Chapter Thirty-Eight – The Two Prisons
"Harry! Harry! Please get up! We've won! Get up! Please get up! Please, please get up!"
Daphne shook Harry, but he didn't move. His eyes were closed, his breathing faint and his body growing colder under her hands.
"Please, please get up..."
Hot tears ran down Daphne's cheeks. She shook him harder and harder, but she was powerless. A last gasp escaped Harry's pale lips. Then he was dead.
...
With a gasp, Daphne shot up. Her heart was pounding and sweat ran down her face in fine trickles. Even the cool, damp air of the cave brought no relief; it was her insides that felt hot, deep in her heart, like glowing embers in a sea of lava.
She clung to her conjured blanket so tightly that her knuckles were white. Before the cave opened, the setting sun sank behind the mountains, bathing the world in a blood-red light that made the sky look like a gaping wound. The last rays found their way into the cave, playing on the rough stone walls and making Daphne's shadows dance eerily.
Another nightmare, she thought bitterly. Another dream that brought only pain and no peace. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her arms as the memories of the last twelve days flooded over her.
Each time had been different, but the end had always been the same. Whether it had been the Dementors in the hospital wing sucking out his soul as she lay helpless in a corner, or the bloodied Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, his cruel laughter echoing in her head as he struck him down with a single curse and crushed her in his icy hand at the same time, or the damned Dursleys who had locked him up and starved him to death, leaving her to find only his emaciated body. Each time she had been too slow, too weak, and her weakness had been Harry's death. Harry was dying – every time, in countless ways – and she was powerless to save him.
Day after day, nothing but death.
Death. Death. Death.
Death and endless despair.
The nightmares robbed her of all rest. They left her in a state of constant exhaustion that went deeper than mere physical fatigue. But Daphne had made a promise – an oath to herself, sworn in blood and pain – that she would endure any agony, suffer any torment, for Harry.
And soon, she knew, this cycle of nightmares would end. At the latest when she and Harry would finally meet again.
Soon. Very, very soon.
With renewed determination, Daphne rose from her camp and – after a few quick refreshing spells – stepped out into the open from the cave that had been her shelter for the past few days. Blinking, she gazed into the fading light of the setting sun, and the cool air she breathed in helped her to clear the rest of her thoughts. With firm steps, she made her way down the stony path.
After a few minutes, she reached the edge of a small hill, and there she saw the black fortress of Nurmengard. Like a terrible relic from the past, it stood dark against the dying daylight and the immortal might of the Alps.
The sight reminded Daphne of the stories of her childhood. She could almost see them before her: Mighty sorceresses rebelling against the injustices of the world; armies marching to the beat of war drums; knights on horseback charging into battle with swords raised high.
For nearly two weeks, she had watched the fortress from afar, learning its secrets. There were always only a few guards there, usually only one or two. It almost seemed as if the prison was no longer a top priority for the German-Austrian Zaubereiministerium. Instead, they seemed to rely mainly on the countless, admittedly powerful wards that surrounded the grounds. Even from here, Daphne could feel them, like invisible waves rushing through the air, ruffling her inner feathers. Ward upon ward upon ward, a truly impenetrable net that enveloped the castle.
But, Daphne thought, breaking through wards was her speciality. And she also had another trick up her sleeve.
Her fingers slid over the fine cloth in her pocket as she continued to gaze at the castle before her.
Tonight had to be the night, she knew. Tonight she would gain, if not an ally, then at least a useful tool.
Harry blinked, trying to take in his surroundings. The room around him was large and flooded with light, the sunlight streaming through the tall windows on one side of the room so bright it stung his eyes. He had to squint to avoid the glare.
His eyes moved to the centre of the room, where a large canopy bed dominated the space. The sheets and silken blankets were in disarray, as if tossed aside in a mad rush. Underneath, barely covered by the blankets, lay a naked girl with long, jet-black hair. She was curled into a tight ball, her figure so small that she seemed lost in the vast expanse of the bed. Her shoulders trembled and she sobbed softly into her pillow.
Beyond the bed, the door to the room was wide open, revealing a grand hallway. Magnificent paintings hung on the walls, thick carpets covered the floor and there were marble sculptures and golden vases in several niches. Harry recognised the place as he had been here before – Malfoy Manor.
The girl sobbed again, louder this time, and her words cut through him like a knife.
"Why, Harry? Why didn't you save me?"
...
With a gasp, Harry shot up. His heart was pounding and he could feel his body drenched in cold sweat. He struggled for breath for a moment, trying to pierce the darkness around him and block out the images in his head.
The faint red-orange light of the setting sun shone through the barred window high on the wall of his cell. It was the only source of light, everything else was dark. The damp, cold walls of Azkaban pressed in around him as if trying to crush him.
Another nightmare, he thought wearily. Like every time he had tried to sleep in the last twelve days since he had been locked up in that cursed place; and his dreams were the worst curse of all.
Different each time, but always cruel. Each time he dreamed of his distant mate. He saw her in the Chamber of Secrets, crushed beneath the massive coils of the basilisk, as she tried to help him escape in her tiny crow form. He saw her in the Forbidden Forest, where a monstrous hand, slick with silver blood, snuffed out her life as easily as it would crush a butterfly. He saw her soul torn from her body by a Dementor in the hospital wing, her empty eyes staring back at him in silent accusation. Each time he had been too slow, too weak, and his weakness had been Daphne's death. Daphne died – every time, in countless ways – and he was powerless to save her.
But today's dream, at Malfoy Manor, had been the worst. Hearing the infinite sadness and despair in Daphne's voice... something inside him broke just thinking about it.
He clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white as he fought to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. He could not – would not – allow such a thing to happen. Not then, not now, not ever. This was the spark that lit the fire in him, the reason why he fought and why he would always fight.
Slowly he rose from the hard bunk. Night was falling and with it a new work for him.
Daphne slowly pulled Harry's Invisibility Cloak over her head and felt the invisibility cover her like a second skin. The cloak merged her with the darkness, far more than even her best Disillusionment Charms could have done.
Her steps, muffled by magic, were silent as she approached the black fortress. The pounding of her heart and the rushing of blood in her ears seemed to be the only sounds in the world, or at least that's how it felt to Daphne as she slowly took step after step. She knew she had to be careful. One false move could mean her end.
At some point, without any warning, Daphne felt a crackle in the air in front of her, like an invisible wall of cold fire igniting just inches from her face. Without the observations of the last two weeks, she might have missed the magic and walked straight into the trap. Within seconds she would have been surrounded by German-Austrian Aurors and her mission would have failed.
But this way, she was prepared.
The wards in front of her might be powerful, but she was Daphne Greengrass – even if they might call her by another name later. Such protections were nothing more than an obstacle on the way to her goal, and she had learned to deal with obstacles long ago.
With a steady hand, Daphne raised her black ebony wand and made a circular motion. Immediately she felt the invisible flames before her respond to her magic, like a hand stirring the waters of a still lake. The crackling grew louder and the energy of the protective enchantments began to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until an invisible hole appeared in the flames, large enough for her to slip through.
Daphne held her breath as she cautiously took a step forward. The air was warm and heavy with magic, but nothing happened. She took another step, then she was all the way through the hole in the magic barrier. She hadn't broken the protection, she had just diverted it for a moment, loosening the web of magic for a moment to squeeze through. As soon as she finished the spell, the gap closed behind her.
All was silent as she crept towards the castle under the Invisibility Cloak.
Harry stood motionless in the centre of his small cell, deeply immersed in his magical senses. He could sense the presence of the other prisoners in their cells, their life power seeping faintly through the thick walls – some asleep, others awake, silently battling their own demons. Further away, at the end of the long wing of cells, he could clearly make out the two Aurors in the guardroom, as every night. They seemed to be talking quietly, nothing to suggest that they were about to break their routine.
Over the past twelve days, Harry had studied the guards' rhythm meticulously. He had watched every movement, every pattern, analysed the slightest deviation. The timing of their rounds, the cadence of their steps, even the moments when they seemed most distracted – Harry had memorised it all. There was still a certain amount of risk – the Aurors could start their nightly rounds early, or a sudden incident could throw everything into disarray. But luck had always been with the brave, and he had taken precautions. On his very first night here, he had secretly placed runes at the beginning of the cell wing, so fine and in such an inaccessible place that even a trained Auror would hardly notice them. They would alert him if a guard approached. He would have plenty of time to get back.
Harry took a deep breath before feeling the magic within him. Concentrating on what was to come, he let the familiar feelings flow through his body, from his heart, through his veins and into every cell of his body.
With a soft hiss, the transformation began.
His arms turned into slender wings, his feet into sharp claws and his skin became covered in shiny, jet-black feathers. It felt as grand, as sublime, as liberating as ever. The burdens that weighed him down in his human form seemed infinitely distant, almost meaningless. The world opened up to him in a new, fascinating way – bigger and yet more tangible, full of possibilities and less oppressive.
A slight, satisfied smile – or the nearest thing to a smile – played around Harry's beak as he took to the air with powerful flaps of his wings. The air caught beneath him, lifting him effortlessly into flight. With an elegant sweep, he flew to the narrow opening of the barred window. The bars were just wide enough for him to fit through in crow form.
Harry slipped through, felt the cool metal on the tips of his wings, and then he was outside, beyond the walls of Azkaban.
Daphne stood in front of the imposing stone wall of Nurmengard. The sun had completely set, and yet the black stones seemed to swallow up everything around them, even the faint light of the night, as if they had been carved out of darkness itself.
Even without magic, the wall was an insurmountable obstacle, but Daphne raised her black wand undaunted. In her mind, she pictured the stones not as solid, unyielding blocks, but as a collection of tiny, infinitesimally small pieces – perhaps exactly what the Muggles called molecules or atoms. She imagined herself slowly pulling these tiny pieces apart, like a spider's thread growing longer and thinner until it was almost invisible, and she channelled her magic into this idea.
Somehow it was similar and yet different to their incursions into the Muggle prisons, Daphne thought, when she and Harry had gone hunting there. The captured Muggle criminals had been rich fodder for their Impetus, but only small snacks compared to what would soon be awaiting them.
Daphne could feel the growl deep inside her. It was as if the catalyst of unparalleled power was growing restless, knowing that an unparalleled feast was soon to come.
Smiling, Daphne stepped through the now almost transparent stones and found herself within the walls of Nurmengard.
The night was dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, letting in little starlight, and even the moon was faint in the distance. A fine, cold rain fell incessantly, and the air was filled with the stormy sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs of the island.
In his crow form, Harry flew through the wet darkness, his sharp eyes aware of his surroundings despite the lack of light. But even more than his eyes, his hidden magical senses were alert at this moment. He could sense the powerful wards surrounding the prison – an invisible web of magic so dense and unyielding that it would present an almost insurmountable obstacle to anyone trying to break in or out.
But Harry didn't need to break in or out. He was already inside the protections, he'd simply walked in accompanied by the Aurors; and he didn't want to break out either, nothing could be further from his mind.
His crow's eye glided through the night and over the massive walls of the prison. He had already completed all the lower levels and most of the upper ones. Only the very top was missing.
With powerful flaps of his wings, Harry rose further into the air. He had no time to lose.
Slowly, Daphne climbed a narrow staircase that seemed to go up forever.
It was pitch black all around her. No torches lit the walls, no lamps provided light from the ceiling. Why should they? Nurmengard was a prison for only one prisoner, guarded by only a few guards. There was no need for any light on any staircase in this huge castle. But Daphne had put some magic in her eyes so she could see enough.
She was still wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and she had still magically muffled her footsteps – so quiet that not even the silence could give her away. Invisible and silent, she glided forward, a shadowy figure in a castle of shadows. Not even the rats that scurried across the stairs from time to time noticed her. To them, she was nothing more than another touch of darkness in an already dark place.
The higher she climbed, the more intricate and formidable the wards became. But she was prepared for that too. With the precision and skill of an experienced enchantress and curse-breaker – an art she had mastered despite her youth – she unravelled each enchantment, untangling the knots of magic that tried to block her path. It was a bit like dancing, where every step, every movement had to be carefully considered. And ever since the Yule Ball with Harry, Daphne knew she loved to dance.
The darkness ahead was heavy, but she knew that her path had to take her higher and higher until there was no further to go. She had to reach the highest point of the fortress, the place where all the stairs ended and her prey awaited her.
Harry sat down against the cold stone wall, having made sure that the icy auras of the Dementors were far away, somewhere in another corner of the huge, dark prison. But he knew he had to hurry.
Without a moment's hesitation, Harry began to carve into the stone with his beak and claws. It was hard lines and sharp edges he was carving; shapes that Daphne had originally created to protect her bed in the Slytherin dungeon and that Harry had refined over the past few months.
When he was finished, he immediately spread his wings and flew on. Again, he kept an eye out for Dementors – he believed that in his animal form he was much harder for the horrible creatures to spot, but lack of caution had already caused him too much misery – before settling on another part of the wall.
The rain dripped relentlessly on his feathers, pattering against the cold stones and the rusty bars blocking a nearby window. Harry had been hardened by the last few nights, but the constant wet and cold was getting to him, especially as he couldn't warm himself with magic. It was as if the cold was slowly and relentlessly eating away at his little crow bones. And the company didn't do much to warm his heart either.
On his nightly forays, Harry had seen some of the prisoners, felt their ugly auras hanging in the air like a foul stench, heavy with despair and hatred. But… as he glanced at the barred window beside him, he felt an aura that ruffled his feathers, even after all he had seen in the last few nights. An instinctive disgust, deep and inexplicable, crept through every fibre of his body.
Harry peered through the bars into the cell beyond. Unlike his own cell on the ground floor, there was no bunk or toilet bowl here – just cold, bare stone. Darkness seemed to engulf the room, but Harry could make out the outline of a figure huddled in a corner, shrouded in shadow.
Just then, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting a pale, whitish light through the window. Slowly, the light crept across the floor, revealing the figure's bare legs – slender and pale, almost like parchment. It continued upwards, revealing a torso clad in tattered black robes that contrasted sharply with the pale skin that lay like a thin, sickly layer over the gaunt body.
As the light finally reached the figure's face, Harry flinched. He found himself staring directly into the cold, glittering eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her dark eyes stared at him, sharp and unrelenting like those of a cat of prey. Her lips curled into a crooked, snarling smile, revealing deep yellow teeth.
"Oh, a visitor," the Death Eater croaked, her voice a harsh, grating rasp, like the sound of metal scraping against stone. "Come here, little crow. Let's be friends, you and I."
Harry took off faster than he ever had in his life. His wings flapped violently against the cold air as a fiery rage burned within him, blazing with hatred.
Even this most despicable scum like Bellatrix Lestrange would soon get what they deserved, he thought.
Soon. Very, very soon.
Suddenly, as she walked down the dark corridor at the top of Nurmengard, Daphne felt a hot burning inside her, as if a glowing chain had been wrapped around her heart. She frowned.
What the hell are you doing, my love? she thought tenderly. Don't distract me like this.
The burning began to subside and Daphne pushed it aside as she continued to creep along the narrow corridor. Her steps were quiet, her every breath controlled, but her mind was on high alert.
Eventually she reached a massive wooden door that stood out from the bare walls of the corridor. She could feel the powerful magic surrounding the door like invisible guards. But she hadn't come this far, had overcome so many spells, to let them stop her now.
Without hesitation, she raised her wand and made a gentle, almost casual movement. Like cobwebs, it brushed aside the enchantments that would have been an insurmountable obstacle for most witches and wizards. A low crackling sound, barely more than a whisper in the silence, accompanied the dissolution of the magic. Then there was silence, at least for a moment.
The door opened with a soft creak. Daphne pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her head and stepped inside.
The room was bare. Stone walls without decoration, a stone floor covered only by a small, thin carpet. There was a wooden table and chair in the corner, with a single candle flickering on it. Opposite the door was a simple bed.
A man sat on the bed.
He was old, his body haggard, his pale skin stretched so tightly over his bones that even in the dim light you could see every contour. But his eyes – those eyes – were alive, penetrating, full of unbroken power. They radiated the uncanny intelligence and iron will that had once terrified the whole of Europe.
"Good evening, Miss Greengrass," said Gellert Grindelwald in a voice as calm and soft as if he had been waiting in this cell for this moment all these years. "You have a proposition for me, I presume?"
Harry felt a tinge of triumph through the bond that bound him to Daphne, even from this distance, as he landed in his cell and regained his human form. A pang of pride came over him, and he tried to share his feelings with his mate as much as possible.
A sense of triumph also burned within him. The work of the past few nights was complete. All over the prison, hidden from the eyes of the Aurors and the blindness of the Dementors, his beak and claws had carved the Runes of Pain into the stone. There were enough of them now, in enough different places, to proceed with the next phase of their plan.
The next time the guards passed Harry's cell, he told them he wanted to be released early.