Chapter Two: Interview with a Death Eater

It's been two years since that prisoner escaped. I can tell, because the Minister of Magic has been here on his second annual round since the jailbreak. He wandered down the corridor, stopping at each cell in turn. When he came to mine, I remained where I was in the corner. He spoke to me.

"You, there, what's your name, 26531?" I didn't speak. I hadn't spoken in years, and now this man expected me to open my mouth and reveal my identity, just like that. It didn't make sense that this fat minister, Fudge was his name, Cornelius Fudge, wouldn't know the name of one of the most dangerous criminals in the world (me, if you haven't guessed). I thought that would be on his top priority list. Stupid git. I'd be damned if I ever would answer him.

I sneered instead, putting all the contempt I could muster into that sneer, then went back to inspecting the floor I was sitting on. It was full of cracks and dents, but I felt as if I knew each one by heart. They were like old friends, always there for me. I'm sure I would have started naming them and creating stories for each one, but that requires too much positive mental energy, which the dementors lap up like kittens with a bowl of warm milk. The Minister rapped the bars of my cell with the walking cane he was carrying.

"I said," he said, speaking in a louder tone of voice, "what is your name, 26531?" This time I didn't even look at him. He turned to the young man standing next to him. I hadn't even noticed the kid before, but now I looked up, squinting against the glare of the torch carried by another wizard, and the first thing I saw was a shock of bright red hair. Then lower, horn-rimmed glasses over dark brown eyes and a straight nose. I knew him…how did I know him? My mind struggled to work it out. This was almost painful. I hadn't tried to think about my past in years, yet I knew this man was somehow connected to that different life that I once lived. As I struggled, the Minister asked the man, "Weatherby, what is this prisoner's name?" The younger man, Weatherby…but that couldn't be his name, it didn't make sense…opened the roll of parchment he was carrying and inspected it carefully.

"It doesn't have a name here. Only each prisoner's number, their crime, and their sentence are recorded. This one's here for life on charges of being…a Death Eater." Weatherby said finally.

Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherly…Weaserly…Weasley, that was it, his name was Weasley…Weasley…the name danced through my mind, twisting and turning in bright fiery twirls, imprinting itself in the darkness there. Fudge frowned in my direction. "Well, I suppose we'll just call you Death Eater, then. So, Death Eater," he spat the title venomously, "I have a few questions for you about your former neighbor, Sirius Black."

I stared at him, then stood, and walked over to the bars. I leaned against them, resting my head against the cool metal, gripping the two other bars with my hands. Sure they were rusting and slimy, but it was a relief to the fire that was dancing in my head. The wizards took an involuntary step back when I'd approached the bars, but I couldn't even allow myself a little smirk of triumph. I didn't really care if I scared the bejesus out of them. I stared at them, especially Weasley. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, yet must have been only a few seconds, the Minister approached the cell once again, with Weatherby following him tentatively. 'His father would never have acted so scared…' I raised my eyebrows in surprise at this thought. Where the hell did it come from? What the hell would I know about his father, when I'd never even set eyes on him before? Bright images flashed through my mind, so full of color and life that they blurred my mental eye, causing me to shut my eyes to try and block out the dazzling brightness.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on the knuckles of one of my hands. I looked down at them dumbly, leaving them where they were. It'd been awhile since I'd actually felt physical pain that I almost welcomed the sensation. One sensation…that's all I wanted…something different from this darkness, this empty, hungry feeling…

It took a moment for me to realize that it had been Fudge who'd hit my hand with that cane of his. He was shaking it threateningly in my face, practically screaming, "And don't think I won't use this to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours, Death Eater!" I pressed my head forward, baring my teeth in what must have looked like some sort of twisted smile. "I will only speak to Weasley." The words slipped out of my mouth in a hoarse, dry whisper before I even knew they were there. Both men stared at me; Fudge's face a bright purple, Weasley's expression of controlled shock.

"What did you say?" Fudge demanded at length, his voice strained.

"Weasley…" I snarled, well I hadn't meant to snarl, but it just seemed to come out that way, and I pointed at the younger man. Memories were flooding back, a crashing tidal wave of light and noise, something even the dam I'd built up carefully over the years couldn't stop. I saw things I hadn't seen in years, and I wanted to retreat to my corner, back into the ever-present Azkaban night. I knew Weasley…I knew a Weasley, but not this one. His father. And why did the thought of him make me want to break down into tears? Fudge glanced at Weasley. "Why would you want to speak to young Weath—er Weasley?"

"I can speak with him, or" I rasped, "I can speak to no one. I've been silent for over fifteen years, it won't be that hard for me to stop speaking again. You want answers…I don't think I have any, but I can see what I can do to help." I took a deep breath. It had been the most I'd said in years, and it hurt my throat. Fudge shook his head stubbornly.

"No, you talk to me, or you talk to no one. That's the only way it'll work." I sighed and went back to my corner.

"Very well, Fudge, that's your choice. Now go away, since we have nothing to discuss, you and I." Fudge slammed the cane against the bars of my cell, now actually screaming at me, but I'd become deaf to him, slowly slipping quietly back into that almost dead state of mind I knew so well. Finally he left my cell, and continued walking down the corridor.

The young Weasley stood for a moment, watching me. Before I totally immersed myself into the calm darkness I looked at him. "Tell your father that Arrow wants to…apologize. The dark forest…the Dark Mark…it wasn't me…I didn't mean to let Jakura out of my sight… they were…killed…screaming…couldn't do anything…" I trailed off, uncertain of where this train of thought was leading me, but knowing that it would lead only to sorrow. Blackness began to overtake me, but not before I heard Weasley say, "I will tell him."

"Thank you." I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, and allowing the smallest of smiles to pass over my face. It was my first real smile sixteen years. It felt good.