Epilogue.
The cold bit deep in this foul place, it never seemed to leave once it had dug its icy claws into you.
He puffed out a breath of air, watching its small plume disperse as it was snatched by the wind as he stared out at the crashing waters of the north sea. He could see the small fleet of sloops that carted prisoners and guards to and from the island prison, one of his fellow guards was down there waiting for a new inmate to this little slice of paradise.
His eyes flitted between the two cloaked figures that were hovering above his colleague, his skin crawled as he looked down upon them. This was not his first rotation guarding the prison and still, he was not used to seeing the desiccated, skeletal forms of the Dementors, the nightmarish creatures floated about as they willed. He loathed the floating horrors and despite the words of his superiors never trusted them.
He made it a point to keep his wand in hand at all times when he had to deal with the foul things, he would not put it past one of the creatures to snatch one of the guards if given the opportunity in search of a quick meal. He knew in his heart that they only tolerated him and his fellow Aurors' because they were allowed to feed off the pain and misery of the inmates, if they had their way they would be constantly feasting on the souls of the poor fools that had inhabited this place.
The screech of rusted hinges sounded and he turned to see a huge man step into the room, broad-shouldered and with skin like polished ebony he found a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Shack." he said as a way of greeting.
The man gave him a small nod in return, "Stebbins. I take it, Hawkthorn went to pick up our latest guest?" The man's deep rumbling voice was a welcome sound and he relished the thought of some human company.
He nodded at his superior words. "Lucky bugger. He pulled the longer straw again. The third time in a row, I would think he was cheating but his transfiguration is dogshit."
There was a hint of bitterness in his words, the small dock was one of the few places that were warded with some of the strongest protection magic the Ministry could provide. It did not get rid of the feeling of dread completely but it was a dim speck compared to the awful miasma that clung to the ancient edifice.
Kingsley Shacklebolt laughed at that, he was one of the few who could when working this hell hole. "I will ensure you get the next pick up, we could all use a little bit of comfort right now."
Stebbins gave a nod at that, his eyes found the newspaper, still where he had left it. Upon the front page, he saw the Minister and the Head of the DMLE holding a press conference in the atrium of the Ministry, the words in big, bold letters made a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with the Dementors.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns.
He had been left reeling after he had read the headlines, if he had not got into trouble with his dealings with that arrogant Dwarf he would have been one of the Aurors that had faced the Dark Lord and his new followers. It had not been a pleasant thought, yet it had left a sense of guilt hanging about him. If he had been there he may have been able to save a few of his colleagues, or do something other than stand in this freezing dump and twiddle his thumbs.
The more he thought about it the stronger his anger grew, he grabbed the paper in one hand and rolled it tightly before he gave his fellow Auror a nod.
"I'm going to make my rounds, if I stand about any longer I'll freeze to death."
Kingsley merely waved him off, already intent on lighting the fires about the room that had died down already, he had not long ago done the same thing and once more cursed this forsaken place.
His walk through the many corridors lined with small cells did little to soothe his already agitated mind. The forlorn moans and quiet sobs of these lower levels were nothing compared to the insane rambling or eerie silence of those up above, the limited protections about the small barracks where the guards resided offering them come defence against the effect of the Dementors.
As he continued his rounds his thoughts would often return to the Blackwood boy and his freak of a foster father. The boy had killed a fellow student, and yet it seemed as if no one cared about the life he had taken because the spectre of the Dark Lord seemed to be hanging over everything. That was not even considering the blow he had received from the dwarf, his hand raised to trace the thick purple scar that went from his chin and across his lower lip.
He had come out the worse after their encounter, his boss had not been happy he had risked offending a prominent family and a political disaster with the Dwarves. As soon as Scrimgeour had finished chewing him out he had been on the next ship to this Eden of peace and tranquillity.
His thoughts continued to spiral, a churning mass of humiliation, frustration and anger that just seemed to be amplified the longer he walked the corridors of Azkaban. He lost track of time as he brooded upon his current lot in life, it was not until he found himself face to hooded face with one of the foul Dementors that he realised where he now found himself to be.
A thick gate of iron bars barred his way and beyond he could see a number of the Dementors as they glided up and down the corridor he and his colleagues had named Dead Men's Road.
Only one of the horrors hovered upon this side of the barrier, a lone guard to allow entrance to and from the most secure section of the entire prison.
Serial killers, Dark wizards and traitors all called this place home.
The worst of the worst had been thrown past this gate and left to the tender mercies of the Dementors, which he had seen happen the first time he had been assigned to the island not long after he had joined the Aurors.
Alistair Moody had caught a Dark Wizard who had been active in London, the man had been capturing muggles for sick experiments and rumour had it as pleasure slaves that he sold to the highest bidder. Moody had personally handed the bastard to the Dementors and Stebbins had seen the grizzled veteran smile as the man had screamed himself hoarse as he was dragged into the dark beyond the gate.
This was the worst part about his rotation at the prison. Every time he had to do his rounds he hesitated at this gate, those beyond terrified him and he was not afraid to admit it.
Most had given in to the depression created by the Dementors, some had even taken their own lives to be rid of the torment of the foul creatures.
Yet, there were some within that had not given in despite over a decade of constant exposure to the Dementors.
The slow screech of the gates brought him back to reality, and he found the fetid breath of the gate guard washing over him as the Dementor moved closer to him without a sound. His wand was up in an instant as he brandished it threateningly towards the abomination, he got the distinct sense of amusement from the gate guard as it glided backwards until it was just out of reach of his wand.
Slowly one rotten hand lifted until it pointed towards the gate.
"If you pass beyond the gate, your death will find you tonight."
Stebbins could only stare in shock as the quiet, rasping wheeze of the Dementor's voice washed over him. In all his years of dealing with them, he had never heard one of them speak and he dearly wished that he had never heard this one's vile words.
A pulse of silver light issued from his wand that sent the Dementor careening into the wall nearest the gate. "Back to your station, creature!"
He sneered as the Dementor gave an unearthly shriek as the silver light of his Patronus pinned it to the wall, in the corridor beyond the gate he watched as the rest of its foul kind fled into the dark as the silvery light spilt over the stones.
Walking towards the gatekeeper, he tried to ignore the cold weight that had settled into his heart, flicking his wand and sending another pulse of silver light that brought another screech from the Dementor. He stared triumphantly as he lessened his spell letting the gatekeeper drop to the stone, he felt somewhat cheated when it did not offer up a grunt of pain but he turned and without another word he made for the open gate.
It seemed the absence of the Dementors and their debilitating aura of depression had stirred the inmates, he could see a few of them pressing their grime smeared faces against the rusted bars of their cell doors.
He stared at their dead, emotionless eyes as he walked past but when they caught sight of the scrunched up newspaper that he still held in his hand it seemed to awaken a desperate hunger in them. They threw themselves at the cell doors, as they shoved gaunt and skeletal arms through the bars to try and pluck it from his fingers.
The worst was Bellatrix Lestrange, a once beautiful woman but now covered in filth and stinking and completely and utterly insane. The woman was utterly naked, as she offered herself to him if he would just give her news of the outside world.
He just shook his head at the woman, he knew there were some among the Aurors who would have taken her up on the offer but he could never bring himself to do such a thing.
"Put your saggy tits away, Bella. No one wants to see old crazy and cooky knocking about in the wind."
A rasping voice called out of the cell opposite her own, and Stebbins' frowned as he realised just who had spoken. He ignored the deranged yelling of Bellatrix behind him as he came to a stop outside the one cell that did not have someone pressed up against the bars.
A scowl quickly drew his brows together as he stared at the ragged and dirty form of Sirius Black, the man who had once been a prominent figure in Magical Britain. The once Heir of House Black, cast out of the family at a young age yet seemingly uncaring of the shame that should have crippled him as he had thrown his lot in with Potters. A family he had then betrayed to the Dark Lord for the promise of power and fortune.
"Well, well Black. I have to say the apple has certainly fallen far from the tree in your case. It seems as if your spawn has managed to do what you could not. "
Sirius just stared at him with hate-filled eyes, something it seemed the Dementors had not been able to take from him. He alone of all the inmates had never faltered in his hatred.
"What are you talking about? It must be bad for the Aurors if they have started to recruit idiots into their forces."
Stebbins' wand shot forward a stinging hex lancing out that brought a howl of pain from the man. He threw the newspaper into the man's cell where despite his pain Sirius jumped on it like a starving man with a morsel of meat.
Only he stopped as he stared at the front page.
He read the title aloud, his voice seeming to silence the cries of the others as his words registered with those in the other cells.
He ignored the cries of glee that erupted, especially from Bellatrix's cell. He continued to stare hard at Sirius Black as the man's face scanned the article again and again. Only to turn wide staring eyes towards him, "What is this? Wh…"
The man turned his eyes back to the words upon the page and Stebbins could only grin evilly at him.
"You didn't know, did you?" Stebbins laughed maniacally as Black fell onto the stone shelf that served as a bed, still staring at the paper in his hands as it detailed everything that had happened at the school. "Your son, Black. He's a child and he managed to do what you could not. It seemed that your Dark Lord wanted your get to join him, but the boy had the sense to refuse." He sneered at the man that looked as if his world was falling apart about him. "Unfortunately, he's already a little killer just like dear old dad. Now if I had my way he would be rotting in the cell next door, but it seems that the privileged little shit is going to get away with murder."
He could only laugh cruelly at the man in the cell when he continued to utter the same words again and again.
"I have a son. Harry is with him. I have a son, Harry is with him."
Again and again, he continued to mutter the same words, Stebbins just shook his head as the man seemed to have finally been broken and his continued taunts had no effect whatsoever.
Yet he refused to leave the man without getting one last dig at the serial killer.
"Rumour among the Aurors is that your bastard has made an enemy of the Dark Lord. You see after their last confrontation your spawn, his bitch mother and that mongrel Foster father of his caused him no end of problems. Even Potter was involved somehow, and now your dear Dark Lord has them in his sights. I wonder how long it will be before the man you sold yourself out to kills your bastard and Boy-Who-lived, hmm?"
Seeing the dejected look that crumpled the man's face, Stebbins turned away with a victorious smirk.
He had nearly reached the end of the first section when resumed his walk when a howl split the night.
Silence settled over them like an oppressive blanket as the world seemed to wait with bated breath. Screams had him spinning around only to nearly add his own to those of the inmates.
There in the middle of the hallways stood a ragged looking hound. Like something out of legend, the bedtime stories his mother had once told him sprung to mind as he took in the snarling visage of a Grim.
Before he could even raise his wand to try and ward off the creature, the beast's jaws were clamped onto his shoulder and bearing him to the ground. In desperation, he lashed out jabbing his wand into the Grim's almost skeletal ribs forcing the beast back with a yip of pain.
Quickly he pushed himself back onto his knees, but before he could even lift his wand to begin casting the hound was back on its feet and charging toward him.
This time the Grim's sharp teeth gripped his wrist and he screamed as a shake of the hound's massive head snapped bone with a sickening crack. His wand fell from now limp wrist, and before he could grab it with his other hand the Grim had picked it up in its jaws and fled down the corridor.
About him, the silver radiance of his Patronus light sputtered and died and soon he was left in utter darkness, yet he was not alone in the dark for long.
The screech of the gate opening at the end of the corridor echoed loudly in the darkness, and then he heard it. The whisper-quiet of a rasping rattle in the distance.
Another, closer this time.
Closer still.
Then he felt the fetid breath washing over him, and he could only scream as bony hands that felt as if they were carved from ice clasped onto his face and forced it upwards as the rasping rattle grew until it was all-consuming.
Sirius did not stop running, even after the screams abruptly cut off far behind him.
In his jaws he held the answer to all his prayers, he would soon be free from this hellhole and then he would find his son and Harry.
The thought of his child, a stranger to him filled him with a confusing mix of emotions that he had no idea how to process. Yet, the animal mind he had hidden behind for so many years held no such concerns. In the strange duality of his current existence the canine mind sought familiar grounds, it sought the memory of a pack and Harry and his child offered that.
His escape from his cell did not seem to have raised an alarm yet, but he could not rely on that forever. Sooner or later the other human guards of the island prison would discover that one of their own was dead or as good as, and his escape would only paint a larger target on his back.
He bounded down several flights of stairs, heading in a direction away from the rotting stench of the Dementors when he came across a barred down. Standing on his hind legs, he could just peer out of the small grille at head height and see a balcony that looked out over the north sea.
With an effort he shifted back into his human form, suppressing the part of him that his friends had named Padfoot. As had become the norm over the last few years the canine mind refused him at first, it seemed that the longer he spent in his animal form the harder it became to tell the difference between human and beast.
Finally, he stood as a man once more and plucking the wand from his mouth he took a moment to focus his already weary mind. With surprising difficulty he managed to recall only the simplest of unlocking charms, it failed to open the door but an alarming pulse of Magic shot outwards from the door and his keen ears could hear a wailing siren blaring in the distance. With a howl of frustration that was more canine than man, he jabbed his stolen wand forward as a blast of pure magic tore from the Foci sending splinters of wood in every direction.
Without waiting for the dust to settle, he ran through the shattered entryway and took his first breath of fresh air.
It was glorious.
Free of the stale taste of sweat and days old shit. Free of the rot of the Dementors. Simply Free.
The rapid patter of heavy boots quickly brought his attention back to the situation as a flash of spell light shot past his head. He quickly returned fire instinctively with one of his old favourites and conjured webs filled the doorway, and he heard the muffled cries of an Auror within the mass of silken threads.
Turning he stared at the edge of the parapet and far below the crashing waters of the north sea, the only thoughts running through his head were of leaving this place and finding his son and Godson.
Without hesitation, he ran and threw himself over the lip of the parapet, and as he hurtled towards the waters below his only thought.
I am going to find my boys.
End of Book One.
