Chapter Four: Unexpected Freedom

It's been a little less than a year since the Minister and Weasley have been here. I have slipped back into that carefully trained state of mind that won't allow dementors access to my thoughts. I know that Weasley never did anything, otherwise Arthur Weasley would have gotten me out of here months ago. I struggle to suppress feelings of anger and disappointment. But something's happening. The dementors have grown restless. The ones that usually guard my cell have disappeared, and the last dementor to go down the corridor disappeared over an hour ago.

I don't know what to do. Should I take this chance and follow the example set by Black? I'm not sure if it's some kind of trick. While I'm still trying to figure out what to do, I hear the sound of scrabbling across my floor. A fat gray rat skids across my cell. It stops and stares at me. I eye it hungrily, having been on starvation rations since Fudge had left. I suddenly notice one of the rat's front paws was completely silver. This is no ordinary rat, maybe even not a rat at all. I force my eyes to remain blank, staring at the thing as it runs out of my cell.

Suddenly a man is standing there, in front of the bars. He's short, balding, and very round. He twitches nervously, but I see his right hand is the same silver as that rat's paw. I watch him stupidly as he breaks the lock on the door with a lazy twist of that silver hand. Not a rat, not a rat, yet still a little fat rat. I don't know where this came from, but it was the first coherent thought I'd had for days, and I wonder at its meaning. He walks in, and I sidle back to my corner, my eyes never leaving him. He gives me an unpleasant sort of smile. "You are free to go." I remain where I am, expecting a dementor to slip inside my cell and perform the kiss on me at any moment. The smile on his face disappears.

"I said you are free to go," he says in a low voice. I shake my head, my eyes darting around for any sign of the dementors. There was none.

"Pettigrew, what the hell are you doing? Haven't you finished yet?" A cold voice breaks the silence, and soon a tall man with silvery blonde hair appears. I stare at the shorter man for a moment before dropping my gaze. Peter Pettigrew? The one Black supposedly killed in that murder spree? I frown slightly, trying to back further into the corner, like some trapped animal.

The blonde man stops at the sight of the man inside my cell, and his stony features break into a malicious sneer. "Well, well, Peter. I don't think the Dark Lord would appreciate "bonding" with the prisoners, do you?"

The little rat man glares at him. "This one won't leave. Perhaps you are fond of this place?" He turns towards me. I do the first thing that pops into my mind, something that might keep me safe from this cold man. I sing.

"Little rat, little rat, where have I seen you at? Here or there, maybe nowhere! Do your best to make the master proud, so you may one day sit upon a cloud!" I twist my face into a demented grin, and start prancing in a circle, waving my arms above my head. The two men watch me silently, the blonde with a smirk, Pettigrew with his eyes open wide, his face turning a whiter shade of pale.

"I think this one's insane, Malfoy," Pettigrew hisses.

I stop twirling, the grin still plastered on my face, continuing the tuneless song. "Here is a fine fix I'm in. Incarcerated for a sin. But now two stand right here with me, one with eyes colder than the sea. I know one is supposed to be dead, so are they really just in my head?"

Malfoy steps forward suddenly, grabbing my arm. I stare at his hand. No one's

touched me in over seventeen years. I make a small sound in the back of my throat, but Malfoy effectively silences me by wrapping his other hand around my throat. His hand nearly fully encircles my neck because I am so thin from the meager rations they gave me. "Now listen to me, you little prat," he growls, "I don't care if you are insane or not. Don't talk about things you couldn't possibly understand, or else I will make it a personal mission to turn your life into a living hell, understand?"

I want to spit in his face, and struggle desperately to hide my rage. How dare he threaten to make my life more miserable than it already was? It wasn't possible to turn my life into a living hell. It already was one. I keep grinning, nodding the best I could with his hand on my neck, and humming softly to myself.

Malfoy narrows his blue-gray eyes. "I don't believe you. Perhaps we should find a way to get this message through that little brain of yours." He reaches inside his robes, drawing out his wand. Pettigrew whimpers slightly in the background, and I widen my eyes innocently, still smiling, wishing this were over, that I had left the cell when I'd the chance. 'You are such an idiot. Just because you literally haven't used your brain for over a decade…'

My thoughts were cut off by a voice that sounded like silk sliding across slate. "Malfoy, Pettigrew, what's going on here? Why haven't you released the other prisoners?"

A man enters my field of vision over Malfoy's shoulder. He is tall, as tall as Malfoy, with dark billowing robes and lanky, shoulder- length black hair. He stares at the scene with cold black eyes, his pale lips set in a thin line, his sallow skin in stark contrast to his hair and robes. Malfoy lets go of me and I dart back to my corner, where I crouch, the insane smile still on my face. "Let's just say this particular prisoner was giving us a bit of trouble. Seems to not want to leave the cell, and has been singing perfectly ridiculous songs. However, I think we've handled the situation, Snape," Malfoy says softly, then he turns towards me, "Haven't we, my little convict?" I don't make any reply. Malfoy stalks over and grabs my hair, yanking me upwards. "I said, we've handled the situation, haven't we?" he snarls.

I grin at him and then at this man, Snape. Oh, he is a dark and mysterious one. He is in the same league with these men and yet he wasn't. I shake my head to clear the thoughts. Malfoy misinterprets my actions, thinking I am disagreeing with him, and he flings me to the stone floor, pointing his wand at my sprawled form. "Then again, maybe we haven't. Crucio." He says in an almost gentle voice. Instantly, my body is engulfed in pain. I curl up on the floor, my skin feeling like it's being ripped off my skeleton, my insides feeling like they are being shredded slowly. The pain seems to sear through every neuron of my body; even the tips of my hair are alight with a painful fire. I shudder, biting my lip hard.

Suddenly, the pain is gone. I look up slowly to see the three men watching me, for some reason, all three looking slightly bemused. Malfoy crouches near my head, chucking my chin with his knuckle. "What, no scream? No pleas for mercy? My dear little convict, I believe I may have a challenge with you." I cock my head to the side, pretending to not understand. I can taste blood in my mouth from where I'd bitten my lip.

"No, Lucius." Snape steps forward. "I'll take care of this one. Can't you see all these years in this stinking hellhole have caused most of the prisoners to become insane? This one is no different, and torture is no way to get answers. Prisoners like this aren't worth your effort."

Malfoy looks resentful for a moment, before nodding, and before I know it, I'm hauled once again to my feet, this time by Snape, who proceeds to drag me from the cell. Once we are in the corridor, he grips my arm more tightly, and then, with a rush of deep night and cold air, he Apparates us out of Azkaban.