Georgina was sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, staring intently at the flames but not really seeing them. She was wracked with guilt over what had happened with Clara and Tom—she had nearly killed Clara, gotten Tom in trouble, and although Abraxas had been the one who had started it all—he was dead because of her.
She knew, logically, that it was nearly impossible for her, or anyone for that matter, to resist the Imperius Curse…but if she had put up more of a fight or cursed him instead of asking what he wanted, she might have been able to prevent it. Now Clara would certainly blame herself, and she had no idea what had happened to Tom—she hadn't seen him at all in classes that day. She hoped the Minister for Magic hadn't been called, although she wouldn't put it past Dippet to do such a thing, stringent follower of the rules he was. She bet that he'd been a Slytherin.
Sitting back on the couch, Georgina levitated a stack of cards one of the first-years had left sitting on the table as she tried to ignore her guilt. It was left over from her previous life, back when she'd been made to feel inferior because her family was "illegitimate". They were like the rotting branch of their family tree, and she was sure that the Malfoys had wanted to cut off the branch altogether. That was why she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for her great-great-grandfather's death; the events had already been set in motion that would ensure her birth. From what she had encountered of him, he'd been a vile person anyway.
But she hated focusing on the melancholy. Her entire pretense had been that of a smart-aleck, quick-witted girl who didn't dwell on sadness. Thinking too long about her past made her feel fragile and helpless, as if the wounds she tried to hide were suddenly exposed for everyone else to see. With a sense of relief, Georgina pushed the guilt and memories of her family out of her mind and leaned forward, letting the cards fall back onto the table in a neat pile. Writing to Skender would surely make her feel better.
Just as she'd Summoned over a quill, the fire suddenly flared up, spitting out sparks onto the floor. Georgina, sensing what was about to happen, quickly glanced around the common room to make sure no one else was present—luckily, it was well past midnight—before hurrying over to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of it. She was just in time to see Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard climb out, Alphard gallantly helping up Alyssa, who arrived last.
"What are you doing here?" Georgina demanded. "D'you realize how angry Dippet is going to be if he finds out?"
Alphard was the only one with the decency to look ashamed. "But at least you're here," he pointed out. "We were planning to cast a Memory Charm if anyone spotted us."
"Oh, good thinking," Georgina said sarcastically. "You know, you can't just burst into here like this, especially when you're ex-Slytherins—"
"Georgie, I know that you're still upset about what happened with Malfoy, but you were just a pawn in his game," Alyssa said in that infuriating way that still upset Georgina, placing a hand on her arm that was supposed to be comforting but just ended up being irritating.
"Don't call me Georgie," she replied. "I don't like it when you say it any more than when Clara says it."
"Maybe we'd better scarper, Lyssa," Dylan said, trying to push his sister away from range of Georgina's wand. "She's in a bad mood."
"Hang on," she interrupted. "You're not going anywhere without telling me why exactly you came to Hogwarts in the middle of the night."
"Merlin, when did you become such a goody-two-shoes?" Alyssa muttered.
Since I had the Imperius Curse cast on me, Georgina thought sourly, and suddenly realized that she was acting exactly like the Head Girl she was. Disgusted by this thought, she tried to convince herself that she was just stressed and exhausted from everything that happened.
"We came to talk to Dumbledore," Alphard told her. "Earlier today, Dylan received a letter from a boy at the orphanage where Clara stayed during the summers asking if we knew anything about what he had gotten in the mail." He glanced over at Dylan, who held up a wand that Georgina instantly recognized as Clara's.
"So someone sent this boy her wand?" she asked slowly, trying to remember. Clara did have a friend at the orphanage whom she seemed to be close with…what was his name again? Bobby? Benny? Billy…yes, that was it. Billy Stubbs.
"It looks like it, "Dylan said. "We came to talk to Dumbledore…because…because we think Clara's in Azkaban."
Georgina stared incredulously at them for a moment, her eyes flickering back and forth between each completely serious face. "Azkaban?" she asked, her voice hushed.
"So is Tom," Alyssa replied starkly. "Dippet and the Minister decided to send him there earlier today—er, yesterday. They're trying to keep it secret, but Dumbledore told us—"
"So the bloody Minister for Magic sent an eighteen-year-old boy to Azkaban for murder in self-defence?" Georgina cried. "That's ridiculous! I can't believe Dippet would do something like that. And what are they going to tell the rest of the students? Surely they'll eventually realize that the Head Boy is missing."
"I have no idea how they're going to cover it up," Alphard answered. "We went to visit Clara this morning, and Dumbledore told us what had happened. Then she went a little bit, er, berserk and Floo'd to the Ministry. It's highly unlikely that she lost her wand…she must have found some way to deliver it to William Stubbs."
"But we don't know why she would send it to him instead of one of us," clarified Alyssa. "And we're not certain that she's in Azkaban, either…but it seems like the only plausible explanation why she wouldn't have her wand anymore."
"So you're off to see Dumbledore, then," Georgina said, a bit shaken. "Fine, then. I'll escort you to his office. If anyone sees us, I'll tell them that you have my permission to be here." Sometimes being Head Girl did come in handy.
The four of them clambered out of the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady's annoyed grumbles, and hurried down the silent, shadowy hallways to the Transfiguration professor's office. Georgina found herself next to Alyssa, who looked unusually anxious, balling her hands together in worry. "I'm just so ecstatic that Alphard decided to come along," she was babbling. "He was a bit miffed at Clara earlier for what happened with Cygnus—his brother, you know—"
"Yes, I know," Georgina said. "I was the one who told you." But Alyssa continued talking as if she hadn't heard.
"—But he came round eventually. He's not one to hold grudges."
Georgina strongly suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Clara was possibly in Azkaban rather than Alphard getting over his anger that quickly, but she pretended as if Alyssa's words were the truth as she listened to her babble on. When Alyssa was nervous, she tended to chatter even more than her usual frenetic rate, so Georgina patiently pretended to listen to her, hiding her relief when they got to Dumbledore's office.
The four of them shared an uneasy glance when they halted in front of the door. "Who's going to knock?" Dylan finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Oh, come on," Alyssa scoffed. "It's Dumbledore we're talking about. He wouldn't punish us even if we walked right into his office and started going through his things." As if to prove her point, she stepped forward and rapped loudly on the door four times, calling, "Professor! We need to talk to you!"
"Shush, Lyssa!" Alphard scolded her, clapping his hand over her mouth. "D'you want the whole castle to hear you?"
She pushed his hand away and glared at him, fully prepared to launch a verbal tirade, but thankfully, before she could begin, the door swung open and Dumbledore peered out at them. Georgina noticed that he was still dressed in the magenta robes he had been wearing during the day and that there were dark circles under his eyes. Why was he still awake?
"Good evening, you four," he said in a more muted tone than usual, but nevertheless still kind. "I presume something extremely important happened so as to warrant the three of you coming back to Hogwarts?"
Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard nodded.
"I should have guessed," Dumbledore replied, stepping aside to let them in. Thankfully, they all piled into his office and stood in a nervous huddle by the door while he sat down behind his desk. Fawkes let out what sounded to Georgina like an irritated cry at their entrance, apparently disliking being woken up.
"Professor," Alyssa began earnestly once the room was quiet, "We think Clara's in Azkaban."
Dumbledore did not look surprised in the least. "What makes you think that, Miss MacDougal?" he asked, his tone sounding almost conversational.
Dylan jumped in to explain the events of what had happened that day, handing Dumbledore the wand. Apparently he had been forced to explain to Felicity about the wizarding world, and although she was understandably shocked and had told him that she needed time for it to sink in, he was confident that their relationship would continue. (At least someone was getting a happy ending, Georgina thought sullenly). The Transfiguration professor picked it up and examined it for a moment, a serious look in his eyes. "Yes, this is most definitely Clara's wand," he said quietly. "I am quite certain that the story you have told me is true, especially since I have contacts in the Ministry who have indeed confirmed that she is in Azkaban."
Although Georgina had expected it, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise all the same. "But they can't do that, sir," she said desperately. "Doesn't there need to be a trial of some sort? What could she possibly have been sent to Azkaban for?"
"Mr Riddle was sent without a trial," Dumbledore reminded her. "I do not know why she was sent there, Miss Taylor. But my contacts informed me that Holstone himself had the Minister's permission to do, in his words, 'whatever he wanted' with Clara."
"So maybe Holstone has an ulterior motive," Alphard spoke up, speaking slowly. His eyes were fixed on the dark window outside. "He had to have offered Clara that job for a reason, and he got on the Minister's good side, so when he saw the chance to send her to Azkaban, he leapt on it…"
"That is a very good hypothesis, Mr Black," Dumbledore said approvingly, his bright blue eyes twinkling. Alphard grinned sheepishly and ducked his head, smiling instead at Alyssa. "But I am afraid we cannot do anything about it at the present moment. It is currently after two o'clock in the morning and even I need sleep, as I have been up all night trying to sort things out. Clara and Mr Riddle will be fine for the time being. I will speak to the Minister in the morning and question him about what happened."
"So you don't want us to do anything?" Alyssa asked, sounding dejected.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Just go home and I will contact you in the morning if I discover anything new. Your concern for Clara is very touching. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that you, Mr Black, and Mr MacDougal could be honorary Gryffindors." He chuckled at what Georgina presumed were their indignant looks, although it sounded weary.
Sensing that Dumbledore was beyond exhausted, she cleared her throat and took a step toward the door. "Come on, guys," she said, sending a quick apology to Clara in her head. "We should let him get some rest."
Slightly reluctantly, Alphard, Alyssa and Dylan made their way back to the door, each casting beseeching looks back at Dumbledore as they did. Just as Georgina opened the door, he cleared his throat and held Clara's wand out to Alyssa. "You might need this," he said pleasantly as she took it, confused. "Were you aware that the more Patronuses a group casts, the more Dementors they can drive off?"
Alyssa and Dylan frowned, clearly not understanding, but Georgina and Alphard shared a triumphant glance, Georgina already feeling relieved that Dumbledore had a plan. He wouldn't leave them like that, after all.
The next morning, McLaird promptly called Holstone into his office. "So what did you do with the girl?" he asked absent-mindedly while sorting through a stack of paperwork.
For the first time, Holstone looked almost uncomfortable, but he quickly smoothed out his expression into something more neutral before he replied, "I gave her the option to either take Veritaserum or go to Azkaban."
For a full minute, McLaird stared at Holstone as if an extra eye had suddenly sprouted on his face. "You did what?" he asked very quietly.
"She refused the Veritaserum, so I sent her to Azkaban," Holstone repeated. "I instructed the Dementors to stay away from her."
"Vikram Holstone, why in the name of Merlin would you do such a thing?" McLaird demanded. "I have trusted you for years, enough to let you make decisions without my consent, and now you're telling me that you sent an innocent girl to Azkaban just because you suspect she's a time-traveler? I expected more of you—"
"Minister, I saw her wearing a Time-Turner last year!" Holstone interrupted.
"You saw her wearing a Time-Turner," echoed McLaird. His face was turning red now, his eyes narrowed into slits. "And you did not even bother to ask her about it or to see if it was real?"
"She is in love with Tom Riddle!" Holstone shouted. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were both time-travelers and they were doing something illegal, messing up the timeline—"
"Vikram, I would suggest you check yourself in to St Mungo's, because you have not been the same ever since you started teaching at Hogwarts!" McLaird thundered. "I will send orders to bring the girl back to London and order a full trial for her right now." He stood up and walked over to the door, but not before ushering Holstone out. "Vikram, I am deeply sorry to do this, as you have been my confidante for many years, but you are no longer an employee of the Ministry. I will inform the Hornby girl that she will have to find other work to do."
Holstone didn't protest, nor did he show any signs of disquiet, but his dark eyes flickered around McLaird's office once more, unfathomable hatred swimming in their depths.
It was as if she was wallowing in a sea of despair. Danielle didn't even have the strength to move, or even to think. She was only aware of her immediate surroundings—a hard, narrow bed, and the bars two feet from her face. The Dementors had sucked her strength as well as her happiness. Her thoughts came in random, disjointed patterns, and she felt as if she was simply there, existing, instead of living. She couldn't help but wish for pain—at least that would mean she felt something.
She had no idea how long she'd been in Azkaban for. She wouldn't be any more surprised if someone had told her it had been ten months instead of ten hours. Her memories all overlapped into one long, gray stretch. Colourless, apathetic, lifeless.
Danielle could see, dimly, the outline of the Dementors hovering at the end of the hallway. She couldn't even feel relieved that at least they weren't right in front of her cell. Perhaps, a thought slowly swam through her muddled mind, they were in front of Tom's…
The name momentarily jerked her out of her endless misery, and she fought to keep it in her brain as the foggy clouds that were covering her mind slowly parted to reveal her most recent memory: that of Tom in his cell, staring up at her.
After another minute or so, that one thought dissolved into another: Tom was around somewhere. He was close to her cell.
It was astonishing, really, how slowly Danielle's mind was working. Inferences that would normally take her a few seconds to jump to were now taking her a few minutes. Her brain was processing things much more slowly, but at least it was thinking of something.
So…if Tom was close, Danielle might be able to see him. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would be able to figure out some way to get out. What had she even been thrown in Azkaban for, anyway? She couldn't remember, until her brain managed to dig up a flash of Holstone's sneering face.
Danielle winced—that one memory had sucked all the previous hope out of her, and she fought to hold on to the image of Tom, waiting until Holstone's face had disappeared before letting out her breath. After a minute of deliberation, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, noticing that she was now wearing the dull gray prison uniform, although she had no memory of putting it on. Or perhaps she did. It was very difficult to hold on to more than one conscious thought at a time.
Moving slowly, Danielle stumbled over to the bars and gripped onto them. She tried to hold herself up, but her arms were shaking. She slumped to the ground, unable to summon any strength. Above her, she saw the looming black form of a Dementor standing over her cell, its breathing loud and rattling. She stared blankly up at the gaping hole of its mouth, unable to move or even feel anything other than the boundless despair surrounding her.
When she was next aware of the world, it was much darker in her cell—what little light there had been before was now completely extinguished—and she was still lying in the same position. The floor must have been filthy from the centuries of prisoners that had languished in this very spot, but Danielle didn't have the energy or motivation to move at all. She felt as if she was trapped in a space where there was only fog and the horrible, choking hopelessness…
Dimly, she felt someone grab her and heave her up onto the bed—the motion was so quick that it took her several seconds to process. She was back in a sitting position now, her back against the cold stone wall and her wrists bound together. Danielle blinked several times as her sluggish brain registered a face in front of her. The fog began to recede, and her mouth fell slightly open as she whispered, "Tom?"
He was standing in front of her, his cheekbones hollow and prominent, purple circles under his eyes. She hadn't seen him look so terrible since he'd been ill with the curse. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I can't remember," Danielle said truthfully; although the desolation had momentarily lifted at seeing him, she knew it could come rushing back with a fury at any moment. "How did you get in here?"
"The Dementors have gone to see someone who has just arrived," Tom explained. "We need to get out of here."
For the first time in what felt like a century, Danielle felt her lips curve upward in a half-smile. He spoke so frankly, as if breaking out of Azkaban was something wizards did all the time. "And how do you propose we do that?" she asked.
"Clara, just because I do not have a wand does not mean I cannot perform magic," Tom replied, hauling her to her feet. Danielle found it difficult to stand, and had to grip onto him for support, leaning against his side.
"It was Holstone," she told him, as the fog began to clear from her brain. The closer she was to him, the better she felt. Of course, this was because being in his presence lessened the effects of the Dementors in the same way a Patronus would, coupled by the fact that they were gone for the moment, but Danielle wouldn't realize that until much later. "He said he suspected that I was a time-traveler and told me that I had the choice to either take Veritaserum or go to Azkaban."
Tom, for once, seemed unable to hide his shock. His mouth opened slightly, and, ridiculously, Danielle thought of the last time she had kissed him, just before he'd departed for Hogwarts. Had that really only been two weeks ago? It felt like twice the time had passed. "That is ridiculous," he finally said. "He has no authority to do that—"
"Well, apparently he does," Danielle replied. "Now, how exactly are we going to get out of here?"
"If I can get past the wards at the very edge of the island, we will be able to Apparate," Tom explained. "With the Dementors distracted, it will be easier to leave."
Danielle was about to ask him what he was waiting for when she saw, with a jolt, the unnatural fog begin to creep up again. She glanced up at Tom to make sure he had seen the same thing, but he was gone before she even had the chance to ask, leaving her alone in her cell.
The Dementors had returned.
Mentally cursing, Danielle slumped back to the floor, trying to make her face as vacant as possible. She waited for the dullness to creep back up on her, but she felt…normal again, although she knew the Dementors were close. It was Tom, she realized. He'd given her hope, and knowing that he was so close, the Dementors couldn't take that from her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle saw not one, but two Dementors floating in front of her cage. Had they come to bring her food?
But her question was quickly answered when she saw a third figure: it was one of the guards from the Minister's office, but he didn't look nearly as intimidating now. In fact, he was slightly green and shaking as his eyes darted nervously between the two Dementors flanking him.
"Miss Ashford," he said, "The Minister for Magic requests that you attend a trial back in London as soon as possible. There are very serious charges placed against you by an employee of the Ministry and, although you were brought to Azkaban illegally, the rules still remain and you will sit in front of the Wizengamot later today."
Danielle's blood ran cold, and whatever respite she had felt earlier instantly disappeared. "The…the Wizengamot?" she stammered. She had no idea how she would get out of this one, especially if Holstone had stumbled upon some proof that showed that she was indeed a time-traveler. "But…but…I…"
"Please just cooperate," the guard told her, and for the first time she realized that he looked like he was about to faint. Danielle took a cautious step out of the cell, hoping Tom had heard their conversation. Maybe he would be able to escape without her and get somewhere safe. She hoped he would contact Dumbledore somehow, although she knew that wasn't very likely. He would believe he could do everything on his own.
She tried to glance into his cell as they shuffled by, but the Dementor on her right side blocked all view, and she didn't dare to glance backward as they walked through the prison, Danielle's and the guard's footsteps ringing loudly.
It was a freezing autumn day outside; the thin uniform Danielle was wearing did little to protect her, and she wrapped her arms around herself as a wicked wind blew past them, sending clouds of dust up into their faces. Waves crashed against the shore, the sea unusually turbulent. The sky was covered in a large mass of gray cloud, and she couldn't even see the sun shining weakly through it.
The guard stopped once they had reached the edge of the prison, and Danielle reluctantly reached out to grab his arm. She stared up at Azkaban one more time, hoping desperately that Tom would find some way to escape, before everything disappeared.
"Let me get this straight," Alyssa said for the hundredth time. "You want the four of us to go to Azkaban and use our Patronuses to help Clara escape?" She, Alphard, Dylan, and Georgina were gathered in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed into a large common room with four large beds, three with emerald green blankets and one with a red blanket. A fire blazed merrily in the corner, and there were four plush armchairs sitting in front of it. They had spent the night there, and the remains of breakfast were scattered across the room. Georgina figured Dumbledore would make some sort of excuse for her absence from Head Girl duties and classes for the time being.
"I told you," Georgina repeated patiently, "It's what Dumbledore wants us to do! Didn't you hear that suggestion he made?"
"Maybe he's gone mad," Dylan suggested.
"Nah, mate, he was always mad," Alphard answered. Georgina and Alyssa glared at them while the two boys snickered.
"Can we please have an actual conversation here?" Georgina asked. "This is a serious matter—"
"Of course, I'd forgotten you were Head Girl. I wouldn't want to go against your orders, ma'am," Alphard said, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Dylan laughed.
"Listen, if you were the one in Azkaban, would you want us joking around instead of trying to rescue you?" Alyssa snapped. "Clara and Tom need our help."
"Oh, Tom," Dylan mocked in a high-pitched voice, imitating his twin. "I'd thought you'd gotten over that infatuation years ago, Lyssa."
Georgina glanced down at the empty bottles of Firewhisky scattered on the tables—the boys had taken advantage of the Room's seemingly endless supply of items they'd wished for. "Aguamenti," she whispered, and two icy cold showers suddenly dropped right onto Alphard and Dylan, soaking their clothes.
"Merlin, Lyssa! What gives?" Alphard yelped, glaring balefully at his fiancée, who had her hands on her hips and a triumphant smirk on her face.
"Be careful, or I'll make it fire next time," she warned. "Now, if you two children aren't going to cooperate, then Georgina and I are going to go to Azkaban ourselves."
Dylan and Alphard shared an uneasy look, their eyes still slightly unfocused from the Firewhisky. "That sounds like a great plan," Dylan said sarcastically. "I reckon our only problem now is going to be how exactly we plan to get there. It's Unplottable, and I'm sure not going to get on a boat and sail around looking for a bloody island."
"Yes, that's what we've been trying to figure out," Georgina sighed. "But if Dumbledore suggested it…"
"Well, maybe we should ask him, then," Alphard advised, sinking down into his seat and closing his eyes. "Really, Lyssa, you're starting to sound exactly like a Gryffindor."
"There's a difference between being a Gryffindor and wanting to help your friends," Georgina interrupted before it could turn into a full-scale row. "Now, listen, all we need to do is find a way to get to Azkaban—" There was a sudden bright flash of light in the middle of her sentence, and the statue of a small gold phoenix suddenly appeared on the floor, about the size of one of their palms.
For a long moment, the four of them stared blankly at each other. "What the—" Dylan began, but just as he was about to swear loudly it suddenly glowed blue.
Georgina leapt into action at once. "It's a Portkey! Grab it!" she instructed. The others didn't need telling twice: as soon as everyone's fingers touched the phoenix, there was another bright flash of light and they found themselves in a completely different place.
It took them a minute to become oriented with their surroundings, and Alphard was the first to recover: "Azkaban," he breathed, staring up at the stone fortress. "That was a bloody Portkey…could the Room have somehow created it when Georgina said that we needed one?"
"I dunno," Alyssa said uncertainly, slipping her hand into his. "But it was in the shape of a phoenix, so perhaps Dumbledore sent it?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Georgina replied darkly. She glanced around for it, but it seemed to have disappeared. "Accio Portkey!" she cried, but nothing happened.
"Oh, Merlin," Dylan groaned. "Are we stuck here forever now?"
"No, we can't be," Alphard muttered. "People have to get on and off this island somehow…"
But nobody was listening to his musings; the remaining three were all staring, wide-eyed, at the mass of Dementors that had come to investigate their presence.
Remembering what Dumbledore had told them, Georgina called, "Quick, cast a Patronus before they can get to you!" It took all of them a few tries, but eventually a silver lion, bear, hawk, and raccoon charged at the Dementors, repelling them backwards.
"It'll only last for a few minutes, so we have to hurry," instructed Alphard, beginning to race toward the building, but Alyssa stopped and held him back. Another Patronus—this one a snake—had appeared in the midst of the others, attacking the Dementors as well. While the creatures were attempting to fight off the five Patronuses, Tom Riddle came striding out of the prison. Although he was looking emaciated and worn, he still carried himself as proudly as he ever had.
"Riddle! What are you doing here?" Georgina demanded.
"I could say the same about you," replied Tom, searching each of their faces coldly.
"Did you just cast a Patronus without a wand?" Dylan asked. "That's…that's bloody impossible, that is!" He swore under his breath, unable to express how awed he was with Tom's powerful display of magic.
But Alyssa was more focused on the task at hand. "Where's Clara?" she asked immediately.
"She has left," Tom said. "The Minister has ordered her back to London so she can participate in a trial."
"A trial for what?" inquired Alphard, but Tom didn't answer.
"I presume you have come to rescue her?" he said, a smirk playing at his lips when they nodded. "Well, I am afraid you are several hours too late. I do thank you for the distraction, however. I was able to leave while they were occupied."
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Georgina asked. "We have to get back to London!"
"What about the Anti-Apparition wards?" Dylan said.
"They are easy to get around if one knows the correct way," Tom answered, with more than a hint of arrogance. "I will lift them for exactly thirty seconds. I trust you are all more adept than Clara at Apparition?"
"Wow, she really must love you," Alyssa muttered. "If Alphard ever talked about me like that, we'd be over before he even finished speaking."
Tom's dark blue eyes fixed on her, and she unconsciously shivered, gripping her fiance's hand tighter.
"We have to go soon!" Dylan said urgently, breaking the sudden frosty atmosphere. "The Patronuses are fading!"
With one last unfathomable glance at Alyssa, there was a loud crack and Tom Disapparated. It didn't take long for Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard to follow suit.
Danielle was Apparated directly into the Ministry (she had no idea how that was possible) and hustled into a small, windowless room several floors below the main entrance. The guard hadn't spoken to her at all after escorting her down the lifts to what she assumed was the very bottom level of the Ministry, even deeper underground than the Department of Mysteries. She'd known, from her sketchy knowledge back in her classes in 2011, that the courtrooms were here, but she'd never given it much thought until now.
After shoving her inside, the guard had handed her a piece of bread and a glass of water before heading out again. There had been a pair of plain black robes lying on the chair, the only piece of furniture in sight, and after Danielle had changed into them she'd eaten her meager meal, suddenly aware of how hungry she had been.
Now that she was free of the Dementors' influence, she could start to think properly again. She'd felt like she was in Azkaban for ages, although in all likelihood it had only been around twelve hours. She wondered why the nameless guard, not Holstone, had been the one to fetch her.
But how could she stand trial? Why did she have to stand trial? It was surely unlikely that Holstone could have proven she was a time-traveler, and even less likely that the Minister for Magic himself would believe one of his employees. But the guard had said, quite clearly, that she would have to testify in front of the Wizengamot. Would they question her about Tom?
Her thoughts became more and more desperate as she continued to ponder the whirlwind that had been the past two days. Now she would give anything to work in the Time Room again, with boredom and Olive Hornby her only problems.
Danielle wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door to her holding room opened. She looked up, expecting to see the guard or Holstone standing there. But her mouth dropped open when she saw Tom Riddle himself, dressed in his normal robes and looking composed.
"Clara, what is the matter?" he asked after Danielle just stared at him. "Has Azkaban robbed you of your already limited mental capacities?"
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Danielle knew he was making a joke, as displayed by the slight glint in his eyes, but she could only stammer, "Is this a trick? What are you doing here?"
"For the umpteenth time, you underestimate me," Tom replied. "Your friends traveled to Azkaban to rescue you, and while the Dementors were distracted I escaped and Apparated back to London. They have more than likely realized I am missing right now."
"So you came to get me?" Danielle screeched.
"I was not going to leave you alone," Tom replied, grabbing her arm and forcibly pulling her into movement.
Numbly, she followed him out of the room and he instantly cast a Disillusionment Charm on both of them. Danielle could hardly breathe as they traveled up a flight of staircases instead of the lift and emerged out into Muggle London. Blinking at the sudden daylight, she turned to Tom as he lifted the Charm. "You—I—bloody—insane—" was all she could say.
"You are welcome," Tom said curtly, and began to walk down the street. Danielle trotted after him, a million questions zipping through her brain.
"Wait—how did you cast that spell?" she asked. "Don't you have a wand?"
"Not anymore," he said. "It is too dangerous to go to Ollivander's, not when we are both fugitives."
Not caring who was watching, Danielle grabbed his hand and stayed close to him as they continued down the street to Diagon Alley. She was safe, Tom was with her, and that was all that mattered.