Chapter Eleven


Disclaimer- I do not own the characters (except Dr Mistletone because I invented her) or places mentioned in this fanfic. Anything you recognise is from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by the wonderful and talented JK Rowling, e.g the news paper articles and the decription of the photograph.


The next day seemed to come too quickly. But Hermione had made her decision. It had been dreadfully hard to make but it was final. She still wasn't sure but she would have to live with it.

"Well have you made up your mind?" Dr Mistletone said.

"Yes, I have decided to not have the treatment" Hermione said calmly. Dr Mistletone stared at her like Hermione had transformed into a blibbering humdinger.

"Are you sure? I mean, I thought I made it quite clear that the risks are huge, that time always makes up for its mistakes. If it were me-"

"But it isn't you. It's my choice and mine alone. I can't leave him. He went through so much alone. He needs someone. I've faced greater risks and returned absolutely fine. I'm not saying I will this time but it's my choice to make and my risks to take." And with that Hermione turned and walked briskly out of the doctor's office, leaving Dr Mistletone staring at her.

"She's mad. No one's come out of something like this unscathed." The doctor muttered to herself, then shook her head and called for reception to send her next patient in.

Years passed. For Hermione they flew by but for Sirius every day was a mountain. The only light was Hermione's visits. She reminded him that it be over soon, that he would escape soon. That as long as she was visiting everything would work itself out. He had never loved her more. But she still hadn't vocally returned the sentiment.

Hermione was finally taking control. Ever since Harry and Ginny's wedding, everything seemed to be easier. She made time to see her friends, she still worked hard but she relaxed a little and she got a promotion. She even tried dating but it never lasted long. The guys she went out with could never compare to Sirius. Oh, Sirius. He was the only dark patch in the sunshine in which she now lived. Every time she visited he seemed thinner, emptier, lonelier. And she knew she couldn't stop it. He was always so happy to see her. It was every one of those bright beams that convinced Hermione she had made the right choice about not having the treatment. But it would be over soon.

Before Hermione knew it, 12 years had passed. She and Sirius had aged at the same time and that had been comforting. She loved Sirius. She loved it when he held her; she loved it when he kissed her, she loved it when he said I love you. The attraction between them was too strong to deny anymore, but she wasn't in love with him. She couldn't let herself be. Their relationship was twisted enough as it was already. When he was out of Azkaban, she refused to make him feel like he belonged to her.

Sirius was staring at a newspaper when Hermione appeared in his cell. He looked up with a look of pure delight, which she hadn't seen in years. Silently, he handed the newspaper to her.

"I got it off Fudge this morning" Sirius grinned excitedly. Hermione looked down at the article, already knowing what she would find. She wore a smile as bright as Sirius's.


MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank." The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.


There was a photograph along with the article. Hermione scanned the moving photograph, and an even brighter grin spread across her face as she saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at her, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and one daughter, all (though the black-and-white picture didn't show it) with flaming-red hair. Right in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny. Hermione felt a pang of grief in her chest as her eyes locked with the photo's Fred Weasley. In this time he was still alive. Fred and George. George and Fred. They were still up to their usual mischief together.

"They all look so young" Hermione whispered despite herself and although the grin never left her face, a tear slid down her cheek.

"You know what this means though, don't you?" Sirius said had he comfortingly wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Hermione wiped away the tear and kissed Sirius full on the mouth.

"It means... it's time for you to break out." Hermione broke the kissed to say and then kissed him again.

Sirius pulled her closer. He was suddenly filled with energy. Strange how the prospect of breaking out of the un-break-out-able Azkaban can lift your spirits. He immediately felt younger and fitter. He was ready for anything and could take whatever they threw at him. Padfoot was back.

Hermione could feel Sirius's emotional transformation. His confidence was coming back to him. After 12 years of suffering and pain, he was becoming himself again. If you've never been to Azkaban, you can't understand the psychological damage it causes the inmates. Words cannot describe it and the prospect of breaking out? You could feel excitement radiating from Sirius's person.

Hermione could feel herself fading.

"Good luck!" she cheered before she was gone completely.

"He's at Hogwarts" Sirius shouted at the top of his lungs, "And I'm coming to get you!"

From then on, the front pages of the Daily Prophet read something along the lines of;


BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?" While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.


The hunt for the Prisoner of Azkaban, has begun.


Author's note- Hey! It's a bit shorter than the others but it has everything I needed to include in the chapter and if I try to pad it out, it will just make the chapter suckish. I hoped you liked it. I'm not going to have much fluff in this story, mostly because I'm really bad at it and it just gets very repetative.

This morning I hit 50 reviews for this story! That's soo amazing and to think I almost didn't continue this story! You have no idea how much it means. And to all the readers who have followed and favourited this story, thank you. 100 points to all your houses! And butterbeer for all!