“...I don’t know why you keep up this facade, Dumbledore,” James Kensit said in disappointment.

“I mean, you are seriously trying to tell me that these weaklings can keep you in a prison like this?” Kensit continued, “Even without a wand you could break out in an moments. Especially with that cheating little phoenix you are bonded to. It could teleport through these wards and bring you out in an instant if you asked it to. I mean, they are still spending your fortune rebuilding the wards on that school! Don't you want to go out there and stop them, claw your money back for more useful pursuits?”

“I could,” Dumbledore replied serenely, “But I quite enjoy the atmosphere here. Quite homey. So, I think I will stay as long as I wish until the ministry sees fit to free me. Did you not agree to not interfere before my trial?”

Kensit looked around the dirty and dingy cells and torches on the walls that barely pushed back the darkness. The aura from the dementors outside was just the cherry on top to fully set the mood as a solid miserable. All it needed was some tortured screams to really bring the whole thing together. Kensit wondered what spells he would add to really hammer home the image of hopelessness and depression to this place… whoever made it had really given him a solid base to work with if he wanted to make this place break the minds of its inhabitants.

“Yes, I did agree to not interfere…” Kensit said reluctantly, “But as nice as this place is, I simply do not understand it. Even in your warped mind, shouldn’t you be out there doing good rather than rotting away in here? Your little lord Voldemort is still out there trying to return to life. You should go out there and do something to stop him, Ministry be damned.”

“I will not,” Dumbledore said resolutely, “How can I stand for the forces of light and good if I am a criminal? I will serve my time and be welcomed back into the world with open arms. Welcomed back in their greatest time of need. Secondly, all of Voldemort's greatest followers are here. He has none in the world who are truly loyal to him, only those that fear his power and cruelty. Who better to make sure that none of them escape than the great Albus Dumbledore? With me stationed here, he will not dare to organize an escape from the prison. Without his followers he will be weak, unable to take proper action until Harry Potter is older.”

“Well reasoned,” Kensit admitted, “I’m not one to sacrifice myself for others' causes, but I suppose I can respect the dedication. To spend years in these lovely accommodations simply out of conviction… Why, you’ve been here for months already and you seem barely affected! Have a trick to hold off the dementors' aura do you? Tell me the trick, I’m curious.”

“If I tell you, will you leave me be, Kensit?” Dumbledore said, “As much as I enjoy our chats, I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Oh, I do,” Kensit agreed, “But I’m far too invested now. I’ve decided to give little Harry some space for now. You’re my latest fascination so I don’t grow too impatient with him. I’ll go and entertain myself with something else for a month or two if you tell me what the method is to avoid the dementors' aura.”

“Very well,” Albus said heavily.

“Not going to even ask what I’m going to do while I’m not chatting with you? It will be something horrible to your sensibilities,” Kensit interjected with a smile, “What does your inherent goodness have to say about that? Letting a madman loose out on the world to stop him from annoying you with endless conversation?”

“You will do those things regardless of what I say,” Albus said with some fire in his eyes, “I have your measure by now. You would not let go of something of interest leave your sights once your eye catches on it. You would simply wait to explore it at a later time.”

“Have my measure, do you…” Kensit replied thoughtfully, “I highly doubt that. But you are right in this case. It is an ongoing project so I would be working on it either way. So, spill. What is the secret?”

“Wandless Light magic,” Dumbledore answered, “Intentional feedback of positive emotions after infusion counters the dementors drain and returns me to an equilibrium if I maintain focus.”

Kensit slapped himself on the forehead, “Bah! I can’t believe it was something that simple! I was always rather bad at those emotional magics relative to my skill level. A simple if exhausting solution to the problem… no wonder you are always so calm. Hah! I annoy you so much you crank it up when you have to deal with me, don’t you? It is working! Are you sure you don’t want to break out of Azkaban and do something more entertaining? Kidnap Harry Potter for his safety again? Obliviate some more students and professors that were at the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe go out and go on a grand hunt to bottle Voldemort's spirit and seal it in some ancient tomb? What will it be?”

“Our deal,” Dumbledore said as a flicker of annoyance flashed across his face.

“Very well, you’ve earned your peace. I’ll leave you one little tidbit as I leave. A certain Peter Pettigrew was found alive at Hogwarts! Captured by our very own Harry Potter! Too bad about the wounds young Harry suffered in the process though. Tut tut. If only you were there to erase his memory of such a traumatic incident again… Who knows what... dark tendencies he may develop!”

“Wounds? He was hurt? By who?” Dumbledore said in concern.

“Bye, bye, Dumbledore! See you in a month or two!” Kensit said, giving a jaunty little wave before apparating away back into his lab. Oh, how much fun he had teasing that man. The look on his face as Kensit had turned around. Pure frustration as he realized his mistake. What a thing of beauty. It had been so long since Kensit had gotten to scratch that particular itch. He would let the man sit on those little crumbs of news until he saw Kensit again. When he returned Dumbledore would be on the edge of his seat looking for more clues on what had happened.

Kensit closed his eyes as the familiar tortured screams from inside his lab washed over him again as he stepped into the operating room. Now, this was the proper atmosphere for his work! The full package of suffering to put him in the best state of mind for proper research and exploration! For Progress!

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He carefully walked over to the tray of various sized enchanted knives. Each customized perfectly for a unique purpose and application. After some consideration he picked up one of them and rolled it in his palm thoughtfully for a moment. After a moment he changed his mind and replaced it with a much larger blade.

Blade in hand and wand in the other, he turned back to the petrified subject strapped to the operating table. With a flick of his wand they came back to life and began struggling again. Kensit stalked forward and the terrified subject met his eyes. Its body was covered with mottled hairless gray skin surrounded by puffy red and swollen human skin around the edges of the patches. Kensit twirled the knife theatrically and the subject gulped when they saw it. His current strain of improved werewolves were adequate but much like vampires were still too situational. Another dead end. It was time to go back to more promising branches, something completely different from the werewolves. This subject in front of him was showing some promise already for his newest branch of study. One inspired by his investigation of the ever interesting Harry Potter.

“Now,” he said with a smile, “Let’s try to improve you, shall we?”

Then he dived straight back into his research. With such a long break he had so many ideas to test out! He happily hummed to himself along with the screams as his blade started cutting through flesh.

— — —

Sirius Black was a miserable man. Not in the sense of a man who had bills past due or one who had suffered a loss in the family. But one that had his whole world shattered over a decade ago. Instead of being able to heal from this loss the broken shards of his mind had been left on their own. Their broken edges sharper and broken into smaller pieces with every passing day.

His best friend and his wife murdered, one of his other greatest best friends a traitor. To Sirius his friends were everything. They had carried him through his dark times trying to escape the bigoted ideology of his family all those years ago. Sirius’ sweet revenge on the rat had been short lived as the man killed himself and unintentionally framed Sirius for his murder in the process.

He only knew how many years it had been by the newspapers the guards would occasionally give the prisoners. Not him, but the ones that had been rich and influential. But those people could still talk about what they read where Sirius could hear them from his cell. Meal after meal, day after day, just a gray expanse of the same misery in the same old cell. Gossip and rumors, and the occasional visitor the only change in this dreary place

Sirius was not sure why Dumbledore or anyone had never tried to save him from this horrible place. He hadn’t even been given a trial before he was thrown in this dingy cell to rot. Only his animagus transformation into a black dog let him preserve his sanity unlike so many others.

It was when a prisoner went catatonic or started endlessly screaming that the guards would finally show mercy and allow one of the Dementors to consume their soul with Ministry approval. Sirius’ emotions as an animal were simpler. He was hungry, he was cold, he was alone. But the loss of his friends did not bite at him, the pain of the past.

As an animal he could only focus on the misery of the present. It was almost… addicting in a way. Sometimes he even got twitchy when the guards came by and he had to transform back into a human. Every moment he remained a human were moments he would have to relive the loss of his friends over and over under the effects of the dementors aura. Bringing the worst of his memories to the surface as they fed on the outer layers of his soul.

If the guards ever figured out that Sirius was an animagus then they would reinforce his cell so he couldn’t transform. Then everything would truly be lost, and Sirius would have to suffer as a human all the time. He thought if that happened then perhaps he would be the next prisoner to have his soul consumed.

Sirius heard footsteps from down the corridor and quickly transformed back into a human clad in his ratty old gray prison uniform. What were they doing? It wasn’t meal time and the guard patrols shouldn’t have come by for a while yet. Sirius had gotten an uncanny sense on when everything was supposed to happen after these ten years during his days. And this was a deviation that sent his heart racing. Was one of the other prisoners receiving a visitor? Who would it be? Sirius had no hope for visitors himself.

Dumbledore had been his only visitor after he was thrown in here. And the man’s empty promises had haunted him for years. Sirius wondered if anyone even remembered that he was in here. At least Alice and Frank had been healed of their insanity by the Cruciatus curse by Sirius’ godson Harry. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he saw the headline as the man walked by. That was all he got to read, the headlines. He had nearly broken when he saw that his godson was in a coma for so long. Presumably dead.

But then last year he recovered from his coma. Unfortunately, the guard on patrol started carrying his newspaper in a different grip after that. Now all Sirius got was the sports section. Useless even in the best of times. And despite everything there was very little gossip from his cell mates recently. They never discussed Harry directly for some reason Sirius couldn't determine. Hopefully the guard would switch back to his old grip again soon. Sirius was eager for news on if James and Lily’s son had recovered from his coma. What was he like, Sirius wondered? Was he like James had been back when they were kids?

The footsteps stopped in front of Sirius’ cell and he realized that he had spiraled into his thoughts again now that his routine had been broken. He looked up from the ball he had made on the floor for warmth. The warden was there with the two guards.

“Good news, Sirius Black,” the warden said roughly, “After an investigation by the Ministry and new evidence that has come to light recently, your sentence has been overturned. You are being freed,”

Sirius coughed, not believing it and weakly made his way to his feet. He stumbled forward in a daze not saying a word. Taking his motion as agreement, the warden started walking away while the two guards continued flanking Sirius. Sirius followed after the warden. He felt hope flare in him but crushed it ruthlessly before it could fully bloom. He wouldn’t celebrate the instant before he left this forever damned island.

They went outside to gray skies and a freezing rain onto the stone battlements in the castle. Only the occasional lantern provided light throughout the gloom. Ahead was a wide platform made of a whitish marvel. It was stained with dirt and dim in the darkness, but it was so different from the rest of the crumbling stone of the castle. The warden and the guards led him onto the platform. Sirius glanced up into the storm and saw at least five dementors floating there, watching them while they were shrouded from within their cloaks. Sirius felt the guard behind him put his arm on his shoulder and a second later he felt a tug in his navel. With a crack of displaced air, Sirius was gone and in another place.

A brighter place. A new place. A place without the Dementors aura or the oppressive darkness or the cold.

Sirius coughed. Then coughed again. He started wheezing and doubled over. The guard looked concerned, but when they saw Sirius’ face they stopped preparing to cast spells. He was laughing as best as he could. He was finally out of that place. After all of this time he would be free.