"Lumos!"

The old wand's tip flickered, then burst in a blinding light.

"There. Do you like it better than the candles on the chandelier?"

The dementor, repulsed by the fire but unbothered by the wand's brightness, laid down comfortably on the sofa. His hood fell back, and Sirius could see his pale, expressionless features. The soft skin across his eye sockets rose and fell in the rhythm of his breathing. Whenever he made a rattling sound, those membranes vibrated noticeably, while his chest didn't move.

"My home is your home," Sirius assured him, then picked up the Witch Weekly. He could feel Daire's gratitude even when he was looking the other way. "Do you want me to read it out loud?"

As Moony had said, the special issue predated the Daily Prophet article by an entire day. And it was an even more pleasing read.

Rita Skeeter covered Pettigrew's appearance in Hogsmeade, complete with interviews from the villagers and insider information from the aurors. Unlike the Prophet's side-article, this one was quite precise about Crouch sentencing the first accused wizard to Azkaban without as much as a hearing.

'We all remember the tragic revelation when the Lestranges were tried after they had tortured aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom to lasting insanity. After his own son was revealed to have also been involved, Barty Crouch Senior got cold feet, and sentenced the next suspect without a hearing.' That was Rita Skeeter's version of an obituary, written to the not-so-loving memory of the kissed (but, technically, still alive) Barty Crouch Senior.

Sirius read on. The article had wonderfully explicit details about what the Lestranges and Crouch Junior had done to the Longbottoms and what Black's trial could have been like, if Crouch Senior had the courage to hold it. But after 'the public exposure of his spoiled child's dirtiest secrets, Crouch wasn't in the right state of mind to admit that somebody else was innocent, when his own son had been guilty.'

That was an interesting perspective indeed.

On the next page, there was the account of the explosion he had been accused of, and the explanation of Peter's posthumus third-class Order of Merlin. While she got some details wrong (like, how could have little Peter said that half-page speech in that short time?) it was still more accurate than what the Ministry was willing to admit. Rita Skeeter, of course, wasn't aware of Pettigrew being an animagus, so she assumed that the wizard had apparated from the scene, with only a finger getting caught in the explosion. The journalist also asked a pyromagician, who claimed that if someone lost a finger in a blast, that usually indicated a clumsy caster, and even the investigating aurors had admitted that Pettigrew was much less talented a wizard than his supposed murderer.

At this point, Sirius decided Rita Skeeter was his favourite writer.

The rest of the article was pretty much what Lupin had already summed up for him: the Ministry was still trying to keep up the image of doing their work properly, while an innocent man was sitting in Azkaban for eleven years, ten months and twenty-eight days. There was no mention of the obliviators, but Skeeter hinted at an oncoming interview with someone who had been 'cleaning up the dirt after both cases.' Considering how incredibly effective the witch had been whenever she covered an uncomfortable event, this could have been a real threat.

No surprise that the Ministry panicked.

Sirius looked around to find the time: it was only 7 PM. As if understanding the wizard's plans, the tiny black owl dropped to the table, quill in his beak, parchment between his talons.

"Maybe I should ask Vaqqu to name you," the animagus smiled, remembering the time when the frost-hooded dementor had brought him ink and parchment so that he could write his first letter to Lupin. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to the captain. Not that he'd be overly sentimental about that."

Daire snorted once, but didn't put any effort into further discussion. Sirius collected the ink bottle, and started writing.

'Dear Ms. Skeeter,

I think I owe you an interview. Come to 12, Grimmauld Place, London whenever you find time. My invitation will get you through the spells on the fireplace.

Yours sincerely,

Sirius Black'

Only when he sent the letter did he consider that if Remus's visit didn't go well with Daire, then the scandal-loving witch could be an even worse match. He couldn't allow his two guests in the same room, he decided. However, Daire just turned onto his side on the sofa, apparently cozy and relaxed. His hood was arranged back on his head. Sirius eventually swapped the entire sofa for one in the other room, a deed which Daire accepted with a grudging snort. He wasn't used to being relocated by wizards, especially not when he was half asleep.

Sirius looked around in his old-new residence. Everything was in a state of disrepair: not where one would invite a sharp-quilled journalist like Skeeter. Several items were broken or cracked, as if something heavy had hit them.

"Reparo!"

It was so nice to have a wand again, albeit a temporary one that had never chosen to bond with a wizard.

"Accio – dust!"

This took some time, as Sirius had to focus his attention on every dirty surface, one after the other, to clean them. But he had gathered a nice pile which could be now transfigured into a ball of coil, and set on fire. He considered doing the same to the vast tapestry with the family tree. The collection of house-elf heads had to go for certain. Sirius replaced them with tiny replicas of muggle fighter jets that would float above the railings. He was testing flight formations when the cinder burst out in green flames, and a blonde witch in elegant green robes stepped out into the main room. She was holding the invitation in her left hand.

Sirius took in the sight. She slightly resembled a Romanian Longhorn dragon, with that glittering hair and distant, predator-like eyes. Her talons around the letter were long, and painted in red. Sirius immediately decided to treat her accordingly.

"Miss Skeeter, it's a real pleasure!" he greeted him.

"Mr. Black, I'm so gratef... oh!" She lifted her clawed hand to her mouth in shock. For a moment, Sirius feared she'd spotted Daire, although the dementor was still quietly healing in the other room.

"Yes, milady?"

"I should have brought my photographer along!" Rita Skeeter explained. "Your face is so expressive! Like, a ghost... You must have had some terrible years in Azkaban."

"Good thing is, it's over," Sirius bowed, then hurried down the stairs to greet her. "Thanks to you. When I read your flattering article about me, I decided you're the worthiest of the first interview I give. It's a pleasure you accepted my invitation."

"I was only doing my duty to the wizarding world," she managed. Her shock was still written on her face. "Sir, would you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill?"

The host expressed some mild annoyance. His growl was less than intentional. "I thought, for the first interview of anyone who can give a complete account of Azkaban's life-sentence rows, I'd be worth verbatim notes. But do as you please."

The acid-green feather that the journalist took from her bag immediately started taking notes of him being overly sensitive, hurt, and 'as proud as a sphinx'. She noticed too late that Black was watching her work.

"Make that 'as proud as a hippogriff', at least," Sirius requested. The long green quill immediately crossed the sphinx from the comparison.

"Thank you, miss."

"No problem," she said with a displeased tone.

The quill immediately added, 'as a hippogriff, an animal he is quite fond of.'

"Now, that's better. I've never met Buckbeak in person, but I'd very much like to."

The quill wrote, 'BOZO: GET A PHOTO OF BLACK WITH BUCKBEAK!' The wizard read the notebook again, and gave an approving nod.

"That would be wonderful. See, I'm under house arrest until Pettigrew is found, alive or dead, but after that, I'll be happy to meet with your photographer."

"You said, 'alive or dead.' Which would be your preference?" Skeeter asked. Her green eyes were blinking menacingly from behind her glasses. "What would be more deserved punishment for the wizard who set you up, and got away with it for twelve years?"

"I would like to witness him receiving the kiss from a dementor."

"Oh!"

His thirst for justice might have been a little too much for the journalist. Sirius could tell she was stunned for a moment, because her quill wrote down everything, word for word.

"Do you really think anyone deserves that fate?" she asked. "I heard you were friends at school. Both of you were Gryffindors, if I'm not mistaken..."

"We were such good friends, I even let him persuade me to switch so that he would be the secretkeeper for James and Lily. Two days after the swap, it was I who found them, dead."

He waited for the quill to jot everything down, then checked on the notes, suspiciously. Under his frown, the tall green feather quickly crossed out half of the written text.

"Please, Mr. Black..."

"All right. You can keep that line about milling through that memory every day since. It's correct. But they were not blasted to pieces, both were killed with the Unforgivable killing curse. James was good enough an auror to block a simpler spell like that. And Lily was great with charms – she could have defended herself, too. The destruction was a mere consequence."

The quill wrote, 'Black still strongly defends the memories of Lily and James Potter, and for Harry, he'. The quill stopped mid-sentence, and waited in the air for Sirius to say anything about the child.

"Let's leave Harry out of this. The only thing you can include about him is that he received his first broom from me as a birthday present, and I'm proud to hear he plays in the Gryffindor quidditch team."

'He talks of Harry Potter with the pride only his father would'.

"Now, that's better. Don't forget the toy broom." He didn't want to sound like a blood-thirsty mass murderer, although he certainly looked like one. He read the notebook again, this time in search of lines describing his appearance. "Here you wrote that I appear at least a decade older than I truly am," he pointed out as he read the journalist's first impressions. "I must say, it's quite a good approximation. Every day I spent in Azkaban must have counted double." He decided not to comment on 'being in his house feels like being in the custody of his former guards.'

"What was Azkaban like?" she asked. Her quill was already writing his supposed answer. He cleared his throat, and the quill stopped mid-word.

"Worse than the worst days of You-Know-Who," he replied. "Sorry, scratch that. Write He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Is there a difference?" Rita Skeeter asked.

"Huge," Sirius nodded. "His followers, whose insane mumbling I was forced to listen to for over a decade, are still referring to him by the V-name he chose for himself. On Merlin I swear, my cousin has been crying that word ever since her capture! I heard it far too much. But He-Who is the designation given by the press. Let's go with his press name."

The woman smiled at the flattery. "Charming." Sirius nodded. That was his intention.

He continued with Azkaban; gave detailed descriptions of what the dark wizards and witches were going through, what words they were repeating day and night, what sort of memories they were being forced to face. He didn't need to guess any of it, as he had already blinked into their minds when Daire had first shared his own perception. And whenever his memory failed, he received help from the nearest room.

"Ah. Isn't it cold in here?" Skeeter suddenly asked.

"Cold?" Sirius blinked. "The company of two thousand dementors, out in the North Sea, in January, now that's cold. This is a nice autumn evening. Would you like me to close the windows?" he offered gallantly. Meanwhile he really hoped Daire wouldn't give away his presence, although the dementor had previously promised he wouldn't be any trouble.

"No, thank you, I'll just put on a sweater." The quill wrote half a page about the coldness while she conjured a deep-green cloth around herself.

Sirius Black continued. He talked about who was in Azkaban and why, what deeds they committed, and who had caught them afterwards. As a former auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix, he could also offer quite personal memories of the heroes who were killed in the Days of Darkness by the inmates. Time flew: Skeeter's notebook was quickly full with his account, and when they were through the two-third of the extra she'd brought with herself, she asked if Black wanted to co-author an entire book dedicated to the hardest criminals.

She should have proposed that to Vaqqu, Sirius thought.

"I'm just repaying you for your article in the Witch Weekly," Sirius reminded her. "Let's just sum it up: Azkaban is the most horrible place in the wizarding world. It has witches like Bellatrix Lestrange."

"It's the second time you mention your cousin. Do you consider her as the worst in there?" Skeeter asked.

"Her husband is a close second."

"And the dementors?" she asked, eager for a second serving of horrors.

"Dementors are who keep the aforementioned monsters away from us."

"That's a very interesting point," she mumbled, disappointed and intrigued at the same time. "If those are not the worst creatures in there, do you have any advice to the peaceful wizarding world about them?"

"The dementors? Yes. Respect them for what they are doing," Sirius immediately replied. "If you are not pureblood, thank them that they're keeping you safe. If you are a mother or father, thank them your child won't be bit by Fenrir Greyback. If there's an auror in your family, thank them that your relative is still alive."

The journalist turned a page, wondering what she should ask next.

"It's getting late, isn't it," Sirius hinted. "And I'm sure you want the first part of that printed by tomorrow."

She nodded, quite reluctantly. The soft light shimmered on her curly blonde hair. Again, her eyes behind her glasses reminded him of a longhorn dragon. A rather dangerous one, that would attack her handler even if he brought the juiciest food to sate her hunger. "You are a goldmine, sir. Thank you," she said in a very polite tone. She looked around to find the time. It was really getting late.

"You're welcome. Milady, would you please do me a favour?" Sirius asked, aware that he should never turn his back to the woman. So he decided to occupy her instead. "I read some extraordinary revealing articles from you in the Daily Prophet. I wonder if you would be interested in uncovering some deatheaters who talked themselves out with bribes and blackmail. I give you the names, you give me your word that you'll take care of yourself. I have been surrounded by their kind for too long, I don't want to come across them out here."

In other words, he was inviting her for a task only skilled aurors from the Order of the Phoenix would normally be up to. But that meant little when the Order had scattered, and its leader wasn't interested in anyone not parseltongue.

The journalist happily accepted the deal. She gave her word to be careful. Sirius gave her the names.

Knowing her talent, Vaqqu would be very happy soon enough. Sirius could focus on getting the rat for him.