Keep swimming.
That's all I can consciously think through numb paws and waterlogged fur and the occasional lungful of brine, surely. Keep swimming.
The island on which Azkaban is located isn't really that far off-shore – after all, it can be reached in a little under an hour in a rowboat from the mainland. Magically propelled rowboat, but still... I like to think I can swim faster than a ruddy rowboat.
Course, I didn't take twelve years without much exercise or food into consideration when I was making my big fancy escape plans, and now I'm sort of regretting that.
Is that a whale, or...?
Right. Swim faster.
There is really only so much of prison time an innocent (or at least, not guilty) man can take. Twelve years is it, in my case.
Twelve years. I've been regretting and thinking and wishing for twelve years in that damned place. It was really sheer chance when I found out how long I'd already been in. They don't much bother telling the date to people with life sentences.
Aren't prison guards supposed to guard, not read newspapers?
It felt like eternity in a cold hell, with all those dementors swarming about. They like innocents better, I figure – more happiness to leach off of someone who hadn't actually been driven to darkness.
I wasted twelve years that I could've been helping to raise my godson – I have no delusions that I could have raised him himself, of course. I was too much a child at heart (and in action) back then, to be trusted with the care of a toddler. I might've begged help from cousin Andy, though.
Didn't she have a kid, too? Awesome name? Something horribly embarrassing to a young girl? A Tonks, anyway. Now he was a decent fellow, and brave to boot, to go up against Cygnus and Walburga Black for the sake of love. I'm pretty certain the old cow didn't know what love was even when she was sane. And Uncle Cygnus? Don't start.
Shit. Keep swimming.
Oh, look. Selkies. Wonderful. Maybe they'll – no, apparently those are just seals. Damn.
Mph. Don't like undertow. Or tide. Beach! Please let there be more beach than cliff just here. Yes! There's a real beach. And buildings. Town? And sandy, rocky, windy, freezing cold beach.
Yep. Still in England.
At least I didn't accidentally swim to Denmark. Or Norway. That probably would've killed me. And, whilst good for hiding out, it might've been bad for both my ability to find Harry and Pettigrew, and, nearly as importantly, my pride.
And... this place looks a bit familiar. Like I might've... driven my motorcycle off the end of the pier, once? Aha! Southwold. Which gives me...
Roughly one hundred and fifty miles to walk, whilst avoiding muggles and traffic, and not getting caught by aurors or spotted by other wizards, in order to reach Surrey. On the bright side, I can stop by Grummauld Place on the way and procure myself a wand from one of those moldy boxes upstairs. London might actually be a good stop for all sorts of supplies, come to think of it.
Food, for one.
Food...
If I can figure out when I'm hungry at all anymore. I haven't really felt much in... years.
Alright. So, done swimming, rest a bit under that fisherman's tarp, then in the morning...
Start walking.