Most prisoners in Azkaban felt that life was worse than death, but neither suicide nor hunger strikes were effective.
Dementors not only prevent suicides in advance, but they also thoughtfully feed them.
Their food is happiness, all positive emotions.
If a prisoner dies, only his soul can be absorbed.
While it may provide a full meal, it cannot ensure sustainable development.
They were so dedicated to their work that they even buried the dead prisoners.
No salary, no rest.
There really is no better guardian than Dementors.
After Fudge and his group entered the 13th floor, the prisoners there laughed even more unrestrainedly.
Quirrell, who came in last year, lay on the wooden bed and laughed out loud, looking at him blankly.
Hehehe~
Umbridge's bulbous eyes immediately glared at him.
"Ah ha~ Ah ba~ Ah hehe~"
His innocent smile, coupled with that mesmerizing laughter, even made the expressionless Delores frown.
Fudge walked forward with a blank expression.
It's just a small matter.
"Thump—" A disheveled prisoner slammed his head against the fence.
He reached out and grabbed Fudge's sleeve. "It's you! It's the Minister of Ministry of Magic!"
"Ha—hahahaha—" A sharp laugh instantly filled the entire cell floor.
"Rodolphus Lestrange," Fudge broke free with a little effort.
"Seeing you so energetic, I can rest assured."
Rodolphus, who had fallen to the ground, quickly got up, his pale and thin face contorted in a grimace.
Fudge shook his head dismissively and continued walking forward.
"You're definitely going to hell!"
Umbridge didn't dare glare this time; she just followed quietly.
Quirrell is just a clever guy now, while Rodolphus is a notorious Death Eaters.
"Fudge — Fudge— "
Upon hearing the chanting, Fudge slowed his pace.
She was a woman with a haggard and withered face.
Her lips were thin, her eyelids were thick, and her eyelashes were long.
She may have once been a beautiful woman, but now she looks like a madwoman.
"Fudge!" she cried, gripping the fence tightly. "Tell me, has the great Dark Lord returned?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange," Fudge's eyes were unusually cold.
"He is dead, killed by the Killing Curse that Harry Potter deflected."
"Liar!" Bellatrix pressed her face against the gap in the bars, trying to see the cell closest to the stairs.
"I can smell his scent on that newcomer, you can't fool me!"
Quirrell is the way he is now because Voldemort once housed his soul inside him.
Fudge's anger vanished quickly. "Listen to me, that devil will never come back."
"Fraud!"
He ignored Bellatrix's frantic screams and walked past cell after cell.
Faced with a barrage of insults and curses, Umbridge shouted back at almost every one of them.
There's a reason she was able to become a vice minister.
As they approached the end of the floor, a cell caught Fudge's eye.
The prisoners inside neither cursed loudly nor made any kind of demonic laughter.
He just sat quietly on the wooden bed, staring blankly at the ceiling... "What are you looking at?"
There was nothing there.
Fudge recognized the thin and haggard face.
Umbridge recognized him too. "Sirius Black Black, watch your attitude."
Standing before me was the current Minister for Magic.
"I know." Sirius Black looked back at the ceiling, which was clearly more attractive to him.
"Damn Death Eaters!"
Fudge seemed oblivious to Umbridge's curses and appeared quite interested in his performance.
"Black, are you bored?"
"Listening to those lunatics yelling outside day after day, I'm almost going to go crazy with them."
Sirius Black is just as unconventional as Quirrell.
Scum like Tash and Slade can only stay on the 12th floor. Those who are lucky enough to live on the top floor are all vicious black wizards sentenced to life imprisonment.
Quirrell already had mental issues, while Sirius Black seemed remarkably normal compared to the other prisoners.
Upon noticing Fudge's attitude, Umbridge completely changed his expression.
"Minister, under your enlightened reform policies, two heinous criminals have begun to repent for everything they did."
Her eyes were a little moist. "You have accomplished what no minister before you has been able to do. You have personally turned a new page in the great chapter of the Wizarding World."
"Ahem—" Fudge coughed rather awkwardly.
"Tell me, Black, what do you want to do to pass the time?"
Sirius Black's eyes first showed confusion, then he looked at him with a somewhat dazed expression.
"Mr. Minister, all I need is a newspaper."
As soon as Fudge reached out his hand, Umbridge pulled a copy of The Daily Prophet from her pink bag.
"I hope you do well, Black."
"I will." Sirius Black's eyes showed no gratitude; he simply stood up numbly and took the newspaper.
Umbridge flashed what she thought was a beautiful, radiant smile.
"Minister, I suggest you write up today's inspection into an article so that more wizards can know about your great deeds."
Fudge's eyes lit up.
They almost became an international laughing stock a while ago, but this move will surely salvage their reputation.
He said he wanted to keep a low profile, but his body quickly turned back the way he came.
After they left, Sirius Black looked down at the newspaper in his hand.
The Weasley family stands out in their family portrait in Egypt.
"What!?" His expression suddenly turned angry, and he gripped the newspaper tightly with both hands, as if he wanted to tear it to shreds.
The Delores, who were at the very back, did not notice anything amiss, nor did the Dementors had hidden themselves while inspecting the area.
When she returned to the Ministry of Magic, Rita had been sitting in the hall waiting for almost the entire morning.
Without saying a word, she took the notebook and walked over.
"Oh! Isn't this our famous reporter!"
Fudge originally intended to just show his face and go to the newspaper office, became unusually enthusiastic.
Rita sensed something was amiss.
Of all the wizards in the British Isles who saw her without hiding, there was only one underage young wizard.
The rest are either after her or still after her.
The other party is the Minister for Magic, so their true purpose is not hard to guess.
"Come sit in my office," Fudge invited warmly, and she, of course, readily agreed, like a lady.
Sipping a cup of black tea and enjoying some delicate desserts.
Offering unsolicited favors is either suspicious or presumptuous.
But Rita is Rita after all, and she wasn't afraid at all.
As Umbridge's expression grew increasingly grim, she finally calmed down a little.
Fudge put down his teacup. "You, a great reporter, have a really keen nose."
Rita returned what she considered a reserved smile.
"Minister Fudge, if a journalist doesn't have a keen sense of smell that ordinary people don't have, can they still be considered a qualified journalist?"
"A very sharp response." Fudge smiled.
"So as a qualified media professional, I think you have no reason to refuse a big news story."
Big news means traffic, and traffic means fame.
"Please speak, Mr. Minister." Rita opened her notebook.
.