Well, well, well. How long has it been since I, the Morningstar, have posted anything on this site?
Too long.
However, that is irrelevant. I am Satan Mekratrig, Lucifer the Morningstar. I am eternal, and I am back.
Enjoy!
It was raining.
Hard.
It had been raining for weeks, months on end. Wrapped in a thick cloak, with five Warming charms cast on himself and his clothes, Auror (formerly Senior) Adrian Phillips wondered idly where all the water came from. He shifted a little. Even though his chair had several Cushioning charms on it, not to mention a cushion, it was still uncomfortable to sit there for five hours out of his six hour shift. He shifted again and sighed.
"Azkaban," he muttered. "Az-ka-ban." He never wondered why he'd gotten landed with this posting; he'd annoyed Fudge one too many times due to his support of Dumbledore, and since his record was spotless he could not be fired or laid off. So instead, that disgusting toad of an Undersecretary had had him posted out here, to Azkaban, where he got two days off every two months and one week at Christmas every other year to see his family – his wife of twenty years, Elizabeth, and their daughter Emily, now fifteen.
Well, it could be worse.
At least he still had a job.
Adrian shot a glance at the clock on the wall opposite. Devoid of numbers, it instead had four black dots round the rim, dividing it into quarters. It was a six-hour clock, and the dots marked the four mandatory rounds he had to make of the prison.
The hand was creeping close to the third of the four.
"Just two more hours," he muttered to himself. "Two more hours."
Phoenix song filled the guardroom, a tidal wave of warmth washing over him. He sputtered and gasped in shock at the sight of the magnificent fire-plumed bird, familiar of Dumbledore, master of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Fawkes!" he all but shouted, jumping out of his chair and dropping his cloak in his surprise. "What happened?"
The bird glanced at him with intelligent eyes and trilled several notes of breathtaking purity. It raised a foot, clasped in the claws of which was a letter. With trembling hands Adrian took it, turning it over to see the red wax seal holding it shut, the mark of a phoenix feather clearly visible.
With a final burst of song, the beautiful bird vanished in a burst of golden flame, leaving behind a guardroom warm for perhaps the first time in its history, and a guard both confused and apprehensive as the rain kept falling, cold and black.
Adrian Phillips had become a member of the Order of the Phoenix towards the end of the war against Voldemort, a year or so before the Dark Lord's defeat. Since then he had had no contact with the Order, let alone this.
A missive from Dumbledore himself, sealed with the official mark of the Order.
He slit the envelope open and took out the letter within. It was short and to the point.
Voldemort is back.
He will try to regather his followers.
Be prepared.
He slumped back in his chair, the letter falling from his limp fingers, staring unseeingly at the far wall. Outside the rain billowed and gusted, drowning out the almost silent murmur that escaped his lips.
"He's back…"
A minute later he was pacing back and forth across the guardroom, fingers knotted in his hair.
"Dammit," he swore angrily. "Dammit, I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it! He's back…He's back, and we can't face him…" He stopped abruptly. "Elizabeth! Emily! I have to warn them – they need to know…wait, wait, Emily goes to Hogwarts, Dumbledore'll warn the children at Hogwarts, she'll let her mother know…no, no, that's not enough, I have to tell them too…"
He glared at the clock. "Come one," he muttered, "come on, finish my shift, goddammit! I have to owl them, I have to warn them. Maybe get them to leave the country, transfer Emily to Beauxbatons or something…dammit!" He slammed a fist into the wall, wincing as the pain cleared his mind a little.
"Fudge, that little shit…he'll just bury his head in the sand, I know it, he's in Malfoy's pocket…" he snarled. "The Ministry won't prepare, no-one will be ready…they have to leave the country now, or it'll be too late…" With a sigh he slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. "No…no…I can't afford it, it's too much…Emily has to get her OWLS and NEWTS, she won't make it without them, and I can't afford Beauxbatons…" He let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes. "They'll have to stay…and pray that He doesn't target them…"
For a moment he sat like that, in despair over his family, before a thought struck him, remembering part of the letter Dumbledore had sent.
"He'll come here!" he yelped, leaping to his feet again. "The Dark Lord…he'll come here, to free his followers!" He began to pace again, frantic, eyes staring at nothing. "He'll come…the Dementors won't fight him, they didn't last time, they'll follow him…and we'll die! we'll all die! Goddammit, I'm going to die!" Unconsciously he raised a fist to his mouth and began to chew on a finger in his worry. "The others…they won't believe he's back, they won't be prepared…he'll take them by surprise, they'll be killed easily…I won't be able to hold out, I can't face down the Dark Lord alone! I've got…I've got to get out of here! I can't stay, I can't die, I can't leave Elizabeth and Emily!" Blood was starting to trickle unnoticed down his hand, his teeth gnawing feverishly at his finger. "But how…how can I get out? Fudge won't let me go, I can't run…dammit, what shall I do?" His eyes brightened suddenly. "Dumbledore! He'll get me out of here, he'll pull strings, yes!" Quickly he grabbed a sheet of parchment and began scribbling a letter to the head of the Order of the Phoenix, begging him to do whatever he could to get Auror Adrian Phillips out of Azkaban and back with his wife and daughter before the Dark Lord killed him.
That night Adrian's owl left the prison, winging its way through the drenching rain and the black storm and across the sea. Two letters were bound to its leg, one to Dumbledore, one to Elizabeth and Emily Phillips.
The letter to Dumbledore found itself in the fireplace barely a minute after being opened by it's recipient, who abhorred cowardice in any shape or form. The letter to the two women ended up yellowed and dry with age, between the pages of an old Emily's diary, as the last memento of her dead father.
Auror Adrian Phillips was killed in action weeks later during the infamous Azkaban Breakout, standing in the never-ending rain trying to deny the Dark Lord entry, tears running down his cheeks and his wife and daughter's names on his lips.
Did you think it was going to be happy?