slept.


When the blond was in real sleep, he was still as death. His eyes did not flicker, and he certainly did not snore. But when he had nightmares, which was often, he came alive. Sirius preferred that because it was a confirmation of life. Sirius himself twitched and turned in his sleep, like a dog. Lucius had informed him of that early on, but he’d already known. The enforced intimacy made him feel very strange, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.


Tonight, Lucius was having a nightmare. It was always the same. He whispered his wife’s name, his son’s name. He cried out in defiance, hoarse calls that elicited no relief, as they were denied behind his eyelids.


Sirius was staring at the ceiling, watching a spider make its way across the ceiling in a rather lackadaisical jaunt and listening to the pain of his stoic cellmate. Before long, it became too much, and Sirius crawled across the space between them to the other bed. Walking seemed like too much of an effort, and he’d spent too many years on all fours to prefer standing now.


He knelt beside the bed and brushed the hair from the wan, distressed face. How his hair had not tangled was a miracle, as far as Sirius was concerned. His own hair had become a ratty mess after only a few days and was now beyond repair. He hated thinking of the way he must look, having formerly taken so much pride in his appearance. Between the two of them, the mighty had fallen indeed.


Lucius’ pathetic whimpers quieted when Sirius touched him, and the dark-haired man was flooded with pride yet agauin at being able to do something, to help. It was the same feeling he got from protecting Lucius against the Dementors, and it was the feeling that made him continue to do so. After losing so much, it felt nice to be able to save someone, instead.


Lucius’ skin was silk, with only a thin layer of grime marring its shadowed brilliance. His hair was soft, and Sirius combed it between his fingers, much like he saw the man himself do sometimes during the day, as if that perfunctory combing could stave off the horrors of this place. Lucius opened his eyes and Sirius could barely see their colour in the dim ambiance. They just appeared dark, colourless, but he remembered them being quite similar to his own, though perhaps a little lighter. Grey eyes were not the only thing shared in this tomb (womb, cell, home).


Sirius met the steady gaze, not stopping the motions of his hand on the blond’s forehead and hair. It felt too good to stop, and Sirius had long learned that anything that felt good was worth doing, and even more importantly, anything that felt good here was worth keeping. Fighting for.


“I woke you,” Lucius said, and it wasn’t a question. Sirius nodded and shrugged, staving off the apology that probably wasn’t coming anyway.


“I hate it here. I wish...” Again, Sirius only nodded. Wishes were futile but cherished, and there was nothing Lucius could wish in his brief weeks here that Sirius hadn’t wished a thousand times before.


“Nothing feels real anymore. It hurts like the worst nightmare, and there’s no way to wake up. And yet it’s harder, harsher, more real than reality actually was.”


Sirius lied down beside his poetically waxing cellmate, sharing the bed unashamedly. He propped himself up on an elbow to look at Lucius in case he continued to talk, but since their voices always felt so loud, so inadequate and brutal in the silence, Sirius doubted he would.


Sirius moved his hand from the golden tresses to the front of Lucius’ prison robes. He unbuttoned it slowly, waiting for a hand to stop his movements, uncaring really one way or the other. He wanted Lucius, that much was true enough; but he was used to disappointment these days, and to be turned down would not change much for him. He’d merely return to his own bed, if he could gather the energy to do so, and go to sleep. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.


But the hand did not come to stop him, so Sirius continued, his facial features betraying none of the tumult that came from seducing, if it could be called that, a married man, a family member, a Death Eater. It was possible that if he stopped to really think about his actions, he would have been horrified. If he thought about what James would say, he might curl into the foetal position and give up entirely. But he only thought about how it felt: skin soft and forgiving, hair smooth and light, clothing rough but familiar, heat desperate but lovely.


He parted the robes the expose the broad, white expanse of flesh beneath him, so pale he was nearly blue and if it weren’t for the warmth, Sirius might have thought him dead. Lucius closed his eyes as Sirius trailed his hand down his chest and belly, fingers tugging softly at the hair beneath Lucius’ naval, almost invisible in its lightness and searched out by feel only.


“We shouldn’t do this,” the blond finally said.


Sirius leaned over his body and bit right beside his belly button. “Probably not,” he agreed before laving the bite.


“It will only be this one time,” Lucius amended, gently stroking Sirius’ hair, not trying to run his fingers through it, since that would be impossible.


“Probably not,” Sirius repeated. No sense in lying to themselves. Sensation was addictive, and Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to nothing after feeling something for the first time in years. Lucius wasn’t as desperate as Sirius was, but Sirius could wait. If Lucius thought he didn’t need it, Sirius would let him figure out exactly how horrible this place could be. And if it came down to it, Sirius would stop protecting Lucius to get what he wanted. It was a very Slytherin thought, but Azkaban tended to bring out the worst in people, and Sirius did not intend to give up so easily, especially not after tasting the salty and raw taste of this once-immaculate, self-important prat currently writhing beneath him.


Lucius had unbuttoned Sirius’ own robes and was pushing the cloth back over his shoulders. Both were clad only in the drab and dirty prison slacks, Sirius’ body already halfway to emaciation and adorned in tattoos. Lucius was still strong and fit, muscled and utterly edible, and Sirius tried not to think of the deprecation of his body. At least Lucius wasn’t looking at him in disgust. In fact, the blond seemed to appreciate the sight, and it was easy for Sirius to believe it was because of more than the fact that Sirius was a willing partner in a hateful place.


Lucius sat up and pressed Sirius down onto the bed. He made short work of his pants and discarded both Sirius’ and his own. Sirius took in the welcome sight of Lucius Malfoy, all silver and strange, untainted by the years, both physically and mentally. He hated to think what would happen to this man in a few years... though Sirius remembered he didn’t actually know how long Lucius was supposed to be here. Azkaban was usually a life sentence (death sentence) but it was not unheard of for criminals to be sent here for a couple years to “learn a lesson.”


Lucius leaned over Sirius’ body, kissing a trail from his neck to his groin. He didn’t appear to be disgusted by the grime on his body, and for that Sirius was grateful, though it wouldn’t have mattered either way.


He took Sirius’ hard cock into his mouth, his movements obviously uncertain but still so good. Sirius guessed he had never been with a man before, which meant he probably wouldn’t want to take Sirius’ cock up his arse. Sirius didn’t care; he preferred to top, but he would switch just to feel it again. Though in another life, he had to admit, it would have been amazing to have Lucius fucking Malfoy beg to be filled by his cock.


Lucius mouth gained confidence, and Sirius moaned at the sensation. He was licking and sucking so perfectly, Sirius suspected he might have been wrong after all. And when Lucius flipped him over onto his hands and knees and licked him, Sirius knew he’d been wrong. Many men didn’t do that at all, and Sirius was in a condition of questionable hygiene and yet he heard Lucius moan behind him as his tongue circled Sirius’ tight entrance.


Forgetting about ugly details and focusing only on the wet tongue on his backside, Sirius moaned quietly into the bed. Though there were few prisoners who had retained their wits, he didn’t relish being overheard by man or beast. But when the tongue breached his tight ring, he could no longer contain his noise, and gasped, hips jerking forward in reaction.


Lucius had snaked one hand between Sirius’ legs and was stroking his cock in time with his tongue’s movements until Sirius’ knees could hardly sustain him.


“Gods, just fuck me, Malfoy!” Sirius cried, wishing his voice was steadier but at the same time, wholly uncaring.


Lucius had the gall to chuckle and Sirius would have hexed him in another life, but the blond straightened and Sirius forgot his animosity. He pretended not to hear the spitting noises Lucius was making and reached beneath himself to caress his leaking cock. The slickened cock pressed into his tight hole, and Sirius gritted his teeth against the unprepared invasion. Trust a Malfoy to barge right in.


But through the burn was the amazing fullness he’d needed, and Lucius immediately hit his prostate on the first thrust. All was forgiven as that gland was repeatedly battered as Lucius plunged into his tight arse. Sirius gasped as the other man bottomed out inside him again and again, his own hand speeding up on his cock, precum easing the way both inside him and in his hand.


“So fucking tight, Black, so fucking...” Lucius muttered and Sirius wished he would shut up—it was easier to pretend the blond was someone else (someone scarred and beautiful and perfect) if he would just keep his Death Eating mouth shut.


The brief flare of his rage subsided when Lucius pushed Sirius’ hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own. The blond stroked in perfect time with his thrusts, hand moving hard and fast, thumb circling the head in sure and near-rough movements. Sirius was meeting each and every thrust, body fucking the hand that held him, faced pressed against the bed pallet as his body was thoroughly and deliciously used.


The familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach took him by surprise, curling down his spine and centering in his tightening balls. Lucius must have felt his cock grow steel-hard, because his own movements became jerky and desperate, abandoning rhythm for haphazard friction. Sirius came with a shout on a particularly hard stroke, his cock feeling like it was being yanked off his body with Lucius’ brute force, come shooting out in thick ropes against his own chest and the bed below him. Lucius was overcome by the tightening of his passage around his engorged cock and gave a stifled grunt, grinding unforgivingly into the brunet’s body.


Sirius sank down onto his belly, wishing briefly that Lucius had pulled out before he came so he wouldn’t be sullied by yet another foreign substance, but when the warm body of the man who’d fucked him blind pulled him into a lover-like embrace, he found he didn’t care. Lucius turned them on their sides and wrapped an arm around Sirius, hand rested on his belly and tickling his pubic hairs. Sirius fell asleep with the thought that it might not be so bad to bottom, and it definitely wasn’t so bad having a Malfoy for a cellmate.




When Sirius awoke the next morning, it was to a disconcerting arousal.


The reason for that became clear when he unintentionally rolled his hips and felt a hand fisting his cock. Lucius’ body was pressed against his back, his own hardness insistent against his arse.


“Morning,” Lucius’ drawl sounded in his ear, licking the shell and warming it with his breath. Sirius went to respond but only whimpered softly when the hand left him to push his upper leg toward his chest and roll him slightly onto his stomach.


Lucius unceremoniously thrust his cock into Sirius’ sore hole, making him cry out at the invasion.


“What the fuck, mate? Can’t give a bloke some warning?”


“Oh, shut up. You were gagging for it,” Lucius taunted, his thrusts eased only slightly by his own come from the night before.


Sirius moaned when Lucius’ cock grazed deliciously over his prostate. “Fuck you, Malfoy. Fucking rapist.” He was proud of his cognizance, considering he was getting a deliciously slow fuck from a man with impeccable precision.


“Did you say no? I must not have heard it through all the moaning.” He punctuated his words with an accurate stroke, making Sirius, of course, moan delightedly.


“Just shut your mouth and fuck me,” Sirius demanded, beginning to push back into the thrusts, as best he could from his limited position. He snaked a hand down to his neglected cock, touching it lightly to torture himself instead of wanking viciously as he’d love to do.


“Such filthy language, Black. Do we need to wash your mouth out?”


Sirius declined to respond, preferring to imagine he wasn’t getting fucked up the arse by a fucking Death Eater in prison.


Lucius’ thrusts became faster and less steady, and Sirius felt his arse clench in protest against the callous treatment. He felt unbelievably stretched and not nearly lubricated enough, but with every pounding came a slide against his prostate, sending fire through his veins and making his cock throb until he gave in and handled it roughly.


Lucius was panting in his ear, biting it occasionally and muttering dirty words, but Sirius tuned it all out except the pleasure. Finally, his balls tightened and he felt an impossible pressure before coming all over the horribly stained mattress and his own hand. He panted through his release, hating that his body responded so favourably to someone he was supposed to hate.


Lucius cried out when Sirius came, the latter feeling his insides grip the other man tightly, and Sirius was flooded with warmth for the second time. And for the second time, he wished he’d remembered to tell Lucius to pull out before coming. After fucking the other man, he didn’t just feel dirty, he felt soiled.


Instead of pulling the smaller man into his arms as he had the night before, Lucius stood and went to use the ‘washroom’ a hole in the floor in the corner of their cell. Once he’d relieved himself, he sat on Sirius’ pallet, smirking rudely and entirely too comfortable in his nudity.


“Listen, Black—” he began, but stopped when they both felt the icy chill sweep over them. Sirius growled low in his throat, and Lucius scrambled into another corner of the cell, as had been the routine thus far.


Quickly shifting into Padfoot, Sirius stood in front of Lucius’ prone body, guarding it, guarding the man’s memories. He didn’t stop to think, now, about how he hated the blond. His only thought was to protect the memory of little Draco.


The Dementor fluttered and hovered around the bars of their cell, ready to slip within if it found any trace of human happiness. It was a good day, because the Dementor swept by without investigating the canine mind and the muted memories behind it.


As they had every other time, the two remained still and steady for nearly an hour after the Dementor had passed. When Sirius deemed it safe, he shifted back into his regular body and got up to dress. Lucius, looking shaky as he always did after these occurrences, did the same.


 An unfamiliar noise sounded from down the hall, a quick paced bangbangbangbang, in time with footsteps toward them.


Sirius gasped when a guard appeared on the other side of the bars, his wand dragging along the cell bars, making that distressing sound. Human guards were rarely seen because the Dementors did such a good job.


The guard said, “Malfoy, Lucius,” in a deadpan voice.


Lucius stood immediately, a wide smile on his face. “Yes?”


“You’ve been exonerated. Our apologies. Please put your hands through the bars to be restrained until you are off the island.”


Sirius shouted, “What the fuck? He’s been here, what, three weeks? I’ve been here three years with no fucking trial!”


Lucius did as he was bid, allowing the guard to magically bind his wrists with a series of complicated spells. “Oh, shut up, Black. You can’t honestly still be proclaiming innocence. Anyone you’d like me to say hello to for you?”


Sirius roared, “If you so much as talk to anyone I know, I’ll fucking gut you!”


Lucius tsked. “Such acerbic language. Surely you can act more man than beast to say goodbye to such a good friend?”


“How dare you? How could you do what we did knowing you’d be freed any day? Merlin, you’re the most disgusting, heartless, selfish son of a bitch I’ve ever—”


“I did it because I could. Why else does anyone do anything?”


Sirius felt rage suffuse him unlike any he’d ever known. “I saved your fucking worthless life! I should have let you suffer, let you lose what I’ve lost!”


Lucius only smirked knowingly. “Yes, you should have.”


The guard was watching the exchange with interest, apparently surprised that Sirius, a long-time inmate, still had such admirable control of his faculties.


“You know what, Malfoy? I’m glad you remember Draco. Does it make you proud to know he will grow up to be exactly like you, or does it fucking terrify you?”


Lucius’ mask slipped for only a moment, and hesitation flashed across his face. Sirius laughed in triumph, sounding maniacal in his rage.


“Every time you recall Draco as a baby, you’ll think of me, you’ll thank me, and you’ll wish you had the guts to instil in him the good traits Harry will have. Loyalty, bravery, kindness. And you will fucking rue today, you gods damned prick! Draco will grow up just like his Daddy and he will suffer for it! Mark my fucking words, Malfoy. Mark them.”


The cell door sprung open and Lucius Malfoy was taken away, taken to freedom thanks to a sudden increase in the Ministry coffers in his name. His mask was carefully in place, but his eyes told a different story.


Sirius Black sat hard against the pallet, shifting into Padfoot and whimpering. He dragged his pallet on top of the other one, to mask the smell and make his own bed more comfortable. He climbed atop it, turning in a circle three times one way, then, dissatisfied, turning four times in the opposite direction.