Lithium
Chapter One
The Girl Who Became Demented
The North Sea
2005
The small, dingy freighter rocked in the icy waters of the North Sea causing the stomachs to churn of those aboard without their sea legs. The rain and sleet made it an all-together unpleasant trip. In the distance, a tiny island of sharp rocks and perilous cliffs came into sight. Atop it sat a weather worn fortress. The freighter pulled up and docked on the opposite side of the island and the crew began to unload the freight. Two women disembarked.
The older, clad in cobalt blue robes, had a severe face with a square jaw. Half-rimmed spectacles were perched upon her sharp nose and her greying flaxen hair was pulled into a tight bun. The younger was attired in robes of pink, which clashed terribly with the green hue of her normally umber skin. Even off the boat, she was trying not to dry heave; her nut-brown hair was plastered to her head.
The two women navigated their way past the supply warehouse, and through the narrow and precarious paths to a small cluster of homes and barracks nearer to the fortress. The makeshift village, protected by various charms, was where Azkaban's support staff resided. Because of the nature of their work, the employees' worked stints, and the rest of the time resided in nearby Aberdeen, Scotland. Many of the barracks were only a few years old, the staff population having increased following the dismissal of the Dementors.
One of the homes, practically a stone shed, had 'G. Waite' emblazoned upon the door with 'Warden' written in smaller letters beneath. The older woman rapped sharply upon the door. A moment later, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and slate grey robes answered it.
"Warden Waite?" The older woman inquired.
"Ah, yes. You must be from St. Mungo's. Please, come in." The two healers entered his lodgings. It was far more spacious on the inside, and a fire roared in the grate. The décor was reminiscent of a medieval hunting lodge. A quick hot air spell dried out their soaked robes.
"Thank you. I am Healer Eirny Kayson, the Healer-In-Charge of Ward 49," The older woman introduced, "This is my associate, Healer Bree Tanay."
"Nice to meet you both. Healer Balint should join us shortly. Would either of you like a cuppa? Or something stronger?"
"Tea will be fine." Eirny replied. Still mostly in the entrance, Bree blew her nose loudly.
"Sorry." She said, muffled by the handkerchief. Discreetly, she finished wiping her nose and popped her nose stud back in.
"A Pepper-up Potion for you then, Miss?" Bree nodded. As the warden bustled around the cottage, his multitude of keys jangling merrily, the two women made themselves comfortable. "Awful weather."
"Hmm, yes. The trip here was . . . interesting." Eirny replied, Bree groaned quietly at the mention. She had spent the entire trip hanging over the side of the ship.
"That squall did roll in without warning. But, you can understand the restrictions on travelling to the island." Waite went on to explain, "Even before the mass breakouts of '96 and '97, visitors couldn't Apparate to the island. We're off the Floo network, and Portkeys will not work here." He placed a teacup before Eirny and a mug before Bree. Two sharp knocks came from the door and a silver-haired man in tan robes entered. He had a close-cropped beard and a genial countenance. The two women stood to greet him.
"Gregory," He greeted Waite. He then addressed Eirny, "Healer Kayson, it is lovely to meet you. I have to say, your paper on complementary medicine impressed me; using psychology, Muggle and traditional magical methods to heal patients with permanent spell damage."
"Why thank you, Healer Balint. I was pleased with the paper you co-authored about the long-term effects and consequences of Dementors on prisoners' mental health. Though, to be honest, I thought the section on potential rehabilitation in a Dementor prison was a little optimistic."
"Madam, I am nothing but an optimist. Fortunately, it seems that Minister Shacklebolt read it as well."
"And how has the removal of the Dementors changed the prison?" She inquired.
"I have to say, we have far fewer problems with the prisoners. Far fewer deaths of all sorts." He turned to Bree. "And who is this young lady?"
"Healer Tanay." Bree introduced herself, trying to ignore the steam coming from her ears from the Pepperup Potion.
Balint was kind enough to not mention it. "A recent graduate of Hogwart's?"
"No sir, I was trained at a Wizarding Academy in India."
"The Academy in Calcutta?"
"The one in Mumbai, actually."
"A fine institute. I did a seminar there with Professor Patel a few years back." A few more minutes of pleasant small talk, and the four started to discuss the matter at hand. The files, emblazoned with 32669, were spread out on the table.
Waite started the tale, "In 1998, Aurors found Prisoner 32669 in the ruins of a shack just outside of Little Hangleton. The place was swarming with Dementors. No one is quite sure how long she had been there, but it was obviously more than a few weeks. When they tried to free her, she unleashed several curses, including the Unforgivables. Two Aurors were severely injured."
"I remember that. One still is not completely healed." Eirny reminisced.
"It took the remaining three Aurors to subdue her," Waite proceeded, "She was brought into custody. Once we concluded that she was not under the Imperius Curse she was brought here. There have been multiple attempts to ascertain her identity. She insists her name is Ebony, but there are no records of any witch with that name and who also fit her description."
"It is an uncommon name." Bree pointed out.
"According to my files," Balint explained, peering over the pince-nez spectacles he had donned, "There is any number of reasons why her psyche is damaged; exposure to the Dementors, exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, a bad reaction to an attempt to place her under the Imperius Curse, being Confunded one too many times, or being subjected to the memory modifying charm once too many. And that is just the section on magical causes."
"Why is it that it took so long to notify us?" Eirny demanded.
"In regards to Prisoner 32669, my predecessor dropped the Quaffle on more than one aspect." Waite explained, "When inquired about her age, she told him she was 17. We now believe she was closer to 14 at the time. She was found at the same time as the Aurors were rounding up the last of the Death Eaters."
"Until recently we did not realize that she had suffered any long-term damage." Balint continued, "After being taken into custody, she calmed down to almost a catatonic state. Upon our realization that she was a juvenile, she was then transferred to St. Brutus' and her magic was bound. As you know, the Wizengamot forbade the incarceration of underage witches and wizards in Azkaban. Unfortunately, during the First and Second War against the Dark Lord that rule was overlooked on occasion."
"There, it seems, she took a liking to Muggle culture, particularly North American Muggle culture. But, as time went on, she became increasingly unstable; prone to violent behaviour and mood swings. When we were sure she was an adult, she was transferred back here in 2002, I believe. Her Ministry appointed representation was able to use her behaviour as evidence for a diminished capacity plea. The paperwork had just gone through when I contacted you." Waite finished.
"May we see her?" Eirny asked. Several minutes later, the four, flanked by two guards and an infirmary matron approached a darkened cell. Within it sat a filthy, feral creature, her tunic hung loosely from her gaunt frame, and matted, dun hair covered her face. Deep cuts and angry scratches covered the wan skin of her arms, legs, neck and even face; some of which were on the verge of being infected.
"She has a propensity to self-mutilate." Balint explained softly.
"Healer Kayson," Waite whispered, "You may be the best in your field, but I fear even you will have trouble with this one."
"Open the door," Eirny requested firmly. The door opened with a slight squeal, and the cadaverous creature within looked up quickly, narrowing her watery blue eyes from behind her hair. Both Eirny and Bree entered cautiously. Bree, slightly behind Eirny, discretely unsheathed her wand; she was brought along for her duelling skills. If Prisoner 32669 proved to be as dangerous as was stated, then it was up to Bree to subdue her. "Hello, Ebony." Eirny greeted politely. She looked Eirny over, and then looked over to Bree.
"PREP!" She screeched over and over again as well as many other obscenities, before charging at the younger healer.
"Incarcerous!" Bree shouted. Thick ropes bound the prisoner tight. Within her bonds, she struggled, and started bashing her head against the stone floor. "Petrificus Totalus!" Her body froze, but she still attempted to screech. By that time, their accompaniment had entered the cell as well.
"Well now, that was uncalled for, Miss Ebony." Waite said calmly. "How are you, Healer Tanay?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle." Bree replied, before asking, "What exactly is a prep anyway?"
Waite shrugged. "She seems to believe that it is a derogatory term. Should we put her under an enchanted sleep spell?"
"I think not," Balint countered, "Her mind is quite addled as it is. I fear what another mind restraining spell would do."
"I have to agree," Eirny stated, "Do you think there is somewhere I can procure a sleeping draught?"
"Actually, I have several at the dispensary. Which one are you thinking?"
Eirny thought for a moment, "Draught of the Living Death." She decided.
"That strong?" Bree inquired.
"Well, we do have to transport her to the mainland, then onto London." Eirny responded.
Balint added, "She has proven to be a danger to herself and others." With that decided, he led the way to the small building that housed the dispensary as well as the infirmary. While he retrieved the draught, Prisoner 32669 was being prepared for her relocation. Her wounds were cleaned, and she was dressed appropriately for the inclement weather. It was a struggle, as they had to remove the body-bind curse so she could drink, but they managed to sedate her. Prior to leaving, the infirmary matron prescribed Bree an anti-nausea potion. As the other staff helped load the stretcher into a berth in the freighter, Balint handed Eirny some extra files.
"These files are officially sealed by the Ministry." He explained sotto voce, "The head of the 'Committee on Magical Medicine Standards' thought it was crucial for me to have this information. The only people with copies are the Minister, the CoMMS' head, possibly the Unspeakables, myself, and now you."
"What on earth could be so secret?" Eirny whispered.
"It has been dubbed 'Operation Parvulus Militis'. According to these files, the Dark Lord was attempting to raise an army of child soldiers." Eirny gasped and clutched her heart, "If you think about it, what better way to infiltrate Hogwarts? I believe Prisoner 32669 could be Test Subject TG." Eirny thanked him for the extra papers, and stashed them in an inside pocket of her robe.
The trip was relatively uneventful; 'Ebony' slept through the entire voyage to Aberdeen. It was just as they reached St. Mungo's, via the Floo Network, that she started to awake. Still groggy from the draught, she did not fight as she was given a good cleaning. But, when they attempted to crop her matted nest of hair she when into a hysterical frenzy and it took four healers and the orderly to restrain her. After a few days of violent outbursts, destruction and mood swings, she suddenly became somnolent. For several months she would alternate violently between the two.