Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER TWO –

Darkness beyond Sufferance

'OUCH!'

Harry blinked the last of the whirlwind of colour from his vision as he was roughly pulled to his feet. The manacles bit into his wrists as Dawlish tweaked his wand, dragging the four of them towards a tall dark stone building. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that they had landed on the edge of the highest cliff he had ever seen (not that he had seen many cliffs) and understood why Dawlish had pulled so hard; they had been about to fall over the edge. Turning back, he got his first view of Azkaban prison.

Standing half as tall as Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower, it looked like a plain stone box. No windows or doors marked the individual cells, nor did there appear to be any drains or outlets of any kind. The walls were dark, contrasting starkly with centuries of salt rime encrusted in every crack. The stone itself was unlike any Harry had seen before, cut far more smoothly than the stone blocks used in medieval castles or even Hogwarts and this, coupled with the salt, made the walls impossible to scale physically. What enchantments were also protecting the perimeter, further thwarting escape, he could only guess.

Although most of the cliff top was rock, Harry noticed an area to one side which contained sufficient soil to sprout a few weeds, and a small part of his mind wondered fleetingly if that area was where Voldemort's uncle, Morfin Gaunt was buried. The rest of his mind was absorbed with the fact that they had reached the entrance.

Tall and square like the rest of the building, the edges were cut in such a way that it seemed to have been an afterthought, as if the original architects had intended for the prison's inmates to be permanently sealed in. A steel portcullis filled the cavity, its bars no further apart than the width of Harry's clenched fist. He shuddered at the memory of Sirius saying he had been thin enough to squeeze between the bars and felt a surge of hot anger towards the man who had been responsible for Sirius spending twelve years within these walls. Then he looked up and the anger's heat turned to ice.

Each of the eighteen stones wedged tightly together to stretch above the width of the gateway had a single word carved deep into its surface:

Despair thy darkness marked beyond all sufferance for ne'er shalt light shine more upon the evil thus contained.

Harry wasn't certain if it was a spell, a warning, or just stating a fact. All he knew was that it did not bode well … and he didn't like it.

Light certainly wasn't shining upon them. Even though it was a clear night with no cloud cover, there were no stars or moon to be seen anywhere. It was almost like the night, two years ago, when Dementors had tried to attack Dudley and himself, but there weren't any Dementors here, not now. They had long since deserted their posts and joined Voldemort. Perhaps the lack of heavenly bodies was part of the magic of Azkaban – potential escapees wouldn't be able to find north, so would not know in which direction sanctuary lay.

As Scrimgeour tapped the portcullis with his wand (a very deep sound, like a gong, seemed to vibrate up from the rock beneath their feet), Harry glanced across at the others. Ron looked like Harry felt – as pale as a ghost, Hermione seemed to have lost some of her confidence (even without any Dementors, it still seemed like a hellhole), Mrs Figg was on the verge of collapse. Harry wasn't certain if Azkaban was protected by the same charm which stopped Muggles seeing Hogwarts or not, but as that didn't seem to work on the Hogwarts caretaker Mr Filch, as a Squib, Mrs Figg could probably see what the rest of them could. And it was having a devastating effect on her.

Percy poked his wand hard in the middle of Mrs Figg's back to make her stop muttering incoherently (Ron forgot his own problems long enough to throw a dirty look in his brother's direction), then he glanced across at Harry.

'You've only got yourself to blame, you know.' (Harry noticed Ron turning red.) 'You should have done what the Minister requested instead of throwing in your lot with Dumbledore. He was never very good at abiding by the law – lying to the Ministry, attacking Aurors and raising an army against the Minister – and you've been getting yourself tarred with the same brush. First you break rules left right and centre at Hogwarts,' (Harry bit his tongue very hard to stop himself saying anything) 'as well as associating with escaped murderers and lying about being attacked by Dementors, and now you go and curse a group of Mug –'

Harry blinked. Percy was lying on the ground several feet away, blood pouring from a broken nose into his mouth and down his chin. He dazedly spat out a mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth landed on the ground beside him. Ron, whose face was mulberry by now, was being forced against the stone wall at wandpoint as Dawlish looked across at the Minister for further instructions. Unable to punch Percy because of the manacles binding his wrists, Ron had sunk his foot into his brother's face with a kick which would have done any Muggle football team proud.

'Don't make matters worse for yourself, Weasley; you're in enough trouble as it is.' Scrimgeour told Ron as he tapped Percy's nose with his wand to stop the bleeding, then helped him to his feet. 'And to make certain it doesn't happen again …' Scrimgeour waved his wand and Ron's manacles visibly tightened, making him wince with pain.

Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to protest at the Minister's own law breaking, but Harry managed to catch her eye and shook his head. For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore his warning, but she fortunately thought better of it, her shoulders hunching in defeat as the portcullis started to open. The sound of the metal grating against the stone was like someone scratching their nails down a blackboard, making everyone's teeth hurt.

The other side of the entrance was just as dark as the outside had been and even though the thing which was now leading them deep into the fortress was carrying a torch, the light seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. All Harry could see was a dim flickering flame floating along the corridor at head height; even the guard was little more than a shadow against the darkness.

They had been creeping along for ten minutes (right, left, left again, then another right) when something pulled Harry's foot out from under him, making him stumble.

'Now, now, enough of this nonsense! What game do you think you're playing at?'

Harry tasted blood on his lips from where his face had slammed into the cold stone lining their path. He tried to stand but his foot was caught between metal, something sharp biting into the flesh. Had he stepped into some kind of trap?

Scrimgeour snatched the torch from the guard and magically enhanced its glow so he could clearly discover what the problem was.

Finally able to see, Harry looked back towards his foot, expecting to see a mangled, bloodied mess. Instead, he saw that his foot had been pulled between the bars covering a small access hole near the base of a cell door. A thin hand gripped his ankle, long dirt-encrusted nails digging into his skin, unwilling to loosen their hold. And peering through the bars at him from amidst long unkempt dirty white-blond hair and beard, a pair of steelgrey eyes flashed dangerously.

'Well, well, Potter; what a sight for sore eyes.'

Azkaban hadn't had as great an effect on Lucius Malfoy as it did on his sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange, but the past year had still taken its toll. Once-haughty cheeks had sunk inwards, accentuating the high cheekbones further; his already-pale skin looked quite grey in the dim light and his sneer lacked impact behind a year's growth of beard. Malfoy's eyes weren't as sunken and hollow as Sirius's had been, but they still kept dimming from dangerous to haunted and back again, as if struggling to remember how to look proud.

But if Malfoy had forgotten how to be snobbish, he had certainly not forgotten how to be evil. His nails dug in deeper as the grey eyes swept from Harry's bound hands to Dawlish's wand pointed at Harry's head. Something seemed to pass between the two men as their eyes met, then Lucius Malfoy laughed.

Never before had Harry heard laughter like that, not even from Voldemort. It echoed through Azkaban's hallways, increasing in mania with each wave, sending shivers racing down Harry's spine and making his hair stand on end.

Everything which was terrible about Azkaban seemed to intensify with the sound of that laughter: the cold, the smell, the decay. Harry understood in that moment how a prisoner as handsome as Sirius could fade away to a hollow shell, a mere shadow of his former self. It wasn't the Dementors (though they certainly wouldn't have helped). It was the darkness etched into the very stones which held a man prisoner, making him despair of ever seeing light again. In that moment, Harry truly believed the words marking the entrance and struggled to breathe against the darkness squeezing the light out of his own soul.

'Dawlish, what do you think you're doing? Restrain that prisoner!'

Scrimgeour's voice seemed to come from a long way off, mixing with the echoes of Malfoy's laughter. Harry could feel shadows pressing against him, then something hot flashed around his ankle and the nails released their hold.

Struggling to his feet, Harry tried to suppress the series of shudders wracking his body. He wasn't sure if they were reaction to the shock of Malfoy's attack, or the sudden cold which was drifting along the corridor like an icy mist. There also seemed to be small creatures skittering around just out of the light, making Ron twitch nervously. Hermione was hunched down on the ground, a very panicky note in her voice as she frantically repeated, 'I can't remember, I can't remember,' over and over.

Harry tried to back away from Dawlish as the cold sank deep into his bones but his chained hands pulled him back and he fell forwards again. The air was so cold, it hurt his lungs as he gasped in pain. Even Dawlish seemed to find breathing difficult as his own breath broke in rattling hisses.

As he was jerked forwards deeper into the cold darkness, Harry knew the end of all hope. He knew he would never see light again; he would never feel warm again. In that moment, he knew the true meaning of despair.

The air rattled again.

'You can take them from here.' Even the Minister sounded slightly frightened, but then, who wouldn't be terrified of a Dementor.

That thought slowly penetrated through the spine-chilling numbness. That wasn't right. There weren't any Dementors here; they'd all joined Voldemort. Hadn't they?

Harry struggled to concentrate and Dawlish jerked again. No, not Dawlish. He was in front of Harry and the jerk had come from behind.

A large, calloused hand clamped over Harry's mouth and nose, making his panic increase further, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as he struggled to breathe. He tried to fight off whoever had grabbed him but they were both bigger and stronger than him, and all Harry managed to do was make his captor squeeze tighter.

'Where's Potter?' Scrimgeour's gruff voice echoed along the corridor; he seemed to have finally noticed that something was amiss. Bright light flooded every crevice, as though Scrimgeour thought Harry might have crawled into one of the cracks in the dark walls. Harry caught a very brief glimpse of Scrimgeour's angry face as he spotted Harry being dragged away from him, then both Harry and his abductor were slammed hard against the stone wall at the far end of the corridor.

Stars twinkled in and out of Harry's vision and something warm and wet trickled down the back of his neck as he tried to wriggle out of the stranger's slackened grip. Light bobbed towards him, accompanied by thundering footsteps. A moment later, Dawlish, Ron and Hermione came into view.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Hermione was dancing from one foot to the other, frustration colouring her voice as she tried to wrench her hands from Dawlish's control so she could help Harry.

Harry blinked dazedly from Hermione to Ron, then to Scrimgeour and Percy who had finally trundled up. At a nod from Scrimgeour, Dawlish jerked his wand, pulling Harry to his feet, enabling him to look down upon his attacker.

A Death Eater lay slumped against the wall, blood pouring down his front from beneath the slit hood and mask. Harry realised that the sticky liquid drying on the back of his neck wasn't his own blood but the Death Eater's; Harry had broken his nose when he slammed into him.

Percy removed the mask and hood, gave a startled blink and shot a quick glance at his employer. Harry felt there was something familiar about the blond hair and general mass of the man, even with the mess of mashed nose and blood in the centre of his face, and wondered if he had been one of the Death Eaters in Little Hangleton's graveyard two years before. It was only when Ron gasped in recognition that Harry remembered this man had been the large Death Eater who had caused most of the damage at Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died; he was also the one whom Snape had stopped from torturing Harry in the grounds afterwards.

Scrimgeour glanced from the unconscious Death Eater to Ron. 'Friend of yours?'

'He was at Hogwarts three weeks ago,' Harry answered him.

'What's he doing here? Now?' Scrimgeour frowned down at the blond head.

'Kidnapping me!' Harry couldn't believe the Minister hadn't worked that one out.

'Kidnapping you?' Scrimgeour's brow rose. 'Are you certain he wasn't rescuing you?'

'Why on earth would a Death Eater want to rescue Harry from you lot?' Ron gaped at Scrimgeour.

'Of course Harry was being kidnapped!' snapped Hermione. 'Voldemort –' (Scrimgeour and Percy both jumped) '– wants to kill Harry personally, but he can only do that if he's got Harry. The question you should be asking is how did that Death Eater know Harry was going to be here, in Azkaban?'

'How should I know how he knew?' Scrimgeour snapped back. 'Who do you think I am? His mother?'

'Why don't you ask him?'

'What, if I'm his mother?' said Scrimgeour incredulously.

'No. How he knew Harry was here,' said Hermione.

Scrimgeour stared from Hermione to Ron then to Harry, his face colouring rapidly. 'I will not be dictated to by law-breaking adolescents!'

'I'm not ordering you about,' said Hermione. 'I'm merely suggesting the easiest way to find out what's going on it to ask. It's a simple enough charm. Or don't you know how to do it?'

'Of course I know how to interrogate a prisoner –'

'Prove it!' Ron earned a glare from Percy.

'Or would you prefer people to know that you're afraid of what a Death Eater has to say about Harry,' added Hermione.

'Who knows,' Harry pointed out. 'He might be able to provide you with evidence which helps convict me.'

Scrimgeour hesitated a moment longer, then tossed his mane of hair back from his scarred face as he crouched down in front of the Death Eater and pointed his wand at the man's chest, saying 'Enervate!' He didn't get any further, however, because his attention was drawn by a noise in the corridor leading back to the entrance. Half a second later, Percy cast a curse along the corridor. Harry saw two dark shapes dive to the ground, then the curse came rebounding back towards them, knocking Percy back into Harry and Ron as bright green light flashed around them.

'Hold you wands! Hold you wands!' a familiar voice cried desperately.

'Dad?' Ron exchanged a glance with his brother who tensed, his expression wooden.

Two pinpricks of light danced towards them until a dishevelled Mr Weasley came into view, as well as –

'Are you all right, Harry?'

Harry felt a huge wave of relief course through him as Remus Lupin helped him to his feet. If members of the Order of the Phoenix were here, then everything was going to be OK.

'What are you doing here, Weasley?' Scrimgeour sounded livid. 'And what do you mean by trying to murder me?'

Mr Weasley blinked. 'Murder you? What are you talking about?'

'That was the Killing Curse you just threw at me.'

'I didn't cast a spell at anyone.'

'That was me,' Lupin's quiet voice stated. 'And I only repelled Percy's spell. So if it was indeed the Killing Curse, then Percy should now be dead, which he is not!'

Scrimgeour continued to glare at Mr Weasley.

'Test our wands if you like,' offered Lupin.

'First a bunch of kids, now a werewolf and a Death Eater. This is why Cornelius failed at his job; he allowed unworthy people to order him about. But, fortunately, I am made of sterner stuff.'

'What Death Eater?' Mr Weasley sounded really confused.

'You!' Scrimgeour brought his wand up to point at Arthur. 'This one –' (he jerked his head at the man lying at his feet) '– isn't here by himself. Who ever heard of a Death Eater working alone?'

'Dad's not a Death Eater!' Ron took an indignant step forwards but was pulled back by Dawlish.

Mr Weasley stared at the man lying behind the Minister and gasped. 'Yaxley?'

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged uncertain glances.

'Do you know him, Mr Weasley?' asked Harry.

'We've met.' Mr Weasley's tone was very curt. He looked back up at Scrimgeour. 'Who killed him?'

'Nobody killed him! I was just about to question –' Scrimgeour broke off suddenly as he glanced down at Yaxley, his face going as pale as a ghost.

Harry gazed down at the shocked, terror-filled eyes staring above the bloodied, broken nose. Yaxley, whoever he was, would never answer a question ever again.

Scrimgeour's head shot up. 'You did this!' His wand was in Mr Weasley's face again.

'Of course I didn't kill him.' said Mr Weasley defensively. 'One of you lot did that.'

'Why on earth would we want him dead yet? He still hadn't been interrogated. You killed him to stop him naming you as a fellow Death Eater. What are you doing?' As soon as Scrimgeour had said Yaxley hadn't been questioned, both Lupin and Mr Weasley had started to move into defensive positions, guarding Harry, Ron and Hermione.

'Like you said, Minister, Death Eaters don't tend to act alone. So if you didn't kill Yaxley, and we certainly didn't, then there is obviously a third party lurking around somewhere.' said Lupin quietly.

'Yes, you two!'

'You lot never get it right, do you?' Hermione's bravado seemed to be returning. 'First, you charge Harry with a crime he didn't commit, then you drag us here without a trial. Now you honestly believe Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin are Death Eaters? If it wasn't so scary, it would be laughable.'

'If the Minister says they're Death Eaters, then they're Death Eaters,' said Percy, reaching forward to grab Mr Weasley's left arm and push the sleeve up. (Harry blinked. It was the first time he had heard Percy acknowledge his father's existence since his estrangement two years ago.) 'See!'

Percy's exclamation of triumph was half-choked by a gasp of stunned disbelief as bare skin was revealed. He looked up at his father. 'You did something. What did you do? You concealed it somehow.' His voice was full of accusation.

Mr Weasley barely noticed; his attention was focused upon their surroundings, watching for threats from Voldemort's forces.

'Will you drop all this nonsense about Arthur and I being Death Eaters and let us get you all away from here safely?' Lupin tried to herd Dawlish, Ron and Hermione forwards so the others would have to move as well. 'Now come on. We can discuss all of this over a cup of Molly's tea.'

'What about Mrs Figg?' Harry's loud exclamation echoed around the stone walls.

'Where is she?' asked Lupin.

'Down there.' Ron jerked his head towards the end of the corridor.

Lupin looked straight at Scrimgeour. 'Any surprises I should know about?'

Harry thought something like triumph flickered very briefly in the Minister's eyes, but a moment later it was gone.

'No,' said Scrimgeour mildly, shaking his head. 'Not if you're not really a Death Eater.'

Lupin tensed slightly and glanced at Harry and Ron. 'Is that true?'

'No.' Ron was visibly shaking. 'There are hundreds of spiders.'

'And I'm sure I heard a Dementor,' Harry added.

Lupin checked. 'A Dementor?' He looked across at Scrimgeour. 'And spiders?'

Ron's panicked squeaking punctuated his nods, but Lupin's eyes didn't leave Scrimgeour.

'You didn't.' To Harry's surprise, Lupin started chuckling. 'No wonder you're all so scared. That's clever, Minister; that's very clever. Stupid, but clever.' And without any further explanation, he turned and headed deeper into the bowels of Azkaban.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked at the Minister.

'What did he mean by that?' Hermione asked.

Scrimgeour ignored her. 'Dawlish,' he said grimly. 'Place Arthur Weasley under arrest and destroy his wand.'

Mr Weasley tightened his grip on his wand.

'Don't be foolish, Dawlish.' Lupin came back into view, Mrs Figg bobbing along in front of him, unconscious. 'If the Minister wishes to see us convicted of Yaxley's murder, then it wouldn't be very wise to destroy the only pieces of evidence which would definitely be able to prove our guilt. Destroying our wands would mean the Wizengamot would only be able to take your word for it that we're guilty, but being able to present the wand used …'

Lupin left the statement hanging, but Harry could tell his words had had some effect. Even thought Dawlish looked like he still wanted to follow through with the original order, Scrimgeour's expression was calculating. As Minister, his word was law, automatically accepted by the Wizengamot; but also providing the guilty wand would be the final nail in Professor Lupin and Mr Weasley's coffins. No one would be able to argue their innocence against such damning proof.

'Stand down, Dawlish.' Scrimgeour's eyes flashed darkly. 'If these law breakers wish their wands to seal their cell doors, then who am I to stand in the way of justice? Very well. Weasley, Dawlish. You are to guard these prisoners at the Ministry tonight, ready for their trials first thing tomorrow morning. It will be a long shift, but not a thankless one as you will be enabling justice to be served.' He flicked his wand and both Arthur and Lupin's wands flew to his hand. Removing Harry, Ron and Hermione's wands from his robes, he handed all five wands to Percy. 'I'm trusting you, Weasley, to ensure that this incriminating evidence is safely presented at the trials.' Percy stood a little straighter. Dawlish scowled. Harry imagined he thought that, as an Auror, he held seniority and so should have been assigned the task of safeguarding their wands.

Scrimgeour flicked his wand again and manacles appeared on both Mr Weasley and Remus Lupin's wrists. He glanced at Mrs Figg still hanging in midair. 'What happened to her?' he asked Lupin.

'Your guards proved too much for her and she was in such a state that I had to subdue her. She should be all right by morning, though it would be prudent to send her to St Mungo's for observation.'

Scrimgeour stiffened. 'Are you trying to tell me how to do my job again?'

'No,' Lupin shook his head. 'Merely pointing out that Mrs Figg has yet to be tried and convicted and that, until such time, the law presumes her to be innocent. I was merely thinking of what would happen to the Ministry's standing in the public's eye if you were seen to be insensitive towards the needs of said innocent woman.'

That one hurt, thought Harry. The Minister's popularity had suffered a severe blow a couple of weeks earlier when he had ordered the arrest of Madam Rosmerta for aiding Draco Malfoy in his attempts to murder Dumbledore. There had been a huge outcry from the general wizarding community against the Ministry taking such action. Both Madam Rosmerta's popularity as landlady of the Three Broomsticks and the fact that she had been under the Imperius Curse meant that most people considered her to be very much a victim. As much as nobody wanted to see the Ministry doing nothing, they believed it was important that the people being sent to Azkaban really were Voldemort's supporters. Madam Rosmerta's arrest (and prompt release after the backlash) had people looking more closely at others who had been imprisoned since Voldemort's return. Not that it had done much good. Mundungus Fletcher and Stan Shunpike were both still in here … somewhere.

Scrimgeour eyed Mrs Figg thoughtfully, no doubt picturing the reaction if word got out that the Ministry had again kicked an innocent woman when she was down. Pouting, he conceded the point.

'Weasley.' (Percy stepped forwards.) 'I want you to accompany this woman to St Mungo's. Make certain that they understand that she is a Squib and is therefore not to have her memory altered. We shall need it to be intact for her trial tomorrow. You are then to stand guard outside her room and safely conduct her to the Ministry at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Dawlish, you shall need to guard these other prisoners alone. I trust you are up to the task?'

Dawlish gave a curt nod, his eyes sweeping coldly over the group before resting on Mr Weasley. Harry felt there was something very sinister about the way he gazed at Ron's dad.

'Very well.' Scrimgeour thrust his wand towards the corridor where Mr Malfoy's cell was located. A moment later, their guide reappeared. Drawing it aside, the Minister spoke quietly to it for several moments. Harry saw it glance disinterestedly towards Yaxley, give what he presumed was its breed's equivalent of a shrug and then it lumbered over to Yaxley and tossed him uncaringly over its shoulder.

'What's it going to do?' Hermione's wide eyes were just visible in the dimming light.

'He was proved to be one of He Who Must Not Be Named's followers, so he shall be buried alongside others who have expired within these walls.' Scrimgeour didn't sound at all pleased that his actions were being questioned. 'Now, if there are no more questions?'

'No.' Lupin answered quickly as Hermione opened her mouth.

'Then, I suggest we get going. Weasley. Dawlish.' Scrimgeour waited for his men to gather their charges, then held his torch higher as he led them back towards the entrance.

One wild Portkey-ride later, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves being squashed into the old, red telephone box which was the visitors' entrance to the Ministry.

'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.' The annoyingly cool female voice filled what little space was left in the telephone box. Even though the space had enlarged magically (there was no other explanation for how four grown men and three teenagers could all fit inside and manage to close the door), it was still very cramped as Scrimgeour barked out everyone's names.

'Thank you, Minister. Prisoners of the Ministry,' (Harry had never heard a voice become so icy so quickly), 'you will submit to a search and surrender your wands to the security desk which is located at the far end of the Atrium.'

With his face squashed between Dawlish's elbow and the one remaining pane of glass, Harry found it very difficult, as the ground rose beside his nose, to fight against the feeling that he was being buried alive. It was a great relief to finally spill out onto the Atrium floor ('Have a nice evening'), even if Dawlish did promptly jerk them to their feet, hurting their wrists again.

Harry tried to look around but, unlike the last time he had been here, the atrium was pitch dark, making it difficult to see. Edging a foot forwards and feeling around like a blind man, Harry's body suddenly jerked stiffly straight and he rose several inches off the floor. He tried to cry out, gasp, anything … but found his brain had been trapped inside a statue. He couldn't even move his eyes from side to side. Feeling as helpless as he had when Dumbledore died, Harry had no choice but to allow himself to be floated along, a faint light at the end of Scrimgeour's wand guiding the way.

They had passed what Harry assumed had been the Fountain of Magical Brethren (though it had sounded more like a stream) – as well as what felt like a ballroom full of dancers – and just reached the gateway leading to the lifts (Harry bumped against the metal scrollwork) when he heard the heavy rattling sound of one of the lifts arriving at the Atrium level.

' … and so we can have lunch at that new café across from Hyde – Who turned the lights off? Oh –' A young woman swore as what sounded like a large collection of books and papers fell to the floor. Harry tried to gasp, but couldn't. Tonks?

'Allow me. Lumos!' said a slightly lisping voice. A moment later, Harry got really fed up with the Body-Bind Curse because he couldn't even blink his eyes against the bright light bursting from the voice's wand.

'Remus?' A young witch with bright pink hair had been in the middle of waving her own wand at the mess of files at her feet when she stopped, stunned; the files crashed to the floor again as she stared at the party who had suddenly appeared before her.

The wizard behind her was also staring at them, but his expression was one of triumphant satisfaction … almost as if a long-held belief had just been proved beyond all doubt. His bulging eyes roved over them, and Harry was reminded of Luna Lovegood, a fellow Hogwarts student.

'Why are you still here, Tonks?' Scrimgeour sounded less that happy that he hadn't been able to sneak them in unnoticed.

'What?' Tonks was still staring at Lupin.

'She's been allowing me to interview her.' The mysterious wizard stuck his hand out. Scrimgeour just glared at him, but the man grabbed the Minister's hand anyway and shook it vigorously. 'Quentin Lovegood, The Quibbler. We swapped owls last week. Your Chief Auror granted my magazine permission to run a series on his team as a recruiting drive, remember?' Luna's father's eyes continued to rove over the group, taking in the manacles as well as the fact that most of them were languishing under the Body-Bind Curse. His eyes widened further as they fell upon Harry. Scrimgeour flushed.

'Yes, well I'm certain we'll be swamped with applicants the instant you go to press,' His tone suggested Azkaban would crumble before he accepted any of them. 'Now, if you two will excuse us,' he said dismissively, restoring Tonks's papers to her arms and stepping between her and Remus, 'we have important matters to attend to.'

'Come on, Tonks,' Mr Lovegood grasped her shoulders and began to steer her away from the lifts. 'We don't want to stop the Minister doing important work. If it wasn't for the Minister's important work, you'd be out of a job and I wouldn't have anything to write about.'

Scrimgeour tensed. For a second, Harry thought he was going to demand Mr Lovegood explain himself (Lovegood looked like he would welcome such a challenge), then the moment passed and Dawlish was forcing them into the lift. Harry tried to put a pleading expression on his face, but he wasn't certain if it worked. The last thing he saw as the golden grilles closed was Mr Lovegood slowly leading Tonks towards a group of dancing shadows, the whole while staring at the top of the lift door.

'Department of Mysteries.'

Still floating along in the dark, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin were escorted along the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, down the steps to Level Ten and into Courtroom Ten. Harry's heart pounded faster as panic coursed through him. Scrimgeour had said their hearing wouldn't be until morning. It wasn't even tomorrow yet, let alone eight o'clock. Had he been taking lessons from Fudge?

But Scrimgeour didn't stop in the courtroom. Leading them across to the far corner, he held a door open for Dawlish and they were dragged into a small, cold room. Harry knew, from its position, that it was the ante-chamber where Dementors had guarded Bellatrix Lestrange and her co-offenders before the trial which sentenced them to life imprisonment in Azkaban. Judging by the stink of decay, their existence wouldn't be forgotten any time soon.

Light suddenly filled the small space, blazing from the very walls themselves. At a nod from Scrimgeour, Dawlish flicked his wand again and the five of them rotated into horizontal positions before dropping to the floor. Harry's back felt like every vertebra had cracked; he would certainly be sporting some decent bruises come daybreak.

'I'll see you in the morning, Dawlish. You shouldn't have any problems with this lot, but if you do … well, I'll trust any judgement which you make.' Scrimgeour smiled grimly as he cast an eye over his prisoners.

Harry tried to discover if the others were all right but, frozen as he was, all he could see was the low ceiling and the constant, unflinching light. Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to be staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep, he tried to slow his breathing.

Ten hours of not being able to sleep or blink against the intense, bright light and Harry's nerves were so raw, he felt like he would explode. Tears streamed uncontrolled to his ears, making them itch, muscles desperately craved to move, his feet had gone numb and his bladder was threatening to burst. Dawlish had spent most of the night passing snide remarks about how they were only getting what they deserved, his bitterness over Dumbledore's jinxes and the fiasco with Madam Rosmerta manifesting itself in his confidence that they would all finally be brought to heel.

Harry estimated that their stomachs had been rumbling for a couple of hours (Ron's seemed to be loudest) when he heard the door leading to the courtroom open and Percy's supercilious voice told Dawlish to bring the first two. Both Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin drifted briefly into view as they were drawn upright and then they floated out of sight. Harry's ears strained to hear what was going on in the next room but there was only oppressive silence as minutes passed with excruciating slowness.

Harry's dislike of the Ministry was certainly not being diminished as a result of their treatment. He decided that he didn't want to be an Auror anymore. If he managed to get through all of this – both this trial and destroying Voldemort – he was going to be Minister and make some changes. Lots of changes. Starting with getting rid of dangerous, power-hungry morons like Scrimgeour, Dawlish and Percy. If he managed to get through this.

Unwilling to break down and let Scrimgeour think he had somehow won, Harry concentrated on his anger, building it up to keep his other emotions at bay. But it wasn't really working. An image of Mr Malfoy's arm reaching out from his cell kept popping up in front of his sore, tired eyes. Maybe Azkaban wouldn't be such a bad idea. At least he'd be able to get some proper sleep.

Harry knew he was really reaching the end of his strength if he was thinking things like that. Though it did have some merit …

Stop it! he silently screamed at himself. Stop it, stop it, stop –

The door flew open with a bang, making Harry's stretched nerves snap. Without warning, he was jerked into a vertical position. Dawlish stomped angrily into the room, Lupin and Ron's dad bobbing along in front of him, Percy marching importantly behind. Through the open doorway, Harry could see numerous plum-robed backs disappearing out into the corridor.

'We're leaving!' announced Percy, producing a chipped teacup.

What about our trial? Harry protested silently as Dawlish gathered the five prisoners together with a pull of his wand. Reaching for the cup, the ante-room disappeared as a multitude of colours assaulted their fragile senses.

Hitting the dirt face-first, Harry flinched as, with a loud crack, Dawlish Disapparated the instant they landed.

'Come on!' said Percy tersely, setting off along a dirt track at a brisk trot.

Finally able to move, Harry began to mop his face and eyes with his sleeve, but even this simple task sent pain signals shooting to his brain as his stiff muscles made themselves felt. Ron lay a few feet away, vigorously scratching every part of his body he could reach (Harry's own itches intensified). Hermione tried to stand but collapsed again with a cry. Lupin slowly raised his head.

'Ignore his order, Hermione,' he croaked. 'Just work on getting your muscles working properly first. Start by wiggling your fingers and toes and then work up from there, but only after the … previous … parts ...' Lupin gritted his teeth in pain '… have stopped … tingling!'

Following Lupin's advice, Harry tried to wiggle his toes but couldn't immediately tell if it was working since his feet were numb. It took several minutes for painful sensation to spread along his limbs, by which time Percy had returned and was standing over them, tapping an impatient highly-polished shoe. Wincing up at him, Harry tried to sit up, only to flop straight back down. On the third try, he succeeded.

Hermione was kneeling, rocking back and forth and rubbing her thighs. Lupin slowly stood and helped Mr Weasley to his feet. Ron was still rolling around on the ground, scratching himself all over.

Gazing along the country lane they had Ported to, Harry saw a sight which both confused him and filled him with hope: The Burrow, residence of the Weasley family.

'Why are we here?' Hermione's throat sounded as dry as Harry's felt.

'We've been released.' Mr Weasley reached down to help her stand.

'With conditions,' added Lupin as Harry, Ron and Hermione all froze, clouds of dust being stirred up as their jaws hit the dirt. 'But we can go into the details later. Right now, we need to get inside, have something to eat and then get some sleep. You too, Percy. You've been up all night watching over Mrs Figg, so you need to crash as well. If Scrimgeour wants you to do otherwise, then he's not doing a very good job caring for the needs of his staff.

Percy's ears turned as red as his hair and he glared at Lupin through his horn-rimmed glasses, his bloodshot eyes telling evidence that, as much as he might not like it, what Lupin had just said was true.

Mr Weasley finished helping Ron get up and then cast an eye over all of them. 'Everybody right, now?

'Bags I first in the loo,' croaked Ron as he started to head towards his home.

'No!' Mr Weasley's refusal made Ron spin around in anger. 'We'll do this properly. Ladies first, then youngest to eldest.'

'Mr Weasley,' Hermione's voice was still rough. 'It's OK –'

'No, Hermione,' Mr Weasley forestalled Ron pouncing on the offer. 'I raised my sons properly and they're going to demonstrate that.' Harry noticed that he avoided looking at Percy. 'Now, come on. Molly will be waiting.' And he led them down the lane. Ron brought up the rear, muttering angrily under his breath and casting covetous glances at the trees lining the road.

They were halfway across the yard when a plump woman came haring towards them, screaming like a banshee.

'Arthur! Oh, Arthur!' Mrs Weasley threw herself into her husband's arms and began sobbing noisily on his shoulder.

Mr Weasley lowered his head and held her close, embracing his wife like a relieved husband, but Harry saw him mutter something quietly in her ear. Mrs Weasley tensed briefly and then resumed blubbering all over Mr Weasley's robes, but now it seemed slightly overdone.

'Let me guess,' Mr Weasley patted his wife's back. 'The clock said Ron and I had been arrested? I sometimes think that clock causes more trouble than it's worth. There, there.' He continued to murmur soothingly.

After a minute of embarrassing affection, Mrs Weasley finally stepped back and noticed Percy.

'Good heavens, what are you doing here?' She grabbed Percy in a bone-crushing hug and planted a very wet kiss on his cheek.

'Mum,' Ron was hopping from one foot to the other in the background. 'Can we get inside? Please?'

This distracted Mrs Weasley enough for Percy to pull free.

'We really should retreat indoors.' Percy still refused to look at his mother.

'Why?' Mrs Weasley's voice rose in pitch as she glanced around the yard, eyes wide with panic. 'There aren't any of You-Know-Who's followers around, are there?'

'Let's just get indoors.'

Harry's opinion of Percy went down a notch further as Mrs Weasley led them towards the house. He was certain it was no accident that Percy had not alleviated his mother's fears by informing her that there weren't any Death Eaters nearby since, as far as he was concerned, there was at least one in the midst of their party.

As soon as he had stepped inside, Ron raced across the kitchen and disappeared through a door on the far side.

'Ron!' called Mr Weasley but it didn't bring him back.

'What's wrong with him?' Ginny looked up from the table.

'I told him "Ladies first!"' growled Mr Weasley. Mrs Weasley glanced around at Hermione.

'It's OK, Mr Weasley.' Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and crossed her legs. 'I don't mind waiting.'

'Waiting for what?' asked Mrs Weasley but nobody answered her. She gazed hopefully at Lupin, but didn't even get any enlightenment there. The silence stretched.

'Fine.' Mrs Weasley threw her hands up in resignation. 'Don't tell me what's going on. But while you're all waiting for whatever it is you're waiting for, how about a cup of tea?' The kettle flew over to the sink to fill itself.

'NO!' they all cried desperately.

Half an hour later, Harry was a long way to feeling better. His bladder was empty, his stomach was full and all he needed to do now was get some sleep. Ron's bedroom beckoned.

'Not yet, Harry.' Lupin stopped him as he pushed his chair back from the table. 'We need to get the rules straight.'

Ron stared at him blearily. 'What rules? You said we've been released.'

'I also said "with conditions",' replied Lupin.

'Why-y?' yawned Hermione. 'What happened at your trial?'

'It wasn't a trial,' snapped Percy irritably. 'It was a whitewash. I've never known so many members of the Wizengamot to be so disloyal to the Minister.'

'The Wizengamot's job is to be loyal to justice, not Scrimgeour,' said Lupin. Percy scowled at him.

'So how was it a whitewash?' Harry forced his eyes to stay open.

'The entire Wizengamot sat in judgement, not just Scrimgeour's mates,' Lupin explained. 'And once the evidence which Percy had guarded so faithfully had been examined, they had no choice but to find Arthur and I not guilty of Blackthorn's murder.'

'So you were both acquitted?' asked Hermione. Lupin nodded. 'And what about us?'

'You're still under arrest.' Percy seemed determined to take charge again.

'Shut up, Percy!' snapped Mr Weasley.

'Arthur?'

'No, Molly.' Mr Weasley held up a hand to stop his wife. 'I've had enough of it. Scrimgeour has been trying to make Harry endorse what the Ministry is doing, thinking it will somehow make all the stuff-ups legitimate. This is just his latest attempt, threatening Harry with imprisonment and watching his every move. And Percy is helping him to the hilt!'

'It's all right, Molly.' Lupin jumped in to stop a free-for-all. 'He's just tired. We all are. So let's say what needs to be said and finally get some sleep.'

'Why didn't you get any sleep last night? Ton–' Mrs Weasley gulped as she shot Percy a nervous glance. '– geons have floors, you know? You could have slept on that.'

'What's a tongeon?' Percy wanted to know.

'What?' Mrs Weasley gazed distractedly at her third son.

'You said "tongeon".'

'She said dungeon, Percy. I think, perhaps, you're more tired than you think. Why don't you go on up. After all, there isn't really any need for you to stay; you already know the rules.' Lupin held out a hand. 'However, I'll have our wands before you go.'

Percy glared at Lupin, his ears reddening rapidly. Then, with a scowl, he reached into his robes and pulled out several lengths of timber, slamming them down on the table like a bundle of sticks. But he refused to take a step towards the door.

'Come on, Percy.' Mrs Weasley wrapped a tight arm around him. 'Your old room is all ready for you. You too, Ginny; you can help me make up Harry's bed.'

'But Mum –'

'Now!' Mrs Weasley had steered Percy to the door.

'Go on, Ginny.'

Ginny glared at her father, then stood so quickly, she knocked her chair over. Lupin righted it as she stormed after her mother, slamming the door behind her.

Hermione sorted through the pile until she found her wand and pointed it at the door. 'Muffliato!' she whispered.

'What was that?' Mr Weasley frowned at her.

'Oh, just something we learnt last year. Stops eavesdroppers.' She examined her wand closely, looking for signs of damage.

'He forgot mine.' Harry went to follow Percy.

Mr Weasley cleared his throat nervously. 'You don't get yours yet, Harry.'

'What?' Why not?' cried Ron.

'Because, as Percy said, Harry's still under arrest. You all are.' Mr Weasley refused to meet anybody' eyes.

'So how come we're here?' Harry gazed from Ron's father to Lupin.

'You've been released into Arthur and Molly's custody to await trial.'

'Like being released on bail?' asked Hermione. Lupin nodded.

'What's bail?' Ron wanted to know.

'If we're on bail as well, how come Ron and I have got our wands back?'

'Because you're only being charged as accomplices,' Lupin replied. 'Harry's charge is far more serious.'

'Scrimgeour's got my wand?' Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. 'He'll break it first chance he gets.

'No, Percy has got it.'

'Same diff,' grunted Ron.

'No, it isn't,' Lupin told them. 'Whatever else Percy may be, he's a stickler for the rules, and the rules say the Ministry can't destroy a wizard's wand until after he has been found guilty, despite what the Minister may want to the contrary. So rest assured, Percy will keep your wand safe until your trial. Especially since he thinks it will convict you.' Lupin smiled secretly, as if at a private joke.

'Speaking of which,' asked Harry, 'when is our trial?'

Lupin reached into his robes and removed three folded pieces of parchment. 'Your birthday.'

Harry faltered in the middle of breaking the seal. 'My –?'

'Yes,' said Lupin grimly. 'So they may try to try you as an adult. We'll just have to wait and see. Also,' he glanced around at all three of them, as if to stress a point. 'Security is being bumped up significantly because Harry is here, so no wandering outside the property boundaries. The Ministry claims it's for Harry's protection, not enforcing any sort of imprisonment, but as it also applies to you two,' he nodded at Ron and Hermione, 'you're welcome to put your own interpretation on it. Now, before Ron starts snoring –,' ('I wasn't snoring.' Ron lifted his head off the table, eyes closed the whole time) '– I suggest we finally try to sleep off some of our aches and pains.'

Mrs Weasley met them halfway up the stairs and fussed over Harry and Hermione the rest of the way up to Ron's room, telling Ron to stop acting like a baby when he complained about being ignored. The last thing Harry remembered as he collapsed onto his bed, fully dressed, was Ron asking, 'Why have we been released on a bale of hay?'