A/N: This is all just Sirius's thoughts having escaped from Azkaban.
Disclaimer: Don't be silly, I don't own the Harry Potter world.
Stay calm. Don't think. Don't feel. They can still sense you a bit, even in dog form. Keep your thoughts unfeeling. They can't feed if there is no food. Don't feed them.
Sirius Black, you are not sneaking past the Dementors right now. Think of something else this instant. Think of something that brings no pain or happiness.
The coldness of this water. That's it. I don't care how cold this water is. I am indifferent to it. It doesn't make me feel happy or sad, so why even bother…
Am I past them yet? They don't chase me. I must be past them.
What's this feeling? I feel lighter. Have I traveled out of their range? I think their effects are waning. This water is very cold, so it's hard to tell. I've become so used to coldness by now.
Left paw forward. Right paw forward. Kick back legs. This isn't too difficult, is it?
Ignore the exhaustion. I will swim until I feel land under my paws, no matter how long it takes. I will live. And I will not question that.
Don't think about anything else. Just repeat to yourself: Left paw forward. Right paw forward. Kick back legs. Left paw forward. Right paw forward. Kick back legs.
I feel a presence under my feet. But it can't be land. I can't have reached shore. Surely I died in the attempt.
But it's true. When I change back into a man, my feet still touch the ground. When I fall to the ground in exhaustion and relief, my hands grasp sand. Is this a dream? Could this just be a cruel nightmare sent by the Dementors to drain whatever hope there may be left in me of escape?
Escape.
I did it.
I am free.
There isn't much I know anymore, but I know that I am free. I know that I, the man once full of life, with three of the greatest friends a wizard could have, known as Sirius Black until I developed the new name, Traitor, am free from hell.
I really am that man lying on the sandy shore, eyes closed, face gaunt, sobbing for freedom. For pain. For lost friends. For Harry.
Harry.
There is no question. I must protect him.
Peter! He's at Hogwarts! I will stop him. He will not hurt Harry. I will commit the murder for which I was imprisoned.
But where?
Where does Harry live?
I cannot remember what day it is. How can I remember where his Muggle aunt and uncle live?
Hagrid…
What did he say…
Harry would live at his aunt and uncle's…
It's better for him…
On Dumbledore's orders…
Harry would go to…
Number four, Privet Drive! I remember! I remember.
Harry. I have not forgotten you, although you have forgotten me. I do not blame you at all. I hope you know that. I bet you look just like your father. I will find you.
Now I must dry my face and find Number four, Privet Drive. Never again will I forget that address.
What's this? A paper?
Somebody's newspaper. How did I not think of it when Fudge visited? The Prophet! Come on, come on, what year is it? August 6, that doesn't help, well, I missed Harry's birthday…
Damn!
Cover pages are useless anyway.
The obits!
"Daily obituaries for August 6, 1993."
1993.
My god.
Twelve years? I have been gone for twelve years?
Yeah, I know it sucks, but I just wrote it on a whim, so please don't judge too harshly.