C H A P T E R 48
In the dim dawning light in a particularly dark cell was Sirius Black, doing his daily count of the stones on the floor from his resting place in the corner to the magical iron gate, blocking him from freedom.
Mind, it wasn't the only thing in the way. Just outside stood the most fearsome creatures that had ever walked the earth, wheezing the rattling breath of the devil. Shuddering slightly, the diminished prisoner recounted the stones.
Was it just him, or was there an extra one? Probably just him, Sirius conceded darkly to himself.
He bit hard into his already ruined nails and looked up at the dingy lightless ceiling. Grey morning light was seeping in, casting shadows of the bars across the floor in ominous height, announcing the start of another day.
But what is day?
In there it seemed the meaning was more crying out from his dubious neighbours, more rattling breath of the demons to jar him into the nightmare. The nightmare which reminded him every day that he was innocent and that Wormtail was out there somewhere.
He could also hear the waves outside bounding relentlessly onto sand, blowing in gusts of terrifying speeds which beat against the walls, slid in via cracks and roared across the rooftop. The cry of a raven soared over this great sea, its croaky, hoarse voice foreboding.
The cold crept over him slightly as another one of the hooded horrors tread quietly down the hall outside. Sirius, more than ever, desperately wanted his wand and good solid meal. Like an animal, he crept over to the other wall and began rubbing his nails over the stone, shivering from the scratching sound.
In a cell down further, someone screamed. Before he knew it, he was a dog, with mere thoughts, surveying the cell from far down on the floor.
It was that time of the year when Cornelius Fudge would be bombarded with letters addressed to him requiring his presence in his annual Azkaban check up. It really wasn't worth it. The dementors just gave him the creeps and all the prisoners were total psychos. Cornelius flicked through the Daily Prophet once more before slipping his arms into his suit and picking out his most unflattering hat and shoved it jauntily upon his head. Taking a deep breath, he took a handful of floo powder from a pot on his desk, stepped into the fireplace and threw the powder whilst saying "Azkaban," and vanished.
Cornelius stepped out of the fireplace at the other end and brushed the soot from his clothes.
"Ah, Minister, at last! I thought you weren't coming for a second," said the familiar voice of one of the guards cheerfully. Cornelius distinctly remembered him from his previous visit as William. He always did seem too young and cheerful to be working in such a horrible environment. The man looked to be in his early to mid twenties. Will was a cheerful man who wasn't that tall, but certainly taller than Fudge. He had straw coloured hair and dark blue eyes and wore baggy clothes which hung limply off his shoulders.
"I did say I would come, so shall we get this over with?" Cornelius demanded. Will grinned widely, revealing a row of yellow teeth. Fudge tried to swallow down the bile. He followed Will up a flight of stairs to the first row of cells.
"As you may remember, this cell is empty at the moment due to us realising that Stan Shunpike was under the imperious curse... poor kid," Fudge nodded mutely, remembering how damaged the man had been when he had been freed of all charges. But he hadn't gone insane like most of the others had; it was probably with the knowledge that he was innocent when he had been caught.
"And here," Will continued, opening a cell, "is Dolohov," the man inside the cells positively glared unblinking at the minister before baring all his teeth and making the sound of a rabid dog, before flinging himself across the door towards Cornelius and Will but was stopped by the chain which still wrapped around his wrist. He hissed in anger as Cornelius and Will backed out of the cell.
"He doesn't seem to be coping too well," Fudge muttered, still staring at the closed cell door. Will nodded in agreement
"I suppose none of them do, but they deserve what they got, I reckon," Cornelius didn't reply to that. He had always thought that Azkaban was probably the worst thing you could do to a man. But then again, people only ended up in one of the cells if they had committed an unforgiveable curse or something similar to it.
Will led Cornelius around to each cell for inspection whilst commenting upon the prisoners and how the dementors had "corrupted their lively spirit," or how Will had put it. The prisoners were all completely insane and it seemed that they had lost all sense of sanity. The witch named Bellatrix was the worst. She had started screaming the second her cell had been opened and she thrashed against the chains binding her. It was horrific.
Will then pushed the door shut and climbed the last of the stairs with Cornelius wordlessly following.
"This is the last cell in here and the most secure," he informed the minister, "but Sirius Black doesn't seem too bothered by the dementors that much," his voice had dropped to barely a whisper. "I don't want to go nowhere near that monster, so I'll leave you to it, Minister. I'll be at the end of the stairs," Will then scuttled off, retreating into the shadows.
Fudge stared at his retreating figure. Will had managed to keep an emotionless visage when looking into the eyes of the other deranged prisoners. What was so different about this one? The minister had thought that the man had nerves of steel, but if he couldn't even open the door... Fudge didn't even want to think about what was waiting for him on the other side.
Hands shaking, he reached up and shoved the key into the lock and turned until he heard a small click. He then pushed the door open and peered inside. A man was sitting against one of the walls, his tatty clothes draped across his bony figure. Cornelius stepped inside and shuffled nearer to the prisoner. Sirius Black then turned his head to look at Fudge.
Fudge gasped slightly. The man's skin was stretched so tightly across his face it looked painful, purple circles visible under his eyes. His skin was sickly pale and his lips were drained of colour, but his eyes were alive. They had a light, a gleam which Fudge had not seen in the other prisoners. Black took in the minister's appearance critically and his eyes fixed upon the Daily Prophet.
"Is that recent?" the man rasped. He voice was rough and scratchy, but calm nevertheless. Fudge nodded, slightly surprised that the man was not at the point of insanity like the others had been. It seemed that he was stronger than them... or just completely emotionless. Either way it was keeping him sane.
"Can I read it?" Fudge was yet again shocked at how at ease Black seemed to be, "I get bored doing nothing at times. And I miss doing the crosswords," he added as if it had been an afterthought.
"Of course," Fudge muttered, passing the paper over. Black raised a skinny arm and his fingers closed tightly around the paper. His finger nails were yellow and the bones all stuck out. His eyes then quickly flicked across the title. There was a short silence before Black realized that the minister was still in the room.
"You're Cornelius Fudge, minister of magic," said Black tonelessly, glancing at a picture of him on the front cover, "why are you here?" he demanded
"I come and visit every year," he replied.
Black frowned.
"Is it that time already?" he asked. Fudge felt a twinge of pity for the man, but then reminded himself that he had killed half a dozen muggles and his former best friend
"I'm afraid so," Fudge replied.
"Another year had already passed," he murmured, half to himself, "And you still haven't learned that those hats you wear just make you look even more ridiculous than you already are," Fudge snorted at the double insult
"You're hardly one to talk," he replied. Black smirked at the minister
"I don't wear hats... and if I wasn't here, then I'd be wearing decent clothes," Fudge glared.
"Well that's your own fault you're here, Mr. Black," he retorted. Sirius looked down and Fudge was surprised to see sadness in the man's face and also another emotion. Was it... regret?! That couldn't be right; no one simply regrets killing people if they were murderers.
"You didn't give me a fair trial," Black accused, anger evident in his voice. Fudge was about to argue but Black held up a hand to stop him, "I never betrayed Lily and James and I am no death eater, but I suppose it is my fault that they're dead," he looked away again. Was it just Fudge or did it seem as though Black was about the cry?
"Say you didn't betray them... which you obviously did... but say you didn't, how did you-know-who... find them? You were their secret keeper," Fudge demanded. He was honestly interested in what lie Black had managed to cook up in the years he had been cooped up in cell with no one apart from the dementors for company.
"As if you would believe me if I told you the truth," Black muttered darkly dragging his knees into chest, taking up barely any room. "You can go now," his voice was barely more than a whisper. Fudge began to shuffle back towards the door again but was stopped by Black speaking again
"I know you think that I'm a merciless killer, but I am innocent. That is a promise,"
• • • • •
It had only taken Sirius a couple of minutes to complete the crossword using a sleek black quill which he had pick-pocketed from Fudge when being given the Daily Prophet. According to the paper, it was August the 1st 1993.
It had taken so much effort to be able to acquire the pen. Too much effort. The dementors had been draining him of his energy for too long and it was starting to become too much. Anger, fear and depressions clamped around Sirius's heart as he closed his eyes and once again heard his mother's shouting
Sirius remembered that that had been the last time he had seen his mother. He didn't even know if she was still alive, but nor did he really care. A sudden thought suddenly crossed his mind, if it really was 1993, then his godson would have already started attending Hogwarts. In fact, if he was correct, it would be Harry's third year. Sirius wondered what Harry was like. He knew that he had Lily's eyes and the messy trademark Potter hair, but he hadn't seen the boy since he was one.
Did he look much like James? Did he look more like his mother? Which parent did he take after? Sirius figured that he would probably be an equal split of the two.
He may even play Quidditch like his father had! Sirius smiled at the thought of a mini Prongs roaming around the castle at night and playing Quidditch to impress the girls. Just like James.
Or maybe he was more like Lily, top in every class and had read every book in the library. He may even have a girlfriend by this age or a girl which he particularly liked. Sirius remembered that James had been in love with Lily ever since he first saw her.
He then thought about Samantha. She would be going into her Fifth year.
Sirius smirked. Ha. She's got OWLs this year. He wondered if she kept her father's knack for trouble and her mother's fiery temper. Sirius started to think about all of the times Samantha would get mad and then he would turn into a dog and she would laugh.
He missed those times. A lot.
Sirius opened his eyes, transforming into a dog again. His emotions were less scattered when he transformed; his emotions were pretty much the same but the flees...
However, when he was in this form, the dementors didn't seem to have too much of an effect upon him. He considered himself lucky, but he still longed for the freedom he deserved, the freedom which he would never have. He was too weak. It was too hard to contain a happy memory within the cells of Azkaban.
But over time, Sirius had come to realise that when everything had become too much to bear, he could simply transform and remember all the good times with his fellow marauders. It was times like these when he brought himself back to times like when he would recall playing tag with werewolf or sitting down in the boy's common room to plot another prank or indeed the excitement they had felt when they had finished making the Marauders Map.
He briefly wondered where the map was now. It had been many years since Remus had suggested that they leave the map behind so that the next generation of marauders could sneak around the castle at night or to sneak into Hogsmeade when they ran out of sweets and butterbeer.
Just then, a sudden coldness penetrated the air, freezing his insides. Sirius didn't even have to open his eyes to know that when the door clicked open, a dementor would be hovering at the entrance delivering food.
Sirius could once again hear his mother screaming and saw the Potter's house torn apart. His breaths came rapidly and his chest ached with the energy it took for the rising and falling and the contracting muscles. Sirius forced one bleary eye to open and a dark eye rolled blindly around its socket before the colours came into focus and his gaze fell upon the dementors and tray of food it had left.
The dementors seemed to be watching him as if waiting for his approval. But that wasn't possible, dementors couldn't see and they most certainly didn't care of a convicted murderer ate his dinner. But the creature didn't move, still standing there in front of the food. Maybe it could probably feel how weak Sirius had become and wanted to help. Maybe it had felt how weak Sirius had become and decided to hang around to make him even weaker.
Black spots were appearing across his line of vision and his breathing became slower. This was probably what it felt like to die. If his life wasn't going to get any better than this then there was no point of clinging to life. He welcomed death, hoping it would take him away.
But his insides were still frozen, meaning that he was probably still alive. That bloody dementor was probably still standing there too. Sirius forced to vision to clear and was saw that the dementor was indeed still there. What was it doing?
The dementor could feel a range of emotion from across the room, but the emotions were wrong. Most of the other prisoners were sad and angry and generally losing their minds, but this one felt relived and comforted. The emotions were also less like that of a human and more of an animal meaning that he had also lost his mind... but there was something else. The prisoner seemed almost at peace with himself. And then the dementors understood... he had accepted that he would die here.
Despite the fact that the dementors were under the complete control of the ministry, they were intelligent creatures and understood more about humans than humans did about them. They had long since realised that the man in the highest security vault was innocent and had not committed the crime of which he had been imprisoned for.
It had taken time, but they had also found the one responsible for his imprisonment but were unable to do anything about it sue to the man's location. The dementor suddenly felt another pull of emotion. Confusion. The human prisoner had probably realised that the dementor was still there. He was wondering what the dementor was doing.
Sirius watched as the dementor then reached one slimy rotting hand towards the small bowl of food and glided towards where Sirius lay. It was too cold and he was sure that this was a hallucination. Sirius was positive that it was a dream. He was having a dream that a dementor was helping him because he was on the verge of death.
The dementor set the plate down next to where he assumed the prisoners head was swept quietly out the room, locking the door behind him.
The coldness seemed to warm slightly, as if the world was returning to him. Sirius could barely raise his head, let alone walk to the other end of the room to get the plate of food. His nose twitched slightly. Being a dog did sometimes have its advantages. Sirius forced his eyes open a crack and an audible gasp escaped his lips.
The bowl of food was right in front of him! He didn't need to have the energy to stand anymore! Did the dementor really do that for him? If it had done then he was truly grateful, but he had no way of telling. Dementors didn't help starving prisoners.
But Sirius had more important things to worry about. Food being the first thing on the list.
• • • • •
It had been several long hours since Sirius had finished his dinner. The food in Azkaban was actually horrible; it was a lump of grey stuff with bits in and had an odd smell. Sirius personally thought it was probably the dementor's waste product. But although the food had been completely disgusting, Sirius had learned to accept it because it was the only thing here given to him and he much rather ate the mush rather than dying of starvation.
And it also gave him enough strength to survive. The food didn't contain much energy – Sirius had realised this when he had used up all his energy on his first day trying to punch a dementor to prove his innocence. This obviously hadn't worked and it had unfortunately drained Sirius of nearly every ounce of energy he had.
Sirius was flicking through the news paper article again, staring at the words and pictures as if trying to decipher anything out of the unusual. Of course, Sirius knew that it would be pointless – it wasn't Fudge's style to leave riddles or clues for a pointless mad goose chase. But still, there had to be something. Harry Potter hadn't been mentioned once throughout the whole article. Knowing that the boy was the son of James Potter, Sirius wasn't too sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
Sirius was just about to scan the next page again, but something caught his eye. A large picture which had taken up over a quarter of a page had stood out among the rest of the newspaper. There was something wrong with the image, Sirius was sure of it. It had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Sirius had recognised Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley almost immediately. Their happy faces smiled at him and they waved furiously alongside seven other people, all male apart from the youngest, but it was evident that they were all related. Sirius then remembered that the Weasley family had produced countless children and Molly had been two months pregnant when Sirius had seen her last.
Molly had said that the doctors thought it was a girl. The same girl in the photograph. Bill Weasley looked quite grown. Sirius moved his gaze towards the second oldest brother; Charlie also had a mad smile and looked overly joyful. Sirius briefly wondered what he was doing now, since had had left Hogwarts quite some time ago.
His gaze then fell upon two identical twins grinning mischievously at the camera as if they were planning something. Sirius knew that they had always been inseparable when they were younger and caused havoc wherever they went. It seemed as though they had kept this trait throughout the years.
The boy next to them looked smarter, his smile not as wide as the others. He looked more formal and posh and out of place next to the twins. Sirius distinctly registered a "head boy" badge before snorting and turning to look at Arthur Weasley.
He had indeed aged since the last time they had met. His lines were more pronounced but he still wore a friendly smile and his eyes sparkled happily. Next to him stood his wife, Molly. She too had aged but her face hadn't changed one bit – it was exactly how Sirius had remembered. Her arm was wrapped around a younger girls shoulders, presumably the daughter that molly had been pregnant with. Sirius studied her face carefully – the girl (Sirius didn't know her name) was still quite young but had her father's eyes and body structure. Even through the black and white print, Sirius guessed that she too had flaming red hair.
He then looked at the last boy in the photo. It was Ron Weasley. The boy had changed the most. He had only been a couple of months old when Sirius had seen him and the boy hadn't seemed to like him that much. Sirius vividly remembered when he had asked to hold the boy and he had vomited all over his coat. Sirius wrinkled his nose at the memory.
But then, he found it. Sirius found the mistake he had seen in the corner of his eye. On the boys shoulder was a rat. Sirius stared dumbfounded at the animal, his attention focussed upon the front paw which had a toe missing. Peter had cut off his finger before he had blown apart half the street. The number of times Sirius had seen Peter transform was ridiculous and he would recognise that rat anywhere. It was definitely him.
The caption then informed him that Arthur's children (including Ron) would be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the start of September. Fear coursed through him.
Harry was no longer safe.
If that rat were attend school with Ron, and then Pettigrew would be stationed right next to Harry and would be able to deliver him to Voldemort if any information of his return reached his ears.
It was like a puzzle waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. As soon as the first piece fell, it would work like clockwork in chronological order.
And then a thought suddenly struck Sirius – Ron was in the same year as Harry and the chances that they were in the same house were pretty high. This meant that they probably even shared a dorm. It was completely irrelevant whether the boys were friends or not because either way, there was a Death-Eater held within the walls of the castle ready to act.
Harry had to get out of there. How much did he know about his parents? Did he know that his father along with two others became illegal animagi when they discovered that their best friend was a werewolf? Dumbledore hadn't known about any of this so he couldn't have told. Sirius knew that Harry had gone to live with Lily's sister and her husband.
They were both muggles and hated magic so they probably hadn't told him much either. If you put two and two together then you would realise that Harry didn't know much about his parents or Peter which left him in more danger than he could possibly understand.
As for Samantha, Sirius paused. He actually didn't quite know where she was staying. No doubt she's probably in Gryffindor too and right within the rat's grasp.
Sirius's lack of knowledge about life outside the cells was driving him mad. Pettigrew's existence outside of the cells was making his madness an obsession. One repetitive thought coursed through him as if his life depended upon it. A thought that that could endanger innocent lives. A thought that that was being hammered through his head with every beat of his heart.
He was at Hogwarts.
• • • • •
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