The guard along the back wall was scowling at her through the slits in her barred window. Sure, she'd just spat right in his mid-twenties, mummy's boy face, but that was to be expected: it was on her file and everything, a clear warning to all officers that she had a ready mouth full of saliva and a deadly aim.
Seeing him wipe her spit off of his puckered up little chin made her giggle, and the sight of his stony face as he watched her cackle only made her double over with increased mirth.

Her laughter wasn't the only sound in the freezing, rain spattered room. There was a beautiful symphony of shouts and screams that was music to her ears from the cells around her. It was only a dry, tired voice from the tiny window into the cell next to her that subdued her.
"You gone mad too?"
She ran over to the window, upturned her waste bucket and stood on it, cursing her short stature for the fifth time that day.
She couldn't see the man who had spoken from the next cell, but his assumption annoyed her.
"What makes you think I've gone mad?"
"Well, what are you laughing at, then?"
"I spat in baby's face."
There was a dark laugh. "Fair enough, then."
"Do you know why they've got actual people here today instead of the floating bin bags?"
"Our old favourite Cornelius Fudge is paying us a visit."
"Oh really?" She smirked. "Do you reckon he'll give me his paper? I miss doing the crossword."
"If he stops outside my cell I'll ask him then, how about that?"
"How gentlemanly of you, sir."
"Oh I'm no gentleman."
"Well I'm not exactly a lady."
"I've never liked those society ladies much myself."
The man stood up from where he was sat under the small window, and stepped back so his whole face was visible, so he could see her more clearly. He had long, tangled black hair, though it was so grimy with dirt that it could have been bloody luminous yellow and she wouldn't have known. He was as thin as her, face gaunt, hollow like a skeleton, but there was an air about him, of elegance and arrogance. He must have been handsome, once.
"Who are you then?" She demanded, brow furrowed, and he scanned her face intently, as if looking for something.
"Sirius Black." He held his hand out, turning it so that it fit through the small gap in the wall, and she glared at it.
"Black? Are you one of them Death Eater blokes?"
"Death Eater? You think I'd follow that murderous bastard? Yeah, no."
She studied his face for signs of deceit, but all she could see was contempt, and fury, so she shimmied her hand through the gap to shake his.
"Elena Munroe."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Munroe."
"Oh and you, Mr Black."
They mocked each other's' lofty tones, and shook hands, once, firmly.
"So what did you do to end up here?"
He tried to sound casual, but there was a sudden edge to his voice.
"I was framed for a murder." Elena didn't try to conceal her anger. "Left here to rot without even a fricking trial."
"That's funny," He said in a tone that conveyed no amusement. "Same here. Just mass murder for me."
"Okay, you win."
"Not a great prize, though." He gestured to the walls, to the screams.
"Bloody idiots, they are, aren't they?"
"I'd used stronger words than that." Sirius muttered darkly, running his hands through his matted hair.
"Can't believe I'm still sane, to be honest, and not licking my own piss off the floor like the poor bloke in the cell on the other side of me. I reckon he'll last a week?"
"Five days."
"You're on. Loser gives up bread ration."
"You're welcome to it. I think I broke a tooth this morning."
"Crappy bread is better than no bread."
"A broken tooth is better than dead."
"Hear, hear."
She toasted him with an imaginary glass and knocked back the non-existent wine, wishing for the burn to fill her with something that would make her feel somewhat alive.

"That's enough of that!"
The guard blasted Elena back from the window with his wand, and she flipped him the bird, dragging her upturned waste bucket across the floor with a hair-raising screeching sound and perched on it, chin propped up on her hand like she were anywhere but locked up in Azkaban for a murder she didn't commit.
"Silence, now, when the Prime Minister comes along here! Anyone who speaks without being spoken to will not have food for a week. Is that clear?"
A few curse words were the only response.

Elena could hear the Prime Minister before she could see him, firstly because her eyesight was awful and they'd taken away her glasses, and secondly because he had a loud pompous, obnoxious voice that made her want to spit at him too.
Although it caused her mild irritation as she couldn't do whatever she pleased in her cell as usual, with the human guard standing there, the absence of the Dementors of Azkaban was definitely a bonus. For once, her mind wasn't crammed full of her own nightmares, forcing to relive the torture of the day her mum died, the day she'd found the body in the shack, and the day that she…the day that she…
Elena didn't want to think about it anymore, and so revelled when the Dementors weren't there to enforce their disgusting, inhumane punishment of trapping them in their own bad memories. She felt lighter than usual, happier, or as happy as she could be, locked up in Azkaban.

As the Prime Minister and his parade of proudly dressed protectors came strutting down the corridor, she stuck her tongue out at them. It was a childish gesture, really, but she felt like a child chucked in a prison to rot. Besides, it wouldn't earn a punishment, just a fiery glare from the guard she'd earlier moisturised with her saliva. The Prime Minister looked disgusted as he scanned her quickly, and she flushed as she imagined her appearance. She wasn't exactly vain, all vanity had been stripped from her months ago due to the knowledge she wouldn't be showering until she was released (and she wasn't going to be released), but Elena Munroe had been brought up to always look her best, and the fact that the sight of her was repugnant made her angry.

Cornelius Fudge waddled along to the next cell, and Elena heard his surprised exclaim. "That's…Sirius Black!"
"Minister!" Sirius' voice was suddenly low, deep and pleasant, almost respectful. "Have you worked out a date for my trial yet?"
Fudge made a few blustering noises, and Elena could imagine Sirius smiling, but a smile like her own, a smile laced with fury.
"I'll take that as a, 'we've still got an unfair court system', then, yeah?"
A few more choked noises were the only response.
"Say, do you have a paper, Minister?"
"I…a paper?"
"Yeah, a newspaper. The Daily Prophet, or something? Don't you control all of the stories they publish, anyway?"
"I…yes I do have a newspaper, Black. What does it matter?"
"Have you finished with it? I'm sure they make you read it over before they publish it, don't they, so you can edit out all the truthful parts?"
"I…yes, I have finished."
"Could I have it then?"
"What on earth for?"
"Erm…to read? It's a bit of new reading material! It's pretty fricking boring in here, you know? And I miss doing the crossword."
"Ah…yes…fine…"
There was a rustling as the paper was shoved through the bars by an impatient Fudge, and then the party moved on to the next cells.

"Told you I'd get it." Sirius approached the window, flicking through the paper, and tore out the puzzles page, passing it through the window. Their hands brushed again, and Elena ached at the human contact for the second time that day, it being warm and comforting but almost alien after months of no sensation of anything except stone and water and rough cloth and the cold metal of the bars.
"Why thank you Mr Black. I am forever in your debt."
He started to respond, and stopped, and Elena frowned.
"You alright?"
"He's going to Hogwarts…" The man sounded horrified, and Elena peered into his cell through the window, going on her tip-toes on the metal bucket to see him.
"Who's going to Hogwarts?"
"It's none of your business." He snapped, scrutinising one of the pages of the newspaper, and she huffed.
"Is too. Who's going to Hogwarts?"
"Peter Pettigrew." He grumbled darkly.
"What, that fat dude who got murdered eons ago? He's not going anywhere, mate."
"No…he's not dead…they just thought I killed him…"
"Wait, you killed him? And all those Muggles in the street?"
Elena sounded horrified.
"No, that was him…look, it's a long story-"
"Well I'm not going nowhere, am I?"
"True. God I should not be telling you this. Okay, so basically, once there were four boys…"
"This isn't a bloody fairy tale, is it? If it is I don't want to hear it."
"Oh shut up and listen."

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