Chapter 17
Over a deserted stretch of the west coast of Great Britain, seagulls circled like flecks of ash against the white and colourless December sky. A small house was cowering on top of the dunes, balancing precariously on the edge of a hill that was slowly being eaten away by the sea below. Two people were making their way towards it. Their black cloaks whipped around them as if the wind was trying to hold on to them and drag them away from the shore.
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The woman knocked on the front door when they reached it. The young man standing behind her was looking out at the sea wearing a grim expression. The door opened and they both looked up at the man in front of them. He was tall and seemed as colourless as the landscape around him. It was impossible to guess his age. His face was weather-beaten and he wore muggle clothing – if it hadn't been for the wand in his hand, he could just as well have been a local fisherman. Draco knew the aurors were only stationed at Azkaban for short periods of time, but this man looked like he had lived by this coast his whole life.
"Come on in," he said, hardly audible over the thunderous crashing of the waves below.
He couldn't hear if his mother replied, but he followed her inside. As soon as the door had closed behind them, the world was quiet again. They could still hear the sound of the sea, but they were shielded from the wind. His mother dragged strands of hair out of her face, running her fingers through it and probably regretting she hadn't put it up. There was another auror inside the house, a skinny woman with a pointed face leaning against a desk by the opposite wall. She nodded at them, but didn't introduce herself. She had her wand out too.
"So – Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy?" asked the auror who had let them in.
"Yes," his mother said.
"Right. My name is Belby, over there is Jansson," he gestured to the woman who smiled thinly at them. "We'll be taking you to the prison, but first I need both of you to place your wands on the table here, and afterwards we're going to perform a quick security check to verify your identities and to check for any concealment spells, hidden wands, weapons, food etcetera. You are not allowed to bring anything into Azkaban except for yourselves and the robes you're wearing, so if you're carrying anything with you apart from your wands, please place these objects on the table as well."
They both took out their wands and put them down on the table. They did not have anything else with them.
"Fine," he said.
He began casting spells, going through a long series of revealing and disarming charms, half of which Draco had never heard before. The other auror, Jansson, had her wand trained on them as well, but didn't cast any spells. He assumed she was just standing by as extra security if they were to try anything even without their wands, but then he felt the clammy sensation of another mind brushing against his own. He started. The feeling was gone before he managed to put up any occlumency barriers. He scowled at her and there was the tiniest notion of a smile on her face. Belby had finished up his incantations and asked them to follow him.
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A boat was waiting for them down by the shore. It was small and battered and seemed inadequate as protection against the violent waves, but it was pulled by magic and cut smoothly through the water, as if it was running on railroad tracks rather than sailing. A spell had been cast to keep the sprays of water from hitting them too. His mother had her hands curled tightly in her lap and was staring straight ahead. He could tell she was worried, even if she would have appeared calm and dignified to anyone else. He turned away from her and wondered how far out the island was. He couldn't see anything yet. Suddenly he was worried they might have to sail all the way to the Danish or Norwegian coast – Azkaban was unplottable, so he had never seen it on a map and had no closer idea of where it was, other than that it was somewhere in the North Sea. He was just about to ask one of the aurors how far it was, when he saw it. It had appeared out of nowhere. A second ago there had only been the sea ahead of them, but now the tower rose sharp and angular into the sky. It towered over them like a mountain, immense and eternal, and as with Hogwarts, it was hard to believe that humans had created it. It was hard to believe it had ever been created at all, that it hadn't always been there as a shadowed mark upon the world. It seemed the grey daylight never reached the stones of the walls, like the tower held a darkness of its own. Draco had never thought a building could look evil. There were no seagulls anymore.
"It's invisible until you get close," said Belby. "Powerful disillusionment."
No one said anything. The boat reached the dry beach of the island and dragged itself up on the sand. The aurors jumped out and Draco and his mother followed. He looked back out to the steel grey sea. He wanted to run away. He did not want to go any closer. He did not want to know what was inside. Still, he felt his body moving towards the tower, put one foot in front of the other. The urge to flee was overwhelming. The fear felt primeval, as if the aversion to the horror ahead was suddenly the most deeply rooted instinct in his body. But he pushed the feeling back. He followed the others across the island, telling himself that he wasn't really there. It wasn't really happening.
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Narrow metal stairs were bolted unto the side of the building and rose all the way to the top, where the only entrance to the tower was. It was a long, slow climb to the top, where they were led through a metal door, down a hallway to a small office, where four other aurors were seated around a table in the soft, silvery glow of a crow patronus that was perched on the back of one of the chairs. They were playing cards and only looked up from their game when Belby knocked on the doorframe.
"Mrs. Malfoy and her son are here," he said. "Can one of you take them down to Lucius Malfoy's cell for their visit?"
"Well, looks like it's going to be you, Jones," said one of the others, grinning.
The youngest of the aurors, presumably Jones, threw down his cards and stood up.
"Shit. I swear when I get out of here, I'm never playing cards again," he said.
He turned to Jansson and Belby.
"Will you be waiting up here while I take them down, or are you going back now?"
"We'll wait for them here."
"Right."
He pulled out his wand.
"Expecto Patronum," he said and from the tip of his wand sprang the silvery shape of stoat.
"Follow me," he mumbled in the general direction of Draco and his mother, then pushed past them with his patronus leading the way.
"So Belby and Jansson brought you up here without casting a patronus?" he asked without turning around.
He was leading them swiftly down the hallway outside the office.
"Yes," said Draco's mother.
Her voice sounded strained. Draco wasn't sure he was even able to speak. The patronus-light was calming, though. It relieved the sense of ancient terror that emanated from the place, but the anxiousness inside him wasn't affected much.
"Right, well that's ok as long as you're outside the walls and on the topmost storey where we are now. But as soon as we enter the prison – close that door behind you – as soon as we enter the actual prison you have to stay close to me. Even if you don't see any dementors, you need patronus protection down there. Don't look into any of the cells either, that's my advice. We keep the Death Eaters all the way at the bottom, so it's quite a walk. Down the stairs here."
They went down another staircase and then the auror unlocked a heavy iron door and a gust of cold air brushed against them, making Draco shiver. He hesitated for a second, before stepping through.
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And this was the prison of Azkaban: an enormous, open space between the three outer walls of the tower. An external gallery ran along the walls with cell doors on the right, an iron railing on the left. The galleries below were visible, each forming a band of dim light until some way down, where the lowest stories were swallowed by darkness, making the drop seem endless. And there were dementors. In his mind he had imagined them swarming all over the place, but they were only shadows passing on the galleries below, or they were movements in the deep pit, rising from or descending into the darkness. He dragged his eyes away. He stared at the floor under his feet, at the hem of his mother's robes. It had not been necessary to tell them not to look into the cells. He didn't want to see what was in there. He didn't want to know what happened to people when they were put in a place like this.
"Why is it dark down there?" he asked.
His voice was weird, he didn't sound like himself.
"We don't use the cells in the bottom," said the auror.
"Why not?"
"That's where the dementor pit is. We don't have any prisoners lower than the 4th floor. You can't go down there, even with a powerful patronus. There are too many of them. I think that's where the new ones come from."
"They breed?"
"Don't ask questions, Draco," said his mother.
It was her fault that they were here. She had made this decision, she had pressed the ministry about it, pulled strings, bribed whoever she needed to and ignored every single one of his protests. He had been so angry with her ever since he got her letter. But he still reached for her hand. She flinched when his fingers brushed hers, but then she took his hand and held on. They shouldn't have come here. If she had another breakdown, he wasn't sure she would recover. He cast another glance over the edge. It was such a long way down.
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Sound didn't travel far in Azkaban. If the acoustics had been normal, the tower would have been filled with noise from the prisoners who were crying, whining or babbling incomprehensibly. In one cell, someone was screaming their head off, stopping for breath and then screaming again. He didn't look. As soon as they had passed a few cells further down, they couldn't hear it anymore. It might be the ancient magic that swallowed the sound. Or perhaps it was the dementors.
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It got colder the further down they went. Which wasn't right, Draco realized. They shouldn't be able to feel the effect of the dementors when they had a patronus with them. He cleared his throat
"Shouldn't there be more than one auror going with us?" he asked quietly.
It felt wrong to break the long stretch of silence.
"Why? If you attack me I might accidentally let my patronus go out, and you don't have your wands with you to cast your own. And even if you did, the dementors would be over you before you had the time, and they would alert the aurors upstairs."
"I meant for our safety. It seems like one patronus for three people might be a bit inadequate."
"Doesn't really make a difference how many patronuses you have when you're this far down."
"But what if something happened to you and you let the patronus go out?"
"I've been here a while. My patronus is pretty steady. And anyway you don't get the ones up there to go down here unless it's absolutely necessary."
"How much further is it?" asked his mother.
Her voice was glass.
"He's on the next floor."
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Lucius Malfoy sat motionless on the narrow stone shelf that protruded from the wall of his cell, huddled under grey blankets. He was thin. His eyes were empty. A sob escaped Narcissa. Lucius did not react at all to the screech of his cell door opening. Only when the stoat patronus stepped inside did he seem to wake up. He blinked. He stared at the silver creature.
"Lucius…" said Narcissa quietly.
He turned his head very slowly to look at her. He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. Draco was looking at his mother. Why had she wanted to do this?
"Narcissa," said Lucius hoarsely.
He didn't sound certain that it was the right name.
"Yes," his mother said. "Yes, love, it's me. Draco is here too."
His father looked at him, or looked over him or through him. Draco felt sick. Narcissa let go of his hand to kneel in front of the corpse of a man. When she spoke her voice was soft and soothing. She told him that she and Draco had been pardoned. That they still had the manor and most of their assets, and everything was all right. It smelled terrible in the cell. There was a drain in the floor.
"Good," Lucius managed hoarsely. "That's very good."
"And Draco is back at school now. He's doing very well."
"Why are you telling him that?" snapped Draco. "How long do you think he'll remember it? It'll be gone an hour after we're out of here. He's dead – look at him, he's fucking dead! We came all the way in here to talk to a corpse, and as soon as we walk back out all that shit you're telling him will just seep away. He doesn't even know who you are!"
"Draco!" she said sharply. "Don't swear. And don't say things like that."
His anger curled back at her icy tone, but he did not apologize. He looked away. Narcissa turned back to Lucius. She brushed her lips lightly over his cheek. He didn't seem to notice. Draco wanted to throw up.
"Goodbye," she said.
Then she turned to Draco:
"Don't you have anything you want to say to your father?"
"No."
"This is the last time you'll see each other."
"I didn't want to come," he hissed, "I didn't want to see him. And I want us to leave."
Lucius jerked violently, the auror's wand shot up, aimed at his chest.
"You're leaving?" he asked.
"I'm so sorry, my love," said Narcissa.
"Now?"
"I think if you've said what you needed to, now would be a good time, Mrs. Malfoy," said the auror.
He didn't take his eyes of Lucius. Narcissa nodded once and reached for the door.
"NO!" screamed Lucius.
"Petrificus totalus!"
Lucius Malfoy froze in the middle of throwing himself after the stoat patronus. His arms that had been reaching out towards the silvery light, snapped down to his sides.
The patronus didn't as much as waver while the auror cast the curse.
"Out," he said, pushing Draco towards the cell door.
As soon as he had secured the lock, he mumbled the counter curse and Lucius threw himself against the bars.
"Please!" he screamed, "please don't take it away! Please, I beg you! Stay!"
His voice rose higher, grew more and more frantic as they walked away.
"Bring it back! I need it! Please, please!"
Sound didn't travel far in Azkaban. It wasn't long before they couldn't hear him anymore.
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Draco's feet were heavy. He wasn't sure he could walk all the way back up. His anger was gone, he just felt cold. Small and cold and scared. He watched his mother's back. She seemed to walk straighter now than she had on the way down. He did not reach for her hand this time.
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He looked into the cells on the way up. It didn't matter now. He knew what was in them. Some prisoners were chained to the wall, though he couldn't see any reason for it. Some were drooling and rocking themselves back and forth, but most didn't move at all. He thought at some point that he wanted to stop looking, but then it seemed he couldn't. And they walked forever. He had no idea how far up they were when they passed her. A young woman, who moved closer to the bars when they neared her cell. There was something odd and disjointed about her movements. Her features seemed elongated and inhuman, but she was looking right at Draco, and her eyes weren't dead. She could have been his age, hardly much older.
"Help me," she said, so quietly he might have been imagining it.
He stopped.
"Please," she said. "Tell them it was an accident. It won't happen again."
Her voice was hoarse. She steadied herself with a hand on the wall of her cell and only then did he notice the coarse hair on her arms, the black claws at the tips of her fingers.
"Please tell them," she said. "I didn't mean to. I'm not dangerous."
"I can't," he whispered.
She licked her chapped lips and mumbled something else, but he couldn't make out the words. He could hardly make out her face anymore either and he realized how dark it had gotten around them, that the light was the flickering yellow of oil lamps not the steady silver of the patronus. They hadn't noticed he had stopped. They had gotten far ahead of him. He felt the unnatural cold biting into his flesh.
No, he thought.
He heard the dragging, rattling breath behind him and turned around as the dementor rose up on the other side of the railing. Far away, his mother screamed.