Meanwhile.
London, Diagon Alley.
It was afternoon teatime, and the sunshine was almost excessively bright, spilling warmly over the cobbled street.
Outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, brightly coloured parasols stood in a row over the outdoor tables, and the sweet scent of waffles and vanilla ice cream filled the air.
This place and the cold, grim confines of Azkaban were practically two different worlds.
At a table near the centre of the street sat two conspicuous men.
Sirius Black wore a dazzlingly garish, bright orange Hawaiian shirt, its collar open to reveal the wild tattoo on his chest, and a pair of outrageous sunglasses perched on his face.
With none of his former aristocratic bearing, he was wolfing down an enormous strawberry sundae with triple chocolate sauce, getting it all over the corners of his mouth.
Lupin, sitting opposite him, looked perfectly normal. He wore neat, presentable grey robes, with a glass of iced tea with a slice of lemon before him, and was leafing through that day's Daily Prophet.
But a closer look would reveal that Lupin's fingers rested on that short metal baton the entire time.
"Well, Minister Fudge!"
Sirius took off his sunglasses, his grey eyes instantly lighting up with delighted surprise, with nothing but calculation beneath.
He loudly greeted a short, stout man who had just emerged from an upmarket clothing shop across the street, his voice carrying halfway down the street.
"What a coincidence! Fancy running into you here! Care for an ice cream? Their raspberry is incredible, especially with these-these dancing popping sweets!"
Cornelius Fudge, who had just bought a new bowler hat and was in a fairly good mood, was startled.
When he recognised the man in the floral shirt as Sirius, the fat on his face visibly twitched, and his expression