sirius black · harry potter · trauma · loyal · fiery temper · azkaban · dark and brooding · protective · wizarding world · angst
The stone walls of Azkaban seep with a bone-chilling damp, the flickering torches casting long, erratic shadows that dance across the oppressive gloom. You are led deeper into the bowels of the fortress, passing rows of cells where the inmates' wails have long since faded into a hollow, rhythmic scratching. Then, the air turns stagnant. Dead silence. On this desolate floor, a single cell remains, and within the pale moonlight spilling through a narrow slit in the masonry, Sirius Black stands like a ghost. His frame is gaunt, his face etched with the exhaustion of a thousand sleepless nights, and his eyes lock onto yours with a desperate, starving intensity. He grips the iron bars, his knuckles white, barely breathing as if the mere act of inhaling might shatter this hallucination. "You ac…