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.

…

GONE FISHING

…

Fudge spluttered. "Black is lying!" he exclaimed. "He has a Dark Mark! He has to have one, he's You-Know-Who's right hand-man!"

"Who said that?" Amelia inquired, but the Head Warden interrupted her.

"It doesn't matter if he has a Dark Mark or not," he screamed. "What matters is that we're all slowly but surely losing our minds thanks to Black! It's either us or him, it doesn't matter, but fact is that Azkaban is too small for both of us!"

"We're not releasing a dangerous criminal into the public because you can't stand his madness anymore!" Minister Bagnold objected. "We have a duty to the public!"

"Which is why I'm asking for a writ that will put the wardens of Azkaban on sick leave!" the Head Warden agreed.

The Minister sighed.

"I understand the serious–" The Head Warden sobbed. "–situation that you're in," the Minister said, not even trying to be careful with her words. "But we can't just go and write a writ that will put all the wardens of Azkaban on sick leave. We would be seriously–" The Warden whimpered. "–understaffed if I even considered your request!"

The Minister shook her head with a sigh. "No, I fear, I have to do the right thing and stay strong. You have always managed the prisoners of Azkaban. You will learn how to manage him as well."

For a moment, the Head Warden's facial expressions twisted to something between resignation and fury, then his shoulder's slumped.

"On your head, it will be," he finally agreed slowly. "Just don't come to me later and tell me that I didn't warn you, Minister."

He turned and looked at Amelia Bones.

"Thank you, Deputy Director Bones," he said. "I'm in your dept for your help – no matter the outcome."

"You're welcome," Amelia replied, looking quite concerned. "Will you manage?"

Fudge scoffed. "Of course, he will!" he exclaimed. "It's just one mad prisoner! He'd be wrong in his job if he didn't manage!"

The Head Warden glared at Fudge.

"I have served magical Britain for decades," he said icily. "You should remember that when you take me from Azkaban to St. Mungo's sometimes in the future."

And with his head held high, the Head Warden marched towards the door.

"Where are you going, Warden?" Minister Bagnold called after him.

The Head Warden stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Back to Azkaban," he said. "I'm not letting my people deal with Black by themselves."

Then he sighed and shook his head. "Oh, well," he said. "I guess, there's either a massage session with the dementors or a poker night currently happening in Black's cell. I should go and see if they can deal me in."

With that, he opened the door and stepped out just to throw it shut after him.

"You shouldn't have done that, Minister," Amelia Bones said concerned. "We might lose our wardens of Azkaban over that. They're already going mad – I'm sure that with them also in future being influenced by Black, they will soon be beyond saving."

The Minister just shook her head at Amelia in exasperation, still not believing a word.

Amelia clearly saw that fact on Bagnold's face. She closed her eyes, shook her head and then said. "I have to go and see how Susan is doing."

With that, she left the Minister's office defeated, leaving two politicians with their heads buried in the sand behind.

- …

Abner Shacklebolt was staring into Black's cell. He stared and then slowly raised his hand and rubbed his eyes.

The picture didn't change. There was Black, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a black suit, a white dress shirt and a dark grey tie.

"Black," Abner said slowly.

"Hmm?"

"What… are you wearing?" he asked hesitatingly.

"Hmm?" Black looked up from his mirror image. Abner didn't even dare to ask about the mirror on the wall or where Black had gotten it from. Looking at the crest on the upper part of the mirror, Abner was quite sure that the mirror had once belonged to the Abbotts. He just wasn't sure if Black had gotten it from Marcellus Abbott… or if he had gone out and gotten it that way.

Honestly, Abner didn't want to know.

"Your clothes," Abner repeated when Black still didn't really react. Instead, he was fixated on his mirror image, clearly distracted by it.

"Oh," Black said and then slowly and clearly unwillingly turned around to look at Abner for a second. "I thought I should look a bit more… serious when Grandfather comes by tomorrow."

"Your Grandfather was refused when he petitioned to come by," Abner told Black. "There's a law that Blacks aren't allowed to go to Azkaban."

Black raised an eyebrow at Abner before he spun round to show himself off mockingly.

"I thought your Ministry averted the ban," he said just as mockingly as his gesture had been. "It would have been prudent, what with me being here and all that."

Well, that was true. If there was already a Black in Azkaban, another one should have also been allowed to get there.

Abner was quite happy that they still didn't allow another Black in Azkaban. The one in front of him and Lestrange, the former Black, were more than enough in his opinion.

"They didn't," Abner said. "And they certainly won't."

After all, the Ministry had refused until now to safe the wardens of Azkaban from Black, it stood to reason that they would keep to the status quo for everything else as well.

"So, you see, you don't need a suit," Abner added.

Black sighed in disappointment and then threw another look over his shoulder at the mirror. "But I look so good in one," he said sadly.

Abner decided to ignore that. "Where did you even get that suit from?" he asked instead.

"Hmm?" Black reluctantly looked back towards Abner. "Oh, nowhere," he finally said and waved it off. "I wanted to get one from Gladrags, but they refused to serve me. I will have to have a word with Grandfather because of that. Refusing the Black Heir – not a good advertisement at all."

"I can see why they refused you," Abner mumbled. "After all, you're a prisoner of Azkaban."

Black waved it off. "Unimportant," he said. "Inheritance is more important."

Which… well, Black wasn't wrong about that…

"That still doesn't explain where you got that suit from," Abner told him, surprisingly calm in the face of all that insanity.

Black waved it off. "Nowhere," he said. "I improvised."

Then he patted the suit.

"Well, then, boys," he said. "I guess, you're not needed."

A mournful, creepy sound came from Black's cloak. Then, the cloak turned into whisps of smoke that solidified into the schemes of four different Dementors.

Abner took a step back.

"What?" he whispered, staring at the Dementors that hovered near Black. One of the Dementors reached out and patted Blacks hair, making another mournful sound.

Black sighed.

"Alright, alright," he said as if the Dementor had said something to him. "You don't need to leave. We can cuddle tonight instead."

Abner opened his mouth.

The Dementor that had patted Black's hair floated over to Black's bed and then turned back into whisps of smoke before it plumped upon the bed in the shape of a pillow. A second Dementor followed the first and plumped onto Black's bed in the form of a blanket.

Abner stared at Black's bed, then Abner stared at Black, before he looked back to the bed.

"I… you know what, Black," he said finally. "Let's… let's just forget it."

Black blinked, looking a bit confused. "Sure, if you want to, Shacklebolt."

Abner nodded emphatically. "I want to," he told Black. "I really, really want to."

With that, he turned around and walked away, quite determined to ignore all of the insanity that came with Black and his shenanigans.

… … …

The Head Warden was looking grave when he stepped into the meeting room.

"We've been abandoned," he told the other wardens when they all quietened around him.

Urquart swallowed harshly.

"Abandoned? You mean, they want us to stay here? With Black?!"

"That's exactly what they want us to do," the Head Warden agreed with a sigh. "They didn't seem to care how serious–" The whole room shuddered and more than one warden whimpered or pleaded 'Head Warden, please!'. The Head Warden on the other hand continued mercilessly. "–how serious the situation around here is. Apparently, we've guarded Azkaban for centuries, so we should be able to do it, now."

Blishwick snorted. "There wasn't a Black in Azkaban in that time!" he countered.

"Of course, there wasn't!" Abbott agreed. "By law, the Blacks are forbidden to go to Azkaban! There's even an exception for them when it comes to imprisoning them!"

"The Minister didn't care about that law," the Head Warden said with a sigh. "And let's be realistic. Black wouldn't leave, even if we tried to throw him out now. It's either us leaving, abandoning our post, or us slowly going insane while working here with him in residence."

Otha Sayre and Odell Fawley exchanged a glance. "If that's our options," Otha finally said. "I think I'm going to jump into the abyss. At least, I get some entertainment out of my insanity here. St. Mungo's is just so... gloomy."

Well, he wasn't wrong there. With its white walls and sterile rooms, St. Mungo's really wasn't that appealing.

"I'm not sure if having grey walls instead of white is less gloomy," one of the other wardens objected.

"It's the company," Fawley argued. "Not to mention, I think I'd end up missing the Dementors if I went and got myself admitted to St. Mungo's." While that was an odd argument, it was a valid one and more than one Warden agreed with him with a decisive nod.

"I also doubt that St. Mungo's allows poker nights," Otha added unhappily.

"Or weird experiments," Frederic McDougal added.

Several wardens took a step back from Frederic at that.

"What have you and Black been brewing again, Frederic?" the Head Warden inquired warily. They all had learned to stay away from Black's cell whenever Frederic was his guest over the last several months.

Frederic shrugged. "Either it's a cure for the Cruciatus curse or it's the most potent poison in the world," he said flippantly. "We don't actually know, yet. But don't worry, whatever of the two it is, it won't blow us up."

Which was the only thing most wardens since a few months ago cared about, so they collectively relaxed again.

"Good, good," the Head Warden said. "Keep it that way, McDougal. I have no interest in renovating Azkaban in my work time."

"Shouldn't you be more worried about a potential break-out thanks to an explosion, Head Warden?" one of the yet unaffected and still quite new wardens asked.

"Black won't break out," more than one warden assured the new-be immediately. "He's quite at home here. We would have more trouble throwing him out than keeping him here."

But the inquiry reminded the Head Warden of something else.

"About all of you who have been lucky as of yet and escaped Black," he said slowly. "What do you wish to do? I understand if you want to leave Azkaban. If you want to leave, but can't resign, there are possibilities. I offer all of you to fire you. I will make up a reason… maybe on the suspicion of being too sound of mind and body, or some such. Considering the circumstances, firing you on grounds of sanity should be possible." The Head Warden nodded to himself thoughtfully.

"Aren't you usually fired on grounds of insanity?" Frederic inquired with a frown. "Or was that being admitted on grounds of insanity?"

More than one warden shrugged, clearly not sure themselves what the right answer was.

The Head Warden waved it off. "Sanity – insanity, fired – admitted, who cares?" he said. "As long as there's a reason, you should be available for the usual separation package, if you need it. It would tie you over until you'd find a new job, unlike if you were the one who terminated your job."

Which was definitely a good reason for agreeing to be fired instead of terminating the job themselves. More than one warden nodded thoughtfully, clearly agreeing with the Head Warden's thought process.

"So," the Head Warden said slowly. "Who wants to be fired?"

More than one warden looked thoughtful at that question.

"I think I will stay as long as I'm not forced to interact with Black if I don't want to," Graham Brown decided. The man was known for being quite clear-headed and calm.

"A reasonable precaution," the Head Warden agreed. "If anybody else wants to do it like Graham, that's fine as well."

More than one warden looked down to the floor, then up at their fellow wardens before nervously putting one food behind the other, looking more like a shy little girl than the grown male wardens they actually were.

"If you don't want to confess wanting to do the same in front of everyone, I'm fine with being approached at a later time," the Head Warden decided.

A few shy nods could be seen from one warden or another.

"The same goes for those who want to be fired," the Head Warden added, since he tried to be fair. "It's also not a one-time deal. If you want to take one and decide later one that the one you took isn't the right one, just approach me again and we'll reconsider."

"Er… Head Warden," Abner Shacklebolt said slowly. "I think that the idea of firing means that you don't take your employees back later on…"

The Head Warden hummed thoughtfully. "That might be right anywhere else," he finally decided. "But then, normally, like Frederic pointed out, people aren't fired on grounds of sanity. If I simply declare you insane later – which I will be able to if you want to come back to Azkaban with Black still there – then there's no reason for me not to take you back. After all, you'd fit in quite well, then."

"Too true," more than one warden agreed.

"But… what about Black and his shenanigans?" Abbott asked a bit concerned. "I mean, should we try to curb them?"

"Do we even have the ability to curb them?" Odell countered immediately. More than one warden shook their heads.

"There, you see, that's a clear no," Odell nodded to himself. "I'd suggest we ignore them. As long as Black is back in his cell by nightfall and doesn't blow us up we'll call it a night. I mean, if anybody complains about Black's daylight activities, then those clearly aren't our fault. We send our Head Warden and Madam Bones to the Minister to stop Black's insanity. The Minister refused. I'd say we let her deal with the fallout if there is one."

Which was more than just, in the opinion of most wardens.

"Let's put it in writing and hand it over to the Minister for a signature," the Head Warden decided. "Like that, it's really out of our hands."

"Let's put it in triplicate, just to be sure that we will have one, the Minister will have one and the Law Department will have one," Frederic added, clearly concerned by the possibility of the Minister going after their heads when Black's insanity would finally spread to the rest of the magical world.

"In quadruplicate," the Head Warden decided. "One for the Minister, one for the Law Department, one for our files and one for our wall, just to be sure."

With that decision, the meeting adjourned.

And when the writ was returned post-haste, signed by the Minister after an insurance that the writ didn't contain any mention of a sick leave for all the wardens of Azkaban, well, that wasn't the wardens' faults at all.

So, with the writ signed and proudly framed on the wall in the entrance hall, the life at Azkaban continued. Five wardens were fired on grounds of insanity, ten got a special permission to ignore Black's cell or, if they wanted to, even stay away from the floor he was in, three wardens were rehired on grounds of insanity and the poker night expanded from four wardens and a Black to six wardens and a Black. And every other week, one warden or the other kept Black from blowing them all up by various means.

All was back to routine.

… … …

Graham Brown head crying from Black's cell.

He slowly and hesitatingly stepped closer.

Inside, Black was pacing and rocking a bundle of blankets.

"Hush, my darling stagson," Black cooed. "Hush now, you're warm and safe with your dogfather."

For a moment, Graham watched Black rocking the bundle and listened to the soft crying of a young child, then, Graham took a deep breath.

"No," he said to himself and stepped away from Black's cell. "Not my circus, not my monkeys. I really don't want to know."

With that, he turned and left.

Graham wouldn't go mad like the rest of the wardens. He refused!

The next time, Graham stepped past Black's cell, he could hear Marcellus inside.

"You know, Hannah is always crying. It's really bad right now," Marcellus said. "I think she misses her mother. I mean, I do, too, but I think for her, it's worse."

"Ah, yeah, I can see what you mean," Black said. "Your girl was around your wife day and night, of course she'd miss her more."

"Exactly."

There was the babbling of two young voices underlining the conversation of the adults.

Graham hurried up. "Not my circus, not my monkeys," he reminded himself. "I really, really don't want to know."

The time after that one, he could hear Amelia Bones talking before he even reached Black's cell.

"Susan has been saying 'no' constantly ever since she learned that word," she said. "I think it's her new favourite word."

"Hmm," Black said. "Yeah, I think I see what you mean. I think I've heard the word 'no' more often in the last few weeks than I ever heard it before."

There was children's laughter accompanying their discussion.

Graham closed his eyes and stepped passed Black's cell.

"Not my circus, not my monkeys," he reminded himself desperately. "I really, really, really don't want to know!"

And he really wanted to stay sane as well.

Then, a few weeks later, his sister was ill and asked him to look after his niece Lavender.

Graham looked at the happy baby.

"I need to go to work," he reminded his sister.

"And I can't take care of her right now," his sister told him while coughing. "I need sleep and someone needs to watch her."

"Where's your husband?"

"In France. He's been called over there a week ago for work," his sister replied. "Please Graham!"

Graham looked at his sister, at his niece and then thought of his job.

"Fuck it," he said.

"Graham!"

"I'll take her," he told his sister. "Don't worry about Lavender. I will look after her today."

With that, he grabbed his niece, the stuff he needed for her and then apparated to Azkaban.

Without a second thought he signed in and then hurriedly walked the halls of Azkaban until he reached Black's cell.

He knocked, and when Black – rocking a bundle of blankets in his arms – bade him inside, he stepped in and held out his niece towards Black.

"That's Lavender," he said. "She's my niece. I'm watching her today."

Black smiled and then held out the bundle in his arms.

"This is Harry, my little Prongslet," he said happily, showing off a black-haired, green-eyed boy in his arms, "welcome to the daycare!"

Yes, the wardens of Azkaban had gone mad – but that had to be expected if you allowed a Black into Azkaban, after all.

... ... ...

...

Well, I know some of you hoped for Sirius to remember Harry. I hope you liked the short glance into the daycare of Azkaban.

'Till next time.

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