The Prisoner and the Professor

Prologue: Escape

The moment that Sirius Black transformed, he felt calmer, more in control. While his mind as a dog ran more on instinct than its human counterpart, it allowed him to focus on his goal. Before this moment he had not allowed himself to ponder the task ahead, for it was huge enough to overwhelm anyone—no one had ever escaped from Azkaban before, and it seemed highly unlikely that Sirius himself would succeed. However, the obsession that had possessed him for the last fortnight still burned within him, impossible to ignore even in this more primal state.

Hogwarts. He had to reach Hogwarts.

Sirius padded the width of his cell, over and over again, waiting. They would come. They always did, it was only a matter of time. The seconds turned into minutes, and then into hours, but Sirius did not slow his pacing. They would come. They always came.

And come they did, and deep in Sirius's mind, he felt a faint stab of satisfaction; he was generally right, always had been. It was gone almost before he felt it, leaving only driving obsession buried under misery. Satisfaction was too much like happiness to last long in Azkaban, with dementors around every corner. At least one was stationed outside his door at all times. And now, one was bringing his food to him, as they did twice a day, every day. It was time for his gamble. If he failed, the security on his cell would become so tight that there was no hope that he would ever get another chance.

After all of his planning, everything went smoothly. His idea had been based around the observation that the dementors did not seem to affect him as much when he transformed. In his mind, that meant that they likely couldn't sense him in the same way. It must have been true, because Sirius was able to slip past the dementor, through the open cell door and into the corridor.

He slunk through the vast fortress that was the wizard prison, listening to the moaning and screaming that issued from the cells of the prisoners. Though he had long since come to ignore the tortured ravings of his fellow inmates, he was struck anew by the weight of suffering that was all around him. No matter what, he would never come back to this place. He would die first. Up until two weeks ago, he wished that he had died that day, the day he heard that James and Lily had been murdered. All his fault.

Sirius felt a moment of panic as he reached the front gate. How was he going to get out? As he approached, however, some of his fear left him. It would be so easy. He slipped through the bars, having lost so much weight in the years since he had arrived that, as a dog, he fit through with room to spare.

All of a sudden, a wave of despair hit him. The dementors must have noticed that he was not in his cell. He shut out everything except one thought, the same thought that had been filling his mind for days, that had haunted his dreams—he's at Hogwarts. The thought wasn't happy, or really even positive in any way. It took hold in his mind, and the blackness lifted. He was able to carry on. Realizing that they would be searching for him, Sirius broke into a run. He was very weak, but desperation gave him speed, and he ran flat out until he reached the edge of the island. Thankfully, it was a balmy summer night. He sniffed the air, listening to the waves breaking against the cliff. He needed to find a spot that was lower, fast. He began running the perimeter of the island, looking for a way down, knowing there had to be a way off the island somewhere.

Suddenly, an unnatural chill descended around Sirius. The dementors were catching up, but he was already running as fast as he could—there was no way he was going to reach the shore. He made a split-second decision. Without stopping to think, he changed course, running straight at the cliff. He could only hope that it was low enough that he wouldn't be killed…

Whether it was the recklessness that he had always possessed, the lack of caring about his own life that he had acquired over the last twelve years, or a combination of both, Sirius didn't even pause to consider as he leapt over the edge of the cliff, away from Azkaban.

…

Remus Lupin couldn't sleep. It often happened in the days following a full moon; after he slept off his initial exhaustion, it was sometimes difficult to sleep away the night hours, as if the moon was reluctant to relinquish its hold on him as it slowly waned. Giving it up for a lost cause, he rose from his bed and wandered into the kitchen of his tiny flat, filling the kettle and tapping it with his wand. It whistled loudly as he dug in his cabinet for a teabag. It was his last, and would likely remain that way unless he found work soon. He had been unable to hold a job in months. As he had innumerable times before, he considered merely forgetting to mention his—problem—to his next potential employer. He sighed as he reached the same conclusion as he always did. He wouldn't be able to do it. He was honest by nature, and keeping a secret that could potentially endanger innocent people went against everything he believed in. But unless he found something soon…

A loud tap on the window on his flat startled Remus from his dismal thoughts. A large screech owl was rapping insistently on the window, a letter attached to its leg. Wondering who could possibly be writing at this time of night, Remus let the owl into the kitchen, which was so small that the bird seemed to take up all of the available space. He relieved the owl of his burden and sat down at the table to read, flicking his wand at the lamp, which ignited instantly. The owl remained, preening its feathers on the widow ledge, obviously in case Remus wished to send any kind of reply.

Remus's eyes immediately flicked down to the signature. Why would Albus Dumbledore be writing to him? And in the middle of the night at that? The handwriting seemed to suggest that the writer had been in a hurry. Remus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze drifting in from the open window and he began to read.

Remus,

Please forgive me for the late hour of this letter, but I wished this to reach you before you read the Daily Prophet report in the morning. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. The dementors are, of course, searching for him as we speak, but I suspect that Black will prove difficult to find if he decides that he does not wish to be found. I trust you will do what must be done should he come to you, though I sincerely doubt that he will do so.

There is another matter as well, which I would like to discuss with you in person. If it is convenient, perhaps we can meet at the Leaky Cauldron Wednesday at 10 o'clock?

I hope you are well, and I hope I shall see you Wednesday. This owl will wait for your reply.

Most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus read the letter twice, his face white. He felt like this should be a horrible dream—Black, escaped? It couldn't be true… but Dumbledore had written to him personally, and he had no reason to doubt Dumbledore's word.

His hands strangely numb, Remus laid the letter on the table and closed his eyes. The emotions that he had been fighting finally broke through. Anger was most prominent, for any time he thought of Black rage flooded him, but grief was there as well. It was impossible to think of Black, to remember for what he had been imprisoned, without thinking of James and Lily. It was why Remus could never refer to his old school friend by his first name, even inside his own head. Memories of their time at Hogwarts were too much to bear; if anyone had told him then what Sirius Black would one day become he would have laughed in their face.

Slowly, Remus regained control over himself, and remembered that there had been more to Dumbledore's note. Rereading the second part of the letter, Remus found himself wondering what the Hogwarts Headmaster could possibly want with him. There was no clue hidden in the wording of the note that he could uncover. He supposed that he would have to wait until Wednesday to discover the reason behind the meeting.

Remus sighed, realizing that there was now no chance that he would be able to sleep tonight. He poured more hot water into his mug and sat back down to compose his reply to Dumbledore.