Out of The Darkness

January 13, 1996 - London

In a large townhouse somewhere in the centre of London, Cornelius Fudge was relaxing in front of a roaring fire after another hard day as Minister for Magic. The light from the flames danced across the walls expensively decorated with wood panelling. It spilled out across the luxuriously thick green carpet, reflecting off the gold-leaf text on the spines of the many books that lined the walls.

A brown-leather three-piece suite was arranged around the room in a way that made the fireplace the focal point. The whole room screamed wealth, wealth to an extent that most people would feel uncomfortable around. The man currently reclining in an armchair before the fire, however, seemed very, very comfortable.

Fudge sat with his feet propped up on a low wooden coffee table, the evening edition of the Daily Prophet open in his hands. The day had been a slow day for news; the only vaguely interesting article was about the result of a Quidditch match between two relatively small teams.

As he leaned across to place the paper on the table, a sharp flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room.

"Bloody weather," he muttered, as the sound of thunder reached his ears, and the sudden heavy rain began to pound against the outside of the windows. Fudge sat back in his seat once again, staring into the fire and listening to the storm in an attempt to relax himself.

A loud, slow knocking from the front door broke his reverie. He heard the soft patter of feet on the wooden floor of the entrance hall as one of his house elves ran to answer it. The many locks clicked out of place, and the hinges squeaked as the door was opened.

"I really must get one of the elves to oil them," he muttered aloud, as he waited for the guest to be admitted. After several minutes with no sound from the hall, Fudge grudgingly stood up and headed out of the room.

"Bloody house elves, can't get anything right," he grumbled. "Greet the guest, lead them into the hall, announce them, bring them in...how hard is that?" He moved with purpose through the dining room towards the hall, pulling open the heavy wooden door that led to the small entrance chamber.

"Can I help...?" Fudge's sentence died off as he stepped into the hall. The front door was wide open, allowing the heavy rain to soak the floor of the hall. Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground near the door was one of his house elves, which one he didn't know. But it was the figure crouched over it that caused his breath to catch in his throat and his blood to freeze in his veins. As the figure stood up, a cold wave of despair washed over Fudge.

There was a Dementor in his house.

As the tall creature began to move towards him, gliding silently across the floor, Fudge hastily searched his pockets for his wand, backing up as quickly as he could.

"Where is it? I can't have left it by the chair, surely?" Realising that the wand was not in his pockets, Fudge turned and ran as fast as he could back through the house. When he reached the living room, he hastily began hunting around the chair for his wand. He could hear the rasping breaths of the Dementor as it advanced through the house towards him.

"Come on, where...aha!" With a cry of delight, Fudge set his hand on his wand, which had somehow rolled behind the cushion on his armchair. Standing up with his wand raised, he was just in time to see the Dementor advancing through the door of the room.

"Right, happy memory..."

It was 1990. He was being confirmed as Minister for Magic.

At this brief memory, a surge of pride and happiness flowed through him.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He saw the silvery form of his patronus (a cat) dart from his wand tip as he quickly turned towards the fire. Groping in the small pot on the mantelpiece, Fudge cast a handful of floo powder into the flames. "Ministry of Magic!" he cried, stepping into the inferno, not daring to look around.

He whirled through the floo network, random grates passing in a blur. Then he was stumbling out of a fireplace in the Atrium. The room seemed to be spinning around him; there was a pounding in his ears; he was stumbling towards the gates at the end of the Atrium; somebody was shouting something; people were passing him in a blur, everything was a whirl of activity.

And then he was falling, and blackness came up to meet him.

* * *

Some time later, Fudge found himself waking up. He was lying on his back in the middle of the Atrium, with a crowd of concerned looking faces looking down at him. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, he was vaguely aware of somebody announcing his arrival to the land of the living.

Then he had been pulled to his feet, and was being led across the Atrium towards the lifts. Still only half-awake, he was dimly aware of passing the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Then they were in one of the lifts, and the next thing he knew he was being ushered into his office and directed into the plush chair behind his desk.

A brief moment of silence followed in which Fudge had a chance to catch his breath and to fully regain consciousness. Then he looked up at the small group filling his office, and spoke.

"What is going on here?"

Immediately, everybody in the room began talking at him, each one trying to be louder than the last. Mustering up the best withering look he could manage, he shouted for quiet.

"Dawlish, get Dolores Umbridge in here. And if Percy Weasley is about, bring him in. The rest of you, get back to whatever you were doing."

There were several mumbles of "Yes, Minister," and the room quickly emptied. A few short minutes later, Dawlish popped his head around the door.

"Shall I send them in, Sir?" Dawlish looked as though he would rather be at home in bed than at the Ministry at this time of night. His short, wiry hair was tousled as though he had not long got up, and grey bags were beginning to form under his eyes.

"Yes, yes, bring them in," said Fudge, with an impatient wave of his hand. "And you stay too, Dawlish, you might be able to shed some light on the matter." Dawlish stepped through the door into Fudge's office, closely followed by Dolores Umbridge and Percy Weasley.

The three stood awkwardly before Fudge's desk in silence for a few seconds while he sat staring at the hard wood tiredly. He ran his hands through his hair with a sigh and then turned his face upwards towards the small group in front of him.

"Dolores, have you any idea why there were Dementors in my house?" At this question, the colour drained from the faces of the three people stood before him. Percy Weasley sat down hard in one of the plush armchairs seated in front of Fudge's desk, visibly shaken.

"D-D-Dementors? In your house?" Umbridge's toad-like eyes were bulging so much from the shock of his question that they looked as though they were about to fall out of her head.

Fudge narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"If you didn't know that I had been attacked, then why were there so many people here in the middle of the night? Something must have..." Fudge trailed off as Dawlish moved forwards slightly.

"Sir, we thought you knew, we owled you not long ago. It's..."

"Knew what? What's happened?" Fudge asked, his voice rising slightly as he slowly began to stand up. "What's going on?"

"It's Azkaban, Sir. All the Dementors have vanished."

"But-vanished? That's, that's impossible. There must be some mistake, mustn't there?" he said shakily as he pushed his chair back and walked to the fireplace, visibly trembling.

"There's no mistake, Sir. They're gone."

"Well you know where they are, yes? You can get them back?"

"No Sir. We've no idea where they are."

"This is preposterous. That amount of Dementors can't just vanish off the face of the earth!" Percy Weasley was still sitting in the armchair, his knuckles white from the force with which he was clutching the arms. Dolores had gradually turned whiter still as this exchange had been taking place.

"Cornelius, it's true," she said, turning towards him.

"CORENELIUS?" he roared. "How dare you! When in my office you will address me with the respect I deserve, do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, Minister, Sir," she said, cowering uncharacteristically in the face of the Minister's growing rage.

"Good. I won't stand for such disrespect." He was pacing back and forth now, marching between the fire and his desk, turning tightly on his heel when he got to each end of his path.

"So...so. The Dementors are gone, and I have been attacked in my own home. Well, I think it's safe to say this night can't possibly get any worse." He glared at Umbridge and Dawlish as he said this, as though daring them to say any more. Neither said anything.

"Good. Good..." he trailed off as he began pacing again, and the room was silent for a few minutes save for the crackle of the fire and the footsteps of the Minister. Percy Weasley was the one to break the silence.

"S-Sir, I think you should know," he began in a small voice. Fudge wheeled around sharply, glaring at him.

"Yes?" he hissed.

"Sir, it...it's not only the Dementors, Sir." Percy seemed as though he was trying to sink further into the seat as Fudge glared at him from in front of his desk.

"The Death Eaters are gone too, Sir." The words fell from his mouth like a hammer sentencing Fudge to death, and were followed by a breathless silence so thick, so threatening, that even the fire seemed afraid to make a sound.

"Which...which Death Eaters?" This question seemed to leave Percy stumped for an answer. He just sat and whimpered.

"Dawlish! Which Death Eaters are missing? Give me names!"

"D-Dolohov, Sir." For one of the first times in his life, Dawlish found himself afraid. He had never in his life seen the Minister this angry; he didn't know whether it would be worse to answer the questions, or to claim temporary insanity and jump from a window somewhere. "Adalbert Jugson, Sir. Bellatrix Lestrange."

The Minister seemed to go from angry to calm in less than a second. His voice suddenly dropped to almost a whisper, and he slowly circled around his desk and dropped heavily into his chair.

"Get out," he said quietly. Umbridge looked as though she wanted to respond, but his tone told her that this would not be a wise move. Instead, she and Dawlish left the room as quietly as possible, having to drag Percy from his seat and almost carry him through the door.

Once they had gone, he rose from his seat once again and headed towards the fire. He took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the fire.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said wearily. He moved back over to the chair and, after a few minutes, the head of Albus Dumbledore appeared in the fire.

"Ah, Cornelius. I hope you are well?"

"Come here, Dumbledore, I want to talk to you in person, not as a floating head." Dumbledore's head vanished briefly from the flames, which suddenly began to blur together. Then the tall frame of Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, dusted himself off and helped himself to a seat in front of Fudge's desk.

"What do you know about the Azkaban incident, Albus?"

"Business as always, I see. Which incident is this, exactly?"

"Come on Dumbledore, you know as well as I do which incident I mean. Tonight, the escape, Dementors suddenly vanishing from the face of the planet. That incident!"

"Ah yes, that. Well, from what I hear of it, ten of Lord Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters have miraculously vanished from Azkaban."

"Ten? Do you have all their names?"

"Surely your Aurors have already filled you in, Cornelius? Or, if not, that delightful woman Dolores Umbridge, who you so kindly allowed me to welcome into my staff this year?"

"I was attacked, Dumbledore, as you no doubt already know. A Dementor strolled into my house, killed one of my house elves, then came for me! There has not been time for me to hear a full report from my Aurors yet."

"Attacked, you say? I didn't know that, Cornelius, this is the first I have heard of it. As for the Death Eaters who escaped, I know only that Bellatrix Lestrange was among them. More than that I cannot tell you."

"But I thought you said ten of You-Know-Who's" - Dumbledore rolled his eyes - "most loyal Death Eaters?" Fudge asked.

"Yes, well, it seemed logical to me. The ones who went to Azkaban for him are considered to be the most loyal anyway, so yes, I think it is safe to say that." Fudge narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you so calm about this, Dumbledore?" he asked, his voice suspicious but panicked. "What do you know that I don't?"

"I know nothing more than you, Cornelius. However, I see no need to panic. What's done is done, and cannot be undone. Raised voices and high tempers will get us nowhere. The only thing that you need to do, Cornelius, is to accept this as proof of Lord Voldemort's return, and to act on it."

Fudge cringed at the mention of the name, but quickly composed himself. Standing up, he smoothed out his suit and straightened his hat before offering his hand to Dumbledore.

"Well Albus, it was nice meeting with you again. Hopefully we'll be able to straighten this whole mess out with no trouble." His manner had suddenly become much more business-like, his face not betraying any hint of emotion. "I have said it before and I will say it again, Albus, You-Know-Who has not returned, and never will do. Now please leave my office."

Dumbledore stepped up to the fireplace, taking a handful of floo powder and casting it into the flames.

"You are a fool, Cornelius," he said, before crying out "Hogwarts!" and stepping into the fire.

As soon as Dumbledore vanished from the fireplace, Fudge sat down heavily and allowed his head to drop wearily into his hands. He stayed like that for almost half an hour, before suddenly looking up.

"Sirius Black."