The Older Potter // HP Older Sister

48

C H A P T E R  48

In the dim dawning light in a particularly dark cell was Sirius Black, doing his daily count of the stones on the floor from his resting place in the corner to the magical iron gate, blocking him from freedom.

Mind, it wasn't the only thing in the way. Just outside stood the most fearsome creatures that had ever walked the earth, wheezing the rattling breath of the devil. Shuddering slightly, the diminished prisoner recounted the stones.

Was it just him, or was there an extra one? Probably just him, Sirius conceded darkly to himself.

He bit hard into his already ruined nails and looked up at the dingy lightless ceiling. Grey morning light was seeping in, casting shadows of the bars across the floor in ominous height, announcing the start of another day.

But what is day?

In there it seemed the meaning was more crying out from his dubious neighbours, more rattling breath of the demons to jar him into the nightmare. The nightmare which reminded him every day that he was innocent and that Wormtail was out there somewhere.

He could also hear the waves outside bounding relentlessly onto sand, blowing in gusts of terrifying speeds which beat against the walls, slid in via cracks and roared across the rooftop. The cry of a raven soared over this great sea, its croaky, hoarse voice foreboding.

The cold crept over him slightly as another one of the hooded horrors tread quietly down the hall outside. Sirius, more than ever, desperately wanted his wand and good solid meal. Like an animal, he crept over to the other wall and began rubbing his nails over the stone, shivering from the scratching sound.

In a cell down further, someone screamed. Before he knew it, he was a dog, with mere thoughts, surveying the cell from far down on the floor.

It was that time of the year when Cornelius Fudge would be bombarded with letters addressed to him requiring his presence in his annual Azkaban check up. It really wasn't worth it. The dementors just gave him the creeps and all the prisoners were total psychos. Cornelius flicked through the Daily Prophet once more before slipping his arms into his suit and picking out his most unflattering hat and shoved it jauntily upon his head. Taking a deep breath, he took a handful of floo powder from a pot on his desk, stepped into the fireplace and threw the powder whilst saying "Azkaban," and vanished.

Cornelius stepped out of the fireplace at the other end and brushed the soot from his clothes.

"Ah, Minister, at last! I thought you weren't coming for a second," said the familiar voice of one of the guards cheerfully. Cornelius distinctly remembered him from his previous visit as William. He always did seem too young and cheerful to be working in such a horrible environment. The man looked to be in his early to mid twenties. Will was a cheerful man who wasn't that tall, but certainly taller than Fudge. He had straw coloured hair and dark blue eyes and wore baggy clothes which hung limply off his shoulders.

"I did say I would come, so shall we get this over with?" Cornelius demanded. Will grinned widely, revealing a row of yellow teeth. Fudge tried to swallow down the bile. He followed Will up a flight of stairs to the first row of cells.

"As you may remember, this cell is empty at the moment due to us realising that Stan Shunpike was under the imperious curse... poor kid," Fudge nodded mutely, remembering how damaged the man had been when he had been freed of all charges. But he hadn't gone insane like most of the others had; it was probably with the knowledge that he was innocent when he had been caught.