As I reach out to touch the bars, the rust on them pricks my finger like a thorn. Drawing back, I retreat to a corner of the cell, but the stone on my back is hard and icy, serving little comfort. Hopelessly wrapping my arms around my body, I slowly rock back and forth, my breath frigid.

What did I do to deserve this? I didn't do anything. Curse the death eaters, cruse the name of Peter Pettigrew. They have ruined me, and ruined me well. My life is over.

Then it comes. Drifting towards me in a shroud, it turns to me, its face of nothingness seeming to see right through my soul. Cold, cold, cold. When will it go away? I see my breath in front of me, billowing white. The air around me is tickling my cheeks unpleasantly. Crystals of ice have begun to form on my tattered clothes.

There is no hope for me.

Finally, its gliding figure passes. Still, I feel bleak. The ice crystals are still lining my rags. I cannot get out. These prison bars are too strong, too ruthless. I will wallow in pity until the dementors suck every breath that I contain. There is nothing for me beyond this imprisonment. Nothing.

Or is there?

Somewhere deep within my chasm of black thought, I start to form a plan. It’s a risky plan, but the Sirius I know (or knew) doesn’t mind daring.

Each day, the thought grows on me. There are days when I push it away, rendering it impossible, but it always bounds back to haunt me.

I find that when I rehearse my plans, however, it somehow deters the dementors’ effects on my mood. Granted, I still flounder in the depressing recollections they conjure, but underlying, there is a spark of anticipation.

One day, the air is extremely hazy and moist with the returning rain. I decide to make my exit. Now, how did we used to do it? The key is to concentrate. So I do. Nothing happens. I try again. And again. Still I remain human.

Then I remind myself who I am. I am Sirius Black. The Sirius Black. Nothing gets in my way.

Taking a deep breath, I give it another shot. Shortly after, a weird sensation fills my stomach, making my arms and legs tingle. In the blink of an eye, I am turned into Sirius Black—the dog version.

I nearly bark with joy, but remember that the dementors are probably not far off. Studying my black fur, I notice that it’s more scuffed than usual. Stretching out a paw and rolling it, I oil my joints. Nervously sticking my head through the bars of the cell, I peer around me.

No dementor is in sight. I think I am skinny enough to fit through these bars. Taking a hesitant step out of the bar, I keep my sharp eyes peeled for danger. So far, so good. Both front paws and my head are out of the cell. Now for the shoulders. With an excessive amount of wriggling, I free the first half of my body.

Then a fear and heaviness grips my heart. One is coming. I can feel it. Hastily, I try to wriggle back into the cell. I’m stuck. Growling softly with the effort, I push and tug. I’m not moving an inch. I’m starting to lose hope. I’m sinking into despair. Nothing will be happy again. Why am I trying so hard? What use is it?

But I must go on. Shaking my head to rid it of such absurdness, I decide if I can’t go back in, I must push out. With a burst of energy, I leap forward. Almost. My body budges a considerable amount.

I can do this. I can do this.

With a final heave, I spring myself from the clutch of those fearsome bars. They let me go reluctantly. Panting with my adrenaline rush, I notice a dementor hovering over the patch of dank ground about a foot away from my shivering body.

Is it moving towards me? I think it is. I’m too scared, too petrified to move. My eyes are darting to the exit. Dementors can’t detect animals as well as wizard or witches, I remember. Should I make a dash for it? It’s either now or never.

By some means I know not of, I’m able to pad towards the steps that lead to the main prison floor. I don’t stop to look for dementors; I just go for it. The door is open, gaping at me. It’s welcoming me into its embrace. I can feel a gust of air issuing from it. My four paws run towards it, but I’m too excited to see that a dementor is sensing my movement.

It soars towards me, leaving traces of iciness in its wake. I freeze in my tracks. The feeling is gripping me again, refusing to let go…

Maybe it’s a good thing I stand still. After a few moments, a prisoner’s yell erupts the stony silence. With a venomous hiss, the dementor jerks its head towards the noise and floats down the stairwell.

It’s almost too good to be true. Once I get out that door, all my wishes will be restored. Every bad scrap of a memory that I’ve been reminded of these past years will dissipate in my bliss.

The last three steps that I take away from Azkaban and into the real world are the most triumphant ones. The moment my fur comes in contact with the fresh, pure air, I bark and whoop for joy. Bounding away in great strides, I carry myself away. I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s away from the grasp of that dreaded prison.

And for the longest moment, I feel something that I haven’t felt for years and years: hope.