Disclaimer: Characters and premise of Harry Potter are property of JKR. No profit is being made by me.

A/N: This is part of the ECverse, but it's a bit of a bridge between canon and AU, so you can definitely read it without knowing the ECverse at all. Just keep in mind there are some altered canon details because of that. I made up my own Azkaban, rather than taking what was canonically there (if there actually was anything, I stopped paying attention to HP around OotP, so.) Summary paraphrased from the song "Kiss From a Rose" by Seal. Oh, and Aurors, so there's a foul language warning. The f-bomb gets dropped at least once.

Summary: There is a graying tower alone on the sea. Sirius Black's encounters with Azkaban.


A PLACE CALLED AZKABAN

January 15, 1979


Sirius' feet hit rocking, creaking wood, and he stumbled. Another wave surged, harder than the first, taking ruthless advantage of his precarious balance and slamming him to the rough planks of the raft. "Ooof!"

A loud crack! exploded nearly on top of him, and he rolled out of the way almost fast enough, but not quite.

"Shit, Black!" A woman cursed, and a heavy foot stumbled on his ankle. "Ow, dammit!"

Crack!

Sirius's grip on the rough edge of the raft was the only thing keeping him from spilling into the ocean. A hard nudge to his back almost tipped him in, and he pushed back – but not fast enough to avoid a heavy drenching as a high wave burst over the side of the platform. Sputtering and swearing, he shoved wet hair out of his face and twisted away from the freezing sea in time to see Dorcas appear, arms pinwheeling out for balance.

"Hey."

Sirius blinked upwards.

Somehow Longbottom had managed to find a half-meter of the raft not taken up by three Auror trainees shoving for space around a large brass bell, and Apparate into it with nary a hair out of place. He reached a hand down and Sirius took it, staggering slightly as the surface under his feet heaved with the ocean's movement. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Frank turned to survey the group, grinning wryly at the sight.

I suppose we deserve that much, Sirius thought with a twist of amusement. The neck of his robes was getting soaked, and turning cold and clammy in the freezing wind. Sirius shook his head briskly, Padfoot-like, throwing off the worst of the wetness. Marlene scowled at him as he splattered water everywhere; Dorcas just sighed.

"Whole and hale and mostly dry, would you look at that." Then their leader frowned. "Where's –"

Crack!

"Aieeeee-!"

Splash!

"Dammit, Bones," Frank sighed as the last of the trainees surfaced a meter out into the ocean, glugging water. No one made a move for their wands, instead watching as the last of their number kicked his way towards the floating platform.

Sirius crouched carefully, bracing himself as he helped Edgar pull himself aboard. "Alright there, Bones?"

"Merlin!" the other man shifted towards the center of the tiny raft, dripping morosely and carefully avoiding the huge bell mounted there. "That's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, that is."

Wet droplets snaking down the back of his neck, Sirius couldn't but agree.

Marlene snorted at him, arms crossed over her chest, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Right," Frank was biting back a smirk. "This is the edge of the prison's anti-Apparition wards, the closest we can get to Azkaban. Next step is calling the boat." He stepped around Edgar, pulling his wand out as he approached the bell.

"We don't get to swim the rest of the way? What a shame," Sirius muttered, eyeing the waves. "How far is it?"

"Three nautical miles," Dorcas offered. "Azkaban itself is eight nautical miles out from the shore. There weren't any concealment charms or anti-Muggle wards on the beach. The curvature of the Earth takes the island out of sight of the mainland."

Marlene, muggle-born and not shy about it, snorted. "Until they build a lighthouse."

Eight nautical miles of freezing water, high waves, and strong tides – not to mention the rocky shoreline sported by both the island and the mainland. And notoriously bad weather. All the time. Sirius eyed the deep clouds overhead, threatening rain. I wonder if Dementors can affect weather patterns.

Frank cleared his throat loudly. "As I was saying . . ."

"There's a boat? Thank Merlin," Edgar muttered. He shook himself out, spraying water in all directions.

Marlene hissed and glared as cold water sprinkled the exposed skin of her face and neck. "Cut it out!"

"Why don't you try standing here soaked to your skivvies with the wind freezing you into an icicle, eh, McKinnon?" Edgar grumped. He hunched into his drenched robes, ducking behind the bell to try to avoid the worst of the gale sweeping in off the sea.

Good luck with that. But Sirius shifted to give him room anyway, and somehow ended up at the edge of the raft again. Gray eyes warily assessed the edge.

"Well, I would," Marlene snapped, shaking long hair back from her face. "But unlike some people, I learned how to Apparate when I was seventeen."

Sirius caught Dorcas' amused eyes and grinned. "Ten sickles on Bones."

"Ending up in the drink again?" The tiny witch with the wispy blond hair cocked a brow at him. "That's where I'm putting my money."

And from the pinched expression on Marlene's face, and the fact that she was looming ever more threateningly over Edgar, it seemed likely. "Hell hath no fury," Sirius muttered, under his breath.

"- idiotic lout with the personality of a freeze-dried papaya!"

Dorcas snickered.

Frank pitched his voice to be heard over the noise of the squabbling. "Once you complete your training, if you're ever assigned to prisoner escort or release, your wand will be registered and you'll be able to call the boat yourselves – but only for the duration of the assignment." The tip of Frank's wand tapped twice against the bell, and a deep gong reverberated out over the waves. The sound rang heavy in Sirius' ears, only gradually fading into the swelling seas.

"Now what?" Dorcas piped up. Her voice was soft, almost dreamy, though her blue eyes were sharp.

Frank shot her an amused glance. "Now we wait."

And see how long it takes for Edgar to get hypothermia without a change of clothes or a warming charm, Sirius thought. Even if he hadn't had advance warning, he would have been hesitant to try regular spellwork so close to Azkaban. Something feels off.

Bones was wringing out his over-robes, grumbling under his breath through chattering teeth.

"What are you thinking?" Frank was at Sirius' elbow, using his preoccupation to shift closer than he'd anticipated.

Sirius shot a glance at the gray tower several leagues away. By the pricking of my thumbs . . . "Nothing." There was a crawling sensation, just under his skin, that was utterly unlike the chill contagion carried by Dementors.

He could feel Frank's eyes on him, silently studying. Sirius lifted his chin and kept his eyes locked on the distant form of the Wizarding prison. From here, Azkaban looked tiny, a gray protrusion against gray waves; but the ancient fortress was anything but.

"Huh," Edgar stuttered behind them. His teeth were starting to chatter audibly. "Would you look at that."

Sirius turned, expecting –

Instead he found Dorcas peering beneath the bell, and Marlene crouched at her side, perpetual smirk aimed down at the planks. Sirius turned his head, and recognized the letters. He snorted.

Some astute soul with too much time on their hands had carved Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea into the boards at the exact center of the raft.

"Oh, that." Frank's lips twisted in amusement. "Been here forever, in some form or another. It was a flag when I had my first trip out here."

Dorcas shivered, eyeing the scratchings. "It's creepy," she decided.

"It fits," Sirius agreed, gaze skipping back to the tower.

"I think -" A soft chime interrupted Marlene, and they all turned, searching for the noise.

In their distraction, a boat had approached without any of them – except Frank, most likely – noticing. It was about five meters long, with a high prow and stern, and in appearance most resembled a Viking longboat.

Edgar gaped, obviously dismayed. "That's the boat?"

So much for any of us getting – or staying – warm, Sirius winced. 'The crossing is cold.' Thanks for that, Prongs. Enlightening. Really.

"You've all got your chocolate?" Frank asked. He stepped up to the edge of the raft, bracing one hand on the longboat before leaping over the side. "Well, too late now. Let's go."