The first thing Amelia Bones actually ordered done was have the Wizengamot chambers sealed.
It had taken her almost half an hour to issue that order, by which time several observers of the day's proceedings had stumbled out the doors. For all that the order was slow in coming, she wasn't shy about exercising her authority to contain the disaster. The two aurors present had been sent with all due haste to secure reinforcements, post guards at the doors, and retrieve the escaped observers by time turner shortly after their departure.
The remaining observers were in various states of shock, easily quarantined for the moment. That left the survivors of the Wizengamot itself, who were too busy pestering her to go stumbling through floo transports or manhandling owls to disseminate the day's events. The most important thing, at this point, was keeping everyone else out. Some news was simply too dangerous to escape into the wild.
Something would of course have to be done about the bodies eventually, but magic was efficacious in the short term and involved bringing no one else into the chambers.
Amelia idly wondered just how many memory charms might be necessary when all was said and done.
"Director Bones." Dumbledore startled her from behind. She turned. "Minerva and I really need to be getting back to Hogwart's soon. If there's anything we can do to help, please, let us know." He was leaning on Professor McGonagall for support.
"Albus, I could really use your input in this situation." Of all the times the old meddler could choose to not stick his nose in...
"He's an eleven-year-old boy, Amelia. And for all that he has acted improbably and harshly, I cannot believe he has gone to darkness yet. I might suggest talking to him."
"I don't even know what to say!"
"You have a niece about his age."
"My niece does not command dementors to kill people."
"Hmmm... I take your point. And yet, he is still only eleven. He only thinks he understands what it is to fight a war. Help him understand just what he has done this day." Suddenly then Dumbledore pulled close to her, pulled her ear to his mouth and whispered into it. "I fear the bigger difficulty will be finding a way out of this dilemma that does not alienate Harry completely. We need him, Amelia. We need him to defeat Voldemort."
He released her then, and she quickly schooled her face to show no shock. Dumbledore's eyes met hers, measuring her.
"I'll do what I can."
"And Amelia, there are children at Hogwarts affected by the tragic events here today, it would be far better were they to hear from us first. Do let me know what should be said, I have full faith in your discretion."
She nodded, dismissing him.
"Director Bones, I fear I must take my leave as well."
"Lord Malfoy, surely as someone injured in recent events you have some stake in the outcome."
"Then I might do the sensible thing and ask Master Potter what he wants, and give it to him."
"Lucius!" said a startled Madam Longbottom, "Unpleasant yes, but I never figured you for a coward!"
"When faced with an obviously superior opponent, discretion is frequently the better part of valor," Lucius snarled at her. "Good day Director Bones, Madam, Lords and Ladies."
"And what, might I ask, is so pressing that you would run out on this meeting?" Amelia asked.
"My son needs me," Lord Malfoy muttered. More strongly he continued, "And I imagine anything I propose would receive rather scant support in present company. Good day." With that he turned on his heel and headed for the door, pausing briefly here and there when he happened across the bodies of those who had been close allies.
The survivors of the 208th Wizengamot looked at each other solemnly. If Amelia were a betting woman, she'd wager Lucius was quite wrong in his prediction.
"Is Lord Malfoy right? Do we just roll over and give Potter what he wants?"
"Director Bones, how would the aurors fare if they simply tried to apprehend him?"
She tried to imagine it. Her aurors descending into the center of Azkaban, depending on their Patronuses to protect them from the dementors within. She could see it so clearly. The patronuses popping out of existence. The dementors swarming her brave aurors. You can't duel a dementor. She shuddered.
Every face was turned to her expectantly.
"I might note that both Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore have for once given us surprisingly similar advice," Amelia found herself saying. "Maybe we should talk to Master Potter and see if we can't find a way out of this."
She looked over the remaining members of the Wizengamot slowly, gauging their expressions. It wasn't a real solution, it was a fishing expedition. There would be discussion yet. But at least now there was something concrete to discuss.
She stared in wonder at her Patronus, her glowing human projection of emotion and will. Last week she would have been elated, indeed, there was an electric feeling of joy at her accomplishment. But everything was burdened with history and regret, making her mood more marked by a sardonic gravity than anything else.
"Hermione?" She realized he had been saying her name for about five minutes.
"Now what Harry?"
"Look, I don't know how much time we have, this is... um... sort of taking longer than I planned already, and they could have been here almost as fast as we were, so..."
"And?"
"Well, its not enough to decide dementors are evil and say that. A Patronus feeds off emotion, not reason... Um..."
"Spit it out Mr. Potter." Her voice was unnecessarily sharp, but her patience was rapidly waning, and she was cold and wet and just remembering that she could have cast a warming charm except now her wand was maintaining her Patronus.
"Hermione I'm sorry."
"I certainly hope so."
"I'm not talking about... look. About 100 yards that way," he motioned with his free right hand, "is one of the walls of Azkaban. At the end of that wall is a tower. And in that tower, more than half way up, is a woman."
Harry's voice had taken on a seriousness almost ridiculous in his unbroken high pitch. But Hermione wasn't dwelling on the tone, it was the message itself that was surreal and frightening.
"That woman has been sentenced to relive her crimes over and over again, all while under the influence of the dementors. And she sits in her cell repeating to herself No, I didn't mean it, please don't die! over and over again. And her voice is strong, she hasn't been here in Azkaban very long, the dementors haven't totally broken her spirit yet."
"Harry, why? What...?" she cried in panic and pain. Why was he telling her these things? It was horrible. She had only spent hours with a dementor, shielded by patronuses, and still she had felt sick. Inside her a flame, kindled when she had cast her patronus, ignited, burning with righteous indignation. Raw emotion poured down and out through her arm.
"She can't even remember the names of her children anymore," Harry continued, over her protests. "Maybe one year here, and her own children are lost to her."
Her Patronus grew then, and wonder mixed with horror as the light became brilliant, shifting from sapphire to white.
"And she's not even near the bottom. She's more than halfway up. There are cells all the way to the very bottom of the tower, right next to the dementors." Harry spit out the last sentence with venom.
She could see that his Patronus was undergoing a similar transformation to hers. He, too, was appalled by Azkaban. And as her Patronus waxed she could feel them, the prisoners of Azkaban, as the protective light spilled over them and shielded them.
Her dams broke and the silver light poured out from her as a river, wild and rapid, and she was almost emptied. But suddenly Fawkes was there, on her shoulder, cooing into her ear, and his warmth flooded into her and sustained her.
Harry Potter took her free hand in his then. He looked at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. Though no more words were spoken, on this they were agreed.
Had anyone else been looking into the center of Azkaban just then, they would have seen one shining hominid patronus take the other's hand, standing together against the darkness of Azkaban.
Maybe Auror Li would have contacted Director Bones earlier if he understood the significance of his Patronus's bizarre fixed attention towards the center of Azkaban. But being stationed near dementors for long periods of time made the Patronus just another common everyday thing that got taken for granted. It protected you from dementors, that was what it did. It wasn't some sort of early warning system for unforeseen events. But so it was that Li's Patronus, and all the Patronuses of the other aurors in Azkaban, for that matter, had their attention fixed inward almost since Harry Potter had arrived. No one noticed.
However, when the window into the center suddenly lit up brighter than the noonday sun with silvery light, the aurors took notice. Li immediately contacted the DMLE home office, but by then it was too late.
When the light went out shortly thereafter, there wasn't a dementor left in Azkaban.
Whatever glowing light had suffused Azkaban was gone by the time Amelia Bones and entourage descended into its center, although the rain persisted as if nothing had changed. As the head of the DMLE and a member of the Wizengamot, she had volunteered to go as the body's sole representative, but certain others had insisted on coming as well.
Augusta Longbottom was not graceful on a broomstick, but she managed all the way down, ridiculous hat and all. Amelia had little idea why she had insisted on coming, but the old woman was cantankerous and unpredictable, and Amelia recalled she had a grandson in Harry Potter's class.
Theodorus Deas had also elected to accompany them, handling his broomstick with far more dexterity than Madam Longbottom. Mister Deas had been involved in the import and export of magical items and creatures, and little involved in politics, until near the end of the Wizarding War. When his wife was killed in the crossfire he had used his considerable economic influence to insert himself into the political life of Magical Britain, where he had been solidly against accomodation with Voldemort. He mostly drew his support from wizards engaged in businesses, and generally voted for measures that fostered peace and stability as he saw it. In the post-Wizarding War era, that generally meant siding with the likes of Dumbledore. If she couldn't fathom Augusta's presence, then Theodorus's insistence on accompanying them was as opaque as the worst riddle-twaddle from a Ravenclaw auror recruit. (And that was something she'd given up trying to figure out a decade ago).
They were flanked by four aurors. These aurors had patronuses out, because Amelia was not about to get eaten by dementors through negligence. They also had silence charms cast around their heads, and cotton stuffed in their ears in case the charms failed – its not like she was going to make it easy for Potter if this became ugly. That it was Azkaban made other precautions particularly tough to implement, because they couldn't apparate, portkey, or time turner within a mile in any direction. She wondered if that was intentional on Potter's part – not that he should have had any way of even knowing those things – but she was beginning to think that more than a healthy dose of paranoia was warranted at this point.
And if he did know those things, well, the location might be a defensive precaution on his part. Azkaban's future could not touch its past, which means nobody aware that Potter had come here could arrive before he did to ambush him. Given the events of the day thus far, Amelia was finding it surprisingly wise to assume that Potter, for all his youth, thought like Mad-Eye himself. The very idea was frightening.
The last of her precautions were a full twenty aurors on broomsticks well above Azkaban itself, and definitely outside of earshot, magically enhanced or not, of Potter. If necessary, they would do what had to be done.
The group landed without incident at the foot of the south wall, just below the auror station above. The patronus escort fanned out, covering Amelia and the two Wizengamot members from all sides as they proceeded northwards. Both Theodorus and Augusta were, like Amelia, keeping their hands well away from their wands, as instructed. This was to be a peaceful conversation if possible.
But you could tell something was wrong, almost immediately. Even with the patronuses, she should have felt something from the dementors. Where had Potter sent them?
Near the center she thought she saw figures ahead, vaguely outlined in the darkness and drizzle. Silently she signaled the more forward aurors to fall back a little, and strode calmly forward.
"Harry Potter? We just want to talk."
No answer.
She pushed forward through the gloom until the figures resolved themselves, and the stopped, confused. Harry was sitting crosslegged in the muck, the Granger girl passed out with her head on his lap. A phoenix – Fawkes? – perched on Granger's arm. Potter looked up at her when she stopped.
"Well hullo, I was wondering when you'd arrive."
She couldn't say anything, it was too incongruous. Augusta and Theodorus came up beside her on either side and similarly stopped.
"Adults have a strange way of wanting to talk."
"Ahem. Mister Potter," Madam Longbottom began, then stopped. She looked sideways at Amelia.
Amelia took a deep breath. "Mister Potter, as the duly appointed representatives of what's left of the Wizengamot, we've come to ask you what happens now."
"I surrender, of course."
Amelia blinked. Then she blinked again. "You... wait... what?"
"I surrender. There are conditions."
Amelia gave up. She wasn't paranoid enough for this.
It was Theodorus who managed to ask. "What conditions would those be, Mister Potter?"
"First, medical treatment for Miss Granger. Second, Miss Granger is released; no debts, no sentence, nothing. She goes back to Hogwarts or to some other suitable institution as she chooses. Third, well, I suppose we'll have to talk about the nature of my imprisonment, but that can probably wait for the time being."
The three representatives of the Wizengamot exchanged glances.
"Maybe we can continue this discussion somewhere other than in a freezing drizzle on an island of ooze that barely qualifies as land? Don't you want to take me into custody?"
Amelia shrugged her shoulders and was about to issue orders when Madam Longbottom blurted out, "But Mister Potter, what happened to the dementors?"
She didn't think she'd be able to erase the memory of his face, his eleven-year-old boy face, doing a fair impression of innocent youth, turning towards Madam Longbottom and saying sweetly "I ate them."
Amelia sputtered something unintelligible into her mirror instead of the command she intended.
"I'm sorry. I seem to have forgotten to snap my fingers."
