While i think my heart is with the second chapter as my favourite, this one has a lot of moments in it i'm quite happy with. It was quite fun to write Sirius-not-playing-with-a-full-deck. Can hardly blame him, though... on we go...

The Fall and Rise of Sirius Black - by Avarice

ACT THREE

A cell in Azkaban didn't seem all that imposing from the inside; it still had three walls of stone and a fourth of bars, similar to any Muggle prison. Any self-respecting wizard would have been able to break out of a cell like it. Even the wards that were placed upon the bars were nothing a wizard who'd passed their N.E. couldn't bypass, with or without a wand.

The simplicity of Azkaban lay with the fact that it was not bars nor magic nor isolation that kept prisoners within its walls, but the Dementors.

Sirius had very few visitors. Once or twice a high-ranking Ministry official bribed the right people and arranged a visit to the prison. It was as titillating as it was terrifying; the infamous traitor and Death Eater Sirius Black on display. Once seeing him, no one ever made a return visit.

That was the extent of his human contact. There were human guards in Azkaban, keeping up with the day-to-day bureaucratic red tape that pervaded even magical prisons, but Sirius rarely saw them. In a high security jail for dangerous wizards, he was considered more dangerous than most.

It was Sirius's privilege that the Dementors rarely left his immediate vicinity, except for those times of human visitations. Even his meagre meals came by way of the hooded figures. Their presence was a constant, biting winter of misery and insanity. The cold squeezed his lungs, making each breath spiky and harsh.

The hooded faces and gaping maws haunted him during his waking hours, but in the early days, he could escape in his dreams. That did not last. Sirius lost count of the number of nights he awoke to find a Dementor floating overhead, raping his mind of what few happy memories he possessed.

That situation didn't bother him for long. After a time Sirius's mind refused to let him dream anything but nightmares.

With so much lost to him, he did not think of a way to make his time remotely bearable for a few years. He'd forgotten he'd read books once. Books on dogs. Years ago he'd taken upon himself to study the anatomy and habits of dogs to get the most out of his transformations. He learnt exactly what whimpers and howls meant what and how the pack structure worked. He also learnt that dogs dreamed, albeit in far simpler terms than humans did.

With the Dementors circling, screaming in his mind for sustenance, he began sleeping as his canine counterpart. Instead of dreaming of skulls and snakes in the sky, burnt out houses and dead friends, he dreamt of chasing rabbits under a full moon. It seemed to put them off. They appeared confused, unable to lock as clearly onto his thoughts.

It made a big change from their overwhelming and miserable constant presence. They did still hover on the fringes, however, which was why he felt it so distinctly when they were absent altogether.

The sound of footsteps on the stone floor grew closer and closer. It had been a while since he'd had any human visitors -- nine months since he'd seen any wizard guards, at least two years since anyone else.

The fog that tended to shroud his mind with the Dementors' presence lifted. It was a blessed curse, the times without his spectral guards. It gave him relief from their torment, and at the same time clarity to his awful predicament.

It was not the usual clandestine meeting; it was an official Ministry party surrounded by Azkaban guards. They seemed to be crowded around a portly man in a pinstripe suit and matching robes.

Sirius rested his head back against the wall of his cell. It seemed time for another inspection. The murmur of voices ceased abruptly when they reached him.

"Please don't stop on my account," Sirius croaked, voice thick from disuse. "I don't get much opportunity for conversation." He gave a humourless laugh. "The Dementors aren't big talkers."

One of the wizard guards pointedly ignored Sirius. Instead, he turned to the round, well-dressed man in the centre of the official party and announced: "Sirius Black, Minister."

"I know who Black is," the man admonished, his voice low and nervous.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Sirius spoke up to the guard's chagrin. Sirius hated being talked about as though he wasn't there, though he was used to it.

Those in the party looked at each other furtively, their gazes flitting from Sirius to the Minister and back again. There was quiet discussion between the Minister and the Azkaban guards before the official straightened his tie and introduced himself.

"I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic." His voice was carefully modulated, but Sirius heard the apprehension clearly.

Sirius stretched and tilted his head from side to side, hearing the vertebrae in his neck click. "Delighted, to be sure."

No one spoke. Fudge's moustache twitched and he opened his mouth a few times, looking like he wanted to begin speaking, though he always snapped it shut before any sound came out.

There was something going on. Sirius looked up at them and cocked his head to the side, very much like a large canine. "Why are you here?"

Out of all of the assembled party, only Fudge came close to looking at Sirius. Even then, he didn't make eye contact; his attention was fixed firmly on Sirius's chest.

"I'll be blunt, Black. There was an... incident-- alleged incident -- last month. It was thought you might know something about it."

Sirius chuckled, and those gathered winced at the wheezing and unhealthy sound. "Gentlemen... I don't know what year this is, let alone last month."

"It's 1993. July," the man to the left of Fudge spoke, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. It reminded him of James. Not the glasses shape, that was all wrong, and his hair was light mousy brown, not black, and cut too long. He had pale and blotchy skin, which wasn't like James at all, and his voice had none of his friend's robust humour to it. In actual fact, the man bore no resemblance to James whatsoever except that he was a man with glasses and he was talking to Sirius and that was somehow enough to make him wheeze a few more chortles--

"Pay attention, Black!" The guard rapped his wand against Sirius's prison bars. Sirius snapped to attention, focus coming back to the room.

"I apologise." The corner of his mouth curled and looked more like a grimace than the intended wry smile. "My mind is... not what it was."

Everyone on the other side of the bars had to be thinking it, but it seemed the admittance of Sirius's less than full deck of playing cards made the Minister's flunkies even more nervous. Not-James looked ill, and Fudge produced a silk handkerchief out of a pocket to dab sweat from his brow. "Now, where was I?" he muttered to himself.

"An incident," Sirius said, sounding unusually helpful. "Last month."

Fudge looked as though he would thank Sirius for the prompt, then thought better of it. "Alleged incident," he corrected instead. The Minister blustered, trying to collect himself. "There was an apparent issue -- though a full investigation is still underway -- with the, er, so-called Chamber of Secrets at-"

"Hogwarts?" Sirius sat up so suddenly he startled his visitors. Not-James and the other aides took reflexive steps back. Fudge and the guards seemed to stand their ground, though Fudge by not very much.

"Yes," the round man answered hoarsely. "There are rumours -- entirely unsubstantiated, obviously -- of You-Know-Who's involvement."

"Who?" Sirius cocked his head to the side again, grey eyes strangely guileless.

The party seemed quite put out. They whispered amongst themselves, and Fudge opened and shut his mouth a few times without a sound.

"You-Know-Who?" He said again, fervently.

"I-Know-Who..." Sirius's dark brows drew together in a parody of deep thought. After a moment of silence, he shrugged. "No, I don't think I do. Can you give me a hint?"

"Don't play silly buggers, Black," one of the guards snarled at him, gripping a wand in a white-knuckled fist.

Sirius's haggard face looked as innocent as was possible. "I really don't know."

"Of course you do," snapped Fudge, losing his patience slightly. "I mean He Who Must Not Be Named, er... Vol- er, Vvvvo- v--" Another fine sheen of sweat broke out on his red brow.

"Oh." Sirius clicked his fingers. "Volderm-"

There was a wheeze as air was sucked into the lungs of all those assembled as a collective gasp. In that same instant, the guard hissed 'Silencio' , cutting Sirius's words off abruptly.

"That's quite enough." Fudge said. The sigh of relief from those gathered was palpable. Sirius brought a hand to his throat, but couldn't make so much as a whisper. He didn't seem particularly surprised by the turn of events.

"I trust you won't be doing that again," the Minister said. Sirius nodded his head once. With the assurance, Fudge looked at the guard who reluctantly broke the charm.

Sirius laid his palms flat against the stone wall behind him and got unsteadily to his feet. "You think I know something about this?"

"Perhaps." Fudge swallowed, as though his mouth was very dry.

Sirius's brow furrowed as he walked his cell. His movements seemed to make everyone jittery. "Sounds like something that would involve Malfoy." Sirius gestured his arms to his surroundings. "Shall I make room for him here? It would be a tight fit, but I could use the company." He grinned, all stained and yellow teeth. "I haven't bunked with anyone since my schooldays. I wonder if I still snore..."

Fudge's face was pinched and pale. "Lucius Malfoy is now an upstanding member of the wizarding community. There is absolutely no legitimate evidence of his involvement."

"Besides being a pureblood fanatic and a Death Eater?"

"Malfoy was under the influence of the Imperius when he was a D- at that time, and has been formally acquitted for years." Fudge's voice had risen in volume with the statement. Realising this, he dropped it back to a whisper quickly. Sirius let a short bark of laughter escape his lips, but was ignored as he was no longer being addressed.

"He doesn't know anything," Fudge informed his aides with some authority. "And he's obviously quite mad." The Ministerial party shuffled their feet, anxious to go. Fudge thanked the guards and turned away from Sirius.

Sirius stopped grinning antagonistically and took a step forward. "Wait!" The Minister turned slowly back to Sirius, looking pensive. Not-James was green and shaking.

Sirius held his hands out, palms up. "It's true. I am quite, quite mad, and I don't know anything about last month. I used to know a lot of things." He pointed a shaking index finger to Fudge. "Do you think I could have that?"

Cornelius Fudge looked worriedly to where Sirius pointed -- at the forgotten and folded newspaper clamped under his right arm. "I- er..."

"It's just that I haven't done the crossword in so long... is it still on page forty-eight?"

"Fifty-two," Fudge murmured.

"Oh." Sirius seemed momentarily dismayed by the news, but still took a step forward, hands outstretched. He was aware of the wands pointed directly at his heart.

Fudge unfolded the paper and perused it once again. He'd already read it from cover to cover, and there was nothing in it remotely inflammatory. He looked at the guard to his left, who did not take his eyes away from Sirius for a moment.

"It's your choice, Minister," he said through clenched teeth. "There's not much he can do with parchment."

Fudge considered Sirius carefully, still avoiding staring directly into his eyes. Trembling hands with dirty and broken nails were proffered towards him. Not letting his eyes slip from Sirius's outstretched hands, Fudge refolded the paper and handed it to the closest guard. With the utmost caution, and not a small amount of animosity, the guard slipped it through the bars.

Sirius made no sudden movements as to provoke reprisal. He reached out slowly -- fighting the urge to snatch -- taking the paper with great care. Once in his hands, Sirius retreated to the back of his cell and put his back against the wall, sliding down. He clutched the curling parchment to his chest.

"There is nothing more to be gained here," Fudge said. It was with much relief that both his aides and the Azkaban guards received this information. The guard who had passed the paper leant into Fudge and murmured something, and the only word Sirius was able to catch was 'LeStrange'. Not-James blanched.

No one looked at Sirius again. The party moved on without so much as a by-your-leave. Sirius listened to their footsteps grow fainter, head full of all he'd learnt.

It was easy to assemble his thoughts in the moment. The Dementors wouldn't return until the people were out of range. A few precious moments allowed for some startling clarity.

Cornelius Fudge was Minister for Magic. Someone had opened, or tried to open the Chamber of Secrets. Malfoy -- probably along with other 'reformed' Death Eaters -- was in a place of prominence in the community. People were still scared of him and thought him mad.

Sirius looked down at the butter yellow parchment in his trembling hands. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd touched something that wasn't cold and hard. The slight rough texture under his fingertips felt strange and wonderful.

For the first time in years he knew the date. '24 July, 1993' was printed in perfect copperplate lettering at the top right hand corner of the page.

There was no point looking for stories on the Chamber. Fudge gave him the clear impression that the information -- especially if there was an inkling Voldermort was involved -- had not been widely distributed.

Sirius barely glanced at the front page, or the pages that came after it, flicking past them quickly. It was wizarding news from a wizarding world that no longer held him in any regard, nor he it. As awful as Azkaban was, at least he knew where he stood.

His reality was that of the three best friends he'd ever had on the outside, one had betrayed him, one thought him the betrayer, and the third was dead because of it. It was easier to stay and put up with the torment he knew was coming to him.

Put up with what he thought he in some way deserved.

He shuffled over to the corner and curled into it, the paper resting on knobbly knees. Sirius flicked through the corners until he found page fifty-four. His breathing hitched and his vision blurred as he saw the black and white grid of boxes. Something familiar and untainted and good, right after the human-interest stories.

Sirius Black knew he was mad when he felt tears on his cheeks over a crossword puzzle.

He sniffed and wiped at the wetness on his cheeks, trying to compose himself. The movement of a photograph on the opposite page caught his eye with its repetitive actions.

It was a photo of a Ministerial employee's family on their trip to Egypt. They seemed happy and cheerful and waved to the camera wearing bizarre combinations of robes and Muggle clothes. It seemed they'd even taken their household pets on the trip. One of the boys, looking maybe twelve or thirteen, had a rat upon his shoulder.

A rat. Sirius squinted at it, checking out of habit for any familiar features.

He most certainly didn't expect to actually find any.

It was the tufted ears that caught him first, sticking out oddly from the long face. The rat's tail curved around on the boy's shoulder, the very tip missing after a tangle with an overenthusiastic boy-werewolf. Sirius's fingers trailed over the picture. "Wormtail."

There was only one thing left to look at. He scrutinised the picture carefully, heart thundering in his ears. The rodent's tiny front paws were buried within the folds of the boy's clothes, but he could see clearly enough. There was a pointed toe missing on the animal's right forepaw. Specifically, the toe that one would call the index finger, were the subject human.

Or an animagus.

It took a moment for the idea to sink in. Sirius breathed faster, his lungs going into spasms for air. Pettigrew was alive.

He tried to steady his breathing as he skimmed the article quickly One of the sons... thirteen... attended Hogwarts. Something tickled at his brain, but it wasn't readily apparent to him. Sirius swore, smacking his flat palm against his forehead repeatedly, trying to remember.

He turned back to the front page and looked at the date again. 1993. A thirteen year old boy. Hogwarts. Peter.

Harry was turning thirteen soon, undoubtedly attending Hogwarts in the same year the boy and his rat were in. A cold lump settled in his stomach.

Peter had access to Harry.

Peter was alive and had access to Harry.

Sirius remembered Harry's christening -- a quiet affair in the midst of the terror Voldermort was causing -- only himself, James, Lily and a priest in attendance. He remembered holding the tiny baby with a shock of dark hair and promising to care for him.

It was a memory the Dementors could never purge from him because it wasn't happy. He remembered James's furrowed brow, and Lily's trembling lips. They were worried for their son and their future. They didn't want Sirius to be godfather, not because they didn't love him, but because the idea that they wouldn't be around to raise their own son was abhorrent. Sirius had looked into their eyes as he held the bundle, and staked his life on keeping Harry safe from harm.

There was a tearing sound. Sirius realised he was gripping the parchment so tightly it had begun to rip. Peter was free. He was in the right place to cause the most damage to one of only a few people left in the world Sirius owed any remaining loyalty.

Sirius's hands were trembling, and he felt nauseous. The thought of being in Azkaban while Peter went after the closest thing to family he had left made him want to retch. The thought that hadn't occurred to him since his earliest days of incarceration filtered through his mind again.

He had to escape. To warn Harry. To kill Peter. To avenge James and Lily.

To put things right.

No one had ever escaped from Azkaban before, but if anyone deserved to, Sirius reasoned, the honour should go to the innocent man. An escape would be problematic for someone possessing all of his or her mental faculties. For Sirius, who'd been teetering on insanity for the last few years, it was unbelievably difficult to think of a rational and plausible plan.

Sirius put his head in his hands and pressed them against the paper on his knees, trying to sort his disjointed thoughts. He wanted to curl up as a dog; things seemed so much simpler then. Everything was clearer.

The paper crinkled as Sirius looked up. An idea began to form slowly, crawling under his skin like an army of ants. As a dog, he was far less affected by the Dementor's presence. Maybe if he--

The air turned frigid and Sirius saw his moist breath leave his mouth.

The Dementors were coming back.

"No, no, no no nonononot yet not yet--" He began, raising his voice. The cold made his chest constrict and each breath hurt like knives in his throat. They were coming back before he'd had a chance to think clearly, to plan his escape.

"--not yet please please not yet I can't thinknot yet --"

The fog was beginning to descend on his mind once again. He saw a flutter of tattered black fabric in his peripheral vision. They were back to investigate, to check if they could rip anything from his vulnerable mind.

There was nothing joyous to take, but enough despair to interest them.

With a moving photograph from a torn paper clutched in his hands, Sirius Black screamed.

~finis

If you read this far, thanks very much. It occurred to me a long time after I wrote this that each act ended with a sound: a crack, a laugh and a scream. This wasn't intentional, it just happened that way.

Please don't be shy about leaving thoughts on this fic if you so wished!