The Trio Who Returned

Chapter 04

by Technomad

The moon shone down coldly, casting a ghastly white light over Azkaban and the surrounding ocean. Powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms had been laid over the island centuries ago; even space satellites didn't see it there off the Scottish coast.

To wizards' eyes, though, it was easily visible, lowering in the ocean like an ominous cloud. The small group of wizards that had gathered in sight of the island were gathered around a tall, stooped figure.

"There it is, Death Eaters," a growling voice proclaimed. "Azkaban Prison. Your comrades...your brothers and sisters...are imprisoned there. Our Lord wishes you to free them."

"In particular," a high-pitched, shaky voice put in, "you are to look for, and free, my husband. Rudolphus has suffered greatly for his allegiance to our Lord, and it is time he was liberated."

"Yes, Mistress," came a subdued chorus.

"And do not forget my brother-in-law, Rabastan...or Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy, in particular, is vitally important to our Lord; his money and connections have eased our work immeasurably."

"We obey, Mistress!" With that, the Death Eaters mounted brooms, soaring into the night toward the prison island.

On Azkaban, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger watched the wizards flying in closer. "They think that the dark will cover them. They don't know we're here, or that we can see in the dark as well as they can in broad daylight, do they?" commented Ron.

"Good job we alerted the prison authorities that the Death Munchers were planning this little raid. Shall we surprise them?" Harry smiled wolfishly.

"If Fenrir Greyback's with them, he's mine, remember?" Ron hissed. His eyes glowed red for a second as her face twisted into a feral grin. "He's the one who tore up my brother, Bill, you know."

"Agreed. Greyback's yours. Me, I want Bellatrix." Harry gave them an anticipatory leer. "Come. Let's hide." The trio turned and walked into the deserted prison buildings; the warden had evacuated all prisoners the day before, under conditions of uttermost secrecy.

Bellatrix Lestrange was the first Death Eater to land on Azkaban Island. She leaped off her broom, hissing "I…have returned!" Turning, she waved her followers in. "Mulciber, you lead the A squad, Carrow, lead the B squad. The rest of you, follow me!" She charged forward across the shingle, her followers behind her.

At first, she didn't notice anything unusual. She had known that the Dementors were no longer on duty as guards, and some judiciously placed bribes and blackmail had ensured that the wizards that had replaced the Dementors wouldn't be watching this stretch of shore. In a few minutes, she was at the nearest door, opening it with a quick "Alohomora!"

Only when she was actually in the prison building did she notice anything wrong. While she had, she believed, ensured the guards' laxity, she knew...none better!...the sounds of a normal Azkaban night, and she wasn't hearing them. The building was as silent as the grave.

"Rabastan? Rudolphus?" she called out, the echoes mockingly casting her words back to her. "It's me...Bella! I'm here to crack you out! We're scarpering!"

Down at the far end of the corridor, something seemed to solidify from the darkness. At first, she thought it was a guard, but when it came closer, her eyes widened as she recognized it.

"Harry? Ickle Harrikins?" she called out mockingly. "What's the matter, ickle Harrikins? Is ums sad that I killed your pwecious Siwius?" Harry came closer still, his face an expressionless mask, and Bella began to worry. "Answer me! Why don't you answer me?"

This goaded Harry to speak for the first time. "I never speak to my food!" That was so unexpected that Bella froze, her blood running cold as Harry smiled at her. Even in the dim light of the corridor, she could see that Harry had changed. His skin, always rather pale, was now alabaster-white, his eyes were red-tinged around the green irises, and his canine teeth were long and needle-sharp.

Pointing her wand, Bella screamed "Petrificus Totalus!" The spell was well-aimed, but had absolutely no effect; it splashed off Harry as though he were a statue. Bella's eyes went wider still, and she began to feel real fear. If she couldn't hurt him with spells…

Suddenly, Harry was attacking, moving far faster than she'd have expected. She screamed "Crucio!" but even her favorite spell, the one she specialized in, failed her completely; Harry shrugged it off as though she were no more than a Muggle playing at witches-and-wizards. Before she could fire another spell, Harry was grappling with her, his hands as icy-cold as a corpse. He was inhumanly strong, bending her backwards with very little visible effort, despite her terrified struggles.

"As I said...I don't speak to my food!" Bellatrix suddenly realised just what she was fighting against, as Harry cocked his head back, sinking his long fangs into her neck, seeking her jugular vein. A terrible, stabbing pain told her that he had found his goal, and the last thing she heard was a horrible slurping noise.

Rising from Bellatrix Lestrange's drained corpse, Harry felt wonderful...full of vigor, as though he could take on a professional Quidditch team single-handed, or run from Edinburgh to London. He wiped blood from his chin, noting absently that the front of his robes was stained and sticky, and drawing his wand to clean it with a quick Scourgify.

Looking around, he was able to track the Death Eaters' movements easily from the sounds he heard; his hearing was incredibly acute compared to what it had been before his transformation. He heard a horribly-familiar growling voice, and from its location, he knew that its owner was about to have a very unpleasant surprise…

Fenrir Greyback slouched through the corridors, wondering dimly what was wrong. He had expected there to be prisoners, or guards, but the prison seemed to be utterly deserted. Could they have been betrayed? No, he decided...the Dark Lord had taken precautions to ensure that only his Death Eaters knew what was going to happen. Even Severus Snape had been kept in the dark; the Potions Master did not seem to be aware of it, but his position with the Death Eaters was not as secure as he seemed to believe. His status, as the murderer of the one wizard Voldemort had feared, gave him more clout than the Dark Lord was comfortable with. Voldemort tolerated no rivals, and acknowledged no equals.

"Fenrir Greyback…" came a voice, a soft whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Come out and play, Fenrir Greyback!"

"Who are you? Who calls me?"

"Grey-back…come out and play-ee-ay!" A slender, redheaded wizard appeared at the far end of the corridor. On the ends of his fingers, he had three small bottles, which he clinked together rhythmically. Clink-clink, clink-clink.

"Do you know who I am?" Greyback started toward this insolent challenger, his hackles rising. "I am Fenrir Greyback, little wizard, and I've bitten more of your kind than I can remember!"

"Oh, I know who and what you are, Fenrir, you filth," the wizard responded, his face twisting in a rictus of hatred. "My name's Ron Weasley...you tore up my brother...prepare to die!"

With a roar of hatred, Fenrir launched himself at this presumptuous little wizardling, who watched him coming without a flicker of fear. Just as Fenrir reached him, the wizard disappeared in a cloud of mist. Before Fenrir could stop himself, he had slammed into the wall of the corridor...and then the wizard was behind him, holding his arms in an incredibly strong grip.

Fenrir shrieked, a high-pitched howl of agony, as Ron Weasley tore his arms loose from their sockets. His sobs and screams echoed off the silent walls of Azkaban, but no help came to him. "Help me! Help me! Oh, Merlin, help me!"

Ron threw him against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. "Merlin isn't here, you filth," he hissed. Helplessly, the werewolf lolled against the corridor wall, unable to move his arms due to their dislocation. 'Merlin isn't here...but I am!"

Lashing out desperately with his leg, Fenrir knocked his tormentor down, before rolling onto his feet and running down the corridor, frantic to find anybody who'd help him. Before he got far, he was grabbed and dragged down, his enemy's grip far stronger than he'd ever encountered in a wizard.

"I'll bite you!" screamed Fenrir. Most wizards would have backed off at that threat; lycanthropy was something that terrified them, with good reason. Werewolves were almost all social outcasts, unable to hold jobs or marry.

Instead of fear, Ron reacted with cold amusement. He let out a bark of laughter not unlike a wolf's howl, that echoed off the silent stones of Azkaban. "Bite me? Little werewolf, you have it all wrong! I won't be bitten, but you'll be!"

"What?"

Ron didn't answer, at least not with words. He grabbed Fenrir by the muzzle, heedless of the werewolf's gnashing teeth, and pulled his head back. Fenrir felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck, and let out a bestial howl.

Suddenly, he felt himself lifted and thrown against a wall, very hard. Through a haze of agony, he stared with amazement at the red-headed wizard who had proven to be such a dangerous opponent, even without magic.

"Apparently there's something wrong with your blood...it tastes 'off' somehow," hissed Ron. "So I'll have to take care of you the old-fashioned way!" Hurling himself on the terrified werewolf, he growled: "After all, there's nothing wrong with you...I can't fix...with my hands!"

Fenrir Greyback screamed so loudly he thought his throat would tear.

Lord Voldemort was worried, although he didn't show it outwardly; his followers had no pity on anyone that showed weakness, and even he didn't dare display anything but serene confidence. Even so, he felt he had a good right to worry. He'd sent a group of his most valuable Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange, to liberate the Death Eaters who were still being held at Azkaban. Now it was coming on toward dawn, and there was no sign of them, and no communication. What could have gone wrong?

By noon, everybody was worried; the remaining Death Eaters had had friends and relatives on the Azkaban mission, and none of them had heard anything at all. "What could have happened, my Lord?" asked one.

"I have no idea, Nott. We must await events."

By that evening, the whole wizard world knew what had happened, or at least a version of it. Headlines in the Daily Prophet screamed the news of the deaths of every one of the Death Eaters who had been sent to raid Azkaban. Reading the stories, the Dark Lord felt a real frisson of fear.

"How could this have happened?" he hissed. "The Aurors on that island couldn't have stood against them, even without my bribes ensuring that they'd be in the wrong places! Do we have a traitor among us?" His pitiless red eyes lit on Wormtail, who quivered in fear. "You...you turned your cloak once, didn't you?"

"No...my lord, I'm loyal to you!" Wormtail went to his knees. "Look into my mind! You'll see that I'm a loyal Death Eater!"

With that invitation, Voldemort reached out with his Legilimency. He found what he expected to find...that Wormtail was far too frightened of him to even think of betraying him. He ignored the images of a lovely young woman with big dark eyes; he knew that Wormtail had about as much chance of attracting the attention of any such person as he, Voldemort, did of being the Muggle Prime Minister.

Turning from the quivering Wormtail, Voldemort stared out at the setting sun. "Then who...how could they have known?" He resolved to keep a closer eye on his followers.

END Chapter 04