ME 462C

Chapter 3: Formulating a Plan

Back at his flat, ME 462C sighed and threw himself on his bed, eyes slanted and mouth in a very straight, thin line. Slowly, gradually, the corners of his lips drew up into a slight smile. God, she was beautiful. Even though Azkaban had taken its tolls on her appearance, he minded little.

ME 462C fell victim to his nostalgia. He thought of the days before the act was instigated...

*Flashback*

The Muggles had begun to suspect things when Voldemort's Dark Mark had begun appearing in broad daylight. During his days, magic was performed freely in front of Muggles.

With the complete demise of Lord Voldemort, the magic of witches and wizards also disappeared. What had not been told to the magical community, however, was that the Ministry had revoked all magical rights.

It was then when the Muggles, ignorant fools that they were, had begun the wizard persecution.

It reminded ME 462C of the Salem Witch Trials. Before the "Revoking," as it was called, it had been easy enough to defend against such things as burning at the stake. But without magic, witches and wizards were hopeless.

Slowly, news that the Ministry had caused this had leaked out to the magical community. People were outraged. There were mass protests in front of the Ministry. No-one could find an alternative, other then the Ministry giving back magical abilities. Which they ardently refused to do, for some strange reason.

It was Percy Weasley, who was then the Junior Minister, who came up with the idea. That very same day, Minister Fudge was assassinated, Percy was made Minister, and the System came into effect. Without any notice to the magical community whatsoever.

It hadn't been a difficult decision for Percy. He had never been much for this great statement on originality that seemed to be buzzing around. Others, however, weren't so happy. It was protested ferociously.

ME 462C would remember where he was at the time he was informed of the System as though it were yesterday. He had been in Transfiguration when Professor McGonagall had told him of what was to come. He fell into a state of deep shock.

*end flashback*

So, this was it? He was just going to let everyone walk all over him again, as he had done before? Or was he going to save P 667H?

He carefully weighed the possibilities. It would be dangerous, but it had been done before. He would help her break out of Azkaban.

Granted, it would be difficult. He had broken rules before, that wouldn't be the hard part.

He would have to think of a way to trick the Dementors. Sirius Black had done it, Barty Crouch had, as well. ME 462C was an intelligent man, he could think for himself.

He had several options, of course. The best, and most likely to succeed, would be difficult. And it would be completely unfair. But that was how society worked, these days.

ME 462C had made up his mind. He would get the Minister to hold a Press Conference, Dementors and all, on the shores of Azkaban, about the new Policies in the System. ME 462C didn't even know what had been proposed, that was for the Minister and the Department of Mysteries. If that didn't work, ME 462C surmised, he could always pay the Minister off to hold the press conference.

That way, he could sneak P 667H out of Azkaban.

Sighing, he walked over to the blinds and drew them for the evening. He cast his forlorn gaze out into the mist drifting about the streets. This would be a rough night for sleeping, he could tell.

Just as he had predicted, his night was restless. His dreams were haunted by a vision of something his father had told him when he was a child. He could visualize the scarred, scabby hands of a Dementor, and the gaping, expressionless face. He could see it sucking out the soul of P 667H.

He woke in filled with a cold, chilling fear, a fear consuming him and nearly destroying him. Sweat was pouring off of his body. From the dark depths of the basement, he heard the squeaking of a rat.

He laid on his bed, eyes darting about the room watching the spectre-like shadows splattered across the floor. He could see them. Those eyes, again.

They had been a weekly occurrence since his days at later Hogwarts. His dreams had been haunted by visions of them. He would wake up in a cold sweat, quivering in fear. They were the soulless eyes of a Dementor.