Disclaimer: All characters and situations associated with the Harry Potter series are the property of J. K. Rowling and the following companies, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury, Raincoast Books, Scholastic and Warner Bros. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation. All original material is the property of the author.

Chapter Fifty-Two: Demons and Demigods

'It's aggravating

How you threw me on

And you tore me out

How your good intentions turned to doubt

How you needed time to sort it out

I'm not saying

There wasn't nothing wrong

I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me

I'm not saying

We ever had the right to hold on

I just didn't want to let it get away from me

But if that's how it's going to leave

Straight out from underneath

Then we'll see who's sorry now

If that's how it's going to stand,

When you know you've been depending on

The one your leaving now…'

'Leave', Matchbox Twenty

                Bill looked from the warmly glowing golden ring in his hand, the one that only moments before had been in hers. As if in a trance, he stared at it for what seemed hours to his hazy mind. The honeyed hue of the gold lulled him and tried to make him forget that there had been no such warmth in her eyes, only the cold, hard glint of steel. She felt no remorse, no pang of guilt whatsoever for what she had done to him, what she had done to all of them. She had cut him with her words, with her actions, and with what she'd left unsaid and left him bleeding as she walked out. The instant she had turned and walked away from him, his sorrow hardened into anger.

It was some moments later, however, that he felt the hand on his shoulder as he sat staring at the ring and he looked up into the tear-blurred eyes of Indira Sinistra. She removed her hand quickly when she saw his face—his expression was sharp with rage. She tried to console him, to let him know that she believed it was necessity that caused her friend to turn on them. But words had no effect on him. He sprung out of the chair into which he had fallen, stupefied as if from a spell by her cruelty. He flung the ring away from him and made for the door as quickly as he could manage. The tiny tings the ring made as it scuttled into a lonely corner of the room did not reach his ears with their plaintive sounds. Reaching for the doorknob, he gave no thought to anything else but escape. But the door flew open in front of him so quickly that he had no time to spare a second's deliberation on getting out of its way. He scowled as Sirius entered the room, but the dark haired man paid him little attention. Snow still clinging to his black mane, his angry expression was enough to make Bill forget his own rage.

"I'm going after them," Sirius announced to the room at large.

"Are you mad?" Indira was the first to speak up, her face still streaked with tears. "You heard what she said, didn't you?"

Sirius stared at her as if she had insulted him personally. "I will not let this stand. I will not lie down for a traitor! Not when a friend's life depends on it!"

Indira had shrunken back behind the grand, plush chair in which the Headmaster had been sitting silently for quite some time, like an imperious emperor seated before his bickering war council. He watched the scene with an expressionless calm.

"She is no traitor!" Indira hissed vehemently but cautiously. "She is my friend and, if I am not mistaken, she was once your friend too, Mr. Black."

He shook his head slowly. "I wish I could be sure of that."

"And what would you need for assurance, Sirius?" Dumbledore had finally broken his meditative silence. "Is her past behavior, prior to this last interlude, any indication of where her loyalty lies?"

"She works with lies as a mason works with stone, as an artist works with paint, Headmaster. She is a born liar and an inscrutable actor. It would take much more than her word or her behavior to convince me that we are still on the same side. No," he said with flint-hard conviction, "I am inclined to believe what makes sense." He hung his head and watched as his thin fingers curled in on his palm into a fist. "It was only a matter of time."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a judicious nod, "I believed it would come down to a time and a place. Two paths in the woods and all of that—a choice would have to be made. And for some time now, I have been certain of her choice even if she did not know it herself." He paused and removed his glasses from his face, rubbing his weary eyes. "It may have been foolish of me, but for years I have tried to keep her from this very choice."

"I never, in a million years, thought she would have chosen…" Bill said in a small voice, as if to himself, as he stared into nothingness, seeing nothing before him and giving no sign that he remembered he was not alone in that room. But at the Headmaster's voice directed at him, his eyes snapped their focus on him precisely.

"She has not chosen yet," Dumbledore revealed sagely. "But it is coming to it. And if I am right and she chooses as I believe she will, it will cost her everything."

Bill felt Sirius stiffen beside him, anger and apprehension almost palpable.

Dumbledore slowly rose from his chair and crossed the room with deliberate steps. He bent low to the ground in one dark corner and picked up a small object from the stone floor. A sage smile, almost secretly, he stared into his hand and studied the item. "Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said as he turned to face Bill, "what exactly was promised when you handed Miss Elliot this ring? Forgive me," he apologized, "my powers of eavesdropping are not what they used to be."

Bill frowned with confusion. "I told her that if she needed me for anything to get that ring to me…any way she could…and I would be there, with the Aten."

The old man was smiling and Bill's frown deepened.

"You don't think…"

"I do," Dumbledore answered simply.

"But…she…Damn!" Bill swore fiercely. He grabbed for the map that lay on the table. "How could I have been so stupid? Black, do you think you could find that place again if you had to?" His tone was urgent, desperate.

Sirius did not answer but stared at the others with a sharp glare, his body rigid and his angry expression having not dissipated in the least. "If I had to, yes. I could find it."

***

Sweet summer sunlight filtered through a willow dancing in a soft wind. The downy brown curls on his head bounced as he laughed, that crooked smile that held all the charm of his character, the hallmark of his good looks, was so often directed at her. His hazel eyes looked away for one reluctant moment from her and he called a name, his bright and clear voice resonating in her head. She looked away too.

A dog bounded over and came to a playful halt at his knees, wrinkling the blanket he sat on and tossing dirt and grass everywhere. He only laughed and somewhere in her mind, she thought she felt herself smile. She should be smiling, the girl who was lucky enough to share such an afternoon with such adoring eyes, such a charming smile focused on her. But the face of this man, this recollection hurt her as deeply as she felt pleasure at seeing him. And like a thin and beautiful silk that was not complete, she knew this was a fragile and glorious dream, destined only to unravel and to leave her cold and alone once more.

She tried to hold onto it, tried to focus on his smiling face, tried to feel the affectionate caress of his hand on her cheek, but already she could feel consciousness invading her body, bidding her to wake up and to face reality. This dream was sent only to mock her, and she knew that, but she wanted it the all the same. This face…his face, she had seen it last as it reflected his horror at her revelation. The cold and nauseating, sinking feeling in her stomach reminded her that there was always pain and fear behind every want, every desire. She saw his face again as she had seen it last, as his once-adoring eyes turned to disbelief, even hate.

She struggled now to wake up from the dream-turned-nightmare and she found to her terror that she couldn't. Breathing was impossible. She felt as if she was drowning slowly in an icy sea, sinking below black depths, where no one would hear her scream.

Suddenly, Jude sat up, straight as a board, gasping. She was shaking and found that she could not make herself stop. Her eyes frantically searched the dark for what she already knew was lurking beyond her ability to see. The night hid its form but not its sound nor its cold, deadly feeling. A dementor was nearby.

Her hands flew to her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms to her temples. She fell back to the hard stone floor, not noticing the crushing pain it inflicted on her shoulder, still throbbing from the goblins' arrow. Physical pain was a mere annoyance compared to the psychological torment, the mental agony of her worst memories. But just at the point that she thought she would break, the hurt and the cold began to slowly subside. The memories were still clear, but the edges had blurred. They were no longer sharp and stabbing reminders of her past cruelty, but dull aches that hammered at the stone foundations of her crumbling spirit. A scream almost escaped her as she felt a warm hand touch her cold and clammy skin, an unexpected and repulsively kind gesture that felt like a physical blow.

Prying her eyes open slightly, Jude saw a dark figure. She jerked her arm back and scurried away from the being like a frightened and wounded animal. The cold wall at her back reminded her of where she was and that there was no escape for anyone from its confines. She allowed herself to slump back to the unaccommodating floor, resigned to the pain.

The dark figure spoke, but she did not hear distinct words, just as she could not see a distinct shape through her dry, wearied eyes. It reached for her again and she made a brave but futile attempt to swat at it before her hand fell impotently to the floor. She was so exhausted that she had not realized that the memories had faded once more into the background.

"Fresh air, I believe, would do you some good, ma amie…non?" the dark figure said as he hauled her to her feet. The next thing she saw was the frigid and clear sky sprinkled by stars. The icy air of the North Sea rushing over stark ocean and this little godforsaken bit of rock stung her face and made her shiver, but she relished the feeling as if it were the golden warmth of a fire. This cold did not compare to the bleak and desperate chill she had endured only moments before.

"Dementors," she said, her voice coming out only in a hoarse whisper. Another violent chill wracked her thin frame. She turned to face the dark presence beside her, knowing already whom she had to thank for scaring the demon away…at least for a while.

"Oui," Michael said without feeling as he turned away from the black, raging sea to face her. "It is but another force in His legions."

Jude released another shuddering breath and watched the wind carry the icy white puff into oblivion. "My brother…" she began in a trembling voice.

Michael's expression, bland at first, now acquired a quizzical, curious look as if he struggled to identify with human emotions, although they could not have entirely been erased from his recollection. It was as if by study, he could obtain the level of concern that paralyzed the young creature next to him. "He is safe," he relayed to her, savoring the small amount of relief in her worried face. He resisted the urge to add "For the time being," knowing that it would have a delicious effect on the human's emotions, but deciding that he would not like to see her distressed further.

The icy wind whipped thin strands of sandy hair across her face, and she did not intervene. She stared blankly out to sea. "And Professor Snape?"

"He is safe as well, until Lord Voldemort decides his fate," he answered her truthfully. "And when that is finally decided, even you could not stay His hand." He fixed his cool glare on her, a warning—she knew full well what he wanted of her.

She shook her head, her jaw tensed from fierce determination and bitter cold. "You're telling me to give up." Her shoulders trembled more violently. Unceremoniously he removed his thick black cloak and wrapped it around her seemingly fragile body. She could have been a coat rack for all of the gratitude she showed at this gesture—she did not pull it closer around her shivering arms, but let it sit on her shoulders where its owner had left it.

"Well, if the situation was not hopeless before, it seems that way now," he tried to persuade her, the French accent lying thickly on the English words.

"A rock in the middle of the fucking North Sea!" Jude was shaking her head, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Michael frowned as he watched her. "I have no idea how I'm going to get them out of this mess." She bit her pale lip with grim thought. "But one thing I do know."

It had not passed unnoticed, her seemingly careless substitution of "us" with "them". It was possible that she understood what little chance she had of making it out of this, even if she could manage to save her friends. "And what is that, ma petite amie?" Michael asked, amused but wary.

"I won't give up until I am cold with death." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "And even then I'm sure I could think of something."

Her muscles had long ago begun to ache with the cold and the shivering but she ignored this. Still staring at the unforgiving water raging beneath them, she shoved her hands deeply into her pockets. A frown passed across her face, a flittering of surprise and then illumination. Then…nothing. But Michael had seen the small spark of it and he was eager to know what had just passed in his young friend's mysterious mind.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe? What is it?" he questioned with a fair amount of apprehension.

Her glance fell from the bleak horizon to her hand as she pulled it from her pocket. Peeking out of her strong grip was a bit of crumpled paper, but that was all he could see. Michael looked to her face for an explanation, but one was not forthcoming.

She looked back out over the torrent of seething waves. "They won't know where I am. I doubt they're even looking for me," she admitted to herself, despair edging its way into her voice. She began to tuck the paper back into her pocket when she froze and her calculating glare shot from the icy sky to the forbidding wave-dashed rocks below. "Michael!" she shouted frantically. "How far do you think it is to the coast?"

Instantly he began to shake his head. "You are weak, ma amie, and the coast is too far. You will never make it."

She examined her wrist where the adamantine band had seared an enraged red ring into her pale skin. She hadn't even realized that it was missing. "I could try…" she began hopefully but stopped short of her pronouncement when Michael gripped both of her shoulders and spun her to face him, his eyes fierce and his expression as serious as the grave.

"Even if you do manage it, they will not let you get far," he hissed as he pointed skyward. Jude looked up and she knew that even if she could transform into a raven in her weakened state, the goblin-archers perched atop every sinister and jagged turret would bring her down as sure as their aim was true.

"And," Michael's words cut through her like a sword, "what then of your brother? What do you think will be the price of your escape?"

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall forward, her hope dissipating rapidly. "They think we're in Switzerland. I need them…" She released a wretched sigh. "I can't do this by myself. I am not strong enough to stand up to Him alone." She tightened her grip around the paper in her pocket. Looking over her shoulder, she gave another considering glance at the faraway coast, the vast ocean mocking her with leaping waves and unforgiving torrents. "Maybe…"

Throwing off Michael's restraining grip, she bounded over to the crumbling wall of the ancient watchtower upon which they stood. Michael caught her elbow, fearing that she had somehow snapped. Instead of throwing herself over the side, however, Jude stopped just before the derelict wall and leaned over it, examining the rocks below. In an instant she stood before him with an insane smile on her wane face. "Birds!" she said, grabbing his hand and hauling him over to the edge. He looked over and saw a small number of ragged sea birds huddled miserably on the rock in a futile attempt at shelter from the wind and spray. "Even in this place! Birds!" Michael did not understand her enthusiasm as the horrid rat-like birds appeared less than appetizing and were too small to fly away upon.

He understood, however, when she pulled the worn bit of paper from her pocket and carefully smoothing it on the crumbling rock wall. She examined the parchment with a pained expression that dissolved almost at once into a curious determination. He wondered what the strange trinket meant to her but before he could inquire, she was begging him for a pen…anything to write with. He shook his head, informing her that he had none.

"No quill? No pencil? Nothing on the entire island?" Jude wailed frantically.

"Nothing."

She bit her lip once more, frowning. She looked from the paper, flapping precariously in the wind, then to her hand, pale and numb with cold. The next instant she was scrabbling at the rocks with both hands, the worn paper held firmly between her teeth. Michael frowned impatiently before reaching out to catch her bruised but not bloodied hands. Her left wrist was a myriad of dull blue bruises from the broken bone just under the surface—he could feel it through the fragile skin—the red of the dozens of small scrapes and the dark rouge of the adamantine burn. He gave her a hard look as he held her hands, indulgent as a father with a tantrum-throwing toddler.

"Arrêt! You will do yourself an injury!"

Jude snatched the paper from her mouth with her free hand, giving Michael a strange, mistrusting stare.

Michael held her hand closer to his face, giving it a hard glare. He felt her back away from him and he knew that she was frightened of him. His eyes rested on her for a minute as she watched him apprehensively. "Calm yourself, ma amie," he said soothingly. "I will not hurt you." He returned his examining stare to her hand. She gasped as his grip tightened. She did not feel anything, just as he'd promised. The warm, thick blood trickled between her fingers and she watched in amazement as a few drops fell to the stone. He released her hand and she studied the skin soaked in the crimson liquid. In astonishment, she watched as he curled his thin fingers into his bloodied palm, his long nails stained red, the instruments with which he inflicted pain on himself. He quickly hid the hand marred by a long, jagged cut in the folds of his dark robe.

As she continued to stare dumbly at him, he nodded to the paper. "Vite! Quickly…warn your friends. Switzerland could be a trap." He stood wearily to his feet and turned his back on her.

She obeyed his words and put her bloody fingers to her precious letter. Both sides of the paper were covered with Rhys' handwriting, but she had to use one side—she could not spare both. Shaking her head, trying to dispel such silly thoughts, she began her message, cutting to the chase. A crimson letter 'A' had appeared before her eyes on the parchment before she realized what she was writing. 'Z' followed by a 'K' and then an incoherent blot of blood on the faded letter as she whipped around with surprise, finding herself face to face with Andrei.

***

He thought Scotland was cold. In Switzerland, cold wasn't just a feeling. It was everything…it pervaded everything. He shivered in his cloak. He was fucking freezing. And miserable to boot.

"How much farther, Sirius?" Bill asked impatiently. They had been trekking through the bitter cold for what seemed like hours.

Black answered him only with a moody growl and a sinister frown.

Bill nestled further into his cloak and bit back the angry sentiment he wished he had the bollocks to unleash on Sirius at the moment. It was a bit trying to play the hero with a belligerent sidekick, but Bill would accept any help he could get if it meant finding her faster. He still kicked himself every time he thought of how easily he believed she'd betrayed him. The only way, he reasoned, to make that up to her was to make sure she didn't pay for it with her life. And he was willing to risk his, Aten or no Aten to protect him from Voldemort's formidable powers. However, now that he thought about it, he was bloody glad to have that little trinket around his neck. He took in a confident but bitterly icy breath and heaved another step forward in the snow.

Sirius did not answer the little pup at his heels. The young, zealous man bounded along in the snow with tireless enthusiasm for heroics, and at one time Sirius might have found himself caught up in the theatrics of it all. But now he relentlessly soldiered on, spurred constantly by one thought: his friend first, then justice. He allowed the anger to seethe quietly beneath the surface, billowing his rage like a furnace. On the outside he cultivated a tense and concentrating, brooding silence to hide his feelings…and his intentions. Heroics were all a load of shite, and this little nipper was about to be educated. Sirius was on the hunt.

"We must be getting close," Bill whispered with surprising volume. "Do you hear how quiet the woods have gotten?"

Sirius shot a warning glare over his shoulder and Bill fell silent, heeding the unspoken command without question. Rigidly still in the snow, Sirius watched with keen eyes a spot on the horizon. He seemed to examine it for ages before he filled his comrade in. "This is the place," he said tensely, almost inaudibly.

Bill merely nodded. "What are we facing?" he asked, his boyish excitement having vanished, replaced by a professional, tactical mind.

"Wards, of course," Sirius began, "but that's the least of our troubles." He fell silent, brooding. "It's guarded by more than that…but I didn't get close enough last time to find out."

"Well," Bill began quietly, eyes set on the spot on the horizon, "we won't find out this way." He rose to his feet, about to make for the castle.

"Oi, hold on there, cowboy," Sirius said, annoyed. He placed a restraining hand on Bill's arm. "A man who could've gotten out of almost any scrape I can think of walked in there and didn't walk out. I'd be a more cautious if I were you."

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but a screech from overhead pulled both his and Sirius' attention away from their argument. A dark crow sat in the bare branches that barely covered them from the open sky. It watched them with curious, large yellow eyes.

"Come on," Sirius beckoned, staring warily at the bird. "We cannot stay here."

The bird screeched again and then dropped from its perch in the dead branches, catching the icy air under its wings. Dancing on the wind, it wheeled high in the air before diving at the two men silhouetted darkly against the snow. It squawked and wheeled again, diving for them a second time. Bill swatted at it with wide motions. Sirius merely ducked and watched the black crow with curiosity. The bird circled out of their reach and came to rest on the crystalline snow. The bulbous, piercing yellow eyes watched the men warily.

Sirius and Bill returned the cautious sentiment and stared at the strange bird. To their amazement, the bird began to peck mercilessly at a piece of parchment tied to its leg. It pecked in intervals, not content to leave the two men unsupervised. Warily, Sirius tried to approach the bird, but it cawed and jumped back a few feet, flapping its large black wings belligerently. Bill knelt in the snow beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and resting the other, palm up, in the snow. The bird eyed him sideways, cawed and then began to hop forward. Sirius remained still and watched in amazement as the bird hopped right onto Bill's arm.

Bill slowly stood to his feet, the large black crow perched on his cloaked arm. Noting Sirius incredulous scowl, Bill shrugged. "No owls in Egypt, really. Have to use other birds, Nile geese mainly. Nasty buggers, though." He swiftly untied the parchment from the bird's leg, the creature giving a last screech before heading skyward. Bill stared at the paper for a second before he dropped it without a sound. He had Apparated before the letter hit the snow. Absolutely dumbfounded, Sirius picked up the paper and began to read.  It was from Dumbledore. It read:
               

Do not attempt to breech the castle. V. has captured the fortress of Azkaban. Return at once.

A.D.

The note crumpled easily in Sirius' angry fist. Seething with rage, his murderous glare rested on the castle beyond the veil for a moment before the clearing in the woods became silent, vacant. The snow fell unseen to fill their footprints.

***

"A scoate apã din piatrã." Andrei stood just beyond the light of the stars beneath the dominating shadow of the fortress. "You cannot get blood from a stone. Is that not true my little Râde?"

Jude spun swiftly around to face the imposing figure and she could not help shaking. His bloodless, pale face seemed to chill her more effectively than the wind off of the North Sea. She clutched the letter in her numb fingers.

Andrei emerged from the shadow, stepping into the scant starlight, a murderous glint in his cruel eyes. He was focused entirely on the small creature cowering before him, clutching the little bit of paper as if it were a weapon. "But what new treachery have you been devising out here, little one? What is it that you have written in blood?" He stalked toward her as a predator stalks its prey. With a quick motion he grabbed for her hand, but she pushed herself up onto the wall, evading his grasp for the moment. But he easily caught her ankle, toppling her and sending her sprawling flat on the aged stone. Her grasp on the paper had been shaken, though, and she watched as her precious letter floated lazily to the waves below.

He caught the insolent girl by the collar and snatched her down from the wall, but her eyes remained fixed on the waves. A curious smile spread across her frantic and frightened face as a large, rough-mettle seabird rose from the icy torrent with a bit of white material clasped firmly in its beak. It had caught the letter as it would have caught a leaping fish. On the icy wind it danced high above the waves, her message had found its courier.

Andrei watched the bird, enraged. He threw Jude to the ground, turning his cunning eyes aloft. "Archers! Send that bird to the waves! Now!"

A rain of arrows was heard as they whooshed over their heads. Jude clambered to her feet, her eyes never leaving the seabird as it wheeled and dodged the gobblins' unrelenting storm. She watched until the bird had gotten well out of range. Andrei shoved her out of the way immediately and leapt upon the wall as if to jump off into the sea. Just as he was about to transform into his winged form, a swift bat that could surely catch that large bird in such a gale, Michael had caught hold of his ankles and had tossed him easily to the ground.

Andrei stood slowly, his pale face fixed in rage on his one time comrade, his immaculate appearance not having been ruffled by the fall. He took a menacing step toward Michael, who seemed shorter, less impressive than his adversary, but still formidable. Andrei flashed his fearsome fangs in an open challenge, fire dancing in his eyes. He took one more calculating step forward, then, without warning, reached out and seized Jude by the neck. He pulled her close to him and she struggled, no longer able to feel the stone beneath her feet. A cruel smile spread across Andrei's red lips, his eyes still tauntingly fixed on Michael's.

"Tell me," Andrei said quietly, his mouth close to her ear, yet loud enough for the other to hear. "What did you write in blood?"

"Nothing," Jude managed to squeak out between pathetic gasps for air.

"You lie," he said with amusement and he tightened his grip. She sputtered and coughed as he asked the question again.

Michael held up both hands in a placating, defenseless manner. "Andrei, we are not to harm her. It is Lord Voldemort's order."

However soothing Michael's words were meant to be, Andrei became enflamed. "She is a traitor, and so are you!" Andrei shouted, his sharp fangs cruelly exposed. "Humans are intended to bleed for us! WE WILL NEVER BLEED FOR THEM!" His eyes were ablaze as he stared at Michael's open, freely bleeding palm. He tossed Jude aside, forgetting about her for the moment as he advanced on Michael. She coughed and wheezed as she gasped for air, unable to pull herself up and intervene for her friend.

Andrei had crossed the distance between them in the time it took Michael to take one defensive step backwards. He leapt for the other man, catching him squarely around the middle and bringing them both crashing to the old, damp stone. Jude watched in panic as the two grappled, each exacting a fair number of blows. The damage was only superficial, she knew—every first year Hogwarts student knew that there were only two ways to kill a vampire: sunlight and the proverbial wooden stake.

Michael had gotten to his feet as had Andrei, but the latter had the former pinned over the side of the fragile wall, the ragged rock below waiting and hoping. Jude did not want to wait and see if what she had learned about vampires in Defense Against the Dark Arts was true or not and as the wall crumbled beneath Michael she realized it was now or never. She pushed herself up on the cold stone and steadied herself, her head swimming from Andrei's attempts to throttle her. Finding her feet, she launched herself at Andrei, catching him around the throat and dragging him off of the other man. He struggled to free himself from Jude's wiry but strong arms. But with one quick shove into the hard rock, she was forced to release her hold as she fought for breath. He dropped her, gasping, against the wall and turned to face her.

"You are meddlesome, child. I should teach you respect if you were to live longer, but as the case is…I will not waste the trouble." He touched one icy finger to her cheek and traced her jaw until his finger was under her chin. He raised her face to his, white fangs exposed. "Even Lord Voldemort cannot save you now, fatâ."

Jude squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting the pain and the realization of her demise. Funny, she thought as she shivered against the stone, but she hadn't thought it would end like this…

She couldn't be sure of what she heard, but what she felt was distinct: a choking hold on her throat, warm breath at her neck. But then…nothing… She slumped against the wall feeling only the cold air. She allowed herself a peek then opened her eyes wide. Michael was struggling to restrain Andrei. Agile and strong, Andrei had wrestled free and was breathing heavily, staring at Michael with a venomous, measuring glare.

Michael took the opportunity to attack. "If you harm her, you are just as much a traitor as I am!" His eyes left Andrei for a moment and rested on her. Jude's expression was blank, waiting.

"Traitor! You are a traitor to your very self, Michele." His lips twisted into a cruel, mocking smile. "You cannot reconcile your nature with what you are!"

Michael's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, he obviously fought to control his rage. But at the last, he could not and he fell on Andrei with all of the anger he had building, years of hatred and self-loathing fueling his murderous nature. The pair crashed to the ground and there was a fury of motion and Jude was not entirely sure at all of what she was witnessing. She did not see what Andrei had produced from the folds of his cloak, but she did hear the sound of the weapon as it ripped flesh and broke bone, finding its mark in Michael's chest.

Andrei rolled Michael's significant weight off of him and onto the stone.

"Traitorous bastard!" Andrei spat with vehemence and got to his feet without another glance at the man at his feet.

Wide-eyed, Jude stared, unblinking with shock. Michael coughed weakly, his head lolling to the side, the sizeable hilt of a wooden stake throbbing with the slackening beats of the heart it had pierced. His gray eyes searched for a moment before they found her. He blinked and gasped for air, raising his wounded hand before his waning stare. And in the last moment, a serene smile passed over his pale lips.

"Ma amie," he said to her as he smiled, "I can feel."

Slowly he allowed his bleeding hand to fall back to the cold stone.

***

"I have no doubt that they are there," Dumbledore pronounced with supreme patience. He produced a worn parchment and placed it on the table, smoothing out the creases before walking away. Bill rushed to the table and snatched up the fragile material in his eager hands. His expression mingled relief with anger and a twinge of jealousy.

"This is hers, no question…" he said, glancing up at the Headmaster warily. "But is this…blood?"

He nodded. "She began the word 'Azkaban'."

"But is it her blood?" Bill pressed.

"There is no way to know for sure," Dumbledore said absently, "And no time. This," he gestured at the letter, "arrived only moments before news that Azkaban had fallen to Voldemort's forces."

"Forces?" Sirius growled incredulously.

"Forces, Sirius," Dumbledore assured him. "While the Ministry has been busy denying his existence, Voldemort has called to him a legion…with one purpose: to eliminate those who stand against him."

"Are you sure that the others will be there?" Sirius asked skeptically.

Dumbledore nodded. "While this may or may not be Jude's blood, it was a letter in her possession. And it arrived via a rather battered gull. I believe she is there," Dumbledore concluded sagely.

"And Remus?" Sirius almost did not want to know.

Dumbledore gave him a searching look. "He is there as well, Sirius," he said blandly as he turned to the dark man sulking by the door, "for that is how I believe he is controlling her."

Sirius gave his former Headmaster a hard stare but remained silent, still holding fiercely to his reservations.

"The Minister of Magic informed me minutes before that the dementors had revolted. All formerly belonging to Voldemort's ranks were reunited with their master. All others…well, death was a relief for most." Bill hung his head and stared at the floor at such a grim pronouncement. Sirius did not react.

Bill started toward the door. "What are we waiting for then?"

"Not so fast," Sirius said dully as he put an arm out, blocking the door. "Azkaban is no castle in the Alps. It was built to keep what's in it in, and all else out. You can't just waltz in and save the day, Aten around your neck or no."

The muscles in Bill's jaw tensed for a fleeting moment. "I know the last thing you want is to go back there, Black. But I'll be damned if I let her stay in that place one second longer than she has to."

"Spent twelve years in that place and I turned out fine didn't I?" Sirius crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door, grinning insanely.

Dumbledore held up a placating hand. "No one is suggesting that we leave anyone in Azkaban. Now is the time, however, to practice caution. I must attempt to determine what was expected of me. Voldemort did not keep this maneuver a secret, and therefore we were intended to react."

"Perhaps he has other targets in mind, Headmaster," Bill suggested.

Dumbledore nodded. "I have had that thought as well. The Minister has obviously reached that conclusion," he said wearily as he glanced at an urgent letter in his hand. "He wishes to see me as soon as possible. As foolish as it seems," Dumbledore said with a smile, "Cornelius still refuses to acknowledge that Voldemort has returned with a vengeance."

"And you will go?" Bill asked.

With a far-off look, Dumbledore considered. "I believe I should. If not to persuade Cornelius, then to garner some much-needed support from a few others." He cast a furtive glance in Sirius' direction. Black nodded.

"The school," Black said after a long pause, "it will be safe with you gone?" It was no mystery where his thoughts were at the moment.

"My students," Dumbledore said with the greatest care and conviction, "are my chief concern, Sirius. However, remain if you are not completely assured. I cannot say that I would not regret the loss of your presence in London, but I will understand if you choose otherwise." He turned to Bill. "Am I assured of Mr. Weasley's company?"

Bill nodded briefly.

Sirius heaved a reluctant sigh, his eyes heavy with burden. He stared absently out into the corridor for a moment before turning to Dumbledore and adding his assent. "Count me in."

***

She hit the cold ground with incredible force, feeling the stone bite into her cheek. She tried to raise herself off of the floor but the heavy weight of a boot pressing between her shoulders kept her low. She could not see much of the room, but it was bitterly cold and there was little light.

"He is at the Ministry, My Lord," she heard the distinct voice of Lucius Malfoy pronounce. However, she did not hear a reply. The sound of dozens of cloaked figures rustling past her filled her ears. The hem of a dark robe stopped its progress just in front of her and she watched as its wearer bent low, a masked face appearing before her. It held her stare for a moment before turning to focus on an object in its darkly gloved hand. Her chest constricted painfully as she recognized it. Her bracelet, the one Remus had given her as a child, rested in a Death Eater's hand. Earlier that very morning, she had played the integral part in creating a terrible device out of that very thing. "My Lord thanks you for the precious trinket," said the very same voice. Yet in the time that it took her to growl a rude reply, the bearer of the Portkey was gone.

Lord Voldemort beckoned Andrei forward into his presence once his fleet of masked thugs had disappeared into the night. Andrei bowed low where he stood before raising his eyes to the being on His terrible throne. Shrouded and cloaked, one spidery, skeletal hand remained to be seen, perched atop the other. He tapped His bony fingers with impatience.

"Master," Andrei began, a slight tremble in his voice, "I bring before you a pair of traitors."

There was an echoing silence and Jude was aware of the slow breathing that belied many more present than she had previously thought. The boot on her back was removed as she felt fingers grip her hair tightly. Mercilessly her head was yanked up and she fought not to cry out in His presence. She was not about to give Him the pleasure of hearing her scream.

"The little one I spared as you ordered," he said gesturing to Jude. She could feel Voldemort's eyes on her, though she could not see them beneath the dark cloak.

"The other…" A hiss emanated from the shroud.

Andrei swung his heavy cloak back with a grand gesture to reveal Michael's lifeless body, bloodied at his feet. "I dispatched him."

The shroud nodded. "Very well," it hissed. "And what was the crime against Me that she stands accused of?"

Jude did not mark the words that passed between them. Her attention was fixed upon Michael's ashen face. She could not help but note how much he'd resembled her brother in life. Now, in death, that resemblance seemed unnaturally heightened. His eyes ringed with blue, his cheeks, bloodless and white were perhaps how her brother might look if…

A hot tear trickled down her frigid skin and she felt more stinging the corner of her eye. Tears had never been easy to manage for her, even at the worst of times in her youth, but now she recalled that they had come so often as of late—in rage, in frustration, in bleak sorrow when memories crept into her subconscious and waking dreams. Her first reaction was always to rebel against them, but now she wished for them. She wished for a flood to drown in.

A dark presence ripped her attention from Michael. Andrei stood in front of her, appraising his captive with a thoughtful air.

"Very well," she heard the creature before her hiss. Voldemort and Andrei had been bargaining while she was lost in her own world and some agreement was about to be reached. She wished desperately that she had paid attention. "She is yours…"

                Coldness filled her veins as she heard the pronouncement. Voldemort obviously noted the terror in His littlest servant's face and He chuckled in a low hissing tone, pleased to see her so consumed with fear. "As soon as she ceases to be of use to Me." His amendment lessened her horror only by a little. "I would not let her go before I saw her anguish as her beloved students curse her and call her traitor when I tell them that it was she who led Me so willingly to them…No," the hiss continued, rising and falling with anticipation, "that I would not miss for anything." The thin, uncloaked finger rose from the thick folds of His robe and slowly pointed, beckoning her to look behind her. The presence restraining her let her go and she reluctantly got to her knees. In the deafening silence, the telltale pop of an Apparation caused her to jump. Hesitatingly she turned and looked in the direction of the sound, knowing and dreading what she would see.

                In the shadows of the room, she could make out two figures, one tall and shrouded in the cloak and mask of a Death Eater. The other was smaller. It was the figure of a youth, slightly chubby and not very tall. Her gasp was nearly a convulsion when recognition dawned on her and she unknowingly reached out and clutched the robe of her captor for support.

                "Neville," she called out, but her voice was little over a whisper.

                "Wh…what's going on?" he stuttered before another pop replaced his questions.

                Yet another cloaked figure appeared, a struggling silhouette outlined next to it. "Let go!" the figure yelled and the cloaked thug dropped him on the cold hard floor. The small figure continued to struggle, but Jude saw that the boy was bound. Behind her Voldemort stood to His feet.

                "Harry Potter!" He hissed with what could be described as elation, satisfaction and triumph.

                "Voldemort!" Harry pronounced bitterly, raising his eyes to the skeletal form. Harry continued to survey the room, to calculate his odds when his glance fell on Jude. "Elliot?" he asked with confusion and considerable anger. He had reached his conclusions quickly and she stood condemned.

                "Miss Elliot?" Neville ventured with doubting hopefulness.

                She could not speak, she could scarcely breathe for that matter. She was waiting, knowing full well what came next, knowing that it would come with the next breath.

                "I trusted you!" Harry's voice echoed in the cavernous space. "We all did, you bloody…lying…traitor!"

                Neville looked from Harry to Jude, his face blank with shock mingled with the beginnings of hate.