Chapter Text
Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the middle of his morning routine when his fireplace turned green. The sun was shining through the windows despite the early hour; such was London in the summer.
Stifling a yawn, Kingsley flicked his wand towards the fireplace, accepting whoever was trying to contact him. At this hour, it must be important.
The stern face of Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror department and Kingsley's boss, loomed out of the fire.
"Shacklebolt, we have a situation,' he said. “I need you in immediately."
"What's happened?" Kingsley asked, feeling tension bubble in his stomach.
"Breakout at Azkaban," Scrimgeour said grimly. "Sirius Black wasn't in his cell this morning."
Kingsley's eyebrows rose, his mouth opening and closing.
"But that's..."
"I know," Scrimgeour interrupted, his expression hard. "But it's happened. Sirius Black has escaped. The ministry's in uproar, and once this gets out they'll be mass panic. We need our best on this.”
Kingsley's face must have betrayed some of his disbelief. He was good, yes, but there were others with more seniority. He’d stopped being a trainee several years ago, but there were veterans from the war days who’d surely be more classified as ‘best.’
"Alright, one of the best," Scrimgeour added. "But Proudfoot's down with flu, Jones has a family emergency and I need someone on this immediately. Work with Dawlish."
"What do we know so far?" Kingsley asked, already grabbing his black and silver Auror robes.
"Not much," Scrimgeour admitted. "The dementors are in a frenzy and the normal human guards aren't up to snuff. I need a team there as soon as possible.”
"Understood," said Kingsley, his mind already thinking of what he'd need to do, what questions to ask.
"I'm sure I don't need to tell you this is top priority," Scrimgeour said. "We need Black back behind bars before he causes any more damage."
With that, he ended the call, leaving Kingsley staring into the now orange and yellow flames. He took a deep breath, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. No one had ever broken out before.
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Within an hour, Kingsley was dressed in his Auror robes, shivering slightly on the shores of Azkaban prison. Dawlish had been waiting for him when he arrived at the docks, and they'd rode to Azkaban’s shores mostly in silence. The boat now bobbed up and down in the tide, making a slight thump against the rickety docks. Both men hesitated, looking up at the castle turned prison. It felt foolish to enter willingly.
Azkaban prison loomed high above them, a symbol of despair and human suffering, no matter how much those inside may deserve it. The stone walls, weathered by centuries of relentless wind and saltwater, stood high and unyielding. An unnatural cold surrounded the place, seeming to sink straight to the bone no matter the season. Even in midsummer, the island was cloaked in a shroud of mist, the dampness clinging to everything. The ocean below was loud, the waves crashing against the rocks as if trying to tear them into the sea.
Even if someone were to escape the castle's walls, how they'd manage the swim to shore was anyone's guess.
Despite no dementors patrolling the perimeter, the aura of fear and despair remained, as if the very stones of the fortress had absorbed the centuries of suffering from those trapped within.
"Come on," Kingsley muttered. "The sooner we check this out, the sooner we can leave". He couldn't yet see the dementors, but their effects were unmistakable. Not only the biting cold, but the atmosphere of dread and despair. The wind was louder, almost like a scream. Like his father's scream...his father had only screamed once but it stuck in Kingsley's brain. If he closed his eyes, he was almost back in the hospital, his mother lying unnaturally still...
Kingsley shook himself, forcing himself to think of something else. When he graduated as an Auror, his father's proud face, laughing jovially after the ceremony. The first time he won a game of chess against his mother. When he solved his first case.
Keeping those memories at the front of his mind, Kingsley cast his patronus. He immediate felt better with the lynx by his side, prowling slightly ahead.
"The dementors won't like that," Dawlish said. His warning was undercut slightly by how close he walked to Kingsley's lynx.
Kingsley gave him a look, indicating how little he cared. As far as he was concerned, the dementors should not be guarding a prison. It was inhumane to subject people, even criminals, to their presence. And now, not even security and public safety could be considered a reason. Sirius Black had gotten past them after all.
The two aurors made their way to the main gate. It was tall and imposing, the bars spaced just close enough together to stop a person slipping through while allowing the dementors unfettered access. The gates swung open of their own accord, letting them into the courtyard. Two human guards waited for them, one tall but skinny, barely out of Hogwarts, the other colleague was middle aged and squat, with greying brown hair.
The dementors were keeping a somewhat respectful distance, not that it helped much. As Kingsley's lynx approached, the creatures reluctantly retreated further back, slinking into the prison to torment the prisoners instead.
"You two are the ones who found Black's cell empty?" Dawlish asked, looking impatient to get this part of their job over with.
The older guard nodded, running a hand through her already messy hair. Her face already showed the stress of the day.
"That's right," she said. "Door was locked, no sign of any force or magic, but he's gone."
The other guard bit his lip, as though expecting to be blamed.
"What time was this?" Kingsley asked, glancing between them.
"Early this morning...shift starts at five," the young guard said nervously.
"How much head start could he have on us?" Dawlish asked.
The two guards exchanged a look, seeming nervous.
"You're not in trouble," Kingsley said, earning two deer in headlights expressions. "Right now it's just important we catch him. So ...when was he last seen inside his cell?"
"A few days ago," the woman said, addressing her shoes.
"You’re joking!" Dawlish shouted. "Do you realise Black could be halfway across the country by now!"
Kingsley gave Dawlish a withering look, but didn't say anything. This was not good news. Not good at all.
"It's not our fault!" The young lad said desperately. "We're supposed to patrol high security in pairs and we've been really short staffed! No one's supposed to be able to escape anyway! The warden said patrolling alone was an unnecessary risk!"
"It's done," Kingsley said, holding a hand up to Dawlish before the man could start shouting again at the two guards, who’d clearly just been following protocol. It wasn’t their fault it was lax. "Let's just see if his cell has any clues."
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Black's cell was in the high security wing, near the top of one of Azkaban’s five towers. This was where the dementors roamed most freely. Black would have had the creatures by his door day and night.
"Merlin it's freezing up here," Dawlish grumbled. "And it stinks."
Kingsley rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. Dawlish was a whiner, but he was not wrong. Even with the patronus curling around their feet, it was mercilessly cold and damp. The air was thick with the stench of human excrement and sweat. The worst was the screams though; it was relentless, with prisoners screaming and crying, only a few coherent enough to beg. Kingsley's heart hurt to listen. Did anyone truly deserve to be locked up here?
Finally reaching the top of the spiralling staircase, the skinny guard unlocked and opened another barred gate. The stench was worse up here, and the screams were ear piercing. Kingsley closed his eyes briefly to block out the gut wrenching noise, willing his lynx to go through first and chase out the dementors. It would be impossible to focus through the horror. As the lynx wound through, the screaming from the inmates slowly died down, giving way to whimpers and muttering.
Making progress once more, Kingsley's heart clenched to see a few skinny hands reaching for the warmth and light of the patronus. They seemed almost compelled to seek out the small comfort.
"This was his," the skinny guard said, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He was pointing at a cell further along. Peering in, Kingsley could see it was empty, save for a piss bucket and a thin mattress against one wall. It was tiny, really, for a human to live in.
"Alohamora," Kingsley murmured, listening for the satisfying click as the door swung open.
It felt even tinier inside. The ceiling was low, and by Merlin the stench of it. A single window let in just enough light to see. Curiously, Kingsley peered out, looking down at the cliffs. He doubted Black could have gone that way, even if he could make it out the window. He'd never survive a climb down.
One wall was covered in tally marks, each scratched into the stone. Counting them made Kingsley frown. What significance was 145 to Black? What had he been tracking?
"Did he seem lucid?" He asked, glancing at the two humans, realising with a slight pang of shame he'd not asked their names.
"It was uncanny," the older one said, her voice sounding a mix of awed and scared. "He almost seemed normal, except when he screamed in his sleep."
"The last few times he was muttering about Hogwarts," the younger one chimed in. "He's at Hogwarts."
Kingsley's eyebrows raised in some alarm. Why was Black suddenly interested in Hogwarts just before his escape?
"Shacklebolt, look at this," Dawlish said. He'd perched by the mattress. "He had a newspaper...dated just a few weeks ago."
The paper was crumpled, like Black had read it multiple times. Kingsley supposed that was likely...there was no other entertainment in the cell.
Taking it from Dawlish, Kingsley flicked through. It was a slow news day from the looks of it. A two page spread dedicated to the Quidditch results. A report on the new fire bolt. Nothing really jumped out. He flicked back through the paper, frowning. There was a tear, like a page had been ripped out.
"Is there another page where you found this?" he asked, moving over to search as well. They lifted the mattress, even slicing it to look inside.
"He may well have taken it with him," Dawlish said, a smirk forming. "Could be a lead."
Kingsley nodded. "Best lead we've got anyway." He pocketed the rest of it.
"Let's get out of here," Kingsley said, wanting to get away from the cold, stinking cell. "See if any of the prisoners saw something."
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As it turned out, prisoners of Azkaban were hard to talk to. The first Kingsley passed just looked at him blankly; barely seeming to register he was there. The second was rocking back and forth, muttering about the grim coming for him.
Kingsley had begun to give up hope by the time he reached Bellatrix Lestrange. She too was rocking back and forth, but humming to herself.
"Mrs Lestrange, I'm here about Sirius Black," Kingsley said, repeating the questions he'd already asked the others. "He escaped."
"Boil cauldron, boil oh boil," she sang, not acknowledging Kingsley at all. "Teach mudblood children how to toil."
She grinned, showing rows of yellowed teeth in the patronus light.
"Did you see him out his cell?" Kingsley asked, trying to mask his discomfort at her chosen rhyme.
Still appearing not to hear him, Lestrange giggled, an unnerving sound in Azkaban.
"Grow and shake, rot and quake. Mudblood magic ye shall take."
"Where might your cousin have gone?" Kingsley asked, doing his best to remain patient and calm.
"He's NOT my cousin!" she screeched, her demeanour switching in an instant and giving the first clue she'd even heard Kingsley. "He's no family of mine! Filthy blood traitor!" She rushed at the bars, colliding with a metallic crash and she reached through to grab at Kingsley. "I hope he drowns! I hope he's ripped limb from limb. Kill him! Take his beating heart from his chest and make him bleed!"
Instinctively, Kingsley stepped back away from the madwoman. That was...not what he expected. Clearly there was no love lost there. She was bleeding from where she’d slammed into the bars, but didn’t seem to notice as it dripped from her face and into her hair.
He left her, looking past into the next cell. Rabastan Lestrange. He'd barely opened his mouth to speak before the prisoner acknowledged him.
"She's always been like that," he commented, almost appearing nonchalant. "Imagine sharing a wall."
Blinking, Kingsley nodded slightly.
"Right," he said, feeling rather uncomfortable. “I see what you mean.”
"Blacks not a death eater you know," Rabastan continued, almost sounding pitying. "The Dark Lord wouldn't have a Muggle lover like him in the ranks."
Kingsley stared, not sure what to make of that. Instinctively, he thought it must be a ploy...a desperate attempt to get their spy back. But something in Rabastan's tone made him pause.
"You don't happen to know where he might go?" he asked.
Lestrange smirked, flicking a matted strand of hair out his face.
"As if I'd help you drag anyone back here, let alone someone who doesn't deserve it." He turned back to the wall, leaving Kingsley stunned and thoroughly dismissed.
Sighing, he made his way back, trying not to look too hard at the wasted souls in their cells or think about what Rabastan Lestrange had said.
"Any luck?" Dawlish asked. "All I got was cackling and threats that their dark lord would get me."
Kingsley shook his head. "No luck," he answered, not knowing how to share what the two Lestranges had shared.
"Let's get out of here," Dawlish continued. "Place gives me the creeps."