Dead. And at that angle? Alive.

Tethering the edge

'Wotcher Harry!' Someone enthusiastically shouted from his cell door. 'You got visitors!'

Harry blinked, and tried to shake the heavy haze that seemed to have comfortably slipped under his skin. Before he had much chance of doing so, he was engulfed under a crushing hug and a mass of bushy hairs.

'Oh Harry! How are you holding up? Oh Harry I can't believe they dared to do that ! That they would... How could they...'

'Hermione, let him breath.' Ron's voice filtered from behind.

Hermione gave him a shaky smile, and withdrew a little to sit beside him, keeping one of his hands in hers in a comforting gesture. Ron was looking at him with this slight awkward, solemn face that he pulled when he was sick worried.

'How are you doing mate?' He asked.

To see Ron, to see Hermione... Harry felt a hard knot of warmth hatch in his chest and tentatively reach out to chase the cold. He gave a shaky breath, and he felt Hemione gently squeeze his hand.

'Honestly?' He answered with a hard chuckle, 'Terrible. I feel like shit and it's not even been that long.' He pinched his eyes closed trying to rein in the crushing despair brought by this thought.

It had hardly been a couple weeks since his trial, and he already felt like a hollow husk most of the time. At first there had been a burning fire, a rage against the injustice of it all. Against his sentence, against being accused of killing Cedric. He was branded a murdered, called a liar, when Voldemort, was able to roam free. The cowardice of it all made him sick. Then, slowly, the everyday life of his imprisonment had worn him down, every passing second like a drop of water on the furnace of his rage. In less than a week he'd already felt like the cold wetness of the prison had sunk in his bones, rotting him from the inside.

More than the bodies, Azkaban had a way to keep the minds of its inmates chained.

'I don't know how Padfoot has managed,' he added with a bitter smile.

'Well, it's a dog's life,' Ron tried tentatively, before his face fell. 'I am sorry, that was lame.'

'Ronald!' Hemione snapped, her face displaying her disbelieving shock.

An uncanny fit of laughter wormed himself out of Harry's chest at the scene, with Ron's terrible attempt at humour, his embarrassed face, and Hermione shocked reaction. It was too much for Harry to handle, with how much he had missed his two best friends. It seemed to lighten the atmosphere, Ron's whole gangly frame seemed to sag in relief and a slight smile tugged the corner of Hermione's lips. It was good to have them back. He almost felt... like he was getting a piece of himself back again.

'We can't give you the details,' Hermione said in a hurried whisper, 'we really can't so please don't ask, but we've seen him. Padfoot.'

'Really?' Harry answered, his attention perking up.

'He's doing fine, comparatively to the last time you two've seen each other. He's gone bonkers at the idea you have been stuck here of course.' Ron added. Then, under Hermione weary gaze he continued, picking his words carefully so as not to let sensitive information slip. 'Active measures have been taken so that he doesn't get himself in anything bad, but he is very... concerned.' Ron finished lamely. 'Thought you would like to know.'

Of course. If someone were not holding him back, Harry was sure Sirius would have rushed with the singled-out idea to tear apart every single stone of the rotten place to take his godson back. He trusted him to have this kind of feeling, and he felt better to know that out there, they were people that were believing him. Even if said people were ex-convinced and infamous Azkaban escapee. A man got to know when to take what he is handled.