Chapter Four- Peter (II)
The presence of dementors one relives the worst memories and worst days and so to Sirius it seemed November 1st 1981 never ended. But there were moments, pinpricks of something almost resembling light in the long dark endless repeat. They always started with the arrival of a visitor, because only at those times the dementors were pulled away.
Her eyes were familiar, brown and kind. They were red now, and there were dark circles underneath, but Sirius knew what those eyes looked like when they lit up with laughter. He was not quite sure he had ever seen the woman before, but he had seen those eyes. He could not quite remember where and it bothered him.
She had been sitting in front of his cell in silence for nearly an hour. She had been crying for most of the time, and so far no one had come round to ask her if she was alright or even offered her something to drink. As far as Sirius knew she wasn't an inmate. She wasn't locked in one of the cells, she still wore a brown worn dress and a beige worn coat instead of the black and white he'd been made to wear. He looked at her as she stared at him, wondering if he should say something. Some words of comfort.
Perhaps he would, when he remembered where he'd seen those eyes.
He felt it should be obvious, he knew it would be as soon as he remembered.
It was one of those things.
"He always spoke so highly of you." her voice was soft, squeaky and raw with emotion. She looked down at her feet, and Sirius wasn't quite sure she was addressing him.
"He could not wait for summer to be over." There was a sob in her voice, and Sirius cursed the warden for not at least leaving her a glass of water. "Other teenagers long for the summer but he had a calendar in his room, where he crossed the days until he could go back to school." She looked at her hands as she was wringing them.
Not Remus'.
Remus's eyes were green.
"I'll always remember how excited he was when he returned home that first Christmas. 'Mum,' he said. 'I've made great friends. Sirius Black, mum. James Potter and Sirius Black.'"
Peter.
He swallowed. There was something painful stuck in his throat.
She was sobbing again. Someone really ought to offer her a cup of tea.
"He always, always spoke so very highly of you." she cried "and now, now he's.. He's nothing. Nothing. A finger in a box."
Sirius shifted his weight, looking at the door leading away from the cells to see if someone might come and take her home. She looked so frail.
Peter had received a care-package every month. Every month an owl would arrive at the table, bringing him a carefully wrapped little parcel, containing a pair of hand knitted socks or home baked biscuits. He'd teased Peter with it endlessly. He had demanded his share of biscuits, and once stolen a particularly lumpy sock and worn it as a hat for a day. But secretly he'd always been jealous. It would have been nice to have a mum that cared.
"I want to know why." She said, looking up.
"You really don't." Sirius ' voice was hoarse.
"Please." she said. "Please tell me. Why him? Why Peter?"
But what was to gain by telling her? He'd been here for months. The hope he'd get a trial or even an official sentence had long ago been forgotten. He had not been allowed to write, nor contact anyone from the outside world. His wand had been snapped.
The door to the warden's office opened.
"Time's up, Mrs. Pettigrew." The warden said.
"Please." She said, stepping closer to the bars of Sirius' cell.
"Mrs. Pettigrew." the warden said.
"You should take a hot chocolate when you get home." Sirius said, looking away. He had to say something, or else he would tell her what Peter had done, and there was nothing about her that deserved something so cruel. So he rambled. "Set yourself on the couch, and have a nice-"
"Please."
"Mrs. Pettigrew, we'll send the dementors back in. Please."
She left.
"I've come to look the enemy into the eyes." The man spoke as if he was doing something remarkable brave rather than just standing in front of a barred cell door looking down at a man in chains.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'll best get up then, shan't I? Or you'll be looking at the top of his head instead."
The man took a quick step back as Sirius stretched himself and got to his feet.
"There you have me, then." Sirius said. "Why are we enemies again? I forgot."
"Because I am a force for wealth and prosperity. I represent the good in our country."
"Right." Sirius said.
"Do you remember me, Black?"
Sirius looked at the face of the man and shook his head. "Can't say that I do." he said. "Should I?"
"Cornelius Fudge." Fudge said.
Sirius shrugged. "Sorry." he said. "No bells ringing."
"I was the man that made your arrest." The man said proudly.
"Ah." Sirius said.
"It was a team effort, of course. I did have some help from the official sources. But you will agree that I made the initial arrest."
Sirius shrugged. "If that matters to you." he said.
"I might allow myself a little something for that." The man said. "Don't you agree that the man who arrested you might deserve a little something?"
Sirius had been hurt and broken. He'd been thoroughly defeated and maddened by grief. He'd already dropped his wand. He'd already been down. He was innocent, he had not resisted arrest and he'd been hit in the back, and this man had called in 20 men to bring him in. Deserve a little something, indeed.
"Order of Merlin, first class." Sirius said. "At the very least."
Cornelius looked up at him in surprise.
"That's what I thought."
"And a large bouquet of flowers, a parade of elephants and trumpets and the keys to the city in a box made of gold and ivory." Sirius said, without missing a beat.
"Well, that would be a little extravagant perhaps…" Fudge mumbled.
"You'd think?" Sirius asked.
"Well, yes." Fudge said.
"Perhaps not then." Sirius said.
"I am to be Minister of Magic." Fudge said.
Sirius frowned "as a reward?" That seemed more extravagant than anything he'd suggested.
"Oh no, no. Because I was elected." Fudge said.
"Right." Sirius world had not yet gone completely mad in his absence then. Though.. To elect this man and not someone sensible like Dumbledore…
"Congratulations, I suppose."
"Yes." Fudge said, surprised again. "I am trying to familiarize myself with all aspects of my job. I plan to inspect Azkaban yearly, see what can be improved."
Sirius' respect for the man grew and he felt a flicker of hope. He straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his hair to try and tighten it up, make a better impression.
"Admirable aspiration." he said.
Fudge frowned at him again. " You seem… different from the other prisoners."
" Thank you." Sirius said.
Fudge shook his head. "Most seem a little… well."
"Deranged." Sirius suggested.
"I am not sure if that's the exact politically correct terminology…They are… "
"Insane" Sirius said. "It's torture to be around Dementors. Maddening. Inhumane. And does nothing to better anyone's life. If you want to make a difference in your time at the ministry, here's a place you could start."
"I am not quite sure that would be what the voters…"
"There should be a trial for everyone, and a right to appeal. And if you really want to stop radicalization… work on the restrictions you've put on Werewolves and other minority groups." Sirius said. " They feel unheard and unappreciated, and that's what wizards like Voldemort or Grindelwald exploit."
"I am not here for advice on how to run the ministry. I was looking for confirmation that what we do is sufficient."
Sirius frowned.
"Well, it obviously is not." He said.
"Voters have asked for stricter-"
"Prisoners die here, Fudge. For crimes we can't even be sure they've committed. I myself have never had a trial."
Fudge fumbled with a pocket watch " Look at the time." He mumbled. " That's inspection over, I am afraid." he said, and turned away.
Fudge returned. He gained weight. His hair turned grey. Sirius gave up trying to talk to him about what mattered after his seventh visit, and instead cherished the dementor-free time and somewhat polite conversation as a welcome break.
" What year is it?" Sirius asked on one of these inspections.
"You do not know?" Fudge asked.
"I've lost track." Sirius said. ' All days are the same. I am stuck in 1981 forever."
" It's 1991." Fudge said.
Sirius closed his eyes.
Ten years.
Ten years in here.
James' son would be eleven now. Starting Hogwarts, riding the express, sit on the stool in the Great Hall and feel the sorting hat on his head. He remembered sitting there himself. His three cousins had already been there, Bellatrix already done, Andromeda and Narcissa still attending, but he'd been the first son of this generation, and so much had been expected of him.
He could still remember the voice inside his head.
"Ah." It had said. " The family house, I presume?"
At age eleven, Sirius had known he should have said yes. He'd known he was getting into trouble.
" Why?" He'd asked. "Where would be the fun in that?"
" I know your family, I've seen their minds" It's whispered. " Are you absolutely sure? Would your life not be easier if you'd just...conformed."
" I don't want an easy life." Sirius had said. "I want my own."
" Is Harry Potter sorted into Gryffindor?" he asked.
Fudge frowned at him.
" I'm not sure if I should tell you." he said.
Two more inspections and Fudge seemed older. Greyer. Tired.
" Has life been very stressful for you?" Sirius asked.
" Oh!" Fudge said. He sat down on the chair outside Sirius' cell. " You would not believe."
" Something happening?" Sirius asked. There was an edition of the Daily Prophet sticking out of Fudge's pocket, and he turned his head a little, trying to read what it said.
Well, if the headline was about some wizarding family winning a galleon-draw, the stress could not be too great.
" We're planning a big event next year." Fudge said. " You would not believe the organization such a thing requires..."
" It's always stressful when large groups of wizards-" He frowned. There was some movement in the picture on the paper. Something familiar. A twitch. A tail.
"Quite. Quite." Fudge said. " This will be a short inspection, I'm afraid."
" Busy life." Sirius said, his mind still focused on the photograph. "Hey, might I have that paper?"
Fudge hesitated.
" What for?" he asked.
Sirius shrugged. " Miss doing the crosswords."
" I suppose." Fudge said. " Are you allowed a quill?"
" Nah, but I can do them in my head." Sirius said. "That way it'll take longer. Gives me something to do."
Fudge stepped closer, and handed him the paper through the bars.
" Thanks." Sirius said.
The rat, a ratting rat
Sirius stared at the photograph. It was unmistakably Peter, sitting on the boy's shoulder. And the boy would return to Hogwarts after summer.
James' son would be there to.
He's at Hogwarts.
He's at Hogwarts.
He's at Hogwarts.
And just like that, November 1st 1980 was over, and suddenly it was 1993, and things had to be done.
Step one: Escape Azkaban.
