Chapter 10: "In the Dungeons of Azkaban"
Frodo couldn't tell whether he was sleeping or waking. He had no sense of time; he could have been there an hour—a year—he could not tell. All he saw was misty and dark. His old Nazgul wound ached. He felt total hopelessness. He did not long for escape; what was there to escape to? He didn't know. Everything seemed pointless. He had difficulty remembering anything: why he was there, where he had come from. Where was here? There was no there, there. A vast nothingness enveloped him. Fog and despair. Who was he? What was his name?
"Frodo!" a voice whispered urgently.
"Who?" asked Frodo dreamily.
"Frodo, wake up!" hissed the voice, urgently. "I've come to get you out of here." The door to Frodo's cell opened, and a tall, middle-aged, blond man stepped in. "Come on, get up!"
Frodo could hardly stand, much less walk. The man picked Frodo up and put him over his shoulder. Two Dementors flanked him.
"Dementors…" said Frodo, weakly.
"Don't worry. They're on our side," said the man, curtly.
"What about Sam?" asked Frodo, coming back to life slightly.
"We're working on getting Sam out legally," said the man, as he carried Frodo out. "But rescuing you is the highest priority, for now. You can trust me," he added. "I am working with Albus Dumbledore."
The two flanking Dementors that had come with the man glided over to the main guard station. They communicated somehow with the other Dementor guards. There seemed to be a long discussion. The man put Frodo down and watched uneasily.
Frodo, regaining his presence of mind somewhat, felt about his neck for the locket. It was there. Turning away from the man, Frodo surreptitiously opened the locket just a crack, enough to see the glint of gold within. He shut it again instantly.
Finally, the two Dementors glided back. "They believed it. Thank goodness," said the man, hoisting up Frodo again, and walking quickly down the main hall and out the front door.
"How did you…" asked Frodo.
"The Azkaban Dementors think I am bringing you to a secret trial, and that my two Dementors are your guards. It's best if you don't ask me too many more questions."
They passed through the Azkaban gate. The man halted, and shifted his grip on Frodo. "Now Frodo, see here," he said. "This is going to be a little strange. I need to bring you to a safe house, out of the reaches of the Ministry, and the best way is to apparate."
"What is that?" asked Frodo.
"Don't worry about it. Just hang on tight." Suddenly Frodo felt a very bizarre sense of movement. He felt he could see the entire earth around him, really see everything—inside, outside, over, underneath. He could see into houses, underground, underwater, in the air. Some places were entirely blank, however; though he recognized the gate of Hogwarts, he couldn't see anything inside. The movement stopped abruptly, and Frodo found himself, still clutching the man, on the front lawn of an elegant English country estate. The man put Frodo down gently, and led him by the hand to the door.
A servant in full livery answered the door. "Welcome, Master Frodo," he said.
The man said, "I must leave you now, Frodo. You are among friends. You will be safe here." He walked back up the lawn.
Frodo turned and called, "Oh sir, I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me."
The man replied pleasantly, "You are very welcome, Frodo Baggins. We will meet again, I think. Goodbye." He waved and then vanished.
The servant led Frodo into an opulent parlor, and seated him in a soft velvet chair. The servant left; and then returned with a large tray of cakes and pastries, and a carafe of sweet wine, which he set before Frodo, and departed. Frodo remained in his chair. He was hungry, but touched nothing.
"Ah, Frodo. At last, you are here."
Frodo looked up. A tall, slim man had just walked in. He was richly dressed in a brocaded smoking jacket. He stooped down and beamed at Frodo. "This is such an honor. Do you know, Frodo, how very famous you are? I recall when I first read the Red Book. I was just a lad at the time. I remember being so taken with your heroism, your loyalty, your dedication to a hopeless task. I wanted ever so much to meet you."
The tall man gazed for a long moment into Frodo's eyes. Frodo thought that the man was very fair. His lips were full and beautifully shaped. He had wavy dark hair shot through with silver, and long, thick, curling eyelashes. His large eyes were almond-shaped and grey; they seemed to shine with an ethereal light, and held Frodo in an intense gaze. Frodo could not help blushing, and looked away.
"I beg your pardon," said Frodo, "But you remind me of an Elf—not a house- elf I mean, but…"
"I do know what you mean, and I humbly accept your very high compliment," said the man, courteously. He reached for the carafe, and poured wine into two delicate cut-crystal glasses. "Will you have some wine, Frodo?" he said, offering a glass.
"Thank you." Frodo brought the wine to his lips and took a sip. Immediately he felt a tingling warmth penetrate every part of his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. He drained his glass, then reached for a cake. The cake was delicious, and seemed to augment the effect of the wine. Frodo sighed with relief and contentment. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You and your friends have saved me from a horror worse than death, I think. I am in your debt. If I could ever be of any service to you, Mr.--?"
The elegant man smiled and extended his hand. "Voldemort," he said.
