It was my first day guarding someone new and important. That person was currently on the ground and laughing at me, shooting my self-esteem into millions of tiny little pieces. All I do is ask the bloke to call me Boris and he's rolling on the floor cackling like a madman. Although, with twelve years in Azkaban, I'm surprised he isn't off his rocker.
'Boris? Pull the other one,' he managed through howls of mirth.
I felt rather put out by his (obvious) lack of respect for my chosen nickname.
'Yes, it's Boris. Get over it,' I snapped. He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head in disbelief.
'What in the world are you?' he asked in amazement.
'I'm a talking Dementor; we established that some minutes before your laughing fit.'
He had the decency to look ashamed.
'Right, yeah, sorry about that. It's just…Boris, you know? It's not exactly expected. And I haven't had much to laugh about in the last few years.' He sat on the wooden bench that served as a bed, face downcast, and twiddled his thumbs. For some reason, I had the strangest urge to let him know how long he'd been here.
'Twelve years,' I told him.
He looked up at me. 'What?'
You've been here for twelve years,' I clarified, wringing my hands.
His eyes widened as he asked for the date. When I told him, his face took on an expression of alarm.
'You mean, absolutely no one's realised I'm innocent?' He stood up abruptly and grabbed hold of the bars, looking at me with desperation.
This "innocence" situation was a most interesting turn of events.
'Care to enlighten me? Why would they put an innocent man in jail?' I asked, curious.
'Oh, you know, mass murder, betrayal, following You-Know-Who,' he said brightly.
'So…who'd you murder?' I knew that was a stupid thing to ask the moment it left my mouth. If he was innocent, he obviously hadn't murdered anybody.
His voice shook with anger as he spoke. 'Nobody. I also didn't betray anyone, and I'm firmly against You-Know-Who and his beliefs,' he replied, looking me straight in the eye – or trying to, anyway. I quickly yanked my robes up to make it easier for him, and sure enough, his eyes dropped to knee-level.
'Okay, fair enough. But how did they put an innocent man in jail. Surely they'd realise it in the trial?' I said, trying to cover both my own stupidity and his embarrassment at looking at an eyeless face.
'I didn't have a trial.'
'What?'
'I came here for a holiday. Great place, I'll have to recommend it to my mates. Oh, right, one's dead, one thinks I'm a traitor, and the other one is a traitor and framed me for his sins. No, I've been having a wonderful time. After all, being sent to Azkaban without a bloody trial is the ideal way to spend a lifetime,' he spat, a fake smile plastered across his face. One eye had developed a slight twitch.
I was speechless. What do you say to that?
'No need to get tetchy.' Not the smartest thing to say, judging be the small stone he just threw at me. He went into a corner and sulked. The man seemed to have multiple personalities: angry, spooky, happy, sad and sarcastic; all in the space of five minutes.
'I had such an unhappy childhood,' he said, his shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs. 'My own mother h-h-hated me, my father taunted me, and my house-elf j-ju-just…elfed around! And then, I went to school, and made the most amazing friends – hic – and left the house, went to live with James. Then James fell in love will Lily and they had baby Harry. Oh Harry, what has become of you? He must be at Hogwarts now. And Peter…he double-crossed them, the verminous – hic – rodent! Sold them out to You-Know-Who, killed them, almost! And he tried to frame me. Frame me for his crimes, his…betrayal of our trust. He got away with it. Little Peter was smarter than we – hic – thought. I'll kill him myself one day.' He was shaking with rage now. 'If I get out of here, then I'll find him. I'll make him pay for what he did to James and Lily.'
He stepped out from the shadows that conveniently appeared where he used to be standing. There was a determined, unwavering gleam in his eye.
It was such a tragic tale, especially for one so young. Betrayal, murder, orphans, family outcasts. It sounded like a story from a popular children's novel.
I couldn't let him do it; let him taint his soul. It makes it taste burnt. But there was no way I could let him stay in here and go bonkers. I'd have to teach him that if he kills this Peter bloke, he'll be sinking down to his level; and help him escape at the same time.
The next few weeks passed in a montage-like haze of escape planning, except with lots of words instead of music.
'I could melt the bars with the gruel they give us; I think it's strong enough.'
'If I got enough rubber bands, I'm sure I could make a slingshot.'
'Yeah, you're right; we do have an alarming amount of confiscated rubber ducks. We could strap them together and you could float away?'
'Yes, I have a key to your door…what do you mean, that might have helped before?'
'I've got strong teeth; I could probably gnaw my way through the bars.' Crunch. 'Ouch, my tooth!'
'And exactly how would doing a crossword solve anything?' 'It won't; but it's fun, isn't it?'
'Take him hostage. He's so stupid he probably won't even notice!'
'Come on, these robes will fit you for sure! You'll make a great Lady Dementor!'
Soon enough, we had formulated a plan. It wasn't brilliant, but it was so crazy it might just work. Now we were just waiting for the opportunity to put it into action. And then Fudge came.
I watched from Sirius' window as he tried to step off the rickety boat that had transported him here, and failed spectacularly. He was so short that his legs couldn't quite reach the ground, and he was left dangling off the side of the boat for a moment, flapping his legs about in the air. The welcoming party (hand-picked by the Elders) snickered, cracking jokes about the Minister in hushed whispers.
One of his aides hurried to lift him down, and he brushed his robes off and attempted to regain his dignity. (Not that he had much in the first place.) He had a quick conversation with an Elder – one of his aides translated – before making his way into the Azkaban.
A little while after his arrival, I heard his lot galumph up the staircase to come check on the higher security criminals. He nodded patiently and made comments such as, 'Is that so,' and 'An interesting theory,' to their incoherent mumblings, and successfully made a bigger prat of himself.
He strode up to Sirius' cell, horrible bowler hat in one hand and a newspaper in the other. All I could smell as he came closer was fear, and I had to fight a strong urge to just…suck it away. He peered in through the bars, wrinkling his nose as he did so.
'Black,' he snarled. 'Still here, I see. Probably gone mad like the rest of them, and don't understand a word I say.' He laughed unpleasantly, but I noticed a shiver travel down his spine.
'Actually Minister,' said Sirius 'I wondered if you were done with that Prophet. I rather thought I'd like to do a crossword.'
Complete shock swept across Fudge's face, and I had to bite back a laugh of my own at both the mention of the crossword and the flabbergasted feeling I was getting off Fudge. He immediately ordered his aide to question me.
'Minister like know if you see funny thing?' barked the woman, who obviously wasn't any good at Dementish pronunciation. (It's all in the back of the throat.)
'No, just doing what I was trained to do.' Noting the disbelieving look on her face, I quickly added, 'but he's been whispering 'He's at Hogwarts' in his sleep.' Complete lie, of course, but the aide fell for it. As she related it to Fudge, he shook his head and trudged down the corridor, motioning for his aide to follow him.
The second he was out of sight, I turned back to Sirius. He was up staring at the front of the paper, and seeing I was back, held it up for me to see. There on the front page was a photo of a red-headed family. On the shoulder of one of the boys was what must have been a pet rat. Sirius's mouth contorted into a sinister leer.
'Found you Peter.'