Complete Summary: Its Harry's third year as a Slytherin; the infamous prisoner Sirius Black is on the loose after twelve years…and, of course, after Harry. So, to keep him safe, Dumbledore is having Harry spend the summer with the last person he would ever want to temporarily live with. Things only get worse as, at Hogwarts, Black keeps trying to break into the castle and friendships will end. At the end of the year, Black won't end up on the run nor will he end up a free man, and Pettigrew won't escape on his own, but with some unexpected help, making the ending of Harry's third year a can't-miss…

How will Harry's years at Hogwarts turn out, now that he's a Slytherin? Will he turn to the Dark Arts and be a follower of Voldemort? Or will he kill Voldemort, or die trying, after he learns of the prophecy? Will Harry's choices lead him down a different road? Follow and you will see...

A/N: Year 3 has now begun! Welcome back! I'll just say now that you should read the first two before reading this one. You really won't understand anything if you don't/p p b And the warnings are there for a reason! There will be a number of scenes of violence and hatred with some language. You Have Been Warned!

Anyway, enjoy the third installment of the "A Different Road" Series! Interesting and astonishing things will happen! You'll just have to read on…

Disclaimer: All things are from the wonderfully talented, abso-bloody-lutely brilliant J.K. Rowling! Only a few things are mine, like the Conglomerate Stone and random characters. I own nothing else!

"Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, had locked the source of softer woe, and burning pride and high disdain forbade the rising tear to flow."

-Sir Walter Scott

1

Brooded Over Plans

Her high-pitched laughter had wrung in his ears for twelve years now. But it was no longer laughter making fun of what he had done years before; it was cold and cruel, mocking the fact that he was still in a jail cell unable to seek revenge on the man who had put him in this miserable, god-forsaken place.

The cold floor and stone walls around him always felt like ice to the touch. The emaciated prisoner with long, dark hair and sunken eyes lay on a flimsy, old mattress that rested upon a rusty iron bed. At the moment, the only thing the man was holding was a recently acquired newspaper.

Fudge had come by on his usual examination of Azkaban a couple days earlier. And with him that day's Daily Prophet newspaper.

He so desperately missed knowing what was going on in the Wizarding world. He looked through bars at the front page, which rested comfortably in Fudge's right hand as the bowler hat-topped man stood in front of his cell, talking to a couple of guards. As he stared at the picture, he could have sworn he saw him on the front page. He had to get that newspaper, no matter what.

And with some luck and wit, Fudge had actually given him the newspaper.

Now, the prisoner looked at the main picture on the front page, caressing the paper slightly as he held it. It was he in the picture. The man was sure of it. There was no mistaking it. The Weasley family, a family he had once known, was standing in the black and white picture with him. They all smiled happily as they waved, unknowing.

But there he was: the bastard, who had sent him there. He had no idea of the prisoner's plans, which had been concocted over twelve years. And now he knew exactly where to go to kill the bastard. He would be going to Hogwarts. It said so in the article. The only problem now was getting out of Azkaban to actually commit the murder in which he had been imprisoned.

The prisoner folded the newspaper up, putting it in his trouser pocket as he brooded over his plans…

------------------------------

A couple of hours later, a guard approached, looking morbid as a Dementor followed. The somewhat muscular man did his usual rounds like he did every other day, checking over each prisoner as he walked.

"What? Not moanin' in your sleep, Black?" said the guard, almost mockingly. "Yeh usually are when I come 'round."

"I don't think I will be tonight, Greer," Black said with a small smirk.

This only made the guard laugh. "Sure, sure," said Greer. He tapped the thick bars with his wand. "Sleep well." He walked away, his hollow laugh following him.

It was an advantage that Greer had seen him now, Black knew, because they wouldn't know he was missing until two days from now when Greer would make his rounds again. That would give him a two-day head start to get where he needed.

Black waited, slowly getting more and more impatient. He couldn't leave at the moment. The prisoner opposite him was still awake, clutching himself as he wobbled back and forth on the floor. And he couldn't be seen.

Two hours later, the prisoner across the hall had finally fallen asleep, moaning every now and then between his snores. Black stood, unfolding the newspaper from his pocket. He ripped the picture of the Weasley family carefully out of the paper, letting the unneeded part drop to the floor.

Black gave the picture a firm glance before stowing it into his worn-out and dirty trouser pocket. Then without further ado, he changed into a large, but extremely thin, black dog. The thick, metal bars were so cold as he squeezed himself through that a howl almost escaped him.

During the day, Dementors stood guard outside his cell, but after a certain time, they left to make rounds, and usually came back early in the morning. He knew because he felt the air drastically cool and his dreams always took a dark turn.

But now, just as he got through the ice-cold bars into the hall, a Dementor drifted by. The black cloaked creature stopped and so did Black, hoping it would just continue on and not notice anything.

Except that hope was slowly diminishing, it was being sucked out of him by the creature that stood so close. But his small ounce of hope had not been for nothing. The Dementor drifted on by, regrouping at the end of the hall with three others. Black, still in dog form, sighed in relief, but knew his journey to get out of Azkaban was far from over.

Black advanced down the hall and then continued down many more. He was careful as he went, glancing around the corner first, making sure that he wasn't going to run into any human guards.

Azkaban was a maze of corridors, hallways, and stairs, and considering he had only been through the halls once to get to his cell, it was going to take him a long time. An hour and a half later, he was sure he was close to the exit of the place. But standing near a doorway, his back to Black, was a guard, who was looking through folders containing parchment. Black registered the fact that he wasn't as muscular as Greer, and that he might be able to take him on.

He crept up to the guard, changing into a man as he went. When Black was behind him, he said, "Hey!" The guard turned, his eyes widening, and was about to yell something to alert the others, but Black punched him squarely in the face with all the strength he had, which wasn't much considering he hardly ate. The man fell back, knocking his head against the wall and slumped to ground, unconscious, the papers littering the floor around him. Black stumbled slightly. He put his left hand up against the wall to keep his balance.

It took him a minute of standing there, while constantly looking at the door and corners, to regain his energy. But Black had to move soon, or one of the other guards might find him. He looked through the small square window on the upper half of the door.

There was a wooden desk down the hall. A guard was sitting there, his feet upon the desk as he ate a sandwich. The hall between Black and the man were not prison cells, but rooms where the prisoners' belongings were kept – not that many of the criminals got them back. On one of the doors to the right was the sign "Wands."

Black was certainly not getting past the guard as a dog. No matter how friendly his disposition was.

He rolled the guard over with some difficulty and began to unbutton the guard's robes. He took the man's arms out of the sleeves and then grabbed the collar to drag the cloak out from under him. After pulling it off, Black put it on himself. The robe felt incredibly large over his skeletal body, but he buttoned it up anyway. He pulled the hood over his head, ready to walk into the next hall.

As Black opened the door, the other guard looked up. "That you, Doyle?" asked a gruff voice.

"Yeah," Black said, making his voice deeper as he kept his head down. He turned to the right and grabbed the handle of the door marked "Wands."

As he walked into the room, the guard said, "What're you—?" But Black slammed the door shut quickly. It was apparent the man knew he wasn't Doyle anymore, and he could hear the man's loud footsteps coming down the hall.

Black entered a large closet-like room with tall, wooden shelves upon with were hundreds of wands. Attached to each was a tag with the prisoner's name on it. He could see that they were organized in alphabetical order, so he moved to the first couple shelves on his left, hastily and fretfully searching for his name.

The guards footsteps were drawing nearer, so out of haste, Black took any wand. "Colloportus!" He heard the door magically lock, but Black knew it wouldn't stay that way for very long. He put the wand back to find his own.

The guard on the other side of the door beat against it forcibly. "Open up, prisoner!" said the gruff voice.

A minute or two later, after Black had found his wand, he stood with his left hand on the doorknob. The guard had stopped banging on the door, but he knew he was waiting outside the door for him. Black could hear his heavy breathing on the other side.

"Alohomora!" Black muttered under his breath. The lock unclicked, which he was sure the guard had heard. Black swung the door open quickly and stuck his wand hand out at the guard. "Stupefy!" he said, his voice rising almost to a yell. But he couldn't muster enough energy to yell even if he tried.

The guard was thrown back a couple feet. Definitely not as much had Black had more energy. He hit the opposite wall, and then slumped over once he had fallen.

Black closed the door behind him, and then pointed his wand again at the unconscious man. "Obliviate!" He repeated the spell once more to make sure the last couple minutes had never existed to the man.

There was hardly any energy left in Black, but he managed to drag the guard down the hall and back to his seat. Breathing heavily, he saw the guard's half-eaten sandwich, which he took for energy, placing it in his pocket. Black then remembered the other guard in the previous hall, who would need to have his memory modified, too.

So, Black went back down the hall more quickly and opened the door. The guard was still upon the floor. He pointed his wand and said the spell before going back, closing the door behind him.

Black strode, his breathing still quick, toward the desk. He checked that the hood was still over his head. His face was completely covered in shadow, his eyes were seemingly black, giving him an eerie look.

Once at the desk, Black pointed his wand at the guard for the last time. "Enervate!" he said. He stowed his wand quickly in his pocket.

The guard looked up as if nothing had happened, only a little confused. "Oh, Doyle! You slipped past me pretty quickly," said the guard. He looked around his desk, searching for his sandwich, which was currently in the pocket of the robes Black was wearing.

"Just need some rest. See ya 'morrow," Black said, lowering his voice as he began to walk toward the wooden door.

"Wait!" said the guard. Black stopped dead, tilting his head slightly to the left. The guard seemed to be searching for something on his desk. "I had a letter for you. Can't find it though. I'll give it to you tomorrow. 'Night."

" 'Night," Black replied.

With an air of relief and unbelievability, Black walked through Azkaban's large, dark wooden front doors. He took a few steps forward on the crunchy, dead grass at his feet; the warm air blew at him pleasantly as he looked up at the full moon. He hadn't felt wind or seen the moon in twelve years. He inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. The smell of fresh air and the salty sea, the sound of waves slapping against each other.

Unfortunately, he still had a ways to go until he was competely free of the prison, the cold, dark Hell, standing behind him. More than half a dozen Dementors were hovering down the hill near the boats slightly to the left. A few more of the creatures were to his right, drifting closer towards him.

Black plunged his hand into his pocket to take out the sandwich and ate it ravenously. It took him less than a minute until it was completely gone. With the Dementors coming ever closer, Black changed into a dog. They didn't seem to effect him as much in animal form. He ran toward the cliff and could see the black watery depths below. There wasn't even a pause or hesitation in his stride, Black simply jumped over the edge.

There were about five seconds where nothing seemed to happen. It was as if he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing and rapid heartbeat. The only thing he could feel was the air rushing past him. Then he plunged into the water with a soft splash. It was so cold it chilled his bones and took the breath right out of him.

But out of determination to have his revenge, Black kept going, despite the quick numbing of his limbs and the shortness of breath. He told himself repeatedly inside his head to keep swimming, that he couldn't stop now when he had gone so far already. And with that willfulness, he eventually made it to the mainland.

Breathing heavily and shivering violently, Black pulled himself further ashore. He changed once more into a man before falling to the ground and rolling onto his back, his chest heaving. Still on the ground, he pulled out his wand to try his clothes. After going through all that, he would hate to die of hypothermia. It would have been a waste.

Black stood up, nearly ten minutes later, breathing easier, and took off the guard's robes. The newspaper picture was still in his pocket. He pulled it out carefully, so that it didn't rip, feeling the soggy texture, and dried that as well.

He looked intently at the picture and the man he sought to kill. When the picture was safely back in his trouser pocket, he turned around to face the island of Azkaban.

His lips formed into a large smile. He had made it out of that wretched place. Black threw his head back, and began to laugh, almost manically. The sound filled the air around him and anyone listening nearby would have thought it was a madman…

A/N: Oh, if you're wondering whose "high-pitched laughter" had been ringing in Black's ears, it would be his delightful mother.

Preview of Chapter 2—Marks That Never Leave:

The Weasleys are going on a trip to Egypt, but Harry's stuck with Dursley's and Aunt Marge…