"Where's Sirius Black?" Cornelius Fudge, the newly appointed Minister of Magic, asked one of the Ministry officials at the entrance to Azkaban. It had been twelve years since Sirius had been convicted to a life sentence in Azkaban, by Crouch, without being given a trial. Fudge was here to make an inspection of the wizard prison, and he wanted to see the traitor who sold out the Potters.
"Shall I take you to see him?" The official asked.
"I believe that was implied."
"Right this way."
Fudge followed the official until he reached a cell in the coldest, darkest section of Azkaban. All around him were the sounds of prisoners' screams and crazed conversations with themselves, as insanity won out for control of them. Fudge shivered. The Dementors backed off just slightly, so Fudge could speak to Sirius.
Sirius was sitting in the cell with his back against the wall, his feet drawn up, with his hands on his knees. He was barefoot, and his black robes were torn, dirty, and bloody. He was stick-thin, his face was so gaunt his cheeks were sunken making his cheekbones very pronounced, he was extremely pale, and he was covered in scratches and bruises, including one particularly bad gash on his chest, which was caked with dried blood.
"Sirius Black." Fudge said.
Sirius raised his head and fixed his cold, dark, almost hollow eyes on him. His black hair was long and in tangles. It was chilling; the gaze Sirius gave him.
"Yes?" His voice came out hoarse; he hadn't spoken in a while.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
"I wasn't given a trial, why should I be given a choice on whether or not to answer a few questions?"
Fudge winced slightly at Sirius' words. "Yes well, I'm—"
"Cornelius Fudge." Sirius replied. "I know you. You were Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes."
"Uh, yes, I was. Now I'm the Minister of Magic."
"You?" Sirius asked, derisively. "What about Crouch?"
"Yes, me. Crouch, er, he didn't receive the position."
Sirius gave what almost looked to be a smile. "'Cause of his Death Eater son?"
"I, er guess so." Fudge was getting a little freaked out. The prisoners in Azkaban were supposed to be suffering torment and going crazy, and this one prisoner, the most heavily guarded, seemed to be almost perfectly normal. In fact, it seemed as if his memory was in tact and he was still quite observant. "Now Mr. Black,"
"Why so proper, Fudge? There's not much formality given to a prisoner, is there?" Sirius gave his creepy smile again, showing a row of yellowed teeth.
"Well then, Black, what can you tell me of this…this place?"
"You mean what is my opinion of it?"
"Yes."
"Well it's not the Ritz Carlton or the Hilton." He chuckled, and busied himself with picking some grime from his nails. To the naked eye, he seemed rather bored, not at all scared or crazy.
"May I ask you what you got that gash from?" Fudge asked, moving on to a new question.
"Which one?"
"That one on your chest. It looks rather deep…"
"I got it October 31, 1987."
Fudge knew that date; it was the day the Potters were killed. "May I inquire as to how you received it?"
"If you're looking for my Death Eater tattoo, Fudge, they're found on the arm, not on the chest."
Fudge's eyes widened. "I-I wasn't asking about…that."
"Really? I'm surprised."
"S-surprised?"
"You sent someone to Azkaban for being a Death Eater and you didn't think to ask about the tattoo. Or did you not know about it?"
Fudge chose to ignore his question and repeat the one he had before. "How did you get that gash across your chest?"
"Jagged rock."
"Rock?"
"Fell and got cut on a piece of rock. Now I know you're not a Medi-wizard, and while I appreciate your concern, I think it's a tad late for it to be healed and disinfected."
Fudge was momentarily rendered speechless. This…this murderer was casually cracking jokes with him! "Well, uh, thanks for speaking with me." Fudge turned to go.
"Welcome. Is that the Daily Prophet?" Sirius pointed a gnarled finger at the newspaper under Fudge's arm. Fudge turned around suddenly.
"Why, er, yes."
"Are you finished with it? I miss doing the crossword."
Fudge was astounded, all he could do was nod and manage to say the word 'yes'. Sirius got up and walked right up to the bars of his cell. Fudge handed him the paper and Sirius clasped it in his hands. He walked back to the spot he'd been sitting only moments before and sat back down, his back against the wall, and began to read the paper. Fudge hurried away from the cell, unnerved by how normal he seemed. The official who'd escorted him to Sirius' cell hurried to catch up.
Right on the front page of the Daily Prophet, Sirius saw it. There was a picture of a wizarding family who'd won a galleon drawing and had taken a trip to Egypt, the Weasleys the caption read. And there…on the youngest boy's shoulder…was Peter. He was in his Animagus form of a rat, but how many times had Sirius seen him transform? He knew it was Pettigrew. In fact, the rat was even missing a toe on his front paw!
Sirius re-read the article. It said the youngest boy and four of his siblings would be returning to Hogwarts this year.
In the days that followed, Sirius could be heard talking in his sleep. He always spoke the same words: "He's at Hogwarts…he's at Hogwarts."
Sirius realized about a month after Fudge's inspection of Azkaban, that he had to do something. Harry James Potter was going to be going back to Hogwarts with Pettigrew there. No doubt Pettigrew would try to kill him, and Sirius could not let that happen to his godson; he had to protect him…and he had to get Pettigrew back for killing Lily and James, and framing him. He would kill Pettigrew like he had meant to twelve years ago.
The Dementors came to bring Sirius his food. As soon as they opened the door, Sirius transformed into his Animagus form and slipped past them. Being extremely thin, he could slip through the bars of his cell as well. He hurried through Azkaban and out of the dark, dingy, horrible prison. Still in his dog form, he swam back to the mainland and journeyed north. Finally, after his long trek, he could see it…Hogwarts was right up ahead.