Chapter 20: Sacrifices
Azkaban looked dreadful even in plain daylight, Kenneth Fenbrick thought. All of it, rock, walls, and towers, looked drab, dark, and wet. He didn't want to think how it would look at night. The auror had his wand out even before the ferry that he and his partner, Bertha Limmington, were on had reached the small pier. The first reports they had heard, right after they had been called in to work despite being on vacation, had stated that all of the dementors had disappeared, but Kenneth wasn't about to bet his life and soul on reports. Bertha had her wand in hand as well, as he noted.
"Do you expect an ambush?" He managed to smile, as if he was teasing like he often was. The wizard wasn't sure he had her fooled though - the former Ravenclaw was just a bit too perceptive. Even if at first sight she seemed to lose herself in details and regulations.
The witch shook her head slightly. "The chances that both the first response team and the reinforcements they called for could have overlooked an ambush are so low one can safely assume that's not the case."
"You've got your wand out."
"The chances that the dementors wait until more aurors and hit-wizards are present are not that low, in my opinion." Bertha explained. "Although, due to insufficient information, that's just a cautious assumption."
The idea that they could be swarmed by the missing dementors was not helping Kenneth's mood, already soured from having to leave the witch he had met the night before, and the auror was quite tense when he stepped on the island. At the end of the pier he saw a covered body. "One guard managed to almost get away?"
Bertha nodded. "There wasn't a guard stationed at the pier at night according to the schedule we got, so the guard must have come from the prison proper." She would have studied the files diligently, of course.
A young hit-wizard stood guard there, his expression clearly showing that he felt an attack was imminent. Kenneth grinned - unless Britain suddenly found itself at war, guard and patrol duties were a hit-wizard's daily work, with the more experienced ones occasionally providing support for auror raids on the lairs of suspected dark wizards and similar targets. The wizard probably had been disappointed to learn what life as a hit-wizard actually was. Kenneth had no sympathy for him. If the kid hadn't wanted to become a glorified guard, he should have done his homework. Both to get N.E.W.T.s good enough to enter the Auror Academy, and to know better than believe the recruiters from the DMLE, who still tried to paint hit-wizards as the few, the brave and the proud defenders of Britain. On the other hand, if the dementors returned, the kid would be getting the fight of his life. Probably the last fight for his life as well.
Bertha had already levitated the tarp covering the body away and was inspecting the corpse. Kenneth bent over a bit to join her, after his customary glance at his partners rump when she crouched down. The poor soul - and wasn't that a bad twist of phrase? He'd have to make sure not to use that wording when he spoke about it with a superior - looked like he had died from fright judging by the expression frozen on his face.
Bertha looked at the body, then at a series of pictures and a piece of parchment floating next to her. "Winfried Galldrift. He had the night patrol shift."
Kenneth took her word for it. His partner had an eye for such.
Bertha ran her wand over the body a few times."Cause of death: Frozen to death."
"Dementor's aura, or just exposure?" Kenneth asked. The North Sea in December wasn't warm enough to survive a night outside, although warming charms should have kept the cold at bay. Unless someone had finited them, of course.
"The warming charms are still effective, so it was the aura."
Kenneth nodded. "Which is quite unusual for a dementor attack. Usually they leave their victims after taking their souls." He grinned at the brief surprise that flickered over his stoic partner's face at him having read that report.
"Correct."
"Which means someone told them to do that." Kenneth continued. But why would anyone order this? It wasn't to remove witnesses; a kissed victim was a vegetable, braindead. And they didn't feel anything, so killing them slowly shouldn't appeal to the kind of sick wizards who liked such murders.
"That would be a logical conclusion, though we do not know enough about dementors to be certain of that." Bertha argued.
"We certainly do not know of any such a thing happening before." Kenneth stated, but let the matter drop - for now - while they made their way to the prison proper.
The scene there was worse than Kenneth had expected. Four wizards were found at the foot of the main main tower, where the guardroom was. Kissed and frozen to death, all of them, with their wands out and the terror they must have felt when they had realized that they were doomed preserved on their faces.
"Patronus Charm on three wands." Bertha noted.
Kenneth knew that faced with all the dementors of Azkaban descending on them from all directions, they would have had to be wizards as powerful as Dumbledore to survive. Or maybe as powerful as the Boy-Who-Lived. According to a report, Potter had driven dozens of dementors away with a single spell - in his third year. Kenneth didn't really believe that, of course. It was just hype, like the children's books using the kid's name. "And on the fourth?"
"Shield Charm."
"Must have panicked then."
Bertha nodded in agreement. "Even with three patronuses in the vicinity, that many dementors would have been enough to frighten them out of their wits."
"Until they couldn't keep the spells up." At which point they would have been kissed.
Inside the tower it was worse. Theoretically, it would have been a defensible location, with the doors and windows easy to bar and lock. That hadn't been done here, though - or so it seemed. Kenneth ran his wand over the main door. "The door has been opened with an Unlocking Charm." He turned towards Bertha. "I'll check with the first response team to find out if they opened the door, or if it was already open when they arrived."
His partner just nodded, already studying the first corpse inside the tower.
A few minutes of asking nervous hit-wizards, all of them looking as if they expected an attack, later Kenneth had found the leader of the first response team, and had gotten confirmation that the door had been open when the team had arrived. He doubted that the guards outside had been able to open the door, but had then failed to get inside in time, so someone had been helping the dementors.
He returned to his partner, who was investigating a headless corpse. "I didn't think dementors actually ate the head of their victims. Or was that a kiss gone wrong?"
Bertha ignored his attempt at humor. "The effect matches the last spell on his wand, a Blasting Curse, and judging by the splatter pattern he blew his own head off."
Kenneth shuddered. He could understand such a choice - it was better to lose one's life than one's soul. He didn't know if he would be able to do it, though, if faced with the same situation. Although... "He could have been imperiused."
"The door wasn't opened by the first response team then." Bertha understood his reasoning at once.
Kenneth nodded. "It was open when they arrived."
"It's still unlikely that someone would have imperiused the victim - the man would have been kissed anyway."
"True." Unless the unknown intruder was the sort who loved forcing people to kill themselves. There had been one or two of them in the last war.
Most of the rest of the guards were found inside the tower, kissed and frozen to death. Kenneth managed to not think too much about their last minutes, about the horror they had experienced losing their very souls. "All of them were wearing the necklaces that marked them as safe."
"Yes. Either those were sabotaged somehow - all of them - or someone convinced the dementors to alter the deal." Bertha's tone made clear what she thought had happened. She still added: "And if the deal hadn't been altered, the dementors would still be present, doing their part as they saw fit."
Going downstairs into the actual dungeons, the two aurors found the last guard and an unknown wizard. Both were dead.
Kenneth crouched down as well this time, studying the corpse. "No badge, foreign robe, continental style of protections. Identical necklace though. We might have our intruder." Kenneth said. If the wizard had been killed by the dementors after setting them loose, he deserved his fate. If.
"He's not on the list of guards on duty, and the Unlocking Charm was the last spell cast with his wand." Bertha added.
"That would fit the scene." Maybe a bit too perfectly, Kenneth thought. "Let's check the cells."
The cells were the stuff of nightmares. Kenneth had known that Azkaban was a horrible place, from the reports he had read following the escape of Sirius Black as well as from gossip with the guards who fetched prisoners from there to their trials and back, but reading and hearing about it didn't compare to actually seeing the emaciated prisoners dressed in rags and covered with rashes and dirt, and smelling the filth accumulated in a cell… He had cast a Bubblehead Charm at once, and he still almost threw up. Even the unflappable Bertha seemed shaken. Somewhat.
"Merlin! They must have welcomed the dementor's kiss to finally be free of this…" he exclaimed, after pulling back the sleeve of a ragged prisoner's robe, and revealing an arm that was barely more than skin and bones, covered with sores and and scars.
Bertha started to nod, then checked herself before casting a few spells at the body. For his partner to almost agree to such a statement she truly had to be shaken.
"How many prisoners are, were here?" Kenneth took a few deep breaths. He should look into adding a Bubblehead Charm to his robe - but then, sometimes one needed to smell such scents, to get the best picture of a crime scene.
"27."
It took two hours to check each cell, each corpse, each door. Kenneth knew that if he had been alone, he'd have become sloppy after the first five or six more or less identical corpse. He wouldn't have be able to study each in detail. Bertha though carried on, methodically, to the last dead prisoner. It was her who discovered that some of them, the marked Death Eaters, had fresh wounds on their hands, scraped skin from their knuckles, as if they had tried to defend themselves, or get away.
Both aurors were very glad to reach the fresh air of the prison's courtyard again. They couldn't take too long to recover though - Amelia Bones, the Head of the DMLE wanted results, and she wanted them yesterday. Kenneth and Bertha had to prepare their report as soon as possible.
Kenneth already knew some things didn't add up. Why were the Death Eaters the only ones who had tried to defend themselves, instead of waiting for the end like the other prisoners? True, they were said to be the most resilient compared to the other prisoners, lasting for years, over a decade, while the other prisoner usually were driven to madness or succumbed to despair and died in a few months to a year, but… all of them attempting to resist when none of the others, not even the one rapist who had arrived a month ago, had managed that? It was possible, of course.
But there were other things that didn't feel right to him. Had the whole massacre truly been the work of a single person, who had then been killed by the dementors? That sounded a bit too convenient. Too neat. He had only rarely found crimes as neatly wrapped up before the investigation had even started.
And there was the attack by dementors on Harry Potter, two years ago. The DMLE had never found out who had ordered the monsters to attack. The general assumption was that Malcom Branwick, the one who had tried to get Potter killed, first in the Triwizard Tournament and later in Bulgaria, had been behind that attack as well. But to order dementors around required the help from someone in the Ministry. Someone who hadn't been caught yet. Even to get the necklace that had marked guards as safe - until last night - would have required help, either a mole, or a very skilled burglar.
Someone was behind this, someone who was still alive. Even though all the evidence so far pointed at the dead intruder, Kenneth was sure that one had not been the mastermind. Too young, too foreign, and too dumb.
He glanced at his partner while they walked to the ferry. He could tell that she was thinking about something, worrying. Kenneth would have bet quite a lot of gold that she shared his suspicions. And that the two of them were not wrong.
*****
Amelia Bones's office had not changed much since he had first visited it, years ago, Albus Dumbledore noted. The same wizarding picture hung on the wall, showing the current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time she graduated from the Auror Academy, together with her friends. Friends who had not survived the War against Voldemort. Next to it hung a picture of her family - all dead as well, but for little Susan, whose picture was on the witch's desk. Other than that, the office held nothing but furniture, reports, and files. Albus assumed that the pictures were there to remind Amelia what she had lost, and what she was living and working for still. He'd never ask her, of course.
"Hello Albus. Thank you for coming so quickly after I called. Please have a seat" Amelia sounded polite, but there was a hint of suspicion in her voice as well - though that could simply be normal for her. Déformation professionelle was a thing among aurors. Among teachers too.
"Thank you, Amelia. Of course I came as soon as I heard. Such an emergency always takes precedence over my vacation schedule." He smiled as he sat down. It wasn't as if he had much going on anyway, not with the school all but empty and politics, domestic or international, being equally quiet during Yuletide. Most of his colleagues and friends were celebrating Yuletide with their families. They would not dare to invite the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW to join them, for that might be seen as a faux pas. Even if they knew he had - officially - no family left. But that was part of the price he had to pay for doing what he needed to and what no one else seemed to be able or willing to. And part of his penance.
Amelia's answering smile showed that she didn't think she had been the first to inform Albus of the incident at Azkaban. She hadn't, of course, but it would be impolite to mention that. "I've got the preliminary reports from my aurors. Ten guards dead, 27 prisoners dead, one intruder dead. No sign of the dementors."
Albus had known that already, thanks to Nymphadora. He also knew that Amelia had arrived with the reinforcements for the First Response Team, so she had seen the carnage herself. He could have gone himself, but to visit Azkaban again, to see what his country had done there, for so long… there was a reason he had made sure Gellert was imprisoned in Nurmengard. If only he had managed to get rid of Azkaban… but he couldn't dwell on those regrets, not now. "Did you identify the intruder?"
"He has been tentatively identified as Martin Steinmaur, a German graduate from Durmstrang." Amelia answered.
Albus raised his eyebrows in surprise and she explained further: "A man with that name visited the Ministry expert on dementors, Ebenezer Renquirt, some time ago, and Renquirt's description - 25 years old, long beard, glasses - matches the body we found. Our expert also, if too late, noticed that he's missing the necklace he was given so he could study the dementors safely. All we know so far is just what Renquirt was told though - we still have to check the actual records of Durmstrang and the Prussians."
"It seems a bit hard to believe that a man able to make a deal with dementors would not have covered his tracks better." Albus noted, watching Amelia.
"It is a bit hard to believe that a man able to make a deal with dementors would end up dead at their hands so quickly. This required a lot of preparations, and I'd think carefully wording the deal in advance would be obvious." Amelia stared back at him.
"I concur." Albus stated, his voice mild. Should he tell Amelia what he knew? She'd be furious for him keeping it secret, but she'd understand, after a bit. The teacher in him wanted her to make the connection herself though; students always retained things they found out for themselves better than what the teacher told them. "I assume you have discovered more such… discrepancies?"
"Yes." Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly. Albus almost smiled ruefully - he had to remember that she wasn't a student anymore, hadn't been for decades. His age was catching up with him. "The necklace we found wouldn't have allowed the wizard to make a deal with the dementors. He would have needed actual authority, power, influence to have something to offer to the monsters."
"His own soul wouldn't have been enough then?" Albus didn't like to think of how desperate a man would have to be to bargain his very soul away - and to what purpose?
"Not by far according to our experts." Amelia anticipated Albus's next question and added: "Apart from Renquirt, who might have been imperiused, I've talked to the Unspeakables. They confirmed his statements."
"You believe 'Steinmaur', if that's his name, was just a decoy then."
"Yes. Whoever is behind this either has a lot of influence in the Ministry, or works for the Ministry." Amelia's face made no secret of just how much she hated what she had just said.
"Whoever sent the dementors after young Harry two years ago was never found." Albus kept his tone free of any reproach. Amelia was a very skilled head for the DMLE, especially compared to her predecessors, but she was up against a truly exceptional wizard.
"I thought of that myself, but if he had such influence over the dementors back then, why would he have needed to speak with Renquirt and steal his necklace?"
"He might have had an unwitting or unwilling helper at the right place then, who couldn't do anything more now." Albus had his suspicions, of course, but only Voldemort knew the truth. Though Albus was certain that whoever managed to tamper with the Goblet of Fire while it was in the Ministry would have been able to manipulate the dementors' orders before that too.
"Maybe. Whoever it is now controls the dementors. Once that gets out there'll be a panic among the population. I've already ordered all available wands to train in containing the monsters." Amelia's face showed that she knew that her order would only hasten the spread of that news. Then she grinned, though without humor. "At least our unknown mastermind rid us of our worst criminals."
"Maybe." Albus knew that Voldemort wouldn't have killed his most loyal followers - he would have freed them.
"Maybe? What do you suspect, Albus? I've got no time nor tolerance for games!" Amelia was now showing her infamous temper. She was one of the few who didn't tip-toe around Albus - a refreshing attitude.
"I have heard rumors from some of my acquaintances, tales of someone recruiting wands for hire. Lots of them, and the kind who lacks any scruples as long as the gold is good. The criminals killed in Azkaban would have been a good fit for such an army, at least those who didn't go mad." Albus carefully kept himself from sounding too serious, or too casually.
"The only ones who weren't mad already were the Death Eaters, and even their sanity is in doubt after over a decade in that hellhole. And those murderers would never follow anyone else than their dead Dark Lord." Amelia scoffed at the thought, then stared at Albus. The Headmaster held her gaze. "Merlin's balls! The attacks on Potter in the last two years. The attack on the World Cup. You think You-Know-Who is not dead!?"
Albus evaded the question. "Only someone truly dedicated to the Dark Lord's cause would be so intent on killing young Harry. As talented and remarkable as the boy is, he has not done anything else to make such an enemy. And whoever was behind those attacks is certainly driven and skilled enough to be able to lead the Dark Lord's remaining followers. I believe Malcom Branwick was but a decoy himself."
"But you believe You-Know-Who is alive." Amelia stated rather than asked.
"I have no proof." None that he could give her without endangering Harry. But his suspicions would be good enough - for Amelia at least. And he'd rather not spread the knowledge that the Dark Arts could allow someone to come back from what would have been certain death, not even to such trustworthy souls as Amelia Bones.
"And if you claimed this, there would be an even worse panic, or people would attack you as delusional." Amelia smiled cynically.
"Or both." Albus was not quite as cynical as the head of the DMLE, but he shared her views of Britain's likely reaction to anyone claiming Voldemort had returned.
"Merlin curse it! This case turned out to be even worse than I feared. And the Minister is already nagging me, wanting it solved yesterday!" Amelia grit her teeth.
"I will speak with Cornelius." The Minister would certainly be reasonable, if Albus explained the situation - without bothering him with mere speculation, of course. "Although there remains the issue of the apparently killed Death Eaters."
"I've seen the bodies, Albus."
"Yes. And anyone who dies under the influence of polyjuice will stay polyjuiced." Unlike transfiguration spells, which were a constant magical effect and would end or could be ended. A polyjuice potion tricked a wizard's own magic into thinking the changed state was natural. When the potion's effect ended, the wizard's magic would return his body to its natural state. But a corpse had no magic of its own anymore. "I believe there has been a steep rise in kidnappings and disappearances, hasn't it?"
"Yes, we've had over a dozen missing person cases in the last week." Amelia frowned. Albus hoped it was because of the possible fate of the victims, and not just because he had just reminded her of the fact that he had sources inside her department. "But it's impossible to prove they were replaced with polyjuiced doubles until we capture one of the originals."
"I will speak with Saul about ways to detect polyjuice in corpses. Please have the bodies put into stasis." Albus knew the bodies were already in stasis, to prevent them from decomposing, but this would keep them there. And it would provide a good cover for the other topic he wanted to talk with Saul about. He reminded himself that he could trust Amelia with that as well, but he could inform her after he knew if his idea was possible in the first place.
"All right, Albus. I expect to be kept informed of all new developments though. This is too big to be handled by you and your friends." Amelia almost sneered at the word 'friends' - it seemed she had not forgotten that her brother had fought with Albus against Voldemort.
"Thank you, Amelia. I will be off then." It was not entirely fair of her to blame Albus for the loss of her family to Death Eaters. Her brother and his wife had volunteered, after all. But the Headmaster accepted the blame nonetheless. Leading the Order had been, and still was, his responsibility, and so were their deaths.
Albus slowly stood up, nodded at Amelia, who was already grabbing another piece of parchment, and left her office. She had her department to run through a crisis, he had to speak to an Unspeakable.
*****
"Nymphadora was called in to work? Wasn't she on vacation?" Sirius sounded more shocked than Harry thought was appropriate after hearing Andromeda's and Ted's explanation for their daughter's absence at the now traditional gathering of the Black Family for the Yuletide gifts. Then Harry noticed that Hermione looked worried as well, and reconsidered. Nymphadora was a young auror, but there were younger ones to get called if the Ministry just needed someone to fill in for a sick auror. So, something serious had to have happened to make the DMLE ruin her vacation.
Harry wasn't the only one to understand that, and the gift exchange was more than a little subdued at the start. It didn't stay that way, though.
"Ah… do you fear a trap, or poison?" Viktor had noticed that both Harry and Hermione ran a series of spells on all their gifts before touching them, much less opening them.
"No, we're just expecting a prank or two," Hermione answered the Bulgarian, with a meaningful glance towards Sirius.
"Ah." Viktor looked at Sirius, who was doing his best to appear as innocent as possible. He was, of course, failing to convince anyone, and so the seeker started to check his gifts as well, followed by the Black-Tonkses and even the French house-guests.
Viktor was the first to detect something, and, with a triumphant grin, cast a finite on it before Harry or Hermione could warn him. He was immediately buried under an avalanche of sticky sweets of all kinds that broke out of the box. Sirius must have shrunk a small mountain of the confections.
"With Sirius, pranks are more like tasks for a curse-breaking competition," Harry explained to Viktor after he and Hermione had managed to extract their guest from his sweet prison.
"I see…" the Quidditch Star glanced over at Sirius and, surprisingly, Remus, who were laughing so much, they had fallen to the floor. Harry and Hermione discovered that It was harder than expected to get the sweets off the seeker - they were charmed to stick to him, and resistant to spells.
Hermione was glaring at the two nominal adults. "Honestly, I'd have expected better of Remus, at least. I bet Nymphadora was meant to eat them off him."
Harry thought so as well. A few conjured animals did the trick in the metamorphmagus's absence, exposing a fault in two Marauders' scheme, to their apparent but vastly overdone chagrin. That the animals were changing colors and making weird sounds revealed what the two pranksters had had in store for Nymphadora. Their gifts for Harry and Hermione were, surprisingly, not pranked. Which meant either the food, or the furniture would be, of course. He opened his own gift, and for a moment he thought they had mixed it up with Hermione's - a book that thick was usually meant for his retainer.
Then he opened it and found 'The Complete Wizard's Guide to Sex'. Illustrated extensively, with drawings that depicted himself and Hermione. Harry couldn't help but stare at the moving pictures. Was that even possible without dislocating something?
"Oh, you got a book! Can I see it?" Hermione was already assuming the answer would be 'yes' - who would be as foolish as to try to keep her from a book, after all, Harry knew - and reached for it. He barely managed to slam the book closed before she got a hold of it.
"It's a prank gift." He whispered, showing her the title on the spine, which was, fortunately, not illustrated. Her eyes widened when she realized what kind of book he had received, and her glare towards his godfather and honorary uncle redoubled. At least her own gift, a subscription to 'The Curse-Breaker Journal', hadn't been chosen for maximum embarrassment. Harry just knew he'd not be able to sleep without dreaming of what he had glimpsed already.
Then Valérie d'Aigle mentioned that Sirius had helped her and her cousins to pick their gift for Hermione, and Harry saw his love blush terribly while thanking the earnest-looking witch for what appeared, as far as Harry could tell, to be a series of French novels. Judging by how Sirius was trying to hide his mirth, it was probably something embarrassing too.
It wasn't until they were finishing dinner and waiting for dessert that Harry realized that in all the confusion and excitement, the gloom that had hung over the celebration at the start had disappeared completely.
*****
Sirius Black was in his bedroom, fighting the urge to change into Padfoot, roll up on the carpet, and forget about everything Nymphadora had told him. He wanted to, but this time, Padfoot would only remind him of that hell he had escaped two years ago. That horror that had almost broken him. Azkaban.
He shivered, remembering the cold, the wet cells, the stench, and the torments. The screams from other prisoners, who were slowly going mad - and knew it. Becoming Padfoot had helped him, had saved him, but that had been there, then. He was no longer a prisoner, he couldn't, shouldn't hide as Padfoot from this. He had friends, he had a family who depended on him.
And yet he couldn't close his eyes without seeing Azkaban, feeling the dementors passing the cells, the cold seeping into his bones, the terror paralyzing him. Everyone, guards and prisoners, dead? No, kissed first, then frozen to death?
He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to stop from shaking. 37 people lost their souls and their lives. If he had still been there he'd have suffered the same, horrible fate. He didn't know how to feel about that. The prisoners had been terrible people who had done abhorrent crimes. But Britain had thought the same of him, before he had been exonerated. What if there had been others like him, innocents suffering there? He didn't want to think about that. Or about the guards. During Yuletide, only the dregs of the DMLE and those who had screwed up would have been on duty. And the youngest, of course. Those who couldn't get a vacation when everyone who was senior to them got one.
Sirius started to rock back and force, his arms wrapped around his knees. For the prisoners, death would have been a mercy. Living in Azkaban was worse than death. But to lose their souls… did that mean they were truly lost, and would not reach the afterlife? Although, if they had been killed and not kissed after they had been driven mad, would they stay insane in the afterlife? Or as a ghost? An eternity spent in the throes of madness, a shambling hulk of who they had been… Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to those questions.
He heard the door open behind him. Probably Remus, trying to get him to come down and eat something, again. His friend was trying, but he just didn't understand Azkaban. No one alive did, not even the guards. He was the only one left who did. Fortunately, Sirius had sent Harry with Hermione to visit her parents, claiming he would be fine. He couldn't stand the thought of them seeing him like this. Broken. Useless. Pathetic.
Footsteps behind him meant Remus was walking towards him. But before he could say anything to his friend he felt slender arms wrap around him, a head rest on his shoulder, and breasts pressing into his back. That wasn't Remus.
He took a deep breath. That perfume… he knew it was Valérie. The veela didn't say anything, she simply held him. Was there with him, offered him warmth, and … love. Slowly, he started to stop shaking. More footsteps. More arms around him. More warmth. Chantal. Laure. Eugénie.
For a while, the only sound he heard was their and his own breathing. And then, when he closed his eyes, he didn't see Azkaban anymore.
*****
"A way to test a corpse for polyjuice? Quite an interesting problem, indeed. I think magical residue would not work, but blood testing could work. Even if the potion was not detectable, parts of what it breaks down into might be. Muggles have some fascinating solutions for similar problems. But it would require… hm…." Saul Croaker was already making extensive notes on one of the many, many parchments cluttering up his office deep in the bowels of the Ministry.
Albus Dumbledore kept smiling, even though he wanted to frown. Saul had a tendency to get lost in any magical problem presented to him, to the point of forgetting he was not alone. He had heard that was common among the Unspeakables. Some even claimed that was where their name came from - that it was impossible to carry a longer conversation with anyone of them before they started working on a new idea.
The Headmaster coughed slightly. Saul didn't react at all. He coughed louder. Still no reaction. "Saul? Saul? SAUL!"
"What?" Saul looked up and at Albus as if the latter had just broken into his office. Sometimes the Headmaster thought that Saul was doing this deliberately to get rid of visitors who kept him from his work. He could understand that, if it was true - but the crisis they had was too important for such antics.
"That is just one of two things I came to you for." He smiled and hid his annoyance.
"Oh. Right. What's the other one?" Saul was already looking again at the notes he had just scribbled down.
Albus's smile became strained. "I have no proof I can share, but I am certain that Voldemort has returned."
"Ah." Saul sat up straight and grew serious at once. His absent-mindedness had been an act!
This time the Headmaster didn't hide his annoyance. "Further, I believe that sooner or later he will try to visit the Hall of Prophecies."
"Ah. The prophecy. I assume you want my department to prevent him from learning its contents."
"I wish for you to make sure that he cannot visit without the DMLE and myself knowing about it." Albus didn't know how serious the Unspeakables took the original purpose of the Hall of Prophecies these days. They had been quite understanding of the need to oppose Voldemort in the last war.
"I rather doubt he'll show up in person and ask for a tour." Saul smirked at his own feeble joke.
"I would assume that he will try to break in. He managed to have the Goblet of Fire tampered with while it was in storage here, after all." Albus hoped that would make Saul take this as seriously as was needed.
"That's a theory. He could have done that at Hogwarts." Saul frowned.
"I doubt that. But if it was true it would prove that he can break into the Department of Mysteries. Especially with Rookwood's help." Hogwarts was the most secure place in Britain, after all.
Saul didn't like to be reminded of that particular traitor. "After more than a decade in Azkaban, he has to have lost his mind. No one can last that long and keep his sanity."
"Sirius Black has done so." Albus didn't smile. Sirius's ordeal still filled him with shame for what he felt was another of his many failures.
"He was an animagus. Rookwood isn't. And Black's sanity is debatable."
"All Death Eaters showed a remarkable resilience in Azkaban. Far more than any other prisoners."
Saul had no answer to that. "I'll strengthen security. I assume you will want to be consulted?"
"I am happy to lend my assistance." Albus smiled.
"Of course you are. We'll call you once we're done." Saul was still frowning. He really didn't like to defer to Albus in such matters. But the Unspeakables were far too academically minded, far too aloof, when it came to Wizarding Britain's needs, to be trusted without some oversight. Official or unofficial.
"Thank you, Saul." Albus nodded graciously - he had achieved what he had come here for. Now he had to inform Amelia of this, and then talk with Harry and Sirius. He wasn't looking forward to either talk. Fortunately, young Nymphadora would have informed her family already of the incident at Azkaban and he wouldn't have to break that piece of news to them.
*****
"My Lord! My Lord! You came for us! Just as I knew you would!" Voldemort kept smiling while Bellatrix Lestrange, his Bella, wrapped her arms around his legs and tried to kiss his feet while weeping with joy and relief. A number of Cleaning Charms had removed the dirt and grime, the filth she had been covered in. Her rags had been replaced with the kind of daring robes she had favored before her arrest. Her hair had been styled with charms. But despite all that and even after several nutrition potions she still looked far too thin, far too worn, far too old. Voldemort had to fight to keep smiling gently at his Bella. He wanted to rage at the monsters who had done this to her, had tried to break her, destroy her beauty, her mind, her very soul. They would pay for this. They would all pay! No one touched what was his!
He would never forget Azkaban, nor the the hollow shells of wizards and witches he had found in the cells there, their minds destroyed by relentless torture. Feeding the poor wretches to the dementors had been a mercy, in his opinion. Who would have wanted to live like that? And to think that without him, without his marks lending them strength, his followers, his Bella, would have shared that fate!
He had seen a lot of horrors in the aftermath of Grindelwald's War. But he wouldn't have expected to find such horrors in Dumbledore's Britain. The old man was an even worse hypocrite than he had thought. With an effort the Dark Lord controlled himself.
"I came for you, Bella, as you knew I would." He bent down and gently pried her arms loose. "You have suffered so much for me, Bella, withstood so much, and never broke, unlike others. And you shall be rewarded." The way she stared at him was almost painful. Bellatrix shouldn't be so… grateful. Overwhelmed. Bro… no, not broken. Never broken. She was too strong for that, she'd recover. She'd be his brave, beautiful love again, standing up to everyone, even himself - within limits, of course.
"My Lord?"
"Your body is suffering from the torture you were subjected to. I've prepared a ritual to restore it. What years that place has stolen from you shall be returned to you." He pulled her up, then steadied her while he led her towards the stairs leading to the basement in his safe house. She was silently weeping, but he ignored it. His Bella didn't weep, wouldn't weep.
The basement had been prepared for the ritual. The circle was ready. The sacrifice - a young pureblood witch of exceptional beauty, only the best for his Bella - was bound to the altar with silver chains. Her eyes were wide with fright and horror, but a gag kept her silent. Blood dripped to the floor from where the chains had torn into her skin during her futile attempts to escape. He smiled at her. Her life would restore Bella's youth and beauty. The Dark Lord would have a fitting consort.
He had Bella kneel in the middle of the circle and then started the ritual. The candles were lit, the runes glowed, and the words and chants came easy to his lips. When he drew the dagger, crafted from the thigh bone of Elizabeth Báthory, Bella's eyes lit up while the other witch started to struggle again, desperately trying to escape her fate.
The chains held her, drawing more blood, until the enchanted bone knife descended.
*****
"I know it's a tragedy, and it's terrible that the dementors are on the loose, but all I can think of is that the Death Eaters responsible for the attack on my parents are finally dead."
Hermione Granger, sitting next to Harry in the compartment of the Hogwarts Express, fought the urge to tell Neville that those Death Eaters had actually escaped Azkaban, leaving innocent polyjuiced victims to take their place for the dementors. The Headmaster had told them to keep it a secret. Only Harry, herself, Sirius, Remus, Nymphadora and Ron knew about it. And yet she had to say something to correct her friend. "They lost their souls and then died, Neville."
"Even better!" Neville's grin was positively feral, a far cry from his usually rather shy smile. Though Hermione was sure that if her parents had been tortured until they lost their minds, she'd have similar feelings towards the culprits. Or if it had been Harry. She reached over and grabbed her boyfriend's hand, squeezing it. It had been a really horrible week for him. Knowing that Voldemort had not only all the dementors, but also his most fanatic followers at his command now had been bad enough. But then Harry had woken up, his scar bleeding, and told her of another ritual, another human sacrifice he had witnessed. A young witch had been murdered, her life and soul stolen, used up to restore Bellatrix Lestrange's health and youth - Hermione felt sick just thinking about it. And Harry had seen it, as if he had been the one to wield the knife…
"The dementors are not as dangerous as people think. The Quibbler has printed a special edition full of anti-dementor measures!" Luna announced, holding up the issue in question.
Hermione smiled at her friend and took one to read the first article out loud. Or at least the important parts. "Locked or barred doors will stop them." That was correct. Despite popular belief, the dementors were not ghosts and could not pass through obstacles. On the contrary, they were physically so weak that even minor obstacles would prevent them from passing.
"Eating enough chocolate will allow you to withstand their aura long enough to reach the next floo, or apparate away." That could be true - though so far, Hermione only ever had seen chocolate used in the aftermath, to help people recover. It could not do harm, though.
"Learning the Patronus Charm will allow you to keep a dementor at bay and drive it away should you get caught outside your home." That was true as well, though Hermione wasn't sure how many would be able to learn the spell, much less cast it in the presence of a dementor. Nymphadora had been quite vocal in her criticism of her colleagues' skill in that area.
"Though it is recommended that you stock up on Harry Potters, for one of them is enough to drive a hundred dementors away… Luna!" Hermione looked at her friend, frowning.
The blonde Ravenclaw was beaming at her. "It's all true!"
"That is not the point." Hermione felt Harry's hand on her thigh, gently squeezing, and sighed. It was true, after all, even though Hermione felt the topic was far too serious to make light of it in such a manner.
Luna just kept smiling happily. "People need some laughter too, especially in these times. Anyway, the Ministry has endorsed the article fully, so that makes it official! That was the first time any article in the Quibbler has been endorsed by the Ministry, by the way. My daddy said they even asked for a second, bigger printing run!" She leaned forward and touched Hermione's knee.
The blonde witch was so happy, Hermione had to swallow her cynical comment that the Ministry was doing everything it could to keep the population from panicking. Even if it meant endorsing the journal that kept linking Fudge to various disturbing rumors. "I am glad for yours and your father's success, Luna."
"Me too," Harry stated, pulling Hermione a bit closer to him, which meant she was halfway into his lap and Luna lost her grip on her knee. The surprised blonde would have fallen from her seat if not for Aicha's quick reaction with her wand and a very ingenious use of a sticking charm.
"Aicha! you almost made me rip my new robe!" Luna turned towards her best friend, pouting.
"Would you rather have fallen down on the floor, head first?" Aicha asked. She quickly continued when Luna opened her mouth: "If you say 'yes' I will levitate you to the ceiling and then drop you!"
Luna shut her mouth and sat down to sulk for a second. Then she was smiling again. Hermione wondered briefly why her friend wasn't blaming Harry, but then reminded herself that it was Luna. She was quirky.
"Wardrobe malfunctions aside," Ron spoke up from where he was sitting next to Padma, who was reading a thick book on runes Hermione had on her list as well, "the Ministry also recommends staying indoors and within wards, and to travel from house to house using floo or apparition." He held up a flyer. "Dad's got a dozen of those to distribute."
Hermione shook her head. "That won't help if the dementors are with someone who can break down wards, and block floos." Like Voldemort, or one of his Death Eaters.
"But if those come you're already in lethal trouble." Ron countered.
Neville looked confused. "Are you talking about the raids? Gran said those were the results of infighting between thieves."
"That's what the Ministry wants you to think!" Luna piped up. "It's actually a conspiracy to eliminate successful muggleborn merchants and craftsmen. Daddy has an article in the upcoming issue about it."
Hermione saw Neville, Aicha, Ginny and Padma looking at her. They were expecting her to debunk Luna's claim, she realized. She shook her head. "Luna's right. It's very improbable that there was an organisation of thieves who all led perfect double-lives and were all muggleborns."
That earned her incredulous stares from four of her friends, and an enthusiastic hug from a fifth. And a protesting groan from Harry, who suddenly had the weight of two girls in his lap. And yet Hermione smiled. It felt good to be back among their friends, dealing with their innocent antics instead of visions of sacrifices and memories of Azkaban.
*****
Keith Yennington shivered. Something was not right. His robe should keep him pleasantly warm no matter the weather. He checked his charms. They were still working. And yet he felt cold. Very cold. He looked at the bound muggle family he had kidnapped from their camping ground. The hairs on their limbs were sticking up, and they were shivering despite being unconscious. So it was coldness, not an illusion.
He was at the exact spot he had been told by his employer to deliver the muggles to: The ruins of an old manor. He couldn't tell if it had been destroyed in a war or had simply decayed through neglect. He didn't care either, just as he didn't care how many muggles or mudbloods he had to kidnap, or what his boss did with them. As long as he got paid. And he did get paid.
He thought he saw something moving, in the ruins of what he assumed was the kitchen. Was that his contact? There was something moving there… floating. Was it a ghost? He didn't like ghosts. They were witnesses he couldn't silence. But why was it so cold? And for a ghost that thing was a bit too opaque.
Another movement, on the other side, caught his attention. There were two of them! Tattered robes, floating, this cold… Merlin's wand, they were dementors! He took a deep breath. Had his boss sent him into an ambush, to silence him? That didn't make much sense. He could always escape, after all. And he had gotten the order two days ago - would dementors really stay that long in one deserted place?
"Good evening, Mister Yennington."
Keith whirled around. His boss, Greenbrand, was behind him. He hadn't heard or seen him arrive. He didn't think he had gotten sloppy, so the man was good. And not impressed or bothered by staring at Keith's wand aimed at his head. Greenbrand had to be even more dangerous than Keith had suspected.
"Sir." He nodded briefly at the wizard, but didn't lower his wand. "There are dementors in those ruins."
"I know. They are waiting for you to deliver the muggles." Greenbrand smiled as if it was the most normal thing in the world to deal deliver people to soul-sucking monsters.
On the other hand, those were muggles, not real people. And Keith got paid for it. Was there really any difference between delivering sacrifices to a dark wizard, or food to dementors? As long as he got paid?
Keith decided there wasn't. He started to levitate the captured muggles over to the ruins. The first drew a half a dozen of the monsters, circling around him, dipping up and down as they fed. Keith didn't watch - he was busy levitating the next victim, the mother, over. But he watched the dementors feeding after he had floated the last muggle child over to the ruins. It was a terrible yet enthralling sight, one few ever had seen outside the Execution Chamber in the Ministry.
"Fascinating, isnt it, Mister Yennington?" Greenbrand's tone had a slightly amused note.
"I guess so." Keith answered. He caught the bag floating over to him and checked its contents. It was the agreed sum, in galleons.
"You've got the right attitude, Mister Yennington. Would you be interested in a more permanent position? Better paid, and more secure."
Keith valued his independence. He also valued gold, and Greenbrand had been his most generous and steadiest employer so far. Most skilled too - the missions he had been sent on had been well-planned and prepared. Though Greenbrand also was the most dangerous employer he had ever worked for. Keith had known that even before this job. And the mercenary just had a strong feeling that if he didn't accept Greenbrand's offer he would be very unlikely to walk or apparate away from this place.
"Yes, sir. I would be interested."
*****
Draco Malfoy winced while measuring the ground manticore spikes twice. He had to be absolutely sure the amount was correct. Professor Snape's temper had grown even worse over the holidays, a feat Draco hadn't thought possible. The Potions Master was still favoring Slytherin, in as much as losing slightly less points for minimal mistakes than the other houses could be called 'favoring'. He had even punished Draco for having a slightly off-color potion in the first lesson after the break!
Pansy, working next to Draco, actually ducked when she heard their Head of House berate the Gryffindor Patil over her mise en place until the girl was crying. They should have been laughing at the sight of a crying Gryffindor! But the last time they did that, they had gotten punished as well for 'disturbing the class' - were they Gryffindors or Slytherins?
Life wasn't fair. First, he had to suffer through a boring Yuletide, without the gift he had truly wanted, another muggle, and then his aunt and her husband and brother-in-law were murdered in prison. Hah! As if anyone would believe that - it was clear that the Ministry had them and the other political prisoners executed and covered it up, to prevent them from breaking out and joining the fight for the cause! Draco had tried to comfort his mother, but she hadn't been as broken up over the loss of her only remaining sister - blood traitors didn't count - as he had expected. Maybe she had learned to control her emotions better since his summer vacation.
Father had been in a bad mood for the whole break, though. He had been worse than during that time last summer, actually, and had almost killed one of their elves for botching breakfast. Draco hadn't dared to ask for his gift after watching that spectacle and had spent most of his time at home in his room, reading and dreaming of battles and other things.
Finally, his potion was ready, and with the perfect color too! Pansy had managed an acceptable potion as well, he guessed, from the lack of truly nasty comments her effort netted her when she turned it in. Draco, as the best potioneer in class, got even a nod - high praise from the professor, at least this year. He was confident he'd ace the O.W.L. and show the mudblood and the blood traitor what purebloods could do!
On his way back to his dorms he walked past Potter. The rude blood traitor hadn't even offered him his condolences for the loss of his aunt. No manners at all. Draco didn't say anything, of course. These days, no one said anything in Potions unless asked by the teacher. Not when coming, not when going.
*****
Keith Yennington looked at the small, derelict house he had been called to, after a quick tour over half of Britain - probably to throw off pursuit. His employer was a careful man indeed.
"Good evening, Mister Yennington."
Keith jerked around. Greenbrand had snuck up on him again. Wait, that was not Greenbrand! But he sounded and looked as confident, and as dangerous - or even more so. Keith licked his lips, suddenly nervous, and nodded.
"Do you have the blood traitor I asked for?" The other wizard hadn't presented himself, but he was wearing very expensive robes. Definitely a rich one. Handsome too.
Keith nodded again and pulled out a small stick figure.
"Perfect. Follow me inside."
The derelict house had a quite new looking basement. And an even newer looking ritual circle. Keith was no expert, but the whole setup looked like it was meant for a dark ritual. He had epxected something like this, after all the work he had done for Greenbrand. So he placed the stick figure on what he thought was the spot for the sacrifice without any hesitation. After a confirming glance at the other wizard Keith ended the spell. In front of him the figure turned back into the wizard he had kidnapped in Knockturn Alley last night. The man was bound and gagged, but conscious - and deathly afraid. With good reason, of course.
"Perfect. I have been keeping an eye on you for months now, Mister Yennington, and you have impressed me. Skilled, cool under fire, ruthless, and willing to do what's needed to save our country from sliding into barbarism."
"I assume you are Greenbrand's boss."
"Greenbrand is just a minor tool, in a manner of speaking. I have many followers, all carefully chosen." The young man - he couldn't be older than 25, Keith thought - made a small gesture, and a figure stepped out of the shadows behind him. Another wizard able to sneak up on him, Keith thought with a frown. No, it was a witch, he realized, as she stepped out of the shadows. A very beautiful witch, with long, pitch black hair that fell in a wild mane down her back, and a body to… Merlin, this was Bellatrix Lestrange! She was supposed to be dead!
The witch laughed at his reaction, clearly amused, and clearly as mad as her reputation claimed. First dementors, then Bellatrix Lestrange… who was this man? Keith stared at the wizard, then gasped when the witch fell to her knees at the man's side. There was only one wizard who that witch would kneel to, Keith knew. The realization made him feel as if his blood had been transfigured into ice.
"Indeed, Mister Yennington. I, Lord Voldemort, have returned! More powerful than ever! I have freed my faithful followers from Azkaban! I have taken control of the dementors! I will rule Britain! And I am offering you a place in the ranks of my most loyal followers! Riches and power await you! What do you say?"
Faced with the Dark Lord's offer, there was only one answer that wouldn't see Keith die. He knelt down at once and bowed his head deeply. "My Lord."
"Very good. Raise, Keith, it is time to mark you." Voldemort looked at the kneeling witch and nodded. She disappeared at once, with the typical sound of an apparition. "The granting of my mark is always done in private, with only me and the new Death Eater present. And a sacrifice, of course, to be killed in cold blood." He pointed his wand at the struggling, moaning captive.
"Avada Kedavra!"
*****
Far away, in Scotland, Harry Potter woke up screaming with pain and whith his scar bleeding all over his pillow and face.
Chapter 21: Horcruxes
