"That's god-awful, that is." Magdalena exclaimed at Harry's retelling of Dudley's diet.

While she was actively responding,, he had just been sitting there, listening, attentive at everything Harry was saying. Everything about his aunt, his uncle, his cousin, his meeting Hagrid, Ron, Hermione, Ron's siblings, and only started interrupting once Harry started retelling what had happened to him the year before his escape.

"You're telling me Lucius Malfoy's house-elf warned you about all of that?"

Harry nodded, leaving Sirius nothing short of gobsmacked.

"And you're sure old Malfoy didn't put him up to this? Neither him nor… his wife, by chance?"

Harry cocked his head to the side, not understanding where he was coming from. And of course he didn't, Sirius realized as he asked the question - Harry had no idea that he was related by marriage, even if distantly, to Lucius, and while he didn't interact much with Narcissa, knew enough about her crazy sister to not be surprised if any of them in fact instructed the house-elf to go directly to Harry's house.

"No, definitely not. Every time he told me something he wasn't supposed to, he would hit himself, he really hurt himself. The house-elf I mean, Dobby, and he stopped Malfoy's father from-" Harry stopped for a second, taking a sip of orange juice, before continuing. " And he was right, if it weren't for Dobby we probably wouldn't have known Voldemort's diary came from Malfoy's house..."

Sirius looked up to Harry, before sighing profusely, rubbing at his stubble as he spoke.

"Alright, Harry, you're going to have to start from the beginning with this one."

Magdalena kept an eye out as Harry started talking about the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort's diary and how it possessed Ginny, and his meeting with the memory of a young, past version of Voldemort - how he found out he was a half-blood, and that his father was a Muggle who left the family. Sirius couldn't help but pick on some similarities with another half-blooded wizard that had an eye for the Dark Arts, one he very much knew and still very much alive and kicking. He wondered if he should pay good old Snape a visit, especially now that he had the Invisibility Cloak on him and the Polyjuice Potion brewing in the basement, only waking up from his reverie when he heard Harry mention Voldemort's real name.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." Sirius repeated. Voldemort's real name- an unassuming, indeed, Muggle-sounding one. He felt that he knew, somehow, the middle name from somewhere, but he couldn't remember for the life of him. "Tom, huh. Tommy. Tommy boy." He looked over to Harry, who snorted under his nose as he kept repeating the names. "That's something that might be useful for later, never knew the name… I wonder if Dumbledore knows anything more about this Tom fellow, then." he said that almost without thinking, turning not to Harry, but to the witch, who nodded.

"He does." Harry agreed. "And he told me that when he tried to kill me, when he failed, his powers went to me, or at least some of them, enough that at school, they thought I was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin at school- Because I can speak Parseltongue. And that's something that both Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin could- can. And , uh, me now."

"Did you always know you could speak Parseltongue?" Magdalena asked in a whisper, and Harry nodded.

"I didn't know the name, but I could. Even before I went to Hogwarts, I talked to snakes before, well, one snake. I didn't know, I thought it… well, I don't remember what I thought. I just thought I was strange, and it was part of all the strange things happening around me, before I knew I was a wizard."

"Which your aunt and uncle knew all along. Everything strange, that was unexplainable to you, it was only unexplainable to you, Harry." Sirius muttered, tapping at his temple in thought. He hated even thinking about it, but if there was ever a case to be made against Muggles, it would be those two. He couldn't help but think of Lily's requests that Petunia and her family be kept safe during the war, of the countless nights they spent to ensure their safety from Death Eaters, from Voldemort, all of this for them to treat Harry like this, and to still continue doing so. "Maybe I should pay them a visit, or write them a little piece of my mind, and remind them of some things…"

"They… uh, they know we are in contact. Well, not how, but they know you're my godfather, and that if they do anything, I can just write to you, and that helped this summer." Harry explained quickly, however that did not do much to assuage Sirius's guilt. However, looking at Harry, he couldn't help but notice he was trying to keep something inside, trying to keep thoughts of asking to visit him, to spend more time with him, and he wished he could say 'yes'. Harry wore his heart on his sleeve, to the point his wishes were obvious to Sirius, and by the way Magdalena was slightly shaking her head and muttering 'no' at him, she could figure out what was on Harry's mind as well.

The door opened, and several people made their way in with rose garlands and wreaths, the conversations becoming more animated.

"We'll have to go soon. You'll have to put that on." she whispered, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, craning his neck. "Did someone die?"

Sirius put the cloak over his head, and got up as well, approaching the bannister.

"Bulgaria won the semifinals, remember? Since the final will be played here, in Britain… every single pub where Balkan or eastern europeans frequent is celebrating this week, and even more so when the team will come. Have you ever seen something like that, Harry?" she turned and looked at Harry, who shook his head. Sirius put a hand on his arm, so he could tell where he was. "With permission from your godfather, I could take you, if you wish to…"

Sirius watched his godson's eyes light up as they followed the witch downstairs.

"Potter lad. C'mere for a moment." the old witch at the bar beckoned at him with a finger, coins in her grey braids dangling as she moved. Harry approached slowly, and Sirius followed him, making sure the floor would not creak under his heavy steps. The witch poured him a small drink, barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass, and bent down over the bar, and whispered that he is welcome there, but to make sure he does not come alone. "Since you're so young and all, see." she continued, and poured herself a half-filled glass, motioning for him to pick it. "For the souls of your mother and father, may they rest in peace." she said solemnly, clinking the glass against his and downing it.

Sirius watched Harry ponder with the drink in his hand, before barely touching it against his lips and taking a sip. He fought to hold his laughter in as Harry grimaced and handed the drink back, the old witch pouring the drops in his drink on the floor, repeating again, like a mantra "For the souls of your parents, who perished for us all, may the ground be light above them."

Harry nodded and left, coughing as he said his goodbyes and followed Magdalena outside.

"Seems you really can't go anywhere without being noticed…" the witch pondered, almost to herself. "Both you and your godfather here. Would take having you in the most remote mountains, the deepest forests, to have souls not recognise either of you."

"Can we go somewhere else? I don't want to go back to-..." he waved his hand, and Sirius shook his head, before realising neither could see him.

"Maybe another time, Harry. I'll let you know when we can see each other next, as soon as possible." Sirius sighed, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, holding him tight.

"You can take that - the cloak. So you can come visit more often. Or I could come by, if it's safe, if you could take me, please?" Harry turned to Magdalena, and addressed her directly, and Sirius watched her shake her head.

"It would certainly not be safe for you, Harry."

Sirius thought about those words as they Apparated back near to where his aunt and uncle lived, as he returned back with the witch to her house, as he changed back from Animagus to his human form, and as he followed her to the living room, watching her sit down.

"Why would it certainly not be safe for him?"

"You know why."

"That is still not your decision to make." Anger heated up within him as he looked down at her, as he listened to the bored, almost blaze tone in her voice as she spoke. "It's mine.

He is my godson, my family, and I am Harry's. I know it's not safe, I know he could be seen, but that gives you no right-"

"That's not why."

Sirius frowned, until realisation hit him, forcefully, violently, in the chest, as he thought about those instances, lost in the fog of his weak memory. The memory of losing himself, his temper, his hallucinations, the thought of Harry, injured, injured by his hand, all of those flowed over him and overcame the boiling anger he felt at the witch. What would have stopped him from going mad, going mad and thinking Harry, or his shadow, was there to take him back to Azkaban, was there to harm him irreversibly?

"The music never stopped, did it?" he finally muttered, clenching his fists as he fell down onto one of the couches. He watched her shake her head, not looking at him any longer. He covered his eyes with his arm.

He had known James since they were children - since they both were sorted into Gryffindor. Same with Remus. He trusted both of them with his life, and that they did the same. Yet when he took it one step too far, they would bring him down to earth. They would tell him off, even meek Remus would give him a piece of his mind.

Yet she seemed to be continuously unperturbed by his behaviour. Never raised her voice, never told him off.

"Why do you do this?" Sirius scoffed as he heard Magdalena's confusion, and waved at everything with his other arm. "This." he growled. "All of this - all this bullshit. All of this, you do these things, I don't know a single person who would put up with all of this without a word, who would do all of this, you act...You act all superior, trying to… what-? You think I need this? Do you think I need you to act like I am a child? Protect Harry from who, me, and then…

I want, I just- I want you to be honest with me. Listen, I was always honest with you. I only want a yes or no." he took a deep breath, and removed his arm. He sighed, unsure of himself, of his movements, and got up, taking a seat next to her until they were eye-level. He raised his hands, showing that they were free of a wand, that as far as he was concerned, he was the least dangerous person he knew. He opened his mouth, and realised that he could do more to assuage fears he was unsure that she even had, and grabbed at her hands, pressing his thumbs onto her open palms.

Sirius was unsure whether it was for her, or for himself - it felt like something people would do to form a connection with one another. He was unsure if he could truly make any sort of connection after thirteen years of not being able to talk to someone else, but this movement felt like a long-lost relic he was slowly starting to remember.

"Do you pity me?"

Sirius didn't care for the why- he already knew she did, regardless of her answer. He wanted her to admit it.

"Yes."

"Can you treat me like you do not pity me?"

"Yes." she stood still, and Sirius arched a brow.

"Well?"

This time, it was Magdalena's turn to frown, as she appeared confused, and Sirius repeated his question again. He wasn't sure what he expected her to say, but he knew he wanted more than a one-word answer. He watched her try to get up, but he still held her hands tightly, pulling her back.

Even without a wand, I could snap you in two. He found himself thinking. In doing so, Sirius couldn't help but notice that despite all her bravado when armed with a wand, she was a frail thing, who could not free herself from his hold, even while he barely had a tenth of his strength before his imprisonment. He saw her try to maintain her composure, but he felt her flesh shivering underneath his, the skin of her hands turning red. Sirius looked back up at her, and finally let go of her, moving back.

"Well what? What do you want me to do? Attack you back? Insult you? Encourage you to leave? Well, leave then! Go, I don't hold you hostage here. Do you want me to treat you like I resent you? I have no reason to resent you, I don't understand why-..." she put one of her hands on her mouth, and stopped herself. Her voice trembled as she continued in a low voice, trying to gain control over it and not show it quivering.

"I pity you? Me? Why are you making this about me, Sirius? I don't act like this, I don't talk like that - since you came here, you pitied your own self, why do you expect me to treat you differently, to think of you differently when you yourself are incapable to?

You spend your nights in terror of the Dementors and your mistakes, you mull over yourself - I understand it. And I accommodate it. I try, and all I get is someone who doesn't even remember almost attacking- well, not attacking, but…"

He couldn't help but crack a smile - she almost broke him with her niceness, and he had to admit to himself, he must've finally broken something in her. He nodded his head, and couldn't help but laugh. It was always at the brink of madness, of exasperation, of anger, of ridiculousness, of disillusionment, that he found amusement in.

"You're right, I don't remember."

"I know!" she finally raised her voice, exasperated.

That's what he wanted. That was all he wanted, all along.

"You want to accommodate me? Treat me like I'm normal. I'm a piece of shit. I've been an irredeemable piece of shit since I was young. If my friends were here, if Harry's father, if James, if he was here, if Remus was here, they'd tell you. So I'll ask you again… why do you do this? All of this? No one is like this… not without something to gain. Tell me, what are you gaining from this?"

"You want me to be honest?"

He nodded, content with himself.

"You lose yourself in your thoughts. In this time I've known you, you are digging within yourself. Physically and mentally. And soon enough, there won't be anymore to dig. It's Azkaban, it's the Dementors. You are the longest-serving person I have met that has survived them, but you are not the only one. And every single one of the people I have met, they have all been changed, many-... most of them irredeemably. And some, like you-... they have done nothing, nothing to deserve being thrown there. The study of Dementors is lacking, and the study of people who survive after being in their presence for long, who live to tell the tale, is almost nonexistent. What if you found a way, a way to slowly shed yourself of the person that spent his time in Azkaban, to not simply…forget, but to be unaffected by your long years of imprisonment? That is why I am interested in this, in you, why I do… what I do, Sirius."

He listened to her talk, and thought about it. His dark cell, the people losing their minds, those at the brink of their sanity screaming for their mothers, their fathers, their makers, their jailers, and everyone that could hear them. Hearing his name grounded him, and he looked down at his hands - he had been holding tight to himself, so tight his already protruding bones were even more visible. He relaxed his grip, and blood rushed back to his fingers.

"So, I am your experiment of sorts." he chuckled. "Have you known many people that-" he looked up at her, and saw it. The same as he looked in Harry's eyes and knew immediately what he was thinking, he saw the answer to his question in there, and pictured, in his mind, a dishevelled, shivering, Magdalena, one so much unlike the well-put together witch in front of him. "You know how it is, don't you? You too then, huh- how… why?"

"It was three months, to await my trial." she whispered, and sat up from the couch. Sirius watched her go up the stairs, and followed her.

"What did you do then? When was this?"

He followed her up the stairs, awaiting her answer. Three months awaiting a trial was an excessive amount of time to wait, as he knew it took a maximum of a month or so in the longest cases. She did not answer as she entered her bedroom, yet he couldn't help but follow her, awaiting his answer, despite her earlier request to never enter it - after all, he was sure she said to not enter it in her absence, and she was very much present, in body if not in mind.

The realisation she knew how Azkaban was, that she had been there as well, piqued his interest, and he could not let her drown the conversation in silence.

He had to have his answers.