A/N: It's been a long time since I've worked on this story. For those of you returning to it, I highly recommend starting over from the first chapter as I've rewritten everything and moved some sections around. For those of you reading for the first time, I sincerely hope you enjoy this story and leave a review. I eat that shit up and it inspires me to keep going.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling

Warnings and such: There will be frequent swearing and adult themes from time to time, but nothing excessive. I suppose you could classify this story as AU, as it's clearly a different version of events from PoA. Sometimes I unfortunately go long periods (like four years) without updates. I am so sorry.

Summary: Sirius escapes Azkaban with the intention of finding Pettigrew and avenging the Potters, but what he doesn't know is that protecting Harry is much more difficult than uncovering a certain rat. With the whole world after him, Sirius must find a way to stop Voldemort's return and maybe convince his godson that he isn't insane along the way.

Chapter one:

The sky was a flat grey, and the air damp with the receding storm. The ocean swelled with an enormous sigh, waves crashing upon the rocky island, the cliffs cut as smooth as glass.

Albert Penn shifted his weight as he waited outside the heavy gates that was the only break in the stone wall surrounding the island's perimeter. He pulled out a scratched gold pocket watch, an old Christmas present from his wife. Or perhaps a previous girlfriend. He couldn't quite remember. Penn checked the hour for the hundredth time that morning, grumpily acknowledging that on a normal day his alarm wouldn't go off for another fifteen minutes.

There was a high-pitched creak as the rusted, barnacle-encrusted gates swung open, allowing Penn and his company to pass through. As they trudged up the damp, weathered stone steps to the entrance of the fortress, Penn saw that there wasn't a single plant.

Everything was rock and dirt and sand.

On a proper day, there was simply no life on the island. So how strange it seemed now that it was suddenly teeming with animated people—people shocked, afraid, and stressed. They were running back and forth, muttering to each other. Penn wondered whether the sudden chaos was enough to break the frozen air surrounding the prison, even momentarily.

Heavy wooden doors groaned as they opened, allowing Penn and his company to step into the main entrance of the prison. Torches burned hesitantly from brackets that were normally cold and dark. The shadows retreated to the far corners and behind pillars where the light couldn't quite reach.

"Detective Albert Penn, Senior Director for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," said Penn, holding out his badge and other appropriate identification for the guards checking them in. Once given the go ahead, Penn pocketed his effects and asked, "Has the Minister arrived?"

"He will be here shortly," said the nearest guard. "The Warden is just down the hall in the Securities Office, waiting for you."

Penn nodded to the guard once, then stepped through a low doorway normally sealed by a heavy stone door. Penn was led to an office just off to the right, where a group of men were discussing something in hushed voices. Despite his wool layers, Penn couldn't shake off the creeping cold that was threatening to overtake his senses. Despite the torches, his breath still shone in a faint cloud as he spoke.

"Detective Sergeant Penn, sir," greeted one of the guards as he stepped back to let Penn and his men pass.

The Warden was a weathered-looking man. It appeared as though the cold, salty air had carved grooves deep into the lines of his face and hands. His ginger hair was streaked with grey, and his horn-rimmed glasses supported thick lenses. Despite the obvious aging his career had done to him, the Warden had an energy about him characteristic of someone half his age. "Detective Penn," he greeted solemnly, shaking the man's hand. "Good to finally meet you, although I would have preferred better circumstances."

"Thank you, Warden. I have with me my partner on the case, Barty Crouch from the International Magical Cooperation office."

The officer the Warden had been speaking to handed Penn a water-stained file and a single worn photograph, over a decade old.

"The prisoner escaped within the last six hours—the guards raised the alarm just after midnight," the Warden began without preamble. Penn pulled out a notebook from his pocket and began taking notes. Next to him, Barty Crouch merely stood straight as a rod, listening intently. "There is no sign of outside help; there were no visitors, no outside communication whatsoever. We don't know how he got out of his cell," the Warden added darkly. "He was one of the most heavily-guarded. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"Do you suspect he may have found a way off the island?" Penn asked.

The Warden ran a hand over his cropped hair in agitation. "I don't know whether he made it to the mainland, but he's certainly not here. The dementors have been coming the island for hours. Absolutely fuck-all."

Penn ignored the Warden's choice of words while Crouch sighed.

"I doubt whether Black is crazy enough to jump into the sea in this weather," chimed in one of the guards. "Not unless he had a death wish."

"The walls of this prison are six inches of solid, goblin-wrought masonry," the Warden explained. "The gates are three meters high and hammered out of iron. The mainland," he continued, pointing south. "is ten nautical miles away, and the water is freezing." He threw his hands into the air. "And yet he's gone!"

"It's like he evaporated through the walls," the guard supplied, looking around the cramped stone office. "There is no trace of him anywhere."

"We have to assume he made it off the island," the Warden said bitterly. "Possibly back to the mainland."

Penn and Crouch exchanged glances. While Crouch was now working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he had the most experience out of anyone in the Ministry when it came to successfully hunting Death Eaters. He had offered to help search for Black the moment word hit the Ministry, and Cornelius Fudge was more than happy to accept. While Penn could certainly appreciate experienced help, he couldn't help but feel that Crouch was using Black's escape as a political maneuver. It was well-known in the Ministry that Crouch wanted to catch just one more high-profile Death Eater.

It was just a shame that the last significant group Crouch had rounded up included his own son.

"We're assuming Black is clearly dangerous," said Crouch as Penn made another note in his pocketbook. "What might his mental state be like at this point? What might he be capable of?"

The Warden gave him a sharp look. "Capable of? The man's been locked away for twelve years! Not many prisoners—maximum security prisoners—make it to the ten-year mark. They either lose the will to live, or die of some other cause. But Black's hung on for some reason—and I think that his escape is the product of careful calculation. The murderer didn't stick around for twelve years for nothing. Black had to have been plotting his escape, possibly even since day one! And not only is he plotting, but he's executing these plots," the Warden added. "No one has ever broken out of Azkaban before, and yet Black—who by all means should have wasted away like the others—has done it, and left without the slightest clue as to how!"

Penn watched out of the corner of his eye as Crouch adjusted his weight from one foot to the other, but remained listening.

"The only reason Black would have gone through all this trouble is if he's out for something. Something that can stand against twelve years, dementors, and prison walls."

"So Black's a madman, then," came a voice from the doorway. Penn and the others turned to see a very tired, distracted-looking Fudge. Next to him was his favorite Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The Warden's brows knitted together in disagreement. "A madman couldn't have escaped Azkaban, Minister. I believe that Black knows what he's doing. We just have to find out what it is before it's too late."

"Is there any evidence that might tell us what prompted Black to escape?" Crouch asked, scratching his temple.

The Warden exchanged glances with the officer. "The dementors guarding Black's cell told us he's been talking in his sleep lately. Always the same words, though we can't make sense of it. 'He's at Hogwarts. He's at Hogwarts.'"

Penn and Crouch exchanged horrified looks.

"Merlin help us," whispered Fudge.

It wasn't possible to act quickly enough after that, Penn decided. Warnings were sent to Hogwarts to alert the Headmaster of Black's intended destination. Official statements were released to every wizarding publication, and Fudge met with the muggle Prime Minister shortly after they all left Azkaban. Every Auror was reassigned to new duties, divided into teams according to rank and skill level. It was a shame Alastor Moody had retired, Penn thought distractedly as he watched the chaos unfold on the Auror wing. No doubt he would have found Black within hours.

Maps lined every available inch of space in Penn's office and the small conference room adjacent to it. Circles were drawn in varying degrees outside of Azkaban, estimates of Black's possible distance over the course of a stormy night.

"Maybe the bastard just drowned," said Dawlish tiredly. Word had only been released an hour ago, and already the Ministry was being swarmed with owls.

"Well, put together a team and have them comb the beaches," instructed Penn, estimating the time it might take to travel to Hogwarts by foot.

"We haven't got any Aurors to spare—"

"Then head over to the Auror Academy and send the students to do it," Penn replied, carefully placing a few red pins. "If we can stop him on the shore we can all breathe easier tonight. He's eight hours ahead of us, which means that he could be anywhere from Ipswich to Hull right now."

Dawlish ran his hands through his hair again, frowning at the map. "Are we sure he even came to England? I mean, the Netherlands, Belgium and Denmark are all right there."

Penn didn't want to dwell on the possibility. "Azkaban is closer to the United Kingdom than to the rest of Europe, and the Warden was insistent that Black mentioned Hogwarts multiple times in his sleep. We have limited time and resources, so we must assume Black means to travel to Hogwarts."

"But why?"

Penn turned to make sure the office door was closed.

"Who is the reason for Black's downfall?"

Dawlish frowned. "You don't really believe that Black would be after Harry Potter?"

"You-Know-Who's downfall was Black's as well," said Penn quietly. "The moment the Dark Lord disappeared was the moment Black no longer had anyone to protect him." Penn rolled his eyes. "Fudge reckons Black thinks murdering Potter will bring You-Know-Who back, but I think it's just revenge. Potter ruined Black's life and everything he had so carefully worked for. It's far more likely Black would seek to set himself up as the next Dark Lord—murdering Potter would be an excellent statement to garner support from former Death Eaters."

Dawlish let out a low whistle at that. "Oh, son of a banshee."

"Indeed," said Penn darkly, looking over his map. "How soon can you have a team on the beaches? I need everything from Lowestoft to Grimsby covered."

Dawlish shrugged. "Twenty minutes, maybe thirty to get everyone rounded up into teams. You're looking at a full day's work, at least."

"We're counting on Black's physical health to set him back some time," said Penn, sighing. "Let me know when you're ready to go out, all right?"

"Very good, sir," said Dawlish before exiting the office. There was a few seconds' of complete chaos as the door opened, but the room was silenced once again as soon as the heavy door fell back into place.

Penn checked his pocket watch. Crouch was with Fudge, alerting all the border nations of their "mishap" at the prison. Penn was sure that Fudge wasn't even very forthcoming with the muggle Prime Minister; no doubt Fudge neglected to inform the man that Black was a high profile mass murderer and terrorist. To say that Black was on the loose with a muggle handgun was absolutely ridiculous.

Now that the Aurors and Hit Wizards had been given their first assignments and notified of their mandatory-overtime status, it was time to return to Azkaban.

Penn hated the dementors the most. The dark prison, the pale, ghostly prisoners—that was all bearable. That could never get under his skin. Even the freezing spray from the sea became bearable after a thick wool coat and some getting used to. But the dementors, no matter how often he had been around them, were like a gas. They seeped through the dark cracks of the prison and entered the body like air—invisible and without invitation.

Penn focused on the case at hand. That's what he always did when he was forced to be anywhere near the dementors. The foul creatures, of course, never really extended their effect near Ministry officials, but Penn always found himself with goose pimples on his arms and his hair always stood on end on the back of his neck. It had been a very long time since he actually had to speak with the dementors—if you could call it speaking, that is. The dementors had no known spoken language, and instead communicated in emotions and images they sucked from the prisoners around them. It was unnerving to suddenly hear Black's broken voice in his head. It was like the memory was his own, the way it surfaced in his head.

He's at Hogwarts… He's at Hogwarts…

"Right," said Penn when he had met with the Warden once again. "Well, I'm going to need to take a look at Black's cell and see if we can find anything in there."

"Of course," said the Warden. "Right this way," he said, beckoning Penn down a narrow, dark corridor.

As they made their way through the prison, climbing cold stairwells and passing through dim corridors, Penn couldn't help but look at the cells around them. The first few floors housed prisoners that merely muttered to themselves, but as they climbed higher and deeper into the prison, the inmates seemed to become more hysterical and disconnected with reality. They would shriek and cackle in the same moment, and shout things Penn didn't understand. It was unnerving.

Frowning, Penn glanced at the Warden, who kept his eyes straight ahead. It was as though he wasn't bothered by, or else simply didn't notice, what was going on around them.

When they reached Black's cell, the Warden unlocked the door with a heavy set of rusted keys. Penn squinted into the darkness as the door creaked open in protest. The Warden pulled out his wand and cast a light overhead, illuminating the dark cell and causing the shadows to retreat sharply into the corners.

The cell was bare except for a moth-eaten mat that took up most of the floor space and a broken half-sink hanging from the stone wall. Mildew glistened on the damp walls in the bright light.

Penn took a step forward, pulling a notebook out of his coat pocket. He peered towards the ceiling, where a narrow window sat ten feet off the ground.

"Was the door still closed when you found it empty?" he asked.

"And locked as well," the Warden replied.

"Well, there's no way he made it through that window," said Penn, pointing to the small hole with his quill. "If he could even reach it, there's no way a man could climb through."

"Not unless Black can transform into a little bird."

"So that leaves the door," said Penn, turning to look at it more closely.

"The door is only opened when the dementors come to bring food," said the Warden flatly.

"Would Black have been able to slip past them?"

"If he had, it would be unheard of," said the Warden. "Dementors drain a wizard of his powers. Had Black even managed to get past the one at his door, there are hundreds more blocking his path to the gates."

"Is it likely he had outside help, then?" Penn asked, scratching behind his ear with his quill tip as he looked around the cell for any sort of sign. "Other Death Eaters who are still active?"

The Warden shook his head, sighing. "If there was someone—anyone—trying to come onto the island, we would know immediately. There is more than water and walls blocking the entrance to this prison. This appears to be entirely Black's own doing."

Penn sighed heavily, turning back to look at the Warden. "Thank you for your time. We'll contact you at your office if we have any further questions."

By midday, Penn was back at his desk, having just finalized orders to have the coastlines searched. Warnings had been given to nearby countries to be on the look-out. Boats were ordered to comb the sea, looking for any traces of Black. Coastal cities were alerted, and a special midday edition of the Daily Prophet was printed in a matter of hours and ordered to be distributed just ten minutes ago in every shop, pub, restaurant, and office. Penn had ordered his secretaries to make sure any and all alarmed incoming owls be redirected elsewhere. It was only a matter of time before a frightened public came to the Ministry in an uproar, demanding to know how Black got out, if he was found yet, and so on.

"What should we tell them?" asked his head secretary.

Penn sighed. "Tell them," he said slowly. "that the Ministry is doing everything in its power to make sure Black is apprehended immediately. Tell them that under no circumstances should anyone attempt to search for or capture Black themselves, and that they ought to stay on the look-out and call the hotline number with any information they may have."

It was a true enough answer, but mostly empty. In truth, there was nothing that Penn could tell the public. Granted, Fudge was the one mostly in charge of the public appearances, but Fudge couldn't be trusted to disguise an honest answer. He might say Black was a madman who escaped by clawing his way out of the walls and would go on a killing spree. He might say the Ministry already had several leads on Black to assuage the public's fears, when really the Ministry was just as clueless as anyone else. The trick was to tell the public as little as possible in as many words as possible.

Penn sighed as he set down his mug of tasteless and slightly lukewarm coffee. He looked out the windows of his office into the vicinity below, which was teeming with frazzled Aurors. He sat there silently for a moment, then suddenly stood up, grabbed a file from his desk, and headed down the stairs into the open.

"Kingsley, Warren, Parrott," he called, making his way over to a corner of the downstairs conference room. The wall was adorned with a huge map of the UK next to a slightly smaller one of the globe. A little red pin was pressed into the spot that marked the tiny island prison, but the map was otherwise bare. Penn reached out toward a large chalkboard and taped a single sheet of paper to its surface. Next to it were two photographs of Black: one taken when he had been arrested, and another, earlier photo of him from about a year before Voldemort's fall.

"I have a list of all living relatives and close friends of Black's, and I want Kingsley to designate a team and visit each one personally—I don't want any fire-calling nonsense. Black could be hiding in the other room without anyone knowing. Black hasn't been in contact with any of these people since his arrest, as far as we know, but criminals like familiarity—Black isn't going to go anywhere random, he's going to find someplace safe to lay low for a bit. If Black hasn't made contact with any of them, leave explicit instructions that if he does in the future, they are not to inform him we've been by. Direct them to call the hotline, and to not, under any circumstances, meet with him."

"What if he shows up at their residence unannounced?" Kinsgley asked. "These people can't exactly let him in, but if they don't, he might find a way to force himself in. He may have even found a way to acquire a wand by now."

Penn sighed, running a hand over his face. "We'll set up security wards around their premises. If Black steps one foot over the guard, we'll know about it. And speaking of wands, set up a guard around every wand shop in the UK—pay heavy focus to Ollivander's. Parrott, you get on that, and organize a guard around all modes of wizarding transportation while you're at it. I've already directed Spinnet to enforce security measures in Hogsmede and Diagon Alley. Warren, I wand you to send out an order to have Black's bank account and all of his other assets frozen. If there are any attempts to access it, we'll be on it. We can't let Black get help of any kind—the more unprepared he is, the easier it'll be to catch him. We only have a matter of hours to apprehend him before he slips out of our radar."

The Aurors headed off to their respective desks to arrange their teams and carry out Penns' orders. Penn himself merely sighed, turning to stare at the chalkboard, whose mostly blank surface seemed to scoff at the lack of evidence or leads the Ministry had accrued. The map on the wall behind him had a detailed sketch around Hogwarts, with circles radiating out. Hogwarts would be their main point of interest, of course—it was the only lead they had. Penn hoped they caught Black long before then, but the sheer lack of evidence was disconcerting.

"Anything new?" asked a flat voice to his left. Penn turned around to see a tired-looking Crouch.

Penn snorted. "I wish. I've just sent Kingsley to interview friends and family, Parrott's off tightening security, and Warren is on his way to freeze Black's assets. All I've been able to do is preventative and reactionary measure, and it's driving me insane. I'd rather be chasing Black, not setting up traps over the entire country."

"Well, Fudge is meeting with Albus Dumbledore as we speak—they are discussing security measures on Hogwarts."

Penn grinned humorlessly. "And how's that discussion going?"

Crouch was not the type to roll his eyes. "Nothing unexpected. Dumbledore insists his wards on the school are secure enough, but Fudge is not convinced. He wants dementors stationed around the grounds every minute of every day until we catch Black."

Penn felt his jaw drop. "Is he insane? Dementors at the school?"

"He feels it would fill his perceived gap in Hogwarts' security," said Crouch diplomatically, but Penn could tell Crouch thought Fudge was an idiot.

"Black was able to get past the dementors in Azkaban without a problem. What makes Fudge think they'll stop him getting past them again?"

Crouch merely sighed, shaking his head slightly. "It's more a sign to the public, I suspect. He's trying to show that the Ministry is doing everything possible, and going so far as to guard the school with dementors ought to prevent a few Howlers from making it to Fudge's desk."

Penn picked up the bitter tone in Crouch's voice whenever he mentioned the Minister's name. It seemed he was not the only one unhappy with Fudge's method of solving the crisis.

"I told him that, of course," Crouch continued. "But he insists assuaging the public's fears is half the battle."

Penn was sure Crouch wasn't convinced of that. As he thought about it, he found he wasn't either.

"Keep me updated on anything useful you find," said Crouch, picking up his mug of coffee and turning away. "I've got about three dozen international high-alert reports to write and deliver before the day's end."

Penn cast another dark look at the blank board before following Crouch back into the chaos of the Auror Department.

Twelve hours. That was the lead Black had on him, and Penn had the entire Ministry at his disposal to catch up to Black.

He only had to cover twelve hours.