"I see," said Sirius calmly. "Minister, you cannot be serious about this. How am I to entertain my godson and his friends with a home full of convicted murderers? It would be very taxing on my time, not to mention dangerous. Is it even legal to do this?"

"You will be compensated greatly," Fudge insisted.

Sirius, who was sitting at his kitchen counter with a cocktail in his hand, quirked an eyebrow. "What with my inheritance and that wonderfully generous settlement afforded to me by the ministry for my wrongful incarceration, I truly have all the money I could ever want, Minister."

Fudge leaned awkwardly on Sirius's kitchen counter, trying and failing to look like he was at ease in the latter's impressive home.

"Y—yes, well…perhaps something other than money could be arranged, Mr. Black."

"Oh do go ahead and call me Sirius," Sirius insisted. "There's not really any need to be so formal. I mean, all the manhunts and wanted posters…the libel and slander in the papers and on the radio, Minister, I feel like we're practically close friends."

Fudge bit his lip. "Listen, er…Sirius, I assure you that if we had any other options…"

Sirius plucked the straw from his glass and examined it idly. "Oh, surely they could all just be killed?"

"NO!" Fudge shouted, surprising even himself. "The public would never allow it! The revelation of your innocence came about while you were out of the country, so you didn't see the reactions. Sirius, there was such an outcry. Howlers everywhere, a full investigation of the prison and its staff, nearly all the wizengamot members were put under investigation. I myself was dragged before the reformed wizengamot, and I wasn't even elected until seven years after your incarceration!"

Sirius snorted. "So everyone grows a conscious fourteen years too late for it to do me any good."

"So as you can see, the ministry can't very well allow anything...cruel to befall these criminals. At least, not publicly."

Sirius leaned forward and fixed Fudge with a steely stare. The minister looked profusely uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"I said I don't want my house overrun with Death Eaters," Sirius said very clearly. "And I don't. Your money's no good to me. Send them elsewhere."

"But we already have!" Fudge insisted. "They must be kept in a secure place and there are so few truly secured homes with willing homeowners. We've already stuffed as many as we can elsewhere, but we still desperately need your cooperation, Sirius."

"I must say you're not likely to get it," Sirius admitted. "As I said. You have nothing I want. Why should I forfeit what remains of my life to help the ministry?"

"Sirius, be reasonable. It wouldn't be that involving. They just need to be kept locked up somewhere…"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "And someone has to feed them, keep them under control, make sure they haven't died. And I reiterate, Molly Weasley would never let Harry and his friends come over again."

"Sirius," Fudge begged. "You could go to the Weasleys' when you want to see Harry, couldn't you?"

"You still haven't offered me any reason to do this."

"Well," Fudge wheedled. "You could, I mean…"

"Yes?" Sirius prompted.

"Well what I mean is, they'd be exclusively under your control. They'd be all yours."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you saying?"

Fudge gave him a desperate look. "What I'm saying, Sirius, is that these are people in for life. They'll never be let out, so they'll never talk."

Sirius's eyes widened in mild surprise. Then he snorted into his hand. "And here I thought you said the general populace would no longer tolerate the abuse of prisoners."

"I said they would riot at the idea of an execution. What they don't see or know certainly won't, ah, harm them," Fudge said quietly.

"I do hope you understand how badly you've just insulted me, Minister," Sirius said.

Fudge sighed. "Please don't take offense, Sirius, it was just an offer."

"You don't think offering me a group of young, male prisoners to rape is maybe slightly slanderous?"

Fudge held up his hands. "I never said that, specifically," he said. "Some people find it cathartic to take out their anger on those who can't fight back."

"I'm not actually a violent person, Minister," Sirius quipped. "Remember?"

Fudge sighed. "Sirius we're desperate."

"I seem to remember some of those cells being pretty roomy, can't you just double some of them up? Force a little camaraderie on those fuckers?"

"We've already tripled all of them! The prison is at three times capacity as we speak. Sirius, I'm begging you, on behalf of all the ministry. We just need you to house three prisoners for us. As soon as there's room elsewhere, we'll have them moved, I swear," Fudge said, twisting his bowler cap nervously in his hands.

"Again," Sirius smirked and raised his drink back to his lips. "You've got nothing I want."

Fudge ran a hand down his tired face. "Sirius," he muttered.

"Find someone else."

"Well," Fudge conceded. "If you really don't want anything to do with it, then I guess that's that." He put his hat back on his pudgy head. "I'll be out of your hair, then."

"Hey, Minister," Sirius called lightly. Fudge stopped and turned around.

"Yes?"

"Who were you gonna' stick in my basement anyway? Which unlucky bastards got caught too late for an Azkaban suite?"

The minister's lips stretched into a thin smile.

"Well," he said slowly. "The youngest Lestrange brother, Crouch's son—"

"Winners," Sirius whistled. "What a joy that would have been—"

"—and one Regulus Arcturus Black."

"What?" Sirius leapt to his feet.

Fudge smirked. "I understand your position, though. Completely understandable…" and he turned to leave again.

Sirius stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Why, Sirius, I—"

"Cornelius, I've changed my mind."