Regrets

The sun looked like a bright, red winged phoenix that was dipping towards the horizon, moving through a vast ocean of dormant blues and various shades of purple. The clouds completed this picture of perfection, looking like dusty brown feathers that were rumpled and stuck to its body at odd angles, lit up with the golden light that was radiating from its body. The dying light of the sun reached the earth like beams of searching light from its brilliant eyes, falling onto the ground miles away from them.

The sunset was a brilliant end to a very frustrating day and Mad-Eye looked uncomfortably down at the sniffling figure that walked quietly besides him. The others had parted with them two blocks ago; Mad-Eye had thought it best to deal with what was coming alone. He knew that neither the minister nor Scrimgoeur would be able to handle the boy much longer. Nothing Potter seemed to say with regards to Sirius Black was what they had wanted to hear.

They had wanted him to sign the damn warrant. They had banked on that fact. Rufus had planned the day down to the minute, down to the instant that the boy was supposed to sign it in the warden's office at Azkaban fortress. After which, Moody supposed, they would take Black directly from the visiting room to the cemetery, where his grave would already have been dug.

None of them, however, expected Black and Potter to get along so well. No one had expected the visit to be such a big success – from Black's point of view, of course. After a nice little chat like the two of them just had, Moody didn't really expect the boy to sign the warrant. He thought, as he watched the boy wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his good arm, that Rufus had maybe been too hard on the boy. There had been a point, before Albus interfered, that Moody was sure the head auror was going to break the boy's broken arm at a different place.

Mad-Eye sighed as they neared the corner of Battery Crescent; his leg was hurting again. He knew that he would have to get it looked at some time in the near future. It was really starting to bother him again...

"Mad-Eye?" Harry's voice said uncertainly behind him, "Are - are you okay, sir?"

Moody stopped walking, his magical eye swilling to the back of his head. Potter stood three paces behind him with a worried expression on his young face.

"I am fine Potter," Moody answered quickly, "We best hurry up and get you home before it gets darker."

He limped forward two steps but the little boy didn't follow. The worry on his face only deepened, "But, but Mad-Eye, sir. But you - you are hurting."

Mad-eye stood still again leaning as much weight as he dared on his good leg. He threw his head over his shoulder and stared at the boy.

"I am as fine as I will ever be Potter. Now get a move on, we are still a long way from home and there isn't much light left of this day."

Damn Dumbledore... that had been the man's only condition, that Harry be transported from his home to Azkaban using muggle means. Apparently he wasn't ready just yet to reveal the wizarding world to Harry. Mad-Eye had thought this was a wise decision at the time, as it would have no doubt been a lot to take in together with the knowledge of his godfather's existence. He hadn't thought about all the walking and driving that it would entail. He sure as hell didn't think he would be the one accompanying the boy the entire way either.

"Maybe we should - maybe we could, should rest a little. Just - just until you feel a bit better. Or I could - it wouldn't be - I could walk home alone - it would be less, less trouble for you." Potter suggested softly.

Here it comes. Mad-eye thought with defeat. He hobbled over to the edge of the sidewalk, towards the gap left by two cars that were parked end to end, part of a neat line of cars that stretched down the long street. Moody carefully lowered himself down to sit on the pavement with his aching wooden leg stretched out into the road. It was not perhaps the most sensible thing to do. It would be a very weak position in which to be discovered by an enemy. However, the instant relief that washed his mind clear of the shouts of pain previously coming from his leg was enough to keep his paranoia at bay...for now.

A small frame sat down next to him gingerly. Potter's nervous, worried hand playing with the sling around his shoulder as his awkward feet shuffled together in the black tar road in front of them. Moody looked down at the boy thoughtfully.

"You had quite the day, huh lad?" he asked, "Picked a couple of fights here and there."

Harry nodded shyly. He seemed to want to say something. Instead he bit his lip and thought better of it.

Moody smiled bitterly. It would be something to be ashamed off; the way that Potter spoke. He was so unsure when he spoke; his thoughts seemed to stumble out of his mouth. Hurrying to get out quickly. Trying to be heard. Mad-Eye could tell that Harry didn't speak a lot. He wondered if anybody ever gave him the chance to speak. He couldn't have had much practice doing it.

He tried to pump as much kindness into his voice as was still left in him, which, admittedly, wasn't that much.

"Would you like to ask me questions about today's visit Harry? I might as well answer those that are floating around in your head seeing as we are currently doing nothing important."

He looked at the boy as he nodded his head slightly and then watched with both eyes as the head turned revealing two green orbs glowing with curiosity. His lip flanked by his teeth, rolling back and forth between them as he hesitated once more, "Is your name - does everyone really call you - is it - is it really Mad-Eye?"

Mad-Eye nodded slowly in amusement. That wasn't quite what he had expected to be asked. He had to admit that the manner in which he was asked was quite endearing. Harry stared at him with his earnest eyes, gleaming with the sheen from the sunset above and frowned slightly, "Is it because of your - your mad, eye?" he asked in a low whisper staring at the electric blue ball.

Once again Moody nodded trying his best to conceal a grin. He didn't want to discourage the boy before it got to the question he had been preparing himself for. Harry's mouth slowly became slack as he watched the eye jerk around in his socket.

"How did you get that ugly thing?" It slipped out quickly before he could close the clasp on his mouth.

He made to take it back; seemingly quite shocked that he had spoken so quickly. Mad-Eye waved his hand at the apologies longing to spill out between his lips.

"Nah, it wasn't a rude question. You don't need to apologize or anything. If you got to know, I lost my real eye in a fight. Took a nasty blow that cut…" He traced the scar with his finger. "… my entire face open. So I got the eye at the – eh – hospital, after they sowed me up. And no, in case you were going to ask, it doesn't hurt that much," he finished.

Potter was an open book to read. You could plainly see what he was thinking by looking into his eyes or watching his face. He hadn't yet learned to hide those feelings, to cover up those emotions. He was still honest. Something which Mad-Eye found refreshing. For once he didn't need to worry about sorting through the bullshit people usually presented to him to find the hidden truth.

"And what about - how did you get hurt - your leg is all stiff, its all...what is wrong with it?" he asked again in a soft voice. Looking now over to the leg Moody had stretched out into the road.

"Oh, that. I lost my leg in the war you know. So this is a replacement. Wood. It doesn't work as nicely as my original used to, obviously. But it is as good as I can expect." He rolled his eyes at the look of horror on the boy's face and before Potter could ask the coupling question, "And yes, it does still hurt some times. Which is why we stopped. "

He shook his head, this was going nowhere. For all he knew Potter would go on asking the things not relevant to the current situation. Most certainly there would be questions that he wouldn't be able to answer without breaking Albus's condition. He decided to cut to the chase.

"So aren't you going to ask me about that visiting form your godfather told you about?"

Harry's eyes snapped from his leg to his face immediately.

"How do you - you weren't in the room. How can you - know?" he said in confusion, "You weren't there when he - when he said that to me."

Mad-Eye rolled his eyes, which caused Harry to flinch slightly.

"Lad, we were listening in on every word the both of you said."

"But - I," he paused to think and jumped to another thought immediately. "Was it true? Did he say - what he said, was it true what he said?" he asked again. "Can I really go visit him?"

Moody nodded heavily. "It is certainly legal." He looked into Harry's hopeful eyes. "You like Black then?"

"I do." Harry answered happily. "He told me - he shared - he said all these things, things about my dad. Things - things about my mum. I think he is nice. Though," an odd look came into his eyes, "He doesn't smell very good."

Mad-Eye chuckled softly, "No, I don't suppose he does...listen Harry," he said, his voice turning serious, "I will fill out the form and sign it as the adult and bring it to you some time, if that is what you really want. But you must understand that Sirius could just have acted all nice today to get on your good side. And I doubt anything he said about his innocence is true. There is too much evidence against him, see. So, just know, that it is dangerous to go see him. He is a dangerous man."

"He - he told me. He said to me that you killed people also. So - so aren't you also a - a dangerous man as well?" he asked looking curiously up at Moody.

Moody pushed himself off of the ground and managed to prop his injured leg up underneath him, he swayed a little as he got used to the pain,

"We better hurry and get you home."

He turned without looking at the boys hurt face.

Those were things he did not need reminding of.

The dark sky lit up, a streak of concentrated light sprinted the distance towards the horizon in a split second, chiseling the jagged scenery into the mind. The light then dropped into the foaming ocean and an infuriated bellow rose into the air, lingering a while in the grim, overcast air, as the black, feral beast continued ragging below.

The boat was actually floating above the water.

The sea was much too wild for the little dinghy to cross without the use of hovering charms. Yet, to spite all the magic layered into the wood to ensure a smooth trip, the boat was tilting this way and that, it was still violently shaken by the wind, pushed to and fro by the strong currents and somehow the icy water always managed to climb onboard. Moody always believed that the only useful charm on the damn thing was the one that kept it from sinking.

He hated coming to Azkaban.

It reminded him too much of the way things were before his retirement; during the first war and the dark time before that. He could see himself holding some sorry bastard at wand point as the same dingy struggled to make its way to the rocky fortress that jutted out of the high waters in front of him. He could still hear the way they pleaded for anything other than the fate that waited them there. Their twisted faces, torn by fear, their eyes sweating with nervousness, their bodies shaking violently because of something other than the cold seawater. Handing them over to the dementors and watching their shrieking figures being dragged into the lifeless arctic fortress, wishing for death over this hell.

He later tried to convince himself that he had been one of the good ones. The ones who chose to spare their lives instead of killing them off as he met them. He believed that he was doing them a favour. He tricked himself into believing that he was merciful not to drag their lifeless bodies back to headquarters to be claimed by their families. But his lies couldn't silence the dreams. He couldn't lie to himself anymore after the war ended and peace provided him with enough time to see his actions for what they really were.

Cruel.

The boat banged against the wooden pier that bravely swung out into the open see to welcome visitors. The ferryman secured a thick rope to one of the wooden post and motioned for him to get out. It was a hard task to manage with a stiff leg that pained terribly in the stormy weather. The pier was solid, supported by many charms and spells to hold it upright in the violent water. Moody limped towards the distant stone stairs that cut its way up to the entrance

There was something about the appearance of the prison that never sat well with Mad-Eye. It was more than just a building carved into the cold rock. Whenever he reached the last steps and turned to see the towering doors waiting to meet him, he would think of a beast far more dangerous than the sea around him, opening its mouth to devour his soul. It seemed hungry. As if it wanted you to enter. As if it wanted you to stay.

A wave hit the base of the rock behind him and flew up the rugged wall until the milky drool stretched out into the air above his head, breaking down into thousands of specks that were gathered by the wind and flung out to see again. Moody wiped the frozen sludge off his face with disgust and began walking towards the entrance longing for some shelter from the insensitive wind. In front of him a flame, wrapped loosely around a torch, stood waiting for him through the gap of the door, the face of the hand holding it up flickered unevenly in the struggling light.

Haden's weathered and scarred face greeted Moody grimly as he entered the great doors and effortlessly with a simple flick of his hand the giant oak fixtures swung together shutting out the storm. Moody eyed his old comrade and smiled wearily.

"I was hoping you would be waiting for me."

"You chose a bad day to visit, Mad-eye," he said with stern eyes, "I thought yesterday's trip would be enough for you. So many leaving her embrace unsettles the fortress. It's not good."

Moody shivered shaking some of the seawater off of his coat. "I am sorry about Black," he said automatically.

Haden snorted. "The dementors were not at all pleased. Most of the lad's on duty were looking forward to it too. The fortress herself is angry, having lusted after his soul for years. The sea also wanted his blood, now it rages against her bodice demanding his flesh. Too long has she dangled Black in front of it, too long has he managed to stay out of its grasp."

"It was the right thing to do," Moody said softly, "Black didn't have to die. It's punishment enough to be here."

Haden turned, dragging his shielded eyes away from Moody.

"You mean, it was the law? We old men do not change so easily after all. I believe I read about your retirement my old friend. Yet, here you are again fighting for that demon you call 'law', that cult you call the 'ministry'. Here you are, not a day different from the man who walked these halls a decade ago. Do you not think 7 years is enough for any man? Must he undergo more? What amount of suffering would ever satisfy your dark needs?".

Moody felt his stomach churn as he watched the other man walk silently towards his office, taking the light with him. He followed.

"It isn't murder if it's legal." The voice growled back to him as it left the main hallway and disappeared into a side door. "And it had nothing to do with Harry Potter," he spat angrily as he walked up the winding staircase, "This had to do with you and Rufus, Alastor."

Moody limped up after him, chasing after the warm light. "I couldn't stand by and watch a man get murdered to assure Fudge's insecurities. It was wrong Haden. Could you make an eight year old responsible for his godfather's death? The wizarding world has done away with execution for a reason, its not justified."

The walked through the door and into his office. A fire was glowing gloomily from the corner and Haden threw the torch into it causing it to wake up a little. Moody shifted uneasily towards a chair in front of the fire and sat down with a great sign. The Wardens office was probably the nicest place in the entire prison. It was certainly the only place with real warmth to it. It was a dingy little room; books, files and boxes scattered all over the place and huge metal filing cabinets lining the stonewalls. The floor was covered in a thick worn out carpet that sported dark red stains all looking suspiciously like they were made by blood. A dog lay curled up in the far corner, fast asleep and the wind and rain hammered against each of the two big windows that looked out onto the restless sea.

Moody never asked how Haden had ended up in this position. It was something he couldn't imagine as being a very desirable job. He supposed that there really didn't exist that much work to do seeing as the dementors pretty much kept all the prisoners at bay and the aurors stationed here on guard pretty much kept the dementors at bay. Mad-Eye could imagine Haden sitting here for days on end reading in front of the fire and staring out onto the ocean.

Just watching the years pass by and marking them only with the number of tombstones added to the yard below.

Haden's rough hand shoved a glass of whiskey into his and with a grunt he sank down into the opposite chair. "Tell me, my old friend, what news of the world beyond did you carry across the water towards this hell? And by whose leave do you come here in your leisure? And what purpose do you serve by sitting in my favourite chair and drinking up the last of my whiskey?"

Moody looked over to his friend, "I came here to give you this," he said leaning over the chair and reaching into his pocket with his free hand. He slid out the visiting forms and held it out to the Warden. "I think it is safe to say Harry Potter might be popping in from time to time. Just thought you should know."

Haden's clever cold eyes travelled over the words quickly and an ugly snarl crept onto his face.

"Very considerate of you," he sneered tossing the papers aside carelessly and looking back up to Moody, "The fortress will not like this Mad-Eye, it burns her heart to see life returning to those souls bound to her until their deaths. I doubt the ocean will be glad about it as well, it doesn't like visitors, and visitors on a regular bases will just upset it more."

Moody wanted to talk. He needed to talk; about so many things that had happened and about the consequences that both of them were currently struggling to live through. He could see that the isolated warden also needed to talk about the beasts of guilt that were gnawing away at his humanity.

"Well then, now that this is all done and approved, I should best be on my way," Moody said suddenly, ignoring the disappointment in his friend's eyes.

He threw his head back gulping down the last of the whisky and stood up. He would see himself out. He doubted Haden would bother walking him to the door.

There were too many things they didn't want reminding of.

It was a terrific room. He always felt so very comfortable in it, like he truly belonged here. He loved the cold red marble walls; he loved the big fireplace in the far corner that was framed by the ancient bookcase stacked with those giant volumes of wizarding law. He loved the old ragged carpet that stood beneath the desk.

The same desk that had been calling out to him for years now.

"Well? What does he say? Did you even bother talking to him?" Fudge shouted loudly, his face burning with frustration. Rufus couldn't understand why the fat short man had been elected as the minister in the first place. He promoted no sense of authority. There was nothing about his appearance or his voice that conveyed strength or demanded trust. Rufus leaned back in the fine leather chair as he watched the man spit out the next verse, "Do you even know that the prophet found out about Black and are requesting an interview. What am I supposed to tell them?"

Rufus shrugged lazily, "Surely minister, you have the authority to deny them such a request. You do not need to agree to everything the prophet asks of you." He sighed and looked at the desk, which had been standing in this office for the best part of two hundred years. It was a beautiful desk. Notched and stained by time yet forever preserved in the respect it once demanded. Its surface was always clean and smooth. A thin blanket of magic was wrapped around it and embedded within it.

He couldn't understand why Fudge let the media intimidate him so much. He knew that the prophet was out of ministry control; that they should have put an end to it years ago when it first began printing to please the readers instead of telling them the honest truth. It seemed that these days the market for truth had vanished. The prophet had become shit on paper. The public seemed to like being fed shit these days.

Fortunately the prophet had its uses. It was a great way to keep the truth between those who could stomach it.

"Well, I can't tell them nothing is going on when they know about Potter and Black. They would write an article about how I am trying to hide the truth! I am asking you again, has the warden agreed?" Fudge asked angrily. "He should just get it over and done with! Kill the damn death eater!"

Rufus shrugged, "It isn't that simple anymore Fudge. If you would have listened to me earlier on, we might have been able to prevent this from happening. However, you felt that Dumbledore provided you with the better solution and chose to trust him instead. Let us hope that next time you chose to let others make your decisions for you, you chose the right people to trust." He let his eyes travel over the law books on his right. "The law is a tricky thing to get around; but with Dumbledore you don't stand a chance. He has cornered us. There is no way out except his now."

"What are you implying?" Fudge asked relaxing in his chair again and allowing his anger to be pushed aside by his confusion.

Rufus closed his eyes in frustration. He took a deep breath before opening them and focusing them on the idiot in front of him, "Dearest minister, who do you think informed the media of that little visit? Do you honestly think they found out on their own? The prophet is run by a bunch of gossiping idiots who wouldn't know a thing about getting through the security measures I took when arranging the entire affair. Someone tipped them off." He concluded simply, "and I am willing to bet you it was the esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Why would Albus do such a thing?" Fudge asked leaning forward again, "Doesn't he understand how much trouble this is going to cause me?"

Rufus snorted. After many years of coexisting alongside Dumbledore, he knew the old man didn't do anything unless he had a well thought out reason behind it. "I assure you he knew exactly what he was doing. I do believe that Dumbledore was aware of your great desire to eliminate Black. I also believe that he knew how we intended to make Black go away if the original plan failed. He would of course try and prevent it. I do not understand what is going on in that man's mind but I can promise you this. There is no way out of this mess without going through Dumbledore." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, "We can't keep the boy from his godfather, because Dumbledore wouldn't allow it. He would probably bring it up in the next meeting and I promise you the wizengamot will make a huge issue of it. We cannot kill Black because Dumbledore would take legal action and get us both charged with murder. We cannot move him to a different prison because if we wanted to do that we would have to get it done through the wizengamot which means we will have to go up against Dumbledore again. He isn't going to budge on this."

"But, we can't let Black live. Not after that attempt on my life. And especially not after this," he motioned to the letter from the editor, "is made public in a couple of days. Has the wizarding community completely forgotten what the death eaters did to Britain a decade ago? I do not need people to start sympathizing with a mass murderer. That little boy is causing so much trouble. Did you see the way they interacted the other day? Did you see the way everyone's attitude seemed to soften towards Black? Did you see the way Moody-"

"I am not blind minister," Rufus hissed dangerously silencing the other man quickly. He didn't need to revisit that memory. All it did was make him angry. It made him angry to see how soft Moody was going. Black didn't deserve to live. Not after what he had done. Couldn't Moody see it? Couldn't he understand it? Rufus needed to see Black die. He needed to see all of them die and after trying for years to get the minister to agree with him, Moody just had to fly in and mess it all up.

He didn't want to see his old friend letting go of his need for revenge. It was painful knowing that the hatred still ate him yet no longer hurt Moody.

He took a deep breath, calming himself down, "Black's assassination attempt on your life was terrible. He doesn't deserve to live minister. It is unfair what's happening now."

"It just doesn't make any sense. Why would Dumbledore want to protect a criminal? Wasn't he the one who ensured Black a life sentence in the first place?" Fudge commented quietly, his hands gliding along the surface of the table. His finger tips running over that cold, slippery wood.

Rufus felt a shiver run up his spine and looked away again towards the white marble fireplace and the fire that struggled to grow within it. "He is a very odd man Fudge. Dumbledore has always had a need to find the best in people. I think he read too much into Black's reaction with Potter."

"But – but obviously Black was faking it!" Fudge blurted out.

"There is no proof." Rufus replied silently, "I suppose that if you can prove that theory, I could find a way to fix our little problem." His head tilted to one side and then to the other, an idea forming quickly in his mind, "yes, I think that would work nicely."

"…I – I really, I didn't do it, I didn't – didn't mean to. I don't know how it caught fire. And I tried, I tried telling Aunt Petunia, but she – she, she just shouted at me and sent me to my cupboard without dinner." The little boy said solemnly as he looked across the table at his godfather.

Harry Potter. Haden snorted into his empty whiskey glass before dropping it to the table he was leaning against. Potter was probably the only wizard Haden didn't want in his prison. He couldn't stand looking at the brat. How it was, that an unremarkable child like that could defeat Lord Voldermort, eluded him completely. Haden doubted the skinny bastard even knew what a wand was, he certainly knew next to nothing about the wizarding world. Haden had verbalised his thought on the entire affair many times. It was simply impossible to live through the death curse. He had seen many try and many fail. There was no life after Avada Kadavra.

It was impossible to block. It was nearly impossible to deflect. Indeed he only knew a hand full of aurors who dared to do it. It was impossible to absorb and break down the magic. It would be impossible for a one year old to dodge it and there would be even less of a probability that Voldermort's aim wouldn't be sufficient at such a close range. Nothing about what happened that night made sense. Even if Voldermort accidentally cursed himself instead of the boy, it couldn't explain that cut on Potter's forehead.

"Your aunt sound really mean." Black said with a soft smile on his emotionally starved face, "Why would you set your cousins desk on fire? Its just, silly."

"Dudley was very very scared. He was running up and down the corridor and the fire on his sleeve just got bigger and bigger and bigger. Mr. Mason had to pull him outside and push him into the rain. He was rolling around in the mud and Mrs. Hatting had to – had to call aunt Petunia to come calm him down. Uncle Vernon was very very mad, but I – I didn't do it."

This was the little brat who snatched all the glory from the previous war. It ended with him and everyone who fought and all those who died before hand and afterwards, were utterly ignored in the public's eye. All his friends, his brother, lay buried and forgotten in some common cemetery in the midlands, while Potter was front page news. He flinched as the photographer for the daily prophet took another photo through the observation wall, one of Black laughing heartily and Potter struggling to contain his own dopey grin.

If there was one thing he disliked more than the boy-who-lived, it was watching one of his prisoners actually enjoying his time here. He dreaded opening the news paper and seeing the big advertisement in tomorrows copy of the daily prophet, showing the world how much fun Azkaban really was. How he wished he was allowed to place a dementor or two in that room. Damn Dumbledore.

He let his head swivel to look over at the brainless, ministry employed shrink that had been sent on Fudge's orders to analyse Black during Potter's visits. Fudge was probably looking for an excuse to send Black away from Azkaban and to an insane asylum, one were Potter would defiantly never be aloud to enter at the age he was and one were nobody cared about what happened after he was smothered to death with his pillow. They would say that it was a suicide. Nobody would be able to argue with them then. A suicide in one of those hell holes was very common and even more excepted than a suicide in the walls of Azkaban fortress.

Black's howls of laughter suddenly stopped as he saw the puzzled frown on the youngsters face, "What's wrong Harry?" he asked sitting up in his chair.

The boy bit his lip, a sign of weakness, a sign of hesitation, "Why – why is that so funny?" he asked in a small voice.

Black's eyes burst with the happy memory, "Well, this reminds me of a conversation your dad and I had when we were in Auror training, -"

Haden let his hand trail behind his back, and he gripped the whiskey bottle lazily and started pouring its content into his empty glass. He really couldn't stomach any more memories from Black about auror training. He didn't need reminding of the hell Black and Potter caused him during his time there. All those stupid pranks, joking around, throwing those loud parties and still they manages top grades. It was unnerving having to head their training that one year he was recovering from that battle at waterloo. It was even more unnerving baby sitting both of them for the first month after they joined the ministry ranks. He still didn't understand how they could have made it that far without being expelled at some stage. Damn Dumbledore.

The door opened behind him, and Haden heard the sound of Mad-eye clunking his way into the dark room. He lifted his glass that was filled to the top with the last of the whiskey and muttered over the rim to the man who came to a halt besides him, "This is a bad day for Azkaban. She does not like the publicity. Was it necessary for that imbecile to send those vultures here?"

"I found what I was looking for; Rufus and Fudge however are going to be very disappointed that Black hasn't tried to strangle the boy yet. Thanks for letting me look over his file by the way." Moody's worn voice growled next to him.

"If you can find the truth hidden in my office, who am I to try and keep it from you? No Mad-eye, there is no need to thank me. What you learn within these walls you can carry across the sea, but what you take from within these walls will never reach the distant shore in your possession." He said gulping down some more whiskey at the thought of Mad-eye messing around in his office, rearranging things and reading his personal files on all his prisoners. It was something he couldn't stand. When both of them were still in ministry employment, Moody would just stroll into his office taking things out of his filing cabinets without returning them. He hated when people disorganized his stuff. He kept things pilled up in random places on his floors for a good reason, though everyone always thought he was just a messy personality.

"God would you just stop talking like that!" Moody growled rolling his eyes. It got to him sometimes. So pretentious. Haden ignored the outburst. Mad eye bit his cheek and tried again, "It's about time that I should take Potter back home don't you think? It has been about 2 hours. Wouldn't want his aunt to get suspicious." Moody muttered thoughtfully. "She doesn't know about this arrangement and Dumbledore intends on keeping it that way. She has a legal right to keep him from coming. Right now she believes he is serving his detentions with his teacher, who was obliviated yesterday."

Damn Dumbledore. "You were always keen on paying your informants, though you always give the most useless currency that information demands. I suppose that the prophet will leave shortly after you and the boy have crossed? I fear that it will be a while still before the sea sees the idiot with the clipboard trembling before its rage." He hated the fact that every possible way out of this mess, that was Potter visiting Black, had Dumbledore blocking his passage. There was nothing he could do without going up against the old man. There was even less he could do without having fudge and the media crucifying him too. It seemed Potter would be spending a lot of time in the room in front of him from now on.

"I will leave you to deal with the good-doctor then." Moody answered his voice smiling in amusement, "I will send your regards to Dumbledore, Haden."

Damn Dumbledore. "I don't need to show you the door Mad-eye."

He was answered by the trademark clunking of Moody's leg as he left without a word. He wished the current circumstances would change so that he could talk to Moody freely, without being controlled by his feelings of betrayed and anger. Azkaban had been his very own little corner of peace for the past couple of years. It was unfair that the ministry, the media and Dumbledore chose to invade it now. These days he couldn't even enjoy lying awake at night listening to the screaming and mutterings of the prisoners when the dementors went around for their nightly feedings. He couldn't appreciate the reckless ocean or the cold weather it threw against his windows. All he thought about now, were the old days. The day's when he was still blissfully unaware to the state the wizarding world was in.

All the idiots that passed themselves off as witches and wizards made him sick. What did any of them know about magic? About being magical beings? What happened to the wisdom, power, diversity, fairness, cunning, kindness and courage that their kind had once been known for? They had become an inferior race hanging on the lies that oozed out of the magazines and news papers. He would rather spend his time here in the company of murderous scum than in the presence of those fools.

"Right!" he bellowed suddenly catching the photographer's attention before he took an adorable snap shot of the little brat leaning over to give his filthy godfather a quick hug. "I want all you outside azkaban's doors now! You have all stayed within her long enough." The reporter made to protest but after Haden through her a cold look both of them quietly got up and left.

He looked back at the observation wall, towards the sight of two guards dragging a smirking Black back to his cell. These visits were doing nothing to deteriorate his mental health. Indeed the way he had acted during the entire visit was not the way a mentally unstable lunatic should have acted. This probably meant that the shrink would have no evidence to support a transfer out of Azkaban. Damn Dumbledore.

"Warden?" the doctor something-something spoke politely next to him, "I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions regarding Sirius Black?"

"To that, I assume you already know the answer." Haden muttered darkly. He didn't like these kinds of doctors, and they always seemed to find him fascinating. He never stuck around long enough to find out why. He usually just obliviated them and filled out his own report. "I have been ordered to accommodate your every desire, my good lady." He said before she could raise her eyebrow at him.

He turned his head to look at her, and couldn't hold back the wolfish smirk that tore open his mouth. She faltered a bit, though seemed to push it aside quickly, "I was wondering why seven years imprisonment here doesn't seem to be affecting him at all. Aren't there Dementors stationed outside his cells at all times?" she turned towards her clipboard with her quill ready in her hand.

"Yes." He said shortly, then pushed himself upright, "anything else?"

"So, if there are dementors guarding his cell at all times, why isn't he insane?" she asked quietly looking back down on his clip board and flipping through the pages.

Haden shrugged, "How would I know? I just keep the dementors in check, organize the auror shifts and attend the funerals. Now, if my lady doesn't mind leaving the way she came…" he nodded over to the door. "I have work to do."

He left the room without another word, not bothering to look back at her frowning face. Nothing was going his way anymore and it frustrated him terribly.