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Azkaban wasn't a prison so much as a tomb. No yard time, no chatter, no scraps of news. Just a stone box for each inmate.
Sirius Black had survived twelve years in his. Alone, words had curdled in his skull. Now, with someone finally listening, the dam burst.
"The Dark Lord rose because of a prophecy," he rasped, gaunt frame pressed against the bars. "He marked Harry as a child. James and Lily hid behind a Fidelius Charm—only a Secret Keeper could betray them. We trusted Wormtail."
His voice broke. "That rat sold them out. Voldemort found them. Killed James. Killed Lily. Only her sacrifice saved Harry. Turned the curse back on the Dark Lord."
Sirius's hands shook. "I knew. I knew it was Wormtail. I hunted him down. But he blew apart half a street, slipped away. And the Ministry… they didn't want truth, they wanted quiet. No trial. Just chains." He laughed hollowly. "Twelve years. Rotting. Dreaming of tearing him apart with my bare hands."
Li Feng leaned casually against the bars. So, Harry's twelve. Second year. Basilisk time. Good to know.
Out loud, he said smoothly, "Mr. Black, the deal stands. Pay me, and I'll break you out. Pay more, I'll hand you Pettigrew's address with a bow."
Sirius's eyes flicked to the corridor. His voice dropped to a growl. "Not yet. It's feeding time. If you can stand against the Dementors… then we'll talk terms."
Li Feng's grin widened. "Dementors. Best guards Azkaban's got. To me? Just test subjects. Broken spirits always bend to me."
The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled over stone. Sirius folded into himself, shuddering.
Li Feng breathed in the cold like a scientist noting data. "Nice. Perfect summer air-conditioning." Then he stilled. Not voices—whispers, layered and wrong. Wraithspeech.
Two cloaked horrors drifted through the gate, tatters trailing, skeletal hands outstretched.
"They don't see me," Li Feng mused. "They smell me."
One screeched, surging forward. "Food—!"
Sirius shrank back. Li Feng's eyes flashed with sigils. "Spirit-beasts. Figures."
He slapped a hand against the Dementor's chest. The creature locked rigid, frozen mid-lunge. Sirius stared, slack jawed.
Li Feng flexed his numb fingers. "Living souls are messy. But you? Already fractured. Easy to snap."
The second Dementor lunged. Li Feng raised a finger, smirking. "Purify."
A spear of white light punched clean through. The wraith wailed, dissolved, and vanished like steam.
Li Feng flicked his hand as if blowing smoke off a pistol barrel. "They crave despair, feed on joy. Backwards design. Makes me wonder—if someone only ever feels pain, do they starve? Or have an existential breakdown?"
Sirius barely heard him. His eyes locked on the first Dementor—still hovering, vacant, hollow. Not dead. Not alive. Soulless.
One man with the power of the Dementor's Kiss, on command. Armies could be gutted with a gesture.
Li Feng waved it off. "Relax. Only works on cracked spirits. Mortals bounce back. Them? Not so lucky."
Sirius's throat worked. "And the rest? Azkaban crawls with them."
Li Feng hefted his wooden box, circling the husk. "Numbers don't matter." He smirked. "Might even keep one as a pet. Imagine walking it through Diagon Alley on a leash."
Sirius groaned. "Merlin save me, you're insane. One slip—"
"Then don't slip."
The frost thickened. Shadows lengthened. A dozen more Dementors glided into sight, drawn by their brother's death-scream.
Li Feng's grin sharpened. He snapped the mirrored dimension into being, trapping them in glass and light. The box creaked open in his hand, radiating acid-bright energy.
He spoke in their own tongue, low and commanding: "Submit… or die."
For the first time, Azkaban's terrors hesitated.
Li Feng licked his lips. "Finally. Prey that knows it's prey."
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Inside the mirrored dimension, the Dementors cowered like whipped dogs. The false angel's feather inside Li Feng's wooden box radiated lethal power, pinning them against the corner. Their shrouded forms shivered, their wails audible only to him.
When he judged they were on the verge of disintegrating under that unearthly glow, he snapped the box shut. "Kneel and sign the slave contract if you want to live. Say the word if you'd rather die, and I'll oblige."
Nature's law was simple: survival or extinction. Faced with the choice, the Dementors bent their heads. No different than the day they would one day swear themselves to Voldemort, drawn by power and fear.
One by one, they submitted.
Once the mirrored dimension was his, Li Feng opened a new portal and commanded in Wraithspeech, "Now, bring me every straggler that hasn't sworn loyalty. Herd them in."
The newly bound Dementors bowed, answering in unison, yes, Master. They drifted away through the portal and soon came back with more of their kind—wild ones, dragged in thrashing, dumped before the wooden box. Li Feng repeated the ritual: box open, deadly light, submission or annihilation.
The numbers grew like a snowball rolling downhill. At first, he worried the captives would revolt. But the threat was enough; resistance melted. By dawn, every Dementor in Azkaban had bowed.
Sirius Black sat slumped in his cell, rubbing at his temples. He looked at the towering Dementor that now stood meekly at Li Feng's back like an oversized hound. "I was wondering how the Ministry would hunt me when I broke free. Now I realize—they won't. They'll all be too busy hunting you." He managed a humorless chuckle. "You've got a real talent for causing trouble, mate."
He extended a withered hand. "Fair's fair. You know my name, but I don't know yours."
Li Feng clasped it lightly, then sliced through the bars with his blade. "Austin. Call me Austin."
Together they stepped into the cold dawn. Sirius drew in a long, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, whispering, "The taste of freedom."
Then he turned, frowning. "But what about your pets? You can't just unleash them. They drain hope, joy—hell, even being near one strips you bare. You may be able to ignore it, but your family, your friends…"
Ignore? Li Feng smirked inwardly. Not exactly. I'm holding my soul together with spit and thread. As long as it doesn't crack, they can't touch me. Let them try—I'll snuff them out in seconds.
Still, he had no plan for keeping them by his side.
Scratching his head, he turned to the largest of the horde, the de facto leader. "Stay here. Keep guarding this prison. Until I command otherwise, you answer to the Ministry as usual."
The Dementor bowed gratefully. To them, Azkaban was home, a banquet hall. To leave it was to starve. "Yes, Master."
That settled, Li Feng saw no reason to linger. Azkaban was his territory now—and his prize, Sirius Black, was in hand.
Guided by his new servants, they slipped out of the fortress and onto the barren rocks at its edge. Sirius raised his face to the sea wind, shouting his lungs raw across the waves.
Li Feng leaned on a rock, unimpressed. "Done yet? We leave when you're finished."
Sirius finally exhaled and gave a wry grin. "Freedom's taste."
Then he sobered, scanning the horizon. "How do we get out? Swim? Portkey? And another thing, how did you even appear in Azkaban? I never saw you use a wand. Your magic reserves aren't much stronger than a sixth-year student, but your spells… I've never seen anything like them."
Li Feng rolled his eyes. Twelve years in a cell and he's got twelve years of questions.
He stuck a finger in his ear, feigning boredom. "London. Which way?"
Sirius blinked, then pointed. "Why?"
Li Feng was already opening a glowing portal.
Truth was, he had no idea what London looked like. No landmarks, no clue. So he went with his favorite method—straight up.
The two men plunged through the sky in freefall, wind howling, before he ripped another portal into being. A dizzying chain of leaps carried them closer and closer, until exhaustion forced him to settle them on a lonely island.
That night, they crouched around a fire, roasting fish speared from the surf. Sirius tore into his portion like a starved wolf, scales and all.
Li Feng blinked. "Seriously? That's my fish. Gold Galleon if you want more."
Sirius snorted. "One Galleon buys a whole basket in Diagon Alley. You really that broke, or do you just dream in coin?"
"I'm poor," Li Feng said flatly. "Air's free. Everything else costs."
Sirius studied him, then chuckled. "Don't lecture me about money. I know hunger. My family disowned me young. Slept on James's couch until I grew up. After that? Survived by tinkering with Muggle cars. Flying cars, even. Some wizards hate brooms. I made them alternatives. Kept me fed."
Li Feng's eyes lit up. Flying car mods? Right here, in front of me? Screw chasing Weasley's dad—this is jackpot.
He put on his friendliest grin. "Want more fish? Teach me enchantments. Hell, I'll catch you a whale."
Sirius smirked and reached for the skewer. Li Feng instantly handed it over.
As Sirius ate, he muttered, "It's not simple. Takes practice. And you'll need documents. Identification. Without it, you can't buy parts in Diagon Alley. And I doubt you have a wand, either."
Li Feng spread his hands. "Paperwork? From who, the Department of Interdimensional Refugees?"
Sirius leaned closer, serious now. "We'll sort it fast, before the Ministry realizes I'm gone. Otherwise, the forgers will sell us out for bounty."
Li Feng nodded. Made sense. Then he crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began to meditate, pulling magic back into his core.
Sirius froze mid-bite, staring. "What the hell—? Magic recovery through meditation? No potion? No sleep?"
His face twisted, mind reeling. Twelve years in Azkaban… what else have I missed?
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