53: End of the Year

[3rd Pov]

The summer sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow across the Hogwarts castle as students bustled about, packing their trunks and bidding farewell to friends. In the courtyard, the giant clock tower chimed, marking the end of the school year. Professor McGonagall stood on the marble steps of the Entrance Hall, her stern expression softening as she watched her students depart.

The Great Hall was nearly empty, its long wooden tables cleared of food and littered with the remnants of the final feast. The banners that hung from the ceiling remained green, the Slytherin symbol displayed on them, marking their eleventh House Cup win in a row.

Alaric had nagged his uncle to refrain from telling the student body what exactly went down in the chamber about him or Lockhart, as it would take some of the impact of what was about to come out in the next few days, — And because he wanted Lavender to stop writing weird erotica. Not that it would stop her — so the last feast of the year happened without a hitch, apart from some Gryffindors with fragile egos.

Dumbledore also 'sadly' announced that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year since he needed to go away to take care of some personal matters. Quite a few of the teachers and level-headed students joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

"Shame," said Blaise, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He was starting to grow on me,"

Apart from that, Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky whenever Alaric was nearby. If you looked closely, you could still spot some patches of pink in his otherwise golden hair.

Outside, the lake shimmered in the afternoon sun, while the Forbidden Forest stood dark and mysterious on the horizon. Hagrid stood near his growing pumpkins, waving goodbye as the students walked towards the carriages.

As these carriages — boats for the first-years and seventh-years as part of their graduation ceremony — carried students away from the magical school, another year's worth of memories was added to the ancient stones that held the castle together.

Soon, it was time for the journey to London on the Hogwarts Express. Alaric, Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, and Theodore got a comportment for themselves and made the most of the last few hours they would spend together for a while.

They spent the time chatting away about plans for the summer and things they could all do together.

"So you're saying you've removed the Trace from your wand?" Tracey sat up in astonishment. "How?"

"Need me to handle that for you?" Alaric inquired, a sly grin forming as Tracey nodded eagerly.

He extended his arm, motioning for her to hand over the wand. She parted with it, her eyes fixed on her friend as he delicately touched the wand's core. Slowly, a small red orb emerged.

"Wow..."

Not just Tracey, but everyone in the compartment, marvelled at the twinkling orb hovering above Alaric's palm.

"Do you have any other item you typically carry around?" Alaric questioned. Tracey retrieved a small mirror she habitually used to make sure her hair remained right.

Alaric placed the mirror on his lap and whispered an incantation, and they all observed as the orb transferred into the object.

"It's done," he declared, returning the mirror to Tracey. "Just be sure to keep it close until you're home. The Trace works based on proximity, so as long as you leave it at home, the Ministry won't detect any unauthorized magic use outside your residence."

Tracey nodded absently, her gaze still fixed on her wand. Then, a question came to her mind.

"Wouldn't it seem suspicious if they don't detect my magic at Hogwarts next year?" she wondered, sliding the mirror back into her pocket.

"That's why I asked for something you carry with you," Alaric replied. "The Ministry's Trace workers aren't overly concerned about the frequency of magic. Their focus is on underage magic outside approved locations."

Theodore, munching on some chocolate frogs, looked intrigued. He couldn't help but wonder how Alaric knew so much of the Ministry's inner workings.

One by one, Alaric did the same to the other's wands. Being able to do magic outside of their home seemed too good to be true, and opened a lot of possibilities. As long as they kept it hidden from their parents, they could enjoy the advantage of practising magic wherever they wanted.

Finally, the Hogwarts Express came to a stop, signalling they had arrived at King's Cross. With his suitcase in hand, Alaric walked out of the train, bade goodbye to his friends, and stood close to the station's wall, waiting for his sister.

He was too engrossed messing around with his pocket watch to notice his surroundings, failing to see the tall, brown-haired man that had his gaze fixed on him. The man's steel-grey eyes seemed to shine like pearls amidst the crowd of wizards, never having Alaric out of sight.

'So it's you...'

__________

In the middle of the North Sea, sat a looming fortress that served the magical community of Great Britain as a prison.

Azkaban was a bleak, forbidding place. It sat on an isolated island, surrounded by turbulent waters. The prison itself was a dark fortress, made of cold, grey stone. Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, floated around, spreading an overwhelming sense of despair.

Inside, the cells were small and dingy, with no windows to let in light. The air was heavy with a sense of hopelessness. Prisoners, many of them with gaunt faces and hollow eyes, languished in their cells, serving their sentences. For most of them, Azkaban was the last stop before eternal rest.

The sound of despairing cries and moans echoed through the corridors, a constant reminder of the suffering within those walls. Azkaban was a place where time seemed to stand still, and happiness was a distant memory for those unfortunate enough to be confined within its grim walls, having their happiness sucked out of them, leaving them with their most hated and melancholic memories.

"Scared, are ya?"

While Dementors watched over most of the prison, some unlucky Aurors had to occasionally keep an eye on them. Their duty involved walking around the prison grounds, which included a big graveyard made when lots of prisoners died, giving food to the inmates, and welcoming new prisoners. The rest of the daily tasks were usually done by spells or charms, or sometimes by a few elves chosen by the Ministry.

"Me? Nah, not at all! Just so you know, I came second in the Auror academy!"

To prevent the assigned Aurors from feeling too bad because of the Dementors, every three months, they got to leave, and another group took over their job.

It had been two days since the last group of guards left, and now two Aurors were getting ready to patrol inside the prison.

One of them was visibly old and had wrinkles coupled with some scares on his face, showing he'd been an Auror for a long time. His hair was mostly grey now, but it used to be black. His eyes, even if weary, held a sharp look of wisdom and experience, and he moved with confidence, like someone who'd seen it all. The young Auror, on the other hand, was full of energy. He wore a neat, brightly coloured robe and had messy dark hair. He seemed eager, determined — and a bit scared — but that was understandable seeing the nature of their job for the next three months. While the old Auror had the air of someone who'd been through a lot, the young one had the attitude of someone just beginning their career.

"Ah! — second? I guess ya got beat by that girl Alastor's mentoring," the old Auror laughed. He reached for the table and handed the young one a talisman. "This is yer lifeline, Mason. Keep this on and ya won't get sucked by them,"

"I thought Dementors didn't attack Ministry workers?" Mason, the newly graduated Auror, spoke with a pale face. He hurriedly took the talisman and placed it around his neck.

"Huh? What did they teach ya at the academy, boy?" The old man, who had a golden plate with the name 'Everett Bletchley' on him, was surprised at the lack of common knowledge from his pupil. "Dementors don't give a wee thing about you. They're no kind folk — especially in this place,"

Everett secured his talisman and flicked his wand, conjuring a food trolley before opening the door that led to the first level. "Let's save some trouble for the elves," he muttered to Mason, who quickly followed behind. "In the meantime, ya get to meet our residents," he chuckled eerily, and Mason could feel sweat forming on his forehead.

Soon enough, they started the routine they would have to follow for the next three months. While the rest of the Aurors were assigned as outside patrols or stationary guards, Everett and Mason had the tough luck of being assigned double weekly patrols of the interior of the prison.

As they rose level by level, the inmates' level of danger only got higher, and Mason finally understood why theory could only take him so far. The higher floors of Azkaban held truly dangerous and demented people.

'But that isn't the problem,' Mason thought. No, the true problem was the ease some of them could sway you with promises of power and eternal life if you helped them escape. It was because of this the Aurors-in-the-making went through rigorous mental and psychological training, often passing out due to the strain the Senior Aurors would put their minds through.

The one advantage the Aurors had was the fact that Voldemort was no longer around — in their knowledge of course — and as most of the prisoners were somehow involved with the Death Eaters nowadays, the fact that their leader was 'dead' was enough for some to easily dismiss their words.

The two were almost done, only the last floor remaining. However, before they stepped foot into it, Everett suddenly stopped Mason.

"Now, I just wanna warn ya, kid," Everett said with a sombre tone. "If ya think Dementors are bad, these people are the worst," He clutched Mason's shoulder and stared right into his eyes. "Don't get too close to the cells, let me handle it,"

Mason slightly trembled but nodded nonetheless. He watched as his mentor placed his wrinkled hand on the weathered knob of the wooden door, and slowly pushed.

"Lumos," Everett whispered. The moonlight couldn't penetrate the last floor, so the Auror resorted to the basic spell so he could see in front of him.

Their boots clicked against the cold stone floor as they made their way to the first cell.

"Is that you Everett?" a sadistic female voice came from the inside. "Little old Everett is still alive? I can't believe it!" the voice turned into a burst of laughter.

"Bellatrix," Everett simply acknowledged, shoving a tray with food through the gap in the cell's door. He swiftly walked away ignoring the woman's laugh.

"Oh, leaving already?" She truly seemed sad, but the old man knew better. "C'mon, get back here... so I can GUT YOU!"

Everett just looked at the agitated Mason and shot him a look of 'I told ya so'. They continued distributing the food to the cells. More often than not, a prisoner would try to indulge in a conversation but Everett just ignored them and Mason followed his lead, making said prisoner scream profanities and promises of death. But it was all part of the job.

"Ya see, most of the time, these folk just want a good talk," Everett said as he took out the last tray. "Of course, we have cases like Miss Lestrange over there or cases like this man over here," He tapped his wand on the steel door. "I reckon you've heard of Pettigrew?"

"Y-Yes, the one you killed at those Muggles and got the old Potters killed, right?" Mason answered, trying to peer into the cell.

"That one," Everett nodded. "Hasn't talked a day since he got imprisoned thirteen years ago,"

Opening the gap in the door, Everett and Mason watched how Pettigrew got up and walked towards the door. He was a very short man, hardly taller than a kid. His thin, colourless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He was thin, almost bony, and lacked any light in his eyes that could distinguish him from a corpse.

"He looks almost..." Mason started.

"Dead? That's what everyone thinks. He's no better than a bloody corpse," Everett finished.

It was almost a bad joke. The moment they stopped talking, 'Pettigrew' dropped on the floor, completely still. They saw in horror how his body quickly decomposed and transfigured, and at the same time, a giant purple slug exited his mouth.

"W-What the — SOUND THE ALARMS!"

**********

A/N: Had a lot of fun writing this.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!