Azkaban was quieter than usual.
But that silence wasn't peace.
It was tension — coiled, invisible, suffocating — thick enough that the most experienced guards muttered that something felt wrong.
Some blamed the heatwave sweeping Britain, unusual for July.
Others blamed the Dementors, who had become restless ever since Sirius Black's retrial had concluded and Peter Pettigrew had been dragged screaming into the deepest cells of the fortress.
But none of them guessed the truth.
The truth sat in a small, rusted cell at the very bottom of Block C — rocking, trembling, muttering to himself as the hours crawled.
Peter Pettigrew had always been a coward.
But cowards also survived.
And Peter had survived far more than anyone gave him credit for.
He felt the guards' eyes on him.
He felt the Dementors slide outside his door.
His life now was a living nightmare after more than a decade of living in decadence.
But more than anything…
He felt the wards.
The wards that stopped Animagi from slipping from human to beast.
The wards he could taste like static on the back of his tongue.
The wards that had hummed against his bones since the moment they dragged him inside.
The greatest protection against an unregistered criminal animagus.
The reason for this was explained in detail thanks to the Arcanum, and that was, just that the Dementors cared not for Animals, if a wizard turned into an animal the dementors would cease to care about them.
And today—
For the first time since his imprisonment months ago—
One ward faltered.
The incompetent guards had knocked this crystal out of the array when delivering his food for the day, but even after setting it back up, the array was out of alignment, making the ward worthless.
A mistake.
A tiny mistake.
But Peter Pettigrew had always lived in the margins of mistakes.
His eyes snapped open.
His heartbeat stilled.
There.
A crack.
A gap.
A glitch in the net.
He didn't think.
He didn't fear.
He changed.
With a wet ripple of bone, skin, and fur, Peter Pettigrew collapsed inward — shrinking, twisting, snapping into a form that had saved him more times than any wand ever had.
A rat landed on the cold stone floor.
And the cell door — designed to restrain humans, not vermin — offered nothing to stop him.
Peter squeaked once.
Then began to run.
~
Azkaban's halls were not made for living things.
Origionally created as the fortress home of a dark wizard who kidnapped muggle sailors and experiemented upon them.
Dementors glided overhead, their cloaks dragging the air into freezing tendrils.
Guards patrolled in stilted, nervous circles.
Doors groaned like dying beasts.
But Peter moved like water.
No human footsteps.
No breath clouding in the cold.
Just silence.
Silence and purpose.
He slipped under the first iron door.
Behind a cracked stone.
Between the bars of a rusted grate.
Soon—
He reached the first guard.
The man never saw the rat emerge behind him.
He never saw the wand vanish from his belt.
He only saw a flicker of movement—
"Wha—"
Stupefy.
Peter squeaked in frustration; the spell was sloppy, wand grip awkward.
But the man collapsed in a heap.
Peter scurried up his body, dragging the stolen wand against his throat, an action that opened the mans veins causing him to bleed out in his present state unable to resist.
If he was to survive this, he needed allies.
And Azkaban had plenty.
~
Block D – High Security
This was where the nightmares lived.
The ones who didn't break under Dementors.
Who actually revelled in being brought further into the darkness by their memories as all goodness was purged from them.
The home of all the worst criminals who were tried and true death eaters.
Voldemorts inner circle who were only captured after much struggle and loss of life.
The ones his master had trusted more than all others in his ranks.
Peter approached the first door of a fellow comrade.
BARTEMIUS CROUCH JR.
Peter transformed back into a thin, shaky version of himself — human, pale, eyes wild — and pressed a trembling hand against the locking mechanism.
Seconds stretched.
Azkaban breathed around him.
Then—
Click.
The door swung open.
A pair of pale blue eyes stared out from the darkness.
Barty Crouch Jr. looked like a corpse with ambition.
But when he recognized Peter, his lips curled into a grin far too sharp for someone so gaunt.
"Wormtail," he rasped. "You came back."
"No time," Peter whispered. "We're leaving."
Barty stepped forward immediately — no hesitation, no fear — as though freedom was his birthright.
"Who else?" he asked.
Peter swallowed.
"…Everyone we can."
Barty grinned wider.
"Good."
~
Amycus and Alecto Carrow were in adjacent cells — both awake, both twitching, both hungry.
Freeing them was easy.
Frighteningly easy.
Amycus grabbed Peter by the collar and hauled him forward.
"Where's the Dark Lord rat?" he snarled.
Peter trembled.
"He lives," he whispered. "And we'll find him."
Amycus released him.
Alecto giggled.
"Then let's burn our way out, shall we?"
~
The deeper they went, the colder Azkaban grew.
The Dementors avoided her cell.
Even darkness had limits.
Bellatrix stood perfectly still inside her cage, eyes closed, as though she'd been waiting.
When the door unlocked with a gentle click—
Her eyes snapped open.
And the madness inside them burned like stars.
"Well," she breathed. "It's about time."
Peter bowed so quickly he nearly fell.
"Bellatrix—"
"Wormtail," she purred, stepping forward. "Do be a dear and tell me… did my Lord call for me?"
"Not yet," Peter whispered.
"But he will," Barty added smoothly.
Bellatrix smiled.
A razor's smile.
"Then let us return to him."
~
Azkaban erupted in chaos.
The breakout had only been going on for a few minutes now, but it was enough the guards had been alerted to the danger.
Five high priority targets had managed to escape their cells, worse yet they had managed to obtain wands from the guards themselves.
An emergency signal was sent out to the Ministry but even still would they arrive in time to stop them?
Guards running.
Doors exploding.
Dementors swarming like vultures.
The Carrows blasted curses that shattered stone.
Barty moved like wildfire, his wand a flickering blur.
Bellatrix laughed, spinning through hallways in a killing dance.
Peter followed in their wake — half horrified, half relieved — staying low, casting only when necessary.
He was their ace in the hole, the only one amonst their rank capable of casting a Patronus charm, capable of holding back the unbeatable Dementors and allowing their ease of passage through the fortresses halls.
A guard tried to raise a shield.
Bellatrix's curse hit him mid-syllable.
Another guard fired a stunner at Barty.
Alecto intercepted it with a shield charm twisted into something sharp enough to cut.
Screams filled the fortress.
Prisoners howled and begged and rattled their bars.
The Death Eaters ignored them.
They weren't here for recruits.
They were escaping to return to their lord, and learn his plans.
They reached the landing platform.
The ferry — Azkaban's only mundane connection to the mainland — bobbed in the water.
Disapparation and even portkeys were prevented from working on this island so only arriving through non-magical means was possible.
Two guards stood there, wands shaking, faces pale.
Bellatrix raised her wand lazily.
"Run," she cooed. "Or don't."
The guards didn't.
They died.
~
The ferry cut through the black waves as Azkaban burned behind them — sparks flying, alarms wailing,
Dementors spiraling in disarray.
Peter stood at the bow, clutching his stolen wand like a lifeline.
Barty stood beside him, eyes bright with manic purpose.
The Carrows sat hunched, muttering to each other, plotting horrors.
Bellatrix stood at the stern, watching Azkaban shrink into the mist.
Her voice drifted across the deck.
"Soon," she whispered. "Soon, my Lord. We come."
Peter shivered.
Because somewhere out there…
Their master waited.
Weak.
Fading.
Silent.
But now?
Now he would have servants again.
And power again.
And soon enough…
Revenge again.
Peter Pettigrew closed his eyes and prayed the Dark Lord would forgive him.
Because he had delivered his master everything he needed:
Faithful followers.
Bloodthirsty soldiers.
And chaos.
Chaos enough to start a war.