Chapter Twenty Four

It felt strange to be reading the paper after these few weeks in prison. Something so ordinary - so everyday, that he had taken for granted and then just wasn't there anymore. To now hold the Daily Prophet in his hand, hear the rustle of the pages and smell the ink … it made him almost feel like a free man.

He suddenly had something to do other than brood, a whole world of things to think about that wouldn't make him happy but wouldn't leave him drained. In a strange way, holding the paper up in front of him felt like casting a patronus right at his door - it was a shield that held the dementors at bay.

Up in the top right hand corner, where the price was, there was a large number 10 and a picture of a semi circle … he didn't understand what that was about, so he ignored it and read the headline instead.

...

The front page was all about Barty Crouch Jr - who it turned out was a Death Eater. Sirius remembered Crouch from school - he had been a couple of years younger than them, quiet and swotty … he was surprised to read what he had become. Though maybe it wasn't true - maybe Crouch was just another massive miscarriage of justice, like him and Moony. After all - a few weeks ago there must have been people from school reading the stories in the Prophet about the pair of them and being surprised at what they had done.

… Only they hadn't done it.

Just because something was in the newspaper did not mean it was true. Sirius had found that out the hard way.

...

The second page was a tell tale gossip piece about Barty Crouch Sr … the photograph of him showed him looking very strained , his eyes were haunted and Sirius felt something close to a stab of pity for him. Whether or not his son was a Death Eater, his arrest must have hit Crouch Sr like a ton of bricks… and Sirius did remember that he was one of only three members of the wizengamot who had voted against executing Moony. That counted for something, not much - but it was something.

He turned to the next page and discovered that the Death Eaters arrested alongside young Barty were the Lestrange family … which included his own, deranged cousin Bellatrix. So … there was going to be quite the Black family reunion in here soon. He wondered how his mother was holding up. Not that he felt anything akin to pity for that hateful old hag but still ... with Regulus missing and Sirius and Bellatrix in prison, it must feel like the family she was so proud of was collapsing in on itself. Their name could not be worth much now. And that would hurt someone who had always taken so much pride in something as worthless as a name.

...

He continued with the paper. He leafed past a celebrity scandal involving Celestina Warbeck, flicked past the quidditch scores and scanned across an advertisement for Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary ( "selling fresh flasks of polyjuice potion! One galleon a go! Visit Mr. Mulpepper's at Diagon Alley" ) and then turned over to page 17.

And stared.

He stared some more.

Peter stared back at him. And Prongs waved up from the next photo. Lily stood beside James, Harry in her arms - her face lit up in smiles.

...

His heart began to thump so loudly in his chest he was sure the dementors would hear it. The blood pounded in his ears. He read the headline … and then the article. He looked back at the pictures … and then read it all again. And then he looked up and stared at the opposite wall for a very long time. He felt like someone had just lit a fire inside his head, like all the misery and pain had ebbed away and all that was left was this new knowledge, this new focus. His mind was clear - and he knew what he needed to do.

He needed to get out of Azkaban.


'Have you seen this?' Severus threw the newspaper down on Dumbledore's desk and then began to pace.

Dumbledore pulled it towards himself and stared down at the offending article.

Pettigrew and the Potters!

The headline read. Followed by the lede:

Peter Pettigrew to meet with little Harry Potter: 'I'm the only wizarding family he has left.'

'Ah, yes,' Dumbledore nodded. 'I did see this at breakfast. It is … regrettable.'

'So - what are you going to do?' Severus demanded. He whirled around, cutting off his pacing and instead fixing Dumbledore with his most hawk like stare. 'You said the boy had to go to his muggle family. To her family. You said Petunia was the only one who could keep him safe.'

'That is correct.'

'Well…' He threw his hands wide, demanding an answer. 'What now? The whole point was to hide him away - and now the last of that loathsome little group is dragging him back into our world, back into the limelight - back where the Death Eaters can get to him.'

Dumbledore watched Severus closely for a moment, taking note of his agitation and wondering what was behind it … and then turned his eyes back to the article. It was another offering from the poisonous quill of Rita Skeeter.

...

Following on from the sudden and salacious arrest of Black and his pet werewolf, the authorities concerned themselves with where to place little Harry Potter - now an orphan, whose godfather and now legal guardian (none other than Black, himself) was imprisoned in Azkaban for the crime of slaughtering Harry's family.

The decision was made by Albus Dumbledore, controversial headmaster of Hogwarts school - who was the one who allowed the wolf to go to school in the first place, thus introducing it to its master and then failing to expel the pair of them when they committed attempted murder - to put the child with its relatives in the muggle world and keep him away - for now - from the limelight that is so rightfully his.

However, Peter Pettigrew, 21 - had other ideas.

'I'm James and Lily's best friend,' Pettigrew said, 'their only surviving friend. We were as close as family and I was an uncle to Harry. Having lost so much, to be separated from him is more than I can bear - and I know he must feel the same.'

Certainly it does seem an unusually cruel decision for the headmaster to have taken and one that is perhaps outside the barmy old codger's right to make. To that end Peter went to visit Harry in his new muggle home.

'His family really were delightful,' he says, 'they could not have been more accommodating, but the sad fact is that the Dursley family are not like us - and they are ill equipped to deal with a young wizard. Especially one of Harry's importance. They were positively thrilled that someone from the wizarding world, an old friend of the family, had turned up to offer them some guidance in how to raise their special new charge.'

Pettigrew hopes to be a continuing presence in Harry's life, as he grows up - teaching him about the world of magic he is so tragically cut off from. 'I know this is exactly what James would want me to do - what he would expect me to do,' he says. 'I know - wherever he is, James is looking down on me, smiling - thanking me for continuing to care for his son now he no longer can.'

And this is not just to be a private relationship - but one we can all share in, as we all wish to celebrate the boy who lived and the debt of gratitude we owe him for so mysteriously vanquishing the Dark Lord.

Pettigrew and the Dursleys have set up a public meeting, with the world's press and specially invited guests - where the little hero will meet his last surviving uncle, there will be photo opportunities, an exclusive interview and sandwiches. The event is to take place next week and I know we will all await this most touching of reunions with bated breath.

...

'If anything,' Dumbledore said slowly, once he had finished reading, 'I am surprised at the Dursleys. I am surprised they have agreed to this. I am sure you no doubt remember, Severus, that Petunia does not look kindly on men such as us.'

'She's frightened of magic.'

The old man smiled sadly, knowingly. 'I wonder who it was who taught her to be so?'

'That's hardly the point.'

'No,' he sighed, 'you are correct. She should not have agreed to this. And Pettigrew should not have asked it of her.'

'So what are you going to do - this is a security nightmare! We have to put a stop to it.'

'I agree, entirely, Severus. I shall write to Peter - ask him to call this whole charade off.'

Severus looked sceptical. 'And you think that will work? Writing to him?'

'I shall appeal to his better nature.'

Snape folded his arms and looked angry. 'Those four cretins never had a better nature,' he muttered darkly.


That afternoon, the first of the owls arrived - bearing a tin of fondant fancies from Doris Crockford and a letter telling Peter how much she looked forward to him being reunited with little Harry

...

You really are an inspiration, Mr. Pettigrew.

...

She wrote

...

And I am so delighted that Harry has such a doting and caring uncle in yourself. Nothing can make up for the tragic losses you have both suffered, but I just know that - in time - together you will find healing. I hope my cakes help you towards that in some little way. P.S Please return the tin so I can send you some of my award winning shortbread - first prize at the country witch's fair three years in a row!

...

Well … this was exactly what he wanted to happen. Things were going quite splendidly. He sat back in his chair, shovelling fondant fancies into his mouth and waiting for the next owl to arrive.

...

When it did, it turned out to be something of a disappointment, however. It was from Dumbledore - begging him to reconsider the public meeting with Harry, telling him it was imperative that the child be left alone - kept far from the wizarding world until he had grown up a few years.

But before he had even had time to digest the words, never mind formulate a response - there was another tapping at the window and a brown barn owl with a basket of chocolate fudge brownies clasped in its beak flew in and delivered its package.

And Peter reached for a brownie, scrunched Dumbledore's letter up into a ball and threw it on the fire. The old man would just have to be disappointed. Peter was not giving this up. The reunion would go ahead.


It took Sirius three days - three days of plotting, and planning and pacing up and down in his cell. The dementors never even came near him. He was a whirling fury of energy but not a speck of it was happy and so he had nothing to offer them. Even when he grudgingly lay down to catch a few hours sleep, his mind kept ticking over … there were no sweet dreams of Moony to feed the ghoulish guards now. Just Peter, and anger and the need to get out.

Though that was easier said than done.

...

He knew that his only way out was as Padfoot - that, as a man, he had no better chance of escape than any other… and no one had ever escaped Azkaban. But as a dog … The guards couldn't see him, and they couldn't sense him as well when he was in his animal form - it would be far easier to slip past them, easier to climb through the bars …

And though he had sworn not to make things easier for himself while Moony suffered the full force of human pain at the hands of the dementors, and even though he could hear him crying out in fear even now - and that sound rent his heart into a thousand pieces - he knew he was going to have to transform.

But that was when he hit a snag. Having decided to change shape, and sent out silent apologies to Remus for doing so, he suddenly found that he couldn't. He had been so drained, these past few days - so listless and so miserable, the grey had been so suffocating and the dementors at the door had been so greedy in all they had taken that now - no matter how hard he tried - he stayed resolutely a human being.

His Padfoot form seemed lost to him.

Which was a major blow to his escape plan … but still, he did not let it stop him. He would work on it.

The fire burning in his head since reading that article was giving him new strength, every minute - and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he gained some semblance of his powers back. This was what he had needed - this was what was spurring him into action, when everything so far has just left him bereft and ready to give up.

...

Peter was not just getting famous off his and Remus' misfortune - but he was using Harry to do it. He was keeping in contact with Harry. The cringing vermin who was responsible for the death of Harry's parents, who would have seen the child, himself, killed without turning a hair was now daring - daring - to play the role of doting Uncle Peter in public.

The thought of Harry growing up in contact with Wormtail, of learning about the wizarding world from Wormtail, learning about his parents from Wormtail - it made Sirius seethe. It made his blood boil and the fire in his head burn even brighter. That Harry would grow up loving Peter … he balled his hand into a fist, yelled out and punched the wall until his knuckles bled.

...

But it wasn't just that. It wasn't just that slimy rat slithering into Harry's life that made Sirius determined to act. It was the danger Peter posed as well. To Harry.

Because Peter was still a Death Eater - one did not simply stop being a Death Eater. Voldemort may be gone, but he wasn't dead and - whether he liked it or not - Peter still belonged to him. And if he had any sense at all (which was debatable) then old Wormey should be more terrified of his old master returning than anybody else. Because it was on his information that Voldemort had gone to the Potters. It was on his information that Voldemort had been destroyed.

Should the Dark Lord ever come back - Peter could expect to be very severely punished.

Unless … unless - he could deliver up the last of the set. The final Potter. If Voldemort ever returned and Peter gave him Harry, then Peter would be welcomed back into the fold with open arms; given the untold riches he had no doubt expected the first time he had sold his friends to the dark side.

...

Peter was not just using Harry to stay famous - he was stationing himself to be in prime position to sell Harry to Voldemort should the need ever arise. And he would be able to do it. Years of being doting Uncle Peter, James' best friend, would mean Harry would trust him implicitly - go with him willingly - and then be slaughtered just like his parents.

And only Sirius knew. Only he had the full picture - and if only he knew then only he could do something about it.

He tried to transform into Padfoot again - but no luck.

...

'Come on, Padfoot,' he heard Prongs say inside his head. 'We don't have time for this - Harry is in danger. What are you doing lolling around Azkaban like it's a spa weekend? - Get out there and save my son.'

'I'm trying,' Sirius thought back, furiously.

'Well, it's not good enough - try harder.'

'Well, what are you doing to help?'

'Nothing. I'm dead. And Moony will be too, in a week or so. Unless you get out there, stop Peter, save Harry and prove you're both innocent. Come on Padfoot, old friend, we're all counting on you!'

...

And so Sirius had redoubled his efforts - realising that, if he could just get to Harry in time, if he could find a way to expose Peter before the full moon, then he could save more than just James' little boy. He had promised to keep Moony safe, when he had asked him to run away with him … and so far he had done a pretty terrible job of that. Now he had to put it right - or he at least had to try.

He had paced, he had plotted, he had punched the wall over and over and he had practised transforming into his animal shape. And then … after three days of thinking of nothing else - he finally managed it. He had been so enervated for so long now that the draining misery was gone and his powers were being restored to him … it was time.

...

He couldn't take Moony with him. He had reluctantly reached that conclusion quite early on … because even if, by some miracle, he found a way through the iron door that held Remus prisoner, a man could not walk past the dementors unnoticed. And Remus - tall and powerfully built as he was - could not slip through the bars. Only an animal could escape Azkaban and - for all the cruel words the Ministry called him - that was precisely what Remus was not.

He hated to leave him behind. The thought of him being here alone … even more alone than he already was - tore at Sirius' heart. And the fear that he would not be able to act in time, that the full moon would pass before he had proved Remus' innocence and Remus would be executed - while Sirius was miles away from him - made him feel sick. But this was their only chance. Leaving him behind was a sacrifice he had to make - otherwise death was certain.

...

He spent the whole of the third day as Padfoot, getting some sleep - feeling himself growing stronger as his emotions became less complex and then, that evening, when the door opened and the dementor came in to deliver his food, he got to his four feet - kept low - and as fast and fleeting as a shadow, slipped past the guard and dodged through the doorway.

...

This was the first time he had been outside of his cell in weeks and his paws stumbled a little on the unfamiliar uneven ground. His legs trembled - whether nerves or weakness, he wasn't sure … but without looking back, he ran straight down the spiral staircase of his tower and had made it to the landing below, before he heard his prison door slam shut again. The dementor would be following him down … though it seemed it had not yet noticed he was missing.

It was dark in the hallways of the prison. The only light came from the gibbous moon - it was growing fat and glowed in at him through the bars, a sickly silver. He growled at it, out of sympathy for Moony.

...

He passed Moony's cell door and came to a stop. It was so hard to walk away, to leave him behind in this desperate, terrible place … He raised his nose and sniffed … and there he was! The sudden scent of Remus was so close and so clear that he seemed to materialise right in front of Padfoot's eyes. His nose was always better than his eyes in this form - always did more than his eyesight to let him navigate the world around him. The world was a different place in dog form, scent trails stretched back and forth - new and old, so he could see the past as well as the present and each smell told a thousand stories.

And right now the scent of Remus was overwhelming, and he breathed deep - holding it inside of himself and remembering it … in case he was not successful. In case this was one last time.

...

In sixth year - when he was taking NEWT level potions, Professor Slughorn had brewed some amortentia to show the class - the most powerful love potion, whose smell changed for each individual person - so they could smell what it was that particularly attracted them.

Sirius had smelled chocolate and parchment and a distinctive, animal musk - and had been very glad that Moony was not taking potions that year (he was no good at it and had gratefully dropped it, after barely scraping a pass on his OWLs) … And he'd been grateful that no one else could smell what he could. When James had asked what amortentia smelled like for him (for James it had smelled of lilies - surprise surprise) Sirius had lied. Freshly baked bread and mint toothpaste he'd said … shrugging because there was no one he knew of who fit that bill.

If only he had spoken up then, if only he hadn't been so afraid - so sure there was something wrong with him, to feel this way about another boy … they could have had so much longer together.

...

But he could not stand outside the door all night, breathing Remus in … 'Get moving, Padfoot!' Prongs' voice echoed in his head. 'Moon over Moony on your own time - stealthy escape plan NOW!'

A rattling of breath warned Sirius that a dementor was drawing near and - with one final, regretful look at Remus' cell door - he padded away down the hall on silent paws.

He followed the stairs down, hiding in the shadows and holding his breath whenever a dementor came too close; moving on only when they had passed him by.

He jogged down the next hallway, and then down the next staircase. He was lower now, closer to the ground - and the dementors were thicker here, more in number. He was having to hide more often, having to slip between them like a shadow and hope his simple, canine emotions threw them off guard.

...

He could see a large window ahead of him, it was barred of course, but he thought he could just about scrabble through. Freedom was beckoning, the outside world so tantalisingly close.

He made a break for it - gaining speed, hoping to jump up to the window and clamber through with the momentum.

Dementors swarmed past him. He kept his head down - kept running, swerving between them and then … just as he was within the last few feet of the window… he knocked into one.

...

His whole body immediately felt like he was filled with ice, He seized up and - even as a dog - felt a crashing wave of pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And unable to help himself, he threw back his head and howled out the agony.

The dementors came to a stop.

They may not be able to see, but it seemed they could hear - or maybe his feelings were now intense enough for them to sense. Either way - they knew something was wrong … and hands of rotting flesh reached out, grasping at the air, trying to find the unauthorised presence in their midst.

...

'Padfoot Run!' Prongs yelled.

And he bounded the final feet to the window, not caring that he was growling and they could hear him, dodging scabrous, reaching fingers… he jumped up the wall, his paws scrabbling against the stone, pulling himself up to the ledge. He got his head through the bars, squeezed his shoulders through and then … just as he was free, he felt something soft and decayed close around his tail.

A dementor's hand.

He yelped, flung himself forward with all his might - and toppled off the ledge and onto the rocks beneath - leaving the dementor grasping at nothing but a few stray hairs. He was out. He was free.

...

The air was still cold and brackish and was still Azkaban, this was no glorious rebirth from the greyness of jail … but he was outside. And he would fight to the death before they took him back in there.

...

His paws crunching on the pebbles, and staying hidden in the deepest, blackest of the shadows, he followed the wall of the fortress round until he thought he was underneath Remus' window.

He looked up, into the darkness, and imagined Moony trapped up there - not yet knowing anything had changed. Not yet knowing there was hope. It hurt to leave him without a proper goodbye.

And so - he threw back his head and howled up at the moon, as if he was the wolf - not Remus … and he hoped that Remus would hear, that he would recognise Padfoot's voice and that he would understand what it meant: that Sirius was free - and he was going to rescue him.

...

He stayed there howling for as long as he dared and then … when his voice died in his throat, he turned his back on the prison, on Moony - for now - and headed into the sea, ready to start the long swim to shore.