Out of The Darkness

November 5, 1981

A few miles down the coast between Thurso and Scrabster there is a small jetty. The cold waters of the North Sea lap gently around the slowly rotting support posts rising up out of the waters, as they have done for years. A fine layer of smooth slime coats the posts just above sea level.

Moored to the jetty is an old wooden boat that has obviously seen better days. A large hole in its underside renders the boat unusable, leaving it half submerged in water. One oar lies snapped along the bottom of the boat; the other is nowhere to be seen. The oarlocks are two small rings of rust that look as though they would snap.

From here, just over 6 miles from the shore, can be seen the Orkney Islands. Not visible from this location, being another 60 miles out from Orkney, out over the cold, grey sea, lie the Shetland's. Further out still is Fair Isle, which is widely recognised as Britain's most remote island. However, for those in the know, this is not the case. There is another island further away still, beyond the prying eyes of muggles. Unseen and unloved, the island fortress of Azkaban is a dominating vision for those unlucky enough to set eyes on it.

Towering up above the harsh, cold waters, the Wizard prison casts a bleak shadow on the North Sea. On approaching the fortress, it almost feels as though something is trying to suck any traces of happiness from you. A cold wind blows here, chilling those approaching to their very souls.

This is what the small, decaying boat is used for. Those who have been sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban are brought here, to this remote jetty, where they are chained into the boat (only rotten and unusable in the eyes of Muggles) and sent on their way. They travel alone, heading towards their fate, waiting to be taken by the Dementors once they reach the island. Most cry out, promise vengeance to those who sent them here, swearing that they will escape. All know that escape is not an option.

Back at the jetty, it is now possible to see a small group appearing over the crest of a nearby hill. It consists of three people; Adalbert Jugson, a Death Eater sentenced to Azkaban; Cornelius Fudge, a man in his late thirties who will become important in a few years time but right now only thinks he is important; and Alastor Moody, an Auror who is here simply for personal satisfaction. You will find out why later.

This group is odd-looking indeed. Cornelius is short and portly, with hair greying around the edges. He is wearing an expensive looking deep-purple suit with a long black cloak, and is attempting to look intimidating. Alastor is also beginning to go grey, and has a badly scarred face, the most obvious point of which is a chunk of his nose that appears to have been bitten off. His figure is a strong one, and he does not need to attempt to look intimidating; anybody with an ounce of sense would be afraid of him.

Perhaps the most interesting figure, however, is that of Adalbert. He is tall, perhaps six feet, with a shaved head. He wears nothing on the top half of his body and hard-wearing canvas shorts with no pockets on the bottom, this being the standard clothing issued to Azkaban prisoners; nowhere to hide any weapons, not enough material to fashion a rope out of. He is well built, moving with a powerful grace like that of a cat. He exudes an air of confidence and power that neither of the two men with him have.

And yet this man is afraid. He is bound by magical ropes that hold his hands together and pin his arms to the side, to keep him from inflicting the kind of damage that he is capable of, as evidenced by the patch covering Alastor's eye. His strong jaw shakes and his breathing is ragged, as though he is fighting off tears.

For this man is being sent to a fate worse than death. He has been handed a life sentence in the terrible Azkaban Fortress for crimes he both committed and is proud of, but he would rather have gotten away with them than be sent to what amounts to hell.

Finally they reach the jetty. In silence, Adalbert climbs into the boat. He knows that he would have no chance of escaping if he tried; his bonds will not come off until he is shut inside Azkaban, and Moody is clutching his wand tightly, ready to strike if he needs to. He will not be taken by surprise again.

His ropes tie themselves strongly to the oarlocks, ensuring that he will not try and swim for freedom. Then Cornelius places a foot on the nearest end of the boat and pushes him roughly away. The boat rocks violently, the sides threatening to dip below the water, and then is steady. It is not long before the jetty is out of sight, and Adalbert is alone in the world once more.

As he approaches Azkaban Fortress, the terrible power of the Dementors starts to take effect, and he begins to remember...

October 31, 1981

The only sound to be heard was the soft rustling of five black cloaks as they marched quickly over the damp grass. High above them, the moon shone weakly through a thin layer of cloud; below, the ground sloped gently down towards the centre of Godric's Hollow. A small copse of trees was visible partway up the opposite hill. In the hollow itself, a small bowl in the relatively flat ground, stood a crumbling cottage.

At the head of the small group their leader suddenly stopped, signalling with a raised hand that they should do likewise. Gazing intently towards the ruined building, he grasped the nearest figure and roughly dragged him across the ground.

"Where are they, Wormtail?" their leader demanded. Lord Voldemort's voice was quiet and menacing, carrying just enough so that they could all hear him.

"B-but m-master, I..." Wormtail stammered out, his voice squeaking fearfully.

"I realise you have led me here, Wormtail, but you must tell me exactly." Voldemort spoke with the air of somebody patient enough to wait forever for an answer, but his tightening grip demonstrated that this was not the case. "Now, where are the Potters hiding?"

"T-the Potters are h-hiding at the c-c-cottage in G-Godric's Hollow," Wormtail said, his fearful stuttering worsening as Voldemort's grip tightened. These words seemed to work in a way that simply leading the group to the Hollow had not. As soon as the final word left Wormtail's lips, a great change took place down in the Hollow.

The ruined walls of the cottage slowly began to grow upwards, as though a previously hidden part of a picture was being revealed. Light flooded out of the newly formed downstairs windows, bathing the ground below in a warm orange glow. Smoke rose from the stone chimney that had appeared in the thatched roof. The whole house had an air of serenity about it.

Smiling thinly, Lord Voldemort roughly cast Wormtail aside. Signalling that the group should follow, he set off down the slope towards the Hollow. Wormtail hurriedly picked himself off the ground, chasing after the four men as though he was afraid to be left alone.

When they reached the level ground at the bottom of the Hollow, Voldemort stopped once more.

"One corner each. Wait for me to return. Move." Quickly, the three men and Wormtail set off for a corner of the house, wands held tightly in front of them.

Adalbert Jugson immediately headed for the back of the house. He knew there was a danger of Aurors arriving, and he assumed they would come from the cover of the trees. He wanted to be the one to greet them if they appeared.

Raised voices could now be heard from inside the building. It sounded as though the foolish Potter man was trying to talk Lord Voldemort out of killing him.

Hmm, pleading, Adalbert thought wryly. How original. The number of people who thought begging would save them never failed to amaze him. After all the people you know have died at His hands, why do you think He will make an exception for you? It seemed to him that this was about as useful as pleading with God. Actually, they are pleading with a God.

His train of thought was interrupted when the screams began. A cold chill ran down his spine, closely followed by a surge of adrenaline. This was his favourite part. The deathly cries of the Dark Lord's victim's fuelled Adalbert's fearful worship of Lord Voldemort.

Nobody will ever bring Him down.

More screams sounded out, and a bright green flash lit up the window above Adalbert. He gripped his wand tightly, peering into the darkness for signs of trouble. He had to turn his head to get a good view of the area; the suffocating masks the Death Eaters were made to wear hampered the peripheral vision somewhat.

There was another green flash, more powerful this time, and then an unearthly scream that chilled Adalbert to the bone pierced the night. The window above him shattered as a dark shape was flung through it, shards of glass raining down around him. Adalbert darted over to the figure, which had landed face down about ten feet away with a sick, wet thud.

Readying his wand in case he should need it, Adalbert rolled the form over with his foot. What he saw pained him more than anything he had ever experienced before. With an anguished cry, he dropped to his knees next to the prostrate form of Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord's face was twisted with an emotion Adalbert had never seen him display. Fear. As He looked on, the body of the Dark Lord began to change. His face began to blur, as though it was vibrating at an immense speed. The skin began to bubble, then to slowly slide from the bone of His skull, before melting into the ground. Then the bone began to do the same, melting onto the ground before vanishing, leaving Voldemort's robes lying crumpled on the grass.

Adalbert could hear feet pounding on the grass, the sounds of people running towards him. Then hands were grasping at his robes, pulling him upwards, forcing him to look into the face of a dark mask.

"We need to get out of here quickly. Aurors are coming," came the urgent voice from behind the mask. Adalbert shook off the strong hands, bending towards the heap of clothing on the ground and searching until he found what he was looking for. Standing again, he grasped Voldemort's wand tightly in his fist.

"Did he succeed?" Adalbert's voice was cold with a deadly purpose. "Did he slay the Potter child?" In answer to his question, the screams of an infant in pain drifted out of the broken window. Setting his shoulders in determination, he pushed past the black-garbed figures and set off towards the back door of the house.

Once more hands pulled at his shoulders, spinning him round to face the two remaining Death Eaters.

"Listen to me Jugson." Lucius Malfoy's voice was hard and cold. "Wormtail, the coward that he is, has for once done the right thing and fled. There is nothing for us to do here. Voldemort is gone, there is no future for us if we pursue this cause."

A red mist rose up before Adalbert's eyes as his anger grew.

"You coward. You complete and utter piece of cowardly shit!" Adalbert spat the words at Malfoy, aggression lacing his words. "The Dark Lord can never be slain! He will rise again, and his first act will be to punish those who have forsaken him. Those such as you. I am going into that building, and I am going to finish what He set out to do. Now let go of me." Angrily he shook off Malfoy's hands and headed once more for the door.

"He's right, you know." The voice was that of Walden Macnair. "Yes, He will rise again. But we will be of no use to him whatsoever if we are locked up in Azkaban when that time comes! Now let's go, before those fucking Aurors start swarming all over the place." Without waiting for an answer, Macnair abruptly Disapparated with a loud crack.

"Jugson, come on. Don't be such an idiot about this." Malfoy's voice took on a tone of pleading. "Let's go."

"No," Adalbert coldly replied. "Here, take this, if I get caught with it then it will be destroyed." He roughly jammed Voldemort's wand into Malfoy's hand before turning around once more. The only sound he heard from Lucius was the crack as he vanished.

Striding calmly towards the house, Adalbert readied his wand. He kicked open the door and marched into the tiny kitchen. He quickly located the staircase and ascended to the first floor, where he followed the screams of the young Harry Potter into the infant's bedroom.

Lying in a crumpled heap next to the baby's cot was Lily Potter. Her dark red hair was spread out across the floor, her brilliant green eyes dead to the world. Roughly he kicked her body aside, relishing in the heavy thud as her head bounced off one of the cot's legs.

Stepping up to the cot, the first thing Adalbert noticed was the lightning-shaped cut on the infant's forehead. How interesting, he thought. Not wanting to risk being caught, Adalbert raised his wand.

"Avada Ked..."

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The disarming spell hit Adalbert squarely between his shoulder blades. He was propelled forwards, tipping the cot over and landing on the floor on the other side, his legs spread over the side of the cot. The Potter child rolled out and across the floor, crying even louder.

Somehow Adalbert had managed to hold onto his wand. Twisting around, he aimed the wand at the Auror who had burst into the room.

"Crucio!" The Auror lithely stepped to one side of the badly aimed spell, which burnt a hole through the wall.

"Impedimenta," the Auror said calmly. Immediately Adalbert felt his movements slowing. It was as though he was in a dream; as hard as he tried, he could not move at any speed. It was as though some invisible force was holding him back.

He watched helplessly as the Auror stepped over the wrecked cot and plucked his wand from his hand. The Auror looked to be in his late thirties, although it was hard to tell. His face was scarred with numerous dark lines that looked like a join-the-dots gone wrong. He appeared to be strongly built, but Adalbert thought he could take him given half the chance. Pocketing Adalbert's wand, the Auror began speaking.

"I am Alastor Moody, Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. It is my duty to inform you that, as of this time, eleven fifty-two p.m. on the day of October thirty-first, nineteen eighty-one, you are hereby taken into the custody of the Ministry of Magic for..."

As the Auror continued his spiel, Adalbert could felt the Impediment Jinx he had been hit with beginning to wear off. He lay still, though, not wanting to give this away, and began to plan how he could best escape. With no wand he would have to act quickly to disarm the Auror before he could let off another spell.

"...warn you that this building is surrounded by my colleagues, who will not hesitate to kill you if you try to escape. Now..."

With a small pop, magical ropes flew out of the end of Moody's wand. With reflexes honed to perfection, Adalbert reacted. Rolling quickly to the side, he sprung to his feet and launched himself at the Auror. With a snarl he descended on the unprepared man, bearing him to the ground.

Moody let out a cry as they fell to the ground, and Adalbert began trying to pry the wand from his hand. Below him, the Auror gathered his senses quickly, bringing his knee up into Adalbert's stomach to try and dislodge him. He reacted savagely, biting down on the first thing that came into view and tearing backwards with all his strength. With a satisfying rip a large chunk of hair came loose in his mouth, bloody chunks of scalp splattering the faces of the two men. Moody let out a savage cry like that of a bear caught in a hunter's trap.

The Auror's eyes were wide with fear, and Adalbert seized the opportunity without hesitation. Bringing his hand up to the man's face, he sank his thumb into his eye. The Auror screamed again as blood began to flow from his eye-socket, Adalbert's thumb sinking deeper into his face every second. Moody desperately landed a hard punch to Adalbert's ribs; it didn't hurt, but was enough to dislodge him.

Deciding that he had had enough, Adalbert pulled back his head and landed a powerful blow of his forehead between Moody's eyes. The Auror's head shot backwards into the floor, and more blood began to soak into the stained carpet. Moody went limp below him, and Adalbert picked himself up off the ground. Taking both his and the Auror's wands, he slipped out of the room and down the landing.

Moving into another bedroom, he cautiously stepped over to where he could see out of the window. Aurors were flooding out of the small grouping of trees on the hill and heading towards the house. He could hear some of them coming in through both the front and kitchen doors, doing their best to remain silent.

Shit, I forgot to kill the kid, he thought. Well, there's still one thing I can do.

"MORSMORDRE!" He cast the spell quietly but with meaning, and revelled in the loud cries of fear that came from outside as the Dark mark rose up above the house.

He padded out of the room to the top of the stairs, throwing a quick glance over the banister to be sure there was nobody at the bottom who would see him. The front door lay open at the bottom; presumably the Aurors were checking the ground floor before venturing upstairs. With nobody in sight, now was his chance.

Quickly, Adalbert jumped up so that he was sitting on the banister. He wanted to get down the stairs with as little noise as possible. Lifting his feet, he sailed smoothly down the banister. Just before he reached the bottom and crashed into the top of the end post, he put his hand out and vaulted over the top of it. Landing lightly, Adalbert slipped out of the open front door.

Luckily there were no Aurors waiting on the hill for him. He sprinted across the flat ground, managing to reach the bottom of the gentle incline before being spotted.

"There he is! On the hill! Stupefy!"

The spell, along with dozens of others, hit him hard. He was cast forwards, stumbling over his suddenly unresponsive feet, landing hard on the ground that suddenly rushed up to meet him. Just before the warm darkness of unconsciousness hit him, he was distinctly aware of the somewhat muffled voice of Alastor Moody.

"Should've killed the bastard."