Harry Potter's 5th Year: Part 5
A/N~ This is a continuation of the story started by my coauthor, Harry Potter & Star Wars, so actually this sequence was his idea. Thanks!
Disclaimer~ Obviously, I don't own these characters if you've heard of them before. They belong to the wonderfully gifted J.K. Rowling. I've only got $5.72 in my purse since I just blew my money on a new pair of shoes. Don't sue me!
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Voldemort was trying to break into the almost impregnable fortress of Azkaban. The fighting was brutal between death eaters and dementors. It was a grim scene. The death eaters were even turning on each other. Shrieks of terror and cries of pain came from prisoners stranded in the crossfire of spells and torturing thoughts. The smell of smoke and burning flesh came from within the mess. Green, red, and yellow sparks flashed like lightning, providing light in the dark storm. Curses the Ministry of Magic had never even heard of burst forth to kill and conquer. No one in the dark was room was clear on what they were fighting about, or for. It was a chaos Voldemort enjoyed, laughing malevolently at the helpless convicts and soldiers.
Some dementors swatted away feeble wisps of patronuses like they would an annoying gnat. Voldemort watched, unmoved, as many of his men fell, never to rise again. The swarm of death eaters, comprised of novices, uncaught souls, and escapees ready to rejoin the cause, eventually brought the dementors under control with the use of some heavy dark magic. A silence filled the ruined room. It was a still, pained silence. broken only by a few men's dying gasps. Voldemort casually picked out the dementor that seemed to be something of an overseer to the rest to pitch his new plan to. The hooded figure glided gracefully and silently toward him, stopping a few feet away.
"I can promise you hundreds of horridly happy souls to feed from if you are willing to help me. I can give you things no minister of magic could ever match in return for your services to me. You could even be free!", Voldemort proposed enticingly. It seemed that each of the dementors' sightless faces was looking through him, trying to find the untruth in his statement. Voldemort glanced around to survey the damage to the stricken prison, pausing to heighten the tension before mentioning the one little catch. What he saw pleased him. The chilly, damp room they were in was in shambles. It was still filled with a curtain of blood red smoke; a wicked, acrid smoke from the horrible spells used. Bloodied, moaning people littered the floor, along with rubble from the now chipped stone walls. Many more lay dead among these ruins. Some of the dementors, it seemed, were drifting in a nervous and sporadic fashion. But Voldemort had no time for small things, like nerves or casualties. Not when there were negotiations to make. He only wished that he had chosen stronger wizards as allies, but he had no fear that the fools cowering before him could only grow more powerful.
He cleared his throat, then continued, "All of this in return for help in a small attack against Hogwart's." A moment passed before a scabby, weathered, grayish tinged hand reached from under the dementor's robes to shake Voldemort's hand in agreement. Voldemort's chillingly evil laugh echoed off of the walls, colder than even the thousand or so dementors that were crowded together in the room.
"This time, Potter, you won't escape!", he cried mirthlessly to no one in particular, but making sure everyone heard him. His screams fell on the deaf ears of the injured and the dead. The red of the smoke that stained the air was nothing to the red that now stained the once greasy, black floors.