Chapter 2. The Final Passage
Meanwhile on a small windswept island, far out in North Sea, there was an uneasy silence. With only the distant cackle of seabirds on the wind provided an indication of life, whilst the raging waves of the sea sought to drag the small rock back under her dark waters. Winding up to sheer rock cliffs of the island was a narrow and crumbling path, which lead down to the island tiny harbour. Toward the top of the path a shadowy formed loomed out of the darkness, great walls of gray basalt, defiant against the power of nature.
The foreboding build had survived hundreds of years of terrible winter storms, with no evidence of nature wearing it down. Built on the summit of the small island, its dark walls looked as ancient as the rocky outcrop it was built upon. It had been built to impose on those who arrived and its doors, and throughout its years of use none had passed through its mighty threshold with trembling in fear. The tall archway exuding a deep sense of dread.
Many had passed through the arch, but only a scare few returned back through it, for the building main inhabitants were never meant to leave, and the only visitors avoiding it like the plague. For this dark building was Azkaban prison. A place which just the thought of conjured up fear amongst those who knew of it. Even the muggle sailors who had close by would give the outcrop a wide, with ancient mariner's tales having told of the banshees who inhabited it and would lure sailors to their doom on its jagged rocks.
Yet on this cold day, as an early autumn storm pounded the rocks below, three cloak draped figures wounded their way down the path toward the small boat which was narrowly avoiding being splintered on the rocks. Their heads were hung low, with hoods of their cloaks casting dark shadows across their faces, making them impenetrable masks of darkness. They scarce seemed to notice the small stone rolling off the edge of the path as slow made their way down the path, and away from the island that would forever be a dark blight of sadness on their hearts. For these visitors to the mighty Azkaban had come for one purpose, to witness the death of a man.
Many hours before a blinding white light had covered the tiny island of Azkaban from shore to shore, this event was of interest to anyone, after all seagulls care only for where their next meal is coming from. Slowly the light began to fade and three figures appeared from within its dazzling embrace, all wrapped in cloaks which seemed to made from the night's sky, in stark contrast to the pure light which had been surrounding them.
"Come my dear" One of the shorter of three figures said, turning to the smallest cloaked figure stood beside them. Put one arm around the figure's shoulder, as they set off walking behind the tallest figure who had strode off toward the foreboding archway of the prison. Neath the black stone they walked turning to pushing their way into a small iron clad door in the side of the long threshold, an ancient portcullis hanging over their head. On the other side of the doorway, a twisting staircase led down in to the darkness within the prison, and still the lead figure purposefully continue, leading the other two into the underworld.
Ever down they went, the staircase seemingly endless till at the bottom they came to low ceilinged passageway, at the end of which a similar cloaked being abode, however, this beast was of an entirely different sort to the three figures, the hem of its cloak floating a good foot of the ground. One of the dementors of Azkaban.
Yet even this being, evil personified, seemed unable to prevent the passage of the three figures, as some unseen force seem to push it aside and into dark recess in the wall. Leaving the figures to stand before the door which moments before it had been guarding, allowing them see the intricate locks which barred anyone entrance, or rather prevented anyone leaving whatever room lay beyond. However, as the lead figure ran his hand across the door, once again a blinding light appeared, and slowly the locks began to twist back, and with an eerie creaked the door began to easy open, allowing the figures to push forward into the room.
There in the far corner of the room, a shrunken figure lay across the cold stone slab which functioned as a bed, with a mangy blanket pulled across, in a desperate attempt to fight back the cold which sought to overcome them. The figure had been through so much in their life, and lost so much, yet now they were fated to succumb to the cold of misery of this dark isle, and pass out of this world which had caused them so much pain and misfortune.
Slowly the three figures crossed the room to crouch beside the forlorn figure on the bed. While the tallest figure gazed on in sadness and agony, the two smaller figures clung to decrepit body before them.
He was just a boy, and had already suffered so much in his short life, abiding in a world where for years he had been abused and unloved by his only family, before entering a world where it seemed as though the fates had at last granted him some measly form of happiness. Yet even this short period had not lasted after a mere year in this new world he had come close to death, yet he had friends, friends to care for him and make him believe his life was worth all its hardships. For awhile this small comfort had been enough to allow him to flourish and grow, before it was all cruelly taken away. It was this cruelty that led to him residing deep within the bowels of the vilest prison known to any race of man. A complete betrayal which had left alone and with almost no one to call upon, only one person had continued to believe in him and for a while the knowledge that belief had been enough to sustain him.
However, it could not last and slowly he had begun to succumb to the cold and darkness which enveloped him. Thought after so many years of suffering he no longer looked on it this way, death felt like an old friend welcoming him into its eternal embrace. He had come to welcome death and an end to his pain rather than fear, and looked forward to residing in peace at last.
His only fear was the one who he left behind, for she was the sole occupant and of his heart and mind, how would she cope with his departure, she had long been cast aside for her continuing believe in him by her family, and now like him was completely alone in the world. The heart called out for her, calling it to hold her and cherish her one last time. He slowly twisted his head to the aside, and in his death throes swear he saw three figures aside him.
As he looked closer he recognised from their heights that one among them were male, leaving his two other companies as female. But who were they, no one visited this deep into the prison, and certainly no-one cared to witness the death of a convicted killer – whether falsely or not – slowly he turned the puzzle over in his mind, while the three figure slowly lowered their hoods allowing him to see their faces. This only served to confuse him further, two of the figures he could understand, he was dying and they were there to welcome him into the next world, yet they seemed so real, reaching out to touch the smaller of the two, he felt the warm of the cheek, as a tear crossed his palm. They couldn't be real though, for before him stood his mother and father who had long since passed from this plane, and there beside them stood his one true love. Slowly he moved his to the cheek of the youngest of the three, moving it round to caress her flowing hair, burning red in the darkness.
He knew not whence the three had came, but their presence comforted him and eased his soul, as slowly he passed from this world and into the next, as his soul placed one final tender kiss upon his sunken lips.
Once again a bright light shone in the darkness of Azkaban yet this time it enveloped the body of the just passed boy, till it seemed to alight with pure white flames, which slowly dwindled and disappeared, leaving no sign of the man who had laid their minutes before, as purest of magic carried his soul across the barrier between this plane and the next, whilst returning his body to family manor where he could be laid to rest alongside his ancestors.
Slowly the three figures rose, silent tears crossing their cheeks, their agony and heartbreak to desperate to express aloud, turning they left the small dank room, for the purpose of their visit had come to pass, and they had business elsewhere now.
For Harry Potter had passed from this world, with them as the solitary witnesses to his passage away from his life of turmoil.