Children of Azkaban

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

(Arran and Artemis will be paired together, btw.)

Me- Yes, the plot thickens... LoL

Adenoide- I dunno... Do you think the Dark Lord should find out.? They might become the chieftains. I'm going to put up a poll about that, so... VOTE PLEASE,!

Tsukiyo69- Awwwwwww, you're making me blush... No, they're not. But they are going to go to Hogwarts, just a year later then most. Hmmm... I'll try. Please consider my message. XD

Penny is wise- Thanks.! XD

roos1414- Thanks.! LoL

Feahthum- Thanks... Huh, I guess I did... Its a work in progress. And I hope you enjoy this chapter.!

Sonnenfrost- Tahnks.! THey will be... LoL

Charlie0925- *blush*

discb- Yea, Neville's going to be the annoying, conceited brat... Along with Ronald Weasley and his sister. You're welcome.!

Hermione shivered as the ancient boat she was sitting in bumped into the shore of Azkaban. She was dressed in thick robes, over which she had fastened her school winter cloak, but still the chill in the air penetrated to her very bones. Sitting in the boat with her were Neville, Ron, and James Potter. In the two boats next to them were Albus Dumbledore, Alice Longbottom-Potter, Arthur Weasley, and three Aurors sent by the Ministry. Apart from one of the Aurors, all of them were in the Order of the Phoenix, for Dumbledore did not trust the Ministry. A wise choice, considering their actions to the Order in the previous years.

The boat gently bumped the shore, and Dumbledore clambered out with a wince, his joints aching a little. Old age was a harsh mistress, even for the greatest of wizards, which he certainly counted himself among. With a sigh, he straightened up, and began to head toward the fortress, the others scrambling after him. He had brought the younger members so that they could see what would be in store for them if they ever turned Dark, and make sure that they kept to the proper Light path. He was feeling a little uncomfortable at the thought of Dementors in his school - the idea of creatures that could read minds floating around Hogwarts was a little troubling - but on the other hand, the Dementors represented power, and that was something that he was keen to hang on to.

They strode up a flight of weathered stone steps that led to an enormous pair of silver doors, that throbbed with ancient magic. Words were carved in a large, bold script above the doors, and Hermione squinted up at them. After craning her neck for a bit, she managed to read it:

Are you afraid of the Dark?

You should be.

That seemed to be a rather odd message to put above a government prison, but there was no time to dwell on it, for the large doors had just swung open. Standing behind them was a tall but stooping wizard, with a short grey beard and neat salt and pepper hair, who Hermione remembered seeing in Azkaban, a History as its current Warden. His hazel eyes lit up when he saw them. "Ah! Professor Dumbledore! The Minister said you would be coming!"

Dumbledore nodded, with his typical grandfatherly smile on his wrinkled face. "Yes. I find myself in need of some of your Dementors, and Minister Fudge allowed me to come here to withdraw some."

The man's smile faded slightly. "Yes, he did mention that. I realize that the situation calls for it, but still..." He sighed. "Just make sure that you treat them with respect. They've been in a funny mood lately, and I don't want to upset them, in case they leave." He gestured at the gloomy corridor behind him. "Shall we?"

The Warden led them down flights of cells, where dozens of prisoners were contained. Some leered as they went by, some screamed, some pleaded for mercy, and others just sat there, staring emptily as the Order passed by. Of all of them, Hermione was most disturbed by the starers, as she knew that they were mere shells, only a breath away from having their souls completely lost. According to Azkaban, a History, people who spent more than five decades around the Dementors gradually began to have their souls leeched away - a slower, and more painful version of the Kiss. The book had gone on to say that many prisoners had committed suicide by whatever means possible to avoid that fate, and Hermione could not help but feel a twinge of sadness and compassion as she passed those desolate gazes.

Suddenly, a wave of freezing air swept through the area, turning everyone's breath to mist, and prompting ice to start creeping up the walls. The Warden shut his eyes tightly, and gripped his wand as a group of about six Dementors glided past. The hooded figures seemed to uninterested in the party of strangers as they swooped around the corner, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief through her chattering teeth. But then her eyes widened in horror as screams filled the air. The foul creatures were feeding on the prisoners, and from the sounds of it, extracting the most painful memories they could. Alice turned to the Warden, a frown on her face. "Can't you do something? They're torturing them!"

The Warden looked at her sternly. "Would you like to offer yourself up instead, Mrs Potter?" She glared at him, and a smirk trailed across his features. "I thought not. Dementors don't serve for free. If their access to the prisoners is restricted, then they'll turn on us. It's the same with the Children-"

He stopped abruptly, and started walking again, forcing the Order to catch up quickly. Neville grimaced as he stepped over a muddy puddle. "Doesn't anyone clean around here? I thought you had house-elves!"

The Warden glanced back. "We did. The little critters didn't last more than a week - their mental state is far more delicate than a human, and their minds snapped under the strain. Some of the Aurors sprinkle around cleaning charms occasionally, but mostly the elements do the work for us." He nodded to an open window, which had a ward stretched across it, preventing anyone from leaving through it.

They reached a tiny door, with rotting wood and rusty iron hinges. The Warden gently pushed on the door, and it opened with a horrible screech that had everyone clutching at their ears. "Sorry" he muttered. "These stairs lead to the top of Widow Tower. From there, we can send a magical summons to every Dementor on the island, and those that the Ministry assigned to your school will come." They gingerly followed him up the curving staircase, which was clearly only being supported by magic. Hermione thought about what would happen if the supply of magic that replenished the stairs was taken off, and she quickened her pace.

They reached a door at the top of the stairs, even more delerict that the first, and the Warden pushed it open. "Just through here - oh."

Hermione peered around his shoulder to see what the Warden was looking at. Her eyes widened.

Standing in front of them were two teenagers, about her own age. The first was a girl, with long curly black hair that fell almost to the back of her knees, a porcelain face with sweeping lashes, and dark piercing eyes, that made a strange old-fashioned beauty. She was staring at them curiously, as though she had never seen people like them before. The other was a boy, and Hermione felt a strange thrill run through her as she saw him, though whether it was from fear or something else, she had no idea. He had messy black hair, sharp, angular features, a tall, muscular body, and slightly slanted emerald green eyes, that burned with a fierce intensity. He was standing slightly in front of the girl, as though to protect her from them, and his stance was of a hunting cat, coiled to spring at his prey.

But as Hermione focused on his face, a similarity leaped out at her. The flashing emerald eyes, fluid cat-like movements, and almost albino pale skin were things she had never seen before. But the cloud of messy black hair and handsome features were startlingly familiar, because they were an exact copy of James Potter.

A shiver ran through the room as everyone noted the similarities. James gawked at the boy, his face paling. Those eyes. He remembered them, for who could forget those emerald orbs? But when he last saw them, they were not on this boy, but on a young women with red hair, being dragged away to this very prison. But that surely meant...

Arran and Artemis had decided to remain on the tower to observe the ships, rather than go down to view them. Neither liked the Ministry - they tried to interfere at Azkaban quite a lot, and for the duo that liked things just the way they were, this was extremely annoying. So, rather than see the smug Ministry officials, they chose to stay, and wrestle...er, hold Voldemort Jr.

Arran stared at the crowd of people getting out of the boats, a frown creasing his face. "*There's more people than usual.*"

Artemis, her arms clamped firmly around Arran's troublesome chinchilla, leaned out of the window to see for herself. After a few seconds, she nodded. "*That's odd - not many people like coming here.*" She smirked to herself - not many people around suited her fine. Apart from Arran and the chinchillas, her three constant companions in life, she had no desire for anyone else to intrude. Their knowledge of the outside world was rather patchy - they knew quite a few things from memories that they had drained, but there were also things they did not know - but from recent prisoners, they had learned that a war was beginning to rage through the country. They weren't bothered by this - as long as they could stay in Azkaban, preferably with people to feast off, they had no interest in who ran the country.

After looking at the boats for a few more minutes, they decided to go down to feed. But before they could, footsteps sounded, and the door to the tower opened, revealing the crowd that had come out of the boats, plus the Warden.

Artemis looked at them with interest. She thought she recognized the man with the long white hair, and the boy with the plump face - they were both in the memories of several people she had feasted on over the years, though she had never bothered to dig deeper in order to find out who they were. She knew that the boy had defeated some dark wizard, and the man was the Headmaster of a school, but other than that, she was clueless.

Arran had not even bothered to glance at the faces of the visitors. They were nothing to him. Instead, he looked at the Warden, checking to see if the man's thoughts held any form of punishment for getting in the way of his tour. Not that it would matter to him if he did - the old man had no hope of harming them - but it was rather a bother to stay in the shadows all the time until he left them alone.

The Warden was not thinking of punishing them, rather he was wondering why they were here. Arran was not inclined to answer him - he was notabout to admit that he and Artemis had been chasing a chinchilla up and down Azkaban for the past two hours.

But then he heard a gasp, and turned to see what was wrong. His eyes met James's.

At once, he was gripped by icy rage. It was impossible to mistake that man - the memory of him looking on blandly as his mother was dragged off was firmly imprinted into Arrans mind. James Potter, the man that had abandoned his mother, the man that had replaced her without a second thought was here! Seeing the man standing there, gawking at him, utterly helpless, was too much for the boy to take. With a snarl that sounded more animal than human, he leaped forward, ready to suck the man's soul out and not just consume it, but utterly destroy it!

Artemis had looked at James a second after Arran did, and for a moment, she didn't recognize the resemblance between the two, for James's eyes were a dull hazel, and whenever she looked at Arran, his emerald eyes were what leapt out at her. But then she began to notice the similarities, and it didn't take her long to figure out what was going on. In his blind rage, Arran did not appear to remember that, as the Warden's guest, James was off-limits to them, and if Arran slaughtered him, as she had no doubt he was intending to, the Warden would very probably try to have them chased out. They were allowed here only as long as he thought they were under control.

So she darted forward and grabbed Arrans hand before he could make contact with his father. Arran was jerked back just before he could touch James, and he let out a howl of rage. James stumbled back, looking shocked and frightened, as did the rest of the Order. Arran meanwhile was filled with anger. Ever since he had viewed James in the memories of that foul woman, he had longed for revenge against the man who, in his mind, was at least partly responsible for the death of his mother. And now, when there was a perfect opportunity to strike him down, Artemis had stopped him!

He turned to her with a snarl on his face, and she gulped as she remembered the unspoken rule between them, one that had existed as long as they were hunting partners: Don't. Touch. Arran's. Prey. If he offered her some, that was acceptable, but you never interrupted him when he was feeding. Because that was when Arran got mad.

Therefore, Artemis decided to do the sensible thing, and dissolved into the shadows, deciding to try and hide from Arran until his rage cooled off. Arran threw a hateful look at James before his body faded into the shadows as well - revenge could wait. He needed to have words with a certain dark-haired female. Voldemort Jr watched his master leave, realized that, once again, he had a chance for freedom, and scurried off. The Order stared at the place where they had stood, looking frightened and confused, with the exception of Dumbledore. He was looking at the Warden, and there was no twinkle in his eye.

"Who were they?"

Artemis skidded around the corner, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had planned on staying submerged in shadows until Arran calmed down, but Arran had also shifted to shadow-form, and he seemed intent on chasing her down. Artemis vividly recalled Arran's furious expression when she yanked him back from James, and had decided that getting caught by him was not something she wanted to happen. And thus, the hunt was on, and not more than fifty seconds in, Artemis had already decided that she did not like being prey.

A rattling sound filled the air, and the girl spun around. But to her great relief, it was only a Dementor gliding towards her, its long black robes skimming the ground. "*Are you leaving?*"

Artemis stared at it. "*Leaving? What do you mean?*"

The Dementor extended a slimy grey hand, pointing at the direction Artemis had just fled from. "*The Warden has summoned. Many are leaving the island. I thought that perhaps you and the other were leaving as well.*"

Knowing that Arran was 'the other', Artemis shook her head. "*No, we are not leaving.*" The thought repulsed her. Azkaban was her home! How could she ever want to leave it?

The Dementor let out a rattling breath. "*I see.*" With that, it turned around and glided away. Artemis watched it go, feeling oddly lonely. The Dementors had been a constant in her life from the moment she had been born. While others had come and gone - the Warden before the current one, guards who had been reassigned, prisoners who had been released or died, and Matron Charon who was now nothing more than bones in the graveyard - the Dementors had always been around. The thought of them leaving, even if only some were going, seemed wrong.

But she didn't have time to be sentimental, Artemis reminded herself. She had to get out of the area - somewhere where there were no shadows for Arran to travel in. Arran was far better than her at shadow-shifting, and though he could stay in the shadows a lot longer than her (Three hours was her limit, Arran's was five. After that, both of them started experiencing severe nausea and dizziness as well as exhaustion that meant they couldn't shadow-shift again for hours, days if they had strained themselves badly) she was more agile than him, and he shouldn't be able to catch her if they were both in their physical forms.

"Think! What's the lightest place in Azkaban?"

The answer came to her not a second later. "The hospital ward."

After Matron Charon's death, a new nurse had been assigned, but she had quit after just a few months, not possessing Charon's nerves of steel that had helped the latter stay in the prison for over fifty years. Since then, the Ministry had decided to send a team of Healers over every three weeks to check on the prisoners, and every time they came over, they would cast charms on the hospital wing to clean it. But right now, there was no one there, meaning that Artemis was free to use it as a refuge.

Her mind made up, Artemis began sprinting down the corridor, easily finding the right direction to the hospital wing through the maze of dark passage-ways. She had spent most of her childhood racing to and fro from that place, and even if she didn't visit it much now, the path to it was permanently engraved into her memory.

Within a couple of minutes, she had arrived at the familiar white door with two golden crossed wands. Artemis vaguely recalled Matron Charon telling her that that was the sign of the Healers, and sighed. Funny how that symbol, which had seemed so welcoming when it marked the place she and Arran could always run to comfort, looked so dull and cold now that there was nothing in the ward to smile happily at them, or mess up their hair with a wrinkled hand and tell them that everything would be fine.

She pushed open the door, blinking a little at the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. This was one of the few places in Azkaban to have the luxury of glass, and even if some of the panes were worn away and brittle, they still seemed beautiful to her, with their smooth surface, and shadowy reflections of the room. Artemis leaned forward, and placed the tip of her finger against the glass. Despite the golden beams passing through it, the window was cool to the touch, and she nodded in satisfaction as she took the finger away.

Azkaban was always cold. It was a given rule, with only the small rooms of the guards and the Warden being heated. It was another constant in her life, and with Dementors leaving, she wanted to hang on to as many of them as she could.

Her hand falling back to her side, Artemis turned and looked around the room. There was nothing in here but rows of clean, empty beds. Before the Matron had died, she had often seen prisoners in those beds. But any sickness in Azkaban, even small colds, could be enough to kill you in a week maximum without immediate medical treatment, something that the Ministry Healers could rarely provide with their week-apart visits.

As she continued scanning the room, her eyes came to rest on a small dark red door with a small printed sign saying 'Private - Staff only.'. Matron Charon's old office/living-quarters, currently not in use. After all, it was for those who were dedicated enough to their craft to actually live in this 'fortress of horrors' and none of the Ministry staff seemed to be that.

For a brief moment, Artemis hesitated. The hospital wing, once a place of laughter and safety, had been turned into a cold husk of its former self. Did she want to look at one of the last remaining pieces of her adopted aunt, knowing that, in all likelihood, it had undergone the same transformation?

Yes.

Artemis crossed the room, and gently turned the pitted knob. The door swung open with a creak - something that Matron Charon would never have allowed to happen when she was alive - and Artemis cautiously stepped inside.

The room was a lot barer than she remembered. The china plates painted with scenes of beautiful places, the brightly coloured rug that she and Arran had played on, pretending that it was an island, the large silver filing cabinet, the box that contained all Matron Charon's stationary; all that had been taken away, probably sent to Matron Charon's relatives, like the great-niece that sent them Misty and Voldemort Jr.

Artemis frowned at the thought of that woman. Not because she disliked her, but because now that she thought about it, she didn't really know much about her - actually, she knew practically nothing about Matron Charon's relatives. The old woman had never said much about them, and Artemis had had no interest in anything or anyone that lay outside her home.

In fact, she didn't even know that much about Matron Charon - only that the witch had come to Azkaban to serve as the matron of the prison when she was twenty-two years old and never left. She must have been a skilled Healer to qualify at such a young age, but it was a little odd that she never actually left it - to stay in the prison for five years would be seen as extremely impressive; and Matron Charon had stayed five times as long, even though it couldn't have been very pleasant for her.

Pushing aside her confusion on why Matron Charon had stayed in Azkaban for so long, Artemis turned to look around the rest of the room. There were still a few things here that either the relatives didn't want or the guards were too lazy to remove. The ancient iron stove was still in the corner, and Artemis trailed her fingers across the top, remembering the times she and Harry had sat impatiently in front of it, waiting for the food cooking on it to be finished while Matron Charon reassured them it wouldn't be long, and would Arran please stop trying to snatch it out of the saucepan?

They didn't do that anymore. Not were their cooking skills practically nil, and they didn't have any food to cook on it in the first place, but having spent so long feeding off memories and the occasional soul, they no longer seemed to have a taste for human food. In fact, Artemis found that they seemed to get...thirsty, for the want of a better word if they didn't feed off memories, even if they did consume human food. The thought that they might no longer be able to survive without leeching off the souls of others was a disturbing one, but seeing as they had a very large supply to gorge themselves on, it wasn't something that troubled her too much.

The other large piece of furniture in the room was the slightly shabby sofa that folded out into a bed. Before they moved into the cell block on the top floor, she and Arran had shared the bed, cuddling up under Matron Charon's watchful eye. Artemis had been disappointed when she learned that she and Harry could no longer share a bed, and but the Matron told her it just wouldn't be right, and proceeded to give her something called the 'talk'.

She tugged on the sofa, and it folded out with a screeching noise that set her teeth on edge. But at least it still worked - she would hate it if yet another memento of her childhood had broken without her noticing.

Artemis sat down on it, her fingers digging into the worn fabric of the mattress. She wasn't surprised by the poor condition it was in. If it wasn't for Matron Charon's magic, this bed would have collapsed long ago.

FLASHBACK:

"I can bounce higher than you, Arran!" Artemis yelled, waving her hands around as she sprang into the air before slamming back down into the mattress. Arran rolled his eyes, but his eight year old pride wouldn't let the challenge go. "Yeah, in your dreams!" With that, he leaped into the air, managing to rise an inch above what Artemis had been able to do, and flashed his friend a cocky grin. "Beat that!"

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Fine!"

She bent down low, hoping that her legs understood the situation and wouldn't let her down. But before she could jump, Matron Charon came into the room.

"Arran, Artemis, what are you doing? I told you to work on your sums!"

Arran glanced distastefully at the parchment that he and Artemis had been scribbling over, before flashing the old woman a winning smile. "But Aunty Charon, we know them all!"

Matron Charon remained unconvinced. "What's seven times three then?"

"Um..." Arran floundered for a second or two before coming up with the answer. "Twenty-one!"

"And what's seven times four?"

"Uh...Twenty-two?"

"No. Twenty-eight. See, you don't know all of the sums. Which is why you should be learning them instead of damaging your bed!" She pointed to the bed, which was now groaning under their weight. Arran grinned nervously, while Artemis bit her lip.

Rolling her eyes, the old woman pointed her wand at the bed, and began muttering spells to repair it. The children watched in fascination as she did so, and as soon as she was finished, Arran was clutching at her arm. "Aunty Charon, can't you teach us magic like that?"

Matron Charon shook her head. "Sorry, Arran. You're too young to learn magic, and even if you weren't, I couldn't really teach you that much. I'm not even sure you have magic."

Arran stared at her, horrified. "I...I don't have magic?"

Realizing that she'd made a mistake telling him that, Matron Charon rapidly backpedalled. "Well...You might, it just may not have shown itself yet. There are cases of some people being in their twenties or thirties when they first show signs of magic, though those are very rare and they tend to be quite weak. But even without the normal kind of magic, you and Artemis can do things that normal people can't."

Artemis's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Matron Charon frowned. "Well, for one thing, normal people can't read memories like you two can, at least not without training for months if not years, and even then, they can't feed off them. And I've never heard of anyone...what did you two call it? Ah yes, 'shadow-shifting' before.

Artemis's eyes were wide. "Really?"

The old woman nodded. "Yes, as far as I know, you two are the only ones that can do it."

The two shared an evil grin. "Wicked!"

Feeling a bit nervous at the diabolical expressions on their faces, Matron Charon tried to undo the damage once again. "But you should remember, with great power comes great...oh, forget it. You two wouldn't care anyway. Now, get back to those sums."

FLASHBACK OVER

Artemis smiled ruefully. Back then, they'd been a happy, if slightly weird family. But now Aunty Charon was gone, and she only had Arran left.

Only had Arran left.

Artemis felt an icy sluice of fear in her stomach. Arran was her sole companion (Misty and Voldemort Jr didn't really count), her one friend, and she might have lost him by interfering in a fight that he had been longing for ever since he learned of his father. Losing him was not something she was prepared to go through.

She would just have to come out of the hospital wing to face him, and see if their friendship could be repaired. She could survive this encounter.

Hopefully.

Alice Potter was not feeling very happy. First of all, Moody had suggested that Neville and his friends come with them to Azkaban, so that they could get 'toughened up' by viewing the prison, which in her opinion was a bad idea - even James, a hardened Auror was looking queasy as they went through the door, and Neville had gone extremely pale, trembling all over.

She hated it when the Order pulled a stunt like this. Before Voldemort had returned, they were happy enough to leave him alone. But when the Dark Lord came back, they suddenly realized that, even though they had a weapon against him, it needed to be honed. But it was too late - Neville simply did not take his training seriously, preferring to coast on the benefits of his fame.

It hadn't always been like this. When Neville was a young child, he had been the sweetest boy she had ever seen, and quite intelligent, with an affinity for plants that she could never hope to match. But the fame he got from 'defeating' Voldemort had ruined him.

"Some call him rude and spoiled" she thought angrily. "And they're right, but they don't bother looking deeper. How can you tell a child that he is the only one capable of defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time and then expect him to value the lives of others above his own? How can you excessively praise everything he does instead of telling him how he can improve and then expect him to work at anything? And how can you expect him to cope with Auror-level training when he's just a fifteen year old boy that's been used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter?"

Never the less, Neville had wanted to go, his father spurring him on, and so she had decided to come with him to make sure he was alright. And though the walk through the prison had been extremely unpleasant, it was nothing compared to seeing that boy who looked like James try to attack her husband before dissolving into shadows. That incident had left everyone looking for answers, and they had relocated to the Warden's office to get them.

The office was a relief from the grey stone walls and freezing cells. It had a thick golden carpet, creamy walls hung with photographs and paintings, a huge mahogany desk, antique bookshelves lined up against modern filing cabinets, comfortable chairs for everyone to sit on, and best of all, a crackling fire in the hearth. But despite how comfortable she was, Alice couldn't help but feel that this opulence was not really appropriate, not when the rest of the prison was so cold and gloomy.

Dumbledore, who was sitting directly in front of the Warden's desk, leaned forward and fixed the man with his twinkling gaze. "So, my man, what can you tell me about those two youngsters? I confess, I have never seen humans, magical or not, who performed the feat they did."

The Warden sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Where to start...They were born on this island roughly around fifteen years ago. I'm not sure of their parentage - we've got their birth certificates somewhere, but no one ever really wanted to know about them - they're scared of them, and I don't blame them. I'm not sure what they are, but they're definitely not human."

Alice frowned. "How can you say they're not human?"

He laughed quietly, and looked up at her. "Mrs Potter, you have only caught a glimpse of them. Well, let me show you the full picture. They were basically normal children until they were about four or five, but then they changed. They started having the same effect as Dementors when they came near, they seemed to be able to read minds, and they started fading in and out like you saw at the tower. The guards and prisoners were scared enough of them because of that, but then we started finding Kissed prisoners that the Dementors hadn't been near...and we realized that they were doing it."

James stared at the man, thinking of the boy upstairs. If that child really was his son...Then was he responsible for what had happened to him? Had he created him when he sent Lily to Azkaban?

"What are their names?" he blurted out. The Warden stared at him. "What?"

"You said the matron looked after them...Surely she gave them names."

The Warden nodded, looking puzzled. "The boy's called Arran and as for the girl...I'm not sure. Athena? Arty? Something along those lines."

Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "You said that you had their birth certificates. May we see them?"

The Warden frowned. "They should be somewhere in the left cabinet...I'll have a look."

He got up and began to rifle through the cabinet, while Ron Weasley looked at the elderly Headmaster with an annoyed look on his face. "Why do we need to know about them..sir?"

"They bear a close resemblance to certain acquaintances of mine" said Dumbledore with a serious expression on his face. "And I wish to find out whether my suspicions are correct."

"Ah! Here they are!" said the Warden, turning to face them with two pieces of faded parchment in his hand. Dumbledore accepted them from him, and looked down. His face turned white.

"Albus? Albus? What's wrong?" asked Arthur Weasley, looking worridly at the old man. James leaned over and looked at the certificates, scanning the names on there. He gasped.

Name: Arran Leonus Evans

Father: James Charles Potter

Mother: Lily Rose Potter-Evans

Name: Artemis Andromeda Riddle

Father: Unknown

Mother: Bellatrix Lestrange

Dumbledore looked up at the Warden, and his tone was absolutely serious. "I think they should come with us. Right now."

Arran had been surprised when Artemis stopped hiding, and instead stayed in one place where he could easily find her. Still, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, he immediately travelled through to shadows to her location, and then materialized in front of her. She looked at him with a calm expression, though he could see a hint of fear in her eyes at his angry expression.

"Arran, I'm sorry."

"You should be!" he snapped, arms folded. "You know what he did! What my mother went through because of him! And you held me back!"

"Because he was the Warden's guest! If you attacked him, then the Warden-"

Arran laughed. "The Warden couldn't have stopped me. Merlin, not even his guards could. If they tried..." He trailed off, a gleam in his eye.

Artemis knew that was true. The Warden was not a particularly powerful wizard; he wouldn't be able to fend off Arran should he chose to attack him. But this was a side of Arran she hadn't seen before - he had never been this ruthless, not even when he found a prey he particularly liked. Still, she had decided to try and mend their friendship, so she nodded. "Alright."

He stared at her, puzzled. "Alright what?"

"I don't think attacking him would be a good idea but...I'll help. If they're having a tour of Azkaban, we'll just have to wait until he lingers behind and then-"

"-we'll get him" Arran finished with a smirk on his face. "I like it."

All his anger seemed to have dissipated and Artemis felt relieved. Things had gone back to the way they were.

A pattering noise reached their ears, and the duo looked down to see Misty and Voldemort Jr, the latter seeming intent on chasing the former down. Artemis laughed, and reached down to pick up her pet. "Misty, where have you been?"

It may well have been his imagination, but Arran could have sworn that Voldemort Jr had shot Misty a look that clearly said "Tell-And-You-Die". He resolved to read the albino's mind soon, and find out what it all was about. "Artemis, let's-"

There was no warning. One minute Artemis was standing there, and the next she had crumpled as a red light slammed into her. Arran gasped. "Artem-"

Then there was a whooshing sound and he felt something connect with his chest. For a brief second Arran felt extremely dizzy. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the floor.

The Dementors drifted towards the boats ready to take them to the mainland, moving in a perfect formation. No one looked too closely at them, not wanted to spend longer than necessary around these creatures. And so, no one noticed a figure dressed in a black cloak moving with the shadowy wraiths, its bowed head concealing its smirk as two limp figures were carried out of prison.

"Hmm. It seems the plan's moving forward. Soon, little halflings, your true purpose can be fufilled. Until then...we'll just have to see, won't we?"

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