The quote is (again, I used that book for "Prisoner" as well) from Oz; into the Wild by an author who's name I can't remember. Oh well.

By the way, I'm also contradicting my own fanfiction in this chapter: in the chapter "Halloween" of Remus Lupin, Sirius recognises Peter's tattoo as the Dark Mark, yet in this chapter he doesn't know what it could be! My excuse will have to be that that particular chapter of RL was written nearly three years ago (spring 2001!), as one of the first pieces of fanfict I ever wrote, and I'd only read GoF a few times, not enough to pick up little details like that. And else I can always say Azkaban affected his memory!
The first scene is dedicated to three people: my mother, who explained to me how wet shaving is done. My grandfather, who used to do it and who let me watch when I was younger, and Gary Oldman, who did it in Bram Stoker's Dracula and who almost made me wish I was Keanu Reeves (were it not that my mom would've fancied me then, which is too gross to think about...).
Chapter:

March 1995.
"I'm not looking for a cure. Just some control."
* * * * *
Well that's typical. You scold me for making an – admitted – rather lame joke, and yet you make a rather feeble joke yourself, in the same letter no less! Tssk, Moony. Judge not lest ye be judged yourself, and all that (didn't Lily used to say that when we were going on about how stupid Snape was? I seem to remember something like that).
Anyway, speaking, or rather writing, about Snape – Harry has promised he'll visit me the next Hogsmeade weekend he has (in other words: coming Saturday). Hopefully I´ll hear more about Snivvy and Moody then.
Snivvy, Moody, Moony, Lily, Harry – too many names ending on –y here…
Paddy (that's Padfoot to you!).
* * * * *
Remus turned on the tap and watched the water plunge into the sink. He waited until it was warm, then he filled the washbasin with warm water. He took the bowl with shaving cream and the brush and studied his reflection in the mirror for a moment before he started to cover his cheeks and throat with the white cream, working swiftly with short strokes.
He had staggered into the bathroom that morning, had taken one look at his reflection, and he had immediately decided that it was time he'd shave himself again. His cheeks were covered with a full three-week beard – even though it was only four days since he'd last shaved. It was just his bad that there happened to be a full moon among those four days.
He put down the brush again and picked up his razor. The metal gleamed pale when he moved it, and he was, as always, suddenly fascinated by the sharpness of the cutting edge of the blade, and of the veins, so suddenly so visibly, in his wrists. And as always he ignored this feeling, so similar of the urge to throw oneself off when one looks down from a great height. Instead, he put the razor on his cheek and carefully started shaving himself, ever so often wiping the blade with the warm water. Pretty soon, his mind wandered off to find something more interesting to think about, keeping him just concentrated enough to prevent himself from cutting his cheek.
This afternoon, he would meet two members of the 'nature-group', as he had dubbed them. He had no idea what to expect, what they would be like or how they would defend their idea, or whether he'd be the only werewolf who was interested. Judging by the letter he had got in response to the one he send to them, he'd think that he was the only one, so grateful was the tone.
He didn't expect them to have actually found a cure. He had tried too many things to have high expectations of people claiming they knew how to cure Lycantropy. On the other hand – what if it did work?
The thought made his hand shake, and he flinched when he cut himself. Concentrate, Remus! he scolded himself. He wiped the shaving cream away from the cut and watched as the thin red line faded and disappeared. He suddenly realised that if he got cured, something as simple as cutting himself at shaving would be a much bigger deal. Come to think of it – did he really want to be 'normal'?
Remus stared his reflection-self in the eye, the razor forgotten in his hand. When he was younger, all he wanted was to be normal, like everybody else. Back then, he would've grabbed the chance to lift 'the Curse' with both hands. But now… it would turn his life upside-down, it would chance everything. And he was thirty-five already. He had been a werewolf most of his life, he could barely remember what it was like not to change into a man-eating monster once a month. He wasn't sure if he could cope with getting used to being human again.
He looked at his eyes, shining pale yellow in the morning light, and he suddenly found himself wondering what colour his eyes would get. Would they stay the same? Or change back to their normal brown colour, like they were on the old photos from before he got bitten?
He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about this, he shouldn't get his hopes up. Chances were it wouldn't work anyway.
He lifted his razor and quickly finished shaving, avoiding his own eyes.
~*~
The small tea-room was so much darker than it was outside that it took Remus a few moments to adjust. He narrowed his eyes, blinking, standing hesitantly on the doorstep. It was fairly quiet inside, only three other people were enjoying a drink, talking softly about the fine weather and what-not. The people he was supposed to meet, didn't appear to be there. He checked his watch. Well, he was a few minutes too early anyway.
He got inside and ordered a cup of tea, which was brought to him a minute later. He sat down at a round table in the corner, waiting nervously. He realised now that he should've come too late – waiting for them to show up was even worse. He kept glancing at the round clock on the wall, but the hands didn't seem to move.
He had just finished his tea and was thinking about whether he'd order a new cup or not, when the small bell above the door gently rang, and two women came in.
Remus wouldn't have been surprised if they had revealed themselves Trelawney´s sisters. They had the same way of dressing – loose clothes and lots of scarves in earth-colours. One of them had grey hair, tied in a messy bun, the other, only slightly younger one had her long brown hair hanging loosely down her back. They looked around the tea-room, and Remus gave a short nod when he saw their eyes on him, to show them that he was the one they were looking for. They headed over to him.
"Goodafternoon," the oldest of the two said. After a slight moment of hesitating, she stuck her hand out. "I'm Sabina Smith."
"Remus Lupin," Remus introduced himself, shaking her hand.
"And this is Ruth Williams," Sabina introduced her companion. Remus shook hands again, and the three of them took a seat.
"I'm sorry we're so late," Sabina apologised. Apparently she had taken it upon herself to maintain a conversation. "We had bad traffic."
"Oh, it's not big deal," Remus said hurriedly. "It wasn't such a long wait." A rather uncomfortable silence followed. Remus had never been one for chit-chats and small-talk, and the two women sitting with him didn't know what to talk about. He was about to ask whether there were others coming as well, when the door opened again. Three people stepped over the threshold, a man, woman and a small girl with pale-blond, almost white hair. The moment Remus got sight of the girl, he knew they were here for the same reason as he was. The parents were looking around the room, trying to see who they were supposed to meet, but the little girl looked directly at Remus and smiled shyly. He in his turn got the same feeling he'd always got with Wulf and Lova – a sense of familiarity. He smiled at her, and she took her mothers hand and started tugging her towards the round table in the corner. Once they'd reached it, the girl immediately sat down on the chair next to Remus and smiled at him. He smiled back.
There was the unavoidable introduction ("Nathan and Ann Mills. And this is Fay"), then Ruth when for more tea and cake.
"Fay?" Remus asked the girl. "Fay as in Morgan le Fey?"
"Yep," she said, beaming. "Except that I'm with an A." She pointed ten fingers at him and mimicked firing a spell. "I'm going to bewitch you!"
Remus laughed. "You're quite a dangerous witch! Did you know that Fay is sometimes used as another word for fairy?" She pulled a face.
"I don't want to be a fairy, they're boring," she said. "I want to be a pixie, so I can bite!" She snapped her teeth together with an audible clack and smiled.
"Fay!" her mother reprimanded. Fay's smile faded and she got quiet.
Ruth returned with a serving tray with tea, cake and chocolate milk for Fay. They drank and ate in silence. Fay had recovered from the reprimand, and had begun glancing at Remus with a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes, although she pretended not to do it when she saw him glancing back.
After the seventh time, Fay's mother caught sight of it, and she opened her mouth to tell her daughter to leave Remus alone. Remus put his teacup down just in time and began talking himself.
"Well," he said. "What's it all about? Why did you ask us to meet you here?" Mrs Mills closed her mouth and turned towards Sabina, clearly as interested as Remus and her husband. Fay didn't seem to care either way; she was fidgeting with her straw.
Sabina put her cup down too. "Ah, yes," she said, a bit nervously. "Of course. Uhm." She looked at Ruth for support, who obediently spoke.
"We had this idea," she began. "It's just a theory of course…" She gestured apologetically. "To cure Lycantropy." She fell silent.
"Well, what's the theory?" Remus wanted to know. This hesitant talking got on his nerves.
"It's basically this," Sabina said matter-of-factly. "We had heard lycantropes describe their monthly change as sort of a battle, that the wolf inside was struggling to come out."
She's read Hairy Snout, Human Heart, Remus thought. He had a very worn copy himself, it was like a bible to every werewolf.
"So, we thought," Sabina continued, "that, maybe, if, uhm, you learned to… not fight it anymore, it would get… easier, and maybe the wolf would eventually… give up."
Mr and Mrs Mills were nodding, but Remus couldn't remember having heard something this stupid and out of this world in a long time.
"Stop fighting it?" he asked incredulously. Sabina smiled.
"Think of it as sumo-wrestling," she said. "One of the easiest and most clever strategies is to step out of the opponents way at the right time. The opponent doesn't have any resistance and will fall to the ground."
Remus stared. His first impulse was to slap his forehead, slap her forehead and then walk out, back home. Civility and a feeling of sorry prevented him, however. They meant well, after all. And perhaps they didn't know any better…
"Look," he said. "Sorry to say it, but this is quite insane. There is nothing to fight. You make it sound as if there's a real-life wolf in here –" he tapped on his head "– just waiting to get out, but there isn't! That wolf is a part of me, it is me. And besides, you can't sumo-wrestle a werewolf!" The mere thought made him laugh. "You can't just step out of the way!"
Everybody was staring at him now, including the other people in the tea-room, even Fay, who had forgotten about her straw. Remus didn't care, he wanted to make his point clear. It didn't seem to work though.
"Okay, maybe the sumo-comparison was wrong," Sabina said. "The idea was more about meditation and relaxation. We hoped that, if you learned how to relax your muscles, it would get easier."
Remus sighed inaudibly. "I don't want to be rude," he said, "but is this the first time you're talking to a werewolf?"
"Yes," Sabina admitted. Remus cursed inwardly. They really had no idea what they were talking about. He wondered what he was still doing there. Then he caught sight of the expression on Fay's parent's faces.
They were looking with an anxious, hopeful expression at the two of them, at Remus and Sabina, listening closely to every word. And Remus was suddenly and painfully remembered of his own parents, thirty years ago, who would have the same expression, the same renewed hope every time a new 'cure' was offered. And every time that hope would be shattered when he Changed after all, despite the herbal essences, despite the charms, despite the potions. He sighed. This is sheer emotional blackmailing, he thought.
"Sorry," he said. "It's just… I don't really think it'll work. But if you want me to, I´ll give it a try. It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment anyway." He smiled, and the others sighed, relieved. Mr Mills even allowed himself a soft chuckle.
"Okay," Remus said. "Let's hear how this sumo-wrestling is done, then we'll give it a go."
~*~
That evening, Remus made a fire in the hearth and sat down in front of it. The instructions he had got were fairly simple: empty your mind and relax. Easy. Just think of nothing, he had thought.
But of course, when you're told you're not allowed to think about a pink elephant, the only think you can think of is a big pink elephant. The same happened to Remus. He kept telling himself he shouldn't think of anything, but the more he told himself that, the more his mind seemed to work in overdrive, eventually thinking two thoughts at the time (don't think anything – that was a thought – I mustn't think of anything!).
He got to his feet again and sighed, frustrated. This wasn't working. He walked upstairs, to his study, and took a quill and paper. He might as well write a letter to Sirius, so that he would do something useful. He stopped by his kitchen to pick up something to eat and returned to the fire. Monster had appeared as well, demanding his share of the chocolate-covered biscuits.
His letter to Sirius was long and disjointed, but he didn't think Sirius would mind. It was stream-of-conscious writing, rambling on from subject to subject. He was pouring his heart out, and he only stopped when he couldn't write anymore because his hand was too cramped. He stared into the fire and wondered, not for the first time, what Sirius was doing right now. Tomorrow he would meet Harry again for the first time since last summer, when Sirius escaped.
Remus sighed. How he wished now that he had a Timeturner and could go back in time, to change something, to take the Map with him, to not forget about the Wolfsbane Potion, to tie Peter to someone else but him… but it was no use crying over spilt milk (what a strange expression that always was!). It was done, Sirius was saved by Harry and on the run now.
Remus dreamed away, thinking of another world, a 'what if'-world, in which there was no Voldemort. His hands, which he had clenched when he thought about Peter, now relaxed and opened. He stared at the flickering flames, completely lost in thoughts, thinking of nothing in particular.
Then a wave seemed to ripple through him, and the Wolf stirred.
It took him completely by surprise. It really felt like a wave, or like taking a really deep breath, starting at his feet and swelling up towards his head. Goosebumps covered his skin, and he breathed shallowly, feeling shocked. Was this supposed to happen? he thought. He was under the impression that the idea was that the Wolf inside would get weaker, not the other way around. This felt bad. Really bad. He waited for it to happen again, but the Wolf seemed satisfied, and didn't move again, completely calm again.
Remus, on the other hand, needed most of the rest of the evening to recover.
~*~
"Harry´ll visit us today," Sirius told Buckbeak for the umpteenth time. "You know Harry, don't you? He helped you last summer. He's gonna bring his friends as well, so be nice to them."
Buckbeak huffed indignantly. This wasn't the first time Sirius had told him this, and the animal had got tired of it by now.
Sirius rummaged around in his cave, trying to clean, although that was barely possible. He put his plastic bags on his bed and covered them with his blanket, then he threw out all the remnants of food that were still there (which was next to nothing). Then he walked outside to see if it was late enough to get down to Hogsmeade. He decided it was, changed into Padfoot and trotted towards the wizard village.
The clock at the post office said it was only twelve o'clock, and hour and a half too early. Padfoot sighed and wandered of to get new newspapers. At one o'clock he couldn't stretch it anymore, and he walked back towards the stile at the end of the lane at the edge of the village. He sat down and waited.
He waited impatiently until, finally, three children (no, teenagers, not children anymore) appeared at the end of the lane. He got up and wagged his tail.
"Hello, Sirius," said Harry when they had reached him.
The scents coming from the boy's bag filled Padfoot´s nose, and he sniffed it eagerly, then wagged his tail again as a greeting. Then he turned around and walked away, leading the way towards his cave. The trio followed.
Having had some experience with Remus last Christmas, Padfoot walked not as fast as he used to, but nevertheless Harry and his friends were out of breath when they'd come halfway up the mountain. Ever so often, Padfoot looked back to see if they were all coming.
After half an hour, they finally reached the cave, and he slipped through the fissure in the rock that was his door. Padfoot immediately changed back into Sirius, and he watched Harry and his friends squeeze through the fissure. They bowed for Buckbeak, who, luckily, bowed back. The brown-haired girl (Hermione?) started to pat the Hippogriff´s neck, but Harry turned towards Sirius.
Sirius realised that his Godson had grown, if only a few inches. Last summer he had only reached to Sirius' shoulder, now his head reached just to Sirius' ears. It wasn't a big difference, but it was slightly taller nonetheless. Then the scents from Harry's bag distracted him once more.
"Chicken!" he said hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor.
Harry gave a small smile and opened his bag, handing Sirius the food. Sirius tore the neat packages open and revealed chicken, bread and a flask with something to drink.
"Thanks," he said, sat down on the floor with a drumstick and tore the meat off. "I've been living off rats mostly," he explained. "Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He grinned up at Harry, but Harry smiled only weakly back.
"What're you doing here, Sirius?" he said.
"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius. Although James probably hadn't thought 'staying in a draughty cave' one of those duties when he appointed me Godfather! He tore more meat off the bone, barely taking time to swallow. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a loveable stray." He smiled up at Harry, but the boy looked back with an anxious expression. Sirius' smile faded, and he said, seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter . . . well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out –" he nodded at the newspapers "– and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."
Harry's red-haired friend picked up a Daily Prophet, but Harry wasn't so easily distracted.
"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"
"You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," said Sirius, shrugging carelessly. He had nearly finished the drumstick, and he was gnawing the bone to get the last bits of meat off. Harry's friend (Ron?) nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. Both had Bartemius Crouch Sr and his mysterious illness in their headlines.
"They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly, his eyes still on the newspaper. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here. . . ."
"My brothers Crouch's personal assistant," Ron told Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."
Sirius threw a bone towards Buckbeak but said nothing.
"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," said Harry, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet. ..."
"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" said Hermione, speaking for the first time. She was still patting Buckbeak. The animal had begun crunching the bones Sirius had given him, and he didn't seem to notice the girl. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him."
"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron muttered darkly to Sirius, glaring at Hermione. He seemed merely annoyed by this subject. Sirius, on the other hand, was interested. This was something he hadn't heard before.
"Crouch sacked his house-elf?" he asked.
"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry, and he explained shortly what had happened at the Quidditch World Cup. By the end of his story, Sirius was on his feet again, pacing the small cave.
"Let me get this straight," he said after a while, remembering just in time that a drumstick isn't the best thing to scratch your nose with, and biting a bit off instead. "You first saw the elfin the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"
"Right," said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together.
"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?" Sirius asked.
"No," said Harry. "I think he said he'd been too busy." He watched his Godfather pace from left to right. Sirius made a silent circle, trying to make sense of this. He was fairly sure the House-elf hadn't stolen that wand or made that Dark Mark, it wasn't something he could imagine an Elf doing. He stopped, chewing his food slowly, then he said: "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"
"Erm… no," he said. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stared at Sirius. "Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"
"It's possible," said Sirius. It's not impossible.
"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted.
"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," said Sirius, continuing his pacing again. "Who else was sitting behind you?"
"Loads of people," said Harry, brow furrowed when he tried to remember. "Some Bulgarian ministers… Cornelius Fudge... the Malfoys..."
"The Malfoys!" said Ron suddenly. He said it so excitedly that his voice echoed all around the cave. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"
Sirius gave the boy a sharp look. Although the thought wasn't that off, it wasn't likely that Lucius would be so stupid as to conjure up a Dark Mark when there were so many people around, even if it was with a stolen wand. Sirius knew the man better than to think that.
"Anyone else?" he said.
"No one," said Harry.
"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione said, as if it had been an after-thought.
"Oh yeah…" Harry and Ron said.
"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, still pacing. "What's he like?"
"He's okay," Harry shrugged. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."
"Does he, now?" said Sirius, stopping his pacing and looking at Harry. "I wonder why he'd do that?"
"Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry, still not really interested.
"Hmm," said Sirius. Fishy.
"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry and Ron.
"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" Ron retorted. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."
"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"
"Come off it," said Ron incredulously, sighing. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"
"It's more likely he did it than Winky," said Hermione stubbornly. She crossed her arms, glaring.
"Told you," said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius and rolling his eyes, "told you she's obsessed with house –"
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.
"When the Dark Mark had been conjured," he asked, "and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"
"Went to look in the bushes," said Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there."
"Of course," Sirius muttered. He began pacing again. It started to make more sense. "Of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf... and then he sacked her?"
"Yes," said Hermione furiously, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled –"
"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" Ron snapped.
But Sirius shook his head. He said: "she's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." It was something he learned the hard way in his youth, with his family. He ran a hand over his face, scratching his ratty beard, racking his brain.
"All these absences of Barty Crouch's..." he said. "He goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too… It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak." Not bloody likely.
"D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry, amazed.
Sirius scowled. This was not a subject he liked to discuss, but he knew he had to.
"Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly, anger boiling inside. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.
"You're kidding!" said Harry.
"No, I'm not," said Sirius. Wish I was! He picked up another drumstick and tore another bite off. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"
The trio shook their heads.
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius told them. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry." Harry flinched, and Sirius knew what the boy was thinking. "Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side… well, you wouldn't understand… you're too young…"
"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, sounding angered. "Try us, why don't you?"
A fighter. Sirius grinned. He liked that.
"All right, I'll try you…" he said. He did another round through the cave, then he said: "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing... the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere… panic… confusion… that's how it used to be." Hermione was looking wide-eyed at him.
"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others," Sirius went on, gesturing with his half-eaten drumstick. "Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemorts supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects." He scowled. "I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. ..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."
"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.
"Yep," said Sirius lightly. He threw his chicken bone to Buckbeak who neatly caught it, then he flung himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tore it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine," he said conversationally. "Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while… gotten to know his own son." He started stuffing pieces of bread in his mouth.
"Was his son a Death Eater?" Harry wanted to know.
"No idea," said Sirius. He shrugged and put more bread in his mouth. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out." Thanks to Remus and Dumbledore. "The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."
"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.
"Ha!" Sirius laughed, a barking laugh that started Hermione.
"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again – doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban."
"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly, taken aback.
"That's right," said Sirius grimly, not at all amused now. "I saw the Dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..." The memory chilled something inside Sirius' body. He had done the same.
"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry said finally.
"No," said Sirius dully, tearing more bread off. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."
"He died?"
"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly, snorting. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his sons body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it." He could well remember the tall figures, the coffin that was unceremoniously dropped in the hole in the ground, the earth that was shoved over it. It had been done in less than half an hour.
Sirius had picked up another piece of bread, but he had no taste for it with the foul taste the memory left in his mouth. Instead, he picked up the flask and uncorked it, gulping the pumpkin juice down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then continued his story.
"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he said. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic…next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-operation."
The fell a silence. Sirius could see the trio was impressed and shocked by this story. He picked up the bread again and started eating. While they were thinking this over, he might as well fill his stomach.
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry finally broke the silence.
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."
"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron, his face brightening up, as if he had finally found the last piece of a puzzle.
"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius.
"Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly. Sirius, however, shook his head. It really didn't.
"Listen," he said. "If Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."
"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry. Hermione, however, cut in before Sirius could answer.
"Look, I don't care what you say," she said hotly. "Dumbledore trusts Snape –"
"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron exasperatedly. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him –"
"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then?" Hermione snapped back. "Why didn't he just let him die?"
"I dunno – maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out –"
"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly, interrupting the quarrel. Ron and Hermione stopped bickering, interested in Sirius' answer.
"I think they've both got a point," said Sirius. He sat on the floor, looking pensively at the two. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," he scowled. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, grinning. Apparently they had no objection to hearing their professor described like this. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters." He began ticking off names, mentally seeing the faces while he said the names. "Rosier and Wilkes – they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges – they're a married couple – they're in Azkaban. Avery – from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse – he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater – not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble." Yuck, did I just make Snape a compliment?
"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron.
"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" Harry added quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."
He showed Snape something on his arm?" said Sirius, puzzled. He had no idea what this could be. He ran his fingers through his long, tangled hair and pulled a face because it was so filthy. Then he shrugged. "Well, I've no idea what that's about... but if Karkaroff s genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers..." He stared at the wall, lost in thought, chewing his lower lip, then he pulled a face in frustration because it didn't make sense. "There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."
"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron, still not willing to believe that Snape could do something good.
"Well," said Sirius slowly, carefully, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defence Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though... he's a different matter... is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not... what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?" He fell silent again, still looking at the wall of the cave as if it held any clues. He vaguely heard Buckbeak scratch the floor, looking for any bones he had missed. Then Sirius suddenly realised what Ron had said – his brother was Crouch's assistant. He looked at the redhead.
"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"
"I can try," said Ron, but he looked doubtful. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."
"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," Sirius added, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry.
"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper on the floor. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip." He scowled inwardly – sometimes it had been a bit too good for her own good, especially if it involved something Sirius or the Marauders had wanted to keep quiet. "It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic... maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long..." It was what he would do anyway. He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly felt tired. "What's the time?"
Harry checked his watch but Hermione answered.
"It's half past three."
"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He made a point of looking at Harry, because he especially needed to listen and do what Sirius wanted him to do. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."
"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of Grindylows," Harry said defiantly. Sirius scowled at him, not in the least reassured.
"I don't care..." he said sharply. "I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?" It was a more common name than Padfoot, and hopefully less conspicuous.
He wiped his mouth once more and handed the napkin and flask to Harry, then he went over to Buckbeak to pat the animal good-bye and to tell him he was to stay in the cave until Sirius got back.
"I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," he told the trio, "see if I can scrounge another paper." He changed back into Padfoot and they left the cave, walking down again towards Hogsmeade. Harry, Ron and Hermione all patted Padfoot on the head before they made their way back to Hogwarts.
Padfoot didn't wait around to see them leave. Instead, he walked into Hogsmeade, ready for some more trashcan-raiding.
* * * * *
Paddy? well, would you rather be named Siry? I know that I´d rather be Remus than Remy… If all the names in the world would end on –y we would get Alby Dumbledory, Minervy McGonagally, Severy Snapy, Hagry, Jamy Potty, and everybody would get the feeling of being stuck in a bad children's book! Not to mention the fact that James and Harry would rather die than have 'Potty' as their last name!
Something completely different: I've been thinking. This really won't do. We need to meet again, I can't say everything I want in a letter, first of all my hand gets cramped and secondly there's stuff we need to talk about without the chance of other people finding out.
Do send word back when I can come over to Hogsmeade.
Moony.