Something was going on. Dumbledore finally wanted him, for something in the Ministry no less. Harry closes his eyes, pushing back the fear, the sorrow. Two years in Azkaban, and he was still a puppet. He wanted to scream, to rage, but he didn’t. He waited. The nurse came to check on him, fed him a number of horrible tasting potions. Then came a clamour from down the hall, an argument, and familiar voices. Dumbledore and...Sirius. The curtain flew back and Sirius charged in.