Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to the one and only, J.K. Rowling

RUN, thought the black dog as he quietly maneuvered to the bottom floor. His dark fur blended in with the ebony shadows. Dry blood decorated the walls of the building. Whimpers filled his head as his acute hearing amplified the sounds of despair impregnating the building. The putrid scent of tears, waste, and death saturated the stale air. Surrounding prisoners cried, reaching out, grabbing his fur, begging for release. The dog just kept running, not daring to look back for even a second.

Azkaban was designed to hold the deadliest, most dangerous wizards and witches in the magical world. Who would have thought that a raggedy black dog could slip silently though the cell bars? It was not a dog that had been placed in Azkaban, however. The prisoner who belonged in that cell was considered one of the most dangerous wizards in the world. He sat in that cell for twelve years, yet it was only now that he executed his plan. The minister was who had inspired this surprise departure. It was the minister who had given him that Daily Prophet with the picture of the Weasley family. Amidst the smiling gaggle of redheads in the photo, a single, nine-toed rat stood on the youngest son's shoulder. Peter Pettigrew was alive, and Padfoot wanted revenge. It's takes about 30 seconds for the dementors to figure out that a prisoner was missing; they couldn't sense a dog, cut they could sense the absence of a human. Now the dog was running. He was running for freedom. He was running for Harry. But most of all, he was running for justice.

30 seconds, he thought, it's been 30 seconds. 31-32-33-3—an ear-splitting shriek rang throughout the hall. Dementors swarmed through the depths of the prison, desperately trying to locate the escaped prisoner. A feeling of depression, emptiness, and despair filled the room, intensifying with the arrival of each new guard. With a newfound burst of speed, the dog sprinted around the corner. I'm crazy, he thought, I'm going to be caught. I'm going to die… NO. For James. Run for James. And Lily. God damn it, run for Harry! Suddenly, a swarm of dementors flooded the bottom floor. The dog slowed, his motivation draining as more and more of the black creatures entered. I am going to die. I must get to the—the gate! Its closing! RUN DAMN IT! The black dog mustered up all the hope, determination, guilt, and anger he had accumulated over the last twelve years and channeled it into the last few strides of his escape. This is it, Paddy, your one and only chance to get out of this hellhole. With all the power in him, the dog sprinted to the door and slid through to the other side. He wobbled slightly, but kept a steady running pace until he got to the edge of the island. Slowing down, he came to a halt and a toothy grin appeared on his face. Mission Accomplished.

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