It wasn't until many hours later that Magdalena returned. He had made himself busy writing to Harry and Remus, letting them know he was safe,and not to worry about him. Well, he wasn't as far as either of them thought, yet surely, when the potion would be done, he would be able to explain everything. He wasn't yet sure whose body he would inhabit when the potion would be ready, but he had about a month to worry about that.

When the witch returned, she plopped a basket near him, containing the Polyjuice ingredients he had asked her for, before collapsing on a nearby couch.

"Had fun?" he asked amused, digging through the basket. While she was gone, he had rummaged through her library, and found an advanced Potions book hidden carefully, containing the ingredients and instructions needed.

"Hm?" She had covered her face with a pillow, waving her wand as the lamps around them flickered slightly, decreasing their light.

"I may have been in prison for a good twelve years, but I'm not an idiot." Sirius explained, getting up and touching the embroidered sequins dangling at her elbows. "When you're dressed like that, you haven't gone anywhere but to have a good time."

"I got you your ingredients, is what I did." came an answer full of indignation, half-muffled by the pillow.

"Mhm, and before that?" He asked.

"You're the one stuck and unable to leave. I had to get out too, get some air…"

"And?"

"And something better than air." she finally admitted with a groan. "I got you what you needed, yes? There's a-..." she pointed a finger towards the kitchen, angling it to the left. "There's a cupboard in the kitchen. It's not a cupboard. It's a- it's like a basement. There's space, there's… yeah? You can make it there."

From the ingredients she had picked, Sirius figured there was more than enough, and he took a few leaves of knotgrass. On one of the cupboards, he found a small bowl with money, and took a sickle, wrapping it in the leaves of knotgrass, and taking it to the kitchen, where he poured a few drops of firewhisky in it.

It was a hangover cure James's dad had taught him, a quick and effective one. He recited a small spell under his breath, and tapped the small mass with his wand, before approaching the witch again. She had helped him a lot in these past few days, and it was the least he could do.

"Here." he said, and held the small, knotweed-covered wet Sickle between his fingers. "I trusted you, you trust me now. Hold this under your tongue." He put it in the witch's hand, who did as he asked, before collapsing back on the couch.

He took a seat on the floor, at the far end of the couch, going over the instructions on making Polyjuice potion. By the time he would finish, there would still be a good month or so left of the summer holidays, before Harry would return to Hogwarts. The news about Mad-Eye assured him Harry would be in safe hands, however that meant that as long as he was wanted by the Ministry, he had to stay as far away from that place as possible. Moody's eye could see beyond an Invisibility Cloak, beyond Polyjuice, and Sirius had a feeling it could even tell if an animal was truly just that, or an Animagus.

It was an asset to have Moody on one's side, and one's worst luck to be on the other side - a side which, as far as Sirius was concerned, Mad-Eye thought he was on.

However… In his Muggle neighborhood, they couldn't tell an animal from an Animagus form, or even something as basic as a Disillusionment Charm. And Harry had his Invisibility Cloak. Surely, he could sneak out for a few hours, just to catch up. He needed to know about that incident that happened in his first year. He needed to know more about what happened with Voldemort. How else would he be able to protect him?

The owls he used to send letters to Remus and Harry earlier had already returned - that was how close they both were to him. And while he could catch up with Remus later, even invite him to this place, or visit him at his house, he was beaming at the idea that he could see and talk to Harry before the potion would be done. He simply had to plan in advance.

And after all, surely, the witch wouldn't mind doing him another small favor.

"Hey." he called out to her in a whispered tone. Nothing. "Wake up now." he raised his voice, pulling the pillow away from her face. Stuck to her face, locks of hair were gently swaying from side to side as she breathed, fast asleep.

Ah, now he wasn't firewhisky that was supposed to be mixed in. Well, Fleamont would surely have been disappointed in him.

Leaning over, he gently opened her mouth, taking the coin out from under the tongue and dropping it on the table. She'd be fine by the morning, however it was a stark reminder that he needed to practice his magic more, especially considering his plans. Voldemort may be in hiding and weak, Pettigrew may have been easy to track down and almost take down, but he knew many Death Eaters have been roaming freely all these years. And he had to catch up with them.

Surely, if he would have been at the level he was before his imprisonment, he would've been able to take out both Pettigrew and Snape. But for now, he had to take things one at the time.

He had to write to Harry, and then start his potions. One thing at a time.

Sirius got up, and only at that point registered that his hand had been on Magdalena's knee from when he tried to shake her awake. He was still so undernourished that the smallest cold breeze sent shivers down his spine, and from the vapors of alcohol, even through thick robes, her body exuded warmth. He shook her knee once again, figuring she was still fast asleep, before wrapping one of the many shawls against himself.

Dear Harry,

Hope you've been well. I know I'm sending this letter very close to my other one, and I'll soon be able to explain why. I don't want you to tell anyone - not your friends, not even Dumbledore, about this, but I'll be sending someone soon, to check in with you. I'll be looking forward to seeing you soon.

Sirius

He folded the letter and attached it to the owl's leg, waking it up in the process.

"At least someone's awake and ready to do a job." he grumbled, half to himself, and half to the owl, before sending it off through the window. He listened in, and heard, from far away, the notes of an accordion, disjointed and without much melody. By the time he'd leave this place, surely he'd be ready to become a music critic.

As welcoming and airy as the rooms upstairs were, as stuffy and stuffed with relics was the basement. It reminded him of the drawing room in 12 Grimmauld Place, albeit less sinister and less filled with dark magic.

And more… well, foreign. In one corner stood a mirror covered in what looked like white gauze, and in another, laid on a stool, stood an array of empty cauldrons, in various states of cleanliness. Gathered herbs poked from everywhere. An array of silver and golden trays and measuring instruments stood atop a table. There were other, wooden, rudimentary magical objects he could vaguely recall the use and meaning of from his N.E.W.T.s. He racked his brain, and could vaguely remember something about sixteenth century witches, trades, and eastern and nordic wizards using forms of it. In one corner were thrown enormous masks, covered in wool, with monstrous beards and bulging eyes, along with various other discarded furs, bells threaded throughout.

With a move of his wand, he moved everything in the corner the masks were, and made himself a working station. He kept the trays and measuring instruments close to him, and laid out the book on making the Polyjuice potion. There wasn't much he could do at the moment, as he had to first wait for the lacewing flies to stew for three weeks, and soon enough, he found himself sitting in the middle of the basement.

While indeed the perfect spot to brew in, it was not the most welcoming place, and Sirius was not that keen on spending a lot of time down there. Apart from his own footsteps and breathing, he couldn't hear a single thing. Together with its eerie silence and lack of windows, it resembled his cell a bit too much for his liking. However, it was a good enough spot to practice on his magic.

"Sirius." a whisper whose voice he could not place sent a shiver down his spine, and he turned around, gripping his wand. Apart from the southeast corner of the basement, nothing looked back at him. The disembodied voice sounded awfully familiar, yet muffled, as if he were underwater, or if his ears were stuffed with cotton. Wand in hand, he tried to cast a Patronus, yet nothing but weak light came out of it.

He tried again, this time closing his eyes, focusing on the few moments he spent with Harry, sure he would be soon a free man, sure he would get another chance at restarting his life. He opened his eyes to look at his Patronus and found there was no light, not even the low flicker of the candles he had lit..

Full darkness.

He tried to dart his eyes around in vain. He felt a flutter close to his chest, and heard a voice confirm that he was, indeed, breathing. Slowly, he became more aware of his features. First, he started feeling his ears. It was as if his own blood was waking up, coursing through his veins. He felt his own chest rising. He was, indeed, breathing. His mind raced with questions, and he lifted his arm upwards. It was enormously heavy to lift, yet slivers of light started appearing from the corners of his eyes as he did so.

"...Sirius?" the voice repeated, and in the soft light, Sirius saw two amber eyes staring intently at him. It took him a while to recognise it was the witch, standing above him. He raised himself up and looked around the living room, the situation reeking of deja-vu, and he asked a question he had probably asked a thousand times already.

"What happened? How- how long have you been awake for?"

"What do you mean?" the witch furrowed her brow.

"You came back last night… drunk. I gave you-..." as he tried explaining it, his memories became more and more hazy, and he looked around for the knotweed remains.

"I did not come drunk, Sirius. You were the one already drunk when I came in."

"No." came his response, agitated and questioning. No, he certainly did not-

"You drank all that bottle of mead and my plum alcohol by the time I came back. You said since you're stuck here and can't get fresh air, might as well get-"

Something better than air. A shiver went down his spine, and he remembered. He remembered going through book after book in her library, sipping on it as his thoughts became hazier and hazier. He could hide, momentarily, behind those fumes of drink, and he did so. Had he imagined everything then? Slowly, he got up, and with the witch trailing behind him, he approached the kitchen, opening the door to the basement. He lit it up, and saw the ingredients laid out, just as he left them.

That part was real.

"I'm losing my mind." he whispered to himself, before turning around and facing the witch.

"Sirius, what do you know about Dementors? Well, no-" Sirius furrowed his brows, in an 'are-you-kidding-me' manner, causing her to backtrack on her words. "I mean, what do you truly know?"

"What do I not know? Dark creatures. Foul, decayed things that drain you of all of your happiness, suck out everything that makes you want to live."

"And what happens when you are surrounded by such dark creatures for more than a decade?"

Sirius shrugged, and went after the kettle sitting on the stove. The witch, however, grabbed at his wrist before he could touch it, and repeated her question.

"You go mad."

"But you didn't go mad, Sirius Black. You are in front of me, you are standing, speaking clearly. But something stuck with you, didn't it?"

He was quiet. He wanted to scoff at her - to laugh. He wanted to feel offended, but he couldn't.

"It must have." she finally answered her own question, seemingly choosing to ignore his refusal to respond. "There is something about you - I thought it was you. Since that night I first saw you, I thought you were, and you will have to pardon my crassness, well… repulsive. It's not how you look, how you act, it's not you, but there is something just… off with you. Don't you feel it?"

He had not a moment's rest since his escape. Every time he felt a happy thought, every time he imagined his life as a free man, every single time the thought stopped, and he would return back to Azkaban. A part of him was left there, and instead of that, he took something else out of the prison with himself. Something heavy, wearing him out with each second passing.

"What do you propose, then?" he asked in a whisper, as if he were afraid the piece stuck with him would hear, and would react.

"How many people do you know that escaped Azkaban?" Sirius shook his head, and Magdalena continued. "Exactly. This is uncharted territory, as far as I know. But there must be an answer somewhere." There must be an answer somewhere. He looked down at his wrist, which the witch still was holding, and sighed wearily.

In the short moments of shared solitude and meditation, from the living room window came a small tapping noise, and Sirius took the opportunity to shake his hand free, going towards the source of the noise. He opened the window, and two owls fluttered their way inside, dropping the Daily Prophet and a small note addressed to him, respectively, on the table underneath.

Sirius first took the small note, and opened it to find a note from Harry, in response to his own. Shit. He had completely forgotten that in his drunken haze, he had sent him an owl.

"Listen…" he grumbled to the witch, grabbing the Daily Prophet and opening it. "I need a favor. I need you to help me see Harry. I need to see how he's doing myself, I don't trust those Muggles-"

"Do you not trust Dumbledore?" there was a tone of irony in her voice, before she continued, taking a seat on the couch. "He said he's safe with them."

"Dumbledore trusts some people too much." Snape was the perfect example of this - if it weren't for him thwarting his plans, making them late, Remus would've turned into a werewolf after they would've already been inside Hogwarts, turning Pettigrew in. He turned another page as he spoke, taking a seat as he stared back at a familiar face.

He knew that round mouth, that frizzy hair, and that sulky expression, albeit on a younger, much younger face.

'Bertha Jorkins, Ministry of Magic'… 'disappeared in Albania. No trace after…'

"I knew this girl." he murmured, taking a seat next to Magdalena. "Was a few years ahead of me." He looked at the witch, who shrugged her shoulders, seemingly disinterested. "Disappeared in the exact country Dumbledore said he's having monitored, where all of these unicorns were exsanguinated. In the exact country there's rumors of… you get it now, don't you?" He watched her eyes widen as he spoke, and her mouth opened to speak. "You know all of these foreign wizards and witches, right?" he interrupted her, waving towards the window. "Think you can find out anything about this?"