Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Measures

“Good morning, Zenobia,” Sirius said, handing his mentor a cup of coffee and taking his usual seat across from her desk.

Zenobia gazed at him steadily, mild amusement twinkled in the depths of her eyes. “You are far too cheery for a Monday morning,” she said, shuffling the papers on her desk. “Though I must say that it’s refreshing to see a smiling face around this place.”

“No more leads on the stuff they found at the bar?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

“Of course not.” She could not restrain the edge of bitterness in her voice. She paused, taking her reading glasses off smoothly. “Are you sure you want to make the trip to Azkaban with me?” Her voice was laced with concern, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice.

“Are you crazy?” he asked. “Of course I’m going with you.”

“Fine then, but later on don’t say I didn’t give you fair chance to stay here,” she said, standing. She strode across the room to a tall wooden cabinet that stood up against the far wall. This was one of the most secure storage units in the Ministry Building, and inside it was Zenobia’s private arsenal.

She placed her hand in front of the handle and the door sprung open. Sirius had so far only caught glimpses of the contents of this cabinet during the rare instances that he was present when she opened it. The shelves inside were stocked full of a variety of bottles, filled with potions that ranged from the clear Veritaserum to the violently purple Mortem Poison (a single drop will kill a man faster than you can blink). There were boxes full of other tools. Spare communicators, like Zenobia’s compact, of all different shapes and sizes. She handed Sirius one that looked like a cigarette case.

“It’s about time you got one of these,” she said, handing it to him. “You just open and say the name of whomever in the Department you want to talk to.”

“Cool,” he said, flipping it open and then closed again.

Zenobia turned back to the cabinet and pocketed a couple more items. He looked up in time to see her take the bottle of Veritaserum down from the shelf before snapping the cabinet closed. He followed her obediently out of the room.

“There are only four Portkeys to Azkaban in existence: one is possessed by the Minister of Magic another by the Head of the Department of Mysteries, the third is stored under heavy guard and is kept by Merriweather down in personnel, and the final by the head of our Department. Only one of those three people can activate the Portkey for transport,” she explained, as they made their way through the halls towards Barty Crouch’s office.

“Why is there one in personnel?” he asked, still fiddling with his communicator.

“How else are employees going to get to and from Azkaban?” she asked.

Sirius looked surprised. “I didn’t know that there were people who worked at Azkaban.”

She nodded, holding the door to the stairwell open for him. “Not many, only two or three on average per day. But the Dementors can’t be trusted with everything.”

Zenobia knocked lightly on Crouch’s door. Sirius was eying the gaudy gold lettering on the door that read “Bartemius Crouch, Department Head” dubiously.

The door opened with an audible creak. Barty Crouch was a fairly well-groomed man, his hair neatly combed, his clothes well ironed. He would look ready for just about anything if it wasn’t for his eyes.

Sirius couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but Crouch’s eyes always looked as if he was standing in the path of an oncoming train. That look of fright and terror made it impossible to believe he had things under control.

“Ah, yes, time for your trip to Azkaban,” he said, opening the door wider so they could step through. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

He strode over to his desk and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out what looked to be an old, yellowed Muggle newspaper.

“Don’t need any more tools before you set off?” he asked. Zenobia shook her head and he handed her the newspaper. She took one side firmly in her hand, and Sirius took the other. “It will let you return on your own, just tap it with your wand when you are ready to come back. Good luck.” He gave them a reassuring nod before prodding the battered newspaper with his wand.

Then there was the reassuring tug as they traveled side by side through nothingness. They came to a jolting stop in a dilapidated room. An aged man, leaning heavily on a knotty wooden walking stick, greeted them.

“Welcome to Azkaban,” he said. “I’ll need to see yer identification and yer credentials.”

Zenobia handed him her Ministry identification and Sirius’ Auror Training permit.

“I knew you looked familiar,” he said, handing the paperwork back to her. “You was on the front page of the Daily Prophet over the weekend.”

Sirius was eyeing the bare room incredulously. “This is Azkaban?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lad,” the old man said. “This is what we like to call Dead Man’s Island. It’s a port, if you will, for Azkaban.”

“Azkaban is the most magically guarded building in the world,” Zenobia explained. “You can not Apparate within 50 miles of it, and you can only Portkey into this room.”

The man was looking at her appraisingly. “Stealing my lines now, eh?” he asked, with a gruff laugh. He looked back at Sirius. “No, lad, this is not Azkaban.” He hobbled over to the door and opened it. “That is.”

If it were possible, Sirius’ eyes would have fallen out of his head.

Dead Man’s Island was miniscule, especially in comparison to the island that housed the prison itself. He had thought Hogwarts was huge, and this was many times bigger than the school. The thick black walls surrounding it were at least fifty stories tall. Dark, cloaked creatures paroled along the top of these walls. He squinted to try to see the great castle beyond, but everything was cloaked in a heavy mist.

“It’s a bit foggy,” Sirius said, as they stepped out onto the soggy grass.

“It’s always gloomy like this,” the man explained. “Having so much negative magical energy concentrated in this location wreaks havoc on the weather. It’s always foggy, always dreary, and almost always raining.”

“On the bright side, it definitely aids in the initial creepiness quotient,” she said, cracking a smile. “Imagine if it was bright and sunny, and there were birds chirping. Who would dread a place like that?”

“I would,” Sirius exclaimed. “Have you any idea what lots of sunlight does to my complexion?”

Zenobia laughed heartily as they made their way down to the dock. The boat that took them from Dead Man’s Island to Azkaban was old and rickety. Sirius was quite sure that if it weren’t for whatever magic they had used on it, it would have sprung a leak and sank long ago.

Stepping through the enormous black gates of Azkaban was almost surreal. The gates were almost as one would imagine the gates of hell to look like. And perhaps Azkaban was a worse fate than hell.

A line he’d read once surfaced in Sirius’ mind. “ ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here’,” he said.

She chuckled to herself. “Everyone says that.”

Zenobia was walking with an air of disinterest. She'd seen it all before, and had learned long ago the best way to pass through was to pretend that you didn't see anyone else around you.

Sirius on the other hand was wide eyed, looking up to try to see the tallest of the towers. But the top was fully cloaked in mist. In fact, he was so distracted that he felt the Dementor at the door to the castle before he saw it. Suddenly he felt very cold. He shivered as they passed through the doors.

"Don't look at the prisoners," Zenobia said. "And don't listen to them."

This, Sirius learned rather quickly, was far easier said than done. As they navigated through corridors lined with cells, the prisoners shouted out to them. Some claiming innocence, others begging for mercy, and one even attempted to spit on Sirius.

Sirius jumped back, avoiding the flying spittle. He stared at the prisoner incredulously for a moment. A moment too long, because before he could move the prisoner in the cell he had turned his back to reached through the bars and seized Sirius’ arm.

Before he could react, Sirius was pulled violently back on the bars of the cell. The dirty man in the cell looked down on him and laughed.

“One day you will be the inhabitant of a cell just like this,” he growled, his hot breath on Sirius’ face. “Maybe not right now, but soon enough you will be one of us.” Sirius looked into the mans eyes, only to see white clouds hiding the cornea.

The man was blind.

Every cell in Sirius’ brain was telling him to argue the point. But a Dementor was descending on them. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The prisoner tightening his grip on Sirius’ arm. Zenobia realizing what happened and rushing back to help. The prisoners in the other cells banging on the bars and shouting. The Dementor reaching out a disgusting, scabbed hand.

Sirius screamed as the Dementor seized his arm to wrench him free. He descended into cold, sadness.

Remus sat in a large, burgundy armchair in the Gryffindor common room. He looked tired, and pained. He had his legs pulled up to him and his chin was resting on them.

Sirius walked in silently, sitting down on the couch across from him, and waited.

Remus stayed silent for a while more, staring off into space, rocking gently.

“How could you, Sirius?” he asked in a choked voice. “How could you do that to me?”

“To you?”

“Yes, to me.” Remus let out a long sigh, turning to look at Sirius. “Did you ever stop to think what it would have done to me if you’d succeeded? What if James hadn’t stopped Snape? How could I have gone on living with the death of another human being on my conscience?”

“It was just Snape,” Sirius said, knowing it made no difference.

“I don’t care who it was, he’s still a person,” Remus growled. “I can’t believe you would be reckless enough to endanger someone’s life in the first place, but to make it my doing. We could have landed ourselves in Azkaban for murder.”

“I didn’t think...” he began. “I’m sorry.”

Remus stood, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know if sorry is enough this time. I don’t know if I can stay your friend. Not after this.”

The scene changed, and Sirius found himself in a room at St. Mungo’s.

Arthur Black held out his hand to Sirius, and the boy took it.

“I’m sorry I have to leave you like this,” the man said, gruffly. “I wish I could stay and watch you turn into the man I know you will become.”

“It’s not your fault, Dad,” Sirius said, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Everything happens for a reason, Lad,” his father said. “Even this. Just promise me something... make me proud.”

“I’ll make you proud, Dad. I promise.”

The man smiled his last smile. “I love you, Boy.” He took in a final breath and closed his eyes.

Sirius started to cry, burying his face in the chest of his lifeless father. “I love you, too.” He sobbed. “And I will make you proud.”

There was a moment of lucidity, in which he saw Zenobia kneeling next to him, gently slapping his cheek, trying to wake him. Then darkness hit again.

Sirius was sitting in a waiting room that he saw on a daily basis now, waiting to talk to Richard Alston. Richard was an Auror, and Sirius’ last hope.

If Richard did not agree to train Sirius and take him on as apprentice, Sirius would never become and Auror himself.

Sirius always said that he knew the answer before he’d even sat down in Richard’s office. He could see it in the older man’s eyes. Alston had pretended to shuffle some papers on his desk for a few moments, before looking at Sirius.

“I’ve reviewed your file Mr. Black,” he said. “And I must say, as impressive as your test scores are, I just can’t train you. Not with a clear conscious. Not knowing of some of the things in this file.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He’d been interviewed by ten different Aurors, and there was nothing more he could do.

He went home and drank his sorrows away.

“Sirius! Come on lad, snap out of it.” Zenobia shook him. The Dementor had vanished, driven away by Zenobia’s Patronus. And the prisoner was huddled in the corner of his cell, staring into nothingness. He was holding his left arm as if it was wounded.

Sirius opened his eyes, looking around in a panic. Where am I now? Am I back?

“It’s okay.” She helped him sit up.

“What just happened to me?” he asked, his breath was ragged and heavy. “What did it do to me?”

“Eat this,” she said simply, forcing a large chunk of chocolate into his hand. “They were just memories.”

“Bad memories,” he said gruffly. “It was like I was relieving the worst memories I’ve had. I’m sure if I’d waited long enough I would have seen the day my mother died. Or the day that Mirabelle left me…”

He trailed off, looking beyond miserable.

“Eat that, it will help.”

He took a bite and it felt like he had downed a spoonful of hot soup. The warmth slowly spread from his chest outward. It reminded him of trips to Honeydukes when he was in school, traveling back to school with bags full of chocolate. If only he could be there instead of lying on the dank floor of Azkaban prison. He looked up at Zenobia.

“If you want to return to the docks until I am done with the interview, I will understand completely,” Zenobia said.

“No,” Sirius said with a lot more conviction than he felt. “I should be there. I am your apprentice, right?”

She reached down and helped him to his feet. “You are my partner,” she replied.

Sirius’ knees felt shaky beneath him, he glared at the prisoner. “What did you do to him?”

“Let’s just say I taught him the lesson all kids learn at a young age,” she said. “If you play with fire, sooner or later you are going to get burned.” With that, she turned and headed off down the corridor again, Sirius following weakly behind.

The cell that contained the American Death Eater looked just like all the others. A chamber pot in the corner and a cot, and that’s about it. He was lying on the cot, facing the bars that divided his cell from the next.

Zenobia unlocked the cell with a key from her pocket and entered the cell. Sirius paused in the door, hesitant to enter. The words of the Death Eater echoed in his mind. Azkaban was not a place he ever wanted to call home. He stepped through the door and as it clang shut behind him he suddenly felt very claustrophobic.

The Death Eater rolled over and looked up at Zenobia coolly. “Oh, I should have known it would be you,” he said. “Bloodthirsty Zenobia Mills, out to kill her next Death Eater.”

“We just want a word with you,” she said. “Nothing more.”

“You can have two words: fuck off.”

Zenobia seized him by the collar of his tattered robes and threw him up against the bars. The prisoners in the surrounding cells were screaming at her, but she paid them no mind.

“I rather like to think you have more to say than that,” she said.

Sirius stood back, stunned. He had never seen his mentor act so cruel. She was usually gentle, and rational. He had never had the opportunity to see her fully at work. In fact it wasn’t until the raid that they had found themselves in any sort of combat at all. He knew he shouldn’t be so surprised, he knew her reputation.

She did not get so high in the Auror Division by being friendly and gentle.

“You can’t make me talk,” the Death Eater growled.

“Are you sure about that?”

She shoved him violently again, holding him up against the bars. She reached into her robes and removed the phial of Veritaserum. The Death Eater tried to struggle away but she kneed him hard in the groin.

He doubled over.

Zenobia pushed him to the ground and forced open his jaws, dropping two drops of the completely clear liquid onto his tongue before releasing him. She stepped back, and waited.

The Death Eater struggled to sit up for a moment, but finally he flopped down, looking up at Zenobia dispassionately.

"Much better," she said. She handed the phial to Sirius and he pocketed it obediently.

She leaned over the death eater. "What is your name?"

The voice that came out of the Death Eater was not the same swaggering and content voice he had possessed before, now it was a dull monotone as he said "Alexander Anderson".

"Where are you from, Mr. Anderson? And why exactly are you here?"

"I was born in Matawan, New Jersey. I came over with a friend of mine, he'd come to the States to visit me, and while there, he received word from The Dark Lord. He asked me to come back with him, and I agreed."

Dementors had gathered outside the cell, obviously drawn by the shouting that had occurred. Sirius was looking at them with a doom-laden expression as Zenobia continued her questioning.

"Why were you at the bar on Friday night?" she asked.

"My Master sent me there. He said that he had heard a raid may be coming, but he wasn't sure where. So he was posting someone with a keen eye in all of the gathering places to keep an eye on things," Alexander explained. "I was instructed to kill the agents should I find them."

Sirius made a strangled sort of grunting noise. The cell and the Dementors were getting to him. He wanted out. He needed out. He turned his eyes to Zenobia.

She looked back and mouthed 'Soon'.

"Who informed your master that a raid was possible?" she asked Alexander.

"I do not know. I only know that someone came to him and told him as much."

"He's lying," Sirius growled.

"You can't lie under the influence of Veritaserum," she said, in as soothing a voice as she could muster. "He merely was not informed. For this exact reason." She turned back to the man on the floor. "Do you have any information on Lord Voldemort's future plans?"

"No," he answered. "Only the select few in his inner circle know what is to come, we are merely informed of our tasks when it is time for us to perform them."

Zenobia kicked the bars of the cell causing the gathering Dementors to jump back. "We aren't going to get anything else out of him," she said. "Are you okay?"

He looked very tired. His hands were shaking as they had after the raid and Zenobia knew that she needed to get him out. He didn’t say anything, but she seized his forearm and led him towards the door.

It swung open with a metallic screech. The Dementors on the other side made no effort to move out of their way, she drew her want. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” An immense, silver lion burst from the tip of her wand, roaring a silent roar as it chased down the Dementors fleeing the scene.

It wasn’t until they were safely in the boat, drifting slowly back to Dead Man’s Island that Sirius finally spoke.

“Do you know who tipped You-Know-Who?”

“No, I don’t.” But even as she said it his face popped into her head, his deep midnight eyes, and long black hair.

But I have an idea.