Disclaimer: Yeah, I own Harry Potter. Yeah, I'm the King of the World too. I knocked out Superman last week and stole his lunch money, poor kid. Did I mention I'm dating Emma Watson?

Btw, if you believe all that, you need help.

Author's Note: This is my first foray into the world of fan fiction. I'm not a native English speaker, so please bear with me if I make mistakes. My English is a weird mix of British and American English, you have been warned. I know, I don't understand it myself. I hope you have fun reading this, though!

Warning: Probably not everyone's cup of tea. Please take a good, long look at the rating (and the genre).

Chapter 1- Escape

Padfoot pricked his ears as he heard the sound of two distinct pairs of footsteps in the corridor outside his prison cell. He whined softly, piteously and, with a tired grunted of effort, slowly forced himself into his ravaged human form.

Sirius knelt for a moment on the floor, helpless, struggling to cope against the sudden, bitter flood of raw emotions and memories that assailed him once again, vastly sharpened by his transformation back to his human shape. He could feel no Dementors nearby though; no, it was not yet the time for their feeding. No, this was not their doing; however, he needed no Dementors to remind him of his pain, his greatest failing, his shame.

The Dementors would come later and leech on the remains of his magic, his self-esteem, his anger; sap on his spirit until it was but a pale trickle of what it had once been; their icy touch seeping in even through the obsidian walls of the strongest Occlumency shields he could muster in his debilitated state.

Occlumency, and his willpower, had helped him retain vestiges of his sanity, but his mind was not what it had once been. It had weakened, and at times he struggled to hold on basic concepts like time and hunger. His emotions had been deadened, until he could feel very little but weariness.

Sorrow had left scars in his heart and soul that even time could not heal.

He was innocent of the crimes he had been accused of, he knew, but that was not enough to preserve his sanity, not anymore.

He keeled over and lay on the rough stone floor, his cheeks pressed against the sharp gravel. He sighed and blinked a couple of times, his eyes crusty and swollen with unshed tears, taking in the hatefully familiar walls of his tiny cell. His eyes flicked over the small scratches he had made on the wall to help him keep track of the time. It had been 10 years since his incarceration.

The footsteps that he had heard earlier drew nearer. He sat up with much effort and slowly crawled into the pile of rags in the corner that passed for his bed. He settled with his back to the wall, facing the door – he would be blasted back if he was found near the doors.

The footsteps paused and the heavy, smooth steel door opened smoothly. Strong red light fell inside. He was forced to scrunch his eyes tightly against the glare of a powerful Lumos that came out of the tip of a long, thin wand.

Two Aurors glanced at him, saying nothing, their faces grim. One of them knelt and placed a small plate of gruel on the floor and pushed it towards him, while his companion trained his still-lighted wand on him, looking tight lipped and stern.

"Eat," the kneeling guard told him, not unkindly.

Sirius cocked his head to the side, but otherwise gave no other indication he had understood.

The guards seemed unsurprised by this behavior. They looked at him a moment more, to ensure he hadn't hurt himself like some prisoners were wont to do, and then went out. The door slammed shut a moment later.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. The gruel appeared as unpalatable as ever and just looking at him made him sick, but his stomach growled eagerly, reminding him that he had not been fed since yesterday. He sighed and forced himself to transform again into his animagus form- Padfoot didn't mind the taste so much, he had found. Now that the guards had gone, he would have no need for his human form.

The tall, thin, mangy mutt padded forward and buried his nose in the food,

"…Quirinus dead?"

"That's what my aunt said…"

Faint words, so faint that his human ears would have surely missed it, came to him. It was the guards who had visited his cell earlier. They were farther down the hallway, giving food to the prisoners there, and talking amongst themselves in low voices.

"…in Hogwarts? Are you sure? How is that even possible?!"

"…That place is going to the dogs, if you ask me. Dumbledore wrote a letter to my aunt, conveying his condolences and sent her his belongings, such that he had. Poor woman, didn't even get to see her son's body, let alone give him a proper burial."

"…he die though?"

"…official reason is that a dangerous artifact caused an accident. But I heard Bones whispering with the Minister earlier. Dumbledore claims it was You-Know-Who possessing Quirinus that caused his death."

Sirius felt a mild surge of curiosity when Dumbledore's name came up, but it was distant and suppressed. Words had ceased to have meaning for him and he listened without really understanding what was being said.

"Merlin's balls, man, what does Dumbledore think he's playing at?!"

"And that's not all-" the other guard continued, "Dumbledore claims that Harry Potter –yes, you heard it right, the Harry Potter- helped stop him from getting his hands on this magical artifact that was being kept at the school."

Harry…Potter. The name stirred something within Sirius, something hidden and deeply buried, and treasured beyond measure. A dozen hallowed memories with a man with laughing hazel eyes, messy hair arose in his mind. They were fuzzy with age and neglect – but they were there and they came to him when he heard that name.

"…Godfather to my little boy Harry right, Pad?" James Potter asked him, swatting him on the back, his voice thick with emotion, but doing his best to hide it.

"Do you even have to ask James?" Sirius answered after a moment. He turned his face away determinedly, swiped at his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat and then turned back to look at his brother in all but blood.

They grinned at each other, and then down at the one day old baby, with messy black hair, that was sleeping peacefully in a small cot inside the room.

Fresh tears welled in his eyes and Padfoot whined, shaking his head from side to side in an uncharacteristic motion for a dog. He remembered years of laughter and joy, and then he remembered how it felt to have it all taken away from him in an instant.

"How does he expect anyone to swallow that drivel?"

The words pulled Padfoot out of his memories. He listened in earnest now, no longer interested in his food. It was a struggle to comprehend the words.

"Perhaps Dumbledore has finally cracked. He's certainly well past his prime. You should have seen the Minister's face when he heard that bit about Voldemort- looked like Christmas had been cancelled. He was willing to go along with it, you know. Luckily, his advisors were able to talk some sense into him, and urged him to stop Dumbledore from going to the press and scaring everyone needlessly."

"Incompetent bastard, our Minister, if ever there was one," there was a loud, dismissive snort.

"Shh, you fool, don't insult him, not even here!"

"Oh pshh, you worry too much. Who is going to hear us, them?" the voice scoffed.

"You never know, "the other guard replied defensively, "I'd rather not occupy the cell next to yours for treason, if that's all right with you."

They both fell silent after that, though their footsteps drew nearer still, until they were passing by his door.

Padfoot whined. What had happened to Harry, though? If this… Quirinus had been killed, then was his godson alright?

As if his mind had been read, that exact question was asked next, "What is this bit about Harry Potter, though? How is the boy supposed to have stopped… well, Quirinus from getting the magical artifact?"

"As to that, I am as clueless as you are. Heard that he almost died, though, - had to spend three days in the Hospital wing. He experienced severe magic exhaustion and sustained first degree burns on his hands, I'm told. They were sure that he wasn't going to make it. But he surprised everyone - again, I might add- and survived; barely. It was a magical miracle, according to Bones. And this is not for the first time the lad has been in danger, apparently. A troll was let in to Hogwarts once during Halloween and Harry, along with a friend, fought it off, though nothing happened to him then. He is either extremely brave or extremely foolish, or both."

Sirius's heart awoke at the words and hammered strongly, painfully in his chest. A long forgotten feeling awoke in his heart them, and grew steadily, until it was burning, and then it began burning so harshly that it seared his heart to life. It took him a long moment to identify the feeling, but then it came to him; it was anger, pure, raging, righteous anger, and it burned in him until he was seeing red. He knew he was a shadow of a man, a pale shade of what he had once been- but even now, at his lowest low, when he was treading the edge of the abyss to insanity, he knew with complete certainty that Harry had no place fighting battles at Hogwarts. He knew Harry had no place fighting Dark Wizards or trolls. Harry, his godson, had no business being injured and almost dying when he was 11 years old.

"If you ask me, I think Quirinus got greedy and decided to mess around with magic he didn't understand, and died as a result – and poor Potter was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time." The footsteps, and the voices, faded as the guards took the stairs downwards.

Padfoot transformed into Sirius and slowly, laboriously, for the first time in months, stood up as a man. He began to pace slowly, his mind whirring. His thoughts were sluggish at first, but they became clearer as he forced himself to think.

He ignored, with some effort, the dark cloud of depression that whispered in his ear to just give up, that he wasn't strong enough for this, nor had he ever been. Only his godson's tiny face as he had last seen it, and the images of James and Lily laughing in his mind, gave him strength to keep the darkness at bay.

Harry was not being protected or looked after well enough and he was clearly risking his neck needlessly, when older and more experienced wizards, like Dumbledore, should be handling the problems. Not that he could blame Harry – after all, James and Sirius had been exactly like that at his age. But he and James had never been in serious life-and-death situations, nor had they ever come close to dying when they had been 11.

Sirius frowned and stopped pacing, staring at the scrabbly wall of his cell.

It was not as if he had expected Dumbledore to actually protect Harry. If it was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that that man was eccentric, and not infallible. He was a brilliant man, it was true, but he seemed to think that his intelligence and experience somehow entitled him to meddle in and control the lives of others. He was prone to "guiding" his charges, even when no guidance was necessary, or wanted.

Sirius was not stupid enough to think so much could have happened under the man's nose without his knowledge, and probably his consent. He thought over the guards words, struggling to cobble the information together in his mind. Dumbledore had stored an artifact at the school, with full knowledge that someone could, and probably would, come after it. Sirius did not doubt that Voldemort was alive – he had been there that night, he had felt the strange magic in the air, he had felt a weak tainted presence whisper by him as he had arrived, just a minute too late, to save his friends. He hadn't paid it much heed then – he hadn't paid much heed to anything, including Harry, to his lasting regret- but he knew with certainty that Voldemort hadn't died.

Dumbledore was many things, but he did not lie, and if he said Voldemort had possessed Quirinus, then Sirius believed him.

Sirius muttered a harsh curse under his breath as he realized the implications of Voldemort being alive. Sirius had known the prophecy, he knew that Voldemort considered his godson the greatest threat to his continued existence and he would not rest until he was dead. And now, it seemed, Voldemort was trying to rise to power again. And he would manage to do so soon enough, Sirius thought, if Dumbledore played his foolish games and listened to stupid prophecies. If he knew the old man, and Sirius did know him better than most, he wouldn't interfere too much with Voldemort's rise. He would actually allow Voldemort to come back and face Harry, believing it to be pre-ordained.

And Harry would have to face the monster by himself. An unwelcome image of his godson, murdered, his small body lying bleeding and lifeless on the floor, came into his mind in response to his fears.

Other dark memories came in the wake of this troubling image.

The dam broke and tears fell from his eyes, fast and furious, as he remembered his dead friends, his dead family. James lying in the hallway, his glasses askew, his brown eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, his beloved wand lying, snapped into two, beside his head.

Lily, her beautiful red hair askew, spread-eagled on the floor of the nursery, her eyes closed, her hands clasped together on her stomach, as if in prayer.

And Harry, silent, his wide, expressive green eyes peering at him trustingly, bleeding from a gash in his forehead- but strangely, miraculously, alive!

That memory of Harry, still alive, gave him hope.

His family wasn't all dead- Harry still remained. But for how long?

Sirius forced himself to think again. Sirius had possessed one of the greatest minds in the Wizarding world, he had been told. He had been feared for his intelligence as much as for his magical power in his prime. But he knew he had lost much of his mental acuity, bit by bit, in Azkaban.

Even so, he was not an unintelligent man, even now. He may have lost his pride here, his arrogance, but his intelligence remained, rusty but functioning.

Dumbledore had been hoping to either draw Voldemort out, and, as far as Sirius knew, he had done nothing to trap or kill him. This could only mean that Dumbledore was actually training Harry. He was allowing him to test his strength, allowing his godson to risk his life, allowing the only living remainder of his family to face one of the greatest Dark Lords the world had ever known without the support of a 100 Aurors at his side.

Sirius let out a growl of frustration, more animal than human.

Sirius had always been skeptical of the prophecy, but he had to admit it had come true, in a way. But he still did not believe that Harry should have to face Voldemort on his own- not when he was still in school, at any rate. The prophecy said nothing about when Voldemort had to killed, or if Harry had to do it alone. Nor did the prophecy say anything about Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters.

Sirius, if he had it his way, would kill ever last Death Eater that threatened his godson, dance on their dead bodies and drink their blood if that's what it took to keep Harry safe. Even if the prophecy was true and Harry had to be the one to kill the Dark Lord, Sirius would injure Voldemort so severely that he wouldn't be able to so much as move his little finger, let alone raise his wand against Harry, when the time came.

Sirius smiled. If the Dark Lord had seen him then, he would have put serious thought into finding a new profession… far, far away from England.

Sirius, however, knew he could do nothing here, trapped in Azkaban. He would have to get out first, recover his strength and bide his time.

But how would he go about doing that?

He began to pace in his tiny cell again, muttering under his breath. Slowly the germ of an idea began to sprout in his head. It wouldn't be easy, but he had nothing to lose at this point. He would have only one chance to get it right, though.

Padfoot lay crouched against the walls of his cell. The dog's mouth was bared in a growl and his emaciated body was stretched taut, thin muscles straining, ready for a leap.

The sound of footsteps came to his door again. It was time again for his feeding. The door opened smoothly and the light of a Lumos shone inside.

"Here you go… AAAAAH,"

Instead of human eyes, the light of the spell had fallen on the eyes of a feral Grimm, which shone with a horrifying otherworldly light.

Padfoot pounced on the Auror with a primal growl that seemed to shake the walls of the cell. His weight, even in the state he was in, and the power of the leap was enough to easily bowl the man over, hard. The man fell helplessly backwards, still screaming. His head banged against the floor with a sickening crack. His wand slipped out of his suddenly lax grip and went rolling across the floor.

The other guard was still staring in shock at the terrifying Grimm that had suddenly appeared and downed his partner. His wand was clutched, forgotten, in a shaking hand against his side. Before he could recover his wits, Padfoot, in one of the fastest transformations in his life that was fueled primarily by adrenaline, instead of jumping on the second guard, jumped after the wand. He transformed in midair, snagged the wand, executed a tight roll and stood on his feet. He whipped around in the same motion and, with a huge effort of will and determination, shot the weakest stunner he had ever shot in his life against the second guard,

"Stupefy."

The second guard fell to the feeble red light, his mouth open and staring stupidly in shock.

Sirius collapsed where he stood, panting. Thin beads of sweat dripped down his face and a black mist threatened his vision. His breathing was ragged, and his lungs burned as if they were on fire. He took a moment to gather himself, as best he could. He would not last long before he fell unconscious. His body was on its last legs.

He slowly rose to his feet and shuffled across to the door, staring down at the guards. The first guard was moaning weakly and clutching at his head, but didn't seem to realize what had happened. The second guard was still unconscious, but the stunner had been week and Sirius did not expect it to be long before he recovered.

He gathered the thin remnants of his magic to himself.

"Obliviate," he whispered once, tiredly, pointing his wand on the guard that was clutching his head. He had to fight his magic to get it down the wand, which felt warm to the touch. Magic had come to him so easily once, he thought sadly, and now he had less power than a Hogwarts first year. It felt good to hold a wand, though, after all these years, and he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his mouth.

The guard wouldn't remember anything of the last hour. He should have done more, like pull the memory out of his mind entirely instead of burying it, but he was barely standing as it was. He would just have to trust to the usual Ministry incompetence.

The hallway outside was clean and brightly lit, in stark contrast to the hellhole that was his cell. Nobody had heard the guards scream. He could sense several Dementors at the end of the hallway. Security, even in the most secure wing in the prison, was lax. After all, nobody expected a bunch of half-dead madmen to put up resistance of any kind.

Sirius gathered his magic to himself again. He would somehow have to find the energy to cast two more spells, the last he would manage that day.

If anything went wrong with his plan, he would be killed or, worse, Kissed. He just felt tired, though – he wasn't afraid of anything much anymore, least of all death. Death would be a welcome relief at this point. If he was going to die, at least it would be on his terms.

Sirius pointed the wand, which shook with barely repressed tremors, to the second guard and muttered,

"Enervate."

The guard woke with a gasp, blinking.

Before he could understand what was going on, Sirius shot another spell at him, with a tired flick of his wand, "Imperio."

The Auror, who were trained to throw off two of the Unforgivables as part of his standard training, tried to shake it off. Sirius, however, batted his will aside as easily as if it had been the will of a baby. He had held on to his sanity for 11 years of torturous hell with his will alone, and it had been strong to begin with. Now, he doubted there were many alive who could match the strength of his will.

Sirius clutched at the wall for support and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He willed the man to levitate his fallen companion inside and stun him, come out and close the door behind him. The guard followed his instructions to the letter and soon stood in front of Sirius, staring stupidly.

Sirius instructed the guard to cast glamours on him that would make Sirius look like the downed guard.

Sirius then willed the man to help him walk down the hallway. The guard put his arm around Sirius obediently and, together, they slowly began moving. Sirius shuddered and shook as the Dementors came near. The guard, in respond to another willed command, cast his Patronus. A silvery hare shot out of his wand and began circling the two men. Sirius, for the first time in 11 years, felt the warmth of happiness, but it was not his own.

The Dementors, apart from falling back several steps in response to the Patronus, did not pay them any heed. Two human guards had walked in and now two human guards were walking out, though one of them appeared oddly weak. They felt no concern over it.

Sirius stood staring out at the dark grey waters of the seething ocean. Azkaban loomed behind him, tall, strong and foreboding. He had sent the guard back, but hadn't removed the Imperius curse. He would use the guard for a while more before releasing him. He would need to know when the Ministry discovered his escape and the reaction it generated. He could use a spy in the Ministry.

Sirius walked to the edge of the cliff and peered down disinterestedly. A hundred feet below, waves crashed against a wall of rocks in a mass of white foam. He had found out from the guard that the wards on Azkaban did not extend to the base of the island.

Sirius silently threw himself in a dive off the cliff. His eyes closed of their own accord from the force of the wind, which pressed against his body and whipped his hair about. A second before he would be spattered against the rocks he disappeared with a pop.

He reappeared in front of a building that vied for the top spot with Azkaban in his list of the most hated buildings of the world.

He staggered to the door, wincing as the wave of wards washed over him uncomfortably. He was surprised. His mother hadn't blocked him from the house, then. Maybe she had been impressed with him when he had helped kill the Potters.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Darkness greeted him. From what little light fell inside the door, he could see a mass of cobwebs in front of him. Nobody had been here in years.

"Kreacher," he spat out. He could feel the elf in the house. It could only mean that the elf, and the property, had been left to him. His stretch of bad luck seemed to be still going strong.

There was a loud crack as the wretched elf appeared in front of him. The elf looked at him in surprise, which changed to slowly-building rage.

"So, the blood-traitor Master returns. The time it has spent in Azkaban seems to have been good for him. Kreacher is glad. Kreacher wonders how filthy Master has managed to wriggle his way out of Azkaban, though…" the elf began to mutter under its breath.

Sirius kicked out at the elf with a grunt, catching him on the side. His bare feet did no damage to him, however, and he might as well not have bothered. Kreacher looked as if he wanted to jump on Sirius and kill him, but instead stood ramrod straight before him, his tiny frame quivering in rage.

Before the elf could insult him again, Sirius ground out his orders, slowly and carefully, leaving no loophole he could think of, "Kreacher, you are not to speak to anyone about me until I tell you otherwise. You are not to contact anyone in any way, shape or form and relay information about me. You are forbidden to leave this house until I tell you otherwise…"

The elf opened his mouth to respond, his eyes spitting venom, but Sirius interrupted him firmly, "You are not to speak in my presence. You will stay away from me until I call you. Do you understand? Nod if you understood."

The elf nodded slowly, looking like the simple gesture would kill it.

"Good. Now, I want you to light a fire in the living room and find me some Floo powder."

The elf's eyes widened in glee- Sirius realized his mistake almost too late.

"Wait. Do not burn down the room," he growled, "Light a normal, yellow fire in the grate that cannot harm me or the house in any way."

The elf nodded mutely, looking as if it wanted to puke in disgust, put raised his hands and popped away.

"Devious bugger…" Sirius muttered.

Sirius, with his last remaining strength, struggled his way into the living room. A bright fire was already burning there.

He plopped down on a chair that looked as if it hadn't been used, or cleaned, in years. He ignored the filth- he was used to worse. The warmth of a fire washed over him, helping clear his head and lessening the intensity of the tremors that were shaking his tired body.

He waited for the elf to appear impatiently, staring into the fire.

Kreacher apparated next to him the next minute with a pop and mutely extended a half-full jar of Floo powder towards him. Sirius glanced at the jar suspiciously, but couldn't find anything wrong with it.

"Go to your cupboard, you filth," he snapped out, finally taking the jar.

The elf disappeared with a pop, giving him a look that should have killed him on the spot.

He threw a pinch of the powder into the crackling flames and muttered, "Lupin's Cottage,"

He could only hope his old, traitorous friend hadn't changed his residence.

He poked his head inside the fire tiredly, falling out of his chair to his knees with the effort. He was greeted to a sight of a threadbare room, with furniture that looked worn-out, but clean. It was clearly still in use.

His eyes flicked to the side. A man sat in a chair in the corner, his frame stiffened in shock. An open book lay forgotten in his lap. The man had hair that was flecked with grey, and had a face that was much lined, but appeared kind nonetheless.

He was staring at Sirius with a mingled expression of amazement, fury, betrayal, acceptance, determination and some more shock. His expression then morphed into a look of extreme loathing.

He whipped his wand out in a blindingly fast motion and pointed it at Sirius and screamed, "Avada Kedavra,"

Sirius sighed. The green light whizzed towards him and crashed through his forehead, straight into fireplace he was looking out of. A few logs snapped with the power of the curse, but there was no other visible damage.

"I hope that felt good," Sirius growled to the man.

Remus appeared to have calmed down. He slowly brought his wand arm down and said quietly, "It did. I wanted to do that for a long time. I hate to say it, but some part of me rejoices to see you here, Padfoot. But most of me wishes you dead. You better leave before I track you down and kill you."

"You were never one for dramatics, but I can see that has changed, Moony. You look like hell, by the way. Almost as bad as me, and that's saying something."

A grimace passed over Remus' face, but he hid the anguish he felt over being called that name well.

"What do you want, Black?" he spat out, injecting venom and hidden meaning into the word.

"Ouch, that was low, Moony. You really know how to hit where it hurts," Sirius said sarcastically.

Remus's lips twitched, despite himself.

Remus realized what he had been about to do and got up to his feet in a fury, as angry at Sirius as he was at himself, "What do you want, you fucking traitor? Isn't it enough that you had to destroy everyone's life? Have you come to gloat now? Or to kill me, perhaps?"

He didn't even bother about asking him how he had escaped from Azkaban.

Sirius glared at him, "I am not the fucking traitor, you fucking wolf- you are. I have rotted away in Azkaban for a decade, and I received not one fucking letter from you, not one fucking visit, not even one fucking curse before today. Did you care so little?"

"No," Sirius said decisively to Remus, who had been caught flatfooted with this line of questioning, before he could say anything, "Don't tell me, I don't want to hear it. I don't fucking care. You owe me a life-debt, Lupin, and I'm calling it in, now. You will help me recover and you won't breathe a word about me to anyone else. You can step through anytime,"

Sirius pulled his head out of the fire, relaxed the wards to let Lupin through and then lay down on the floor, completely spent. He knew Moony would do as he asked- he couldn't ignore the old magic.

Sirius closed his eyes and fell fast asleep; possibly unconscious.