She'd vowed to never come here again, yet here she was. Tonks shivered as she stood on the craggy rock; she'd had the foresight this time to wear her hooded coat, and a pair of gloves as well. Her jackrabbit fluttered about her, sniffing at her hair and occasionally brushing against her cheek with a soft, breeze-like sensation. Beside her, Sturgis Podmore stood seemingly relaxed, though she could see him fidgeting.

"Fudge doesn't seem to like the new Warden," he commented.

"I doubt he's had many people flat-out tell him 'no' since he became Minister," Tonks said.

The Warden she'd met last time — Artorias, she'd learned his name was — had apparently resigned from his post. His replacement was a soft-spoken, willowy, seemingly young woman. Her voice was almost melodic in its cadence, yet something about her put Tonks on edge. Alongside the Warden, three other Watchmen blocked the ferry from the increasingly agitated Ministry contingent.

"Bugger the ICW," Fudge shouted. "Azkaban lies only twelve miles off the coast of England, if something goes bloody wrong on that island, it's my responsibility to ensure the people of Magical Britain are safe!"

"Traditionally trained law enforcement will not be able to navigate the prison safely," the Warden said, her eyes flickering to the Aurors that flanked Fudge. "I do not say this to offend. It is merely the truth."

"These are the best Aurors the Ministry has to offer," Madam Bones said coolly. "With your Watchmen as guides, I am certain they can be of use."

"Apologies," said the Warden, her voice almost drowned out by the wind. "I cannot allow your Aurors to enter. I will invite them to cooperate with the Watchmen in the guard towers to ensure dementors and high-security prisoners remain on the island, however."

"Now see here," Fudge said, turning a little red.

"Why didn't Fudge bring the Unspeakables?" Tonks said.

"The Unspeakables don't listen to him and everyone knows it," said Sturgis.

"So? They'd still be more useful than us."

"Nymphie," Sturgis chuckled, and Tonks scowled at the new nickname. Bloody Lyra. "What Minister Fudge has brought is a cameraman. What did you think this was all about?"

Tonks warily glanced at the man setting up a tripod. "So Fudge dragged me out to this hellhole again so he can look better on the polls?"

Sturgis shrugged, and Tonks sighed.

"I hate this place," Tonks muttered, and Sturgis shrugged again.

"I do too," he said. "Somehow I always seem to draw the short straw when some Ministry bigwig needs an escort."

"Karma for your terrible jokes?"

"My jokes are comedy gold," said Sturgis. "I keep morale high in the Auror Corps."

"The real joke is that the Auror Corps wants to keep you around."

"I'll have you know that the only reason the Corps functioned after the Roti Hut takeaway allowance got taken away was my sense of humor and dashing good looks."

"We had a Roti Hut takeaway allowance?"

"Bones and her accountant likes to pretend we never did, but yes."

"Damn," Tonks said, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. "I really picked the wrong time to join. You got Indian while I get Azkaban."

"Cheer up, it could be worse," said Sturgis. "Could be like those poor buggers that have to actually explore the place."

"Yeah," Tonks said softly.

The whole deal was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Gael might've said there was little he could do to stop You-Know-Who from entering, but what would You-Know-Who have to gain from murdering all his best underlings? And most people were decidedly not on his caliber. The only person Tonks could think of that held animosity against the Death Eaters and was on You-Know-Who's level was Dumbledore, and she doubted Dumbledore would've broken and entered one of the most heavily defended facilities in the world for something so out of character.

Tonks felt her lips harden into a thin line. Her stomach churned, remembering the way she had acted toward her cousin; she couldn't imagine the stress the poor girl must be under, now with her nightmare come true. Bellatrix might be dead, and no Death Eaters were unaccounted for, but the fact someone or perhaps something had managed to find its way in was troubling. Tonks' mind was already busy conjuring nightmares. Of dementors and… other things, emerging through whatever hole created by the break-in, following her back to her home.

"Hello, Gael," Tonks said idly.

The tall Watchman stopped beside her, and turned to face the same direction she was looking in, towards the island prison. "Auror Tonks. A pleasure to meet you again."

"Sturgis Podmore," said Sturgis, holding out his hand. It was strange for Tonks to realize that Sturgis — the tallest person she thought she knew — was still an inch or two shorter than Gael. The Watchman really was a freak of nature, in more than one way.

"Call me Gael."

"Better circumstances, and all that," said Sturgis. "Anything you can tell us about this whole incident?"

"Nothing I can tell you officially," said Gael. "But I've heard rumors the ICW is collectively shitting itself."

Sturgis laughed, while Tonks only shuddered. How was he able to remain so chipper, so close to this hellish place?

"Structural damage?"

"Physically? None," said Gael. "Magically? That's a different story."

"The defenses?" Tonks said, her eyes widening.

"They're not broken." Gael hummed. "But they're stretched. Azkaban is agitated."

"Agitated?" Sturgis said.

"It's trying to stop us from going in," said Gael, grimacing. "We've had to evacuate the minor offenders, and a few of the maximum security prisoners have gone missing."

"Escaped in the chaos?"

"No. Their entire cells are gone. Azkaban's rearranging itself on a scale we've never seen before."

Tonks let out a shuddering breath. "Fuck."

"Indeed. I hope this doesn't affect the World Cup. I'll be attending with my children, it'd be a shame if it were delayed, or cancelled."

"You're worried about that?" Tonks said incredulously, and Gael shrugged.

"I arranged for my leave before this all happened," he said. "What happens here for the next month won't be my problem."

"Wish Scrimgeour respected the sanctity of leave as much as your boss does," Sturgis said easily.

"It's in the best interest of the ICW to keep us happily employed," Gael said, his lips twitching so briefly that Tonks wondered if she'd imagined it.

"Oh, bloody hell, yeah. You couldn't keep me here even if I got paid twice as much as I do now." Sturgis peered into Gael's hood. "How much do you get paid, anyway?"

"My children won't want for anything," Gael said. "That's all I need." He turned to Tonks, then, and Tonks fought not to flinch. "Did you find anything new about what we spoke about?"

Sturgis glanced at her curiously, but didn't interrupt. Tonks cleared her throat. "Right. That. I think… Lyra's friend went down there again. He found Slytherin's workshop."

"The Wunderkinder strike again," Sturgis muttered.

"I didn't get all the details, but I heard James spoke to Mad-Eye, and Mad-Eye spoke with the Unspeakables about what he found."

Gael hummed thoughtfully. "Alastor Moody?"

"That's the one," said Tonks.

"You know him?" said Sturgis.

"He's well-connected," Gael said. "I don't know him personally, but word gets around."

Tonks and Sturgis glanced at each other. Mad-Eye had gotten up to a lot of shit over his life, that much was certain, but he was 'well-connected' with Unspeakables and Watchmen?

"Oi." Sturgis nudged Tonks. "Our illustrious Minister, ladies and gentlemen."

Tonks turned her head. The cameraman was directing Fudge into a striking pose; one foot up on a black rock, his hands shoved into his pockets and his coat flaring out behind him, staring out into sea towards Azkaban, the storm-clouds swirling above the monolith. Light flashed and the camera snapped, and Fudge stepped off the rock to approach the cameraman.

"He's a man of action, he is," Sturgis said, and Tonks snorted.

"Watchman," said a soft voice, and Tonks' humor immediately bled away, replaced by a cold dread. "I trust you are not slacking in your duties."

"No, Ma'am," said Gael dryly. "I am supervising the Aurors. I propose we should cut the sugar from our refreshments, or we'll never get them settled for naptime."

Tonks rolled her eyes as Sturgis laughed, and the new Warden gave a slight smile. "I'll take your proposals under advisement," she said, and turned to the two Aurors. "Hello. I am called Maria. I apologize that there is nothing to be done here. We are only waiting on further reports from other Watchmen who volunteered to explore the island."

"It's fine," Sturgis said, though Tonks internally disagreed. "It's not like you dragged us here. That was our Minister. Sturgis Podmore. Pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," said Warden Maria, delicately taking his hand. "And yourself, Madam Auror?"

"Nymphadora Tonks," said Tonks. "Just Tonks is fine."

"Of course, Auror Tonks," she said. She gave a small smile, and though her eyes were still invisible, it felt genuine, and Tonks felt herself relax somewhat.

"So I hear you're the new Warden," said Sturgis. "Do you feel any way about that?"

Maria shrugged. Everything she did felt dainty, and Tonks was almost jealous at her casual elegance. "Not particularly. My duties remain more or less the same, but I have more authority and paperwork now." She turned to Tonks, then. "It's a shame I missed you on your last trip to Azkaban."

Whatever easiness Tonks felt earlier seemed to shrivel up and die. "I guess so."

Tonks looked to the Watchtower, from where a small army of Unspeakables had emerged, clad in their brown, hooded robes. They did not so much as greet the Minister, to the man's chagrin and Sturgis' amusement. However, the people that followed, Tonks didn't recognize.

They looked in part like muggle soldiers. She could see about half of them carrying what were very clearly guns, though she could hardly guess as to what kind they were. Slim shards of dark steel, all angular and sharp. Their body armor was almost entirely black, which to Tonks' eyes looked like a strange mixture of metallic and crystal qualities. A dozen thin rods of the same strange metal surrounded their limbs, connected with hinges to the chestplate. The chestplate extended upwards into a gorget, made with what looked like overlapping steel cables, flexing and extending like muscle fibers, and these in turn connected to an enclosed helm, the soldiers' faces invisible behind what looked like dark, fogged-up glass. Were they squibs, like the all-squib partisan group from Grindelwald's War, die Krampi? But some of them were carrying wands. One of them approached their group, and Tonks tensed. The soldier — for what else could they be? — did not even break their stride, dismissing Tonks as a threat entirely.

"Warden," they called, their voice turned into a sinister hiss by whatever mechanism they wore on their heads.

"Agent," said Maria, unconcerned.

"I understand you already have individuals inside the building?"

"Indeed." Maria gestured to the other Watchman between them. "Watchman Gael will debrief you."

Gael easily stepped forward, showing no sign of surprise. Sturgis' eyes shifted to Tonks, but Warden Maria stepped close and looped her arm through Tonks'. Not particularly subtle, Tonks thought, as Sturgis watched them go with a furrowed brow; then again, from both what she'd been told and from what she'd seen firsthand, the Watchmen didn't seem to the type to play around with politics. There were bigger things at stake, in their collective mind. Tonks idly noted that the Warden was indeed as willowy as she seemed under her thick robes, and slightly shorter than she. She was also surprisingly warm, and Tonks found herself leaning into the female Watchman.

"Who are they?" said Tonks.

"An extragovernmental entity," said Maria. "They are helpful. Usually."

Tonks snorted a bit at the last addition.

"I'm sorry you had to come out today, Auror Tonks."

"It's my job," said Tonks. "I get paid for it."

"Still. To come all the way out here for a photo op…" Maria sighed softly. "This is not a forgiving place. I'm sure you well know."

Tonks nodded slowly.

"Lyra Malfoy, to visit the late Bellatrix Lestrange." The woman's grip on Tonks' arm was gentle, but firm. "The reports left behind by our former Warden paint an interesting picture. Of all the people that visited, none save her have ever recommended placing more security upon the prison."

"I thought she was mad, back then," Tonks said.

"Until now, I would have thought the same." Maria lapsed in silence as they continued to walk around the bleak rock, ignoring the occasional questioning looks they received from the other Aurors. "Then this happened. It's… it's not good."

Tonks felt that queer sensation of simultaneous cusiority and dread; even as a stone settled in her stomach and her palms became cold, her heartbeat quickened and her body seemed to be filled with energy. She licked her lips — it was too cold here — and spoke.

"What happened, exactly?"

"There's much I can't tell you," said Maria, and Tonks saw her bite her tongue. "I'm not sure if I should even be telling you this. But you were the last visitor, you and your cousin, and I cannot help but wonder if there is something I am missing." Maria thinned her lips. "None of the usual magic would have damaged Azkaban the way it did. Something else was at play, something extraordinary."

"What do you mean?"

"Azkaban is ancient and powerful, Auror Tonks. Its defenses did not unravel after Wardens past have placed new enchantments upon them. If whatever we planned affects it too greatly, Azkaban pushes back, and makes its displeasure known. This is not like that. Something happened, something powerful enough to fracture the enchantments woven into this place." Maria's grip tightened momentarily. "I read Watchman Gael's report, but I'd rather hear it from you. Did anything unusual occur during your last visit?"

"There was an earthquake—"

"Uncommon, but not unexpected," said Maria. "It happens once or twice a day."

"What about the runes?"

"The runes? Ah, you mean on the arches. I'm not certain what they are, but they have been present for many years with nothing happening. Even the newest ones have been there for at least half my life."

"And the whispers?"

Maria froze mid-step. "What whispers?"

Tonks stared at the woman. "From the tunnel. From the one that goes down and down."

Warden Maria slowly turned to meet her eyes. Her expression of fear, though shadowed and in dim light, was clear to Tonks. Maria's pale eyes glittered in the dark, promising nothing but ruin, and Tonks wondered if her life would ever return to normalcy again.

"I see," said Maria, and she continued to walk as if nothing happened. But Tonks could feel her grip on her arm, no longer as gentle as it had been, the stiffness of her gait. Tonks turned to the east, where a yet-unseen sun cast a watercolor of dark gold and violets across the horizon. Though it dispelled the darkness of the island, it could not dispel the dark thoughts in her mind.


The fire was roaring.

Embers spitting, soot bellowing; the fireplace was more akin to a kiln, the chimney howling with flame; James had had to pull the tattered rug back as the ashes kept setting it alight. After that flight back to the British mainland, so cold that frost had gathered along his feathers and tried to drag him into the cold, dark sea, the warmth should have been a relief. He didn't feel relieved. He had been sitting here for a good thirty minutes, now, but the cold didn't go away, settled in his body like it belonged there.

Beside him, Lyra was similarly wrapped in blankets, as she leaned against him and he against her. Her skin burned, simultaneously hot and cold, and it hurt to touch; James suspected that he felt the same way to her. A pale, shimmering raven perched upon a windowsill while a similarly ethereal cat slid between them, its tail curling around their arms and legs. James shivered, flexing his frozen fingers, then stood.

He peered out the door. Some twenty-five miles from Azkaban, the prison likely still visible were the skies clearer, but in the dark of night, James could only hope they were safe, that nothing followed their scents like a bloodhound on a trail. This lonely shack, perhaps someone's old summer home until they died, had been selected as their hideout a few months ago already. Enough time that they'd fixed up the windows and replaced the rotting boards and gave it a homey touch, but whatever little additions they made did not bring the warmth back into their bones.

From the direction of the island prison a wave of dread washed over him, and he shuddered, almost falling to his knees. Azkaban had not been kind to him, even less so to Lyra. More than once he'd tangibly felt raw hatred like this as he flew, threatening to sweep his raven form out of the air, threatening to drown him in the cold waters of the North Sea. He stumbled back into the cabin, and knelt beside Lyra. She stared lifelessly into the fires, her lips moving in silent prayer.

"Lyra," he said.

Lyra didn't respond.

"Lyra," he tried again, more urgently, and Lyra slowly turned to look at him.

"James?" she said, her voice a whisper, seemingly without the energy to speak any louder.

James swallowed heavily. "How do you feel?" he said, feeling like a fool even as he asked. "Does anything hurt?"

"Cold," Lyra said.

James braced against the back of the couch and pushed her towards the fire, as close as she dared. The heat of the inferno washed over them, and James' raven fluttered close and landed silently on the backrest of the seat. Lyra shivered a little. With her a little closer to the light, James noticed something off about her.

He reached down and took Lyra's hand, prying her fingers open. James stared at her broken skin stained deep red; how long had Lyra kept her injury quiet? Her palm had been sliced open in places by mangled metal, thin bands of gold that had shattered into hard edges, and splinters of glass, almost too small to be seen by eye, embedded in a dozen different places. James lowered himself to his knees beside her, and with the light of the fireplace and Patronuses combined, attempted to remove the glass. With both him and Lyra shivering violently, it took a while.

"Scourgify," James said. "Episkey."

The dried blood was scoured away, and what cuts hadn't already scabbed over closed entirely. James picked up the twisted remains of the time-turner, gathering up the gold chain into his palm, and dropped it into his pocket. So many months of effort, painstakingly recreating Hermione's time-turner, gone, vanished after a single use.

"What happened?" he said.

Lyra continued to stare unblinking at the fire, but eventually she spoke.

"I killed them," she said, her voice almost inaudible over the roaring fire. "Saved Bellatrix for last. She begged me not to kill her." Lyra's eyes sharpened for a moment, regaining their luster, a fleeting victory. "Then I turned around to find you again. I climbed back up the stairs, and… I kept passing by the same cells. I kept seeing Bellatrix, no matter how many steps I climbed. I know because the step in front of her cell was covered in her blood." Lyra curled into herself. "I couldn't find you. I knew you were there, somewhere, but I couldn't reach you. I don't know how long I was in there for. The place kept shifting so that I wasn't moving anywhere… the Patronus Pendant ran out — which it isn't supposed to do — and the dementors could've Kissed me, but they didn't. They just followed me, forced me to keep moving."

James clenched his fists.

"James," Lyra whispered, "it wouldn't let me out."