So here we have chapter 1 of my new story, it will be very long and the chapters are all about this length, I hope this puts no one off. As I was writing this I just got more and more ideas and plot twists and I promise it is nothing like you have ever read before – though everyone says that too. This is Sirius-centric. Disclaimer and all that – please review xxx

Summary: Sirius escaped after one year, bitter, and very powerful, he sets out to collect his Godson and enact his revenge on those who forsake him and starts a whole revolution hunting down every death eater that should have been imprisoned in his place.

I'm not crazy – I just smile this way – Sirius groaned, holding his pounding head tightly in his dirty hands. He sat in the corner of his cell on the cold stone floor, a place he preferred since it was furthest away from the door and the Dementors. He also preferred to keep his face hidden in his hands, as it prevented him from having to feel like the four tall stone walls of the cell were closing in on him all of the time, especially in the dim-darkness. The only light coming into the cell was that shining in from the hallway between the bars, and it only allowed Sirius to make out the shapes of the items in his cell amongst the shadows. A toilet in the opposite corner that loved to run over and a ragged pad of a mattress that sat flat on the floor opposite the toilet.

The mattress was yellow and thin and held a holey cotton blanket so dirty dust flew off of it whenever Sirius pulled it over himself; it was not as if they ran a laundry service for those dangerous murderers with life sentences, and nothing else. No pillow, no sheets. The lack of sheets did not affect him much but the 'no pillow' was not something he'd ever get used to, but it was no matter. He did not want to close his eyes in this place anyway, so he made do with a small blanket round his shoulders because the institution was fucking freezing what with the dementors floating around haunting the place. It was on that musty mattress with the blanket pulled over him that he would lie awake and stare into the darkness, resting, because one did not sleep in Azkaban, so moving as little as possible was the only option.

Sirius didn't know what he was feeling when he was arrested. Either he had not known at the time and consequently did not know now, or he had forgotten. It was more likely the latter, that is what Azkaban did after all, made one forget, made one forgets one's happy memories, and for those who learnt to search for the silver lining, all of one's memories. It made one forget family and friends and, or at least, those who were once kin, one's past, one's presence as it has already taken your future. It was designed to make one lose everything, a just dessert for dangerous criminals, one's hope, one's dreams, one's sense of self, and one's mind. It was a black hole, you can't escape from it, and you'd be a fool to try, no one had managed yet. Even being caught thinking too much would just make the dreaded kiss come sooner

That was all anyone ever wanted. The dementors, so that they could have something to eat, it was what they fed off after all, what they craved and hunted whether it was authorised or not. The prison guards and the minister so that they did not have to worry about dangerous thoughts and plotting because if they did not lose their minds quick enough for the kiss to be allowed then something like escape might happen. That must be why the place was so horrible, so people gave up quicker, so the minister could authorise the kiss again and again... Then there was the public, it was almost amusing to them, like hangings being the only entertainment in the olden days, he being kissed and locked away like a stored file in a drawer gave them a sense of safety.

He could not even remember those first short months; or distinguish them from the others that succeeded them, everything was the same once you got to Azkaban, as was everyone, you did not deserve a name, you lost that with everything else. It was the same mix of number labels, dirt, cold gruel, darkness, freezing temperatures and dusty blankets. Day in day out, you wake up after a long night of almost sleepless tossing and turning on a concrete floor, you pace and you pace, you eat, you shit, in that order. For the dangerous ones like him who were not allowed to leave his cell, he did not wash, he did not talk to the other inmates, and he never saw anything outside the four walls and the bars on his 'cage'. He thought, maybe they were trying to get him to forget there even was anything outside the cell, he may as well, he was never going to see the outside world again.

But for some reason he did not want to forget, not when he was innocent, not when he had a life out there that he deserved to continue. Maybe he had not been feeling anything at all when the ministry came, numb with shock, just as blank and numerous shells here who had been kissed. He wondered how many of them deserved it, and if there were any others locked up who should not be because there certainly were several who should be here that were walking free. He certainly felt numb now, perhaps that was why they had managed to drag him off to jail so calmly, he certainly couldn't remember kicking or screaming any for all the good it would have done anyway. He should have run, that was a big regret of his, that he had stayed and let it all become too much that he laughed when he should have run.

He could remember the laughter very clearly. Sirius let a small humourless smile crawl onto his lips, ah yes, his crazy laughter. Peter had just blown up a street of muggles after cutting his own finger off and escaping down a sewer as a rat. He could not believe it, little useless Peter Pettigrew who followed him and James around in school until they enveloped him into their gang turned out to be the traitor and the spy. Little nerdy Peter Pettigrew succeeded in framing him for the murder of his best friend, his brother, and now he was going to be the one carted off the Azkaban and for some reason he found it all so crazy and absurdly funny, all he could do was laugh. He supposed he had done it because it would have been out of character to scream or cry and that was where that saying came from so what came forth were great bellows of laughter.

He had not exactly helped matters in that respect. He could remember being calm, asking Fudge about his paper simply because amazingly even after the explosion he was still alive to read it (and disturbingly unscathed which was why he was immediately prime suspect, shortly after, the only suspect). He remembered stupidly remarking how cold it had gotten as they approached Azkaban, simply because he was alive to detect the temperature change, it screamed 'crazy' to the world. His mind had caught up with what was happening once he was locked in Azkaban and only then did he realize that he had not been given a trial. He realised how all the evidence pointed to him and he had no loving family to help him, he had no chance. Even though he was innocent and knew this was not fair he just sat there.

He should have felt betrayed by the law he felt so hard to stick to, but he did not, he just felt angry. That anger simmered, eating away at his insides until it turned into an obsession so his trust and loyalty diminished and he yearned to turn his back on the world that abandoned him. Suddenly Peter was not the only one to blame and not the only one he wanted to get back at. He felt anger at everyone who was responsible for landing him here. He felt anger at the death eaters and Voldemort for being such a menace in the first place and soon after Tom Riddle came Malfoy, Nott, Avery and Peter and others who were right hand men still roaming free. And it was not just the ones who were guilty of heinous crimes he wanted to bring to retribution.

Anger simmered at Remus, Minerva, Hagrid and Dumbledore whom he'd assumed were his friends but did nothing to help, did not even stop to think that someone so good hearted and close to the Potters would turn around and murdered them. Then there was Fudge, he was another matter entirely, he did not even know how to bring retribution to him if given the chance. It stung that someone could be so obviously corrupt just because locking him away filled a gap and it needed to be filled in order for the ministry to look as if it was working so the public did not panic when the reasons to panic were still at large. It was ridiculous that he'd sell out the Potters. It was sick, it was hurtful, it was wrong... the grin widened, it would have to be... rectified.

For a month he'd lain there, will to live and continue, diminished, he had no one and nothing left to live for so there was no point taking care of himself. Nobody came to make sure he ate the meagre scraps thrown at him or wash himself with the stagnant water in the smelly sink provided, part of him wanted to die and another part already had. But his body just refused to give up completely, no matter how ill he got he always recovered, no matter how hungry he always found himself willing to eat. His body refused to die, he was too strong, his magic too stubborn and only recently did he realise it must be for some sort of purpose. Everybody wanted him to rot and now he was paying for Peter's crimes everyone seemed happier, at least, that is what he was told.

He did not want to listen to Gate Master but it was the only voice he heard as spiteful and as distasteful as it was and he told him of the people's views on the outside world he would never again alight his eyes on. It seemed stupid now how once he had been willing to do anything for the only man who took time to see him to pay him any sort of affection or acceptance. How when he first appeared he had cried out his innocence in the sanest voice he could muster because even if he never got out of here he just wanted someone to speak. Even if nothing in particular was said, to just here another's voice would be prize enough. Like drawing someone out of a coma he wanted him to be spoken too and soon learnt he was safest when left alone.

Once the lesson of how hostile the world was to him now was reinforced, his condition diminished further. He grew thin, he was unwashed, happy thoughts and memories diminished, you become a shell of a man. Azkaban was a prison designed to make one lose their mind. Once one gives up hope, the body is the first part of what makes up a wizard to wither into nothing. After all, why bother to eat and wash and generally take care of yourself if you have no chance to be rescued from hell? One has no future or chances or opportunities in Azkaban, it is not a place of gain for you only ever lose what you have, whatever you have and however little you own.

The second thing to go is the eyes, dulling until they are empty voids, the window to the soul which is next to go, closes long before it is crushed. Once there is nothing left to live for there is no need for one, a dementor did not have to kiss you for it to be sucked from your body. It is unsurprising that the magic within you follows into that which is lost. Your wand is confiscated a and snapped, and you have no need to use magic in prison anyway, once your mind is lost, the very existence of it could become a myth to you like it is to muggles until your very identity no longer exits. What you are left with is unclear, he had not seen what a human looked like once he was stripped down to the basest of forms, and he did not wish to, unless it was Peter Pettigrew.

He figured it was a fate worse than death, to sit there rocking back and forth in your cell, lost in the depth of pain and despair, soulless, no magic, body a withered up shell, not even enough sanity left to consider suicide, the only way out of the torment. He was almost ready to give up but his core refused to lose the battle and become the frightening figure he imagined. If he surrendered to self pity then his soul would die and his magic shrivel up, his magic was not prepared to let that happen. Clearly the most stubborn part of him, it was something he listened to more often than he listened to instincts which never led him astray unlike his magic which was linked to his marauder side which often did. It screamed he still had purpose and then continued to show him what that purpose was or more accurately who.

It bombarded him with images of the one thing that gave him hope and determination, the one thing he had left, the one thing he could never feel any hate or anger or bitterness towards like the rest of the world, little Harry. He believed he had nothing left to live for but that was not true because Harry was always there, a constant to remind him that not all was lost. Harry may be with a new loving family now and may not need him, may not even remember him, but Sirius refused to abandon his Godson and would not let the world take away the only one he had left. The love of and for an innocent could do amazing things, even save the sanity of a blackened heart created in Azkaban by those once loved as family.

He picked himself up off his cell floor and fished himself from the dark never ending recesses of his mind. Despite the limited space one was allowed in a cell, he continued exercising in his small room to keep his body in good condition, press ups, sit ups, whatever he could think of, hard to do with so little food in him, but he could fatten up once he escaped and he would find a way to do so eventually. A healthy body is the key to a healthy mind as people say; at least, they are linked, and he happened to be very fond of his body. He did not give up hope so his mind never fell to ruin, this was difficult, but he was innocent and had people he loved, as long as he had something left to live for there was never a chance he'd lose.

His soul was kept safe locked within him and he made sure the fire within him shone through his eyes like a beacon which showed he was not going to play by the ministry's rules. It was not a happy thought, simply truth and the reason to keep fighting so the dementors could never steal it. Because of this, his magic remained in top form. In this fact, he remained fearless of the dementors. He did have to note though that fate smiled on him to make this last fact true. If someone had told him it could ever happen he'd have laughed, but that was becoming true in a lot of aspects of his life recently. He'd have never though Peter would betray him and James and Lily, he'd have never thought he'd be arrested for it without even a trial for God knows what reason.

There was one problem with going to collect his Godson, he was locked up. Sirius' eyes gleamed, well then, he would just have to break out, of course this is easier said than done. Well, just because nobody had done it before did not mean the feat was impossible, just damn hard. He was a marauder; he did not balk in the face of the improbable. Only doing what was expected of him was not how the map was created, or how some of the greatest pranks were ever pulled, or how three fifteen year olds turned into illegal animagi in secret around classes and snuck out to the shrieking shack in Hogsmeade every lunar cycle. Being conventional for a wizard was not just boring, it was inhibiting, restraints were put in place for safety too, admittedly, but what was life without a little risk? Again, damn boring.

He took up a piece of stale bread from the floor of his cell, knocked off the impurities with his fingers and tore into it with his teeth. It was hard and didn't taste good, but it was all he had so he was going to have to make do. He felt like the animal he was feasting on scraps like these, he was in a half mind to go hungry – even hungrier, but he needed the energy. One did not practise and perform magic without anything to fuel them and wand-less or no, magic was needed in order to escape and to carry out the tasks he needed to once he broke out. Oh yes, a bloodthirsty smile of malice crept over his features and he finished the bread, once he got out of this place he would hunt down those who had forsaken him and he would make them pay.

The dementors seemed to sense his smile and flocked over to suck at his form, but it was not a happy thought no matter how much sick amusement he derived from it. It could not be extricated from him, only the happy ones satisfied them, they would have to hunt elsewhere, let another more deserving victim sooth their never satiated hunger. No, the smile he harboured was much like the one he wore the day he was arrested, and the smiled death eaters wore, it reached his eyes yes, but it was dark laughter. So this thought would reside in his mind and he would let it grow into an obsession, and if it turned him a little mad in the end... what better place to fall into insanity than the very place the criminally, incurably insane are sent to rot?

For the next month, he observed. The guards had no faces, they detected people through their emotions and could not distinguish between convict or no, well he knew that already. There were a copious number of dementors as there was no other place for them in the world, they were too dangerous. In comparison, the human guards, for there did have to be some, were few and far between, working there simply because there were no other options. It was a job that paid extremely well to make up for the bad working atmosphere. Dementors were not exactly the friendliest of colleagues and would try to suck out anyone's soul. This made him smile again, there was no love lost between him and the guards as the inmates locked in here had done terrible things and were treated accordingly, the had to cast like 5 patronus' a day.

There was a guard who delivered food once a day, only once; Sirius was led to believe this was his only job. He passed by his cell in the evening which meant he was furthest away from his quarters and nearest the door/path to freedom, he noticed his plate was always one of the last on the trolley. There was also a guard stationed at the main entrance, he was not allowed out of his cell, the only reason he knew this was because that man had made it his duty to make his stay in Azkaban as unpleasant as possible and was succeeding, as well as hardening him. He did not have to worry about any others when the time came for him to execute his great escape; they either did not exist or were working in other areas of the prison so posed no problem.

Once this month was over and he was pretty sure where people were stationed he moved onto the next phase of his plan. The minister of magic was arriving soon on his annual visit, and he could honestly say he was looking forward to it. That same malicious smile wove into his features again and the dementors stayed away from the insanity they could sense emitting from it. That minister was one of the first on his list of who needed to pay his just desserts. 'Well until then...' Sirius crossed his legs and closed his eyes, letting a look of complete peace come over him. He was going to meditate, one could not sleep, and resting did nothing, this killed time and honed his magic. There was nothing to do in Azkaban except wait for the next drama.

Over the next week he spent about 10 hours sleeping, actually sleeping, 4 hours pacing, 1 hour eating and drinking, and 150 meditating. Wand-less it was difficult to practise his rightful gift, and it was not blocked, it was just widely believed he could not use it anymore, but magic does not come from the instrument given to wield it, it comes from deep within you, it is a part of you. Completing magical spells is essentially learning to harness yourself. Magic is a skill, so like all skills it can be achieved, improved and eventually mastered, a wand was just a placebo, fancy movements and incantations implemented so one does not need to learn to harness one's energy and spend time instead peering into textbooks. Remus was the one who taught him how to meditate; he learnt it to make the transformation less painful, now he was going to learn it to access his magic.

The minister passed by his cells about 9am, he was waiting for him. He knew Fudge would not pass up an opportunity to come by and gloat; after all, they had captured him so quickly in their blind desperation to appear competent. "Good morning Black," he said with a polite smile, "you're looking well." That smug look made him want to turn into a dog, lunge at him and rip his face off, but he forced himself to be calm because really, whilst behind bars what could he do except reveal he was an illegal animagus and possibly lose the only chance he had of getting out of this place? It was a battle of wits for now, making the smartest comment, because that was the only way to win against the minister. He could always come back and kill him when he was sleeping once he escaped, that brought the crazy smile back on his face.

"I'm feeling well minister," he replied in an identical tone as if he wasn't oppressed, hungry, tired, dirty, and every other negative adjective one wanted to apply. He really wasn't feeling any of this because he had enacted the childish notion of if he closed his eyes and believed it hard enough it would become truth. He had always read to escape when a child and wanted to get away from his mother's hard hand in discipline and the flawed honourable beliefs of his whole family. It only worked temporarily, and here in jail all he had were his memories, that were slowly being sucked away from him, he tried to concentrate on them, he tried to remain up and closed his eyes and dreamt, though he'd admit it had yet to work. "The dementors are being most hospitable and the food is good, it is a little cramped, but I'm... keeping a level head."

Fudge, for all he lacked in wits despite how much he liked to battle with them, knew a verbal slap when one hit him in the face, and all the barbs he may have had set up for him died before they even reached his lips. 'That's right arsehole', he thought, 'I've only been here three months, I am not going to give into insanity so easily, even though the strongest usually only last two years, then again, I'm not planning on staying that long'. The smile he wore may not have been the sanest or most believable but it served its purpose and made him flinch despite the fact that he was the one in power and Sirius was the being behind the bars – not for long though. It has been decided: the minister of magic was going to be one of the first to pay.

Sirius struck again while he was still stuttering and floundering like a wild goose. "I was wondering if I could ask you a favour actually," Sirius said, holding the bars in a casual manner, speaking in a conversational tone just because it was an extra slap. Sirius had liked poking fun at the ministry even before he became a criminal; one upping the minister of magic even whilst in Azkaban was not an opportunity he would give up. "You see, I get ever so bored in here, not much to do you know, so I was hoping you could spare me your copy of the Daily Prophet, if you're finished with it of course." At Fudge's astounded look Sirius flashed him a toothy grin and elaborated, "I miss doing the daily cross word," he threw in a small 'please-believe-me' smile.

As expected, Fudge rose to the principles raised by his inner Griffindor and he conceded to the better man and gave him his prize, along with a pencil. The paper was not just designed to be a mental work out; the crossword was too easy for that to be the case, had been for years now, no, it was for magic practise. Once the minister was gone he extended his hand towards the paper and with a twist of will it flew to him. He smiled in triumph, he had not needed an incantation and barely even used much magic, he was hardly tired. However making it burn was proving to be too difficult a challenge, while he could probably do it with an incantation, the whole point was that he was doing magic without them, no, he needed to meditate some more.

In the old days, wizards could learn to meditate for days – that was how Merlin grew to be so powerful. He was so in touch with his core that he had the power to level cities and had the wisdom to refrain from doing so. Merlin was a legend in the wizarding world, he was the greatest to have ever lived, there was very little he could not do. He proved the impossible to be improbable, the only thing he could not do was slam a revolving door although he might very well have tried, at least he would have done if they existed back then. He'd become an exclamation of surprise, 'Oh Merlin' and 'Merlin's beard' and 'what in the name of Merlin'. Of course he did not quite have that much power, or the time to harness it, the longer he was here, the longer his Godson was away from him, he just needed enough to get out of here.

It would not have taken him as long as it did to harness his energy as it did if not for the pesky problem of the Gate Master. He took great torment in hurting him and while most of the time he could just close his eyes and meditate, hoping he would just go away, it did not always work. It was when he threw stones at him from outside to get his attention that was the final straw. His eyes flew open and in a second he was at the bars, grabbing onto them with all four limbs, snarling and growling at him with unconcealed rage. Even though he was locked up, the inhuman gleam in his eyes made him jump back, frightened and he left him alone for the day, but Sirius knew he was going to come back, and come back harder.

He would have given anything to be Peter in that moment so he could turn into a rat and slip through the bars and eat him alive. If there were no bars there in that moment he would not have run, he would have stayed to finish him off, even if it meant he was in solitary for the rest of his life, even if it meant he got the kiss. The Gate Master got his revenge by indirect means, his meagre meals stopped arriving and he grew from thin to skinny and his desire to meditate was no longer there, he was just too irritable to concentrate on anything. He ended up actually sleeping even more because he did not have the energy to keep his eyes open. Only when he was about to waste away altogether did they start to come once more.

It was one full moon when he finally lost every shred of control he'd gained. It was also Remus' birthday and even though he was not as fond of the wolf for abandoning him as he had been, he still loved him, and he was all alone. Even after school he and James and Peter would still go and spend the night with him. And once James was with Lily and Peter kept saying he could not make it, (he now knew it was because he was running after Voldemort), he always had Sirius to stand by him and full moon was not just the best times of Remus' life, but his too, and now they both had to spend it alone, and it wasn't right. But despite how sad the experience had started, it ended in a moment of pure exuberance that had him yipping for joy.

Overcome by the emotion of such loneliness, he turned into a dog, pointed his snout to the sky and howled to the night. If he closed his eyes and perked his ears he could almost hear Remus howling back to him. It was the first time he'd turned into a dog since being arrested and he'd forgotten how carefree and graceful he felt. He crept towards the bars and realized just how thin he'd become, his ribs poked through his skin and with a squeeze he could probably just about fit through the cracks. He turned back into a human and stroked the bars like one would a much loved pet, to think that all this time all he had to do was flick to his animagus form, and lose a pound or twenty. The smile that crawled onto his face this time was nothing but joy.

He picked up the paper he still had and closed his eyes, with a twitch of will the paper was gone and in its place was a large black cloak. Ah yes, every marauder was particularly good at something, that was what made them such a formidable team so that even some of the teachers just steered clear. He was good at Transfiguration which was useful in this instance. James had been good at Quidditch and defence against the dark arts, a true Griffindor at heart, and a wonderful auror, although he'd been better than average as well. With Remus it was rather amusingly care of magical creatures but also anything that could be learnt via textbook, he'd always been bright that way, Lily's area of expertise had been charms, and she was quite good at hexes too. Peter's area had been Potions – he always knew he was meant to be a Slytherin.

With a smile he held it up to his eyes and examined it for a moment, satisfied, he threaded it through the bars, eyes darting left and right to make sure he was not being observed by anyone. As quickly and as easily as he'd flicked forms before his arrest he turned into a dog, followed it through the bars with a squeeze, turned back into a human and threw it over his form. The dementors started to converge on him immediately, sensing him exiting his cell, well they were the guards. He vaguely remembered that when he'd been a dog, howling, the dementors floated past him as if he was not there at all, it must be because as a dog one does not feel the same as a person, and detecting human emotions is how a dementor sees.

He prepared to change once more so they would simply glide right past him confused as to where their ready meal went but stopped, no, he wanted to test out his magic; it could do with a real workout. Even without a wand he should still be in touch with his core enough to do this although an incantation would be necessary for a first try seeming as he had not done it for a while; he'd been practising for nine months even with all of the... distractions. He should be ready to cast a spell like this despite the hunger, his instincts had been screaming at him to do so ever since he was brought here. He raised his arms above his head, willing the magic pumping in his veins to flow to his fingers and obey him so he would be able to complete this extra ordinary feat.

Now he did not have a wand he did not know if the incantation would be useless or whether they were both unnecessary to begin with, but he felt more confident saying it. "Expecto Patronum!" He bellowed, not caring who heard, and a huge werewolf shot from his hands in silver glory and roared at the dementors to stay away! He had forgotten how glorious they looked and the twenty or so dementors which had been converging on him fled to the darker corners of the prison to feast on easier prey, no matter what their job entailed. Feeling hungry and somewhat drained but very elated he tightened the newspaper cloak around him and slipped out the door. How could this be the most secure building in the wizarding world? That had been way too easy.