AN: I quite enjoyed writing this little "prison break" chapter. Enjoy! Also I wanted a song that conveys the energy of this chapter with a rather bombastic hook, and the title chapter is vague in teling you what it is... so: watch?v=SSbBvKaM6sk
Chapter 47 - "Woo-hoo!"
The tiny little rowboat Circe and Odette found themselves in was well concealed by the low hanging mist. They had waited for just over two weeks for the weather to be just right and the glorious Norman summer sun had finally granted them one day's respite. The ocean churned beneath them and as Circe glanced around at the thick blanket of sea mist, she found it hard to distinguish where the waves ended and the sky began. Yet as the enchanted oars rowed them closer to Azkaban's southern coast, she found herself wishing she could see a little bit of the sky, or the sun, or anything that wasn't the oppressive, damp mist that seemed to be closing in around her.
Odette had been silent since the boat had begun rowing and Circe too wasn't much in the mood for small talk. This was the calm before the storm. The deep breath before the plunge. They had rehearsed and planned everything they could and now it was crunch time.
"I think now we should…" Odette muttered, reaching for a small flask rolling around on the bottom of the dingy.
Circe sighed and nodded. They must be close. She glanced down at herself again; clad in a man's three piece suit and a shining pair of black business shoes. She'd only met Barry once or twice, but this is how Circe remembered his dress sense. Her and Odette had cobbled together the outfit for her from some of Rabastan's old clothes and Odette too was clad in a man's suit a little newer than the one Circe wore. All that they needed now to fully look the part was the polyjuice potion.
Odette poured them both out a small cup full of the potion and Circe looked down at it in her lap with a face of disgust. It looked like rancid porridge and smelt even worse….
"Just add your hair and drink it all down." Odette instructed her.
"Who have you got?" Circe asked pointing at the small clipping of ginger hair Odette had pulled from her own pocket.
"I asked Macnair to procure some for me, from somebody who works in the Ministry. I can't remember the name he gave me now... Apparently he's fairly new to the role. Not been there long. So there shouldn't be anybody who recognizes him here."
Circe nodded, taking Barty Crouch Senior's hair from her own pocket. She withdrew a single silver hair from the bundle and sprinkled it into the potion, watching it fizz and froth as it was completely dissolved. Odette did the same and her potion too hissed back at her.
"À la tienne, ma chérie." Odette said, raising her glass in a toast. Circe raised her cup too and together they drank down their potions. At first, it felt like a series of pins and needles was coursing its way through Circe's limbs, but then the light static grew until it was an acute pain. In every vein of her body. In every corner and crevice. Circe wanted to vomit over the side of the dingy and she grabbed onto the side of the boat. She gasped in horror as she saw the flesh on her hands bubbling and melting like hot wax before reforming into a shape that was not hers. Her upper lip tingled as she felt a brush of hair sprout from there. Her chest shrank inwards and her shoulders creaked outwards. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she felt something grow from between her legs… and then it all stopped.
She looked to Odette, about to ask if the transformation had worked. And then she gasped. The boy that looked back at her from the other end of the dingy was Percy Weasley.
"Oh Odette… not him." Circe spluttered out in a voice that wasn't hers. It was deeper. The bobbing of the Addams apple in her throat almost making her choke.
"You know who this is?" Odette asked, pointing at her own face.
"Yes, he's just a kid. He doesn't deserve to be implemented in this…."
"Well I'm afraid it's too late to turn back now." Odette said shortly. "We may not get another day like this all summer."
Almost to punctuate her point, the bottom of the boat scraped against the pebbles of the shore and the two disguised women peered through the mist. Neither of them could see much in the heavy gloom, but the solid, black shape of the prison's walls cast a deep shadow over them both. Azkaban waited for them both.
"We've done it. We're here." Circe breathed.
"Don't celebrate too early. We may have managed to bypass the Ministry security but we're still not yet inside."
The two of them jumped out of the dingy and dragged it onto the shore. Circe kept a nervous eye on the skies, waiting for a flock of Dementors to swarm on them at any moment. If it came to it, Circe couldn't cast her patronus without outing herself. She had no clue what Barty's had been but she heavily doubted it too had been an Arctic Fox. Therefore she utterly depended on Odette to protect them both if the Azkaban guardians were going to attack them and as much as it pained her to doubt her old friend, she had never seen Odette cast the patronus charm before…
"How long do we have before the potion wears off?" Circe asked.
"Here." Odette replied, passing her a small flask. "For any top-ups you feel you might need."
Circe nodded and pocketed the flask, casting another nervous glance to the imposing black building on the cliffs in front of her.
"Through the front door then?" She asked.
"Hiding in plain sight."
They traversed the beach and climbed up the cliffs, tripping over their new feet, in their new bodies. Eventually, from out of the mist, loomed a great black portcullis on the other side of a thin rope bridge. Circe glanced down as she approached the bridge, seeing the jagged rocks and hearing the crashing water beneath her. Her legs shook as she shuffled over the bridge, desperately trying to suppress a whimper every time the wind made the bridge start to sway. When they both reached the other side, Circe felt the first twinge of cold. She stopped dead in her tracks, glancing around for a flutter of sable robes or a skeletal hand anywhere in sight. But there was nothing. Odette approached her, casting a worried look her way as she too felt the coldness around them both.
Circe approached the portcullis and called out to the empty gatehouse.
"Bartemius Crouch Senior, the Head of the Department of Magical Co-Operation and former Supreme Judge of the Wizengamot requests entry into Azkaban!"
There was an echo as her changed voice bounced off the black stone. And then Circe heard Odette gasp behind her.
She turned around with alarm and there hovering over the bridged chasm they had just crossed was a single Dementor. Odette raised her wand, readying herself to cast the patronus charm but Circe rushed forward and grabbed her arm.
"No…. Percy…" Circe said calmly. Odette's eyes bulged from under her disguise as the Weasley boy but Circe refused to break her stare with the Dementor. It remained unmoving. Hovering in the chasm like a static black rain cloud. But it had not attacked them. And Circe noted that she felt anxious, uncomfortable, sickeningly nervous, but not that oppressive and crushing sadness that she had felt when the Dementor had attacked her a few years ago.
They aren't attacking me on site. I think Barty Crouch Junior was right…
She moved towards the guardian with a few tentative steps and bowed her head slightly. Much to her absolute shock and relief, the Dementor bowed its hooded head back.
Circe flinched as a great, metallic groan sounded off behind her and she spun around in time to watch the portcullis raising for her. For Barty. The Dementor floated silently past them and they followed diligently. Once inside the prison, they entered a bare courtyard lined with high, dizzyingly tall walls that bore roe after row of small barred windows. Circe glanced up, trying to see how tall the prison was, but the walls and windows disappeared into the mist before she could see the top. It made Circe feel like she was in her own cell.
"We wish to speak with the Lestranges, Dementor." Circe said in Barty's voice. She swallowed hard, mustering her bravery and commencing the next phase of her and Odette's plan. "There have been some new developments in the Longbottom case that need clarifying by those involved in the case. What cell number are they in?"
The Dementor turned around and raised three boney fingers. Then he raised a single one. And then another three.
"Three zero three?" Circe asked.
The Dementor signalled to her again, holding up its numbered fingers.
"Three zero five."
The Dementor signalled one last time.
"And eight one four." Circe stated, looking at. Odette.
"I'm guessing the Lestrange brothers are the ones kept relatively close together?" Odette asked as young Percy Weasley. "As the women are kept on the other side of the prison to the men."
The Dementor nodded again.
"Then I suppose we should start by interrogating the brothers. Rabastan first, Percy?" Circe asked.
Odette nodded wordlessly.
The Dementor led them through a series of dark and dismal corridors without a single noise. As they traversed further and further into the prison, Circe found it increasingly harder to see where she was laying her feet in the heavy shadows but her feet squelched as she walked along. She wondered where all of the other Dementors were.
Is there a Dementor Rec room? She wondered, trying to keep herself chipper in the frightening gloom. Where they have a pool table and a kettle?
They eventually came to a stop outside a heavily bolted door marked with several deep scratches that looked like they had been made with fingernails.
"Three zero three." Circe muttered.
The Dementor waved a skeletal hand and the iron bolt that lay across the door slid from its resting place, scraping and screeching its protest as it moved. Circe heard a small whimper from inside the shadows of the dismal cell and she too shivered as a gust of cold air hit her squarely in the face. It made her moustache tickle against her upper lip…
She swallowed hard and entered the cell, plunging herself into the darkness and Odette followed close behind. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, there wasn't much to see. The cell was bare of all but a simple straw bed, a cracked chamber pot and a single drafty slit window that reminded Circe of the kind that were embedded into the walls of old castles. She looked back to what she had assumed to be a pile of rags on the bed and did a double take as the rags moved, raising a curious head to her. The Dementor floated into the room and Circe felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as it drew nearer to her. The bundle of rags, however, screamed and shrank back from the horrific thing, burying their head in the crook of their arm, shivering violently. It muttered pleas unintelligibly, crying for mercy in a voice of acute fright and dread like a wild animal braying fearfully from within a hunting trap.
My God, is that Rabastan? Circe thought pitifully to herself. This is what the Dementors reduce these people to? This is what happens to them when they've been in a Dementor's presence for so long...
"Dementor…" Circe began quickly when she sensed Odette's pained emotion beside her. "Perhaps it would be better if you left us alone with the prisoner. We need to extract information from him and he needs to be… clearly understood."
There was a nervous pause as Circe and Odette both waited for the Dementor's reply. The only noise punctuating the heavy darkness around them were Rabastan's whimpers. Eventually the Dementor nodded and withdrew silently from the cell. Circe strode to the door, peering through the bars as she watched the lone Dementor hover silently out of sight, moving further and further away from them until Rabastan's cries died down.
She turned back to Odette and nodded. Immediately Odette rushed to the prisoner's side.
"Rabastan! It's me-"
The bundle of rags looked up from the crook of his arms, peering through a thick curtain of long, filthy black hair. His frightened, deep-set eyes stared out from his similarly dirty face, looking into Percy Weasley's with a flicker of confusion. But then his expression turned into a vicious snarl and he pushed past Odette with a surprising show of strength for his spindly body. He lunged at Circe, pinning her to the wall and knocking the wind from her.
"Nice to be seeing you again, Barty..." he growled into her face.
"Rabastan, no!" Odette shouted, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him off of Circe.
"Come all the way out here to watch me and my brother rot away to nothing? Finally come to see the consequences of your actions, ehh?" Rabastan spat, his breath stinking to high heaven as he bared his yellow teeth.
"Rabastan, it's me. Odette! Our…. our wedding! You wore a dark burgundy suit and your great-grandfather's pocket watch." Odette sputtered out hurriedly. Rabastan looked at Percy's face sharply, frowning his unkempt eyebrows at the red-headed boy.
"What was your bouquet made of?" he asked slowly, never once lightening his strong grip on Circe.
"Queen Anne's Lace and wild cornflowers… that you picked from the side of the road for me."
Rabastan gasped, letting Circe drop from his iron hold as he turned to Odette.
"My wife…" he muttered, taking her into a long embrace. He drew away from Odette, cupping the face of Percy Weasley gently in his hands. "Is it truly you? Our sons… are they alright?"
"They are. They want to meet their father before they leave for their first term of Hommehoughair..." Odette choked out through bittersweet sobs.
Circe furrowed her brow, looking at the tender glance that passed between Odette and Rabastan.
I thought she didn't care for him. I thought it was a marriage of convenience… she thought. But the warmth in their reunion was touching, loving, gentle. It made Circe wonder if Odette had been truthful with her at all… Still, even if the relationship between Odette and Rabastan was different to what she had originally imagined, that still left them all within Azkaban's walls. They still all needed to get out...
"Rabastan, you need to listen very carefully." Circe said, finally recovering her voice, Barty's voice, after Rabastan had winded her.
"I'm assuming you are not who you appear to be either." Rabastan muttered, looking her up and down.
"No, my name is Circe Smith. Odette and I are here to free you… as instructed by the Dark Lord."
"And Rodolphus and Bella and anyone else we can get our hands on." Odette chimed in.
"The Dark Lord?" Rabastan breathed, pulling back the sleeve of his frayed shirt to peer at the Dark Mark on his own wrist. "He has returned! I felt it… I felt it!"
"And The Lestranges shall be at his side once more. If you do as we say." Odette stated carefully.
Rabastan fell silent, looking to his wife and then back to Circe.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Odette delved into the inner pocket of her suit, taking out her flask of polyjuice potion. As she peeled back her jacket's lapel, Circe spied three long, thin strands of wood attached to the lining.
The wands. Circe remembered.
"This is what Circe and I have planned: Rabastan, you are going to trade places with Circe and exit this cell with me. I have brewed just enough polyjuice for Circe to become you and for you to become Barty."
"You want me to masquerade as the very man who put me in here?!" Rabastan blanched.
"Yes, if you want to get out of here! It needs to happen." Circe said shortly. "Now, give me one of your hairs."
Rabastan looked once more at Odette and she nodded. He reached up into his head and plucked forth for her a single long strand of his dark hair and placed it into Circe's outstretched palm. Circe did the same, extracting another strand of Barty's hair from the bundle she still had and passing it to him. Odette poured them both two new fresh cups of the potion and Circe shivered, thinking on how she'd have to endure that awful transformation process again. The two of them faced one another and dropped their hairs into the foul-smelling liquid. Circe gagged, thinking the potion smelt worse imbued with Rabastan's essence than it had done with Barty's. They drunk it down together.
Circe felt the awful nausea of the potion take over her again, those familiar pins and needles growing into an almost unbearable pain. Rabastan too groaned and writhed as his face changed before her eyes. Circe was temporarily blinded by the unsightly crop of dark hair that sprang out from the top of her head as it swamped her eyes. And as Rabastan melted away into Barty, Circe changed into the mirror of Rabastan.
The two silently began undressing as Circe handed over the trim and smart three-piece suit to Rabastan and Circe rather reluctantly took his dirty rags from him. It felt a little strange when she had stood bare-chested before him and Odette but Rabastan couldn't seem to be able to take his eyes off her.
"Do I really look that thin?" he asked hoarsely when he'd finished tying his shoes. Circe looked down at the new body she had. She could feel every rib and bone in Rabastan's body. Rabastan's hand touched something odd in the pocket of the suit Circe had been wearing and he drew out a single, neatly wrapped artisan chocolate.
"That's for me." Circe said quickly, taking it from Rabastan and placing it back in her own pocket.
"We shall have you back home at the Chateau, drinking our wine and eating one of Sandrine's meals soon enough." Odette replied swiftly. She opened up her jacket again and plucked out the wand with the tiger's-eye gems in the hilt, handing it reverently over to Rabastan. "Your wand, husband."
Rabastan took it from her, savouring the feel of his wand in his fingers after years of separation. "You have done well, wife." he whispered back, tears in his eyes. "To have kept this for so long. You have my brother's and my sister-in-law's too?"
"I do."
"I would very much like to see them united with their magical instruments too. What happens now?" Rabastan asked, his back straightening with a newfound hope.
"I am going to stay here and wait for the signal." Circe began. "Once you and Odette leave this cell, you will go to where Rodolphus is being kept, give him his wand, and then he shall be armed too. Rodolphus will have to stay put as Odette has used up the last of the potion now. But you Rabastan, and Odette should still be okay to go and find Bellatrix. Once Bellatrix has been reunited with her wand then the signal can be made."
"Which is?" Rabastan asked.
Circe withdrew her own wand and touched it to the Dark Mark on her wrist. She muttered the spell and in unison, her and Rabastan both felt the sear of pain course through their tattoo.
"We are all marked with His symbol." Circe explained. "You, me, Rodolphus and Bellatrix. As well as any other disciple we might be able to smuggle out of here today. That is the signal. When you feel the pain in your wrist... Thus begins phase three."
"Smash and grab." Odette added with a small smile.
After a small wait, the Dementor came back to the cell. The disguised Odette and Rabastan cast a nervous look at one another as the cell door swung open and the Azkaban guard approached them. Circe lowered herself onto the cell bed, screaming and whimpering as she had heard Rabastan do earlier, keeping her eyes on the floor. As she had expected, she felt the oppressive sadness creep over her as the Dementor leeched all happiness from her. Soon her feigned sobs were real and she barely noticed that Odette and Rabastan had made it out of the cell without the Dementor noticing the switch. She felt the presence of the Dementor recede away and she hurriedly delved into her pocket for the chocolate Odette had prepared especially for her. There was a rather substantial hole in Rabastsn's pocket and she realised with a heavy heart that it had slipped into her trouser leg and she had sat on it when she'd thrown herself down on the straw bed.
Ahh Odette, all that faff and energy into wrapping up an individual hazelnut caramel truffle for me… she thought as she peeled the paper away from the sticky remains of her chocolate. Nevertheless, Circe stuffed the squished mess into her mouth gratefully, feeling her level-headedness come back and the sadness ebb away. She sighed heavily, peering around the dismal interior of her cell, swallowing down a spike of panic that bubbled away in her chest. Circe leaned against the cold stone wall behind her... and waited…
The exchange with Rodolphus had gone as expected and Odette placed a hand inside her husband's as the two of them exited her brother-in-law's cell, squeezing it tight in a small show of triumph. Rabastan squeezed back and her heart soared. Rodolphus now had his wand and he waited, like Circe, for the signal. The Dementor still suspected nothing. Victory was so, so close.
"And now finally Madame Lestrange please, Dementor." Rabastan said as Barty.
The Dementor glided on, leading them past countless cells, down a multitude of corridors. Odette peered in a few cells as she passed by, almost gasping aloud the first time she had seen another Dementor feeding off of an inhabitant inside.
"They leech the prisoners once a day. Any more that that and they become catatonic…" Rabastan stated to her in a casual manner that a boss might use to tell his assistant something important. But Odette caught the pained look in his eyes as she stole a glance at him. Finally they stood before cell number eight one four. Odette moved to draw back the bolt when the most vicious, blood curdling scream emanated from behind the door. She jumped back in alarm as the scream sounded again, accompanied by the rattle of chains.
"Bellatrix is kept in chains?" she asked, utterly aghast. The Dementor said nothing, pushing open the door with a thin bony hand and floating off into the shadows once more. Odette and Rabastan rushed forwards and after a second adjusting to the gloom, they both saw their sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange, bound in a series of thick irons, screaming bloody murder at them both through her intensely matted, dirty, wild hair. She looked upon the face of Percy and Barty, launching at them as the chains dug into her wrists and belting out a scream as her mouth contorted into a pure expression of unhinged rage.
"Sister! It's Odette and Rabastan…" Odette stated gently. Bellatrix halted in her shouts and looked at them both curiously.
"You gifted Odette and I the house-elf Sandrine for our wedding present…" Rabastan said slowly.
Silence fell over the tiny, damp cell.
"And what were my last words to you before the ceremony?" she asked Odette in a coarse whisper, her mad eyes penetrating deep into her soul.
"Magic is might." Odette answered.
Bellatrix's pale face stilled. Her chest began to heave and for a second Odette thought she was going to be sick, but then a low, rhythmic noise started to emanate from her thin, blue lips. She began to laugh…
"I knew He would come for me one day…" she cackled, the strange noise echoing off the cell's walls so loudly Odette feared the Dementor would return too soon. "I knew one day we would be re-united."
Rabastan waved his wand and the chains melted away from Bellatrix's hands, leaving behind deep red welts on her skin. But she cradled her tattooed wrist to her, stumbling about on unsure legs. Odette produced the last of the wands from her jacket lining and presented it to Bellatrix. She fell quiet and took the curved black hawthorn from her sister-in-law with a sickly smile.
Bellatrix spun around giddily, her laughter growing louder, the look in her eyes more unhinged. Odette turned to Rabastan, feeling unsettled by the madness that gripped her sister-in-law.
"Phase three, husband. Time to initiate the signal." She said calmly. Odette lay a hand on his arm, noticing that her skin was beginning to shift and bubble as she changed back into her true form. She held his wrist in her palm and touched her wand to it, glancing up at Rabastan as he watched her face change before his eyes.
"Wait…" he said suddenly. "I haven't seen you for so long…."
Odette paused and stared into her husband's eyes as her womanly figure returned, her long, dark hair grew out from a previously red scalp, and her eyes changed back to their icy blue colour. Rabastan smiled when the person who stood before him was no longer Percy Weasley, but the person he had married twelve years ago. Not a teenager anymore, but a woman. A mother.
"Now, husband?" Odette asked.
Rabastan nodded and Odette cast the spell that sent a spike of pain through his lower arm. Bellatrix too winced as the same sensation coursed through her but there was a pleasure in her eyes. An enjoyment from the pain.
"What now?" Bellatrix asked. "I'm assuming you have a plan to get out of this shit-hole, Odette."
"Smash and grab." Odette replied, raising her own wand.
"Good girl. I always knew you'd grow up to be a proper Lestrange..." Bellatrix grinned back at her.
They heard a catastrophic explosion somewhere else in the prison.
Then another.
The three of them pointed their wands at the wall and in unison shouted "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
The walls of the prison exploded outwards in a deafening boom.
Chaos descended over Azkaban.
Circe stared out through the hole she had just punched through her cell. Already she could see several dark wizards arching through the misty sky outside, their raucous laughs and screams of pure joy intermingling with the crash of the sea. She watched, her mouth hanging open in utter awe, as the Death Eaters appeared to be flying…
How are they doing that!? She wondered. No wizard can fly unaided. Is there some dark magic or spell they know?
A cackle zoomed past her in a blaze of black smoke. Circe squinted, thinking she could just about see a face in the midst of the swirling black haze. She wondered who it was. They seemed to be flying rings around the prison, blasting more holes in the walls and freeing more prisoners as they went. Circe shrunk back in fright as the black comet suddenly changed course and headed directly for her, coming to a standstill just inside Rabastan's old cell. The blackness solidified into a person, a woman, with wild, matted hair and the most vicious, nasty grin Circe had ever seen.
"Oh dear me, this is confusing…" the woman purred, eyeing up Circe. "Rabastan is Barty but you, whoever you are, are Rabastan…"
Circe frowned, but she suddenly remembered that she still outwardly presented as a Lestrange.
The polyjuice potion hadn't worn off yet.
"You must be Odette's partner in crime… The Dark Lord's newest disciple. Circe." the woman continued, stepping closer to Circe. The bags under her eyes were deep and dark, but they did little to hide the menace concealed in her stare. Circe shivered involuntarily.
"Bellatrix." Circe deduced. Another Death Eater went careening past the open wall laughing maniacally, concealed in that same thick, swirling darkness.
"How are you doing that?" Circe asked breathlessly.
"A simple apparation. But with a small illusion charm thrown in for aesthetics. God, you are green aren't you..."
"Where are Odette and Rabastan?" Circe asked shortly.
"On their way out of here, if they're smart."
"We were going to meet back at the bridge. To leave on the boat together…"
"Look around you... It's every man for himself out there. You've done your part. Odette has done hers. She is a Lestrange after all. And Lesranges have only two masters: the Dark Lord, and their own House. I suggest you run as fast as you can."
Circe tried to hope that Bellatrix had been wrong and Odette and Rabastan hadn't abandoned her once their goals for the mission had been fulfilled. But something about the blunt, cruel way Bellatrix had said it struck at an uneasy chord in Circe's heart.
Odette wouldn't desert me and leave me high and dry here, would she? Even if she is reunited with Rabastan now, we said we were in this together… And she never wanted to be a Lestrange. She's not one of you… she's not one of you...
Bellatrix turned back to the open sky, her hair fluttering softly in the wind. Circe followed her line of sight and saw a small swarm of Dementors heading their way. Circe's heart began thumping as the hooded monstrosities came hurtling towards them. One Dementor had had her feeling dire, but soon the whole of Azkaban's skeletal guards would be on top of them.
"Mavri omichli." Bellatrix called back to her. Circe frowned at her before deducing that this was the illusion charm she'd asked about. "You're on your own now, whoever you are. I'm getting out of here." And with that, Bellatrix took off into the sky in a puff of black smoke, just like before.
Circe didn't have time to ponder. She took a few nervous steps back and ran for the hole in the cell wall, launching herself off the edge, falling down towards the grey sea. The wind rushed past her as she went plummeting down, but through her bleary eyes she muttered the words of the spell Bellatrix had told her and suddenly she was enveloped in a thick black smoke. Now all she needed to do was apparate as normal and just before she hit the water, she thought of the swaying rope bridge at the prison's entrance. Circe went sailing through the air, trailing her smog behind her like a comet of pestilence. It really did feel like she was flying. Elation shot through her as she approached the rope bridge and circled about in the air over the portcullis, revelling in her newfound ability. But she was suddenly brought to an awful halt as she felt the encroach of an oppressive sadness grip around her heart. She peered behind her, seeing several Dementors on her tail in the sky and she tried fighting them off by shooting a few hexes back at them. But it did little to stop the Azkaban guards. Circe felt a sense of mounting panic as one Dementor caught up to her, filling the space to her right with its awful presence. She turned to face the hooded monster and that was her error. The Dementor began sucking and Circe felt something in her very core shift, almost as if her very being was about to be extracted from her body. Knocked off her stride, Circe went falling to the ground and came to a grinding halt as she collided with the earth. The impact was hard and Circe felt a break in the arm she had used to shield her fall. For a few seconds all Circe could register was the pain in her right forearm. She cried out and looked up, pleased at least to see she had come to a halting crash just outside the rope bridge but less pleased to see the ugly protrusion of bone now sticking up beneath her skin.
Well shit. That's broken. Odette, where are you?! Circe thought. Oh God, they have abandoned me.
She tried to push herself up but she cried out in pain as her broken arm throbbed. A coldness washed over her again and Circe turned onto her back just in time to see the swarm of Dementors descend upon her. She screamed out as she saw their open, cavernous mouths draw closer to her, just as the Dementor had done before giving Barty the kiss…
My soul… they're going ot suck out my soul and I'll become one of those hideous husks of a person like Barty Crouch Junior did….
But Odette should have been here by now. She should have been waiting for her so they could escape this cursed Island together. Her mind descended into a visionless blackness. All there was was hopelessness and despair. Every single unhappiness in her life again and again and again.
I'm so sorry Odette… I'm so sorry I left you to these people when we were young. Circe thought as her mind played back to her the last time she had seen Odette on the steps of Beauxbattons when they were eighteen: crying, shouting after one another, torn apart. I never forgot you. I never wanted you to suffer because of me. I never turned my back on you. And I never thought you would do that to me...
Her thoughts dwindled away to nothing and Circe felt the pull of her soul leaving her body.
But then, a shining white light slammed into the group of Dementors. Circe choked and swallowed hard, sucking in deep breath after deep breath as she fought down her soul. The silvery-white light moved with a fierce grace and elegance, sending the Dementors scattering off in its wake. Circe sat up breathlessly, looking at the patronus of a beautiful swan fighting off the hideous skeletal monsters with a snapping beak and wide-spread wings. She sobbed with utter relief as the Dementors fled from the swan, feeling the awful sensation of their presence recede, her heart suddenly feeling like the icy hand that had once gripped it had let her go. Circe turned around, eager to see who had saved her from the kiss, and there standing on the rickety wooden bridge, wand outstretched, was Odette.
Circe rose to her feet, still cradling her broken arm to her chest but never once letting Odette out of her sights. She did not run to her. Or speak to her old friend. But there was a mutual understanding that passed between them. Their time together had come to an end… for now at least. They had infiltrated Azkaban. Odette had her husband back. Circe had proved herself to the Dark Lord. And there had been something of a reconciliation for them both. All of which had seemed impossible a few weeks ago, for one reason or another. And now, as Bellatrix had stated, it was every man for himself. Odette nodded her thanks to Circe, and Circe nodded back.
"Au revoir, Circe." Odette stated plainly.
"Au revoir, ma cherie." Circe replied with a small smile.
Odette laughed and then without another word, she took off into the sky. Apparating away to safety.
Circe did not have time to dwell over her and Odette's parting. The Dementors were beginning to regroup in the skies above Azkaban and she still very much looked like a prisoner who was trying to escape… She rushed over the wooden bridge, her broken arm sending waves of a nauseating sickness through her with each stride, not even glancing down at the deep drop that had so terrified when she had last passed over it. She hoped that the rowboat her and Odette had used to get here was still moored on the pebble beach and much to her relief, there it still was.
"Locomotor!" Circe shouted, pointing her wand at the dingy. It sprung up off the ground and hovered in the air, suspended off the pebbles and Circe hurriedly pushed it out until it sat on top of the waves. She charged into the sea without a care for the wetness or coldness of the ocean and heaved herself into the boat hurriedly. As soon as she was inside, the enchanted oars started rowing but the boat was moving too slowly…
Shit shit shit shit shit… Circe thought as she watched the Dementors growing closer to her. Time to get creative then.
She heaved the oars up into the dingy with much difficulty now she only had one arm at her disposal but when she was done, she pointed her wand out the back of the boat and roared
"Ventus maxima!"
A powerful blast of strong air launched into the water, sending the small dingy shooting off into the sea at a rather alarming speed. Circe screamed as the front of the boat rose up out of the water, thinking for a moment that the boat would overturn but it stayed upright. Circe laughed out loud, a little amazed that her hair-brained idea had worked. Azkaban island grew further and further away, the mist swallowing her back up in it's thick grey cloak. Circe tried in vain to direct the movement of the dingy with her spell but found it hard to control exactly what way it wanted to send her hurtling off into. Circe barely had time to register the myriad of thoughts passing through her mind as she fought desperately to direct the boat though the mist.
Where am I going? Where can I run to? I need to hide somewhere safe... How much longer will the potion last for? Can I go home? Back to Severus?
She thought about apparating to Spinner's End, but with her broken arm and the rather fragile condition the Dementors had left her in, she doubted she'd be able to concentrate enough on her desired location without splinching herself. But Normandy was even further away, and she couldn't go back to the Chateau now. So she decided to point the boat in the general direction of where she assumed the British coast would be.
She glanced around nervously, keeping her eyes peeled for another Dementor attack or a black, billowing comet of smoke emerging from out of the mist. The wind whipped past her face as the dingy continued ploughing through the water at a frighteningly fast speed. Circe squinted into the distance, thinking she may have seen a few vague shapes on the horizon. And then, all of a sudden, from out of the mist loomed into view the white Weymouth cliffs. Circe cried out in joy as she had her first glimpse of home and succour but as her little boat drew nearer she saw, perched on top of the cliffs, the Ministry defenses she had warned Odette about. The very defenses they had made pains to avoid. There were several tall buildings that looked like lighthouses, casting a probing searchlight into the water, already alert and scanning for what had caused the trouble out on Azkaban Island. Eventually she heard, over the crashing of the ocean, the blaring alarms sounding off, carried to her over the winds.
They know there's been an escape. Every witch and wizard there is going to be on high alert looking for… well, looking for me.
Circe did her best to avoid the searchlights as she drew closer and closer to the shore. But she hoped, more than anything else, that Odette's potion would hurry up and wear off so she could stop looking like Rabastan and more like herself.
The boat came to a sudden stop as the hull collided with the sandy shore of the small cove Circe had navigated it to. Circe winced as she was thrown forwards into the bough of the boat, cradling her broken arm and giving herself a small moment of tension-release to just cry and whimper, having finally reached her home, having finally escaped Azkaban Island, having finally fulfilled her impossible task.
At least if I'm going to die now, I'll die on British soil. She thought bitterly, when she eventually picked herself up and jumped out of the dingy. She waded through the last of the shallows and walked up the beach a small way. On the cliffs above her she heard the voices of people and she broke into a run. She hid herself away in a small smugglers cave she happened upon, hidden in the chalky rock and tried to listen astutely to what the voices were saying.
"It's this blasted mist, Kingsley. We can't see a damn thing of what's happening out there!"
"Just keep an eye out. The searchlight teams thought they saw a boat heading this way."
Whoever Kingsley was, he had a deep and slow voice that practically emanated authority and reassurance. Circe shrank deeper into the shadows.
"This is unheard of. This kind of mass breakout has never happened before."
"Well, whoever co-ordinated this, they picked the perfect day for it. We might as well be blind."
"But the Dementors… How did they get past the Dementors?!"
"I don't know, Cartwright. Perhaps you'd like to ask them that when they eventually get here?"
"Sorry boss. Do we know who's managed to escape yet?"
"No. But it could be a fair few of our biggest "undesirables"."
"Boss! Look there! A boat, in the cove down there."
Ah fuck…. Circe thought.
The two voices receded away and Circe assumed they must be following the cliff path down to her little cove. They would be here and looking for her any second now. Circe touched a hand to her head, trying desperately to think of what to do next. But as she drew her hand away, she noticed the very faintest ripple to her skin. A shifting. A change.
The polyjuice potion! It's beginning to wear off, thank God!
But it wasn't happening soon enough and Circe heard the approach of the same two voices again, this time much closer, just outside the confines of her little smuggler's cave. Circe poked her head just over a particularly large boulder just enough to see Kingsley and Cartwright, as she assumed, inspecting the little dingy she had just abandoned. She ducked down again as the two wizards began marching up the beach.
"They can't have gone far." Kingsley stated. "Wands out. Defenses up. Okay?"
"Yes boss." Cartwright replied.
Circe didn't wait for the two of them to prepare themselves. She leapt out of the smuggler's cave, her wand already aimed and cast a swift "Confundus!" at the auror closest to her. Cartwright fell to the sandy floor with a thud, taken completely by surprise and out cold. But as the other wizard turned to face her, drawing his own wand, Circe could tell she'd picked the wrong target to ambush first...
Kingsley turned his imposing frame towards her, his colourful coat fluttering in the wind as he sent a swift spell fizzing over Circe's head before he had even fully turned to face her. Circe flinched as the spell collided with the cave rock behind her, ducking low and hurling a counter hex at the auror. Her aim was off and she hit the sand before him, the plume of grit kicked up into Kingsley's face giving her just enough time to rush out into the open and get out of the smuggler's cave. She dared not turn her back on the auror, but with the cliffs behind her and the sea in front of her, she had no choice but to try and fight him off. Circe could have done without a duel with the state she was in and she knew from the way Kingley held himself and the force behind his magic that he was one of the most powerful people she'd ever faced.
"Expelliarmus!" Kingsley cried.
Circe blocked his disarm with her own protective spell but as his magic hit her shield, a shock of pain ran up her broken arm. She cried out in pain, winded by the intensity of it. But Kingsley didn't give her a moment of respite. He came charging at her with disarming spell after disarming spell. Each time it struck her, her arm would flare in agony, but she held strong.
"Kampanoulia Flamaria!" Circe roared, sending Severus's bluebell flame hurtling towards the auror.
But much to her surprise and horror, Kingsley diverted it with his own magic, sending the azure flames hurtling into the ocean behind him. The sea hissed and fizzed as Circe's spell spluttered out in the water.
Shit, he's good. Circe thought as the auror began his pressing attack again. I'm not gonna beat this guy.
Circe was almost sent off balance as she felt her legs beginning to change and reform as herself beneath her.
And he can't see me change back into myself… He can't know that I'm not Rodolphus. Or that I was involved in the Azkaban breakout.
Circe thought to herself, thinking on how she could get herself out of this standoff. The hex into the sand seemed to distract Kingsley for just long enough that Circe had gotten herself out of the backed-in corner in the cave.
Perhaps I can try that again…
"Vortexta!" Circe shouted, pointing her wand into the sand beneath Kingsley. In an instant, a swirling whirlwind of grit whipped up around the auror blinding him and throwing stinging sand into his face. Kingsley was forced to cover his eyes with his arm as the sand vortex whirled around him.
Circe seized on the opportunity she had created, and ran as fast as she could for the cliff path. She carried on running, as fast as her changing legs could carry her, hearing Kingsley behind her shouting out in frustration as he tried to quell the sandstorm around him. Circe was a good way up the cliffside when Kingsley was able to begin pursuing her but by then she could feel her body returning: her breasts reforming on her chest, her hips widen and her shoulders narrowing, her frame filling out into a healthy shape from the half-starved skeleton Rodolphus had been. The long, black hair on her head fell away and Circe's bronze curls sprouted back from the top of her head. By the time she reached the grassy clifftop, she was fully herself again.
But then a curse came screaming up the cliff side from Kingsley, hitting Circe square between her shoulder blades. She screamed out, sinking down into the tall grass as an electrifying pain coursed through her body. It was as if her very blood was on fire and she writhed about in the grass as Kingsley's spell wreaked havoc on her. Her limbs stopped jittering just as she heard Kingsley's hurried footsteps drawing nearer to her. She bit down on her fist, trying desperately to stay quiet and to quell her excruciating sobs, hoping if she were able to stay still and quiet enough the tall grass might just hide her. But just at the moment Kingsley passed close to her, her veins rippled with pain again and she couldn't help letting out a whimper. She heard Kingsley stop dead in his tracks and Circe sat up briskly, wide eyed, thoughts racing...
As Kingsley turned around to face her, she fully expected one of his curses to come careening for her face but when his eyes settled upon her, he looked at Circe as if he was seeing her for the first time.
He is… Circe suddenly realised. He fought me as Rabastan and now I've changed back. She glanced down at herself, realising the grass was mostly concealing the rest of her body, including her broken arm and the filthy prison rags she was wearing.
"Th- That awful man attacked me!" she spluttered out hurriedly. Pretending that she was an innocent bystander who Rabastan might have run into on the clifftops.
"Are you hurt?" Kingsley asked, stepping towards her.
Circe sucked in a sharp breath. "No! No I'm fine…" she shouted, holding her good hand out infront of her. Kingsley stopped dead. "He went that way!" she cried, pointing further down the cliff path. There was a beat of silence, lasting for what seemed like an age as Kingsley eyed her up before casting his searching eyes up the cliff path Circe pointed down.
"Thank you madame." he said finally, nodding politely to her before he turned and ran up the cliff path.
Circe collapsed back into the grass once the auror was out of her sight. She screamed up into the grey sky as Kingsley's curse sent her blood burning again. She felt like she might faint with the combined pain of her broken arm and the auror's hex. But she needed to get away from here. Fast. Before the other auror she'd tackled down on the beach woke up, or before Kingsley realised he'd been hoodwinked. Once her muscles stopped contracting with the spell, she reluctantly pulled herself off the floor and sucked in a deep breath. She didn't want to, she knew it was a bad idea, but it seemed like apparating was her only option.
If I apparate to Spinner's End, Severus might not even be there… she thought. The Order needs to know… they must be told about what's happened here as soon as possible. And I need to lie low for a few days… in a place where Voldemort won't be able to find me and call upon me for any more impossible, life-threatening tasks.
Circe knew where Grimmauld Place was… roughly. She'd been told by Tonks and Remus that it was in the borough of Islington.
Islington. I can do that, I've been through Islington a few times. She had once been to the Union Chapel a very long time ago to see... Don Mclean, was it? She pondered, trying to picture the red brick church clearly in her mind's eye. But all she could seem to think about was the pain in her arm from the break, the burning in her limbs from Kingsley's spell, and she knew as soon as she'd cast the apparition spell that she was in trouble…
When her feet touched down amongst the sprawl and noise of London, Circe could tell that something was wrong. Luckily she had come to rest where she had hoped as she stared up at the tall, looming tower of the Union Chapel in front of her. But she felt sick… and cold… and dizzy. She didn't want to, but she forced herself to look down at her broken arm and she gasped.
She had splinched.
She stumbled over, falling down onto the pavement as she wretched into the small bit of greenery at the Chapel's front. Her arm was a mess. Where her broken bone had been, there was now a sickening, open wound spanning the length of her forearm all the way up to her shoulder. It stank. Of rot and infection. As if it was a few days old already. But it was still a horrific picture of gore: open muscle and frayed flesh. There wasn't pain anymore. She supposed that she was in too much shock. But she knew that she needed help. And soon.
Kreacher answered the door of Grimmauld Place with a nasty scowl on his wrinkled face. He peered out into the gloom and grumbled when his eyes found the deathly-pale face of a woman he did not recognise. A woman who was dressed like a homeless person, cradling her arm to her chest as a thick sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
"Remus… or Sirius…" Circe uttered to the house-elf, her vision beginning to cloud over as the world spun around her. "I need help…"
"Kreacher, who is that?" a voice from within the house called out.
"A tramp, Master Black. I believe." he called back.
"Sirius… Sirius!" Circe called out past the house-elf, leaning heavily on the door frame.
Sirius Black's face appeared at the door and he looked upon Circe with an expression of pure surprise.
"Why… hello "honey"." he chuckled, but his jovial tone changed as he saw just how ashen-faced and close to fainting Circe was.
The last thing Circe remembered before passing out on the steps of Grimmauld Place, was collapsing into Sirius Black's arms.