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Summary
Sirius wishes for so many things these days. He has an ongoing fantasy that everyone is actually alive and that Voldemort was some prank. Some stupid, stupid Marauders prank. Sure, Sirius would be mad, but he’d be more grateful for all of them around him. He’d laugh, even. He’d kiss them all and they’d dance and drink and he would never come back to this horrible, wretched place. Never.
But it’s not real. It’s never real. He knows that.
His cell is cold, and it is boring, and Sirius Black is dying.
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Azkaban has too many people after the First War. Too many people locked in just for safety, with no time now to give any of them a fair trial. Sirius Black has been stuck in his cell for years, and he is filled with far too much. And then, in struts known Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr., friend of his long-lost little brother and unapologetic murderer.
It really would be funny if it weren't so tragic.
