Sirius felt a searing roar explode in his ears, his chest tightening violently as if his heart had stopped for a split second.
"Oh, look… my old friend…"
He gently traced the tiny figure in the photograph with his finger. In an instant, his gaze turned as vicious and hateful as the Bellatrix behind him—no, even more so. His pale lips trembled, and a voice like an icy wind slipped out between clenched teeth.
"Look at that familiar fur of yours… that chubby body… and that paw missing a finger…"
"It seems you've been living quite comfortably these past ten years. Good. That puts my mind at ease…"
"After all, it means I'll still have the chance to kill you with my own hands."
He took a deep breath, slowly steadying his trembling hands.
"Looks like I'll have to say goodbye to this hellhole a bit earlier than planned. Merlin above—thank fate for letting me see this photograph, for finally giving me something worth doing again…"
"I only hope my wandless magic hasn't completely rusted away."
Feigning calm, he continued reading the paper for a while longer before shifting into a more comfortable position and closing his eyes. He needed rest—needed to gather what little strength he had left.
It took him a great deal of effort before he finally drifted into a heavy, half-conscious sleep.
When he hazily opened his eyes again, several pieces of dry, rock-hard bread had appeared beside him, along with a bit of pickled vegetables and a chunk of cold stewed potato. He chewed slowly, swallowing every bite, then sat cross-legged and waited in silence.
The strike teams and Aurors in Azkaban are few, and they're all concentrated in the low-security section—handling cooking, order, and distribution…
If I cross the graveyard and leave from the other side of the island, no one will notice.
Should I sneak into the low-security area to steal food, maybe some Pepperup Potion, even a wand? No—too risky.
I don't know how far it is from here to mainland Britain. Once I'm out, I'll barely be able to keep my bearings… Let's hope I can still conjure water and fire without a wand.
He sat motionless, regulating his breathing, digesting the food, letting what little warmth and strength he had seep back into his body.
When the first snore echoed through the high-security block, he knew it was time.
He glanced across the cell—his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, lay on her side atop a pile of weeds, her back to him. Her breathing was deep and steady.
Time to go.
With great effort, he stirred that long-sealed power within his body, slowly feeling his form begin to change in a strange, wonderful way. His clothes seemed to sink into his skin, replaced by a thick layer of fur. His face elongated, his legs shortened, and something began to sprout behind him…
It was a long-lost sensation—unfamiliar, yet deeply familiar.
Sirius Black vanished from the cell, replaced by a gaunt black dog with dull fur and protruding bones.
Animagus… no matter how many times I use it, it never stops being astonishing.
He flicked his ears. His hearing was far sharper now—keen enough to tell if anyone was approaching.
Nothing.
Let's move.
Silently, he padded forward, squeezing through the gap between the iron bars. He listened intently to every sound as he moved, his steps awkward and stiff—he hadn't walked on four legs in twelve years.
He passed through the gloomy corridors, rows of Dementors standing guard on either side. They paid him no mind, as though he didn't exist.
At last, his forepaws crossed the threshold of Azkaban. Sea wind and moonlight washed over him once more.
He nearly cried.
No… now isn't the time to lose control.
Twelve years of darkness and solitude had forged his composure. He forced himself to calm down, scanned the surroundings, and confirmed no one was near.
Damn it—it's night. The sea will be freezing. I might cramp…
Merlin's beard, it's foggy too. Did Peter design this prison? Why does everything seem determined to screw me over?
Still… looking on the bright side, it makes me harder to spot… Now then… damn it, which way is west?
He scratched the ground irritably with a paw, then broke into a run, racing through the graveyard to the roaring shoreline. There, he lay low for hours, waiting, until at last a faint glow appeared on the horizon.
There—the sun!
That gives me a rough bearing. That's the direction.
He took one last deep breath of the foul, rotten air, then leapt forward, plunging into the sea.
In an instant, a cold like the presence of a Dementor enveloped his body, relentlessly stealing away his precious body heat. To keep himself afloat in the raging waves, he had to paddle furiously, burning through his strength even faster.
I can't break the transformation yet… farther… just a bit farther…
Clenching his teeth, he shut his eyes and swam with all his might in the chosen direction, stopping only when a sharp cramp seized his hind leg. He looked back—Azkaban was now roughly a hundred meters away.
That should do it… If I keep this up, I won't even have the strength left to be dragged back by the Aurors!
He dipped his head and dove beneath the surface, slowly reverting to human form. Raising a hand to his temple, he struggled for quite some time before finally managing to cast a Bubble-Head Charm.
Ha! Looks like I'm not completely out of practice.
Encouraged, he kept going. Not long after, he managed a warming charm, heating the seawater around him, then cast Episkey on his cramped left leg.
"I'll probably have to stay at sea for several days. I'll need food and water… Maybe I can catch fish and eat them raw in dog form? As for water, I can float up and drink rainwater. Casting Aguamenti without a wand will probably take a few more days of practice…"
"Enough thinking. Move! I have to get as far away from Azkaban as possible before they realize I'm gone!"
"Peter Pettigrew… traitor… scum…"
"I'm back."
…
Less than five miles from Azkaban Island.
In the dark depths of the sea.
"We've got something!!"
"We detected a momentary interaction between Azkaban's space and the outside world! And the subject didn't carry an Auror mark!!"
"Damn it—finally! What happened? A breakout?"
"Who knows? No time to worry about that now… Did you record the magical signature from the interaction?"
"Recorded!"
"Excellent! We've finally pinpointed Azkaban's true location! Hurry—process the data, send it back to Command, then get out of this cursed place!"
"So we can finally go back… By the way, when do we officially infiltrate Azkaban?"
"That'll take some more preparation. And the payoff is still uncertain. No idea whether those guys are even alive anymore…"
"Still, at least we can rest for a while. You really are our lucky star, Benjamin!"
"Lucky star? Hah, I guess that fits. I've been here less than half a year, and Azkaban just hands itself over…"
"Tch, stop bragging. Lucky star? If you'd entered Hogwarts two years later, you'd already be hauling back a massive load of Basilisk materials! That's worth way more than a few half-dead Dark wizards who might not even be able to talk anymore!"
"…Don't remind me. It hurts."
(End of Chapter)