His stag Patronus cantered to a halt in the corridor of the fortress. They had just finished ridding Azkaban of Dementors. Harry felt drained and tired - casting a Patronus here cost him. He could not get images of Sirius out of his mind - Sirius led down to this very corridor, Sirius being taken on a boat to this isolated fortress, Sirius feeling the chill of Dementors as he first entered. .
Harry stopped where his Patronus had - looking at the dingy cell. “Is this where-?” Harry began. Kingsley nodded curtly. “Yes, that’s his cell”.
“Mate, I am not sure you should”- Ron started, looking worried as Harry pushed the bars open and went inside. Ron grimaced and followed his best friend inside.
There it was, a wall of full of sketches. Of corridors and passageways and towers. Of words “Messrs Moony Wormtail Padfoot and Prongs…”. Of Hogwarts. Harry stared. His stag flickered.
“You can imagine how terrifying this was for the guards when he escaped. Map of Hogwarts drawn on the wall.” Kingsley said, with a small smile. As if he was trying to find humor in this. “Quite like Black to raise hell wherever he goes”.
Harry grinned. However, it was fleeting. He stepped forward to trace the sketches. Ron exchanged looks with Kingsley. “Mate - we should finish up our work here, let’s move-”.
“No,” Harry said quietly, his fingers were trembling at the corner of the cell. His stag flickered and died, leaving them all without light except from a small window to the sea. “Lumos,” Ron muttered, and with the light, he joined Harry at the corner. And at the corner, he saw a tiny scrawl that his best friend was fixated with: Don’t forget Harry. Remember Harry.
Harry was trembling. He felt like he was back at his parents grave, unable to control his overwhelming grief. Of wasted life of his godfather, sitting up here fighting to be sane, to remember everything. He pressed his lips together - he was on official duty. He can’t afford to lose control now. He had told he would fine doing this - to Ron, to Hermione, to Ginny, to Mrs Weasley, to Mr Weasley…
Ron had gripped his shoulder and made to steer him away when Harry said: “No. Let me stay. There was no body, no funeral for him…we could do nothing when he was gone.” And Ron understood what Harry left unsaid: This is like being at his grave.
And Harry let his tears fall. Fall at the injustice of it all, an innocent man wasting away at the fortress by the sea and injustice of a man who loved him kept away from him, the man who left him too soon…Ron was gripping his shoulder tight and waited until Harry took great shuddering breaths to calm down.
“Are you ready to leave?” Ron asked quietly. Harry stood up, away from that tiny scrawl. “No, I probably never will be. But I have to at some point, don’t I?”
Ron nodded. Kingsley was watching them from the bars. “How do you feel about keeping the cell as is, as a reminder of the transgressions that Ministry had committed before? As a tribute to him?” He asked.
Harry didnt look at him as hurried out of the cell. “No offense Minister, but I think he would probably ask us to fuck off if we wanted to keep his cell as a tribute…”
Ron, however, muttered to Kingsley as they followed Harry. “Just keep it as is. I don’t think Harry wants any of what’s on those walls erased. ”
Kingsley nodded and they both cast their Patronuses - a lynx and a terrier- to join Harry’s stag down the dark corridor.
