Story Title: The Pact of Tur'el
School: Hogwarts
Theme: Imperius Curse - Controlling/being controlled, servitude, slavery, contracts, freedom.
Main Prompt: [Creature] - Dementor
Side Prompt: [Setting] - Azkaban
Side Prompt: [Character] - Lord Voldemort
Year: First Year
Rating: T
Word Count: 2880
Beta(s): Nyssa
Warnings: AU, Torture, (it is explained, but it's fairly mild for HP verse. Nothing worse than what was in the books). It was my take on the origins of the Dementors Kiss.
Author's Notes: I decided to change a few things from canon. Firstly, I have stuck to canon (Pottermore) for most of Azkaban's origins. I got a bit creative by saying the dementors were created by Ekrizdis and the conversation with Damocles Rowle. I like to think, that's how it would have gone down.
I am also aware that the dementors defected from their watch over Azkaban the moment Lucius was locked up at the end of OotP. I have chosen to extend this defection until seven months later, as it makes a lot more sense to the plot here.
I am also aware that Corban Yaxley was given the title of head of the DMLE, but I had never heard of him also being an auror. I have chosen to make him an auror for this story to give him a legitimate excuse for being at Azkaban.
My apologies for the Lord Voldemort prompt. I know he doesn't appear in the story physically as much as I would like, but I have tried to make him very significant to the plot. Thank you and enjoy the story!
The Pact of Tur'el
It is the dead of night, and the wind is howling against a fortress in the North Sea. The giant dark tower stands tall against the storm. The stronghold is built from ancient basalt, and each stone is as cold and black as the prison itself. No wizard worth his salt wants to end up in my domain—Azkaban.
My name is Tur'el, and I am the guardian of this fortress. I am a dementor; I am an ancient creature and the first of my kind. I swoop down from the sky and enter the prison, floating along the corridors, revelling in the persistent despair of the prisoners.
I remember the days when my creator lived here when we were still hidden from the world. He was a terribly dark wizard, named Ekrizdis. While the term 'Dark Lord' hadn't been applied to the man, that's precisely what he was. I would smile, if I possessed the necessary features, at the thought of my old master.
Ekrizdis had bred my kind and allowed us free reign over the island. In return, we obeyed his every order. He liked to lure Muggle sailors into his humble abode with the promise of food, water and shelter. The hopeful sailors entered the fortress and unwittingly provided us with a veritable feast of positive emotions. Ekrizdis took great pleasure torturing and killing them in the most interesting of ways. The seamen quickly sank into crushing despair, realising that from the moment they had entered his territory, he had complete control of their fate.
Some were skinned alive and left to die in pools of their own blood. Others were repeatedly healed and tortured, before being allowed the mercy of death. He also had another method, one so unspeakably vile that some of his prisoners had gone mad from the sheer horror of witnessing. He named it, 'The Dementor's Kiss'.
I remember it well. I was summoned by my master, who had tired of playing with a prisoner. Ekrizdis told the unfortunate man he would end his suffering, and that I was to be the instrument of his death. I rushed to obey. I was excited! I glided in slow motion towards the man, swathed in a tattered, black cloak. When I lifted my hood revealing my black, mottled face, the prisoner screamed in horror.
I am blind, as I have no discernable eyes, but I could still 'sense' the unfortunate man well enough to drift closer. The sailor continued screaming as my skeletal face neared, there was no perceptible structure other than a type of primitive mouth.
I descended mercilessly upon the helpless man and began sucking the soul from his mouth. He fought me, but I ignored his muffled screaming as I continued to draw out his soul. The terror that tainted his soul enhanced the flavour, and I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to–it was the most intoxicating feeling I had ever experienced. My hunger was instantly satiated, and I was utterly addicted. Now that my purpose was complete, I released the man and drifted off to rejoin my brethren.
The prisoner slumped over in a daze, unable to do anything but drool. Ekrizdis was awed by the sight of the man and continued to experiment. Finding a heartbeat, he couldn't believe it; though the soul had been devoured, the body yet lived! Fascinating! Instead of removing the corpse, he left it in the cells with the still living sailors. The vision of their impending deaths swiftly drove those that remained into insanity. Their psychological agony seeped into the very walls, and I revelled in it, as did the rest of my kind.
After the death of my master, the wards fell, and our island was discovered. Those that investigated it never spoke of what they saw. We continued to thrive, as the sense of despair and misery was now imbued into every brick. The fortress remained abandoned until a particularly sadistic Minister for Magic saw its potential as a prison. With the new Statute, the Ministry had argued about where to house their most dangerous, and undesirable members of society. It was perfect. It was isolated, secure, and free of charge and Rowle claimed it would save them time, effort and expense and so he approached me.
~Five hundred years ago~
A dark-haired man approached the entrance of the fortress. I glided out to meet him. With a long rattling breath, I tasted the man's emotions; I was starving. I saw him shiver, but he recovered quickly and stood straight before me. I couldn't help but respect him—just a little.
"My name is Damocles Rowle, British Minister for Magic. I come to you with a proposition," he said.
"I am listening, wizard. I am Tur'el," I replied telepathically.
"Tur'el…" he said, sampling my unusual name. "The Ministry of Magic wishes to turn this fortress into a prison for wizards. If you're agreeable, I would like it if you and your kind would serve as guards, ensuring the security of the facility."
"A prison," I repeated slowly. "What would stop my kind from devouring the souls of your prisoners?"
The man had the arrogance to smirk. "You would not be permitted to do so unless a criminal had been sentenced to death. If you sign a deal with the Ministry, you will be allowed to remain here, in Azkaban, and to roam free. The ministry will ally themselves with your kind, placing you under Ministry protection."
I drew in another breath and saw my effects rattle the man. "We feed off of emotions and souls. Any prisoner that remains here would suffer from our presence." Rowle seemed unfazed by this.
"If I guaranteed that you would have access to raw emotions daily, would you agree to my proposal? If so, you need only imbue this contract with your magical signature," he replied, holding up a piece of parchment.
"I accept your offer, wizard," I replied, touching the parchment with a bony finger.
"Excellent! Good day to you, Tur'el," he responded, before taking his leave.
It was only after he left that I realised, the thought of raw emotions and the occasional soul had blinded me. I had failed to see the true meaning behind the Minister's words. He wanted to control my master's fortress, using it for the Ministry's gain. It came equipped with the perfect guards that he would not have to pay. But in return, the Ministry would control and confine us to Azkaban. I had made a grave error.
Five hundred years later, I am still bound by the same contract. The only joy I have left is feeding on the emotions of the prisoners. One day, we will be free of our confines, free to roam and devour souls as we please. I sense it—something is coming.
Corban Yaxley was visiting Azkaban on Lord Voldemort's behalf to meet with one of the dementors. He wouldn't be meeting the leader but a representative. He was eager to see both sides become allied in the future war. The dementor waited at the entrance to welcome him inside. It led him to a quiet room where they could speak. Yaxley made himself comfortable and introduced himself.
"I am Corban Yaxley, and I represent Lord Voldemort. What may I call you?" The dementor tilted its head and seemed to look at him.
"I do not have a name, wizard. Only one of us was given a name. What does your Lord want with us?" Yaxley locked his fingers and leaned forward.
"Lord Voldemort seeks an alliance. He has asked me to give you a gift for meeting me today. I left it in the boat for you."
The intrigued dementor drifted closer. "What gift?"
Yaxley smiled. "The boat contains ten Muggleborns. Lord Voldemort offers them as a token of his goodwill. It is but a taste of what is to come if you choose to enter this alliance." Yaxley sat back in his chair and crossed his legs as he waited for the dementors reply.
"We thank you for your gift, and we will consider your offer. If Lord Voldemort is truly serious about an alliance, then he must come personally to speak with Tur'el." The dementor exited the small room, leaving Yaxley alone to think.
Lord Voldemort was pleased. Yaxley had just returned with news of his alliance with the dementors. He had already secured the werewolves and giants, thanks to the efforts of Mulciber and Greyback. But his Dark army would finally be complete with the monstrous dementors.
The dementors were open to the idea of an alliance, and he made sure to send Yaxley back with fresh souls to keep them interested. He had even instructed them to pay special attention to one particular prisoner, Lucius Malfoy. He was nowhere near done punishing the blonde for his recent failure. Now the prophecy was forever lost to him, and there was no way he would squander his chance to gain the support of the dementors.
He would meet with the dementor known as Tur'el, but not before he figured out what they wanted. He would be sure to send Rookwood to the ministry to see what he could dig up. He wanted to know how the ministry had secured their allegiance the first time. Surely there would be something beneficial buried in the archives he could use to cement their union. He was sure of it.
Lucius Malfoy sat in the corner of his filthy cell. His usually immaculate skin and hair was dank and dirty. He had grown a very unkempt beard, and his clothes smelled. Nobody would recognise Lucius Malfoy under that amount of grime. Underneath his unwashed hair, was a withdrawn expression.
At the beginning of his incarceration, five months ago, he wore a murderous expression instead. The target of his rage had been Potter, for thwarting his efforts and smashing the prophecy. He had been equally furious with Bellatrix for continuing to resort to lethal spells to retrieve the orb. Dumbledore had been the ultimate sore spot. Any chance of succeeding in his mission ended the moment the old man arrived with his 'Order of the Phoenix' and trapping him in the Department of Mysteries.
A cold shiver ran down his spine as a dementor passed by his cell, and he saw his breath in front of his face as he exhaled in relief. The effects lingered as another terrible memory assaulted him. The creature seemed to want to torment Lucius, circling back to his cell again and again. He still found the memory far more horrific than any dementor.
~Two Months Ago~
It was August and Lucius was three months into his sentence, he heard a familiar voice down the hall from his cell. Yaxley was an Auror and a Death Eater. Lucius rushed to the door of his cell, clinging to the bars as he searched desperately for his fellow inner circle member.
"Yaxley!" he hissed at the pale-haired Auror. The man in question glanced his way, and his eyes hardened. Lucius looked at him warily as Yaxley approached his door.
"Malfoy," he drawled slowly. His voice was deep and resembled a low growl. "How has Azkaban been treating you?"
Lucius glared. "I'll be out of here soon enough. Have you heard anything? Any news of–"
"Aye, I've heard a few things, Malfoy." Leaning closer, Yaxley continued, "Word has it, your son has been hand-picked to cut the head off the Phoenix. I thought the Dark Lord would have seen fit to tell you by now, what with it being your boy, but apparently not."
Lucius was too busy reeling, leaving him unable to react to the insult. Was Draco given a mission from the Dark Lord to kill Dumbledore? It was impossible to expect a sixteen-year-old to accomplish such a task. He returned his gaze to the other pale blonde.
"Why has he chosen Draco?" Lucius asked quietly, but all he got was a cruel leer in reply. "Please, Yaxley."
Eventually, Yaxley gave in. "Never thought I'd hear a Malfoy beg. You always thought you were better than everyone else, with your peacocks and your Manor. You thought you were untouchable because you had the good Ministers ear, didn't you? All those generous donations and you still managed to get caught red-handed. So now you know, the Malfoy name is mud, and the Dark Lord is angry," he smirked. "How the mighty have fallen." With that Yaxley left and Lucius sank to the floor in shock.
It took time for the news to sink in, but then Lucius realised the mess he was in, and that the Dark Lord wasn't coming to break him out. His standing was gone, and he was being mocked openly. His wife was forced to play host to the Dark Lord in their home, and now his son had been given a suicide mission. The Dark Lord wasn't just punishing him; by involving his wife and heir, he was torturing him. There was only so much a man could take, and Lucius was reaching his limit.
Seven months into his internment, Lucius had a lot of time to reflect on his time in Azkaban. He knew, joining the Dark Lord was the pivotal choice that led to his current predicament. The Dark Lord had painted a picture of a world where wizards ruled over Muggles. A world where he stood to gain immeasurable riches if the Dark Lord succeeded. So, Lucius had consented to be branded like livestock and entered into a lifetime of servitude.
He had finally been left with nothing but his worst thoughts and memories. Thanks to the effects of the dementors, the blonde could no longer recall the smell of his wife's perfume or the sound of her voice. He had almost completely forgotten the expression of fierce pride on his son's face when he looked up to him. Lucius couldn't accept it.
Lucius had had enough of suffering the Dark Lord's displeasure. Staring at the ugly tattoo on his forearm, Lucius made a choice. He no longer cared if Lord Voldemort won the war or not.
Lord Voldemort approached the shores of Azkaban; after four months of negotiations and gestures of goodwill, the two leaders were ready to meet. Four dementors welcomed Voldemort into a large cavern that reminded him of the Chamber of Secrets. The walls were lined with dementors. Icicles hung from the ceiling, and the floor was paved with ice, giving the room a lifeless quality.
At the end of the room, a dementor hung in the air. Its cloak was shrouded in black wisps almost like smoke. Its power was genuinely terrifying, and Lord Voldemort knew he was looking at the leader, Tur'el.
Lord Voldemort broke the silence in the chamber. "I am Lord Voldemort. It is a pleasure to meet you, Tur'el."
The huge dementor hung before him. "Your gifts have been most appreciated. You seek an alliance with my kind. What would have of us, if we choose to accept?"
His voice flooded the Dark Lord's head with a deep rasping sound. "I wish for you to join my ranks in the war. Help me to take back this world from the unworthy that rule it and I will give you whatever you desire."
Tur'el considered his words. "We want freedom from Ministry control, to roam and feed as we please. Without this, I fear there will be no alliance."
Lord Voldemort gestured to one of his Death Eaters who produced an ancient piece of parchment. Tur'el recognised it as the contract Damocles Rowle had offered him. Drawing his wand, Lord Voldemort incinerated the scrap of parchment and turned to Tur'el.
"My faithful Death Eater, Rookwood found this ancient contract, deep in the archives at the Ministry. Your deal with the Ministry is destroyed. You are no longer bound here as slaves; you are free. Join me and feast upon the souls of my enemies."
Tur'el approached Lord Voldemort with a bony hand outstretched. Lord Voldemort grasped his skeletal hand without hesitation, and their alliance was born.
Lucius jumped out of his stupor as he heard a key rattle in the door of his cell. With a clatter and a squeal, the door swung open to reveal a dementor. The blonde stood up in confusion as the dementor drifted to the side to give him access to leave his cell.
Slowly, Lucius stepped around the dementor and found himself looking at a group of his fellow Death Eaters. Avery, Crabbe, Dolohov, Shunpike, Travers, Macnair, Rookwood, and the Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan.
"Death Eaters." The ten men spun at the sound of that cold, high voice. At the end of the corridor stood the Dark Lord. "As a token of goodwill, the dementors have chosen to release ten of you. They have joined my ranks and no longer guard Azkaban. You are now free to serve me as my most faithful Death Eaters."
Lucius looked at his master, the Dark Lord, and met his blood-red gaze. He knew what awaited him upon his return to his ancestral home. His suffering and humiliation would continue because Lucius was still under the Dark Lords control. The blonde vowed this; he would bide his time, and he would be truly free. For it was a well-known fact, that a Malfoy bowed to no one.
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