Psychiatry and Council

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

Sable's silent whisper in the back of his mind directed Harry to take his throne so the audience could begin. He stepped forward, glancing around the tall chamber. It was square, with a balconied gallery surrounding it on three sides. The large door, obviously set aside for the public, was positioned opposite the smaller door through which he had entered. A glance to the side showed a grand chair of what appeared to be wrought ebony on a raised dais, which could only be the throne. As Harry moved to take it, his slave and servant waiting just inside the door, he was struck by the contrasts in the room. The edges where plain, done in pale colours yet shrouded in shadow, the centre of the room covered in black flagstones and bright sunlight, which shone off the silver shapes pressed into the floor. His own dais was somewhat elaborate, dark, and stood outside the illuminated area.

If one of the kneeling advisors where to glance at their Lord, they would doubtless see little.

"You may rise," he commanded them, following the script Sable was whispering into his mind.

"If it pleases my Lord Azkaban," a short sedentary man (Chief Warden of the Prison, according to Sable) began as they rose, "The council has asked that I go first."

"Of course,"

"My area of responsibility is the Azkaban Prison," he explained, "And we have been critically understaffed since the mass Dementor breakout."

"Have you no guards at all?"

"A few of your Dementors remained loyal," he admitted, "And we do have a number of human employees, and fewer cells to watch after the breakouts, but we would all be grateful if you would recall the Dementors to Azkaban."

"Gladly, but how?"

"Just call them back – Azkaban will do the rest." he explained while Sable's thoughts tickled the back of Harry's mind:

"The Dementors are bound to Azkaban by the ancient magic of this island," she explained, "Simply speak the command aloud on Azkaban and the island will see it done."

"Dementors," Harry called aloud in response, "Return!"

"Only the true Lord Caer Azkaban can command this magic which rules the Dementors," Sable continued unnoticed by the council, "The stewards could not affect them."

"Thank you, my Lord Azkaban," the warden sighed, "That is a weight off of everyone's mind, I am sure."

"Glad to help," Harry felt the magic of Azkaban stirring around him in response to his order – it felt old and and implacable, as inevitable as eventual Death.

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes, My Lord." A wiry witch (Commander of the Guard) answered, "I would like your Lordship's permission to recruit muggles into our forces here on Azkaban."

"Muggles?"

"An old tradition of Azkaban," she asserted, "They have proven to be extremely effective despite lacking magic."

"I am well aware of it," Harry informed her, "You may do so, but be sure to vet your candidates thoroughly. Muggles can cause just as many problems as they can solve under the right circumstances."

"Of course my Lord," she smiled and bowed, "Thank you. The ministry stewards had refused to consider the matter."

"Of course they would," Harry muttered darkly.

"One further matter for your consideration, my Lord?" asked the Mayor of Azkaban, a spry sage in appearance, "I have received several requests for citizenship recently – would you be willing to grant them?"

"I'm afraid you will have to explain that one to me." Harry frowned.

"Inmates are sentenced to stay 'at the pleasure of My Lord Azkaban'," the mayor explained, "Which essentially gives you total power over them unless and until the courts revoke their sentence. Until recently this has meant that they remain locked in the prison's cells until their sentence is served and the ministry chooses to release them onto the mainland, but historically they could also be granted citizenship. As free citizens of Azkaban they are not technically pardoned, but they do have the freedom of the island if they should choose to respect it."

"I'll review their files individually then," Harry decided, "Have them sent up when you can."

"Very good my Lord." he agreed.

"Was that the last of our business?"

"The Guild Masters are here as a show of our allegiance to you as our Lord Azkaban," a sallow faced woman replied, "Long may you rule."

"Long may he rule" echoed the council.

"Very well, then," Harry returned to the script as he rose from his seat, "You are dismissed."

. . .

After sweeping out of the Audience Chamber with the two girls in his wake, he allowed Sable to guide him to the keep's front door where his carriage waited to take them into town. The town was dressed in a mixture of drab and pale colours – vibrant decorations where few and far between – not even the flowers where bright spots.

The townsfolk, on the other hand, where a different matter. Upon seeing the coach they pointed with broad smiles, before suddenly remembering their place and bowing to the passing coach whilst praising the Lord Caer Azkaban ("Long may he rule!"). It was starting to make Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"Why do they praise me so," he mumbled aloud, "It's not like I did anything for them..."

"You are our Lord, our Protector," Sable told him, "Harry, you are their hope for a better future, one free of the ministry and it's wretched stewards."

"They love me because I'm better than Fudge?" he asked, incredulous, "Gosh, thanks."

That startled a laugh out of his companions, and Harry fought a genuine smile of his own at the sound. After composing herself, Sable tried again:

"The last steward of Azkaban took a liking to one of the servants at the castle." she explained.

"That's nice," Harry commented.

"He did not care that she was married," Sable continued smoothly, "He petitioned the ministry to annul and outlaw marriages on Azkaban. He claimed that he would throw the Husband to Dementors in the deepest recess of the prison, but offered to commute the girl's life sentence to community service – as his bed slave. The petition was to go before it's final hearing today."

The silence in the wake of that declaration was loud enough to echo in the comfortably cushioned space. Harry sat in shock, his mind dancing with visions of horror. Hermione stared at the woman with a similar slack-jawed expression of disgusted terror until Sable broke the silence.

"You saved her from that, Harry. He is no longer the steward so his petition holds no weight. Even if he did manage to pass some similar law they are your citizens under your rule, outside the ministry's sway. They are safe because you are our Lord Caer Azkaban. You are our everything, and we are eternally grateful."

"And if Harry were to start demanding their bodies?" Hermione hissed in shock.

"I wouldn't..." Harry began.

"There is not a citizen on Azkaban that would not offer themselves freely," Sable replied, "Though some may be reluctant to abandon their current partners if that is also demanded."

"I won't." Harry repeated a little more forcefully.

"Thank you, Harry." Sable spoke in a quiet voice, "It has been too long since we have had a noble rule. Please, though, do not constrain yourself on my account."

So saying she got up and opened the door, kneeling at the foot of the steps as she had before. Harry sighed, and followed, his confusion mystery of her words dissolving into recollection of the reason they were here. The Psychiatrist House was right in front of him.

. . .

The Psychiatrist proved to be a lovely couple, if a little overwhelmed by their new Lord's presence. One was always on hand to tend to developing problems, they explained, the other for potential problems. One stayed in the reception whilst his wife lead the three of them up to a study on the first floor.

"I'm a little older and more experienced, my Lord," she explained, "So I get most of the important cases. I'm afraid that my husband lacks the confidence to aid you himself."

"Quite alright, miss..."

"Just Psychiatrist, my Lord," she replied, "We abandoned our names for safety and sought refuge in our titles."

"Psychiatrist, then," Harry continued, "I'm well aware that I can make for an imposing figure."

"Sable I recognise, though your researcher is new. Will you all be wanting a check-up?"

"Please," Harry agreed, "I would not wish to waste any more of your time than necessary."

"It would be an honour, My Lord." she replied with a bow, before directing him to take a particular seat, "This chair bears enchantments that aid my analysis. Hold still please..."

She waved her wand at Harry's head a few times before reaching for a crystal ball and repeating the process. She frowned at the results and tried again. Finally she produced a mirror and asked Harry to stare into it.

"Very curious," she murmured to herself, "My Lord, you are a trained occlumens?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, "I went through some training but it did not seem to stick very well."

"How were you trained?"

"A legilimens forcing his probe into my thoughts repeatedly until I was able to force it out." Harry replied, "Repeat the exercise as needed, until he decided I was never going to learn and threw me out."

"There are better ways, my Lord," she informed him, "Though practical exercises are required to gauge progress at a minimum, there are far more effective methods for fortifying your mind against external and internal intrusion."

"Internal intrusions?"

"After a probe or spell has penetrated your outer defences it must still contend with the inner," she explained, "We normally provide basic occlumency training for new arrivals, though your position shields you from many of the less pleasant influences on the Island. We would have to work around the botched training you have already received – would you like me to schedule you some training, my Lord?"

"Yes, please." Harry replied, "I may not always be able to rely on Azkaban's wards, after all."

"Of course my Lord," she bowed and gestured for Hermione to take my place.

"Hmm," she muttered, glancing between us, "My Lord, would I be correct in saying that Hermione is your slave?"

"Wait, what?" Hermione gasped.

"You are under the effect of an enslavement magic," the Psychiatrist explained, "I think I recognise the magical signature as linking to his Lordship, but I needed to be sure."

"It is," Harry stated bluntly.

"Then you may trust her loyalty beyond all others," the Psychiatrist opined, "It is a particularly fine example, and being sealed with the girl's sincere consent makes it unusually powerful. It will also somewhat shield her mind from other external influences… would you like me to provide her occlumency exercises as well?"

"Please do," Harry agreed, "We will take them together if you can make it work."

"For the most part, my Lord. I will let you know as soon as I have constructed a lesson plan, if it pleases you."

"It would, yes."

"There is something else as well, my Lord," she hesitantly added, "Regarding your slave..."

"What about Hermione?" Harry felt cold at the woman's tone.

"The enslavement magics serve to suppress mind-altering effects not originating from the master," she explained, "I think that I am seeing some suppression, but I'm not seeing anything that looks like a suppressed spell. I will need to investigate further before I have any definitive answers."

"Do it," Harry ordered, "Let me know if you need anything – I'll cover your costs."

"Thank you, my Lord," she bowed to him, "It will be an honour."

. . .

Sable's check-up proved far more routine, as the Psychiatrist already knew her. Her mental shields were developing strength, but lacked subtlety. As the Lord's personal servant, Sable rarely had a cause to go near the Dementors so her mental health was not in issue – her ability to protect his secrets (by her own admission) was. After taking copious notes on the three of them, the Psychiatrist pronounced them all "Fit to Serve!" (save Harry, who she was quick to declare as "Fit to be Served… Long may he Rule!") and agreed to arrange suitable occlumency lessons.

Their next stop was the library of Azkaban, which was kept open to the public by ancient tradition. The building itself was nearly the size of Hogwarts, the crenelated walkways and arrow slits promising a tough siege to any attacker. Sable informed the that it had been the abode of the first Lord Caer Azkaban, and later that of the Lord's steward, before the entire entourage had been moved to the present castle at the direction of the thirteenth Lord Caer Azkaban. As such, it was one of the best defended sites for hundreds of miles (just behind the present Castle Azkaban and the Prison) and so considered an excellent location for the Island's magical armoury by Azkaban's Lords.

"Magical Armoury?" Harry had asked.

"Knowledge," Hermione explained, "The right word can be a terrifying weapon in the hands of a wizard."

The Librarian had been ecstatic to see them, gushing with praise over the new additions that Harry had authorised and equally happy to show Hermione the largest library she had ever seen. Even Harry was taken aback by the sheer scope of the place. Inner walls had been knocked out to provide the library with the largest internal room he had ever witnessed.

A maze of shelves covered the available floorspace, dealing with the basics of ever topic the Lords of Azkaban had ever expressed an interest in. More specialised books where separated into subject specific rooms that bordered the main room, and the more dangerous items where kept under progressively more stringent security measures. The door to the Curses section was kept locked, for example, and books on nastier curses kept locked in their own display cases – some of which were cursed themselves.

Of course, the Lord of Azkaban was entitled to any book he desired, Librarian Aldous was quick to assure Harry, though others might have difficulty accessing the more dangerous tomes without his permission. Harry immediately instructed Aldous that Hermione was to have blanket access to all his books, smiling at the gleam in her eyes before reminding her to catalogue before getting lost trying to read every tome in the room.

Harry and Sable left the two of them together, with Harry silently reminding Hermione to ask Aldous for help on her translation project, and not to miss lunch. He had assigned her to research the families he had inherited, their traditions, titles, customs and fates; whilst Sable helped him through the details of the properties he had inherited. Before that, however, he had a meeting with his armourer.

. . .

"All Hail my Lord Caer Azkaban!" the armourer greeted them outside the Lord's chambers, "Long may he rule!"

"Thank you for coming," Harry greeted the man, "I trust that you have managed to find something suitable?"

"Several, my Lord," he agreed, "Though for best effect I should enchant a weapon specifically chosen by your Lordship."

"We may not have the convenience of that option," Harry opined, "What do you have for me in the interim?"

"My Lord," he bowed, and laid a selection on the table in Harry's sitting room, "Simple, but effective. These weapons are imbued with training enchantments in addition to some standard combat enhancements."

"Training enchantments?" Harry asked with a touch of amusement.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, my Lord?" on receiving Harry's amused negative, he continued, "I mean that the weapons know what they are supposed to be doing. They will guide your hand as you use them and, in time, teach you their use."

"Like training wheels," Harry realised.

"Yes my Lord," the other man agreed, "When you have had some experience with the weapons, you can decide for yourself which you like best. I would then be honoured to enchant the best example in the land."

"Thank you, Armourer." Harry replied formally, "Perhaps you could describe these?"

"Of course, my Lord." he bowed and obeyed, "First we have a dagger, good for a concealed or offhand weapon. I would not advise anyone to depend upon it as their primary. The second is a short sword, as I judged your Lordship's stature to slight too be suited to an arming sword at present. Third is a sword stick, which generally functions as a short sword or cane, depending on whether the blade is drawn or sheathed. Fourth is a rapier, requiring speed and precision over blunt force, which I suspect will ideally suit your Lordship's build. Fifth is a traditional quarterstaff, which I would not normally recommend as it required two hands to effectively wield. It is an ancient tradition among wizards, however. Last, a singlestick." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Singlesticks are the most commonly melee weapon on the island, since they can be built as oversized wands. Casting from such a wand is a little tricky, but quite manageable for most combat spells. If you should favour a singlestick, I would recommend the Island's Wand Maker over myself."

"Thank you, Armourer." Harry met the man's eye before continuing, "I will let you know what I decide. Also, would it be possible for you to arrange an additional set or someone to help with training?"

"I can provide both, my Lord," he bowed, the ghost of confusion in his eyes, "If you would excuse me."

"Of course," Harry replied, "Dismissed."

. . .

Later that evening, just before Sable was about to lead him to dinner, a servant entered bearing Hedwig on one arm and a raven on the other. Upon spying her master, Hedwig immediately flew over and deposited a letter on the table before Harry. A glance showed that it had been addressed to Hermione in Dumbledore's hand.

"Did you find this at Hermione's house?" he asked, and she bobbed her head in reply, "Good Girl. Are you being treated well at the aviary?" another bob.

"My Lord's personal bird is always treated well," Sable informed him, "Even if she is an owl."

Hedwig turned to glare at Sable as the raven flew over to drop another note in Harry's lap. As it was addressed to Lord Caer Azkaban, Harry shot a questioning glance at Sable before opening it.

"The messengers of Death are the traditional messengers of Azkaban," she replied with a shrug, stroking the bird in question as Harry turned his attention to the letter:

My Lord Caer Azkaban.

Though my investigation is far from complete, the initial findings are sufficiently disturbing that I felt obliged to immediately inform you of them. The suppressed effect on your slave Hermione results from a mass of extremely weak spells. The cumulative effect is likely to be significant, yet the individual spells are so weak as to pass unnoticed even under such professional scrutiny as we ourselves felt to be complete. Where it not for your enslavement magic suppressing the spells en masse, I would never have found them.

Whilst I will endeavour to fully understand and neutralise this problem, it appears that your enslavement magic has successfully suppressed all traces of these influences. Apart from her enforced loyalty she should be unaffected – and based on the sincerity fuelling the magic, that can be judged as no great change.

Your Obedient Servant.

Psychiatrist and Psychiatrist.

. . .