Authors Note: Sorry for the wait everyone. Uni has been really busy in the past few weeks. Thanks again to the people who are following this story. Reviews are greatly appreciated as well. It is really encouraging whenever a new review appears in my inbox!

Disclaimer: Once again, anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 3:

BOOM!

A hit of thunder shook the small island, followed closely by a flash of lightning. Distantly, a mad scream could be heard, echoing in response to the storm. Sheets of water tumbled down from the heavens, finding its way through every crack in the formidable building which dominated the small piece of land it sat on. It had been storming constantly throughout the night, the cold and constant dripping of water adding to the harshness of Azkaban prison.

In a cell in high security Sirius Black was huddled in a corner, hugging the ragged, worn blanket close around him desperately hoping for some warmth… some protection, as a dementor paused directly outside the cell.

If possible it grew even colder; a chilling, intense, depressing cold. Sirius drew a ragged breath, trying desperately not to succumb to the desperation, the guilt…

"Disgrace to the house of Black, worthless scum… How dare you show your face here … You are no longer my son … Regulus has no brother!"

Insults long forgotten echoed through his head. He closed his eyes, desperate to forget, moving as far into the corner as he could. The dementor didn't move, instead pressing closer against the bars, as though sensing the desperation in his thoughts. He felt his body freeze up, his heart seemingly turning cold ….

An eery silence hung over Godrics hollow as he urged his bike forwards, hoping beyond hope that he was not too late…The house was in ruins, smoke still floating from the top where the nursery, Harry, was, or had been…The door was hanging off its hinges, leaning inwards … His best friends lifeless face was staring up at him …

"NO, James, No! You can't leave me, you're not suppose to die – you promised. Wake up dammit, wake up."

James' voice seemingly echoed round in his head, "Its all your fault Sirius … You suggested the change … its your fault we're dead, your fault all those muggles died."

"No," he muttered, "I'm innocent, innocent…" Concentrating hard, he let the small amount of magic he had left wash over him, as he transformed into Padfoot. Curling up in a corner he willed with all his might for the dementor to leave.

Seconds later it did, sensing defeat for now, or perhaps thinking its victim was going mad with the sudden lack of human emotions. It was still there though, along with others, waiting just outside his cell. Sirius didn't change back – no need to attract them again – and it was infinitely more comfortable as a dog in this place in any case, if he could ignore the added acrid smell.

He sent a silent thanks to whomever may be listening for the gift of his animagus form. It had taken him weeks to be able to focus enough on his innocence; to get over the fact that he wasn't getting a trial and that no one believed him, for him to even consider that it may still work. Even then, surely if Remus truly believed him a traitor he may have told them. For once however, luck had been on his side, as he quickly discovered there were no blocks on his transformation. He had been worried at first, that the magic might attract the attention of the human guards. But after what had been surely months, seemingly years, he was confident that no one noticed the transformation, nor the unexpected protection it gave him against the dementors and madness.

Sirius had no idea how long he had been in this place for, how long since he had become to the eyes of the wizarding world a murderer, deatheater, and traitor. The first weeks were a blur, a period of madness, and since then the only hints at the passing time was that which the guards gave the few times a new prisoner was brought in, or someone was taken out – more than likely to be given the dementors kiss, returning later as a meaningless, empty body. No-one left the high-security section of Azkaban. All he really knew was that it was 1982 – a year could have gone past, a year of his life wasted, that he would never get back.

However long it had been, it felt like decades, filled with constant reminders of the mistakes in his past – James, Lily, Remus …. the rat.

Yet another blessing for his animagus form; it was easier to withdraw from his emotions and memories when in his other form.

Suddenly, Padfoot's animal senses detected a distant sound. It was the sound of boots … human guards. Quickly Sirius turned back into human form, noticing as he did so the lack of the chilling misty cold almost always present. The storm had calmed as well, the drip in his cell slowing in pace. He had no idea what was coming, or why. Humans hardly ever came into this section of the prison, though it certainly explained the sudden lack of dementors. For the first time in days, perhaps weeks, Sirius felt the dementor induced fog lift from his mind.

It couldn't possibly be a meal, Sirius was sure that it had barely been an hour since they were 'fed', if you could call that gruel a meal. In any case, that was a duty generally left to the dementors. Maybe it was another new prisoner. He couldn't help but think dryly, Welcome to the worse place on earth.

The light seemed to grow brighter. Sirius quickly put his hands over his eyes to shield them. Unused to the brightness, the light hurt. Sirius barely registered the people until he realised that the footsteps had stopped. Looking through his fingers, he could see the blurry form of two guards standing right outside his cell.

"Get up, Black," one of them snapped, "Turn around and face the wall, hands up where I can see them."

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to get use to the light, Sirius numbly followed the instructions, standing up on shaky legs. The guard was pointing his wand rather threateningly so he quickly turned around and put his arms up against the wall, heart pounding in his chest. What the hell was going on? They never moved prisoners, not unless… he felt his heart sink; the only reason prisoners were moved was to be taken to the ministry for evidence …or to be given the dementor's kiss. He shivered slightly; that was one fate he never wanted. Surely this couldn't be it.

He couldn't help himself, as the guard entered the cell he muttered, "What's going on?"

"Shut it Black!" the guard grunted poking his wand into Sirius neck, causing him to wince involuntarily, "You'll find out soon enough."

This, if anything only made Sirius more nervous. Lost in his thoughts he let the other man roughly drag his arms behind his back. Then with a muttered spell he felt chains draw tight around his wrists. This was followed in quick succession by the feeling of cold iron around his ankles. Looking down he saw a loose chain joined the two together. Grimly, he realised how much they really thought him a danger to society. He, Sirius Black, once a trainee Auror and member of the Order, was now no more than a dangerous mass-murdering madman in the eyes of everyone else.

The guard grabbed him by the worn cuff of his robes and turned him around, directing him to his cell door.

"Any attempt to escape, and you will be stunned," the guard said, "So you walk out or we drag you out, is that clear?"

"Yes Sir," Sirius muttered mockingly under his breath.

He wasn't sure if the guard heard him at first, but the rough shove, causing him to nearly fall flat on his face, seemed to indicate that he did.

As a hand went to pull him upright, Sirius shook it off and shakily stood up straight, saying softly, "I can walk by myself thanks." If this was the end, he wanted to keep his head up high all the way. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw one of the guards shrug slightly at his words.

"Have it your way then," the other guard responded, before jabbing his wand into Sirius' back and saying, "Walk."

The first guard moved in front to lead the way, light in one hand. Sirius followed blindly, barely hearing the cries of other prisoners begging them to let them out too. His mind was completely blank; he wasn't thinking; he didn't know what to expect. Several times he nearly stumbled over the chain holding his ankles together, but each time he managed to stay upright and shook the guards hands off. In the end, they let him be, save for the wand's ever presence behind his back.

Finally they reached a solid iron, light grey door. For some reason it seemed to spark a memory, but he couldn't remember where from. He felt his heart quicken even more. Was this it?

The guard muttered several spells and the door opened to reveal a clean, yet dull, and slightly warmer room. The back guard shoved him into a seat by the wall, before turning to the two people in front of them.

"Prisoner 838, Sirius Black, here for transfer," the guard announced.

Sirius, who had been staring down at his feet, felt his heart slightly slow down at those words and relief begin to flood through him. Transfer, well that sounded slightly more promising; at least it didn't sound like the dementor's kiss.

"Thank you, Smith. That is all, you may both return to your duties, we have it from here," responded a deep, calming voice.

Sirius knew that voice, he felt his neck almost snap as he quickly looked up. As the two guards cleared the room, he saw two Aurors standing in front of him. He racked his brain for a name, he knew that face, that voice. Staring at the first of the two he finally said with a hoarse voice, "Its Shacklebolt, isn't it?"

"You remember me then, Black," Kingsley responded grimly.

"Course I do, did a few missions together from memory. You were a few years ahead of me … me and James," Sirius replied faintly and slightly offhandedly, though he struggled with the last part. Even thinking about James was painful.

Sirius saw Shacklebolt's face harden at those words. He winced inwardly and looked away; of course they would think he betrayed them. Probably wasn't the smartest thing to remind them of at this stage.

After a brief silence Kingsley responded in a cold voice, "That I was."

There was another pause, then the other Auror said, "Kingsley, we have to get going."

"Right," said Shacklebolt in a more business like tone turning back to face Sirius, "We're on a tight schedule, as Dawlish just reminded me."

Sirius' gaze flickered to the other Auror. He squinted slightly then nodded to himself. He could faintly remember that face from the office.

Shacklebolt continued, "I'm sure the guards have already informed you, though you may remember from your Auror training," he added the last part harshly, "If you make any attempt to escape we will not hesitate to stun, or worse if necessary."

Sirius was tempted to ask what was going on again, but decided to wait a little longer. He nodded in response to Kingsley's words then stood up. Both Aurors whipped out their wands but he just asked quietly, "Well, aren't we going?"

Sirius saw Dawlish narrow his eyes slightly then give a nod to Kingsley's raised eyebrow.

"Follow me," Dawlish said.

Sirius sensed Shacklebolt move in behind him, wand once more at his back, as Dawlish opened the door on the opposite side of the room. They moved outside and down several flights of stairs. Several times Sirius was nearly sent crashing to the bottom by the chains around his legs but each time, Shacklebolt put a steadying hand on his shoulder. This time Sirius did not shake it off, instead nodding in thanks. Somehow he didn't think falling down a flight of stairs would help his already ruined dignity.

Eventually they arrived at a pair of great iron doors. Dawlish muttered several complicated passwords and spells that Sirius couldn't quite pick up, before they simultaneously began to open to reveal the stormy sea outside. It had calmed from before, and the rain was now no more than a drizzle.

As Kingsley guided him out, Sirius couldn't help but take several deep breaths of fresh air, as the water from the crashing waves sprayed his face and robes. The third time he felt several racking coughs fill his body. It was so different to the murky, dank air he had become accustomed to after months in Azkaban. Shacklebolt placed his hands on each of Sirius shoulders to steady him, before roughly guiding him over the rocks to the small barge, holding two more Aurors, that was moored in the vicious sea.

As Sirius looked around, he could barely believe it. He was out of Azkaban; out of the place he had been promised he would rot in for the rest of his life. And the barge was there. It was amazing. For the first time in months the cold sharp air made his mind feel completely clear.

As he stepped onto the rocking barge, he felt himself shiver slightly, his ragged robes barely any protection from the elements. Even so, he felt warmer than he had since that night. The complete absence of dementors did that for you.

He didn't resist at all as Shacklebolt pushed him into a seat and attached his chains to the floor of the boat and back of the chair. It was standard procedure – expected for a prisoner considered a flight risk. In other words, basically all Azkaban prisoners.

Shacklebolt and Dawlish sat down facing him, and the two other Aurors gave the words for the barge to start moving. Sirius briefly let his eyes flicker over their faces. He recognised them, like Dawlish from around the ministry, but couldn't even begin to remember their names. Happier memories were beginning to come back, but he had great holes in his life before Azkaban.

As the boat seemed to fly away from Azkaban, Sirius looked back at the prison. It was as grim and foreboding as ever on the horizon, and he couldn't stop the second huge way of relief at the fact that, for however long it was, he was out of there. If he could have his way he would never, ever set foot on that island again.

Eventually he turned his gaze back to Shacklebolt, who was watching him carefully, as though considering him. Sirius couldn't help himself any longer. "What's happening, where are we going?" he asked hoarsely, before coughing again.

Shacklebolt's face flickered for a minute, into one that Sirius almost would have sworn resembled concern, before hardening once more as he answered in his deep voice, "I can't say much, but you are being taken to the Ministry of Magic. You will find out the rest when we arrive."

Sirius nodded, accepting that was probably all he would get for now, and went back to watching the waves as the barge shot through the water. After another 15 minutes or so he began to see a shape emerge from the horizon. The mainland.

As though seeing his gaze, Dawlish turned around to the Auror at the front of the boat and said, "How far off are we, Proudfoot?"

"Five to ten minutes I think," was the response.

Sirius was knocked out of his reverie by Shacklebolts voice. "You are managing remarkably well Black," he said, "Many of the high security prisoners are already mad after 6 months."

Sirius shrugged uncaringly. They wouldn't believe him if he said why, and there was no way he would let anyone know he was an animagus unless it would get him cleared.

Yet Shacklebolt kept staring at him, before continuing, "Any particular reason why."

"Not that you would believe," Sirius finally responded.

Shacklebolt raised one eyebrow at that before saying calmly, "Try me."

Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly to look at him before saying, "I'm innocent, it isn't a happy thought, so it was the thought that kept me sane."

Shacklebolt leant back in his chair, his gaze searching as he looked into Sirius' grey eyes. "It never really did make sense," he said almost to himself, "The whole Auror department knew that you and Potter were as good as brothers. I can't see where that went wrong."

Sirius began to feel some hope. If only more people were thinking like Shacklebolt …

He didn't notice Shacklebolt's face turn grim once more.

Dawlish next comment brought him tumbling back down to earth again. "Black, innocent?" he sneered, "You were found wand in hand, laughing your head off, with 13 bodies at your feet. For some reason, I don't call that innocent."

Shrugging slightly, Sirius turned his gaze to Dawlish, and felt a small amount of satisfaction when the Auror eventually looked away. That feeling disappeared remarkably quickly as he turned back to Kingsley … there was no denying the fact that whatever he might say, the Auror believed the hard evidence against him.

Barely seconds afterwards, one of the Aurors at the front called out, "We're pulling in now."

Sirius felt his heart leap to his mouth as he saw numerous shadows moving around the jetty they were pulling up beside. Dawlish, still not looking him in the eye, quickly undid the chains binding him to the boat before pulling him somewhat harshly to his feet. Sirius felt himself wobble unsteadily as his legs, weak from his time in prison, suddenly had to support his weight again on the still rocking boat.

Sirius felt a wand jab sharply into the crook of his neck and he turned his head around to see Dawlish sneering at him. Sirius made a face, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

"Dawlish," Shacklebolt called, "That's enough. We have to get going."

"Just keeping watch on the prisoner," the man responded.

Sirius gave a thankful nod to Kingsley, who narrowed his eyes slightly in response, before letting Dawlish and several other Aurors push him roughly onto dry land.