Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood tall and proud, bathed in the shadows of the dusky sky. Lights shone from almost every window, and people could be seen through the paneled glass, laughing, walking, running, studying. It was a typical Wednesday evening, and everyone was feeling relaxed and safe. Not even the growing threat of the wizard known as You-Know-Who was disturbing the tranquil air of the school.
Lily Potter smiled as she gazed at the students in the Great Hall, eating among their fellows happily, and chattering like a flock of starlings. Really, it was kind of Albus to ask them to stay in Hogwarts after Godric's Hollow, the house they were going to hide in, was blown up by Death Eaters who thought that they were inside. How they had discovered it, nobody knew, but everyone agreed that they had had a lucky escape.
Her recently married husband, James, was talking animatedly with Sirius and Remus, two of his three best friends. Peter Pettigrew, the third of said friends, was somewhere else in the castle, having decided to eat his dinner alone. She couldn't help but feel glad. Peter made her feel nervous, with his constantly darting eyes and twitching nose. Lily knew that she was being silly, and so she never mentioned it to James. But something about Peter made her blood run cold.
Shaking her head, Lily returned to her meal of juicy roast potatoes and pork, compliments of the house elves that worked in the school kitchens. It would do her no good to dwell on such thoughts. James trusted Peter, as did Albus, Minerva, and Mad-Eye. Surely they could be counted on to know who was trustworthy, and who was false.
Deciding to put the matter out of her mind, she turned to Pomona and engaged her in a conversation about the plants in Greenhouse Three.
While she nodded along to Pomona's description of the Venomous Tentacula, her mind wandered to the previous morning. She had got up with morning sickness, and had spent what felt like an hour vomiting. Hope had began to wind its way around her heart. Lily had never really planned for early motherhood, but with the war going on, she might never have a chance at it again, especially with James as an Auror. She would need to check with St. Mungos, but she was almost positive that she was pregnant. She wondered what James would say if the answer was yes.
Further down the table, Sirius was arguing with Remus. "For the last time, Moony, I can so cast a heating charm!"
Remus laughed. "I never said that you couldn't, Padfoot, only that your heating charms tend to go wrong."
Sirius gave him a sneer worthy of Severus, and raised his long black wand. An explosion of orange sparks danced from the wand's tip, settling over the room like dandelion seeds blown by a playful child. As soon as they touched a surface, the sparks exploded, leaving a hot sensation. At first the temperature remained pleasantly warm, but as more sparks exploded, the room started to reach a state of unbearable heat.
Lily began sweating badly, her soft red hair going damp and floppy. She was wearing flowing robes of a creamy shade which, though they looked pretty, were very thick and rather stifling in the heat. She wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable, but that just made her hotter. She cursed herself for not thinking of bringing a wand to the feast - she had not thought it necessary, with the castle being the safest place on Earth, but she could have really used a cooling charm. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore, and left the Great Hall to change.
Albus had been very generous when he provided their quarters. It was a large airy room, with a plush red carpet and gold patterned rug set before a carved marble fireplace. A stout four-poster bed with ruby hangings sat in one corner of the room, and next to it was a dark polished wardrobe, overflowing with their clothes - well, overflowing with mostly James's clothes. He had the largest collection of outfits that she had ever seen in a male, not to mention the hair products and skin care potions.
The bathroom was in more muted shades than the main room, with the colour scheme comprised of soft blue and white. In it there was a bathtub that an entire Quidditch team could sit down comfortably in, an ornate mirror rimmed with gold, and shiny white tiles that you could eat off, so througholy polished were they by the house-elves.
Running the cold tap, Lily splashed water on her face, and changed her thick sweater to a plain blue T-shirt. She still liked Muggle clothes, no matter how much James scoffed at them. Witch robes were just too unpractical in fights, and besides, she never really was the kind of girl who liked to wear dresses. While she was changing, she remembered her sixteenth birthday- the day she had come into her inheritance. She knew that she would tell James soon... But not yet. Ever since that life-altering day, she had had a glamour on. It easily hid the fact that she was a High Elf. Any children she had would be halflings, or perhaps more Elf then wizard or the other way 'round. After she slid the Muggle sweater on, she ran her slim fingers over her pointed ear. Lily smiled, before putting the strong glamour on yet again.
She opened the glass bathroom door to return to the feast, though she wasn't feeling very hungry. But before she could move, she heard a muffled thump, and the rushing sound of a spell being cast. Lily felt her heart beat faster, and she broke into a run. Everyone should be in the Great Hall, so no one should be casting spells. That meant that either someone had sneaked off to perform a pranking spell, or...
Lily didn't want to think about the 'or'.
Racing around a corner, Lily almost skidded into a wall, barely managing to keep her balance. She smiled in relief - then gasped in horror when she saw what was in front of her.
Madame Smith, the school nurse, was lying spread-eagled on the ground. Her brown eyes, normally so warm and caring, stared unseeing at her, as if her eyes had been snatched away and replaced with dirt filled marbles. Her face was still twisted in surprise, and Lily noted bitterly that she hadn't reached for her wand. But the corpse, horrifying as it was, was not what had made Lily gasp. It was the fact that Peter - Peter, James's friend, Peter, the boy who couldn't say boo to a goose! - was standing over her, smirking. His sleeve was pushed back, and the Dark Mark, obviously branded on recently, could be seen clearly on his chubby arm.
Lily automatically went for her wand, though in the back of her mind, she didn't really know what to do. But of course it wasn't with her. She'd left it in her quarters, never dreaming that she would need it in Hogwarts, the safest place on Earth. Peter laughed darkly, and swiftly Paralyzed her. He needed someone to take the blame in order to remain a good spy, and Lily fit the bill very well.
He bent down and began to wave his wand over her creamy, pale arm. Peter had never been a good student, but he knew enough to be able to cast a temporary skin tattoo. He smirked to himself. Now it was up to James's talent of jumping to conclusions.
Lily tried to focus. Her vision was blurry, and her head was pounding, as if thousands of people wearing steel boots were dancing in her brain. There was a coppery taste in her mouth, and she winced when she realized that she'd bitten her tongue.
From what Lily could tell, she was sitting on a hard chair, and her hands were tied behind her back. Lily shook her head, and her vision cleared. She was in a small grey brick room, with two chairs and a metal table. The door was buzzing with magic, and she drew in her breath as she recognized the sign engraved into it. She was in a Ministry holding cell. But why?
The door swung open, and her head whipped up. James stalked in, unimaginable hate and rage on his face. Lily shrank back as he slammed his fist down on the table. "Why, Lily? Why did you do it?"
"Do what?" She asked, feeling confused. James's hazel eyes were cold with loathing as he sneered. "You're one of them. A Death Eater. Filthy Mudblood, how could you kill a defenseless old woman?"
Lily felt shocked. "B-but... I would nev- It was Peter! He killed-"
James let out a cold laugh. "Is this some sick game, Lily? Peter would never go over to the Dark. Unlike you."
Unlike her? Lily stared at James, appalled. How could he think that? How could James think that she would join the ones who wanted to massacre all Muggleborns, including her? She tried to speak, but no words would come. James seemed to take that as an admission of her guilt. He leaned across the table and smirked. "If it was up to me, you'd get the Kiss. But Dumbledore thinks that you should be given another chance. So it's straight to Azkaban with you!"
Lily felt an icy clutch of fear in her stomach. Azkaban! Like most witches and wizards, she knew of the dreaded prison, but she had never in her worst nightmares dreamed of entering it. And now she was being sent there, despite her innocence. Before she could move, James stood up, and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Lily slumped over, weeping. Why had they thought her to be a Death Eater? There was no evidence, and she had certainly never wanted to be a Death Eater-
During her furious brain-storm, she glanced down at her arm. And screamed.
Black as soot, with the forked tongue of the snake flickering over her elbow, the Dark Mark leered back at her.
Every wizard feared Azkaban. It was partly why so many of the wizarding world's population just followed their leaders like sheep - they were afraid that if they put one toe out of line, the government could find an excuse to chuck them into the dark prison, forgotten by everyone while they languished in a sea of torment.
It was situated on a small rocky island, with a small beach that had sand the colour of freshly spilt blood, the rock pools filled with bronze sharp-clawed crabs and sinewy fish with jagged teeth. By day, mist swept over the island, obscuring it from the view of outsiders. At night, gales buffeted the land while huge waves crashed against the spiky rocks poking through the black water like the fingernails of a giant hag. Storms were common, and rumour had it that the weather was enchanted to make sure that none but the most heavily spelled boats could make it through the wild sea.
Azkaban itself was eerily beautiful, in the way that a blazing fire is beautiful, or a gleaming sword before it pierced your heart. The bricks were crafted from shining obsidian that was magically strengthened to keep the prisoners locked safely away. It looked like the castle of an evil wizard, with slender towers that were capped by pointed roofs, thick walls decorated with ancient runes long forgotten by everyone else, and carved skulls that sat on every available ledge, grinning madly and giving off horrible shrieks when they were touched.
Behind Azkaban was a graveyard, filled with hundreds of graves, a testimony to the fact that to be sent to Azkaban was inevitably a death sentence if the prisoner remained there too long. People like Albus Dumbledore shrank at the idea of giving prisoners a swift death, citing it as too harsh. Yet they had no problem throwing them into a hell-hole where they would die a painfully slow death, most of them insane long before their due time. But seeing as they did not end the prisoners' lives directly, the people of the wizarding world slept soundly in their beds, while in Azkaban, the prisoners screamed in agony as their worst memories were dragged through their heads over and over again.
Beyond the graveyard was the area known as the 'Dementor Den'. It was an underground cave where the dark creatures flocked, and it held many more than those that patrolled Azkaban. It was there that the Dementors rested, settled disputes, and ate their meals...consisting of bone, flesh, blood, and a tender soul on the side. No humans ever saw the inside of the den and came out alive.
Inside, the prison was dark and gloomy. The corridors twisted together in an intricate maze to prevent would-be escapees from remembering the way out, and of course, every corridor was lined with narrow cells, complete with silver bars that gave off violent magical shocks when someone tried to break through them forcefully. Even the staff slept in cells, the only difference being that their cells were magically enlarged, were considerably more comfortable, and lacked bars. The one exception was the Prison Matron who slept in the hospital wing, and she was envied by everyone.
In total, there were 564 prisoners in Azkaban, 182 human staff, and 701 Dementors, and over 498 of the prisoners were insane. The rest of them were Death Eaters who were too busy plotting to escape to succumb to insanity. Or they were insane before they went in there. One of the two.
Lily shivered as she was led past the cells, with only the prison guard and his Patronus to protect her. Through the bars of each cell, skeletal hands were stretched out, some begging for food, others reaching for the Patronus as if they could keep some of its protection by touching the silvery bear. But it was to no avail, the guard simply shot hot sparks at the prisoners until they withdrew, crying as they nursed burnt flesh.
Eventually they stopped by an empty cell, with slime dripping down the walls and a bed-mat thriving with fleas. The guard shoved her in and the door slammed shut behind her, locking magically. Lily stifled a sob, wrapping her arms around her knees. She had been abandoned by everyone she had cared about, for something she didn't do. Now Peter was still free, no doubt intending to wreak havoc upon the Light forces, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Months passed. Lily measured time by the bowls of slop pushed through the door, and the prisoners dragged to the Dementor's private den, often kicking and screaming. Those who were taken never came back.
Lily did not look like the pretty young witch who had married James Potter less than a year ago. Her once shining auburn hair had turned into a mess of silver tangles, her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were dark with grief, brought on by the Dementors that patrolled the corridors. But while the rest of her shrank, her stomach swelled, and the child growing inside her often kicked, as if to reassure her that it was still there for her. She had discovered that she was pregnant just two months into her imprisonment, confirming what she already thought. Of course, she didn't find out via a test - she only knew she was having a child when the kicking began.
Another Dementor passed her cell, and Lily closed her eyes as another wave of agony and torment washed over her. Just before she slumped into unconsciousness, she felt the baby kick again, reassuring her that everything would be okay.
Bellatrix sneered at the prisoners cowering in the corner of their cramped cell, her tattered dress sweeping the floor as she stalked up and down. The fools in the corner would be punished when they were retrieved by their master. It was them who ruined the mission, them who got her captured. Her fingers twitched, longing for a wand so she could Crucio them to insanity.
But the fools were not her main concern. She had done something unforgivable, at least in her husband's eyes. Her Lord had called her to his bed, and what disloyalty would it have been if she did not obey? He would have murdered her for disobeying, though he wouldn't have had to threaten her. Bellatrix had not slept with Rodolphus for eight years, and she longed for someone to share her bed with. But something had come out of that incident, something growing inside her right now. The incident had been seven months ago, so she didn't really have that long. It would not be a good thing if she was rescued from Azkaban in the middle of labour. All she could do was pray that her master would come for her soon.
"ARRGGGGHHHHH!"
Bellatrix's hands gripped the narrow metal bars that framed the hospital bed she lay on, while the scowling Prison Matron bustled about, pulling out what looked like torture instruments, though the Death Eater knew that they were in fact items to make the birthing process go smoothly.
She had started to go into labour two hours ago, just as the guard opened the door to push food in. Recognizing the symptoms, he had swiftly carried her to the hospital wing, depositing her on a bed with a look of disgust. As much as she hated the Prison Wardens, Bellatrix was deeply grateful for them - the fools imprisoned with her had not realized what was going on, but even they would have figured it out when the baby was born, and that would have led to very awkward questions.
"Push!"
Bellatrix resisted the urge to claw the woman's eyes out, and concentrated on getting the child out of her.
"Push!"
"I AM pushing, you ignorant Mudblood!"
The Matron hissed in annoyance. She was in fact a half-blood, but that didn't matter so much as the fact that Bellatrix was screaming fit to wake the dead, and screams tended to attract Dementors, something that could harm the baby. There was a reason why prisoners in Azkaban quickly learned to be quiet - it was a basic survival skill.
Matron Charon was sixty-three, and she'd worked in Azkaban for over forty-one years. During that time she'd done everything from patching bruises to force-feeding prisoners nutrient potions, from mending a spinal injury to ending the life of a Kissed prisoner. She hadn't done all that by being soft, and she was tempted - very tempted - to show Mrs. Lestrange why Dementors avoided her hospital wing while she was there. The fat bun of silver hair at the back of her head, and her shapeless black dress and white apron gave her a look of vulnerability that fooled her opponents until it was too late. But reducing the Death Eater to a bloody mess on the ground could harm the child, so she swallowed her pride, and concentrated on the birth.
Blood was congealing on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed, forcing the Matron to give Bellatrix several blood-replenishing potions, the dusty glasses clinking like death chimes as she was forced to pour more and more down the Death Eater's throat. Due to inbreeding, pure-blooded women tended to have trouble with birthing. But as much as the nurse hated to admit it, Bellatrix was a fighter. She'd survive, unlike many of her unfortunate victims.
Lightning crackled in the black sky while rain lashed the hospital window panes. Bellatrix looked at the storm raging outside, admiring its lethal beauty. That was how her master was in battle, angry, powerful, unstoppable. Would their child be like that? She hoped so - the pain was too much for her to bear a cowering weakling.
Eventually, a dark head started to emerge from Bellatrix's thrashing body, followed by blood-soaked limbs. The Matron worked quickly, dragging the infant out, cutting the cord with a swift Severing charm. The baby let out a loud crystal-clear wail, letting the world know that it was alive and intended to stay so for a long time. Despite herself, the old woman smiled. There was nothing like hearing the fruit of your efforts pay off, knowing that you have successfully brought another life into the world. Taking a deep breath, she turned the child over and examined it.
The baby was a girl. An exquisitely beautiful girl with soft pink lips and shiny eyes. Her hair was black and slightly curly, like her mother. Her skin was as pale as the moon shining outside, while her eyes were dark, like polished ebony. But while the hair and eyes were definitely Bellatrix's, the rest of her clearly came from her father, whoever he was.
While she checked the infant over, the Matron noticed something odd. On the child's left shoulder was an elaborate 'S', the ends curling over, almost touching but not quite. It was almost serpentine, and she could easily have thought it to be a slender black snake if she hadn't taken a closer look. How odd. Perhaps it was her father's magical crest - it certainly did not come from the Blacks.
Bellatrix coughed weakly, and Matron Charon jumped. She'd forgotten about the Death Eater...not a wise thing to do. Shaking her head, she handed the baby to her mother. "Here you are, dear. A beautiful little girl."
"A girl?" Bellatrix whispered, taking the child gently. Her trembling hand gently stroked the baby's head, smoothing the curls down flat. "She's beautiful."
The Matron was startled. Was the depraved monster actually sounding maternal? Annoyed with herself, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from her desk, and poised her quill above it. "Her name?"
Bellatrix thought quickly. Every Black in her family tree had been named after a star, but she couldn't think of any she liked. Then a name popped into a head, the name of a minor planet she had studied in Astronomy. "Her name shall be...Artemis. Artemis Andromeda Riddle." Her master had told her his real name, and though she had never heard of a House of Riddle, it had to be an ancient and powerful house to have produced her master. Andromeda was the perfect middle name for her daughter.
Matron Charon jotted down the time of birth - July 31st, 1:00 AM, and looked up. "The father's name?"
Bellatrix bit her lip, and the Matron mistook her hesitation for ignorance. She put a question mark next to the Father space, and tucked away the parchment. "I'll be off then." She left to check on several other patients.
Bellatrix cradled the baby in her arms, mind whirring furiously. The woman's innocent question had suddenly revealed the dangers to her, dangers that she had not foreseen. If she had had a son, the Dark Lord might have accepted the child, but he would never allow her to keep a daughter. The child would be killed, no doubt used in some other dark ritual to accentuate the Dark Lord's power. She imagined the body of her baby, slaughtered before it could grow up. That could not happen. She had to save her.
Artemis snuggled against her mother, and Bellatrix turned her head to one side to avoid splashing her with tears. Her arm suddenly throbbed in agony, and Bellatrix resisted the urge to scream. The Dark Lord was signalling that he would rescue her soon. By her calculations, she had until midnight to come up with a plan.
At half-past eleven she knew that there was only one course available to her. And she hated it with every bone in her body.
Lily clutched at the jagged stone wall, tearing the skin off her palms. Blood dripped on the floor, but she ignored the sting, and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
When she thought of giving birth, a dirty cell in Azkaban was not the place she had imagined the process taking place in. She wanted her child to be born in a clean hospital room, preferably with the father holding her hand, and a nurse helping her. But she had none of those things. The Prison Matron was busy with another birth, there would be no time to move her to the hospital wing even if any guards were about, and James was filing for divorce.
She dimly heard shouts, and saw brightly coloured lights that could only come from battle spells. Was Azkaban being attacked? Who would have the strength to do that? And why weren't the Dementors swooping in to repel the invaders?
If Lily had been thinking clearly, she would probably have known the answers to those questions. But the months in Azkaban had taken their toll on her, and her mind was clouded into a tangled mess. All she could really think about was getting the baby out of her.
In. Out. In. Out.
Rodolphus Lestrange examined the prison. He had flown there, along with fifty other Death Eaters, ready to free their comrades. The wards had been difficult to get through, but their ward specialist had exploited a weak spot, enabling them to slip onto the island. Their spy in the staff had reported that every week, the Dementors would leave the building to feast on a number of unfortunates sentenced to be Kissed. This was their once chance to break in. If they messed it up, the Dark Lord's wrath would be horrible, and they might not survive it.
They walked slowly up the gravel path, wincing as the stones crunched beneath their feet. The heavy double oak doors were very difficult to open, but a barrage of sickly yellow Bludgeoning Hexes soon took care of that problem.
They swished their wands carefully as they entered, making a complex pattern which melted the silver bars from each cell. Whooping gleefully, the prisoners tumbled out, looking like ragged beasts with their claw-like hands and hungry eyes. One of the Death Eaters led them off to search for wands, while Rodolphus left the group, and searched for his wife.
"Bellatrix!"
Bellatrix looked up. Her husband was standing in the hospital doorway, his matted locks falling around his face like dark seaweed. "The Dark Lord has sent us to get you and the others out, but we don't have much time! The Dementors are going to come back from feeding time any second now!"
Bellatrix clambered off the hospital bed she was lying on, wincing slightly. The birth had not been easy on her, and all she wanted to do was lie in bed for hours. But that was certainly not an option.
Rodolphus scanned the room, checking for anyone skulking in the shadows. His grey eyes caught sight of a tiny form lying in a hospital cot. "What's that?"
Bellatrix didn't glance back. "It's nothing."
She and Rodolphus darted away, dodging spells and helping their injured comrades. Almost every Death Eater had been freed, and soon they would be ready to wage war on the Ministry again. Their master would be pleased.
Back in the hospital wing, Artemis stirred, her pale face barely visible in the darkness of the unlit room. Her mouth opened and she began to cry for her mother, the hungry whimpers echoing throughout the prison, and making even the most demented prisoners wince.
Bellatrix heard her daughter's screams. She shuddered as they tore into her heart, and her resolve almost shattered. But then she steeled herself, and pressed forward with the others. If Artemis was discovered by her comrades, then the consequences would be horrific, for both Bellatrix and her child. Artemis would just have to fend for herself.
Blood covered the floor of Lily's cell, and it was soaking into her body, turning her silver hair into something close to its original colour. Lily's voice had long since gone hoarse from screaming, and all she could do now was moan softly, and pray for it to be over soon.
Eventually, at 11:59 on July 31st, Harry Potter was born into the world. His messy black hair was all over the place, and he was covered in blood, but as Lily held him in her weak arms, she could not imagine anything more beautiful. He was like a tiny James, except for his eyes. They were a deep sea-green, and reminded her of sparkling emeralds, the kind that are always securely locked away in jewellery shops.
She smiled as he lay in her arms, already asleep. She remembered reading somewhere, long ago, that babies needed a lot more sleep than adults. How strange...she felt very tired too. Her vision was darkening, and all the screaming seemed to have ceased. Lily slumped back, and looked down at her son. "Sleep well, Harry."
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her head drooped. For a few minutes, her rasping breath filled the cell, while her chest rose and fell weakly. Then the sound faded away, leaving a dreadful silence in its wake.
Harry woke up feeling very hungry. He began to cry for attention, but nothing would answer him.
Nothing except the cries of another child five cells away.
Matron Charon stalked through the twisting halls of Azkaban, feeling both scared and relieved. The attack that had happened a few hours ago had injured many, but only two guards had died. They had tried to stop some Death Eaters from leaving, and had paid the price of their foolishness. Really, what were they expecting to achieve by taking on five Death Eaters, who were all armed and ready? No doubt they'd been sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts.
Shaking her head, she continued through the prison, checking on the wounded, and repairing broken masonry. While she did so her mind wandered, thinking of the baby lying in the hospital wing.
Bellatrix Lestrange was a Death Eater, but even so, the Matron couldn't understand why anyone would want to abandon their child like that. The baby would have nowhere else to go, so it would have to stay with her until a place could be found for it. With the war going on, that could take months, or even years.
Sighing, the Matron turned a corner. This was where the murderers were kept, such as Macnair, Rosier, and the infamous Lily Potter. The poor witch had lost most of her beauty, but when you looked at her, you could still see the girl she once was. It was a pity that the Ministry no longer used truth-potions on prisoners- she would dearly love to hear just what happened on the night that Lily was accused of slaughtering the Hogwarts Nurse.
Most of the cell bars had been melted into puddles of silver goo, with the prisoners they had once held now long gone. She sighed in relief when she saw that the bars on Lily's cell were still intact, and hurried forward to check on the witch. But when she reached the cell, she gasped, and a tear rolled down her check.
Blood was everywhere in the cell, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. Lily Potter was slumped against the wall, her green eyes open and unseeing. Blood covered the cell like a thick red carpet, and she winced at the bitter-sweet smell that floated around in the air. Steeling herself, the witch opened the door and moved in. What could have happened? No one seemed to have come in, and there were no wounds on Lily's body. So what had...
Ah.
Lying against Lily was a baby. A little boy with midnight black hair and sparkly green, curious eyes. He was soaked in blood, his mother's blood, but appeared to be perfectly healthy. As she approached, he opened his mouth and began wailing hungrily.
She scooped him up and checked him over, feeling relief flood through her when she saw that he was not in any immediate danger. Swiftly casting a preserving charm on the corpse, she rushed back to the hospital, the child in her arms.
Artemis had finally gone quiet, and was now watching the Matron with curious eyes, as if she knew that another baby was in the room, and wanted to see it. Quickly, Matron Charon conjured up another cot, complete with soft blankets and a pretty mobile hanging over it. Artemis looked indignant, something that she thought newborns incapable of doing, and the guilty nurse transfigured Artemis's iron crib into something more comfortable.
She carefully held Arran at arm's length before performing a quick Scourgify. The dried blood on the baby vanished, and the messy hair looked a bit neater, but not much. Matron Charon noted his pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes, quickly recognizing that he was at least half-elf. The infant giggled happily, and waved his arms around. The Matron chuckled, and picked up her wand again. The spell she was going to use now was something often performed on abandoned babies to determine their parentage - it basically showed their memories from the moment they were born to the moment the spell was cast. It was very useful, but could only be deployed on a child under a year old - if the child was too old, the information could damage the casters brain.
She examined the information flooding from the infant to her brain, smiling sadly as she heard Lily Potter's pain-wrecked voice naming her son Arran. It was a nice name. A cheerful name.
Artemis began crying again, and the Matron reprimanded herself for not feeding the child sooner. She gently laid Arran in the cot she had conjured, and hurried to the other end of the hospital wing. Pushed against one wall was an old fashioned black stove, over sixty years of age, but polished and maintained beautifully. She stoked up the coals, and began to pour milk into a saucepan for heating. Most of the magical population would have scoffed at her for using such an ancient Muggle contraption, but she found it comforting to sit by her stove when the air turned chilly, and sip a cup of hot chocolate. It brought back good memories.
When the milk was at a comfortable temperature, she poured it into two baby bottles, and plugged the infants' hungry mouths with them, chuckling a little as Artemis began to suck at her bottle frantically, her cheeks swollen with milk. She loved children.
The small clock hanging on the far wall chimed, and the Matron quickly pulled the cots' blankets over the infants, and cast two Sleeping charms. The babies were soon fast asleep, like little angels. Little dark-haired, snow-pale angels.
Smiling, she walked into her office where her bed was, and extinguished the light that was glowing next to her bed. "Goodnight."
Soon everyone in the hospital wing was asleep, unlike the tormented souls who had failed to escape, amid were now being severely punished by the Dementors. But that didn't trouble them - the babies didn't have a clue of what was happening, and the Matron couldn't care less. To be sent to Azkaban, you had to commit VERY dark crimes, and those shrieking prisoners were just reaping what they sowed.
Just inches apart from one another, the daughter of the Dark Lord and the son of a prominent Light Wizard slept, not knowing that their parents would happily slaughter the child next to them, not knowing that throughout Azkaban, Dementors were flocking close to the hospital wing, drawn by the thick magic in the air, and not knowing that, in years to come, James Potter would look back at that day and sob his heart out.
They would know all of that later. But for now, the children of Azkaban slept.
What do you think? Please review! XD