Family Ties

Chapter 10 - Escape from Azkaban

The next morning the students who followed the events in the Prophet got the shock of their lives. God no, it can't be...

On the front page of the Daily Prophet was the headline Mass Breakout from Azkaban, with ten Death Eaters pictured and captioned with their crimes. The first thing on the article that caught Dean's attention, though, was a picture of a man he knew, someone whose face he'd come to loathe over the last five months: Jack Webster.

Below his mad eyes, and grin that seemed to scream that no cell would hold him prisoner, were his crimes: convicted of eight brutal murders, including Auror Gary Heaton. Dean's insides went cold, the cereal he'd just eaten feeling like a concrete bowling ball sitting in his stomach.

He looked around him to see how other people were taking this news. Most people didn't seem to know; talking and laughing like the world did not suddenly have a black smear across it. Harry, Ron and Hermione were huddled over a newspaper looking scared and revolted; Neville was so white there were blue shadows under his eyes; Ginny's boyfriend approached their table, her smile faded from her face as he whispered in her ear.

She shot one quick worried look at Dean before she left the hall with Michael. Seamus was looking at him with a distinctly worried face from across the table. He hiked an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he was all right. Dean nodded stiffly, as a prickly feeling on the back of his neck told him someone else was looking at him. He looked around quickly but couldn't see anyone looking at him.

For the first time he saw the reaction at the teachers' table; Professor Umbridge was looking murderous, making Dean devoutly thankful he did not have Defence Against the Dark Arts that day; Professor Sprout had forgotten about her breakfast completely and Dumbledore was deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall. Dean wondered if it had been he who had been looking at him, but dismissed the idea. Dumbledore had no reason to be looking at him.

Dean stood up, rolling up the newspaper as he walked out of the hall as fast as he could without giving the impression he was fleeing. Half way up the stairs to Gryffindor tower he ran into Ginny, this time alone. She was very pale, making her flaming red hair stand out even more. She looked into his eyes and put a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Dean looked away and nodded, she squeezed his arm. "He can't get near you here."

"Maybe not, but he could get to my mum."

Ginny flinched. "Do you think he's likely to?"

"I don't know, but I'd better write to her."

*~*

At lunchtime, Dean didn't even go to the Great Hall for lunch; he told Seamus he'd meet him after. He sat on his bed with a piece of parchment in front of him, wondering how the hell to tell his mother the man who'd killed his father was out there, maybe even looking for her. What can she do, even if she knows? And I have no one I can ask for advice!

Dean agonised for another ten minutes before deciding he'd write to her tonight, he needed to think about what to write. What could he tell her to do? He wasn't even sure she'd be able to find the Ministry of Magic Visitors Entrance, and Dean didn't know how a phone box got into the building anyway. He knew no one at the Ministry to write to either.

Dean could feel the panic rising in his chest, squeezing his heart until he could barely breathe. What am I going to do? He unrolled the newspaper again, looking at the other monsters with human faces who'd escaped. There was only one witch, Bellatrix Lestrange; she had hooded eyes that reminded Dean of a snake. She looked like she had no pity, or conscience to appeal to. A man he presumed to be her husband was pictured beside her, their crimes listed. Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Dean froze... Longbottom? Now he knew where he recognised her name from, he'd heard it called out in the night. Neville had yelled this woman's name in his sleep, always in fear. The door to the dormitory opened and Neville came in, looking just as white as before, clutching a letter in his hand. He looked like he'd been crying. When he saw Dean, he stopped. "Sorry," he said, and made as if to leave, pulling the door behind him.

"Wait!" called Dean. "Come on in, Neville."

Neville regarded him warily, as if expecting to be taunted. Dean was unsure how to begin this conversation. He gestured towards the newspaper. "Did... did she..?"

Neville went even whiter, if it was possible. Very slowly, without looking at Dean, he nodded. Dean saw another tear slip out, which Neville wiped away quickly. "Neville... I'm sorry. One of them... One of them killed my Dad."

Neville looked up suddenly. "But your dad is a Muggle, he's alive isn't he?"

Dean was heavy with knowledge; it felt good to tell other people. "I thought so, but my dad was a wizard, he was killed by Jack Webster."

Neville flinched and looked at up at Dean, his eyes sympathetic and scared. "He was a monster. Everyone knew that after the first girl he killed. He was a lunatic, too. Didn't seem to care he was being carted off to Azkaban. My Mum and Dad were involved in his arrest."

Neville blinked several times in rapid succession. Dean looked down at the page.

"I guess this means he's really back."

Neville nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched. Glancing over the page, another name jumped out at Dean: Prewett. Antonin Dolohov - Convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabain Prewett. Dean's heart sank. He realised it had been at the back of his mind to write to his father's mentor to ask for advice. He's dead. This brute killed him.

He looked up at Neville, whose eyes were fixed on the section of page where Bellatrix Lestrange stared out at them, smiling darkly. "If I ever meet her... I am going to kill her."

There was a steely resolve in Neville's voice Dean had never heard before. It filled his veins with ice. He found he believed him.

The news of the Death Eaters' escape spread quickly. By the end of classes that day, everyone was whispering about the Death Eaters. Those students who had relatives who had been killed by the escapees were receiving nearly as much attention as Harry had gotten when he first started Hogwarts. Dean was thankful that only a handful of people knew about Gary.

He saw Susan Bones looking very stiff walking down the Charms corridor, people whispering as she passed. There was a tone to the whispering though. People couldn't understand how so many could escape at one time. The whispers carried a thought around the school - was Harry telling the truth? Was You-Know-Who really back?

The common room was so noisy that night that many of the fifth and seventh years escaped to the library, trying to work despite the palpable fear in the air. Dean laboured over the homework set by Professor Sprout in Herbology that day, but he couldn't concentrate. He still hadn't written to his mother - alternating between deciding there was no possible way to tell her that a mad wizard might be looking for her, and knowing that he had to tell her. Eventually, he snapped his textbook closed, and told Seamus he was going back to the Room of Requirement. "I need somewhere to think in peace."

As always, the room wrapped a thin veil of comfort around him. This place contained, to him, the essence of his father. He felt safe here. The concern for his mother was still there though, running like an undercurrent under the excitement he felt at being back here again.

He glanced around at the now familiar bookcases, comfy chair and filing cabinets. He decided to look at the case file about Webster's arrest and, hopefully, trial. He opened the second drawer of the second filing cabinet, reached into the back and took out a thick, heavy file.

The photo on the cover was the same one as was printed by the Daily Prophet that morning. Inside were wizarding photographs of the arrest. A tall woman with a round face and a man with dark hair were holding him using their wands, a gold light that looked like twisted thread sprouted from their wand tips and was wound around Webster, who was open mouthed, evidently screaming ferociously.

He didn't seem to be in pain, just angry, and there was a skinny woman in the background, looking haggard and sobbing uncontrollably. There was a tall redheaded woman trying to comfort her. The next picture was a clearer one of these women. She must be the one he abducted, and the other must be the relative the paper spoke of.

The red headed woman was hugging the other fiercely, crying herself. She had haunted green eyes that were somehow familiar. There was a report about the arrest; Webster had fought hard, injuring Gideon Prewett so badly he spent a week in St Mungo's. The woman he'd abducted, named as Petunia Evans, spent close to a month in the hospital furiously refusing treatment of any kind, even Memory Charms.

There was also a small vial in the file, about the size of a test tube, full of what looked like glittering white smoke - it almost appeared to be liquid. There were photographs of the trophies he had kept from his victims, a pair of lacy pink pants he must have taken from Alice Derring, the arm of a small doll, wedding rings which presumably came from the young married couple he had killed, and a wand, broken cleanly at the handle.

Dean's eyes snapped to the bookcase, where this very wand was sitting. He crossed the room to it, setting the file on the desk as he went. He picked up the wand carefully; it was a thick one, made of dark wood, possibly mahogany. A tell-tale glint of gold in the shaft told Dean this wand had a core of Phoenix feather. It looked about fourteen inches long. The handle was made of lighter wood than the rest. Dean ran his fingers over the grain.

"It is pine," said a voice behind him.