Bits and Pieces

Number 3:

That's Not Funny

Note: This one is, as you can see, a shorty, as there's not very much to it. Also, keep in mind that these one shots won't necessarily be posted in the same order that they are written.

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There was silence in the hallways of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Wizards and Witches of minor, inconsequential offence sat silently in their cells, too drunk, tired, or frightened to speak. It would've been difficult for one to believe that the area had been filled with noise just an hour before if one had not witnessed the Ministry's latest arrest.

It was not long before Commissioner Sirius Black arrived, long black hair tied in a ponytail and touches of grey at his temples from many long years in Azkaban and on the job (having been released from the hellish prison several years prior when the real culprit of his alleged crimes had been discovered). Normally jovial and deceptively youthful in behavior, it was an uncommon sight this day as he stalked through the halls, eyes frantic and mind racing. At his back were several other individuals, notably the Cornelius Fudge, Albus Dumbledore, and Amelia Bones.

"I'm telling you, Amelia, we need to inform the Prophet of this development!" Fudge said, his tone terse and frustrated. "This kind of thing can't be kept a secret for long."

"You want to hold that thought, Minister," said Bones, "if not abandon it all together. We're not even sure if it is truly him, and if it is… I'm not sure we want news of his return to get out."

"Enough," growled Sirius, his animagus form's more unpleasant side rearing its head. "I just want to see him. We'll handle all that later."

Dumbledore remained silent, the usual twinkle in his eyes notably absent as his visage more and more reflected his age. Ahead, the four saw a young wizard jogging towards them.

"Sir, sir!" he shouted, halting before Sirius and the others. "He's in room six, we, uh, couldn't hold him in the other cells, he, er, he made the other prisoners n-nervous," he said. Sirius continued walking, and the young wizard walked at his side. "He was in a pub brawl in Knockturn Alley, and was brought in with the others when the owner alerted us. We got there before anyone was killed."

"Did he have anything on him?"

"Yes, his wand, several knives, but that's all. He didn't wear robes, however, just a muggle style suit." They arrived at a door with the number six mounted on it. "Um, sir, you see…"

"What is it?" snarled Sirius. "Out with it."

"You, um, j-just be ready. His face is rather, erm, unique, you see," said the man, shaking. "E-excuse me," he said before fleeing.

Sirius ignored the jittering young man, taking in a deep breath and releasing it.

"Are you alright, Sirius?" asked Dumbledore. Sirius choked back a harsh laugh.

"I haven't seen him in years, Albus, almost two decades…" he said. "What if it's really him? What do I do?" The older man placed a wrinkled hand on his former student's shoulder.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the saying goes," he said. "For now, we must ascertain whether or not it is really him."

The Commissioner did not respond. He took another breath to steady himself, put on a stony face, and opened the door. The four entered. It was dimly lit, as these rooms tended to be, with only a few floating candles to offer any illumination. A single table and two chairs sat in the room, one silhouetted figure occupying the one on the farther side. He was in a relaxed position, his feet propped up on the table and twiddling his thumbs in his lap. His face was hidden in the shadows, the floating candles seeming to gravitate away from him.

Sirius approached the empty chair, pulling it out and taking a seat. His set his elbows on the wooden surface, steepling his fingers as his companions stood in the back, watching the proceedings.

"Evening, Commissioner," said the other man. His voice had a superficial jovialness to it, a kind of false humor. "Aren't I supposed to get a firecall or something?" he asked, a small cackle following. "I mean, I appreciate the hospitality and even the gift," he raised his cuffed wrists, shaking the device, "but I can't hang around all day. Things to do, you see."

Sirius showed no expression, nor did he respond at first. Then, he spoke.

"Feet off the table. Let me see your face," he said, tone neutral.

"Alright, alright, no need to be snippy," said the man, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

The other complied, raising his feet before letting them drop to the ground. He then leant over, his face emerging from the darkness. It was white, chalk white, ruby red splashed over his lips and along scars going up his cheeks. Green eyes burning against blackened eyelids, a lightning shaped scar just visible beneath his green hair.

"Now, why so serious?"