...you want the truth? I'll give you the truth. But that doesn't mean you're going to believe it. I don't even know why I'm in here. I don't know what I'm doing, when I'm doing it, or even why I'm doing it...You could ask the others and they'd tell you, they'd tell you they hate me, not because I was closer to their "Lord", but because I'm not one of them. You just go ask them. There, you've gotten the truth, but does it really matter? Does it make any difference what I say? No.

Disclaimer:Nothing is mine, happy?No, but Azkaban, Sirius, and Cornelius Fudge all belong to the brilliant J.K Rowling. Only the plot and Reladanto are mine.

Convicted

Wind whistled through two tall pillars of black stone, cavorting through the narrow pathway left between. The stone, once a deep obsidian, had become much lighter; nearly white due to the constant spray of the salt and sea. The ocean lapped peacefully against the island that rose so miraculously from the rolling sea, a dark place that never reflected the sun as the ocean did. This dark island had come to hold several of the world's most dangerous people--wizards who had done terrible things.

The island, however, was not surrounded by tall walls and barbed wire, as many others were, but stood alone with only the gates which stood between the two obsidian pillars. Several buildings remained on the island, yes, yet each stood with minimal fencing. There were other ways to keep prisoners from getting out. Jagged rocks rose up and met the water, the island dropping off into the water so very roughly. No sand, no beaches, just perilous, sharp rocks waiting for anyone who tried to run. This prison had stood still for so many years, silent except for the tortured screams within. This way it remained for many years, with very little interference. An occasional prisoner, perhaps, yet nothing like the excitement that stirred after that fateful event. It had been right near Halloween, in fact.

There was something different in the air that day, not the weather, but a presence, a feeling. The guards were even more alert than usual, and nothing fazed them. Something was going to happen, and just about everyone knew it. But at the moment Azkaban still stood, surrounded on every side, every edge, with the stormy gray waters and the sharp, edgy rocks. The screams of the prisoners could still be heard as one ventured forth, but every dementor was on alert, as if waiting for a signal or an arrival. Suddenly a boat could be seen heading towards the only flat part of the sea, a dock carved into the rock. The long awaited boat had finally arrived. The dementors snapped to attention. It had only been a matter of time before this prisoner was brought to them, and they were filled with the excitement and hunger of a new prisoner. And they knew how much of a challenge this man would be.

The covered boat screeched to a halt outside the tall, black, spiky gates, sending a fine spray of seawater over the already salty rocks and walls surrounding the prison. Jutted buildings could be seen towering in a lopsided manner above the gates, a stormy gray color blocking the rays of the early morning sun. A door banged open, and two dementors glided out, an excitement brewing about them like no other. A dark-faced, limp prisoner followed them out, chained tightly in many places. Then a few Ministry officials made their way out, and everyone knew what was coming next. The few sane prisoners leaned against the bars restricting them to catch a glimpse of this a man; a man whom many hated for putting them in Azkaban. Jeers and hisses could be heard from several of the muttering, hopeless prisoners, as several realized who it was. But no one that day realized that the true supporters of the Dark Lord were not jeering at the Minister, but at the prisoner that was being brought in.

The dank, gray walls of Azkaban riveted violently off the young Minister's lime green suit. Cornelius Fudge. Newly appointed, and sadly the last splash of color these prisoners would see for a long time. Everything soon turned some shade of gray while in Azkaban. Another man followed Fudge out, an older man. Many recognized him as the previous Minister of Magic, and the company made their way down a long hallway to hisses and long strings of mindless babble.

The prisoner was thrown roughly onto a hard chair in a room filled with the dim, bouncing light of many candles. He finally reacted, shifting himself so that the shadows covered most of his face. Several of the chains binding him rattled along with his short breath, and he laid his hands in his lap so that some of the rattling would cease. The Dementors hung by the door as several more gathered around him to watch the questioning. The man let out a long, breathless groan, but it was unheard by the two men, who had disappeared into a small room beyond this dark one.

The questioning often caused a slight uproar at Azkaban, but never like this. This man had been wanted for so many things; he had so many secrets that everyone hoped to know. Every prisoner, which happened to be quite a few weekly, was brought into this small, cramped room and questioned. But their answers never mattered, for once a detainee was brought this far, it was impossible to get out. Many said it was quite pointless, but the Minister seemed to enjoy tearing apart what was left of his prisoner's dignity.

A cruel fate, perhaps, being left to fall victim to insanity at such a dreary place, but in the wizarding world it was a common, if not gentle, punishment. For a new Lord was rising, a man that caused great fear, and his supporters had been hunted for years now. No one had ever escaped the dreadful prison, although many had tried, because of the Dementors. The horrible, black dementors sucked every bit of happiness for life, and caused the prisons' mass insanity. Lost in this dark trap with only your memories is a hard enough fate, but having every happy memory drained from your grasp could create a whole new experience, which is what the Ministry, who had created this horrible prison, had hoped for. Prisoners were thrown into this life of despair without a bright ending in sight.

A look of despair crossed the prisoner's face when the two men returned and closed the door tightly behind them.

"I hate this place, Reladanto, let's get this over with as quickly as possible." Cornelius muttered quietly as they approached the dementors.

Reladanto merely nodded, a stony look of neither happiness nor disappointment crossing his face.

"You have five minutes to explain yourself, Sirius Black."

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Siri-