Cold... wet...
Floating... endless drifting...
Something solid... sandy...
Black waves sloshed up into his face. Eyelids, weighing a thousand tons, gradually opened. He was lying on shore. He was alive... but more importantly, he had escaped Azkaban.
He was free! Never before had he felt so liberated, so open, so weightless. He was free and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
With some effort, he pulled himself into sitting position. He could see the prison's silhouette far out in the water. Gusts of wind carried the distant screeches of Dementors and cheers of fleeing prisoners to his ears. Dark figures moved in the water, more escapees were swimming to shore.
Azkaban was in a state of chaos. Prisoners were escaping and the Dementors were blinded by their rage. If the Ministry ever tried to retake Azkaban, now would be the perfect time.
He glanced over his shoulder; scouts and spies from the Order of the Phoenix kept a constant watch over Azkaban for such an opportunity. All they needed was the signal. Hands reaching to the heavens, he filled the sky with a series of sparks: blue, red, then green.
Completely exhausted, he collapsed back on the sandy shore. A hearty, joyful laugh erupted from low in his chest. He was free, as were many others. And by the end of the night, Azkaban would finally be in the right hands again. The Gods had been with him tonight, and he had done well.
Lying on the damp shore, he stared blankly at the stars above. The full moon still hung brightly in the sky, acting as a shining blessing on this fateful night. Her protective beams surrounded him, and he slowly drifted into a deep sleep. His first peaceful sleep in many months.