Chapter 5 - Of a prisoner's woes and unsure allies

He turned back to his godfather, and opened his own mouth, managing to formulate his thoughts into one question.

"So. What's next?"

It was all Sirius could do to keep himself from rudely snorting at his godson's evident innocence. The experienced convict and once-Azkaban-resident knew what came next, and both of the two possible options weren't good. The mirthless smile on his face as he told the boy facing him was a good indicator of what came next "Two options Harry." He rasped, sounding like his old bedraggled self again, "Our 'keepers' come in to interrogate us, or, they give us the easy way out and come in to… Ahem... How to say this? Take care of the business."

Although the poor boy was expecting the same sort of reply, his face still visibly paled in the dimly lit prison cell. Averting his eyes from his godfather's face, Harry nodded stiffly, his cat-like curiosity having throughoutly been run over flat. He was definitely rooting for the first option, because even though he had seen what Voldemort's merciless torturing could result as, this place seemed decidedly muggle, and Harry was pretty sure that perhaps other than trespassing, Sirius and he were guilty of nothing. Besides, the fifteen-year-old definitely didn't want to die any time soon.

Ignoring the clinking of the metal handcuffs, Harry shuffled back into the wall opposite Sirius', and made himself as comfortable as he could in such a place. Resting his back against the grey concrete wall without squashing his hands any further, he let his head rest against the cold, concrete-like material, and begun to slow his breathing down, following the animagus book's instructions and readying himself for a long session of meditating.

Sirius curiously watched his godson's actions, still wincing slightly at his bitter choice of phrasing when he had answered his godson's questions. The boy didn't need any more worries, but then that would have meant lying to him, and Sirius hated when people did that to him, so why do it to Harry? Although in various situations a little white lie couldn't hurt anyone, especially a child too young to understand, one or two could amass to a pile of hundreds… And besides, as much as it hurt for Sirius to admit to himself that his godson was hardly the child that he was supposed to be, it was the blunt truth, and one he strived to accept. Oh how life was hard...

Sirius barely noticed when his thoughts had started to become foggier and disjointed, as the soft whirring of the ventilation and his godson's regular breathing lulled him to a soft, shadowy sleep.

Slam!

Harry was jolted out of his quiet, meditative state by a gust of chilly air, and a bright light flashing through the opening two tall shadows were standing in, nearly making the boy jump out of his skin. A raspy yelp was heard from his newly awakened godfather, and a muffled thump as the poor man toppled over, obviously having forgotten that his hands were still handcuffed.

Harry winced at the sound of his godfather's fall as he screwed his eyes shut and looked away from the doorway. Must've hurt… Even with his eyes closed at first, the boy had still felt the stinging pain of having a light turned on suddenly. His sudden start badly jarred his already sore wrists. Quiet footsteps were heard crossing the small "room," before a half blind Harry was roughly yanked to his feet and he was bodily dragged out of the cell, and into the bright, sunlit, corridor adjacent to the holding cell. Apparently it was walk or be dragged, and so, still blinking tears out of his eyes, Harry stumbled on his sleepy legs, his godfather right behind him, still trying to regain his footing on the waxed, wooden flooring.

The person dragging Harry along wore a sweeping black cloak, it's design and movement ironically reminding the young man of Professor Snape, so alike their soundless glides were. Daring to look up, he spotted a white, patterned mask, made of some unknown material, covering all of wearer's face. The mask appeared to be depicting the face of some sort of a dog, or a cat; it was hard to tell. Although the back of the person's head was visible, Harry couldn't tell much about them, apart from the fact that they possessed sleek, long, black hair. Apparently well kept. The shapeless black outfit didn't give any further idea as to who this strangely dressed person was.

All the while Harry's thoughts had been wondering afar, the scruffy boy had been dragged through a maze or corridors, all floored with wood, and all having white concrete walls. Although there wasn't much change from one hallway to another, several wooden doors had been spotted along the way, along with the smallish glass windows. Things didn't look magical at all, (not even one tiny painting in sight.) and apart from the strange "worn in" overall look of the place, both prisoners still didn't have a clue where they were.

The guards took an abrupt turn to the right, and stepped into a slightly larger corridor nearly making Sirius crash into Harry's back, the quartet coming face to face with a large paper and wood framed panel. Still gripping Harry tightly, the foremost stranger reached out to the right side of the door, and sliding his fingers into a notch evidently made for such a purpose, slid the paper-and-wood panel to his left. The purpose of the plain contraption was obvious to Harry now: a door.

All four stepped quietly into the spacious inside beyond the bizarre door, and the two guards, surprising Harry, bowed. A short, sharp voice barked out a command, as the two masked persons let the prisoners go and, still silently, went to stand at attention by the door. All of these foreign procedures had Harry's head quite positively spinning with questions, along with a rakish something that seemed to be taking pleasure in bouncing around his stomach. He swallowed, his shoulders and back stiff and tense with anxiety, noting absently that his hands were still handcuffed. Another person, this time obviously a man, stood from his battered desk, and seemed to be inspecting his prisoners.

The man was dressed in a high collar, navy blue jacket, both trousers and shirt that had two pockets on the front. He wore two open-toed sandals, and His tunic-like shirt was tied down with a thick leather belt. A bizarre sort of headscarf with a metal plate positioned directly across the man's forehead, the metal plate carved with a strange swirly marking. The man also had two deep scars running down his face, the longest starting under the headscarf, and tracing a path down the man's bony cheek, stopping just above his square chin. Harry shivered, his spine tingling.

Things weren't looking good at all…

The tall, very much frightening stranger approached Harry and Sirius slowly, the soles of his navy blue sandals not making hardly any noise. Harry was very much feeling like the deer in front of the tiger, as the man glared at the pair, still not speaking a word, a predatorial gleam shining dangerously in his shadowed eyes. Slowly his thin lips opened, and he seemed to hesitate whether to start speaking, the torturous silence hanging heavy in the enclosed space of the office. Harry was sure that their "interrogator" was doing it on purpose, just to make him nervous. Actually, this man also reminded Harry of Snape, the cocky bastard. He dearly hoped that the people wherever he was weren't all like that...

Finally the strangely dressed man spoke, making Harry, who had drifted off into space, start and snap to attention, only to have his brows knot together at the strange tongue that the man was speaking in. Although the man spoke in a sharp, gruff voice, the language he talked in was flowing, almost reminding Harry of a river. Dragging his once again wandering thoughts back to reality, Harry wasn't happy to realize that he couldn't understand a word of what the interrogator was asking or talking about, or even reply properly. And, as far as Harry knew, neither did Sirius. Peeking at the man's puzzled face, Harry's fear was confirmed. Sirius didn't speak this particular tongue. Crap.

This definitely wasn't his day.

The pair both ended up back in their jail cell, waking up to find the ventilation still whirring, and two throbbing headaches, among other things. Harry's intentions had been mistaken as an unwillingness to talk, and the boy had been viciously socked in his still healing right eye, (courtesy of Dudley) after his already tender ribs had been re-bruised... Sirius, on the other hand, had a very sore jawbone, and his wrist, judging from its persistent bursts of pain, had probably been sprained. The man had been forcefully restrained when the interrogator had started beating on his godson. Both weary prisoners sported lumps on their heads from the none-too-gentle treatment from the guards.

Groaning pitifully, Harry lay still on the floor, still recovering from his third hopeless attempt at sitting up with his wrists shackled behind him. He would've given anything to see the mothering Madam Pomefry fuss over his ribs -the ones that he really hoped weren't broken. Sirius had awoken with a moan, and then had dizzily drifted back to sleep, probably unable to distinguish being awake from sleep through the pulsing headache. Harry prayed he wasn't in a worse condition than himself. Maybe saying something to the tall stranger back in the office might have helped, but Harry strongly doubted that would've done anything but make the already precarious situation worse. He could already feel the adventures of the day catching up to him, and Harry pushed his uncertainties away for later.

Sleep first.

The next time that Harry awoke, was when his sensitive ears caught the distant sound of footsteps through the wall, nearing wherever the door was. A silence, and then the door silently swung open to once again reveal two people, still dressed in the black cloaks. These ones however, wore different masks than the previous guards, which was when Harry realized that the golden sunlight pooling around the small group was the pale rays of morning light. He must've slept the night through, but Harry couldn't be sure about that. Perhaps more, perhaps less…

What was obviously a command was barked to the prisoners, but neither reacted, Harry having no clue what the cloaked stranger was asking, and Sirius still being out cold. The person on the right strode into the cell and grabbed the smaller boy by the scruff, dragging him off before Harry had time to protest. A dull thump and a loud yelp was once again heard from back in the prison. The first guard had probably kicked Sirius, Harry mused, stumbling after the one dragging him. He had learnt to wake up at the slightest noise of footsteps, the habit still ingrained in him from his earlier years at the Dursley's home, when he had slept in the cupboard under the stairs. Hearing Dudley's thumping footsteps thunder loudly down the wooden staircase meant that little Harry was late, and that he would be punished for not having breakfast prepared, usually a slap from Aunt Petunia.

Sirius was soon seen escorted around a sharp turn with the other guard sticking close to him. Harry winced as he saw how his godfather favoured his side. Ouch…

The quartet entered a secondary building, painted in slightly different colours, this one swarming with more of the cloaked people, all of them doing something different, Harry observed. Books and was it- scrolls? were strewn haphazardly on top of dented wooden desks, which appeared to be poorly treated. One of the messier ones even had a strange sort of knife with a looped handle impaled into it, right by a cheap plastic pencil pot that contained a few bamboo brushes, and a chewed up pencil or two. On another desk, papers overflowed from different coloured folders labelled in strange writing, a blond haired man frantically scribbling on another of these scrolls with a brush dripping black ink, his own white and red mask attached, but positioned to the side of his face. Harry supposed that it was hard to see with the thing on all of the time. Other cloaked people bustled around the large room, tidying and taking scrolls from the numerous wooden shelves that lined the beige walls. Some however, stood to the side and conversed in quiet, muffled voices, discussing something or another, their voices made even more undistinguishable by the masks they wore. At the far end of the large room, there were a group of masked people hanging up their black cloaks, obviously having been out doing some sort of job, the grey armour that they wore underneath spattered with both dirt and blood. Harry didn't want to imagine what the masked folk could have possibly been doing. Obviously these men (and perhaps a few women) were of the dangerous sort. Strangely dressed, but definitely dangerous.

Silently brushing by the muttering team of tired workers who were talking in their strange language, the guards shoved Harry and Sirius through the doorframe, and walked to the right of the junction, heading down yet another corridor, crossing two differently dressed people. The two were dressed in khaki green and navy blue, the green sleeveless jacket stuffed full of pockets. Judging from the looks that Sirius and Harry received, they must've looked quite a sight. Harry's right eye had swelled during his stay in the small cell, and now looked all the more like a ripe, blotchy plum.

They came to a stop in front of another paper-and-wood door, this time guarded by two other masked figures, who looked quite menacing. A few words were exchanged; one of the people guarding the door nodded curtly, and replied in a soft feminine voice. Harry was a little surprised. So there were women. The doors were opened wide, and Harry was dragged into the large, spacious room, Sirius close behind. The blue-eyed man appeared to be muttering insults in something that sounded like French. Harry smiled. Always one to complain, eh Sirius.

A robed figure was seated with his back turned away from the newcomers, calmly puffing on a dark red coloured pipe. It looked vaguely like mahogany wood. The aged man had silver hair that stood in spikes all over his head, although remained cropped quite short. It reminded Harry of his own mop-top. The elderly man sat cross-legged on a red velvet pillow that rested on the sanded wooden flooring, one of a much better quality than in the pervious places that Harry had been dragged to. One gnarled hand rested on the silver-haired man's knee, and the other held a tan brown paintbrush, slowly drawing lazy lines painted with a thick, black ink. The ink was absorbed quickly, and didn't run on the crisp, beige paper hanging from the wooden stand. A conical hat rested upon the floor to the right of the old man. The rest of the room wasn't furnished, and in the far right corner, two huge sealed clay pots stood, perhaps as tall as a man's waist. Several different coloured scrolls stood against the wooden wall, and a line of drying paintings hung across the room, clipped to a well-used string. A few other completed paintings of black ink hung from the wall opposite Harry, and a pile of smaller scrolls sat below the paintings. The half of the room that the painter sat in was a raised platform, only a step above the level the newcomers stood. Most of the platform itself was carpeted in a deep red that lay between a blood colour and a more vivid shade. Although the room was serene and peaceful, the man painting seemed to radiate an aura of calm and power.

Having satisfied his curiosity, Harry shot Sirius a look, unsure of what was going to happen next. His godfather wasn't given time to reply, as the guard holding him spoke up.

"Sarutobi-sama!" The man announced importantly -though without shouting- and bowed low. The older man painting appeared to be his superior. Without turning around, the silver-haired man set down his bamboo paintbrush, careful not to spill anything, and stood up slowly, grabbing his conical hat in the process. His aged hands smoothed the wrinkles out of his long white and red robes, and he set the hat on his grey hair with a soft flumph. He turned around, facing his visitors. Looking up, the old man noted that the masked men had two beaten up people with him, one boy, and an older man, both with dark hair. He dismissed both guards with a silent nod of his head, and turned his attention to the newcomers.

Harry was looking at his feet, absently noting that he wasn't wearing one of his socks. His main worry however, was whether this apparently highly ranked man would be able to speak English, or still that same, foreign language. I just hope that he will be able to understand us at least a little.

Sarutobi, the Third Hokage of Konohagakure, was currently, (although his face remained blank) puzzling out a problem in his head. At seven forty-three exactly yesterday morning, Kakashi had notified him that there were two suspect individuals in the woods close to where the Jounin trained his Genin team. The man had ordered a small patrol of Anbu to be sent out to investigate, and the three men had returned unharmed, informing the old Hokage that the two suspects had been put into a cell until further notice. That afternoon, his most trusted interrogator and leader of that particular division had informed him that neither of the strangers had answered any questions, nor had appeared to understand anything of what had been spoken. All of this had quite shocked the aged leader, as he had never heard of a completely different language being spoken in the different ninja villages of the continent. Perhaps a different variation of a dialect, yes, but never a completely different language. It had also been considered that the two could have been deaf or mute or both, but that possibility was proved false, judging from the taller of the two stranger's muttering. This was indeed an enigma.

Frowning, he puzzled over the mystery, getting lost in his thoughts the way an old man does, until a soft voice pulled him rather abruptly from his mental ramblings.

"Sir?" It had been the jade-eyed boy speaking this time, and he had also startled his companion. "Do you speak English?" he asked in a shaky voice.

His brows dug in deeper, as he wracked his memory for a small clue of whatever language the boy was speaking. And then it came to him…

"Aahh. So you speak one of the Lost Tongues…" The man spoke in a gravely voice, his English heavily accented, making his words sound slurred. He had never actually heard the language being spoken.

The man with the purple-bruised jaw and the blue eyes' head whipped up to look at the elder man.

"Lost Tongues!"

A panicked Harry's eyes widened as he realized the extent of the situation. Where the hell am I...

"-Sama" - A suffix to a person's name. The Japanese equivalent to "Lord-" or someone highly respected.

Hokage - The strongest leader of the Leaf village, and also the strongest. When the current Hokage dies, another takes his place, etc. The Hokage in the story timeline is Sarutobi, the third of his line. (Shodaime- the first, Nidaime- the second, Sandaime- the third, Yondaime- the fourth, Godaime- the fifth, etc.)

Genin - A rank in the ninja world. Genin is the lowest paying rank; what an academy student becomes after graduation. Such ninjas are still considered apprentices, and are lead by a Jounin.

Academy Student - Students of the ninja academy. (Students don't get paid.)

Chûnin - The middle, more average rank of ninja. Most are assigned to the average level missions, (Level D and C, occasionally B.) but get paid higher than Genin. They also work at the village's ninja academy. Chûnin are expected to be responsible enough to be able to lead their own team in missions. Their uniform consists of navy blue bottoms, a navy blue long sleeved shirt, and a dark leafy green jacket with many scroll pockets. Testing is required to become a Chûnin.

Jônin - A more experienced ninja. Some Jônin are assigned to teach a cell (team) of three Genin. Jounin wear the same uniform as Chûnin. These ninja take on the more advanced missions. (Levels B and A) Testing is required to become a Jônin.

Anbu - A highly advanced field of ninjas, wearing a black and silver uniform, sometimes with black capes. These ninjas cover with their faces with white (with painted red designs) masks. These have different animal designs on them. Some examples of the designs would be cat, weasel, fox, toad, etc. They patrol the country and are also sent out on missions of the highest rank, (Level A and above.) and to retrieve missing Nins.

Missing Ninjas - Ninjas that have deserted their village/done an unforgivable crime, or both. The highest class of missing Nins are S class. This can also be said as "missing-Nins"