Disclaimer: See prologue chapter.

Background: See prologue chapter.

A/N: See prologue chapter.

Beta: Lady of the Shards

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Chapter 15

In a boat on the way to Azkaban – General

The closer they got to the island that housed the prison, the paler both Anthea and Mycroft were becoming along with their escort and the rougher the ride.

Mycroft got a terrible feeling in his stomach causing him to turned his head slightly to look at Anthea and saw Anthea tighten her lips, close her eyes and shake her head slightly. The guards must be starting to affect her as well.

'Mycroft make – No don't go!'

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, trying to block the sound of his brother's voice. The guards were starting to affect him too, though luckily it was just sound and not picture as well. Yet. He gripped his umbrella tightly.

'I hate you! Leave me alone!'

Mycroft shook his head as if to rid himself of the past memory. Didn't his escort have something to get rid of the guards for people approaching the island?

'Sherlock!'

Mycroft's closed his eyes again tightly, trying to erase the image that accompanied his own voice now. The day which he finally convinced Sherlock for good to kick his habit would be forever etched in Mycroft's mind.

Suddenly their escort pointed and said, "Expecto Patronum."

Mycroft opened his eyes in time to see something silvery shoot out and start to push something back – the guards Mycroft suspected – and the voices in his head and the terrible feeling disappeared, and not a moment too soon, though he started to feel shaky. He disliked this feeling, this feeling of weakness.

"Sorry about that," said their escort. "The Dementors aren't supposed to be out this far. We'll have a clear path from here on out."

Mycroft nodded his head, unable to speak for the moment. He gripped his umbrella even tighter. He hadn't thought about those past three horrid days in ages.

"Sir," said Anthea passing him a piece of chocolate with a hand shaking slightly, though she was hiding it well.

"Have one yourself," said Mycroft accepting the piece and eating it.

Anthea nodded taking a piece and offering one to their escort as well who accepted it gratefully.

A few minutes later, their escort spoke again and said, "We should be there in a moment."

"Excellent," said Mycroft, his color still not back but no longer was he hearing the voices of his brother and himself in his head.

A few minutes after that they bumped onto the edge of the island that housed the prison. There was a small path for them to walk before they reached an entrance into the actual prison.

Before they made a move to get out of the boat, Mycroft turned towards their escort and said, "Mister Black is waiting for us in a room, correct?"

"Yes, sir," said the man. "He should have been moved by now and will be situated in the room you are to use by the time you get there."

Mycroft nodded and said, "After you."

The man nodded – using his wand to anchor the boat to the shore – before he stood and started to lead the way with Mycroft and Anthea following him.

They walked in silence with their heads bent against the strong wind off the sea before they got refuge in the prison itself.

"Here," said the man once they were inside and he put an ensorcellment on a tense – with good reason – Mycroft and Anthea, but they were only warmed and dried off.

Mycroft and Anthea nodded their thanks and waited as the man did the same to himself.

Once the man was finished he said, "Right. There should be another guard up ahead to meet us to lead you to the room and Mister Black."

Mycroft nodded and followed the man as he started to walk down the hall. It was straight forward so far – no maze-like hallways like he was used to when he had to talk to a prisoner in one of the special prisons.

"Is that you, Dawlish?" asked a female voice up ahead.

"Yes, Bones. Along with –" started Dawlish.

"I know who you are escorting," said Bones, turning the corner. "Well, let's go. Mister Black is in the room waiting for you Mister Holmes." She started to lead them.

"Thank you, Madam Bones," said Mycroft. "Will the two of you be standing outside the room while we are in there?"

"Yes," said Bones.

"But you will not be listening in, correct?" asked Mycroft.

"No. You have our word," said Bones as if the idea of listening in was ludicrous.

"How reassuring," said Mycroft, tapping his umbrella on the ground.

Bones and Dawlish didn't say anything to the sentence, sensing it was sarcastic.

"Here we are," said Bones after they walked for a few minutes, stopping outside a plain, stone door. "You will need to leave your umbrella out here." She directed the last statement to Mycroft.

"It's just an umbrella," said Mycroft looking at her. "I use it to lean on and to obviously prevent the rain from hitting me, nothing more."

"It can be used as a weapon," said Bones.

"But does one of your fine stature know how to use an umbrella as a weapon?" asked Mycroft. "Would Mister Black?"

"I suspect not guessing by his family but –" started Bones.

"Then I see no reason why I would have to surrender my umbrella to you," said Mycroft with finality in his voice, daring Bones to argue.

Bones frowned and exchanged a look with Dawlish, who shrugged. It was Mycroft Holmes after all.

"On your own head then," said Bones.

"So it would seem," said Mycroft.

Bones continued on as if he didn't say that and said, "The door will stay locked behind you. Knock when you are finished and you want to be let out."

"Of course," said Mycroft. "Shall we get started then."

Bones opened her mouth like she was going to say more but closed it and nodded her head, knowing that Mister Holmes was ready to get started.

"Good luck," said Bones, opening the door.

"Luck is for simpletons," said Mycroft stepping into the room followed by Anthea.

"Of course it is," said Bones as she shut the door and locked it.

Mycroft looked around the room, taking in the sight of Mister Black seated at a table – disheveled in appearance, dirty with an odor of a man desperately in need of a long bath and with a look in his eyes of having seen horrors every day for the past few years of his life – with a confused look as to why he was there in the room though he turned towards the door as soon as it opened.

Mycroft stepped further into the room, Mister Black's haunted eyes following him the entire way. Mycroft stopped on the opposite side of the table.

"First things first, Mister Black. How much do you care about your godson?" asked Mycroft looking Black directly in the eye.

"What?" asked Black hoarsely, looking at the man in front of him incredulously.

"It is a simple question, Mister Black, and as we are on a time constraint, I need your answer," said Mycroft staring intently at Black.

Black stared at him for a moment more before he said, in a strong still hoarse voice, "I love him as if he were my own."

Mycroft stared at Black for a second longer, assessing him and determining that whether or not he was guilty of murdering the thirteen people he was accused of – which would be determined by Mycroft before he left – he wasn't guilty of betraying Mister Potter's parents, that was plain as day in that simple sentence; his voice – intonation full of love but yet sadness, his posture –defeated, his eyes – hopeful yet defeated at the same time, letting the haunted look disappear for just a moment before reappearing.

Mycroft, with no change to his tone of voice or face, then said, "Excellent. I need you to quickly look through these pictures, without asking questions if you please," Mycroft added when Black opened his mouth to do just that, "and see if you can recognize anyone. It's for your godson's safety."

Black pursued his lips and nodded tightly. If prison had done anything for him, it was giving him a touch of patience, just barely.

Anthea, who Black had just noticed standing in the room with them, brought over the folder with the pictures at the nod and Black started to go through them quickly but carefully.

There was silence for a few minutes with the exception of Black's turning of the page.

"This one," said Black holding up a picture. "This is Arabella Figg. I knew her when I was working for the Order."

"Anyone else?" asked Mycroft watching him carefully as Anthea took the picture and made a note.

"These two are Lily's relatives. Dursley or something. I can't remember their first names," said Black holding up the next pictures.

Anthea took those pictures as well, making notes while Mycroft continued to watch Black go through the rest of the pictures.

When he got to the last picture, Black looked up at the two of them and said, "I don't recognize anyone else. What's this for anyway?"

Mycroft ignored the question as he turned to Anthea who was collecting the picture and folder from Black and said, "Operation Indigo is go."

Anthea nodded, walked over to the door, knocked on it and then walked out of it when it was opened, talking quickly and quietly to the one who opened the door as it shut behind her and relocked.

Mycroft, who had watched Anthea leave the room, then turned in the direction of Black and moved to sit in front of him.

Before Black could say anything, however, Mycroft said, "Let's talk about the night of the Potters' deaths. I'm sure you have an interesting story to tell."

Black was silent for a moment. He looked as if he were debating telling Mycroft anything but Harry's safety weighed heavily on his mind. Coming to a decision, he told his story, hesitating only slightly.

Mycroft sat and listened to Black speak with a blank look on his face, giving away nothing of his thoughts. When Black was finished, Mycroft was silent as he assessed Black before he finally spoke, asking one simple thing, "Tell me something, Mister Black," Mycroft looked at Black directly in his eyes, "What would you do for your godson?"

Azkaban outside the room; same time – Anthea

"I need to get back to the vehicle that I came in immediately," said Anthea, looking at the man who escorted her and her boss.

"Er-" the man, Dawlish, looked at his boss.

"What for?" asked Bones.

"I'm afraid that's classified right now, ma'am," said Anthea, smiling slightly.

"Classified?" asked Bones, sounding indignant.

Anthea nodded in confirmation before looking back at Dawlish, "Time is of the essence."

Bones and Dawlish exchanged a look before Bones nodded once in Dawlish's direction and Dawlish led Anthea back out to the boat.

Hogwarts – Dumbledore

Dumbledore paced his office, as he had been doing for the past day, while he waited for the professor he sent a house-elf for. There was no choice. The letter he had received from Arabella Figg was of no help as well. She didn't know anything and Dumbledore, himself, had tried every spell he knew to try to find out if Harry Potter was well and where he was located. He had failed in his attempt, much to his disappointment.

Dumbledore was going to have to investigate Privet Drive – because where else would the disturbance be – himself.

Dumbledore looked at his watch while he let out a sigh. The professor he was waiting for was late on purpose. He continued to pace.

Finally, there was a knock on his office door.

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk while he told the professor to enter. The only question left – besides what happened to Harry Potter and the warding around Privet Drive – was would the professor, who just swooped into his office, agree to come with him?

A/N2: About time right? Real life - can be a real witch and in my life when it rain, it doesn't just downpour, it's a freaking hurricane and blizzard all rolled into one. So for now this is the only chapter that is finished. I've made you guys wait long enough I think for a chapter so I decided to post this now even though I wanted to wait for the others to be finished first. I do have the rest of this story plotted out - I've decided to make this into a series of three stories - and this story has roughly fifteen or so more chapters (the number may change when I actually write it out) and depending how long it takes me to write them, I may not post again until this story is finished so it could be a while. Just a heads up and keep an eye on my profile, I really do update that when I'm writing.