Water is rushing all around me. I am on a boat somewhere north of the North Sea and it is getting colder and colder. The boat I am sat in is made of decaying wood and magically is staying afloat. If it had not had such curse performed upon it we would have sunk hours ago. I have never really suffered from Closter phobia but I understand now how it must feel. Beside me is Snape, swaying violently into me every two seconds due to the waves' rhythm. Just infront is a strange man, with slimy skin and horrible deformities, he is rowing. The rain pounds onto me but I no longer feel it, water is hitting water and I could technically get no wetter.
"Here - have this," Snape says reaching into his cloak and taking out a soggy sandwich. I look at it with a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"You must eat it, if not now, at some point. I need you to have strength for when we arrive because you will immediately be greeted by some old enemies and unpleasant sights."
This is the first thing I know about where I am going. I suspect I am going to the Dark Lord's layer. The direction we are sailing in indicates we are going to the old prison of Azkaban. I used to think the place was derelict.
"What should I expect?" I scream so that the waves do not drown my sound, I have to hold onto him and push my face against his ear.
"Don't be so naïve Miss Granger. The many times I used to report to the Order, and you were present, paints a picture of the nature of the place we are going to."
My spirits sink down again, throughout this encounter he has continued to be very tight lipped. I look at him, urging him to say something at all that would stop the dread I get of the unknown.
"What am I expected to do?" I ask.
He now moves closer, he pulls his cloak around my head so that the sound of the sea is blocked out and I am able to hear him. Huddled together he says: "I have told the Inner-circle that I have acquired a young bride. We are travelling this way because my associates are greeting us at the Main Entrance to the castle. You must behave as any other Death Eater's wife must behave. You will speak when you are spoken to but when you do it must always be in a toneless, emotionless manner. You will keep your ceremonial robes on at any other time but in our private quarters and you will accompany me whenever and wherever I say. Do you understand?"
I lump of dread whelms in my throat. I nod.
"I will not be leaving Azkaban once we arrive. However, I have installed a fireplace, which you will use to report back to the Order every night at an agreed time. You must listen sharply at every meeting and ritual and must obey everything that anyone from the Inner-circle tells you to do."
I nod again. But stop and shudder. I suddenly realise what he is asking me to become: a death eater; and a spy; and his wife. I haven't yet decided on a limit to my obedience. Should I kill someone if asked to? Hopefully they'll be sexist and view women as too fragile for that job.
I think you have to do good to be good and what I am being asked to do now is not good. You can't do evil acts but still be a good person. I can't kill individuals even if it will save an even greater number of lives. I know that the Death Eaters kill; the Daily Prophet reports rituals and public executions frequently. The newspaper editor is now appointed by The Dark Lord and is known as the Wizard of Propaganda. He manipulates the public into believing the killings are a type of cleansing. Cleanse the magic world of filthy blood, the headline says. It then goes on to explain that the reason why Muggles still rule the world is because there are too many Mudbloods that remain loyal to them. Now, wizarding families are beginning to believe and even support this view. If only they had listened more in Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, they would know that a similar tragic act occurred in Europe approximately seventy years ago.
I've made my decision now. I have travelled halfway there with the decision so I might as well go the distance. I will sacrifice my marriage, my children and everything that I have built up since I left the Order. I feel like I have lost all my integrity in just a couple of days. I feel worthless, without any respect for myself. But this is what must be done. This is what Godric Gryffindor would call bravery.
The boat splinters up against the harsh rocks and I get out. The water is up to my ankles and I have to lift my robes up high so as to not get them wet. Snape is already on the shore; he has a look of great impatience on his stale face. He gestures me over and I stumble over the sharpness of the seabed until I reach him. A stairwell is cut into the rock; we climb up in silence. High above is Azkaban. It is how I imagined. The tallest tower must be a mile high. The stone is as black as the night we are in. I am not surprised to see Dementors circling slowly around the peak of the towers, occasionally swooshing low to embrace the coldness of the sea. One comes close to me, but it has no effect because my mind is drained of all good memories already. We reach a typical drawbridge. The entrance is like any Gothic castle you would see on a late-night horror film. Approaching is some guards. I can tell they recognise Snape because they immediately give him a nod and don't hesitate to lower the bridge. We cross it swiftly.
"The boss is waiting just outside the Main Entrance, sir." One says in an informal manner, he then turns and winks at me, "Well done mate, she's a beauty."
Snape swerves around and bores his eyes into the guard's. The man shakes; I see the top of his spear quivering slightly as he cannot hide his nerves. In an icy voice Snape says: "I think that is only for me to say. May I remind you of your status on this island," he moves even closer to the guard, so that his crooked nose is slightly touching his, "We entrust house elves with greater jobs than you."
"Sorry sir, it won't happen again. Please proceed."
The guard bows and within moments I forget about the encounter. I am going to see "the boss". I do not feel I am ready to come face to face with the Dark Lord yet. I want to rest first, sleep and eat. Maybe even clear my mind of some of the worry. I do not have time to do this, though.
At the entrance stands one lone man, he is masked and wears fine ceremonial robes. The robes are made of the most luxurious velvet, with a silver rim around the edges. There is one single motif that is embroidered onto the breast, the Dark Mark. When we approach Snape immediately takes down his hood and bows. He bows low, down to the ground. Any lower and I thought he might even kiss the masked man's feet. I reluctantly curtsey, although I try not to show my detest. After this, the boss takes off his mask and hood. I see slivering silver hair slide down the robes. I recognise this man suddenly and my blood boils. In some way I think I would have preferred meeting the Dark Lord. This man I hate for personal reasons. Luckily though, he does not recognise me, nor does he recognise that my face is beginning to heat up despite the freezing temperature.
"You must teach her how to curtsy, Severus. I doubt the Dark Lord will forgive such a half-hearted attempt," Lucius Malfoy says in a slick manner.
"It's late, can we discuss her initiation in the morning?" Snape asks.
Malfoy looks at me coldly; I can see in his eyes what he thinks of all wives. Subservient little creatures whose only function is to produce the son and heir of their pureblooded family line.
"She has a fire in her eyes, a great hatred of some type," he says and picks up a lock of my bushy hair, "lively one, am I correct?"
"Certainly but no doubt that will change in time, once she realises what this type of life is like," Snape replies.
Malfoy laughs aggressively and nods with great agreement. He looks directly at me, addressing me like a child: "Yes, you are so full of expectation. You think it's brilliant to marry a man with power. You think he'll protect you," he moves up and whispers in my ear, "But really we only want you for one thing."
Snape shows a slight hint of discomfort in the way Malfoy is treating me, but not enough to actually be concerned.
I look at Malfoy directly in the eye and then open my dry lips to speak: "Actually I am very much prepared for what is ahead and no doubt my husband and his leaders will be grateful for my assistance. Don't worry, I don't shriek at the sight of blood and my stomach doesn't churn at every hex thrown at me. I can fight and I have won many times. I think you will find that I have many more uses than the one you happen to be thinking about." I cannot help the malicious tone of my voice but it may have worked. He may think that I am rotten to the core, like him. He grins at me and chuckles softly.
He smacks me on the arse and says: "She's just what you needed Severus. She'll keep you on your toes, no doubt, and keep you busy. She is something to look forward to after a long day of gatherings and rituals. Is she any good in the bedroom department?"
"Sufficient," Snape says as he grabs me by the hand and begins to pull me towards the entrance. Malfoy follows to the great oak door; he unlocks it and turns around to us again.
"I will leave you to enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you are both expected to attend a meeting at ten."
He walks away and passes through a small side door. Snape opens the front door an inch and then pulls me back, stopping me from entering. I give him an anxious look; I am ready to sleep and not willing to communicate.
"Just to warn you Miss Granger," he says, but then hesitates to see my reaction. I sigh, he is just being patronising. But he holds onto my chin and forces me to look at him; his face is filled with concern now. I understand that what he is about to say is serious.
"Hermione, I am warning you that in this entrance there is a very unpleasant sight. I need you to keep an expressionless face, even if you feel like you need to vomit. If you show any sign of emotion they will know you are a spy."
With this he opens the door. I close my eyes, preparing myself for what I am about to see. When I open them again every cell in my body shrieks with pain. My heart begins to pump hatred rather than blood around my body. Snape moves me closer and closer but as I do a dull throbbing in my legs occurs. They tell me I should not approach something so demonic.
Infront of my eyes is many dissected body parts; arms, legs, torsos and heads. I recognise their owners. The distorted expression on the faces and the scars of the flesh does not hide their identities. The heads are raised up on stakes, like what old Muggle barbarians used to do to their slaughtered enemies. The other body parts are just glued to the wall. Flames smother them, scolding and blistering the flesh but not burning it. My eyes survey each face at a time, remembering when the face was smiling, the cheeks glowing with joy. I have happy memories for each of these people. I mourn their deaths each in turn, just by looking at them with my cold face. The ones I knew had died and the ones that I hoped had possibly survived. In the center was the most valuable and well-earned trophy of them all. Dumbledore's precious silver hair flowed straight down from the stake; the blood that smothers his face and severed neck does not even touch his hair. If it did the blood would dissolve like acid. His face though, remains wise and timeless. The look on his face is the same look as when I last saw him. The look of acceptance in his own fate. I try to blank out what I have just seen. I vision the faces that I did not see there; some who I thought were definitely dead were not hanging up at the entrance. That means there is still hope for them. There is still hope for us.
