"Sirius!" Dumbledore's voice rang out as he strode forward.
A wild light flickered in Sirius Black's eyes. His fingers were clamped like steel vises around the half-bald rat in his grip. Was it an illusion, or had Scabbers grown far thinner since Anthony last saw him?
"Good lord, Black!" Scrimgeour muttered. His lion Patronus broke into a trot, rushing toward Peter Pettigrew's cell.
"I must say, this is an unexpected detour for your late-night wanderings, Sirius," Dumbledore said lightly, stopping outside the iron bars and meeting Sirius's gaze. "Why don't you come out?"
"Albus?" Sirius's voice was a harsh, rasping croak, as if he'd once again forgotten how to use it properly. His eyes shifted slowly from Dumbledore's face to Severus Snape's. Snape's eyes narrowed. A look of utter loathing twisted Sirius's features, and his hand clenched convulsively.
The rat let out a piercing shriek.
"This is absurd, Black!" Scrimgeour said sharply. "How did you get in? How did you get into the cell? I've never—I've never heard of—"
Sirius turned his head, frowning. He clearly didn't recognize the man. His fingers loosened slightly.
The rat seized its chance. It bit down hard on Sirius's thumb, twisted free, and dropped to the floor. In a blur of sickening transformation, Peter Pettigrew stood there instead.
Peter seemed balder, older than Anthony remembered. Sparse, matted hair clung to a scalp above slack, wrinkled cheeks. His small, watery eyes were bloodshot, tears already gathering. He looked like he'd lost a dangerous amount of weight in a very short time.
"Albus—" Pettigrew quavered.
Sirius roared. He slammed into Pettigrew, sending him crashing to the filthy floor. A knee jammed into Pettigrew's chest. Sirius's hands went for the man's throat. Pettigrew's own hands flailed, then scrabbled up to clutch at Sirius's neck.
They rolled across the grimy cell floor. The sounds that came from them were animal. Snarls. Grunts of pain.
More Dementors were drifting closer. Scrimgeour's silver lion prowled around the four of them outside the cell, its body low, a silent threat to the growing swarm. The prisoner in the next cell shuffled to their bars, matted hair framing a vacant face, staring blankly at the glowing beast.
"Enough," Dumbledore said.
Anthony only saw the wand flick. An invisible force tore Sirius and Pettigrew apart. Sirius coughed, rising slowly from the ground.
"Save me, Albus, save me!" Pettigrew wept, his voice still that reedy, high-pitched whine. He scrambled on his knees to the barred, wire-mesh wall, arms stretching up in supplication. "He wants to kill me—"
"Because you deserve it!" Sirius's voice was a dark, grating rasp. He took a step toward Peter, squinting briefly against the light from Anthony's Lumos Charm. His gaze never left the trembling man by the wall.
A few Dementors drifted closer. They drew in a long, rattling breath, savoring the despair from the cell. Pettigrew let out another sob, slumping further. Sirius's lips pulled back in a smile that held no joy.
Only then did Anthony see the red threads of madness in Sirius's eyes, the feverish intensity that held his entire frame taut.
"Must have been nice, being a rat, Peter?" Sirius said, his voice like gravel. "Clever little vermin, eh? You were always quicker than me… finding the Dementors' blind spot."
"What blind spot?" Scrimgeour cut in.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius—" Pettigrew stammered. Anthony saw his eyes darting frantically between the cell door and Dumbledore. Dumbledore lowered his gaze, meeting Pettigrew's. Pettigrew flinched, shrinking back.
"Wondering how I got in the cell?" Sirius turned to Scrimgeour. "Let me enlighten you. Dementors are idiots. They can't see. They only feel… When a wizard transforms into an Animagus, to them… it's no different from a real animal." A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "Blind, stupid, dark creatures."
The Dementors outside the cell reacted. Several bony, decayed hands shot out, grasping the wire mesh with sharp, ragged nails. They pressed their hooded faces against the barrier.
Scrimgeour's lion roared. It lunged. The Dementors scattered like leaves in a gale, swept back down the corridor. The silver lion dissolved.
Darkness plunged into the cell block. Only Anthony's wand-tip light remained. Scrimgeour raised his wand. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He muttered the incantation. Only wisps of silver mist sputtered from his wand. Beside Anthony, Snape hunched his shoulders, a gesture of profound discomfort. Dumbledore glanced his way, then raised his own wand.
A beautiful, radiant silver phoenix erupted from its tip. It settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, its light pushing back the cold dread.
"Sirius. Time to go," Dumbledore said. "Harry is waiting for you at Hogwarts."
Sirius seemed oblivious to it all. He continued his explanation undisturbed.
"A Dementor can't tell a rat," Sirius said, turning back to Pettigrew, baring his teeth, "from a dog."
Pettigrew visibly cringed.
"Albus…" Pettigrew gasped, pleading. "I gave you the Dark Lord's wand location… You promised… you promised to spare me the Kiss. You always keep your word…"
Dumbledore looked at him with pure revulsion. Snape, Anthony noticed, had drawn a small vial from his robes. He held it tightly in his left hand. Anthony recognized it—the simulated Basilisk venom extract he'd given him.
Anthony startled. Snape was watching Pettigrew with a thoughtful, chilling intensity. It looked like if the sniveling man moved an inch closer, Snape would drive that poison straight into his filthy, weeping body.
"Snape!" Anthony hissed. "What are you doing?"
Snape shot him a dark look. He didn't get a chance to answer.
Whether Pettigrew moved first, or Sirius simply reached his breaking point, they were on each other again in a tangle of limbs and fury.
"Black! Pettigrew!" Scrimgeour shouted.
"Sirius—" Anthony began.
A deafening CRACK echoed through the prison. The floor trembled. The vacant-eyed prisoner in the next cell shrieked softly, scrambling to the farthest corner to cower.
Sirius and Pettigrew lay on the floor, motionless. Unconscious, but still breathing.
More Dementors gathered, swirling restlessly.
"My apologies," Dumbledore said politely, lowering his wand.
Scrimgeour took several deep breaths. He ordered the nearest Dementors to open the cell and bring Sirius out. This time, they obeyed with eerie speed.
"What about him?" Anthony asked, pointing at the curled, unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew.
Scrimgeour wiped his brow. "He stays," he said grimly. "Mark my words—if he does escape, the Ministry will terminate all cooperation with you immediately. As for this Animagus business Black mentioned…" He hesitated. "I will inform the Minister. The Minister will… deal with it."
"Rufus—" Dumbledore began.
"The Minister has always believed these things are the Ministry's faithful allies," Scrimgeour said, a thread of frustration leaking into his tone. "If Black can waltz into Azkaban so easily, the Dark Lord…"
He shook his head, leaving the thought unfinished. He raised his wand. "We're leaving. Let's hope that boat holds five. Never heard of five in one of those things."
Snape was faster. He levitated Sirius's unconscious form with a flick. Dumbledore's phoenix circled them, keeping the nearby Dementors at a wary distance. Sirius floated in the middle of their group, head lolling, arms limp at his sides—a grim, terrifying banner. Anthony watched Sirius's head bump against the low stone ceiling of an Azkaban archway. Snape didn't seem to notice. Or care.
"Let me take him, Professor Snape," Anthony offered. "I can levitate Sirius."
"Unnecessary, Professor Anthony," Snape said with cold courtesy. "I enjoy being helpful."
He let Sirius's shoulder clip the doorframe. Anthony winced in sympathy, wondering again what deep-seated hatred existed between these two. Judging by their expressions every time they met, Anthony suspected Sirius would have done the exact same thing given the chance.
As they passed through the final iron door, Anthony felt a sudden shift in the air behind them. Dumbledore stopped dead. Anthony turned.
The sight was horrifying.
Dementors. Dozens of them. More. They streamed from every shadow, every crevice, a swirling vortex of black robes and icy despair. They poured back down the corridor they had just left, a silent, frantic tide. They soared from high windows, swept through low archways—a macabre, frenzied exodus.
"Something's happening," Anthony said.
Dumbledore's hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him and the others aside. The Headmaster strode back into the heart of the prison.
His phoenix cried out—a clear, ringing note. The swarming Dementors in the corridor slowed, frozen by the sound, parting effortlessly before him. Scrimgeour was right on his heels. Anthony and Snape followed, the still-floating Sirius bumping along behind them. Anthony had no attention to spare for it now.
Dumbledore stopped abruptly.
"What—" Scrimgeour began, then froze.
Anthony pushed past him.
Dozens of Dementors were clustered around Peter Pettigrew's cell. In the center of the huddle, one Dementor was slowly, deliberately, drawing its hood back into place.
Peter Pettigrew lay on the floor, his eyes empty and blank.
A hollow shell. A soulless husk.
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