Part One: Darkest of Places
Azkaban prison was a dark place. One of the Aurors shivered as if the building itself could suck out his soul. The others began to shiver as the boat neared the pier. The Dementor guards were gathered there, it was impossible to tell how many of them there were. Indeed it had proved impossible for the Ministry to get a complete count of how many Dementors existed. The ranking Auror had made this run many times before, and every time he dreaded the party waiting at the end of the journey.
The prisoner stared blankly ahead, he had protested his innocence for days. Now, as his future loomed in the distance he appeared to have retreated into himself completely. He seemed resigned to the fact that none of his former friends were going to leap out and rescue him. With the death of the Potters most of those left had gone to ground anyway, and such a high profile Deatheater, one caught red handed in broad daylight, wasn't worth the risk of exposure. Though the Ministry had hoped. They had even publicly declared the date of the transfer to Azkaban, just in the off chance that maybe one or two more might fall into their hands.
The Auror shook his head, the Ministry was governed by fools. The old families were washing their hands of the failures. The reports had shown that the prisoner was disowned by his family years ago. The old families were shaking their heads in disgust, though he was sure it was feigned, and tutting over the disgrace that was made of their 'honored heritage'.
The boat bumped the pier and the youngest Auror quickly tied it to the post. The Dementors parted as the Aurors surrounded the prisoner and hustled him onto land. They converged behind them and enveloped them in a sea of black. The whole group moved up the stairs of the prison and through the halls. The prisoners, aware that the Aurors were there, called out for mercy. The new kid whitened at the pleas for death. The older Aurors merely tightened their lips and refused to meet any eyes. The prisoner stared at his feet, not moving of his own volition.
The Dementors finally stopped at an empty cell and the Aurors pushed the prisoner in. The prisoner fell to the floor, not even looking up when cell door banged shut. The Aurors shrugged at the behavior and began to move away. A hoarse voice stopped them not far along the corridor. "You're making a mistake."
The senior Auror almost smiled at the words, he turned on his heel and regarded the prisoner who was now standing up. "You killed two of your best friends and countless others in your sick little quest. I am only thankful that your master is now dead and gone. None of your friends are coming, your family doesn't want you. You make all of us sick."
"He'll kill him," the prisoner insisted.
"Your Master is dead," the Auror stressed. "Now that you are locked up no one is going to be killing anyone for a good long time."
"No, not Voldemort!" the prisoner flung himself at the cell door.
The Auror smiled maliciously, "Voldemort is dead."
"Not Voldemort!" the prisoner cried again. "Not Voldemort! Listen to me!"
The Auror shook his head and turned motioning for the others to follow him. Behind them the Dementors closed in on their newest acquisition. The group shared a smile as they climbed back into their boat. It was days like today that made the whole job worthwhile.
A solemn gathering was taking place at the wreck of Godric's Hollow. The neighbors had been told that a gas leak had blown the house up. If any of them had been able to see the group now there, they would have died of shock. The exclusive neighborhood surrounding the house was not used to having such ragged people in their area. They all had moved the area to get away from the cities and the normal crowds that lived there. Thus they wouldn't have welcomed such oddities as Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid. They would have tolerated Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, though that was merely due to the fact that they both exuded breeding and money, no matter how oddly wrapped the packages came.
It was therefore lucky that the assembled was hidden to the Muggle world by a glamor charm, one that had been put into place when the Potter's had moved there. If any of the neighbors got a burning desire to the see the spot where 'that nice couple' had died, they wouldn't be able to see any more than the still smoking ruins.
"I can't believe it," McGonagall murmured quietly.
"Who can?" Albus asked gently. "None of us ever saw it coming."
"I should have," Remus sniffed. "I knew he was pulling away. We never talked like we used to. I should have seen it."
"Don' be blaming yourself," Hagrid rumbled. "As the professor said, we none of us knew. An' think, I accepted his help a few nights ago. Wha' would have happened if he had wanted 'Arry out of the way too? I could have been..."
Albus handed the larger man a handkerchief as he burst into tears.
"They always seemed inseparable," McGonagall continued, apparently unaware of the other's conversation.
"How long do you think he was a Death Eater?" Remus whispered. "What could I have done to prevent it?"
"Who knows?" Albus asked consolingly.
"I should have known!" Remus gave a short laugh. "What good is being a werewolf if I can't even smell that sort of thing on my...."
"Friend." Albus pulled out another handkerchief and handed it over.
"Could it be that Sirius never forgave..." McGonagall choked off. She waved away the offered handkerchief. "Really Albus, just how many of those do you have?"
"As many as needed my dear," Albus patted her shoulder.
Remus reached down, picked up some soil and let it run through his hand. "I wish I could change it all. I wish I could warn myself not to be taken in."
"There is no spell that can change everything for the better," McGonagall sniffed. "If there was there is so much good that could be done."
"Voldemort is dead," Albus smiled suddenly. "We should do what we came here to do and toast to friends not here. Then we should all return to our lives and not let bygones leave to many tire tracks on our bodies."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow at her employer, "Toast?"
"Yes," Albus beamed. "Hagrid brought some of his very fine home-brew, and the Potter's chimney is still connected to the floo so I can send you all home after you get drunk."
"Albus," McGonagall warned. "I don't intend to get drunk."
Albus's smile never wavered. "Then you can help me send the others home."
Remus sniffed again, and passed the sodden handkerchief he was clutching back to Albus. "Thanks."
"No problem my boy." Albus's eyes softened. "Hagrid?"
The half giant gave a mighty blow into his handkerchief before composing himself and looking at the elder wizard. "Aye?"
"Did you remember to bring the stuff?" Albus asked.
Hagrid's brow creased, then cleared. "Of course I did!" he boomed. "Just a minute and I'll 'ave it for you." He began to empty his pockets onto the ground.
McGonagall reached out and caught a small bird that threatened to fly off while it's erstwhile owner searched for the whiskey.
"Found it," Hagrid declared.
"Good, good." Albus took the large bottle and placed it on the ground. He transfigured four nearby rocks into cups and poured into each one.
"To absent friends." He took one.
The other three echoed him.
"To the Potters." Hagrid said once the cups had been refilled.
"To Peter Pettigrew." Remus said firmly.
"To the end of the Death Eaters." McGonagall shook her head slightly.
"To Tom Riddle and Sirius Black," Albus poured till the cups overflowed. "May we never allow another to follow their path, and may they both find the peace they were seeking."
End Notes:- Please Review.
