When you wake up, you reappear out of nowhere every time. And everything else is exactly the same. And death is the replacement of the familiar morning awakening with something else that is completely impossible to think about. We have no tool for this because our mind and our world are one and the same. (V. Pelevin)
***– Oh... my head hurts... and, f#^$*@... who opened the window again?! – the voice that escaped from my chest was strange and hoarse. That's it. Looks like I'm getting sick, because someone left the window open again last night. And since the sofa is right there... Here we go again, another cold. The northern capital is so northern.
"Okay, stop!"
Not even fully awake yet, I fumbled around with my hands in search of a blanket, trying not to let the sleep that was slipping away from me escape again. This time I dreamed that I was Sirius Orion Black himself, the prodigal son of Orion and Walburga Black, James's best friend, a real rascal, but a real wizard! And it was so cool...
In my dream, I was fighting some rat-like fat guy, and my wand kept casting spells that were far from the brightest. Controlling magic was cool. It was nice to know that reality itself could be changed at will. "Mother would approve..." A thought that wasn't mine popped into my head. And it was strange. It was as if someone had whispered it directly into my ear.
"That's it," I decided, opening my eyes. "Time to wake up and finally close this damn window... um...
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a wall. Not the wall of my room with its black and gold wallpaper covered with posters of my favourite bands, but a real wall — made of rough granite, covered with moss, with cold, damp air blowing through the cracks.
"Again..." I muttered, closing my eyes again. Sometimes you wake up right in the middle of a dream and at first you don't realise that everything that happened was just your feverish brain playing tricks on you. But this was clearly not the case.
I lay there with my eyes closed, calming my heart, which was racing from the adrenaline.
"Now I'm going to wake up, and..." I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and opened them. Nothing had changed.
I admit, I panicked a little.
Jumping up from some kind of half-collapsed mattress, I looked around. Three walls made of the same rough stone and a thick iron door, through a large window of which I could see another iron door and a piece of a narrow corridor lit only by a few torches. In this stone box measuring two metres by two metres, there was only this straw mattress, a hole in the stone in the corner for waste, and a puddle of dirty water on the opposite side with some clay shards. With an inner tremor, I approached the puddle, squinting at the blurry reflection until my eyes hurt. From the puddle, as if from another world, a completely unfamiliar person was looking at me. Only the eyes remained the same — blue, with a slight tinge of green.
I recoiled and collapsed onto the bed. My head spun, reality drifted away, and images and memories began to flash before my eyes. I was six years old, making paper boats with my uncle Alfard, using magic to make them swim against the current of the stream. I was seven, sitting in the family library on my grandfather Arcturus's lap, and he was telling me the tales of Bard Beedle. Memories of my sisters and younger brother Regulus. Bella, Cissy, Meda... My father, who gave me my first wand and taught me my first spell. Walburga — always aristocratically aloof, but looking proudly at her little son. My first meeting with James, our first fight and friendship, studying at Hogwarts, Remus, Lily, Peter, who turned out to be a traitor. Harry... A kaleidoscope of memories spun faster and faster, as if in fast forward, showing me Sirius's life, my life. And only the gentle darkness of oblivion stopped this spinning carousel. This time, I was glad for it.
***
Consciousness returned abruptly, jolting me upright. A faint rustling sound came from somewhere in the corridor. It suddenly became colder, and steam rose from my mouth. It seemed as if there was even less light, although it couldn't have been. A dull melancholy rose from within me, and I had an irrational urge to howl... It was them. Dementors. Sirius knew how to protect himself from their influence. The second form of an Animagus dulled the mind, leaving only instincts and desires. But that was Sirius. I had no idea how to become a dog. I remembered, but... in the presence of the guards of Azkaban, it was too difficult to concentrate on my memories.
Suddenly, I literally felt something dark and heavy stir inside me. Like a large, shaggy beast, it slowly crawled out of my subconscious. I didn't even notice when I fell to all fours. My body ached, but at the same time it felt lighter. From somewhere in another cell, a woman's desperate scream rang out. A minute later, the emaciated prisoner was gone, replaced by a giant dog glaring angrily at the silent figures.
When the Dementors left... slipped away, floated away, if you can put it that way. I struggled to transform back. My body was shaking violently, and I didn't even have the strength to get up and walk to the cot. Damn... but at least I remembered what it was like to transform.
So I lay there on the cold stones until a small window opened in the door and a wooden tray was pushed inside. My heightened sense of smell detected the smell of food. A gnawing feeling with a hint of pain appeared in my stomach, so I somehow scraped up enough strength to get to the door and, barely restraining myself, began to eat the prison food. It was some kind of fatty broth with groats and a piece of bread. There was no meat, not even a shred. Just a film of disgusting-looking fat and undercooked grains. The portion was enough to keep him from dying, but not enough to fill him up. And it was barely warm. Literally a couple of minutes after I put the plate aside, the tray disappeared along with the dishes, leaving a few pebbles on the floor. Temporary transfiguration, I thought absently.
"Damn..." I cursed, leaning my back against the cold wall. "How is this possible...
***When the effects of the Dementors' arrival had subsided a little, I began to think about an escape plan. Not even what had happened to me, that could be thought about later, but the plan. I felt with all my heart that a couple more visits like that and there would be no one left to think. Those creatures would suck my brain out through a straw, just like they did to Sirius... to me? It was hard to say.
By the way, Sirius already had an escape plan. He had been thinking about it for almost seven years, but he was afraid. Just like me. Getting out of the cell was difficult, but not impossible. My body was so emaciated that in the form of a dog, I could squeeze through the feeding hatch. With enough training, Animagi can change the size of their second form. But besides the cell, there was another obstacle: the walls of the cell were not only a means of keeping the prisoner in, but also a protection from... Dementors!
They couldn't pass through the thick barriers, which protected the prisoners from the "kiss." And the prison was located somewhere in the North Sea, under anti-apparition and Muggle-repelling domes. Only Dementors and prisoners lived many kilometres away from the prison walls, and there were an unknown number of miles to solid ground, and I, Sirius, didn't know if I had the strength to get there.
Unlike him, I was now certain. Enough. Either this, or I would have to slit my wrists. My gaze fell on the shards of the jug, which for some reason had not turned back into a jug. But that would have been too cowardly. Unlike Sirius, who was plunged into guilt over the death of his friends, I had a goal. To save Harry, my godson, and take revenge on one vile, pathetic rat...
Well, in that respect, Sirius and I were in complete agreement.
***Preparations for the escape unexpectedly dragged on for almost two weeks. I counted the days by my meals. The small door opened exactly twice a day — in the morning and in the evening. Or morning and afternoon... Mordred knows, in the space visible through the cracks in the masonry, the weather never changed, it was always dark and cloudy, and the leaden clouds directly above the island did not let a single ray of light through. I scratched the numbers on the wall with a shard of a jug so I wouldn't forget. The former inhabitant of this body had done the same, it seemed, and I simply continued his work. Out of curiosity, I examined the walls of the cell, every corner of it. It seemed I wasn't the first to be here. Under the moss were names, dates, poems... But three names were repeated most often: Harry, James, Lily.
My memory came back in flashes. I think everything would have been much easier if it weren't for those creatures in cloaks and robes. Oh, I hated those terrifying creatures with all my heart. After a couple of days, I could tell when they were approaching the cell so I could quickly transform into a dog.
They came twice a day, as if to mock us, before mealtimes. Probably so that the prisoners didn't kick the bucket too early. I also recognised a woman's cry — it was Bellatrix, my cousin. At first, I tried to shout to her. I don't know why. Maybe to make sure I wasn't alone here. But she didn't answer. The other prisoners didn't even shout anymore. So what was I waiting for? I was waiting for the moment when I would remember how to apparate properly. For some reason, this memory took longer than the others to come back to me. I had practically remembered my entire life as Sirius, even wand and wandless magic! I didn't know the last section very well as Black, and I couldn't even manage a weak Lumos.
Although, perhaps it was simply impossible to perform magic here.
I also saved food for my escape. Well, food... half of the crusts from the bread they gave us with our gruel. I hid them in a bundle I made from the corner of my dirty bed. But there was no room for squeamishness here. I tore them from my heart. Hunger became my constant companion here, and I constantly had to pull myself back from eating even these crumbs. It was good that there were no fleas, lice or other insects here. It seemed that they simply couldn't survive here, which was at least one plus.
I also did a little physical exercise... Well, physical exercise is too good a word for it.
I could only do one push-up; my body was too exhausted even for that, which was a bit disappointing. Of course, I understood that after almost a decade on the Azkaban diet, not everyone would be able to move, but somewhere deep down I felt an irrational resentment, because back in Russia, Sirius and I were in great shape, and here my body resembled an anatomy textbook.
My plan was simple. The viewing window was locked with a simple lock, which under normal circumstances could be broken. But now — hardly. So I decided to cover the lock with pieces of mattress soaked until they were shapeless. I had seen it done in a film somewhere.
I struggled to remember how, after the interrogation, I was led through long, dark corridors with no windows. Only on the third flight of stairs was there a small viewing balcony. I could only hope that it was on the side of the fortress closest to the sea. Otherwise... well, I preferred not to think about the other option. And so, on the thirteenth day of my "captivity," I finally made up my mind.
***
Old warden Kenton did not like his job. However, he would probably be surprised if someone said they liked a place like Azkaban. But the former Auror, who had suffered an injury incompatible with his old job in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was not in the habit of complaining about life.
He could get used to anything — the constant wind and cold, the almost Spartan conditions, the company of hardened criminals, some of whom he had personally put there. But there was one thing the grey-haired, one-armed Auror couldn't get used to: the Dementors. He had an amulet to protect him. Their guardhouse was protected by a variety of spells, and a fire always crackled merrily in the fireplace... but outside the cosy rooms, the bitter cold still penetrated straight to the soul. So he didn't like the moment when it was his turn to deliver food to the living corpses.
However, duty was duty. And the old man went from floor to floor, constantly renewing the transfiguration spells on the trays levitating behind him. For some reason, even outside the cells, the spells didn't last very long. It was as if the cursed creatures were drinking them too. Approaching cell number thirteen, Kenton listened. Faint moans came from the stone sack, indicating that the famous prisoner was still alive.
Sirius Black — a former Auror, a war hero — and a murderer. A traitor to his own friends, a minion of the Dark Lord. Kenton had always known that no normal person could come from that rotten, dark family of aristocrats. Everything came easily to him, thanks to his connections. He didn't climb the career ladder like the honest Muggle-born Kenton Brett. He didn't risk his life for some meaningless badge. And who won in the end? Huh? The former Auror struggled to keep from spitting into his bowl of prison gruel or pouring it out, as he had done before.
But he remembered how, a couple of weeks ago, this madman had fallen silent, even though he had always laughed and howled like a dog in his cell. But when they were about to carry the corpse away, he suddenly started howling again. So the guard simply placed the tray inside the cell without spilling a drop. Death would be too easy for you, the guard thought maliciously as he closed the door.
"Suffer some more, you bastard.
Lost in his thoughts, the old man didn't notice that he had locked the door incorrectly. He was too immersed in memories of his youth, reliving its negative moments over and over again. Azkaban, regardless of anything else, had an effect on everyone.
***
I barely made it. It was difficult to push the rag into the lock with fingers numb from the cold, and even more difficult to do it without being noticed. But the old wizard, muttering curses under his breath, didn't notice anything, and that alone filled me with a seething energy of hope.
To be on the safe side, I waited five minutes for the guard to go upstairs, and only then opened the treacherously creaking window. The bundle was still there, but before I finally parted with my home, I had to add the finishing touches. I used the rest of the clay shard to write a short inscription. Whatever happens next, I'm not coming back here. Let's go.
Transforming into a dog, I used all my willpower and magic to make my second form as low as possible. Now I looked more like a dachshund. Before starting, I ate half of my supplies with relish. I needed all my strength. And now — the bundle in my teeth — and run. With difficulty squeezing through the window (I was still quite large even like this), I pulled the rags out of the lock with my teeth and slammed the door shut with my paw. They wouldn't miss me for a while.
Then I slowly moved down the corridor. Although my dog's heart wanted to run away from this terrible place, I couldn't rush. I could run into either a patrol or the Dementors. But surprisingly, the path was almost clear. I could sense the creatures of the dungeon approaching and avoided those places, but there were no detours. So, after a few minutes, I was already on the balcony.
The wet wind ruffled my fur. Below, the raging sea stretched out. Black waves crashed against the rocks below, and I couldn't make up my mind. My heart was pounding like crazy, I was really scared.
"Come on..." an inner voice urged me. "What are you waiting for? Go!"
And I jumped.
***
The castle rose like a black fang above the raging waves, but the once dark rooms where the Dementors had ruled were now unusually bright and crowded.
"Albus, look! The short, plump wizard in a green bowler hat was unusually pale. His tangled grey hair clung to his sweaty forehead, which he constantly dabbed with a crimson handkerchief. Minister Fudge, for it was he, was clearly frightened.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Knight of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Great Wizard, Supreme Wizard of Wizengamot, and so on, was, on the contrary, unnaturally calm. His constant half-smile and sparkling eyes were now carefully examining the entrance door. They were looking for something and could not find an answer.
"Yes, Minister, did you want to show me something?" The tall wizard had to bend down slightly as he entered the chamber. Fawkes let out a disgruntled cry and flew off his shoulder into the room, filling the stone chamber with warm light.
"What does this mean, Albus?!" The minister pointed to the stone wall, covered with numbers, where a spot cleared of moss stood out brightly, with lines written on it recently. Dumbledore frowned, adjusted his half-glasses, and used magic to enlarge the image, reading the lines carved into the stone.
We lie on the cold and dirty floor,
Sentenced to eternal imprisonment.
And we stare stubbornly and long into the semi-darkness:
Nothing, nothing in this darkness!Only flickering reflections, the stench of torches
And water from the indifferent heavens.
Only long, shaky shadows tremble,
Stretching out, swaying, merging.
Forgotten by their friends, in a land
Where traitors, beasts and night reign,
We have forgotten the sun, the stars, the moon,
And no one can help us.
Very soon I will throw off the shackles of prison
Flattery will not help the traitors
And like the spirits of the plague, like the birth of darkness,
Fear Black, for I am your vengeance... {?}[(Konstantin Balmont, "In Prison," with modifications by the author)]
"He craves... revenge? Albus! But this madman killed his own friends. And now he's escaped," the minister wiped his forehead again. "How did he do it?
"The poor boy must have truly lost his mind," Dumbledore said, turning to the minister with his usual patronising smile. "And you can never be sure with madmen. We must strengthen the prison guards and put out a warrant for his arrest.
"Of course, Albus, I'll do that," Fudge turned to the Aurors waiting for them at the exit and began his favourite activity — giving orders. Dumbledore, however, seemed deep in thought.
"How did you escape, Sirius? And why now?" The old wizard's cold mind analysed the information at the speed of a good computer... But he couldn't find any answers. Perhaps it would be worth questioning the last representative of the dark Black family, Bellatrix. Who knows what other secrets this self-destructive family hides. But Albus had no doubt about her madness. Unlike the madness of the former Marauder. The light wizard understood that she was unlikely to say anything voluntarily. And Legilimency on the minds of the insane, unfortunately, could harm even an experienced Legiliment. So he needed to look elsewhere. But where?
"Revenge... My boy, who are you going to take revenge on?
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970