Words.
That was all Sirius had. Only words.
No memories now. No good times, nor bad, only words.
And he was the sanest person here.
He’d always loved words. Always. When they couldn’t think of anything to do, words had made them all laugh together, cry together, live and love together. He’d enjoyed word puzzles when he was young, on the rare occasion when he could sit still long enough to work them. But that was rare. One of the most frequent words used about him was “impatience.” It always had been.
Words kept him entertained here. After he’d decided he wasn’t going mad any time soon, he’d given into a much worse state: boredom. Sirius hated being bored. The only entertainment in Azkaban was the words, the cries of other prisoners. These words were tormented, sad, depressing, but Sirius listened to them anyways. He had gleaned much from the cries. The Death Eaters, the real ones, hated Pettigrew as much as he did. They hated him because they thought that he had led Voldemort to his downfall.
These cries, these mad, tortured words, were how he’d learned about Frank and Alice Longbottom. If he’d had any strength or means, he’d have gotten out of his cell the minute he’d heard and gladly murdered Bellatrix. Everyone thought him a murderer anyways, and no one would miss her if he did, but he couldn’t dwell on it. Whenever he thought of Frank and Alice, now only words, he would quickly block them out with different words, as he did whenever the words “Lily and James” entered his head. Whenever he was forced to think those words, he would bring up words like “innocence” and “false accusations” and “circumstantial evidence.”
Words were the only link to the outside world. Any new prisoners had plenty of words. They unintentionally told Sirius the news. That was how he knew everyone still thought him an insane, soulless monster. That was how he’d heard that Harry Potter had returned to the wizarding world. Most recently, that was how he’d heard about the Chamber of Secrets. When those words had been screamed out in the darkness, Sirius couldn’t help but feel pity for Hagrid. Pity... a word he’d almost forgotten.
But he’d forgotten most words. He’d forgotten words like “love” and “peace.” On the rare occasion that a word like that came to mind, he would struggle to figure out what it meant. He never succeeded. The only other words that came close to explaining them were “James,” which was pushed to the back of his head, and “Remus,” which just thoroughly confused him. But whenever he tried to come up with words to explain “Remus,” the only ones that came to mind were “love” and “peace.” Just more words, long forgotten and never used. Maybe he was crazy after all.
Then something happened that made him remember.
It was like any other day in Azkaban. Sirius woke to gray surroundings, swallowed his morning sustenance (food being one of the forgotten words) and got back to thinking through the words he knew. Then the Minister came to inspect the prison.
Sirius didn’t care about the Minister being there. It made no difference to him who came and went. He’d watched them all for years out of curiosity, occasionally wondering why they had come. He didn’t know most of their names, although he would have liked to. Names were more words.
But he didn’t particularly care about the Minister. He cared about the newspaper Fudge carried. Newspapers had lots of words. Plenty of distraction.
“Are you done with that?” he croaked. His first spoken words in years.
“Er, yes,” Fudge said. “Black, is it?”
“Yes,” Sirius answered. “Can I see that paper? I miss doing the crossword.”
This was true. Crosswords were, after all, words. Words he had to figure out. Words he had to remember.
“Here,” Fudge said, handing Sirius the paper through the bars, looking quite perplexed.
Sirius couldn’t remember the words he was supposed to say next, so he merely nodded and looked at the paper.
On the front was a large family waving from in front of a pyramid. Sirius studied their faces and the words in the article beneath them. The Weasleys... good people all. He looked at the children.
Then his breath stopped.
On the shoulder of what appeared to be the youngest boy sat a rat. A rat that was missing a toe.
Words rushed through Sirius’s head, none of them kind. Murderer, traitor, rat... so many it was hard to sort them out.
He looked at the words on the paper again. The boy would be going to Hogwarts... and the rat would go with him.
Before, the only thing preventing Sirius from simply breaking out of Azkaban was a lack of knowledge, of words, as to where to find Peter. But now he had a definite goal, a point to start, a place to look.
“He’s at Hogwarts,” Sirius muttered, the words sweet on his lips. “He’s at Hogwarts.”
Words by armagod679
Story Notes:
This is a short musing of mine that took longer to write than I would have thought. If it doesn't make sense, don't worry. It doesn't make sense to me, either.