ambivalence

A loud, booming crack echoed across the small island, closely followed by another, although this one was slightly quieter. The island they were on was barren, with any surrounding vegetation that may have once been there dead and gone, eroded by the stormy seas, violent weather and replaced by craggy rocks. In the middle of the island stood a massive, imposing building made from black, unfeeling stone. It was in the shape of a triangle and seemed to stretch upwards to a dizzyingly high altitude. The building itself, and the apparition ground beside it where they had appeared - after two floo travels, a ten minute hike and a no-so-small payment to even find out the exact coordinates for the apparition ground - was entirely unaffected by the towering waves, possibly due to wards put there specificity for that purpose or simply side affects of the wards around Askaban itself.

Walburga marched up towards two (human, thankfully) guards who stood at the doors that marked the visitor entrance to the prison. She had noticed the many dementors flying around the exterior and some flying in through the top but she had elected to ignore them. (She really didn’t like dementors.) She had intended to simply storm past the guards and demand a visit to her son inside but the guards motioned for her to stop. Clearly this confrontation was going to happen here, rather than inside.

“State your business.” The guard on the right said, his voice monotone and void of any emotion. He was slightly taller than the other one, and with matted brown hair where the other had wispy blond. Both were dressed in combat robes, and with presumably a wand holstered away on their arms. Both had been standing there, unmoving before she had approached them. They seemed to be lacking in emotion but ,she suspected, prolonged exposure to dementors, whether their target or not, would do that to a person.

“I wish to visit my son, Sirius Black.” She said clearly, a mask of cold indifference plastered on her face. The guards seemed to react, marginally, to this and the guard stationed on the left stepped forward.

“Ma’am, I do mean this respectfully,” The guard that had stepped forward began to speak, his voice now suddenly laced with false concern, “But Askaban is not a pleasant place to spend any time, I believe this would not be a suitable environment for you to be in as you are not the…youngest… and it may be dangerous for your health.”

“I am well aware of the risks involved incoming here, and I do believe that my health is none of your concern.” How dare they? Commenting on her age and health. As if the prisoners were not subjected to years of those conditions and worse. She would be able to survive far longer in here than some of those raving lunatics and yet they try to stop her from simply visiting someone? Especially her son.

“I must insist ma’am, it would be for the best.” The guard started to move towards her, trying to position her away from the prison.

“Excuse me, I must be hearing wrong,” Burke had come up behind her and was now standing beside her. He was holding a briefcase in one hand, in which she assumed were the papers they were examining earlier, his other hanging by his side. He stood tall, his posture much straighter now, with not a waver of nervousness. Curious, was before an act used to gauge her or was he simply a good actor when the need arised? No matter, whatever the case his reputation clearly was not a complete farce. She might even forgive him for playing the saviour.

“And who are you?” The guard on the left spoke again. He must have been the spokes person of the two.

“My name is Aurelius Burke, Heir Sirius Black’s lawyer.” He introduced himself. Both guards seemed to pale at this. Another fact to file away it seemed, although whether they paled at ‘lawyer’ or ‘heir’ was left unclear. “And as I understand it, you are obstructing me and my guest, my client’s mother I may add, from visiting said client. I am sure that is illegal. We could always leave, perhaps the prophet would want to hear about a member of an ancient and noble house not being allowed legal advice or council, visitation either, do you agree Lady Black?”

“I do believe you are correct, Mr Burke.” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips at the way the guard went rigid and opened his mouth, though no noise came out. If nothing else this was certainly entertaining. The guard let out a few unintelligible noises before, with a defeated sigh, (not so carefully concealed behind a cough) moved aside and allowed them to pass. As she walked through the heavy metal doors she heard parts of a conversation the two guards outside where having.

“Call auror…why did you…I didn’t really have much of a…what is…to think”

Whatever else she may have gleaned was cut out as the doors closed behind them. In front of them now was a surprisingly, yet unsurprisingly small waiting room with a few rows of benches and a desk behind some glass at the far end. The size of the room was surprising given the immense size of the building but yet unsurprising due to the fact that there can’t have been many visitors to Askaban on a daily bases.

“The ministry is trying to make this even harder than I expected.” She mused. Burke hummed his agreement as the pair walked up towards the desk. Burke spoke to the receptionist, a middle aged woman with a bun so tight it seemed to hurt her skin.

“We would like to visit the prisoner Sirius Black. I am his lawyer, Aurelius Burke and with me is his mother.” His voice betrayed no emotion as he spoke. The receptionist raised an eyebrow and asked him to confirm his identity. Walburga expected another issue similar to the guards but was surprised that as soon as Burke showed proof of identity and his credentials they were lead through a corridor (she must not have been briefed on what interference to commit).

Another fact to file away for later; security seemed to be…lacking. They had only verified Burke’s identity and hadn’t even taken their wands! They could do all manor of things with those; pass them on, free a prisoner, kill a prisoner. Was it that they had so much faith in so called infallible wards? All wards could be broken, in was only a matter of what was done to break them. Had wizarding Britain fallen so far or was it something else? Was she missing something? Maybe Burke knew something.

They, along with the receptionist who had taken a look around the desolate waiting room and had elected to guide them, joined only by a single guard that had seemingly materialised out of the gloom, stepped into a contraption that seemed to be a mix of the muggle ‘lifts’ and the ‘telephone box’ guest entrance to the ministry.

They saw no more dementors as the path set out for visitors seemed to minimize exposure to them - more proof that the guards where simply trying to discourage them with false words of too many dementors - and soon the contraption let out an off-key chime and the doors opened to a long corridor. It was in a bitter state of disrepair, with cracks in the walls letting in cold rain and sea water that had not been blocked by the wards, and little rodents who had no doubt come to feed off the remains of whatever was left of the prisoners. Needless to say, it was barbaric, even by her standards. They stopped at a door near the end and in front of them was a thick metal door, with a grate near the bottom. Next to the door was a metal sign that just read ‘Sirius Black’.

“Through here, you will have half an hour before we ask you to exit. Please knock three times if you with to leave earlier.” The receptionist stepped to the side, clasping her hands in front of her, seemingly content to stand there and wait. Were they letting them into a prisoner’s cell, without supervision, with their wands? Something was definitely amiss. Was this just atrocious security due to overconfidence or were they planning to use this to frame them for trying to break Sirius out?

She turned around to face the door as it opened, it’s hinges giving a horrendous scream as they worked. She stepped though and entered the cell.

Sirius sat of the pile of springs and thin fabric that couldn’t even be called a mattress. Across from him was a dip in the cold stone floors, similar to a bowl with a pipe leading down and away from it, with heavy enchantments and wards preventing him from it being used for anything other than its supposed purpose, or so he was told. Apparently he was supposed to piss in it. A dry chuckle left his mouth. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all.

Lilly and James were deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead

He couldn’t think of anything else. The rat had betrayed them and they were now dead. Moony didn’t trust him, didn’t believe him - maybe he deserved it - and they were dead. He hoped little Harry was alright. Hoped the prongslet was safe, hopefully with Moony. Moony was good, not for him for this was all his fault, but for Harry it would be good.

The funny thing was that it was him that he had suspected. Moony that he had thought was a traitor. No one would have ever suspected the rat. He definitely didn’t. Oh the irony.

But he only had to be safe with him because they. were. dead! All thoughts, any thoughts, lead back to that. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t move. Any sleep he got was plagued with the memories of that night, with the rat laughing, the rat casting the spell that blew up the street, the rat cutting of his finger on turning, disappearing down a sewer. Their dead bodies. And it was. All. His. Fault.

He let out another dry laugh. The dementors didn’t help, they had already started sucking out some of his best memories, warping others and bringing the worst ones to the front of his mind. Was this what insanity felt like? He couldn’t help but just sit there, not even bothering to move his damp, almost dripping hair from his face, and watch each and every one. Every memory that was good be taken, warped and spat back out at him. Every bad memory intensified and left to replay. Over and over. He had only been here a day. Maybe he should just give up. Just die. No, no, that couldn’t happen. This was his fault. He deserved this. Maybe he should turn into padfoot for a while. Just to sleep.

The heavy metal doors was pulled open, a high pitched scream from the hinges. He didn’t look up. What was the point? Was this some guard here to beat him for some laughs? For their own amusement? It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. They were dead and it was his fault. It wasn’t food, wasn’t the time for it, and it definitely wasn’t how they gave it. They usually dumped it on the floor through the small grate at the bottom. When they ever actually gave it, once a day seemed right.

Two pairs of footsteps came in and the metal door was shut again, leaving him, alone, in a room with the two would-be-guards.

It didn’t matter. He deserved it. He deserved it. It was all his fault. He thought he could hear someone calling him name. Not Black but Sirius. No one here called him that. Must be a dream. But it kept calling.

“Sirius Black you will get a grip right this instant and look at me.”

That shrill voice pierced his thoughts and dragged him back to his room, his cell. The cold stone walls, the dripping ceilings, the not-passable-for-a-mattress-mattress. That voice. He knew that voice. He looked up and was met with the cold, black eyes, so very much like his own, of Walburga Black. His mother. He stared at her. This couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be here. How dare she be here? What did she care? This was probably some trick. A hallucination. A dream. Maybe those dementors brought another memory out and warped it? His eyes unfocused again, his mind drowning in his own thoughts, but that high pitched shout kept coming back.

“Sirius Black. Sirius. Sirius!” It was louder now. Closer to him. In front of him. A cold hand grabbed his chin and turned it, sharply, towards them. His eyes slid up as he saw fully, for the first time, who was in front of him.

“Sirius Black, you will wake up from whatever deluded state you are in, you will sit up, you will tell me what really happened and by magic itself, you will prove yourself innocent, and take your rightful place as Lord of the House of Black!” His mother said, her voice loud and firm, never looking away from him, always into his eyes. “Because you, Sirius, are my son. Mine. And you will not live or die in this barbaric place.” He looked at her. He couldn’t look away now. She was crouched in front of him. Her long skirts were pooled on the floor, around where her feet must be. Her hand was still holding his chin, making him look at her. This was real. But how? Why? Another tug on his face pulled him once more from his thoughts.

“You.” It was accusatory. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. After all she’d done what was he supposed to say to her? Was he supposed to thank her, for gracing him with his presence? She finally removed her hand from his face. She stood up and his eyes followed her as she dusted herself of and took a step back

“Hello, my son.”