Don't assume that Azkaban only has people arriving to drop off prisoners.
The Ministry of Magic also sends people regularly to inspect Azkaban's fixed magical arrays.
Today was inspection day.
Late at night, Sirius Black transformed into a large black dog and squeezed through the bars of his cell. He was now emaciated, and the dog he transformed into was naturally gaunt. As long as he endured the pain of squeezing his head through, the rest of his body could follow with a bit of force.
He wasn't trying to escape; it had just become a habit over the past few years.
Inspection day was also newspaper day.
In the original timeline, Sirius had spotted Peter Pettigrew in Ron's arms in the Daily Prophet.
So no, prisoners in Azkaban aren't given newspapers. Sirius could only read them by sneaking into the inspectors' lounge on the first floor, where they left copies behind.
He wasn't interested in the headlines—he just wanted to know how Harry Potter was doing.
Two years ago, when he read the news about Harry starting at Hogwarts, the excitement nearly gave away his presence and attracted a swarm of Dementors.
Carefully, Sirius descended floor by floor, trying not to make a sound.
At last, he reached the inspectors' lounge, a small house by the shore with a single lamp outside that gave off enough light to repel Dementors.
Sirius scrambled up a stack of wooden crates, leapt onto a window ledge, and wriggled through a broken pane.
Inside, the room smelled strongly of meat.
Sirius sniffed the air—
Yorkshire beef pudding. He hadn't tasted it in years.
This inspector was a notorious slacker. Every time he came to Azkaban, he'd skim through the warning arrays, then spend the rest of his time eating, reading, and napping in the lounge. Just before his shift ended, he'd pretend he'd done a full inspection and head back to the boat.
According to regulations, the inspectors were supposed to check every single cell on each floor.
Sirius leapt onto the table.
There, among leftover scraps and an oily, crumpled newspaper, was the object of his mission.
Flattening the paper with one paw, he read the front page headline:
"Fire Snake Gang Robs Diagon Alley – Are Hogwarts and Merlin City the Only Safe Places Left in the British Wizarding World?"
Merlin City again. Sirius had seen the name before. A massive wizarding city attracting people from all over the world.
He was curious about it, of course.
Scanning the article, he found no mention of Harry Potter. But a small news snippet at the bottom caught his attention:
"Weasley Family Wins Daily Prophet Prize – 500 Galleons Used to Open Shop in Merlin City"
The accompanying photo showed the entire Weasley family standing in front of a shop marked Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. A bunch of redheads, two of them twins, stood beaming beside a silver-haired boy.
Sirius squinted.
That boy—he looked familiar.
Dana Avery!
Sirius's pupils shrank.
That genius kid had amazed him for four whole years in Azkaban!
And now he was chummy with the Weasleys?
Sirius knew that boy's talents far exceeded what he let on. When he wasn't studying Transfiguration and spells Sirius taught him, he was learning Dark Magic—serious stuff.
Back then, Dana had said:
"Anyway, I'm not getting out of here. Studying Dark Arts helps pass the time."
But Sirius hadn't believed him for a second. That expression on Dana's face—it was the same one Sirius wore when he swore to kill Peter Pettigrew.
Peter Pettigrew…
Sirius's paw slammed down on the paper.
That rat!
Even in Animagus form, even if he were ashes, Sirius would recognize him.
The moving photograph showed Ron Weasley holding a large rat by its armpits. That missing toe…
Without a doubt.
It was him.
Peter Pettigrew.
And if Pettigrew was with the Weasley boy, then he was also at Hogwarts.
Which meant—he was near Harry!
A wave of fury and panic surged through Sirius. Peter wasn't dead. That meant Sirius's so-called "atonement" in Azkaban was worthless.
Harry was in danger.
Sirius leapt for the window—but missed. He tumbled to the ground, dazed.
He shook it off and leapt again—this time making it through.
Time was running out.
Azkaban's enchantments automatically checked for signs of life in each cell every hour. If they found none, the Ministry would send someone, assuming the prisoner had died.
And once they realized he had escaped?
Every Auror in the country would be hunting him down.
If he was still at sea when that happened, he'd be doomed.
He sprinted across the shore—he remembered very clearly: the boat that had brought him to Azkaban had departed from Scourie in northern Scotland and headed due north.
He had memorized the position of the stars, the direction of the waves, the slope of the dock.
He didn't know if he could make it.
But dogs are good swimmers.
And for Harry, Sirius Black would swim through hell.
He dove into the frigid sea without hesitation.
End of the Chapter.