A/N: Hi everyone, I'm back again! I've been having some problems with this
fic, but there'll be one more chapter after this one. Please review!
Escape From Azkaban
The massive, jet black cat approaches Azkaban warily, bathed in the lukewarm dawn light, all senses alert. A waft of a smell catches her flaring nostrils and she snarls, displaying perfect, razor sharp teeth. Cornelius Fudge! Prowling cautiously around the massive, grey-black fortress, she suddenly spots what she's looking for. A tiny window with the bars half broken. Someone has obviously attempted to mend it, but only half managed it. She leaps up to the sill and her weight breaks through much of the half-hearted mending. What she sees inside makes her stiffen with fear. A short, round man with an emerald green bowler hat is handing a man with lank, black hair and animalistic features a newspaper. Nothing very frightening, you might think. Except that the plump little man is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, and if he sees her, all hopes of a rescue are doomed, as is she herself.
Terror suddenly loosens her muscles and she leaps downwards once more. As her weight ceases its pressure on the bars, the ancient metal makes a creaking noise and both men look up. Fear lights in the little man's eyes, but the other grunts and otherwise ignores it. After a few minutes' further talk, the smallest man leaves and the other presses his face between the bars, watching him leave. The expression on his face is terrible, a wolfish expression of burning anger and hate. Finally he looks at the paper the man has given him, and sees something- or someone?- he recognises. There is fear in those dark, brooding eyes now, an unmentionable, unspeakable terror, but not for himself. For a boy with messy black hair and a lightning bolt shaped scar…
A sound of someone approaching makes him hide the newspaper swiftly up one sleeve of his robes. He dashes over to his meagre 'bed' and pretends sleep as a scabby, scaly hand, like that of a corpse that has rotted in water, pushes a few scraps between the bars. In spite of himself, the man ceases to pretend and falls into exhausted slumber, and the hand between the bars lingers a few moments more, listening to him whisper dementedly in his sleep.
"He's at Hogwarts… my God, He's at Hogwarts… He's at Hogwarts!"
~*~
The jaguar's superb hearing tells her that the room's second occupant has vacated it, and she leaps back up onto the window sill of the tiny cell, breaking through all the mending this time. The sound of her weight on the metal wakes Sirius and he stares upwards, rubbing his bleary eyes.
"No, it can't be… Monique?"
In answer, the big cat leaps downwards into the room and lands on the dirty paving, shimmering upwards into a girl of not quite thirty years.
She looks straight at him. "Me."
His voice is hoarse. "But- but- I told you never to come here again!"
"Yeah well, since when did the Marauders ever listen to anyone?" is the terse reply. "Are you and I both members of the greatest prankster group Hogwarts has ever seen or not?"
Sirius rushes into speech. "Monique, we have to get out of here! Peter Pettigrew's living with Harry Potter's best friend, a boy called Ron Weasley. If we don't stop him, God only knows what he'll do to Harry!"
Monique's eyes widen with sudden fear, but she replies wryly: "Why the hell do you think I came? To muck around in this hellish horror of a place and nearly get caught by none other than old Corny Fudgy- pants himself?"
Sirius chuckles dryly. "I can think of a few reasons…"
Monique slaps him briskly around the head. "Now, now, letch," she says sternly. "Watch what you're insinuating, you. There'll be time for that later- now, we've gotta get out of here!"
"Not without my wand- it's in the office, a little room down the corner. Fudge and pals're still hanging around- how'll we get to it?"
In answer, Monique abstracts a silvery-purple-blue cloak from her robe pocket. "I took the liberty of abstracting this from the trunk of a richer inmate at The Leaky Cauldron. He'll not miss it for a night or so- and if he does, who cares?"
Sirius snickers. "You're a true Marauder, Monique James," he grins. "Let's try it on for size!"
"Not me, idiot! You can get through those bars, but I can't. *You* look like you've missed a good few square meals, my boy!"
"To hell with that," he hisses. "You wait for me outside, I'll get my wand and meet you in a couple of seconds, OK?"
"All right," Monique agrees. "Just watch out for yourself, OK?"
He nods, changing to a dog and pulling the cloak on, and vanishes in the same instant that she disappears through the broken window.
Escape From Azkaban
The massive, jet black cat approaches Azkaban warily, bathed in the lukewarm dawn light, all senses alert. A waft of a smell catches her flaring nostrils and she snarls, displaying perfect, razor sharp teeth. Cornelius Fudge! Prowling cautiously around the massive, grey-black fortress, she suddenly spots what she's looking for. A tiny window with the bars half broken. Someone has obviously attempted to mend it, but only half managed it. She leaps up to the sill and her weight breaks through much of the half-hearted mending. What she sees inside makes her stiffen with fear. A short, round man with an emerald green bowler hat is handing a man with lank, black hair and animalistic features a newspaper. Nothing very frightening, you might think. Except that the plump little man is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, and if he sees her, all hopes of a rescue are doomed, as is she herself.
Terror suddenly loosens her muscles and she leaps downwards once more. As her weight ceases its pressure on the bars, the ancient metal makes a creaking noise and both men look up. Fear lights in the little man's eyes, but the other grunts and otherwise ignores it. After a few minutes' further talk, the smallest man leaves and the other presses his face between the bars, watching him leave. The expression on his face is terrible, a wolfish expression of burning anger and hate. Finally he looks at the paper the man has given him, and sees something- or someone?- he recognises. There is fear in those dark, brooding eyes now, an unmentionable, unspeakable terror, but not for himself. For a boy with messy black hair and a lightning bolt shaped scar…
A sound of someone approaching makes him hide the newspaper swiftly up one sleeve of his robes. He dashes over to his meagre 'bed' and pretends sleep as a scabby, scaly hand, like that of a corpse that has rotted in water, pushes a few scraps between the bars. In spite of himself, the man ceases to pretend and falls into exhausted slumber, and the hand between the bars lingers a few moments more, listening to him whisper dementedly in his sleep.
"He's at Hogwarts… my God, He's at Hogwarts… He's at Hogwarts!"
~*~
The jaguar's superb hearing tells her that the room's second occupant has vacated it, and she leaps back up onto the window sill of the tiny cell, breaking through all the mending this time. The sound of her weight on the metal wakes Sirius and he stares upwards, rubbing his bleary eyes.
"No, it can't be… Monique?"
In answer, the big cat leaps downwards into the room and lands on the dirty paving, shimmering upwards into a girl of not quite thirty years.
She looks straight at him. "Me."
His voice is hoarse. "But- but- I told you never to come here again!"
"Yeah well, since when did the Marauders ever listen to anyone?" is the terse reply. "Are you and I both members of the greatest prankster group Hogwarts has ever seen or not?"
Sirius rushes into speech. "Monique, we have to get out of here! Peter Pettigrew's living with Harry Potter's best friend, a boy called Ron Weasley. If we don't stop him, God only knows what he'll do to Harry!"
Monique's eyes widen with sudden fear, but she replies wryly: "Why the hell do you think I came? To muck around in this hellish horror of a place and nearly get caught by none other than old Corny Fudgy- pants himself?"
Sirius chuckles dryly. "I can think of a few reasons…"
Monique slaps him briskly around the head. "Now, now, letch," she says sternly. "Watch what you're insinuating, you. There'll be time for that later- now, we've gotta get out of here!"
"Not without my wand- it's in the office, a little room down the corner. Fudge and pals're still hanging around- how'll we get to it?"
In answer, Monique abstracts a silvery-purple-blue cloak from her robe pocket. "I took the liberty of abstracting this from the trunk of a richer inmate at The Leaky Cauldron. He'll not miss it for a night or so- and if he does, who cares?"
Sirius snickers. "You're a true Marauder, Monique James," he grins. "Let's try it on for size!"
"Not me, idiot! You can get through those bars, but I can't. *You* look like you've missed a good few square meals, my boy!"
"To hell with that," he hisses. "You wait for me outside, I'll get my wand and meet you in a couple of seconds, OK?"
"All right," Monique agrees. "Just watch out for yourself, OK?"
He nods, changing to a dog and pulling the cloak on, and vanishes in the same instant that she disappears through the broken window.