For once different voices floated down the corridor towards him, the chatter of the visitors’ inane conversation muffled by the cries of the prisoners in cells on either side of Sirius.
Suddenly the party came into view, an odd assortment of Ministry officials and Aurors who were accompanying the Minister both for his protection and to monitor the prisoners, above all those in solitary confinement, many of whom were known to be Death Eaters in the previous Wizarding War. They bustled along, making perfunctory stops at each cell as one of the only wizards to work in Azkaban reminded them of who was inside it; as he did so, its occupant bared their teeth at the people, laughed or just sat there, rocking back and forth, their faces gaunt and skeletal; having been robbed of all their former looks half of the prisoners were barely recognisable and Sirius was sure he looked just as bad.
Finally the group reached his cell and the guard’s patronus warded the Dementors away from them for a moment. “This is Sirius Black,” the guard began. “Of course, he’s kept in solitary confinement and has Dementors guarding his door every hour of the day.”
“Yes I am; we’re almost best friends now,” Sirius said as he walked over to them, relishing in the looks of shock which crossed their faces; Fudge brandished his copy of the Daily Prophet in an attempt to keep Sirius away, as if the newspaper provided more protection than the bars which separated them.
Curiosity blossomed inside Sirius as he saw the rat on the front cover and he frowned. “Could I have your newspaper?” he asked Fudge, startling him and making the portly man jump in the air, his bowler hat almost falling off.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, paling considerably. “Black! Sirius Black! You- you want my newspaper?”
“Yes. There’s an awful lot of entertainment here,” he said sarcastically, “but I do rather miss the crosswords. I was always rather good at them; I find them very satisfying.”
“Yes… yes of course. Here you go,” Fudge replied, slipping the newspaper through the bars. “I’m afraid I don’t have a pencil on me.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Sirius said, staring at the picture of the large family on the cover, the pyramids visible in the background. “Thank you,” he added as an afterthought before Fudge and the group walked away hurriedly, their footsteps fading as they were swallowed up by the laughs and shout of the other inmates.
A burst of anger erupted inside him as he saw that he was correct; the rat which sat on the shoulder of a boy who looked to be about Harry’s age was missing a toe. “Oh clever, very clever Wormtail,” he muttered under his breath. “We should have given you more credit than we did when we were at school.” Sirius skimmed through the article thoroughly, wondering why Wormtail would choose that particular family when he realised the reason. It was there, right in front of him and he hadn’t picked up on it. ‘Returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.’ It didn’t matter which family he was in, as long as they had children who went to Hogwarts, and suddenly Sirius understood how much danger his godson was in.
It had never been more imperative that Sirius escaped Azkaban.
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