No one knew how much time had passed.
Dewey pummeled Sirius.
His punches were growing weak.
[User: Dewey Jones (alias) Cards learned: [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: 10 Magical Essence: 0 Dueling Points: 1]
Dewey leaned wearily against the wall.
He had figured it out: the cards didn't drop entirely at random.
The more ordinary and common a card was, and the more often Sirius used it, the more frequently it dropped.
Alohomora, for example, was an everyday spell used to unlock doors.
Dewey had no idea why Sirius was so fixated on sneaking around and picking locks.
A ridiculous number of Alohomora cards had dropped.
As for the Dueling Points, Magic, and Magical Essence, Dewey didn't care what they were.
After being tormented by the Dementors, his brain could only focus on one thing at a time.
"Go on, ask. What number are we up to? Doesn't matter. Ask."
Dewey said it. Years of malnutrition had left him with no energy to spare for fighting.
He was starting to nod off.
Sirius Black wore a complicated expression. He rubbed his hands together, uneasy.
He hadn't dared to ask this question during the previous few rounds.
But now, rubbing his hands together, he stared at Dewey with anxious gray eyes and asked, sounding both alarmed and hopeful, "Harry Potter, James's son—is he all right? Is he still alive?"
Even though he knew the question might be pointless, and that he might get punched for asking it, Sirius still couldn't help himself.
He needed a definite answer.
"Yes, that's right. He's still alive—the Boy Who Lived. Mm-hmm, the child from the Prophecy. He's doing well, studying in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts."
Dewey said it without even bothering to lift his eyelids. With an effort, he punched Sirius, and another card dropped.
[Expelliarmus (Level 1)] [Expelliarmus: I see, I use, I disarm. A wizard without a wand is like a tiger without teeth. This is the cleverest spell in a duel, trust me.] ["Hey, does Dumbledore's Army know any spells besides Expelliarmus?"]
Dewey saw the spell card and put it away.
Sirius acted as if he felt no pain and continued asking, "Peter Pettigrew—you said he's still alive. Why?
I remember killing him."
That was what he had always wanted to know.
"He turned into a filthy, ugly rat and hid with the Weasley family.
You know, nobody pays attention to a rat. Especially when nobody knows he's an unregistered Animagus.
He blew up a street back then, turned into a rat, and escaped through the sewers."
Dewey said it. Sirius leaned toward him, prompting another punch.
[Stupefy (Level 1)] [Stupefy: There are no useless spells, only wizards who don't know how to use them.] ["Hey, does Dumbledore's Army know any spells besides Stupefy?"]
At the sight of the card, Dewey mechanically put it away and told Sirius to keep asking questions.
Sirius asked a great many questions that day, and Dewey's answers were a mixture of truth and lies.
More than half of Sirius's questions were about Harry Potter.
Dewey could tell that as they talked, Sirius grew more and more animated.
"I can't stay here," he muttered to himself. "I have to kill that traitor!"
Dewey made no comment. He kept telling Sirius to ask questions, then beating him up.
About three days passed.
He had worked it out from how often the Hit Wizards brought them food.
Sirius thought Dewey's punches had grown utterly weak, more like a caress.
Dewey fell into deep despair.
He'd even managed to get a Purple Card, Apparition, but the Animagus card still hadn't appeared.
More importantly, he felt that he'd made a friend in this dark prison.
Damn friendship. It always showed up when it shouldn't.
Like now.
Sirius, his face covered in blood,
looked at the one person he'd spent three days talking to in this dark world.
Dewey found himself unable to hit him.
"Damn it, I shouldn't have chosen this condition. And I shouldn't have a conscience.
A conscience always shows up when it shouldn't."
Dewey said, looking at Sirius's face as he leaned toward him. "I don't want to hit you anymore.
You're the person I've talked to the most since I entered Azkaban."
He said it.
Sirius felt much the same. He was thin as a skeleton, but his eyes were strikingly bright.
"Among the Death Eaters, you're not the worst."
"But you're definitely the stupidest," Dewey replied. "Tom was an excellent leader, a born madman, and a powerful wizard. But Voldemort isn't.
Voldemort has too many fragments of his soul. He's gone completely mad.
Aha, the greatest Potions master of the century, a Parselmouth, a Transfiguration master, one of the most powerful Dark Wizards in history—and look what he's become. It's tragic.
And I'm not a Death Eater."
Sirius wasn't surprised that Dewey called the Dark Lord by his name. He even wondered whether he'd wrongly accused Dewey.
Dewey had been framed, just like him.
"That bunch of fools at the Ministry of Magic are always making the wrong decisions," Sirius said. He'd been framed and thrown in here himself.
"Yeah. Once I get out, I'll kill them all. A bunch of worthless layabouts," Dewey said. "Voldemort too. Without Voldemort, I wouldn't be here. Without that bunch of fools at the Ministry of Magic, I wouldn't be here either.
Those idiots are going to pay for this!"
Dewey gritted his teeth. Even though he knew that killing Voldemort was far beyond him right now, he still needed to set himself a goal.
Without something to believe in, no one could survive in Azkaban.
As they talked, Sirius became more and more convinced that Dewey had been framed. No die-hard Death Eater would openly declare that he was going to kill Voldemort.
But what Dewey said was a little too outrageous.
"Get some rest. We'll get out of here eventually," Sirius said. He didn't know whether he was trying to comfort Dewey or himself.
He thought Dewey was joking.
Dewey wasn't joking. He really meant it.
After a meal, Dewey had just punched Sirius twice when footsteps suddenly sounded outside their cell.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A warm sensation washed over them, and Sirius and Dewey both let out involuntary groans.
It felt unbelievably good.
Like soaking in a hot spring.
The Patronus Charm wasn't a particularly common spell. Even many adult wizards couldn't cast it.
Not many Hit Wizards at the Ministry of Magic knew the Patronus Charm either.
Most of them took turns working at Azkaban.
The door opened, and a Hit Wizard walked in. Waving his wand, he reluctantly cast a spell to change the conditions in the cell.
"What are you doing here?"
Seeing someone else in the cell, the Hit Wizard glanced at Dewey.
Dewey said nothing. He just snickered and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at him.
The Hit Wizard didn't care about the little incident. He waved his wand, shaving Sirius's beard and hair until he was neat and clean. He even wiped the blood from Sirius's face.
Someone brought in newspapers from outside and set them down. There was even a worker assigned to clean the bloodstains on Dewey's legs.
Watching this, Dewey couldn't help giving a cold laugh.
"Oh, oh, oh, look at our hardworking Hit Wizards! What are you up to, sweetheart?
Is the Ministry of Magic putting on a show for appearances?
Let me guess—is some big shot coming to visit Azkaban?
Mm-hmm, are you little sweethearts cleaning up for the important people?"
The Hit Wizard casually cast a vicious spell at Dewey. The searing curse made his body feel as if it had been burned by lava, and huge boils erupted across his skin!
"Watch your mouth, you disgusting maggot," the Hit Wizard said. "Next time you speak, I'll make sure you never speak again. I'll make your tongue jump right out of your mouth and run away."
Enduring the pain, Dewey looked at the wand and said, "Mm-hmm, an applewood wand, thirteen and a third inches long. I've got my eye on that wand. One day, it'll be in my hands, shining with all the brilliance it deserves."
Dewey gave a strange laugh.
The Hit Wizard gave him another look, then turned and left.
There was always room in Azkaban's graveyard for rude people like that.
No one liked being threatened.
Hit Wizards were no different.
After tossing the newspaper in front of them, the Hit Wizard hauled Dewey out.
Sirius, meanwhile, picked up the newspaper.
It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.
His eyes were glued to the Daily Prophet, and he couldn't look away.
There was a photo of the Weasley family in the Daily Prophet.
The Egyptian pyramids stood in the background, but at that moment Sirius didn't care about any of it.
He didn't even pay attention to what the article said.
He leaned over the newspaper, almost greedily staring at the Weasley boy.
More precisely, his gaze fell on Ron Weasley's shoulder.
A fat, greasy rat sat there.
Most importantly, the rat was missing a toe.
Ron Weasley's pet rat, Scabbers.
No matter what, even if he died, Sirius would never mistake that rat for another.
"Peter, Peter, I've found you, Peter."
He reread the article and found the boy's name.
"He's Harry's classmate."
"Peter's still alive."
Sirius struggled to contain his pain, joy, and worry.
"He's at Hogwarts," he kept telling himself. "I have to get out. I have to protect Harry. He's at Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts!"
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