He is at Hogwarts

Time had lost all meaning.

Dewey Jones rained punches down on Sirius.

His fists felt soft and weak.

[User: Dewey Jones (Pseudonym)

Learned Cards:

[Levicorpus (Level 1)] (Blue Rare)

[Protego (Level 1)] (White Common)

[Stupefy (Level 1)] (White Common) *2

[Alohomora (Level 1)] (White Common) *2

Title: None

Magic Points: 10

Magic Essence: 0

Duel Points: 1]

Dewey leaned against the wall, struggling for breath.

He had realized that the card drops were not entirely random.

The more common, mundane, and frequently used spells Sirius employed, the more often they dropped.

Take Alohomora, for instance; it was a very routine charm used simply to unlock doors.

Dewey had no idea why Sirius was so obsessed with picking locks.

There were far too many Alohomora cards dropping.

As for Duel Points, Magic Points, and Magic Essence, Dewey didn't care what they were.

Under the ravages of the Dementors, his brain could only handle single-threaded thinking.

"Ask away. What question is this? Doesn't matter, just ask."

Dewey spoke, his long-term malnutrition leaving him with no spare energy to fight.

He felt drowsy.

Sirius Black's expression was a complex sight; he rubbed his hands together, looking uneasy.

He hadn't dared to ask this question during the previous rounds.

But now, rubbing his hands, his gray pupils fixed on Dewey with a mix of panic and longing, he asked, "Harry Potter, James's son—is he doing well? Is he still alive?"

Even knowing he might be asking a redundant question and would get punched for it, Sirius couldn't help but ask.

He needed a definitive answer.

"Yes, that's right, he's alive. The Boy Who Lived, uh-huh, the child of prophecy. He's doing very well, studying in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts."

Dewey said, too lazy to even lift his eyelids. He forced himself to land another punch on Sirius, causing another card to drop.

[Expelliarmus (Level 1)]

[Expelliarmus: I see, I use, I disarm. A wizard without a wand is like a tiger without teeth; this is the most brilliant spell for a duel, trust me.]

["Hey, besides Expelliarmus, don't you lot in Dumbledore's Army know any other spells?"]

Seeing this card, Dewey tucked it away.

Sirius, as if he felt no pain, continued to ask, "Peter Pettigrew—you said he's alive, why? I clearly remember killing him."

This was the question he had been dying to know.

"He turned into an ugly, filthy rat and hid with the Weasleys. You know, nobody pays attention to a rat, especially when nobody knows he's an unregistered Animagus. He blew up a street back then and escaped through the sewers as a rat."

Dewey said, and as Sirius Black leaned in, Dewey landed another punch.

[Stupefy (Level 1)]

[Stupefy: There are no useless spells, only wizards who don't know how to use them.]

["Hey, besides Stupefy, don't you lot in Dumbledore's Army know any other spells?"]

Seeing this card, Dewey numbly collected it and urged Sirius to keep asking questions.

Throughout the day, Sirius asked many questions, and Dewey mixed truth with lies.

More than half of Sirius's questions were about Harry Potter.

Dewey could feel that as their conversation progressed, Sirius became increasingly spirited.

"I can't stay here any longer," he muttered to himself, "I have to kill that traitor!"

Dewey remained noncommittal, continuing to call Sirius over to ask questions before beating him.

About three days had passed.

He had calculated this based on the frequency with which the Aurors delivered food.

Sirius felt that Dewey's punches had become completely weak and powerless, feeling more like a caress.

Dewey fell into deep despair.

He had even played his purple cards and used Apparition, yet the Animagus ability still hadn't appeared.

More importantly, he felt that in this dark prison, he had found a friend.

Damned camaraderie always seemed to appear at the most inappropriate times.

For instance, right now.

Looking at Sirius, whose face was covered in blood.

Looking at the person he had spent three days talking to in this dark world.

Dewey found he couldn't bring himself to strike.

"Damn it, I shouldn't have chosen this condition, and I shouldn't have a conscience. Conscience always shows up when it shouldn't."

Dewey said, looking at Sirius's face as he leaned in, "I don't want to beat you anymore. You're the person I've talked to the most since I entered Azkaban."

He said.

Sirius felt much the same; he was as thin as a skeleton, but his eyes were exceptionally bright.

"Among the Death Eaters, you aren't the most detestable."

"But I am definitely the most foolish."

Dewey replied, "Tom was an excellent leader, a natural madman, and a powerful wizard, but Voldemort is not. Voldemort has too many soul fragments; he's already gone insane. Aha, the greatest potioneer of the century, a Parselmouth, a master of Transfiguration, and one of the most powerful dark wizards in history, reduced to this state—it's truly lamentable. Also, I am not a Death Eater."

Sirius was not surprised by Dewey's casual use of the Dark Lord's name; he even began to wonder if he had misjudged Dewey.

He was innocent, just like himself.

"Those idiots at the Ministry of Magic always do the wrong thing."

Sirius said, as he had been wrongfully imprisoned himself.

"Indeed. Once I get out, I'll finish them all off, a bunch of useless sacks of wine and rice."

Dewey said, "Voldemort included. Without Voldemort, I wouldn't be here, and without those idiots at the Ministry of Magic, I wouldn't be here either. Those fools will pay the price for this!"

Dewey gritted his teeth. Even though he knew he was far from being able to take down Voldemort, he still needed to set a goal for himself.

A person without conviction could not survive in Azkaban.

Through their exchanges, Sirius became increasingly convinced that Dewey was innocent; no die-hard Death Eater would ever threaten to kill Voldemort.

However, what Dewey said was a bit too shocking.

"Rest now. We will leave eventually."

Sirius said, unsure if he was comforting Dewey or himself.

He assumed Dewey was joking.

Dewey was not joking; he truly meant it.

After a meal, just as Dewey had landed two punches on Sirius, footsteps suddenly echoed from outside.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A warm, soothing aura washed over them, and both Sirius and Dewey couldn't help but groan.

The sensation was incredibly comfortable.

It felt like soaking one's entire body in a hot spring.

The Patronus Charm was not a common spell; even many adult wizards could not necessarily cast it.

Among the Ministry of Magic Aurors, not many knew the Patronus Charm.

Most of those who did were on rotation at Azkaban.

The door was pushed open, and an Auror walked in, waving his wand with a look of disgust as he cast magic to alter the environment.

"Why are you here?"

The Auror saw an extra person in the cell and took a second look at Dewey.

Dewey didn't speak; he let out a "hehehe" laugh and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at the Auror.

The Auror didn't care about such a trifle. He waved his wand, shaving Sirius's beard and hair, tidying him up until he was clean, even wiping the blood from his face.

Someone found newspapers from outside and brought them in; even the bloodstains on Dewey's legs were cleaned up by a designated person.

Watching this scene, Dewey couldn't help but sneer.

"Oh, oh, oh, look at our diligent Aurors. What are you little cuties doing? Is the Ministry of Magic into vanity projects now? Let me guess, is some big shot coming to visit Azkaban? Hmm? Are you little cuties acting as janitors for the big shots?"

The Auror casually cast a hex at Dewey, the searing heat making it feel as if Dewey's body had been scalded by magma, causing huge, festering sores to erupt!

"Don't talk nonsense, you disgusting maggot," the Auror said. "If you speak again, I'll make sure you never speak another word. I'll make your tongue jump out and run away on its own."

Enduring the pain, Dewey looked at the wand and said, "Hmm, an applewood wand, ten and one-third inches long. I've taken a liking to your wand. One day, it will be in my hands, blooming with the brilliance it was meant to have," Dewey said with a strange laugh.

The Auror glanced at Dewey once more before turning to leave.

There was always room for such rude people in the graveyard of Azkaban.

No one likes being threatened. The Auror was no exception.

Tossing the newspaper in front of them, the Auror shoved Dewey aside.

Sirius grabbed the newspaper.

It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.

His eyes were glued to the Daily Prophet, unable to tear them away even a fraction.

On the Daily Prophet was a photograph of the Weasley family. Behind them were the Egyptian pyramids, but at this moment, Sirius didn't care about any of that. He didn't even pay attention to what the text said. He pressed himself against the paper with near-greed, staring at the Weasley boy.

To be precise, his gaze fell upon Ron Weasley's shoulder. On that shoulder sat a fat, greasy rat. Most importantly, this rat was missing a toe. It was Ron Weasley's pet, the little rat Scabbers. No matter what, even if he were to die, Sirius would never misidentify that rat.

"Peter, Peter, I've found you, Peter."

He reread the text, finding the little boy's name.

"He is Harry's classmate."

"Peter is still alive."

Sirius suppressed his pain, joy, and worry. "He is at Hogwarts," he kept telling himself. "I have to get out. I have to go protect Harry. He is at Hogwarts, he is at Hogwarts!"