Author's Note: This is a one-shot of Sirius Black in his prison cell at Azkaban in honour of the third movie's arrival (even though it wasn't as well done as the first two).
Disclaimer: I own naught but the story; the genius J.K. Rowling owns it all.
There's no mistake I
smell that smell
It's that time of year again
I can taste the air
The clocks go back
Railway track
Something blocks the line again
And the train runs late for the first time
Pebble beach
We're underneath
A pier that's just been painted red
Where I hear the news for the first time
And all the friends lay down the flowers
Sit on the banks and drink for hours
Talk of the way they saw him last
Local boy in the photograph today
He'll always be
Twenty-three
Yet that train runs on and on
Past the place they found his clothing
There's no mistake
I smell that smell
It's that time of year again
I can taste the air
The clocks go back
Railway track
Something blocks the line again
And I heard the news for the first time today
And all the friends lay down the flowers
Sit on the banks and drink for hours
Talk of the way they saw him last
Local boy in the photograph...today...
"Local Boy in the Photograph" by Stereophonics
Goosebumps ran down his skin where his neck touched the cold stone wall behind him. He heard footsteps in the hall outside his cell, but didn't bother to look up. Visitors never came for him. In all these years, not one person had come to see how he was doing. He understood their reasoning, of course- no one enjoyed coming around dementors- but their weakness of mind angered him. His curiosity overcame him when he heard the footsteps stop at his door, so he glanced sideways. He caught sight of a short man he didn't recognize.
The short man stood there for several minutes, fidgeting with the hat in his hands. Sirius almost groaned aloud- he'd recognize that lime green bowler hat anywhere. Why did the ministry want to talk to him NOW?
Finally, growing impatient, Sirius asked, "Did you come to stare at me or did you have something you wanted to say?"
The short man jumped at the sound of his voice, having already been nervous from the swarms of dementors milling around. Gathering his wits about him, he proceeded to speak.
"Um...hello. I'm Cornelius Fudge... the Minister of Magic."
"Sirius Black," he responded shortly. 'I see they've gotten a new Minister...I hope that's an improvement...' he thought to himself.
"Yes, I know... Mr. Black-"
"It's Sirius," he interrupted.
"Oh...well, Sirius, I've come to see how you're doing..."
"Oh, I'm doing extremely well. You can't imagine how much fun it is to talk to former criminals gone mad. The soulless ones are especially fun," he returned sarcastically. "Honestly, how do you THINK I'm doing, having to spend my days reliving the worst days of my life on the edge of madness because of a crime I didn't commit?"
Fudge was quiet for several minutes before responding. "Sirius, you must understand. Talking to the authorities this way won't help you get out of here."
"Neither will speaking politely. In case you didn't notice, I've been sentenced to life, as have most of the people here."
Fudge sat down on a chair outside the cell. He remained quiet for another minute or so when Sirius spotted a newspaper on his lap.
"I haven't seen one of those in ages," he said, pointing at the newspaper. "I remember, I used to love doing the crossword puzzles..."
Fudge looked down at the newspaper on his lap. "Well, I'm done with it, so if you would like, you can keep it. I'm sure you want news from the outside."
Sirius nodded and Fudge handed him the paper, along with a pen for the crossword puzzles. As Sirius unfolded it, he caught sight of the picture on the front page and gasped.
Fudge looked concerned. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"
Sirius was staring at the picture, but knew he could tell Fudge what he'd seen. He sear5ched the page for something believable to gasp about, then said quietly. "I'm just amazed that they would give out such a large prize for the ministry drawing. 700 Galleons is a lot of money. I'm glad it was Arthur who won it, though. He deserves it. I remember him from school, you see," he added, seeing the confusion on Fudge's face. "He was a lot older, but he liked to help us with our pranks."
Fudge chuckled, "Yes, he was ecstatic when he found out he'd won."
After about ten more minutes of conversing in this manner, Fudge stood to take his leave, not being able to stand more time around the dementors. As he left, Sirius looked back down at the newspaper in his lap.
'I'm going to kill him,' he thought repeatedly, 'I'm going to find a way out and I'm going to kill him.'
There, on the front page of the Daily Prophet, sat Peter Pettigrew on the shoulder of an unsuspecting young man.