It was a majestic fortress that rose in the distance: triangular, a thousand feet tall, like the jagged middle finger of a long-dead deity. Waves came crashing around the base, and as they came closer, Lord Black saw, truly, that the tales did not do it justice. The great prison jutted from a rocky island, black and brown, slick with seafoam, crenellations dug on the walls, towers, walkways and guard posts. It was no simple tower. A castle it was instead, the greatest, tallest castle to ever be built.
They flew as one, on top-of-the-line broomsticks, feeling the rain patter against their cloaks. It flowed behind them, drenched with water, streaming like ribbons of ever-undulating black smoke.
Lord Black shivered against the cold but did not dare let it be seen. The Death Eaters had taken to staring at him whenever possible, their incredulous, disbelieving faces scarcely masked by pureblood etiquette. They could not believe a young boy could be held in such high regard by their Lord. They could not believe that the scrawny eleven-year-old child could command the favour of their master.
Hydrus Malfoy did not understand it either, and for that, held himself high on his broomstick, keeping a steady grip on the handle. It was slick with rainwater, and through the downpour, it was almost impossible to see anything but the barest of outlines. In this cold, drenched world hidden in the North Sea, the only colours to exist were blue, brown and black.
Arriving at the great fortress would be perhaps the easiest part of the night.
He spotted the first one, like a glowing silver shroud, floating towards them as if it were a damned soul, come to meet his master.
The effect was instantaneous.
He heard a scream from far away, a jarring, high-pitched noise that shook him to the bone.
Hermione, Hydrus thought desperately. His hands began to tremble. They're meant to do that. It's fake… fake… all of it a lie… Hermione is safe in Hogwarts… she has… she has the Headmaster… that prejudiced old codger to protect her…
Once more, her scream rang out in the wind, blown to his ears by merciless gods.
He turned his head around desperately, trying to wipe the rainwater from his eyes, trying… trying desperately to find her… she had to be close… but - but -
It's the Dementors, Hydrus told himself. They make you relive your worst experiences…
And suddenly, his hands were alive with pain.
All those times… the red eyes… they had cursed, tortured him…
It came thundering down on Hydrus, plunging a thousand knives into his hand, burrowing deep into his skin, until it hit bone. They crashed through that as well, piercing the other side of his flesh, sawing away, until his palms had been cut into a thousand pieces…
His eyes were hot with tears that burned tracks of molten lava down his cheeks
The Death Eaters, he thought, barely suppressing the urge to hurl. They can't see you as weak, they can't or they'll ridicule you for the rest of your life…
He kept repeating the words to himself, over and over, until his head rang with the chant… but his hands came loose of the grip, and Hydrus Malfoy clutched them close to his stomach, doubled over in pain, whimpers escaping from gritted teeth.
His legs were the only thing keeping him upright, clenched tight against the footholds, yet those were quickly weakening. He did not know how much longer he could resist before his resolve failed him… and he would plummet a thousand feet down, and into the stormy North Sea, perhaps to be lost forever.
But death would be quick.
There would be pain, burning agony as he died, but nothing in the world could be worse than what he already… nothing...
Hydrus Malfoy felt his feet relax, and as a violent gust of wind southwards, he felt himself totter, pushed abruptly to the left -
Something caught him then, right below his waist, shoving him back onto his broomstick.
And then… the pain was gone.
The burning agony left his hands, Hermione's screams fading until she sounded like the sharp whistling wind and the patter of rain against their heads.
Someone's voice whispered in his ear, soft and rough, guiding him slowly back to the present, their hands steadying his wrists, giving Hydrus a final pat before disappearing.
He blinked his eyes.
The world came back into focus, as they sped downwards, following Lord Voldemort's ashy trail. A ghastly pain still thrummed through his fingers as he jerked through the air, to land shakily onto the jagged rocks.
Lord Voldemort looked over them all. "You know what must be done," he said. "Go."
In their silver-gold masks, the Death Eaters were glimmering gods of death, black cloaks rippling with the harsh winds. Together, they tapped their wands against the brooms, vanishing it immediately.
Hydrus stood off to the side, awkwardly waiting as the professor did it for them.
The Death Eaters split it into groups of two, disappearing with the thick mist.
"Come along now," the professor said. His voice was barely a whisper against the gale. "Quickly."
The ground underneath became softer and softer, until it seemed as if they were walking on fresh dirt. Boulders, carved with the names of the deceased littered the ground with little order.
Lord Black looked at all of it, not quite feeling anything but the jarring pain in his fingers. The Death Eaters had all been sent on a business of their own, the filthy muggles floating in their wake, to be chained...
And they won't even be able to see the Dementors, to know what caused their terror... if they even still are sentient...
The muggles, the men and women that had once been hammered to the wall - no, they were not sane anymore. All had sputtered and given weak coughs as the water was poured on their faces, and as Lucius remarked in a quiet, cold voice, "If they are not even aware of our actions, we can hardly torture them."
Lord Voldemort had praised his thinking and ordered that the muggles be taken off the rusty nails, to be put in cells. For a week, it fell to one house-elf, a small, pinkish floppy-eared wonder of innocence, to feed them, clothe them, clean their by-products and nurse them back to health.
The meeting following those seven days had cursed Hydrus with nightmares so virulent even the Dreamless Sleep Potion couldn't keep them away. Shrieks and moans had filled the Great Hall, bouncing off of walls, digging its sharp claws into his ears, until hours later, the world still rang with the echo of their screams.
Lord Voldemort had commanded they continue until finally, they gave no response when Macnair dragged a knife across their skin, and when Avery dumped scalding oil over their heads, they did nothing but blink. They were vegetables now, capable of naught but staring at the wall of their small cell, drool clinging to their chin, as ever-present as a beard.
Perhaps it is for the better. If they cannot feel, then they shall not have to endure the sorrow of the Dementors. A painless. A better fate than what you gave to Belvina Black. Reassure yourself with this information, before the wall comes crumbling down. Before it crumbles down...
Hydrus looked high into the stormy sky and saw the wraith-like wisps of grey smoke, seeming almost to blend in with the background. They encircled them all, floating over all of Azkaban like the gods they might as well have been.
The professor cleared his throat and glanced over at Lord Black. "His cell is this way."
Hydrus knew as well as him. Lucius had stolen the map from the Ministry, and even without, it wouldn't have been difficult to guess the final resting place of the Wizarding World's most feared man.
Far away, shouts could be heard, distressed wailings that rang over and over; the cry of insanity ringing its brass bells.
Lord Black squinted his eyes and saw naught but shifting, swirling mist. It was impossible to tell if the shrieks had been from a Death Eater.
But no, of course not. They're better than that.
Still, a strange feeling of worry stewed in his stomach, that made him swivel his head round and round until his neck felt a deep ache that was normally reserved for his circlet.
Lord Black flexed his hands, feeling his nerves tingle with residual pain.
"Come."
He looked over. The professor had done a clean job, clearing the grey-blue mortared stone, until a passageway snaked directly into the centre of the prison.
It seemed to emanate a ghastly sound, a queer combination of moans and shrieks as if condemned spirits made the great fortress their final place of rest.
His palms twitched as flames danced across them, no longer blue-and-orange as they usually were, but a strange red-brown, as if dried blood clung to his hands. They gave so very little light, and with every drop of water that fell onto the fire, it writhed and jerked, as if fighting a malign poison.
Lord Black raised his chin and stepped into Azkaban.
The walls were jagged rocks, as unkempt and wild as the savage North Sea. Torches were hung every two feet, glowing with orange flames. Nonetheless, shadows pooled in the corners, black pits of despair.
Hydrus Malfoy did not dare look to his side, to see them, slumped against stone walls, gazing listlessly at their fingers, mumbling incoherently to themselves. But his eyes had a mind of their own, and they wandered left and right, caught in a trance, staring at each body, inhaling the sight of their ragged hair, their gaunt faces, and the hollow, insane look to their eyes.
Some would snarl, others would weep. Some banged against the bars as he passed, with a strange, inhuman force. They looked like demons - ragged, patched hair clinging onto their scalp, their faces like wilted prunes, their eyes… unfocused and crazed.
Others he passed would shriek as they saw the flames in his palms, scampering to the corner of their cells, their thin, gnarled hands reaching to cover their eyes.
The worst were the ones who still clung to their sanity with an iron grip, who must have not been there for very long, who shouted for him, who cried silver tears, who begged an end to their suffering…
Lord Black walked past them all, listening to the spirits of the damned wail and moan. There is nothing you can do for them. They are beyond your saving.
They wound their way up stairs and past heavy doors, through long strings of cells where witches and wizards lay, slumped on cement benches, a clouded look to their eyes. Drool ran down their chin, and the air smelt of feces.
For a moment, he stopped.
"You can't save them, Hydrus."
Yes, I know. He turned to the professor. "Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured until insanity."
"They were."
Lord Black stared at him coldly. "You tortured Hermione."
His face was smooth and impassive. "We don't have much time."
The professor continued, leaving Hydrus Malfoy to stare at the man, watching him moan and wail, his face so thin and pale it might have been a skull.
That could have been Hermione.
For a long time, he stared at the man, gazing at the clumps of silver-grey hair that seemed one tug away from being forever disengaged from his scalp. Then, with a horrible bubbling feeling in his stomach, Hydrus walked after the professor.
_(O.O)_
Lord Black looked at him.
He lay in his cell, staring at the stone walls, a blank, distracted look to his face. His striped jumpsuit was ragged and ripped, frayed at the edges and covered in dirt.
He looked nothing like the pictures.
In silence, the professor tapped the bars, watching as they flew open. "Careful," he said.
Lord Black ignored him.
His dragonskin boots echoed on the floor, a steady thumping amidst the moans and shrieks. They kept the man away from the rest, locked behind thick concrete walls, three feet wide and a thousand feet tall, in a column that stretched to the top of Azkaban.
A pail sat overturned in the corner, its contents a sloshy mess of urine and fecal matter that spilled onto the floor, staining the stone a strange yellow-brown colour. Lord Black side-stepped it and kneeled carefully beside the man.
His hands shook themselves free of the flames, and slowly, he took off his hood.
The man looked up. His eyes were hollow, hugged by dark purple voids, his face marred by wrinkles and creases. Dark black hair, long and ragged, pooled at his neck.
Azkaban has broken him, Lord Black thought. He cannot be sane.
"Sirius," he said.
But the words that came through his mouth were steady. "James?"
"I'm not James, Sirius. I'm Harry."
His eyes were cloudy, shifting swirls of grey smoke. "Harry?"
"His son, Sirius. I'm his son."
Trembling hands reached for his cheeks, cupping them with a strange gentleness. "Harry," he whispered. "Harry Potter."
"Yes," Lord Black said. "I'm Harry Potter."
"You've grown," he mumbled. "I can't remember… but your eyes… they're green… like Lily's… and - and your hair… not as messy perhaps…" Slowly, his hands pulled away. "Have you come to save? From my nightmares?"
Oh, Sirius Black, Hydrus thought. Your nightmares have just begun.
He reached for the man's shoulder. "Yes. We're here, Sirius. We've come to save you."
Tears streamed down cheeks, wiping away the thick layers of grime with soft caresses. "Really?"
But it wasn't to him Lord Black was looking.
His eyes met the professor's eyes and saw the swirl of grey-blue sea foam. "Yes. Yes, of course."
_(O.O)_
They were the last to reach the top, as rain and wind pounded against their thick, black cloaks. The Death Eaters stood in a circle, some in striped rags, others in robes that flowed like water from their shoulders.
When they came close, the storm seemed to stop, pounding against an invisible dome that stretched to the sky.
Lord Voldemort watched them approach, his dark red eyes bright with twisted joy. "And how is he? The man of the hour, the great, formidable Sirius Black, slayer of twelve muggles… and lieutenant to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named…"
A ripple of laughter coursed through the Death Eaters, jeers uttered behind silver-golden masks, taunts thrown from behind gridded mouths. And then, it came, bursting like a nest of wasps, a buzzing that flew through the air; a delirious cackle that ripped through the guffaws like a knife slicing into human flesh.
He watched as she jerked her head backwards, her dark frizzy curls bouncing as she giggled, her heavy-lidded eyes wide with insanity. She was thin; pale skin pulled over bulging bones, her face ridden with stark shadows.
"Sirius Black," Bellatrix Lestrange crooned. Her clothes were torn and ragged, dark with dirt, her nails chipped and broken, yet somehow, a sort of nobility followed her, an aura that hung from her shoulders like a thick, velvet cape. "Is this him? That coward. Little Sirius. Little Sirius. Look at me, little Sirius. LOOK AT ME."
Hydrus Malfoy watched as she sauntered over, her lips twisted into a grin so wide it threatened to break her face in two. Carefully, he looked up at Sirius Black, watching as he frowned.
"Who are you?" he said. His voice was hoarse, the sound of splintering wood. "Wormtail. The traitor. Peter Pettigrew. Is he here?" Sirius Black gripped Hydrus' arm. "Who are they, Harry? Why does he have red eyes? Is he -?"
"Come, Bella," Lord Voldemort ordered. An odd smile made his features twist. "There is much to be done." Hydrus watched as she shot one last horrifying grin, before skipping back to his side, her hair bouncing with each step.
And then, he turned his gaze to the sky, his red eyes bright with passion. "Grand Warden. It is an honour to bask in your presence once more."
At first, Hydrus could not see what he meant. He squinted, and then saw it, descending from the sky, a swirl of grey smoke floating with the wind. The rain, the gale; all of it seemed to follow the ashy creature, breaking through the translucent barrier the Dark Lord had erected, a fine mist cloaking the air.
It came to a stop before Lord Voldemort.
Hydrus could see it clearly for the first time, the ripples of fabric he had thought were vapour, the hood of his cloak…
But it couldn't be. It couldn't be one of them.
His hands - he flexed them - they didn't burn. They didn't ache, they didn't scream with agony.
No, it could not be a real Dementor… and yet… and yet...
Bony hands snaked from the sleeves of its robes, hands that were the colour of cinders, hands that might once have been hale and plump, the peachy colour of human flesh; but time had run its jagged knives across the tissue, carving away all that was pink, until grisly bones remained, with bits of rotting muscle clinging to the corpse. They reached for what should have been his head, and slowly, the great monster pulled down its hood.
A strangled cry escaped from Sirius Black, his hands tightening their grip on Hydrus' arm, digging his gritty nails with a ferocity alien to someone so very frail. The wail was echoed across them all, a miasma of silent horrification that hung over the Death Eaters.
It was as if someone had torched the Grand Warden's face, for there was nothing but yellowed bone with bits of brown flesh, clinging to their mother with an iron will. Black soot darkened the great gaping holes where eyes should have been, and a deep voice came from the lipless mouth.
"Unum est gravius morte," it whispered.
The rain stopped.
Lord Voldemort bowed his head. "Scilicet amicus."
And through the gloom, their voices echoed.
"Unum est gravius morte," the Dementors whispered, hidden in the dark clouds. "Pactam ad vitam."
_(O.O)_
For the first time in eleven years, the entirety of the Inner Circle was reunited, seated around the finest table gold could buy.
There was a sort of familiarity between all of them; no matter what state of black-and-white rags they might have worn, an air of nobility followed their every move. Chins were raised, backs were straight, a sort of pride - a pride that defeated even fear - that filled the room, that made even the most skeptical man beam with great joy.
Lord Black watched them all, from the left-hand side of the Dark Lord, watching their silver-gold masks catch the candlelight, watching others who did not possess the coveted masks...
His gaze drifted from Lucius to Narcissa... his parents they were...
Not anymore, Hydrus Malfoy thought. They are nothing to me, now. Nothing but another Death Eater.
It was this affirmation that brought him the courage to meet Narcissa's eyes, to see the swirl of dark bronze, filled with sorrow, filled with fear, filled with the sort of motherly love that had somehow developed deep inside of her. Her face was pale, her lips plump and red, but there was nothing in the world that could hide terror.
She has lost weight, Lord Black thought, gazing at her cheekbones. They jutted from her complexion in the same inhuman way they did on Bellatrix Lestrange's face. What more will she lose in the coming months?
His stomach was a hard knot, for he could hear Lord Voldemort's words, whispering their prophetic tone. "You are young," he had said, watching him with his dark red eyes. "But the young can be groomed." Hydrus knew, he knew what he planned, why Dementors were to be stationed there... oh the Dark Lord had his plans... he would not tell them... until it would be too late to thwart.
"And so here we are," Lord Voldemort rumbled. His gaze travelled across the Death Eaters, a fond smile gracing his lips as he watched them all. "Ten-and-a-half years it has been... ten-and-a-half years since my most devout have dwelled in Azkaban..." One of his fingers reached out and stroked Bellatrix Lestrange's chin. "The Dark Lord always delivers... Alecto... Amycus... Antonin... Jugson... Rabastan… Rodolphus... Rowle... Yaxley... and of course... the greatest, most powerful... my dear Bella..."
She giggled, her dark eyes wide with delirium.
Hydrus felt a hand clamp onto his wrist and heard Sirius Black whisper into his ear. "Who are these people, Harry?"
Shut up, he wanted to say, before the Dark Lord hears your words. No one interrupts Lord Voldemort and lives to tell the tale.
"What is that?" the Dark Lord demanded. "Sirius Black? Did you have something to say?"
Laughter made its way across the table, a deep, brass-like sound that could be heard from behind the silver-gold masks.
Hydrus felt the hand loosen from his wrist.
"Where is Peter Pettigrew?" Sirius Black demanded. "He will die for what he has done."
The Dark Lord looked at him. "And what has this Peter Pettigrew done to you?"
"He betrayed me," Sirius Black roared.
Shut up, Hydrus Malfoy thought. The Dark Lord always delivers… that may mean death for your insolence… this carpet has seen enough blood. Do not add yours in there… do not…
"And so you wish to end his life?"
"Yes," said Sirius Black. Sweat matted his forehead, twinkling like golden beads in the candlelight. "That's what I said."
Lord Voldemort studied him, his dark red eyes appraising, in the way a lion studied a jackalope; in the way predator stalked prey. "I have heard tales… I had to be sure, of course, seeing you… yes, your sense of vengeance is undeniable… I have Peter Pettigrew."
Sirius Black bolted upright, his knuckles turned white as they clenched the edge of the table. "Then bring him to me."
There was a new air to the Dark Lord's mannerism. "There, there, Sirius Black, not so fast." A round of nervous laughter passed through the Death Eaters. "You see, Peter Pettigrew has wronged me too. Did you know that? Oh yes, he has betrayed me as well -"
"I don't even know who you are."
"Quite unfortunate. It seems introductions are in order. I am Lord Voldemort, the leader of a group of noble vigilantes come to instill honour and virtue upon all those we meet. You must understand -"
"I understand what you say," Sirius Black growled. "But Peter Pettigrew is mine. He betrayed me! He - he -"
Lord Voldemort had a strange, benign look to his eyes; the sparkle that Albus Dumbledore always seemed to have whenever he spoke to Hydrus Malfoy. "You see, there is a sacred rule among my following. Whoever deals the sentence, must also swing the sword, so to speak, of course. To contest that… is to go to war with my followers… we do not want that of course… we are… benevolent in all ways possible… of course…"
Hydrus watched Narcissa's eyes, glued to Sirius Black, as if hoping, praying her cousin would find his wits…
"I have no qualms with you -"
"Ah, but to execute Peter Pettigrew when it should be one of my following… that is a declaration of war…"
"I don't care -"
"And here I thought you'd like to join us…"
Sirius Black snarled. "Give me Peter Pettigrew."
"You wish justice for a crime committed against you… ten years unrightfully imprisoned in Azkaban… I wish justice, too, Sirius Black. You and I… we have the same goals. We are justice-seekers, as are my followers… What can one man do against the world? Nothing... But what can a thousand?" The Dark Lord raised his chin, his grey lips pulled into a twisted smile. "Everything."
Sirius Black growled. "And you'll give me Pettigrew?"
"I'll give you much more than that, Sirius Black." He turned his gaze to the professor. "Go fetch Wormtail."
In the minutes of deathly silence that followed, Sirius Black stared into the depthless red pits that were the Dark Lord's eyes, his gaze calm and commanding.
Hydrus shifted in his seat but did not dare let his unease be shown.
The professor returned, his steps silent and graceful, a train of rope in his hand… and behind him, trailing in his wake, was a short stout man, almost dragged as whimpers escaped from his mouth.
It can't be, Hydrus thought. The Dark Lord still needs him… why… unless… the map was already found… but Wormtail still has his uses. He's an animagus… he can turn into a rat… a perfect spy…
"Peter Pettigrew," Sirius Black hissed. He raced to the man, his chair clattering to the floor.
It happened so quickly - for a moment, Wormtail was shaking on his feet, his hands spasming as if on fire - the next, he was rolling on the floor, his head whacked against the carpet, over and over, the sound a steady thrum in Hydrus' mind.
"TRAITOR," Sirius Black roared. His fist thudded against Peter Pettigrew's lips. They burst like an overripe pomegranate, its sweet, red juices crawling down his chin. "Traitor, traitor, traitor. Say their names, Wormtail. The names of your best friends, the names of the people… the people you betrayed. Say them, Wormtail. SAY THEM."
But his knuckles had already crashed into Peter Pettigrew's throat, and there was a large, purplish bruise, a flat, unmoving hollow where his trachea should have been…. Gasps were coming from his mouth, short, high-pitched breaths. The area around his lips had turned blue... as had the edges of his face, his fingernails...
Wormtail raked his hands across Sirius Black's arms, trying desperately to take a breath - but it was all in vain of course.
His windpipe had been crushed.
Peter Pettigrew twitched once, then twice, and his hands that had tried to defend his face - they fell to the floor, the tips of his sleeves parting, revealing pale flesh. Lord Black looked at him.
Blood ran down his face, thin red worms, digging their way into the carpet, leaving behind them a trail of brutality. The air smelt of feces, but Hydrus paid it no mind. It was difficult to tell… and yet… and yet… Wormtail's wrists…
There were no red bands that had flashed and glowed as Lord Voldemort burned them into his skin. No, nothing but pale flesh, pale like milk, paler and paler, as more blood leaked onto the floor.
Sirius Black kneeled over the corpse, his dark eyes alight with vengeance. His right fist was bent at the wrong angle, jerked violently to the side, his fingers already beginning to swell. If he could feel pain, the man did not show it. "Tell me," he said quietly, "how many more men are there? How many more have escaped rightful justice? How many more shall we punish?"
"A thousand, a million, a billion, perhaps more, perhaps less. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
"Of course," he breathed.
"Then know that the war has already begun. Justice shall prevail... rise Sirius Black, and take on a name worthy of a Death Eater."
"My..." Sirius Black stopped as if tasting how the words sounded in his mouth. "My Lord?"
"Sirius Black was the name of a broken man, chained in the pits of Azkaban... it is a rebirth of sorts..." Lord Voldemort passed his gaze around the table. "Are there any suggestions?"
No one spoke.
Hydrus felt a sort of dangerous sense of foreboding, a sense of self-preservation. That was a horrible glint to the Dark Lord's eyes, and no one wanted to bring his attention.
"My Lord," Bellatrix Lestrange simpered. She gave him a carnal smile. "You should call him mongrel."
The Dark Lord watched Sirius Black, a mockery lying in his gaze. "Howl for us, mongrel. Show us who you truly are."
Lord Black watched as the beast threw back his head and let out a throaty cry, his hands stained red with Wormtail's blood.
I was wrong, Hydrus Malfoy thought, strangely calm. Azkaban has broken him.
A/N:
What an interesting chapter. It went in a completely different direction than I had anticipated.
To my Latin-reading/writing readers... yep you guessed right... that was horrible Latin... Google Translate can only do so much... *sigh*. For any of you guys wondering, that moment where Lord Voldemort speaks to the Grand Warden on the roof of Azkaban, they say this:
"There is one thing worse than death," it whispered.
The rain stopped.
Lord Voldemort bowed his head. "And that is you, my friend."
And through the gloom, their voices echoed.
"There is only one thing worse than death," the Dementors whispered, hidden in the dark clouds. "The alliance lives on."
Don't even try to Google Translate the original words to English... they're not gonna make much sense XD
Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!
I'm super glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, but I am worried though, that this will end up becoming a GoT fanfic with HP characters... I actually kind of... regret having Norberta as a thing... the parallels that exist right now between this fanfic and Dany's character arc is... a little too close for comfort. What to d'you [guys] think?
As always, thanks for reading!
Cheers