Hello, I'm back with a new chapter, and the plot begins to thicken, and I'm going to attempt to mix a little romance in with everything else, horror of horrors
Right. Sorry. So, in response to your review, Trepidatio, Remus' reluctance to perform the Imperius Curse actually has little enough to do with the origins of Avada Kedavra, but you're getting there in the essentials. I was wondering if anyone would notice the hints I slipped in--the "mistake" thing, I mean, for lack of a better term--but it was extremely vague, come to think of it. You'll find out eventually, anyway. I'm glad you like Gregoram, because his character is vital to the whole plotline I have worked out, and relates to the reasons--oh, I'm getting a year or so ahead of myself. Speaking of years, I've only gotten about a month's worth of writing (story wise) in so far, and I have to end up covering about five years. Do you have any idea how long this is going to be? Some of this chapter is rather reminiscent of GoF, so you'll excuse me--same teacher, same subject matter; it had to come out somewhat similar.
Chapter Six: Death Eaters and Dementors
He was floating hazily apart from the world, the voice still echoing in his mind. "A cartwheel, now. Do a cartwheel."
A smaller voice was speaking in the back of his head. "That's really a rather ridiculous idea, isn't it? I don't believe I've ever done one before. Successfully."
"Do a cartwheel."
"You know, I'd really rather not," the other voice said thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I will."
There was absolutely no feeling in his limbs, but he knew somehow that he was raising one arm above his head....
"NOW!"
"Aahh!"
The nothingness disappeared with a jolt, and Sirius found himself lying on his back in a painful heap. The room swam back into view from behind the white fog that had sprung up around him as soon as he'd heard "Imperio!" echoing in his head. Moody grinned down at him and offered a hand up, and, as Sirius clambered unsteadily to his feet, he heard the chuckles coming from the rest of the class where they were standing against one wall. James was looking extremely amused, and Remus was quite obviously trying not to laugh. He walked up and sidled into the back row next to them.
"Shut up," he said good-naturedly in a whisper. "I didn't see you laughing earlier when Moody had you doing the can-can, James, and as for you," he jabbed a finger at Remus, "you can smirk once Moody's tried it out on you."
Any retorts they might have had were cut short when Moody began to speak to the class. "Not bad, Black, not bad at all. Nearly threw it off. Much better than your performance, Nott." The former Slytherin's laughter cut off abruptly. "I see you've got the idea, then, Black--or is it just that you can't manage a cartwheel? We'll come back to you in a bit. Longbottom, you next!"
Frank moved toward Moody, trepidation obvious in his face, and prepared for the spell. Before Moody could begin, however, there came the precise sound of someone rapping on the door. Moody turned to throw it open, and in came a livid Bartemius Crouch. Trailing behind him was a figure that Sirius couldn't quite see clearly because of the simple fact that the blue-green robes he was wearing made his eyes hurt. He turned them to look at Crouch, where they found little relief. He was absolutely furious, although his displeasure was obviously under a tight rein.
"Alastor," he said without preamble, "you've got a new student." Crouch turned to the class. "This is Gilderoy Lockhart."
Sirius forced his eyes back to the person who had followed Crouch into the room. His first impression, once he'd managed to ignore the robes and the fluorescent green hat topping overly bleached blond hair, was of a young man approximately his own age, with big teeth, an unbelievably wide mouth, and rather large ears. He was smiling radiantly at his new classmates as though he hadn't noticed Crouch's expression.
"Right," Moody said slowly, looking Gilderoy Lockhart up and down as though inspecting him--without, Sirius noticed, wincing too obviously--and nodded. "Stand over with the others, won't you, Lockhart?"
The new arrival was only too happy too oblige. As soon as he had gotten out of earshot, however, Sirius, who was standing near enough to the door to hear the whisper, heard Moody speaking to Crouch.
"So he passed the tests?"
"Barely. I had to grant him admission. Unfortunately. Excuse me, Alastor. I'd rather not bear witness to his first class."
Crouch turned back to the door with a nod to Moody and to the class, rather more hurriedly than was natural, and was soon out of the room. Lockhart was standing in a corner, seemingly oblivious to the wide berth the other students were giving him, as well as their doubtful stares and raised eyebrows.
"Well," Moody growled, "you've arrived just in time, Lockhart. Right now we're working on dealing with the Imperius Curse. You can go after Longbottom."
Lockhart's smile, far from faltering, only increased in size. "Very well, sir." Moody turned to fix his gaze on Frank and raised his wand. Meanwhile, Lockhart had taken the opportunity to sidle along into the on looking crowd of students, shaking their hands vigorously and reintroducing himself. Again, he gave no indication of the staring and eye-rolling he recieved. While Frank was attempting to stand on his head, he managed to make his way over to James, Remus, and Sirius.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," he announced in an undertone so Moody wouldn't hear, as though they hadn't just been told his name. "Recently graduated from Beauxbatons Academy. Hogwarts, I assume?"
"Yeah," James replied, then gave Lockhart a sideways look. "Gilderoy Lockhart--weren't you in Hogwarts at one point, too?"
Lockhart nodded. "I did in fact attend Hogwarts for two years."
Sirius vaguely remembered the former Hufflepuff from his class, although he'd barely spoken to him. "Sirius Black. This is James Potter and Remus Lupin."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."
They were interrupted by Moody's growling voice. "Lockhart! You next!"
The newcomer moved forward obligingly and enthusiastically. "I am ready, sir, for whatever this exercise entails! Merely perform the spell, and, I assure you, I--"
Moody swung his wand down with a grimace of disgust. "Imperio!"
Sirius watched the blank look settle over Lockhart's face with more than a little exasperation. How could he possibly have passed the Ministry's tests? He could understand Crouch's complaints completely, even if--
The door swung open yet again, and this time it wasn't Crouch. With a jolt of surprise, he recognized Edward Cole, his new mentor, blinking as much as ever.
"Alastor," he began, and Moody turned to him, wand still fixed on Lockhart (who posed on the toes of his right foot, his left leg stretched behind him, and arms extended gracefully above his head), "there's been an urgent call from the minister. We're supposed to bring along the four of them immediately, he said...."
Cole's voice trailed off expressively, and he blinked hard at Moody, and then shot Lockhart a puzzled look. The grizzled Auror turned back to the class.
"You can all go," he told them. "Remember, though, tomorrow at two. Don't be late. Potter, Snape, Lupin, and Black, stay here a moment."
He let his hand fall, and Lockhart crumpled from his pose. The students directed curious looks at Sirius and the rest, but they still hurried to leave by the other doorway. Lockhart, on the other hand, stood up to brush off his robes, and turned to Moody. Before he could inquire as to what had happened, Moody waved a hand dismissively.
"I have a meeting to go to, Lockhart. You can leave until tomorrow. Edward, is--"
Lockhart wasn't about to be brushed off that easily. "Sir," he exclaimed, "I have been forced into this training program quite against my express wishes--"
"Lockhart, you weren't--"
"--and now, to be sent away immediately after--"
"Leave, now. I--"
"I will not be treated in this fashion!"
"Son, this has nothing to do with you. Get--"
Edward Cole broke in tentatively. "If you would excuse me, Alastor, I believe the other Aurors are waiting. It is a meeting of extreme importance...."
Lockhart's face cleared of self-righteous indignation. "Ah, sir, an Auror's meeting? And important, you say? Well, I would be only too happy to offer my services, if it would please you. I have considerable experience--"
Moody stared disbelievingly back at him. "Lockhart. Leave. Now."
He seemed about to argue, but a good look at Moody's impatient face was obviously enough to convince Lockhart that instant obedience was the best course of action, and he hurried out the door in the wake of his fellow students. Moody turned back to Cole, grimacing expressively.
"What on earth was Barty thinking? This is ridiculous. Edward, what's all this about?"
"I really have no idea, Alastor," Cole said, blinking back and forth between Moody, Sirius, and the rest. "But you should come quickly; the minister is waiting...."
"All right, then. Lead the way, and follow behind, the rest of you."
Sirius did as he was told, casting a last look over his shoulder to where the poisonous robes and their wearer had disappeared and trying not to snicker. The glint in James' eye told him that similar thoughts were occupying both of their minds. This was going to be very interesting.
His thoughts were cut off as he recalled exactly why Lockhart and the rest of the class had left so precipitously. What was going on now? Certainly not another--a cold shiver ran down his spine. There hadn't been another dementor attack, had there?
By now, the small party had reached the place Cole had been taking them. It was a room obviously used for such meetings--fairly large, with few furnishings besides the chairs set up in a large circle. Professor Gregoram was already there. He nodded to Remus with the slightest of smiles and indicated the seats next to him for James, Sirius, Remus, and Snape. The man Sirius remembered as Jonas McCaffrey, James' mentor, was leaning against one wall, a dark look on his face. He seemed extraordinarily preoccupied and hadn't made any sign of acknowledgement that James had come in.
"So," Remus was asking quietly, "do you know what all this is about?"
Gregoram shook his head. "I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure Jonas does. Not that he'll say anything until the Minister explains."
Sirius cast a look back at McCaffrey, whose face seemed to indicate that, whatever the news was, it wasn't good.
The door banged open, and Mundungus Fletcher stalked in, Peter in tow. Fletcher cast a grim look at Gregoram that was obviously supposed to convey something, but the professor just shrugged slightly in incomprehension. Fletcher snorted in disgust and turned to McCaffrey. The two of them proceeded to carry on a low conversation, none of which Sirius could hear.
Peter, meanwhile, had seated himself wearily near the rest of them. Gregoram raised an eyebrow at him, and he just sighed. "He got some sort of message--from Crouch, I think--and he got a bit upset. He's like that--goes off in a huff and won't tell you why he seems to be angry with anything and everything around him...anyhow." He turned to James, Remus, and Sirius, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "You've got a new classmate, then?"
"How did you know about him?"
"I met him earlier. Moody must be ecstatic."
Sirius let out a snort of laughter. "He only joined the class a few minutes ago, but that was quite enough to make a lasting impression, if you ask me."
The door opened again and yet another angry individual entered. This time it was Crouch, who looked just as livid as he had when he'd shown Lockhart into the classroom. Lily Evans and Arabella Figg followed at a safe distance, but Crouch paid them no heed.
"Gregoram!"
The professor stood up obligingly and turned a deferential look of mild curiosity to Crouch. "Sir? Is there a problem?"
"There is, Gregoram. One I should have been informed of long before now. I have been profoundly disappointed in the amount of information you have recently--"
Arabella Figg spoke up here, and her voice carried little respect for Crouch's station. "What do you expect? He can't continue pulling it all out of thin air, you know."
Crouch stared at her, face going slightly red, but to Sirius' surprise, there was no reprimand for the interruption. Instead, he turned back to Gregoram. "I would like to know exactly what has been causing these changes."
The professor's face was perfectly calm and as closed as usual. "I'm afraid, sir, that it has been getting much more difficult, especially after recent events. The Adam's Apple incident, especially considering the captures, certainly did little to--"
"You will need to change that, Gregoram, won't you." It wasn't a question. Crouch had regained his usual calm control, and every word he spoke exuded authority.
"Barty," Arabella Figg interjected, "perhaps now isn't the best time...."
Crouch jerked his head around as though he had forgotten the younger students were in the room. "We will talk about this later, Gregoram."
James, Lily, and Sirius shot questioning looks in Remus' direction, but he looked as confused as Sirius felt. Sirius sighed to himself--it seemed his fate to overhear completely unintelligible conversations. Especially since he'd started working at the Ministry.
Once again, the door opened, and, fortunately, neither of the people who entered seemed particularly angry. Both Prewett and Dumbledore, however, looked distinctly apprehensive about something, and that wasn't an emotion Sirius attributed to either of them. He'd never seen Dumbledore afraid--although the look on his face wasn't fear, exactly, more like intense perturbation--, and Jonathan Prewett was known to be second only to Dumbledore in magical ability and judgment. Sirius felt his stomach knot up. What was going on?
"Right," Prewett began immediately. "If you could all take your seats--thank you. Now, some of you already know why I've called you here. Most of you don't. It's unfortunate that we were informed of this so recently, but it couldn't be helped." Crouch's lips tightened slightly, but no matter how angry Crouch had been with Gregoram, Prewett didn't seem at all to be blaming anyone.
"Early this morning, approximately twenty-three Death Eaters arrived at the fortress of Azkaban. They stormed the prison, releasing a great many of the prisoners and slaughtering most of the rest. The dementors offered little resistance, and all but two of the human guards that live near the island were killed.
"It was, without question, a planned attack. Everything was in order. The dementors had already taken care of the human guards--caught them by surprise, it seems. They knew exactly which prisoners were actually Death Eaters and which were either other criminals or innocent people accused of dealings with the Dark Lord." There was an obvious strain--was it guilt or shame?--in Prewett's voice. He took a deep breath and continued. "We had hopes that it was only a few of the dementors that had begun to work for the Death Eaters, but it seems that nearly all have already turned. They hold no concept of loyalty. We have known that for quite some time. Still, I had hoped--"
He stopped for a moment to wipe his hand along his forehead and swallow hard, and then Prewett raised his head to look at them. "I don't need to tell you how important this is. We need to get the situation under control as soon as possible. Alastor tells me you've been working on the Patronus charm and that a few of the class--namely, you four--are well on your ways to getting it under control, and I'm told that Pettigrew and Evans are doing well themselves. All six of you, in fact, are coming to Azkaban this afternoon, with trained witches and wizards, to try it on the remaining dementors."
The silence following this remark was deafening. Sirius could practically feel the tension and horror that everyone must be experiencing. What could be worse than this?
He was about to find out.
"There's more. We've received word that the Death Eaters aren't wasting any time now that they have the dementors with them. We hardly expected them to let the grass grow under their feet, but this--a small, largely wizarding community in northern Scotland has been completely obliterated. They set the dementors loose in the streets and, after they were done, went in to finish the job. What's more, it's known that at least two of our Ministry employees were on a brief holiday in that village--employees that had recently gained access to apparently important stashes of information relating to the Death Eaters' actions. It appears that the houses in which they were staying were not touched by the dementors until after the Death Eaters had had a chance to deal with the residents. This was undoubtedly an inside job. It was not coincidence. Someone is passing valuable data to the Dark Lord and his associates, and on top of everything else, we need to find out whom.
"So, you'll all be expected back at the Ministry offices at one sharp. We can't apparate to Azkaban, or use Portkeys or Floo powder, and it's a long flight; besides which, it'll be cold. We'll provide broomsticks, but be sure you have a heavy cloak with you. Don't plan on being back until late tonight. Your mentors and other qualified witches and wizards will accompany you. I'll be seeing you then."
********
Lunch at the Leaky Cauldron was particularly subdued. Even Sirius seemed much more restrained than usual. Still, even considering how necessary the trip to Azkaban was and how grave their situation had become, James found himself becoming unreasonably annoyed over the fact that Lily was supposed to be having dinner at his house again, and instead they would be spending their time being dining on depression.
Peter and Sirius were contemplating who the Death Eaters had used to infiltrate the Ministry. Remus had just broken in to point out that it must be someone who either worked in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries, as no one else could have known about the information the two Ministry employees were gathering.
"Will you three keep your voices down?" Lily demanded. "We don't want everyone in the Leaky Cauldron knowing about this, do we?"
The conversation continued in a slightly lower tone.
"Not necessarily," Peter objected, referring to Remus' earlier point. "Most of the Ministry employees already know about the whole Adam's Apple thing. They had us in the Muggle Artifacts department filing all that information you two found."
"But this information wasn't released yet," James said.
"Wasn't it? Prewett didn't say for sure."
"Oh, come off it," Sirius snorted, "why would the Death Eaters have gone through so much trouble to get those particular people if the Ministry already had their information?"
"What if they didn't know that yet?" Lily suggested, taking a sip of butterbeer.
Remus shook his head. "Anyone who knew that those people had received data and knew where they were on holiday--we've already established it was an inside job, haven't we?--would have known whether or not the information had been given to the Ministry. Especially if it was an Auror or Unmentionable."
Their meals had arrived by this time. James looked down at his and found he had very little appetite, as well as nearly everyone else at the table. Remus had no such qualms and dug immediately into the enormous platter of steak he'd just been handed. He soon noticed the raised eyebrows and turned red.
"It's odd, you know, but I--well, this time of the month, I find myself eating rather more meat than usual."
Sirius let out something that was, unmistakably, an ungracious snort of laughter. Lily giggled, and soon James and Peter found themselves joining in. Remus just flushed a deeper shade of maroon, but the tense atmosphere had loosened somewhat.
After pecking at their food for forty-five minutes (with the exception of Remus, who actually managed to finish about half of the steak), the five of them left again for the Ministry buildings. All humor had left the situation, and James found himself gripping his wand tightly in one hand and reviewing the list of "happy thoughts" he would be using shortly enough, as well as recalling the feeble wisp of smoke he'd always managed previously. Although Moody had seemed pleased, he wasn't feeling entirely confident.
James soon found himself back in the same meeting room they'd recently vacated. Along with the students' mentors, Crouch, Dumbledore, and Prewett were there. He assumed they needed to get a better idea of the situation at Azkaban. He also recognized Minerva McGonagall and a few Aurors he'd never spoken to before. Everyone was somber and quiet, and so they talked little until Prewett stood up with a single, long broomstick in his hand.
"We're using a Portkey to simplify things. This one will take us all to a small place on the coast, considerably closer to our destination than we are now, where there is transportation ready for everyone. We have about thirty seconds. Everyone in position, please."
Much to his displeasure, James found himself between Crouch and Snape, but he had little enough time to brood on this. As Prewett counted down the seconds, the knot in his stomach tightened painfully, until he felt the telltale jerk behind his navel and was pulled irresistibly along by the broomstick. They fell back to earth with a thud. After extricating himself from the tangle of limbs and bodies (Crouch and Dumbledore were, miraculously, the only ones left standing), James looked around. They seemed to be in a small, dingy broom shed. Along the walls were at least three dozen brooms--more than enough for their group of about twenty. Prewett kept the Portkey, presumably his own broomstick, and ordered everyone to take one of his or her own. James poked through the brooms to find one with relatively good balance (though none of them were nearly as bad as the school brooms he'd used). He hurried to join Lily, Peter, Remus, and Sirius in walking out of the shed.
It was, he saw immediately, practically on the edge of a steep, tall cliff leading directly down to the sea. Peter, who had never been one for flying (or heights, for that matter), was gripping the broomstick so hard his knuckles were white. Sirius was actually starting to look excited about this; James assumed he was thinking more of the journey than of the destination. Remus just looked rather ill--probably motion sickness. They'd always teased him over the fact that he couldn't even use a Portkey or ride the school train without going green in the face, but at the moment, James could sympathize.
It was windy, and the sky was filled with dark clouds that seemed to have been imported for the occasion. Prewett had to shout to get his message across.
"It's going to be hard to keep together, so we're dividing into three groups. Follow either Barty, Albus, or me, and make sure you can see that person at all times. You won't be able to tell where we're headed otherwise. It's a long flight, but there's no other way to get to the guards' island. Mount your brooms!"
This last was louder, as the wind had just begun to pick up. They lined up at the edge of the cliff (James and the others kept close to Dumbledore) and prepared for takeoff. It was strange and, even though he felt at home in the air, frightening to leap off the cliff into the turbulent air, watching the sea and the rocks rolling far below you. Almost immediately, gusts of wind were fighting to blow him off course, and James found himself concentrating completely on following Dumbledore. They went quickly, despite the wind, and they soon had left the shore behind, indistinguishable over a backdrop of clouds.
Sirius was riding next to him, staring not ahead but down at the deep expanse of foaming, green-gray water. He looked sideways at James and said, loudly enough to be heard over the wind and the water, "Can you imagine swimming in that? The lake at Hogwarts is cold enough in autumn, but it's summer, and the water here has got to be freezing."
He had a point. The air, too, especially this high up, was cold, and he was grateful that Prewett had cautioned them to bring a heavy cloak. "It'd be easier as Padfoot, wouldn't it? I'm not sure Prongs could swim all that well. I've never actually tried." James was careful to keep his voice a level that could be heard only by Sirius, although it wasn't difficult in this wind.
Sirius nodded. "Not that I'd want to try it out here anyway."
Behind them, Peter was trailing along in the back of their smaller group. With a good-natured sigh, James dropped behind to give him a hand.
Their flight was largely uneventful, unless you counted Dumbledore's hat being blown off, despite the fact that he'd shoved it down to his ears. Retrieving it took them off-course for about ten minutes, even though everyone attempted to use their wands to bring the hat back. James found himself wishing briefly that he'd played Seeker--it would have been much easier to spot and grab the hat. In any event, it was Dumbledore himself that finally spotted it floating down on the waves, magicked it up, and dried it out with a wave of his wand.
Because all his attention was taken up by keeping his broom under control, James didn't bother to look at his watch until a small island with some sort of manmade structure on top of it. The watch told him that they'd been flying for just under four hours, which explained the cramping in his legs and the sore muscles. Dumbledore waved to all of them, signaling a descent, and they slowly dove until the whole party had reached the island.
The large house that was built there looked extraordinarily gloomy on the outside, but once Dumbledore had thrown open the door and allowed them all to come in, it seemed quite warm and alive compared to everything else. Even the signs of violence--presumably remaining from the Death Eater attack--did little to dispel the cheeriness transmitted by brightly colored walls, thick carpets, and the smell of hot tea and butterbeer.
A small man with short-cropped blond hair, thick gray robes, and a tired but welcoming smile greeted them as the door closed behind them.
"Hello again, Albus," he said. "Come along, all of you, the others are already here. We've got something to warm you up before taking you out to the fortress."
From the man's conversation with Dumbledore, James gathered that his name was Brimius Lacke, and he was one of the prison guards. Fortunately, he had not been in the fortress or on this island when the Death Eaters came, and neither had a half dozen other of the guards that were now here. Although there was an air of exhaustion and trepidation around the Lacke, he did not at all seem to be James' previous idea of the Azkaban human guards. He obviously had an ordinarily sunny disposition and, according to Dumbledore's friendly queries, a wife and children that he stayed with every other month. Indeed, the guard house itself was much more cheerful than one would think, and there were no signs that dementors had ever come here. James assumed the purpose of this was to make life easier in a place where there must be little happiness.
Not all of the guards were this way, however. While seated on one of the many comfortable armchairs in one of the enormous rooms, warming in front of the roaring fire and drinking hot butterbeer, James had the chance to examine the other guards, and most looked nearly lifeless. They spoke little, and their pale skin had dark rings under troubled, almost haunted eyes. Even so, there was a suppressed air of mastery about them. These were not people to be taken lightly. Nearly all were men, but two of the seven currently there were women. All were easily distinguishable by their gray robes.
All too soon, Lacke indicated that it was time to leave the warmth of the guard house and enter the fortress itself. They were led down a well-used stone stairway, immediately losing sight of the bright colors and well-lit corridors of the upper rooms. Below, the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks could be heard through the walls. Lacke, accompanied by three other guards, unlocked the only other door in the room and led them out.
It was similar to leaving the broom shed, except for the much greater proximity of the water and the cliffs towering above them rather than dropping away. Lily identified the small boat bobbing dangerously with the waves, only held to the dock by a length of thick rope, as a Muggle sailboat. The group was led onto the boat (which pitched uncomfortably beneath them) and below deck into a small, dimly lit room that was nevertheless larger than one might have supposed outside--plainly, some magic had been used to enlarge it. There was just enough room for them all to squeeze onto the benches lining the opposite, longer sides of the boat. James would have liked to see what was happening on deck, but only three guards were up there, Lacke included. The woman in gray robes who sat next to Dumbledore and Prewett said only (in a harsh, commanding voice) that they would reach the fortress in perhaps another hour because of the rough waves.
Nobody spoke during that whole hour. Sirius stared blankly at the opposite wall, Remus squeezed his eyelids shut and clutched at his stomach, and Peter gripped his wand as tightly as he had earlier gripped his broomstick. By the time the rocking motions had altered enough to tell James that they had stopped moving, he was sure his face was at least as pale as the female guard's. They were led onto the deck and then off onto another dock, and then the entire group found themselves staring up at the fortress of Azkaban.
