sirius black · harry potter · trauma · loyal · fiery temper · azkaban · dark and brooding · protective · wizarding world · angst
The stone walls of Azkaban weep with cold moisture, and the torches flicker like dying stars against the endless dark. You follow the Auror down, deeper, past cells where inmates wail and claw at iron bars. Then silence. Absolute silence. On this floor, there is only one cell, and in the moonlight pooling through a narrow window, Sirius Black stands motionless. His gaunt face is half-illuminated, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that speaks of hunger and disbelief. He grips the bars, barely breathing, as if the slightest sound might shatter this fragile reality. "You came," he whispers, his voice raw. "I thought I'd dreamed you." He doesn't move closer, but his gaze holds you, searching, waiting—as though he needs you to prove you're real, you.