Sirius Black didn't know what day it was, or even possibly what month it was (perhaps it was summertime), and he didn't care. All he knew was that he had gulped down too much water, which was bad, because the dementors had just finished their bimonthly cleanup in his cell, and he wasn't looking forward to the horrible smell that would inevitably return soon. He had been holding it for hours, but if he didn't take care of this soon, things were going to get messy.

Most of the time, Sirius didn't move from one corner of his cell, which resembled a cage more than anything else, but he slowly, tiredly got up and trudged towards one of the corners in the back. The corner that had just been cleaned. This was a filthy place.

Then the sound of voices made Sirius freeze in his tracks. Sure, there were always voices, but these were different…They weren't muttering nonsense like the prisoners did…they sounded like people from outside. Ministry people!

Sirius wished then that he had peed out through the bars into the hallway, because even though that was against the rules (and a bit rude), it would have been worth it this time, as they'd be walking right past him soon.

"Here's where we keep our high-security prisoners," said Cornelius Fudge's voice, echoing off the walls. "We're coming up to the cell of the most guarded one of all—Sirius Black."

"What's he going to do to me?" quivered his companion.

"Oh, nothing, Robinson," said Fudge. "He's probably going to be like the others—you know, curled up in the fetal position, mumbling to himself, trapped in his own head…He probably won't even notice us. We'll walk past quickly so you don't have to see him."

Sirius scowled and turned into a dog, hiding out of sight. How very wrong they would be.

"I'm never going to come out here again," Robinson whimpered. "Those dementors, they give me the willies, they do—"

"Wotcher," said Sirius in a jaunty voice, appearing at his cell door, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Bloody hell!" Robinson clutched at his chest and grabbed onto Fudge's arm. "You—you damn near gave me a heart attack!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Sirius innocently, grabbing the bars of his cell door as if itching to get out.

"Now-now see here, Black," said Fudge disconcertedly. "Robinson here's got a heart condition, you know, and we don't want to startle him, do we?"

"No, we wouldn't want that, Robinson." Sirius locked eyes with Robinson and grinned wickedly. Robinson, he was pleased to see, was taking deep, calming breaths.

"All right, then, Black," said Fudge twitchily, "if that's all—"

"Blimey, I am about to burst," said Sirius, unzipping his pants and peeing on the floor like an animal as always, letting out a loud, half-exaggerated, half-genuine sigh of relief. "Anyway…what were you saying, Cornelius? And you, Robinson?"

"For crying out loud! Show some respect when you're talking to us!" said Robinson, horrified.

"I'm not about to wet myself just because you're here," Sirius scoffed, meeting his eyes again. "Besides, why should I show respect for you, if you don't respect me?"

"Because you're a murderer! You killed thirteen people!"

"Robinson!" Fudge hissed, elbowing his colleague.

"Cornelius is right, Robinson," Sirius said smoothly, this time boring his eyes into Fudge's. "We wouldn't want to aggravate that heart condition, would we? Ahh…much better."

Sirius zipped up his pants again and flopped himself down in his usual corner, placing his arms behind his head and crossing one leg over the other.

"You lot are disgusting!" Robinson cried.

"Oh, yes, Robinson," said Sirius sarcastically, jiggling his foot slightly. "Because I'm sure that if you lived here, they'd give you your own personal toilet, and your whole cage would smell like roses."

Robinson shuddered. Sirius had long ago gotten used to not having any privacy, but he figured Robinson would care a lot more than he did. Robinson conjured up a clothespin and clamped it over his nose.

"You haven't got another one of those, have you?" said Sirius, pointing.

"No, I haven't," said Robinson crossly.

"Well, then, what brings you to my home today, Minister and Robinson?" asked Sirius politely.

"We were making a routine check on Azkaban," said Fudge uncomfortably, not meeting Sirius's eyes. "Robinson here is my witness. It's unpleasant, but I'm the Minister of Magic, so it's my duty."

"Oh, your duty," said Sirius mockingly. "I see. Are the dementors scary enough? Do you think when you're sleeping in your soft, cozy bed tonight, they will haunt you?"

"I will sleep fine, Black, as long as they keep us safe from You-Know-Who's old supporters." Fudge still wouldn't look Sirius in the eyes.

"You might not want to mention my master." Sirius gripped the bars of his cell door again. "It might provoke me."

"Minister, please, let's get out of here," whimpered Robinson, who had gone as white as a shroud.

"What's the matter, Robinson? Afraid of the big bad man in the cage?" Sirius jeered. Robinson looked mortified and Fudge looked disturbed, but Sirius was quite enjoying himself. He casually looked at his dirty fingernails and observed, "My, my, these are filthy…I must have them done soon."

"What sort of bloke gets manicures?!" Robinson cried hysterically.

"I'm not going to get them painted, silly," said Sirius, as if this was obvious. "Or maybe I will…How about a nice shade of BLACK?!"

Sirius faked a mad laugh and fell backwards onto the floor.

"They don't offer that service here," said Fudge, trying and failing to stay calm.

"Then I must think of a different way to pass the time," Sirius told him forlornly. "Is that the Daily Prophet you have there? Have you finished with it?"

"Why?" said Fudge warily.

"I miss doing the crossword, you know," Sirius said casually, reaching his arm out between the bars for the paper, accidentally-on-purpose bumping Robinson with his hand. Robinson squealed with fright.

"Here you are, Black." Fudge handed it over nervously. "I'm through with it."

"Thank you," Sirius replied calmly. "You all may go now…Thanks for dropping by."

Robinson didn't need telling twice. He grabbed Fudge's arm and they left. Sirius grinned, knowing how much he had scared them.

But it didn't last long. The two Ministry officials' footsteps were soon gone, and then the only thing Sirius heard, again, was the rattling breath of the dementors and the senseless cries of his fellow prisoners. Sirius did what he always did when he felt depressing feelings sinking in—he turned into Padfoot and started to read the front page of the paper, trying to ignore the fact that the puddle of urine next to him now smelled six times stronger. Sometimes he wished he could turn into something that had no sense of smell at all, like a flobberworm. Or could flobberworms smell? Sirius couldn't remember, and he didn't know why he was even thinking about it.

Of course, there was something about a Ministry official on the front page…It was always something about the Ministry! Couldn't anyone see that their skulls were all full of dead insects? Sirius felt like mauling someone, possibly Barty Crouch Sr., who had put him here in the first place. Or maybe Peter, who had framed him and was also the reason why he was here…

Peter! Sirius felt so much whenever he thought of Peter, and that was why he tried not to think about him…After twelve years here he had become mostly numb. But every time something reminded him of what had happened that November day, it was as if a wound that was scabbing over had been opened up again, and salt was being rubbed in, stinging, burning…Sirius felt like it was a wound that would never heal. He went to turn into Padfoot until he realized he was already Padfoot. He could hear himself whining, the way dogs do when they see their families leave the house.

And that was when he saw it.

Sirius quickly transformed into a human again and felt all his senses of hearing and smell dull—but his vision was now enhanced. He looked closer at the front-page picture and…there! It couldn't be…and yet it was unmistakable. Even one of the rat's front toes was missing. The markings were all the same. It could only be one rat—someone who wasn't a rat at all.

It made sense, though. Peter would want to move in with a Wizarding family, because then he could keep up on the news. If he got even one hint that Voldemort was gaining power, of course he would make his move.

Sirius kept reading the article, clutching it tighter and tighter in his now-human hands. Five of those children currently attended Hogwarts?! But wait…wasn't Harry at school now? He had to be! And if this boy brought his rat to school, which surely he would, there would be a Death Eater at school. If Peter was willing to betray James and Lily for Voldemort, he would be just fine with harming Harry too.

Peter has already gotten James and Lily, Sirius thought. But he's not going to get Harry. He is going to die—for real this time.

And that was when everything changed. Sirius Black was no longer numb; he was full of fire, he was going to escape, and he was going to save Harry and avenge his old friends.

-the end-