Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing in Rowling's sandbox. I'll give back her characters sometimes in the future... mostly unharmed, I promise.

This is an AU that takes place not too long (at most a year, but more likely less) after Harry's parents died on Hallowe'en and after Sirius ended up in Azkaban.

…

SERIOUSLY AZKABAN

…

The first time Odell Fawley, warden of Azkaban, noticed that something had changed, happened to be when he finished his usual round and found his office occupied.

"Hello and good morning!" the occupant of Odell's office offered jovially when Odell opened the door.

Odell frowned and his eyes automatically flittered towards the window to check that it was still the late evening and not yet morning. It was only after he had assured himself of that fact that he could actually think about the fact that his office definitely shouldn't be occupied.

And it definitely shouldn't be occupied by the person sitting in Odell's chair.

"Black," Odell said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

Black crooked his head thoughtfully, before he questioningly offered, "sitting?"

While his answer was technically correct, it wasn't what Odell had wanted to know.

"How did you get here?" Odell corrected himself.

"I walked?"

Still technically correct, but not what Odell wanted to know.

"I mean… you should be in your cell – so how are you here, Black?" Odell explained with a frown. He wasn't too sure what to think about the fact that Sirius Black seemed quite sane compared to the other inhabitants of Azkaban.

At least, he definitely wasn't screaming and his eyes had a calculating look to them. They were also gleaming viciously.

"I decided to take a walk," Black explained quite unruffled. "I've been trying to count sheep for the last five days, since apparently that's something muggles do sometimes. Whatever the purpose of counting sheep is, I still don't get it. Anyway, I was getting bored so I decided to do something else."

Then he looked around Odell's office.

"I thought I might find a good book or two in here to relieve my boredom, but it seems I am out of luck," he continued seemingly disinterested in the fact that he shouldn't have been able to leave his cell at all. "I might have to go to Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley after all."

Odell gulped and couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for the whole wizarding world to panic if Black started to walk the open streets again.

In a way of self-preservation, Odell stumbled further into the room and towards his shelves. He activated the hidden compartment there and pulled out one of the confiscated books that were prohibited in the magical world. Most dark books were brought to Azkaban and hidden in the walls of the tower since they, just like the inhabitants of Azkaban, were already drenched in dark magic.

He threw the book at Black without even looking what it was about.

Black caught in and then crooked his head thoughtfully at the for him upside-down book.

"'Gealdorcræft, Aclæccræft ond Deófolcræft'… In other words, 'Enchantments, the Evil Arts and the Black Arts' by Salazar Slytherin," he read the upside-down runic title without bothering to turn the book the right way. "Huh, I didn't even know that there are some books left of dear old Salazar."

Odell wasn't sure if he should feel impressed by the fact that Black could not only understand Old English and runes but could also read them upside-down – or horror-stricken by the title he had unwittingly chosen.

"Well," Black said. "That's for sure not a book I have read before."

He opened the upside-down book and started to read, mumbling the old English words under his breath while doing so.

Odell stood frozen next to the open compartment. He was sure that he should alert somebody to the fact that a prisoner had escaped his cell, but he had no idea who to call. He had never had a situation like that before. Azkaban was inescapable. No prisoner had ever even left their cells without being taken from them by the wardens of Azkaban.

Odell wasn't even sure that they even had protocols that told him what to do if a prisoner escaped and decided to chill in the warden's office…

"Is… the book satisfying?" Odell finally settled on saying when Black still didn't say anything for another five minutes.

Black crooked his head the other way, his gaze thoughtful. "You know what?" he finally said. "I think it will do for now."

With that, he shut the book, stood up, patted down his ragged robes and passed by Odell to reach the door.

"Where are you going?" Odell asked concerned. He still had no idea how Black had left his cell and he wasn't too sure how to get the word out that Black was walking free before the dark wizard left Azkaban behind.

"Back into my cell," Black said as if it was obvious. "I want to be comfortable while reading."

Odell gawked.

Comfortable.

In his cell.

Maybe Black had gone around the bend, after all – just not as obviously as the rest of the prisoners…

Odell stared after Black and then rubbed his eyes in the hopes that everything had just been a dream. Sadly, the hidden compartment next to Odell was still open and missing a book. He hadn't dreamed it.

"Just forget it for a while," Odell finally said to himself, determined to keep his sanity. "You can take a look into Black's cell when you do your final rounds tonight."

Until then, Odell really didn't want to know if Black had actually returned to his cell or not.

The next warden who noticed that something was wrong with Black, was poor Eustace Blishwick. He had the nightshift of Azkaban and when he walked his rounds, he came by Sirius Black's cell as well.

There was a light in the cell.

"Impossible," Eustace said to himself a bit confused by the light. "The prisoners don't get any lamps and they don't have the magic for a Lumos."

But there was definitely a flickering light coming from Black's cell.

Eustace pulled out his wand and stepped warily closer.

On his guard, he peeked into Black's cell.

Black was lying on his bed. The thing was only a few boards charmed to the wall. A rag that served as Black's blanket was lying on top of it. Black was reclining on top of his blanket-rag, in his dirty hands a book. All around his bed were other books strew about and piled up in wobbly towers. There had to be hundreds of books all around him.

And floating just above Black's head was a small flame.

"Black," Eustace exclaimed. "How did you get the fire?" Then, with a look at the books, Eustace added. "And where did you get the books from?"

"Hmm?" Black inquired absently. "Gimme a moment, please."

To Eustace's disbelief, Black proceeded to turn the page and finished reading his sentence before he looked up and towards Eustace. It was only then that Eustace noticed that Black was holding his book upside-down.

"Did you want something, warden?" Black asked him mildly.

"The fire," Eustace stuttered. "How did you get the fire?"

"Hmm?" Black looked up thoughtfully towards the floating fire above him. "Oh."

He shrugged unconcerned. "I needed the light to continue reading. It has been getting a bit dark."

It was in the middle of a moonless night. It was pitch-black outside.

There was no way it was just getting 'a bit dark'.

"How did you conjure it?" Eustace asked. His palms were getting wet with sweat. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't even know if there was something he could do since theoretically, the convict wasn't breaking any rules. After all, Black was still in his cell. He hadn't left, hadn't tried to flee. So, what could Eustace do?

"Hmm?" Black asked, already half-absorbed by his book again. "Ah, magic, how else?"

"How else?" Eustace repeated faintly.

Magic should have been impossible for Black to do. There were wards that prevented magic around Black's cell. They had his wand. And no matter how fancy the thought of wandless magic was, it was hard and for most impossible to do. And even if Black had the ability to perform wandless magic, there was also to consider that Black shouldn't even have the concentration to do so. The Dementors should have ensured that Black wasn't able to think clearly – not to mention able to concentrate.

Even reading as calmly as he was should have been impossible.

"It's easy," Black said as if wandless magic didn't cost a lot of concentration which should preclude to use it as a way to lighten a room for reading. Black lifted a hand and twisted it absentmindedly. The fire extinguished. Then, with another twist of his hand, the fire flared up again.

Eustace gawked.

He had never seen such tightly controlled wandless magic.

"And the books?" he asked faintly. "Where did you get those from?"

Black waved it off.

"The walls," he said disinterestedly. "I found out how to activate your hidden compartments. I've been reading through your whole stash. There's some gruesome stuff in there."

He gestured lazily towards one of the piles on the floor. "Never was one for necromancy," he said without turning his eyes away from the pages of his book. "But the author really has a way with his words."

He hummed. "I still like Slytherin's 'Gealdorcræft, Aclæccræft ond Deófolcræft' best. That man was an ingenious bastard. I've never seen such a creativity and cunning put into words. Really, best book I read in at least a few years."

Eustace pinched his arm.

The books didn't vanish.

Black was still reclining on his bed.

No, Eustace wasn't dreaming.

Black had somehow gotten his hands on the confiscated books in Azkaban. He was also able to do wandless magic while reading.

Eustace suddenly wasn't too sure if Black was the one who had gone mad or if Eustace was the one who was on the way of insanity.

"You should read it, Blishwick," Black said and then gestured towards the one book that was still lying next to his head on his bed. "It contains some interesting theories about enchantments and the way the black arts are described is unique."

"I… I doubt I'd be interested in the black arts," Eustace stuttered. He wasn't even sure what the difference between the black arts and the dark arts was.

"I thought the same before I started reading that part of the book," Black said absentmindedly. "But old Salazar really knows how to get the subject across in an interesting way. I didn't even know you could do half of the things you can with the black arts."

"Oh? Is that so?" Eustace gulped. Fear cursed through his body. He was sure that it was a bad idea that a Black was allowed to read any book about any kind of dark arts – black arts or otherwise.

"Oh, it is," Black said, not looking up from his book. "Did you know that the black arts can be used to force someone to spill the truth? I didn't know that. And all it takes is a bit of blood. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Only if you are into the dark arts," Eustace managed to force out.

Black glanced up at that. "You can be in love with things like that?" he asked interestedly. "I didn't know that."

He crooked his head like a dog. "What do you call it if you're interested sexually in magic?" he inquired interestedly. "Magicosexual?"

"What?" Eustace spluttered. "What are you talking about? I wasn't talking about any kind of sexual attraction."

"Oh," Black immediately lost interest in the conversation again and returned to reading his book. "And there I thought that you were about to tell me something new."

Black… was MAD.

Absolutely mad.

"Well, if you don't have something interesting to say, Blishwick, then you can leave me to my reading," Black continued to say. "I want to finish that book tonight. I still have another three thousand and forty-seven books to get through."

Eustace blinked.

"What?" he asked, barely able to get those words out. "What? Three thousand and forty books? I don't understand…"

"Three thousand and forty-seven," Black corrected him absentmindedly and then gestured at the walls next to him. "You know, the rest of the books hidden in the walls of Azkaban. Don't worry, I'm already about a quarter through the whole stash of books here. It's not as if I have anything to do but to read."

Eustace rubbed his forehead.

"Are you even sleeping?" he asked trying to forget the fact that Black had apparently read about a thousand books already since… well, since when? Black had been in Azkaban for a year and a half already, but four weeks ago he still seemed to be about to go mad…

"How long have you been reading?" The words were out before he could stop them.

"Er…" Black shrugged. "A fortnight? Maybe two?" For a moment, Black lifted his head to look out of the small window of his cell.

"The moon might have been more or less full back then," he said. "Now it's new moon. Not sure if it's the first or the second new moon since then. Whatever. You can do the calculation yourself, if you're really that interested in it, Blishwick."

That would mean that Black had been reading about thirty-five books a day or more.

Impossible.

Black was INSANE.

Absolutely mad as a hatter.

"You can't have read thirty-five books a day!" Eustace exclaimed.

Black looked up from his book in interest.

"Oh," he said interestedly. "You can do math? Surprising. I thought you were a pureblood."

"I am a pureblood," Eustace said indignantly. "And reading thirty-five books a day is still impossible."

"I have a time-turner," Black waved it off and returned to reading. "Thirty-five books or seventy a day, it's all possible with the right instruments."

Eustace gawked.

"Time-turner?" he repeated. "Where did you get a time-turner from?!"

Black rolled his eyes. "The Ministry, where else?" he asked. "I have been bored for a while, after all. Visiting the Ministry at least relieved my boredom for a time. They have some interesting rooms there – especially in the Department of Mysteries."

Because of course Black would run away from Azkaban, break into the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, steal a time-turner and then return to Azkaban to read.

Eustace wondered if Black had gone insane thanks to the dementors or if the famous Black-insanity was at play. Whatever it was, Eustace was the one who had to deal with it now.

But…

What did you do with a convict who breaks out of prison, steals a time-turner and then returns to prison to steal the confiscated, prohibited books to read them?

Marcellus Abbott had heard some unbelievable things from Eustache Blishwick and Odell Fawley about Sirius Black. Of course, Marcellus hadn't believed a word they said about the man.

"Fawley is of the old crowd," was the opinion of most. "He's been telling tales for years to screw with the newbes."

"Blishwick might be a nice fellow," Marcellus had always thought. "But he's always been too nice. He's not made for the job of a warden of Azkaban, so it's no surprise that he's starting to go mad."

So, Marcellus had just rolled his eyes at his fellow colleagues and had ignored their words.

Sadly, it was harder to ignore their stories when one was confronted with the last Black's madness.

"Black! What's... how'd you... what... what is all that stuff?!" Marcellus stuttered while staring aghast into Black's cell.

Black looked up from where he was crouched in front of a shelf.

Where did the shelf even come from?

"Stuff?" Black asked, sounding quite confused before looking around his cell. "What stuff?"

Then he followed Marcellus' bewildered gaze to the books on the floor and the four-poster bed in the corner.

"Oh," he said before he waggled his hand in front of his body in the air. "I apologise. I had no time to clean. I wasn't expecting guests, you know?"

Marcellus stared at the insane man inside the cell. "Guests?"

"Sure," Black said and then stood up hurriedly to stack some books more cleanly into piles on the floor before hurrying on to his bed and fixing the duvet. "Honestly, I would have preferred some warning," he admonished Marcellus. "You're a purebred wizard, Abbott, you should know better than to come into someone's home uninvited! And don't tell me that muggles do it all the time. Lily taught me better!"

Then, Black nodded.

"Well, this will have to do," he said. "I mean, Mother would have still a fit, I think... or well, maybe she wouldn't have before she went insane, don't know that actually, but I guess it's fine either way. I hated her insane self, after all." Then he gestured towards his bed. "Now, Abbott, don't be shy. Come in and sit down!" He looked around and frowned. "I just hope you're fine without tea. I haven't gotten a stove, yet, you know?"

He shook his head. "And I fear I have to tell you that cold tea isn't just discourteous but also, tea from cold water tastes like shit. You don't wanna drink that, Abbott, if you don't have to."

"I didn't plan to come in at all," Marcellus uttered, absolutely confused and quite concerned.

"Oh," Black said. "Why didn't you say so earlier? I wouldn't have bothered cleaning then!"

With that, he threw himself on the mattress, rolled a bit around to mess up the sheets again, before standing up, nodding to himself and then going back to work on his shelf.

Marcellus couldn't help himself but stare at Black.

"Did you mess up your sheets deliberately right now?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, you said you weren't about to come in," Black said with a shrug. "And tucked in sheets are the worst thing you can do to a bed. If you go to bed in a bed like that, the sheets are always cold and hard. I don't like it. If you don't come in, then I don't see a reason to put myself through unnecessary discomfort tonight."

Black… was insane.

Nevertheless, for a moment, Marcellus wondered if there really was a different to the sheets if you made the bed or if you didn't, then another thought took overhand.

"Where did you even get that bed from?" he asked, remembering Fawley's stories about Black in his office.

Black waggled his hand dismissively. "From Hogwarts," he said as if it was of no concern at all.

"Hogwarts?" Marcellus screeched.

"Don't worry. I took it from the Slytherin dorm," Black countered. "I wasn't about to punish a poor Hufflepuff first year for being too friendly for his own good. I mean, I thought about taking my bed from Gryffindor Tower, but honestly? I never liked that thing. Far too scratchy sheets, in my opinion."

Then he looked around with a frown.

"And with me already turning half into a Ravenclaw, I thought it best if I didn't take one of their beds. I took some of their books, though. They had some very interesting ones, you know? Nevertheless, I wasn't into osmosis through sharing beds because I really don't want to write my dissertation on the differences between the evil arts, the black arts and enchantments double of the length it has to be."

Black shook his head and mumbled something under his breath that contained words like "insane Ravenclaws" and "always writing at least double the length needed in assignments".

Then he waved his hand and added. "Well, so you see, Slytherin was the only reasonable dorm to steal a bed from."

Marcellus stared at him horrified.

"What?" he whispered, trying to comprehend that Black had been at Hogwarts – and he must have been because now that Black had said it, the bed really looked like a student's bed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Black added. "Slytherin germs and all that. Don't worry, I sanitized the bed. There should be nothing left of any Slytherin's extra-curricular activities."

Marcellus opened his mouth and then closed it again with an audible clicking sound.

He really didn't want to know what extra-curricular activities Black was talking about…

"Why… how… why are you even here if you left Azkaban to get to Hogwarts?" he finally managed to get out, thrown by Black's words and deeds like by nothing else in his life.

Black threw Marcellus a look as if he had lost his mind.

"I wanted a comfortable bed," Black said. "Why should I have stayed at Hogwarts if I just wanted the bed? Also, I hadn't gotten my shelf from Flourish & Blotts by then and my books are still here… so why should I have bothered to stay at Hogwarts? I mean, it's not as if the bed would have been mine if I just slept at Hogwarts! It would have still been that Slytherin student's bed and I wasn't looking forward to sanitizing it each night just to be able to sleep in it."

Black shook his head. "Not to mention that the way between my books and my bed would have been too far to casually read a book in bed without going on a hiking tour of several hours!"

"Well, if you put it like that…" Marcellus said, not sure if he was right in supporting the insane man in his delusions or if he should point out that usually, prisoners wanted to get out of Azkaban – and not steal some stuff to get more comfortable in there…

But then… apparently Blishwick and Fawley were right, Black was insane.

Absolutely and completely insane.

And Marcellus had no idea what to do about the fact that Black had gone and stolen a bed from Hogwarts. It wasn't as if theft was harder punished than the prison sentence Black already had, after all. Not to mention that Marcellus would have to go and admit that Black broke out and then into Azkaban to get the stolen goods here.

"Who even would believe me if I told them that Black has a bed in Azkaban… and a shelf…" Marcellus mumbled to himself, staring into Black's cell were Black was in the process of installing the shelf on the wall.

Black turned and looked at Marcellus. Apparently Marcellus was looking judgemental to him, because the next thing Black did, was to defend the existence of his shelf.

"Flourish and Blotts was getting new shelves," Black declared with a pout. "I asked if I could have the old ones."

"Old ones?" Marcellus asked and his eyes widened. "You have more than one?"

"Sure," Black said with a roll of his eyes. "Or do you really think that my books will all fit into one single shelf?"

Marcellus looked at the stacks of books all around the room.

Well, if Black put it like that, then he really needed more than one shelf…

"Where are the others?" he couldn't help but ask confused.

Black pointed towards the other side of the room.

Only now, Marcellus noticed that Black's old plank bed was currently used not only as a temporary place to stack more books but also to house quite a few boards. The shelves, Marcellus guessed.

It seems as if Black would be busy for a while.

"Wanna help?" Black asked in that moment.

"Help?"

"Well, you seem to be a bit bored, what with you standing in front of my room with nothing to do," Black replied with a shrug. "I thought I should at least ask if you wanted to help."

Black's expression told Marcellus that he really had only asked because he thought he had to. It was clear, that Black would prefer if Marcellus said 'no'.

"No," Marcellus said, for once quite happy to play alone. "No, thanks."

Black shrugged.

"Your loss," he said and then turned back to his shelf, nodded and then started to fill his shelf with books. It took a moment for Marcellus to understand that there was a system to it. He just didn't know what kind of system.

"Are you ordering your books?" he asked Black incredulously.

"Sure, I am," Black agreed happily. "By alphabetical order."

Marcellus looked from 'Se Boccræft of Þæm Þiestre Cræftum' to 'Fyrngemynd of Þæm Gealdorcræftum' which had inexplicably ended up next to each other with 'Se Boccræft of Þæm Þiestre Cræftum' coming first.

"I'm not sure I can see the alphabetical order," he commented. "I always thought that S was after F in the alphabet…"

Black looked at Marcellus as if he was mad. "I'm pretty sure that E is before R in the alphabet," he corrected Marcellus.

"E? R? Where do you –?"

Black pointed first at the last letter of 'Þiestre' and then at the R before 'cræftum' in 'Gealdorcræftum'. "There," he said. "Before that letter, the word is the same, see, the M is the same, the U is the same, the T is the same the F is the same, the Æ is the same, the R is the same and the C is the same…"

Marcellus opened his mouth to object to Black's idea to start his system with the last letters of the titles, but in the end, he closed it without uttering a word. There was no point in trying to argue with someone insane, after all.

"Hmm…" Black said and then looked at his shelf. "I guess those shelves fit more books than I thought they would. I might have to get some more books…"

"You… you can't go out!" Marcellus squeaked, wondering what he should do. He couldn't allow Black to run all over the isles in his quest to find more books.

Black waved it off. "There are still some more books hidden in the walls here," he said unconcerned. "I found a new stash just yesterday. Maybe there are some I like to add into my collection to fill my shelves."

He nodded to himself while Marcellus sagged in relieve.

"And if I find too many books I like I can still go out to get some more shelves later on," Black reasoned.

Marcellus froze.

More shelves. Going out.

He needed to tell someone! He needed to stop Black! But, what should he do?

Marcellus was pretty sure that he should report it, but… how did you report that a convict had broken out of Azkaban, got himself some furniture and then broke back in to set up said furniture? People would think him insane if he reported that!

"Black did what?" Bagnold, the Minister of Magic exclaimed in disbelief.

Deputy Director of the DMLE Amelia Bones and the Head Warden of Azkaban exchanged a look. The warden was pale faced and slightly trembling.

"I guess he moved into Azkaban," Amelia settled on.

"We contemplated throwing him out," the Head Warden confessed. "I mean, we know he's a convict and all that, but we discussed it. Throwing him out of Azkaban might be the bigger punishment now than keeping him there."

He swallowed nervously. "But… well, I doubt we could do it," he said. "Throw him out, I mean. Black… well, I don't know how he does it, but he's been leaving and entering his cell without any troubles. He's not even afraid or affected by the Dementors anymore!"

"He's not affected by the Dementors?" the junior minister of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Cornelius Fudge asked with a frown. "Impossible! Everyone is affected by the Dementors!"

"He's cuddling with them as if they were teddy bears," the warden said with a gulp. "If he is affected by them, then he clearly doesn't show it."

"Cuddling with the Dementors?" Fudge exclaimed. "That man is mad!"

"Oh, he is, definitively," Amelia Bones replied unruffled. "A family disposition, I'm afraid. I fear he got worse when he started to be affected by the madness of Azkaban as well."

Fudge spluttered.

"That's… that's madness!"

"Exactly," Amelia agreed. "That's what I said. Madness. The man is mad – and he's pulling Azkaban down into the abyss with him."

... ... ...

...

Well, the insanity is beginning. Azkaban has to suffer now.

'Till next time.

Ebenbild