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The wind howled through the cold iron bars of the cell the notorious Mass Murderer Sirius Black inhabited. Thick clouds full of tears and sorrow covered the prison like a mourning shroud, careful not to let any sunlight or moonlight seep in, ensuring no hope could blossom within the tomb of souls.
Guards stalked the dejected cage in the form of black-holed ghouls, eager to suck every bit of happiness and warmth from the makeshift mausoleums. No one would mourn the souls of those who rotted there, as most of the prisoners were half-soulless creatures when they arrived.
Sirius Black was an exception. A life lived to the fullest, a heart full of warmth, a mind saturated in delicious memories for the cloaked villains to feast upon.
For the most part, Sirius kept to his animagus form—tricking the dementors with a dog-like mind and a short memory span. But every once in a while, he was forced to shift back. When Padfoot’s stomach began to grumble, consuming itself with every passing day, he would become human again—if only for a little while to allow himself to eat and let the boney chicken he had picked at with his hands settle in his belly before taking his grim form and keeping the monsters at bay.
Sometimes, visitors would come—family members visiting their depraved loved ones, aurors inspecting the conditions of the cells, making sure no one had died—despising their bodies if they had.
During these times when Sirius was forced into his human shell, those wraith-like creatures would search for the diamonds of his childhood among the piles of black coal and soot—long-forgotten memories that the monsters would polish to make them shine like stars and parade in front of him, forcing him to remember before snatching them away.
When they were done, Sirius could never remember what was stolen—the only evidence was the pain in his heart and mind from the crater left behind.
It happened one night. Sirius had transformed due to an inspection. He had overheard the other inmates cackling about the visitors. Afraid of getting caught and earning further punishment, he transformed early.
The prisoner felt the cold shift in the air and guarded himself with the bit of occlumency he had learned in order to keep his mother out of his mind.
He stacked those most precious memories to him in tiny coffins, covering them with the dirt and grime of Grimmauld Place in hopes that the ghoulish gods that ran Azkaban would see nothing of value and pass over him.
He felt his heart race as a dementor came closer to him, gliding on frozen air it had created nearly by existing, and settled down, hunching over Sirius.
An unnaturally long bony finger curled under his chin, lifting it up toward the covered stars, and while the faceless villain searched cold gray eyes for a kernel of light, Sirius did his best to keep an empty mind.
Sirius hurriedly began to cover each square inch of light with black boxes, filling the white spaces of light and fondness with dark decay.
Think empty thoughts.
Fill in the white spaces.
Fill in the blanks.
Fill in the—
Fill in—
“Come now, mon espoir, you can do it. Fill in the blank.” Orion encouraged, “Two across: What is a four-letter word for a tool made of hawthorn, elm, or oak?”
Little Sirius curled around the arm of the emerald velvet chair, looking at the book with a scrunched button nose and two drawn brows.
He had a word in mind and counted each letter on his fingers as he spelled it out, “W-A-N-D. Wand?”
Sirius pulled back to look up at his father, who smiled brightly and said, “Well, let’s see.”
Orion took the pencil in hand and slowly began to fill in the white blank spaces with the letters his son had recited, “W-A-N-D. What do you know? It fits perfectly. Well done, chèri.”
Sirius beamed in the face of his father’s praise. A smile stretched out wide, revealing little gaps from lost teeth waiting to grow in.
Eager to earn another helping of admiration, Sirius took the book in hand and held it out for both of them to read.
“What’s the next one, papa?”
“The next one is a five-letter word for a mode of transport,” Orion read as he curled his long fingers around Sirius’ shoulder, pulling him in a bit closer and he could feel his father’s warmth radiating against him,
“T-R-A-I-N. Train!” Sirius beamed with pride at having gotten his second clue so quickly. He looked up to see his father frown in thought as his eyes poured over the blank spaces and found one already filled. Orion’s hand lifted to his face as he stroked his bushy, black mustache between his index finger and his thumb.
“Hmmm, I don’t think that will work, Sirius.” Orion said, lowering his hand and pointing to the letter “O,” already occupying a space. “We already established three across was ‘cauldron,’ yes?”
Sirius looked from his father’s quizzical face to the puzzle before them. He counted the boxes and found that the answer to the riddle of three across was indeed ‘Cauldron’ and looked back up at his father’s sharp features to find a rose-colored teasing smile. “And since ‘train’ doesn’t have an ‘o’, that can’t be the answer, right?”
When the boy didn’t answer, Orion snuck a hand across his ribs and curled them lightly, tickling Sirius and forcing him to reflect the smile—flashing the little black boxes between his pearly, white teeth as he responded with a giggle, “Right!”
“Now, what is another mode of transportation that might have an ‘o’ in the word?” Orion asked as the boy settled down from the light tickles.
Sirius’ little lips pouted as he ran through a list of possible transports and finally settled on—"A broom?”
“Hmmm. Be a lad and spell it out for me.” Orion encouraged as he filled the boxes with each letter Sirius uttered.
When his father was done, the young boy looked back at the puzzle, saw it perfectly placed, and cheered, “It fits!”
Orion’s chuckle bounced off the walls and filled Sirius’ ears with delight as he placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, leaned in, pierced him with adoring eyes, and whispered, “It fits.”
“What’s next, papa? What’s the next blank—”
Blank.
Blank.
The blank.
In the blank.
Fill in the blank.
Fill in the blank.
Sirius watched as the memory played out in vivid technicolor before his eyes, forgotten lore in a sea of disappointed stares and harsh words. The caret lost all weight on his heart as the dementor before him extended a ghastly large hand and wrapped its fingers around Sirius’ throat before it placed a gentle peck on his lips, freezing them in place and sucking out the rock that shone so brightly in the night.
Sirius watched helplessly as the memory was plucked from the dirt covering the coffins of the memories he treasured most—wishing he had remembered the tender moment with his father and kept it safe from the demon’s clutches.
The edges of the scene grew dark and empty as each star of his father’s brightly shining constellation was ripped from his mind until all that remained were loving eyes and a wide smile.
Hot streams of tears fell from dead eyes and froze against his raw cheeks in the wake of the vampiric force before him. Sirius couldn't remember why he was crying, but he knew something had been taken from him. Something precious. And as the dementor slinked away, satisfied with its meal, Sirius fought desperately to fill in the blanks .