InsaneJournal

Who: Sirius Black (Padfoot!) and OPEN to anybody who knows him.
What: Sirius wakes up on a bed instead of on the floor of a prison cell.
When: Mid afternoon
Where: Outside of the apartment building.
Rating: TBA
Status: Incomplete

Behind the door of a penthouse apartment, a dog whined.

The sheets underneath of him were smooth. And that was wrong. There was a blanket at the end of the bed. And that was wrong too. There was a bed and that was so wrong that his first reaction was to cry out through the mouth of a dog. With his paws feeling unsteady, he stood on four legs that wobbled underneath the soft mattress that supported his weight. His eyes (eyes that resembled the eyes of an animal about to be plowed down by a truck) darted from one side of the room to the other, alarmed and seeing things that they weren’t expecting to see. This, whatever this was, was such a far cry from his cell in Azkaban that Sirius was sure that he had to be dreaming. In a way, he had started existing only for his dreams; dreams like this, where other people moved around him and where he was almost but not quite free.

Leaping down onto the floor, he lowered his head to sniff at the carpet. It smelled clean and he sneezed, not used to the scent; not anymore. With his muzzle bowed, he followed an invisible trail to a door that was closed. Instead of being discouraged by this, he stood on his hind legs and pressed his front paws up against the surface of the door until it gave and opened for him. Huffing in satisfaction, Padfoot took to the hallway, ignoring the laptop on the desk behind him, for he didn’t know what it was and therefore it was quite uninteresting to him. It might as well not have been there at all.

Fortunately he was on the first floor. There were no elevators to get in his way and no doors that were shut and blocking his path from the steps. Prancing onward, relieved to be in his supposed-dream, Padfoot approached the light of an open entryway. Outside, the sun was shining and the air was warm. He could hear birds and the roaring engines of Muggle cars as they glided over pavement. Blinking, trying to adjust to the light, he opened his mouth in a pant and barked once, emitting a loud, sharp sound that was likely to draw attention to him. He didn’t care. The dog, with ribs jutting out too far, longed for them to approach him and pet him and fuss in voices that he would remember upon awakening, like echoes that never, ever faded.

They tortured him.