CHAPTER ONE
There is no redemption to be found here.

-London, 1815-

Azkaban is known for it's harsh winds and unfathomable fortress-like walls. Those who serve time in Azkaban often die here-that is a fact. Sirius Black has spent exactly 19 years behind it's unforgiving bars, suffering as no man should have been forced to suffer, doing penance for a crime that he had not committed.

But today is different. Today, he is free.

The assistance guard's face is contorted into a sneer of utter revulsion. Sirius believes that this man might have been handsome were it not for the long, hooked nose that resides upon the face of the man he hates, this man who comes second only to Peter Pettigrew. Thick black hair that shires with oil even in the dim candlelight of prison is tucked and tied back underneath the blue officer's hat. Dark pools stare from where the eyesockets sit, and even in daylight it is hard to distinguish the irises from the pupils.

"Prisoner 24601." The man's curled lips form the sounds effortlessly. This silken tone has tormented him enough for a lifetime, he thinks bitterly.

"Snape," he spits back, the little liquid he has managed to gather in his too-dry mouth hits the floor, which is noticeably covered in filth anyways, making no difference. He struggles to be civil, then, because he has to be released today, he won't last another day in here, let alone another year for misconduct.

A grimace is drawn tight across the sallow complexion. "You know what today entails, I presume." Hatred is etched in the deep lines of Snape's face as he glares at Sirius's head, unwilling to acknowledge him, even as a prisoner. Any other day, this would be met with a snide remark, but today even Snape's dour mood cannot touch him. His anger melts away to be replaced by utter joy. He can't help himself, Sirius feels the first smile in 19 years pull his tired features. "Today I'm free."

"Freedom does not make you a changed man, Black. Just as parole does not make you a free one."

"I didn't do it, whatever else you may believe of me. Pettigrew was the one -" Sirius half-heartedly protests, only to be cut off.

"Pettigrew," Snape drawls, "is dead. And you are to report for parole in ten and a half days time. Your Apparation license is still revoked - you will be travelling the Muggle way, Prisoner 24601."

"My name is Sirius Black now," he replies, tugging the yellow parole papers from Snape's long fingered grip. Snape looks enraged for a brief moment, but then it slides off his greasy face, features forming an expression of neutrality.

"And I'm Severus Snape. Do not forget that, 24601."

The two guards outside the door come in and escort him to the boat waiting at the dock. Sirius inhales the fresh sea air greedily, inhaling freedom. The ride is long and ardous, but he is long past caring. The ocean spray is clean and cool on his filthy, matted hair and muck-covered clothing. When he reaches land he drops to his knees and laughs until he can't breathe, crawling forwards, leaving the two disgusted guards in his wake.

Sirius has walked three days to reach the wards of Hogwarts. Dumbledore is somehow already waiting for him when he reaches the tall gates, blue-robed and tall. This man is the only one who pleaded for mercy on Sirius' behalf during his trial, reminding the jury that there was no concrete evidence in his involvement with the Death Eaters or the murder of Peter Pettigrew. It was a valiant attempt, and none but Dumbledore could have even thought of trying it. Nonetheless, he was still sentenced to 14 years.

Even now, Sirius knows the white bearded man believes in him, believes in him when others did not - would not.

"I've a Portkey for you," Dumbledore says calmly as Sirius finally stops to stand in front of him, pulling out a non-descript wand and two silver candlesticks. "It will take you to France. I've arranged for some supplies for when you arrive there."

Sirius laughs, a gruff sound that betrays the amount of his sanity that he's surely lost over the years after being preyed upon by the Dementors. "You're helping me break my parole?"

The older man's gaze is stern. "You are not safe here. Voldemort's forces grow mightier by the day, and with the Wizarding world against you, you will be an easy target. This is for your safety!" Worry colors Dumbledore's tone, and Sirius relents and becomes somber.

"Thank you for everything you did. For trying to free me." His sincerity does not seem enough, but he offers it anyways. Sirius will always be indebted to Albus Dumbledore, and although he can not pay him in kind through monetary means or other favours, he will do his best to make his gratitude known.

Dumbledore simply shakes his head, however. "No, Sirius, thank you for being the good man that you are. I've no doubt you'll go on to do great things. Life has much more to offer you than what it has, Sirius. You are a true and loyal friend, as well as a brave, courageous one. Virtues like those are worth thanking for.

Once you arrive in France, you will be free to begin again as a new man, with no parole to haunt you, and no Aurors to track you. This is my gift to you, in thanks."

Sirius is embarrassed at this display of affection, and chooses to ignore the man's kind words. He does not believe in his ability to be good, not after he has failed his friends, failed James. He takes the silver and the wand with a trembling hand. "I'm not supposed to do magic," he mumbles awkwardly, patting the parchment with his parole rules in his robe pocket. "They've got trackers on me, somewhere." His gaze goes slightly wild as he searches himself, perhaps thinking he could find them.

A familiar twinkle shines in Dumbledore's eyes. "You can in France. The trackers will lose you then, and the magic will break on them. This Portkey was supposed to be mine, but I seem to find that international boundaries do not limit me when I Apparate," Dumbledore says cheerfully, "I will, however, go visit a dear friend, to add truth to my story and to ensure suspicion does not fall onto you." He clasps Sirius' shoulder in a fatherly gesture, grounding him to reality. "I've faith in your abilities, Sirius. I trust you will do well."

"I'll do my best to live up to that," Sirius croaks after a pause. Living up to Dumbledore's expectations of him, even with the wizard himself putting faith in him, seems beyond his mind's reach.

Checking his pocketwatch, Dumbledore sighs and releases him, taking a step back. "I hope to see you again in the future, Sirius Black."

Before he can answer, one of the candlesticks glows blue, and Sirius grips it tightly as he feels the familiar tug at his navel.

Sirius finds many things waiting for him at the safe house. Papers, for one, declaring him as Monsieur Madeleine. Money is another, ten thousand francs. A change of clothes completes the lot, along with a meal fit for a king. Sirius soaks it all in, then moves to the wash room.

There is a tub and washcloth, along with a clean towel draped against the side. Peering over the edge of the tube reveals a cake of soap. Sirius retrieves his new wand and goes to cast the water Charm. The simple spell takes a few goes to get right, but in the end the tub is filled with scalding hot water.

Sirius washes slowly - his first real bath in 19 years deserves some savouring - and doesn't leave even when the water goes cold. Eventually, though, he realizes it's best to leave, and quickly at that. He goes back into the main room and dons his new Muggle attire.

A quick Flagrante (again, it takes a few tries, but he's better at it now, and the magi flows through his wand arm with more ease) handles his old clothes as well as his parole papers, and, when he is satisfied at the pile of ashes, he allows himself to eat the food that has been set out for him.

It's richer than he's used to, of course, so he eats half of the small portion and wraps up the rest. It takes a lot of self-control to not scarf down the whole lot of it, but Sirius has spent 19 years being patient, and one day more is not a stretch. He's not about to waste any food, even if he's the proud new owner of ten thousand francs and two silver candlesticks.
He unpacks his meager belongings from the ratty burlap sack, and repacks most of it into the new bag along with the money, the papers, and the food. Sirius shifts the pack onto his back, adjusting to the weight of it. The weight is a good weight, a sturdy weight, and it helps him concentrate on the task at hand.

The door is opened cautiously, with Sirius half-expecting the Aurors to be waiting for him outside, but there is no one in sight, only grassy fields and cheerful woods. A long path stretches past the house, but there are no signs to direct him. His French had been decent, but he's not sure how much he remembers from those blasted lessons his Pureblood mother had forced him to attend after nearly two decades of wasting away in prison.

He inhales fresh air, as a living, breathing, free man. It is good air, he decides, content. Sirius takes long, leaping strides to the path, then stops, looking both ways. Which way to go? He drops his gaze to the beaten path, trying to judge from the footprints which way is more populated, because surely that's safer, but then he realizes it doesn't matter.

This is the start of a new life, a new world. He's going to make France his new home for the rest of his days. He will help others and show them kindness as Dumbledore showed him. He will shed his old life along with his old clothes. Wherever he ends up, this is what he will strive for. Monsieur Madeleine will be a good man, beloved by his neighbours and friend to all.

Sirius Black will exist no more.

AN: Please review if you like it! Progress updates can be found on my Author Profile.