Reconstruction of a Death Eater

It was hard to cast Muggle repellent charms on water, especially such a turbulent body of water as the Norwegian Trench, but the charms and warnings around the splinter of black rock had held strong and steady for time immemorial. On satellite maps and Muggle charts it appeared as an up-welling of volcanic remains just under the surface of the water, deadly to shipping but totally uninteresting to anyone, including scientists and adventurers. In actuality, the pinnacle of rock rose more than fifty feet above the surface of the ocean on a semi-calm day, sheer, glass-like sides repelling anyone who made it this far unless they knew where the entrance to the inner catacombs was. Roughly oval in shape, the pointed end of the island was down-stepped but just as rugged, giving the island an almost constructed aspect at first glance, if the perpetual fog bank thinned enough to see it. One could almost expect seabirds to take advantage of such a secluded fortress with its tumble of boulders and unassailable protection, but even they shunned that haunted place.

Their first glimpse was through a bank of low-lying fog as the sturdy wizarding craft chugged its way through the pounding waves, the master knowing exactly where to aim the blunt, tough nose as visibility was down to approximately ten feet. Carefully seated in the wheelhouse behind a layer of toughened glass, Percy let out a squeak of fright as fangs of razor sharp rock suddenly leaped out of the fog and snapped down on the fragile craft. The skipper hid his contempt for the Ministry wimp as he gave the wheel a deft flick and the craft slid between the guarding rock teeth and into the relatively calm waters of the internal cave.

"Azkaban," he announced laconically, throttling back the engines and expertly swinging the small boat to take the gentle buffet of the quayside on the bumpers the crew had deployed handily.

A swaying gangplank was run out and secured, and Percy pulled his tattered dignity around himself as he staggered and stumbled his way over to the rail. The boat lurched with malicious intent as he went to step up onto the plank and he sprawled his length on the sodden wood, only the Master's quick grab at the back of his robes stopping him spilling over into the icy black waters of the sea.

Gasping and panting, Percy made it ashore and was almost tempted to kiss the black volcanic rock that conspicuously didn't move under his feet. It had been a hell of a crossing, the raging storm that came down from the Arctic circle had caught them about half way to the island, and they had spent a wretched three days huddling under hatches while the Master fought the ocean and the icebergs in a death defying dance that had finally ended when a ragged patch of blue had nosed through the threatening cloud cover yesterday evening.

All the seasickness potions they had consumed were like water in the face of the storm's wild fury. Of the three secretaries Percy had brought, one was suffering a concussion caused when a particularly bad lurch of the ship had tossed her out of her bunk and she landed on her skull. The second casualty came when the only male secretary had tried to rush to her aid but had been flung down on the rebound and broke his leg. Julia Danvers, the youngest and least experienced of the three followed her Minister ashore, unashamedly crawling on her hands and knees across the slippery, icy planks.

The wizard who met them was as pale as the grave, a continuous series of tremors running though his body as he tried to hold his hand steady enough to be shaken. He kept glancing around, starting wildly at the slightest noise and once even spun on his toes to cast a rather insubstantial Patronus at a shadow on the wall.

"Dementors, they're just coming into breeding season," he remarked choppily when Percy asked for an explanation of his nerves. "Give it a week and they'll all leave for the breeding grounds down at the south end. Until then we just have to keep on our toes unless we are in the shielded quarters."

Before Percy could comment, their bags were hurled ashore and the boat's motors roared into life. The small craft spun in its own length and began to buck the swell as it made its escape with all speed possible. "Welcome to hell," the administrator said in grim satisfaction.

~~*~~

The water was as smooth as glass, the light entering from the arch that gave access to the lake adding a silvery sheen to the mirror-like surface. The pier, extending out into the covered bay, was perfectly reflected as were the small boats anchored around its length. The soft splash of a fish rising to take a small insect sent perfect rings across the surface, shattering the sunlight into shards that lanced their eyes.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione mused, watching the ripples cause small waves to lap at her toes.

"It is," Draco agreed, his left arm over her shoulder, his right cradling their son on his hip. "If it was a bit warmer, I might even suggest a paddle but as it is...." He glanced down at her far-away expression and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Here, take the next generation while I do a surveillance charm."

Grinning, Hermione took their son and blew a raspberry on his stomach, making him giggle wildly and frog kick with more energy than a child should have. Draco watched the two of them laughing at each other, a fierce twist of protectiveness swelling his throat. He wondered if it was normal to feel so much love for such a small thing, if his parents ever felt this way about him. Hermione caught his expression over the head of their son and smiled gently at her husband, holding out her hand. The invitation was too good to pass up, and he wrapped his arms around both of them in a three way hug.

A slight cough brought both adults around, wands leaping to hands. Harry held his hands up in surrender, a small smile playing across his lips as his godson chortled and blew bubbles at him. Ignoring the wands, he leaned forward and chucked the boy under the chin making him squeal. "Are your mum and dad playing hookey?" he asked cheerfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes while Draco merely huffed, his wand sliding away unobtrusively. "We are not playing, er, 'hookey', we are conducting a magical survey of the bay for signs of forced entry and with an eye to placing intruder alerts and warding walls," he said loftily, watching the saviour of the wizarding world use a corner of his robe sleeve to blot his son's drool from his chin. "We do have handkerchiefs for that, Potter," he added with a distinct moue of disgust.

Harry grinned. "He's just damp, not snotty," he said cheerfully. "Come on, let's get these wall charms up or we're going to be here all day."

There had been a lot of debate back and forward about where the protection wards had to go, what sort of wards would serve the school best and who was going to cast them. The Aurors and the Ministry wanted to be solely in charge of the planning and execution of the protection to Hogwarts while the headmaster and headmistress were adamant that the staff and students of the school would be involved in the endeavour. In the end Moody had proposed that Professor Flitwick should be in charge of the design team and that his Auror training class should be included in the execution team. Members of the Order were pressed into service to both design and execute the defences, once they were ready. No one person knew what charms were being used and where all the wards were being erected for security sake.

While Harry wandered to the end of the pier, Hermione summoned Winky to care for Lysander. The small house-elf had proved to be a very good nursemaid once they got her to agree to help out, at a wage, of course; Hermione had insisted on that, over-ruling Draco much to everyone's amusement. The house elf was an indulgent nanny but always ready to protect the small boy who seemed to love her dearly. Draco watched as his son flung his chubby arms around the elf's neck and dropped slobbery kisses on her cheek, tugging her ears and cooing happily. "Is little Master being good?" she whispered in his ear, just loud enough for Draco to hear and Hermione - who had followed Harry - not to hear. It was one area where the young couple had agreed to disagree as their views on the house-elf situation were pretty much irreconcilable. Smirking, Draco followed the duo out over the water.

"...across to there and down to there, I should think," Harry was saying as Draco approached.

"But, Harry, that leaves the water unprotected, what if something just swims underwater?" Hermione asked nervously.

"It's only four feet deep in the middle," Harry protested then sighed. "Yeah, okay, I never thought of that, alright?" he muttered mutinously, ignoring Draco as he sniggered. "Will the spell work underwater?"

"With a small correction," Draco assured him. "We had better mention this to the teams who are doing the sewers and the water pipes. Magic travels just as well under water as it does above; ask the mer-people if you don't believe me."

Harry sighed and gestured agreement as Hermione began the first of the anchor points for the curtain of protection they were erecting.

~~*~~

The shielded quarters were reasonably comfortable, Percy decided once he had had a good sleep and a hot meal. The ravages of the voyage could be set aside and buried as he and his remaining secretary, Miss Danvers, set up their temporary office in the administration section of the prison. There were ten warders in all, some even more villainous than the people they were meant to be guarding, each one as twitchy and as nervous as the warden.

Percy's primary objective was to deal with those people who were represented by the blue files, to sort and classify them, then with a bit of luck, ship as many out as possible. To that end, he carefully stacked his folders in alphabetical order and asked that the first person, 'Aarons, Sam', be brought into his office. The warden looked at him as if he was insane then waved a hand to one of his minions who disappeared for a good half hour before returning with a filthy, emaciated, shambling wreck of a creature. Percy held a fold of his robes over his nose as he surveyed the verminous hulk before him.

"What is that?" he demanded in disgust. "What is wrong with him?"

Sam Aarons was recorded as an under secretary to a Junior Minister in the Scottish branch of the Ministry. He was fifty years old and the father of three, according to his file. This creature looked older than Merlin and shambled as he walked, his eyes dead and empty of all thought.

The guard pulled his head back by the long matted hair and studied his face carefully. "Ain't been Kissed, but he has been a good source of nourishment, all eaten out, I think," the man muttered uneasily as Percy's mouth dropped open in shock and dawning horror.

"We had no way of controlling the Dementors once You-Know-Who had taken away the majority." The warden burst into a hurried and self-justifying speech. "It was all we could do to try and keep the older, stronger ones down in the depths where the worst of the prisoners were housed, but they wanted the sweet, fresh memories of those who were not steeped in evil so they just invaded whenever they could. We've all taken injury from the bastards until we just couldn't hold them most of the time...."

Percy swallowed uneasily, glancing at the stacked folders. "Perhaps I will have to go down and inspect the cells then," he muttered. "Perhaps we are going to need a new classification system for the prisoners."

Azkaban was arranged in twelve tiers and levels, penetrating down into the depths of the rock pinnacle. Percy speculated that volcanic activity deep in the earth's crust heated the rock and allowed the average temperature of the caverns to remain at a level that allowed life. Oh, it was cold and grim, no warmer than sixty degrees and no colder than forty, not comfortable or deadly, just liveable. No light penetrated the depths, only the colonies of fungi glowed a sickly green and a few scattered spell globes added a distinct leprous light to the scene. If Percy Weasley had ever heard of Dante's Inferno, perhaps he would have thought the author had seen the depths of Azkaban even though he was just a Muggle.

Rows of cells led off a common space, the ramps that led deeper covered with grating to stop prisoners leaving the level they were assigned. However, they were no deterrent to the Dementors who came and went at will. The upper levels, in a final irony, were perhaps worse than the lower, with greater fluctuations of temperature and more dampness to be endured. As Percy followed the cordon of guards down the ramp he kept his wand at the ready and his head never stopped swivelling as he was engulfed by rock. Even the two middle tiers designated laundry and kitchens were completely disgusting. No wonder Azkaban was known as the pit of the damned.

Later that evening, his head thrust into the communications fire, Percy vented his rage at his superior, forgetting both position and prudence in his ire. Scrimgeour listened first in fury then later in disgust as the young Ministerial representative gave him a graphic description of a complete disaster. If this lot came out the press would crucify him, and they really didn't need that sort of publicity on the eve of a war.

"What can be done to rescue the situation?" Rufus asked when Percy finally ran down. There was a distinct pause as Weasley's mind changed gears and he began to think rather than emote. Seizing the moment, Scrimgeour added, "Use whatever resources you need or want and whatever measures you deem necessary but fix this problem and make sure the Ministry emerges from this crisis looking good. If we don't...."

"Completely free hand? Full Ministry backing, any resources I need?" Percy reiterated and received an affirmative nod on each point. "Very well, send me two Unspeakables, ten house-elves and a dozen Dementor repelling shields and give me a week."

~~*~~

The 29^th February only came around every four years and was magically significant in that it was a time out of time. When the biggest recorded snowfall of the decade hit, no one was really surprised, it had been a terribly hard winter. When the heavy, forbidding snow clouds turned a dead black at midday and every artificial light had to be turned on in both the Muggle and the wizarding world, it was not a real surprise.

When the whole of the British Isles shuddered and jumped under the force of an earthquake, that was a surprise, a shock, an exercise in terror for most people. The accompanying snow blizzard, thunderstorm and lightening bolts were equally shocking, leaping from cloudbank to cloud bank, lighting the sky from within, tearing the cloud cover apart to let a blazoning hell of maelstrom winds and lancing ice slash into the earth. Muggle houses and cars were destroyed, trees uprooted and blown around like twigs, the seas pounding the coast so hard that whole fields and villages disappeared under the ocean's wrath.

The wizarding world cringed as bolts of pure wild magic struck wizarding centres of power, slashing through wards and shields to slam into protected places with impunity. The Muggles' efforts to restore Stonehenge were blasted to gravel and Styrofoam balls by the lightening bolt that struck the centre of the inner circle. The energy was absorbed and stored by the stones, empowering them and bringing them alive. The bloodthirsty spirits who had guarded the stones at the Druids' behest stirred and licked their chops for the first time in a millennium.

Damaged and crippled, Diagon Alley burst apart as a bolt slammed through the protections that covered it from Muggle sight and shot the cobbles across the streets like canon balls. Most of the storefronts were riddled with holes from a previous battle and collapsed under the new and unstoppable onslaught. Glass shattered, sending fragments and slivers dancing over the torn-up streets, hacking through anything that moved before the fury of the magic dissipated and was gone to ground, renewing and revitalising the wizarding centre despite the destruction it caused.

Hogwarts trembled as bolt after bolt slammed into the towers, hitting the lightning rods and running up and down the huge granite blocks like playful fireflies. The magic discovered that it was no longer free, now channelled down to the castle's core, energising and empowering the complex accumulators the four Founders had brought into being so long before. Hogwarts' complex and interlocking wards were renewed and refreshed, an unforeseen and serendipitous consequence of the storm that hit on the day out of time. Inside the old fortress, in the headmaster's office three of the fantastic silver wire structures began to hum and chime, one spinning on the spot like a demented top. Albus and Minerva glanced at each other then turned to study the pieces, their expressions growing grim. Someone was playing with the deepest forces of magic and nature, not entirely indiscriminately but certainly more intimately than was wise. They shuddered as it was not hard to decide which of the suitably powerful wizards would be the culprit.

"The attacks will start in earnest soon," Albus remarked sadly, burying his nose in his teacup.

"Can we do nothing to stop him?" Minerva demanded, unsettled by the headmaster's seeming to bow to fate.

"We can win," Albus said simply, unarguably and Minerva sighed.

On the old Riddle estate near Little Hangleton, the eye of the storm gave a false sense of serenity as the tall, pale, snake-like man chanted and cast runes, twenty one men and nine women sacrificed on the altar that he had erected for the very purpose of calling up the storm. He sent the hapless Muggles' life force to the four Wards, north, south, east and west. Their dying breath was released on the wind, their blood spilled to mingle with the water drawn from the earth. Their pulverised bones were mixed with the bones of the earth while he consigned their flesh to the fire. Giving offerings to the four Elementals and calling down the four major wards, he asked for the strength of the earth and those who dwelt below to aid him in his coming fight against the powers of those who fought against him. He asked that the elements lend themselves to the creation and sustaining of the undead fighters in his cause, his newly created and prepared army of Inferi that would sweep before him and lay open the path to true victory for all!

Groaning and tearing deep in the earth sent tremors through the rocks and across the whole surface of the earth, the Elementals fighting against he who disturbed their sleep. The magic of the souls that had been sacrificed, the power of the Words the Snake God used to command and the taste of the blood of innocents swayed some measure of the attention, but still more was needed if the army was to rise and perform. Uneasiness flowed through the Death Eaters as their Lord and Master bared his forearm and carefully let four of his own precious blood drops strike the altar, one on each rune for each element. For one unearthly moment time seemed to stand still then the sky caved in, the earth erupted and geysers of molten rock rose all around the alter before they disappeared back into the earth. Lord Voldemort had raised the Devil, and now the devil was to pay.

The wailing of a thousand souls echoed, lost in the howl of the wind and the crash of the thunder as the storm of storms moved to a crescendo then died, the power snatched back and harnessed for the battle to come.

~~*~~

The headmaster rose and signalled for silence which was a short time coming. "Students, and teachers, we are heading for grim times, and the school needs to take all the precautions it can. The storm yesterday was not natural as most of the wizarding world realised. It destroyed much in its fury, but it also gave much back to our world, releasing new and vital magic for our continued use. Hogwarts accepted the bounty and the power has been stored to offset the coming trial by fire. The grounds have been charmed, warded and are being patrolled by Aurors to protect you all day and every day from now on. If intelligence changes and there is a hint of an attack against the school, then we will of course increase the levels of security. If the school is attacked, then a warning klaxon will sound throughout the building and all students from fifth year and younger will immediately report to their common rooms. If, by some remote chance, the school itself is breached then you will all follow the evacuation plans your Heads of House will be distributing this evening. You will, under no circumstances, even if you have siblings or family in a different house, make a single mention of the plan your Head of House gives you. I am sorry if this seems a harsh and desperate measure, but if the situation is desperate enough to warrant the evacuation of Hogwarts, then it is very desperate indeed. Are we all understood? Very well. Fifth-year prefects, take your fifth-year and younger pupils to their houses. Those of you in sixth and seventh year please remain seated."

As the younger children filed out and the Heads of House rose to accompany them, the headmaster signalled that the older ones should move forward so that they could hear properly. There was enough speculation to make the movement noisy, the teachers leaving the head table and joining the students in the body of the hall as the headmaster took an informal seat on the edge of the Ravenclaw table. "Grim times, ladies and gentlemen, grim times and grim needs. I must ask you all to consider my next words very carefully before you make any further decisions. I am going to ask that you people join in the defence of the school as fully fledged warriors."

"Wonderful, does that include the junior Death Eaters," a ragged voice asked from the rear of the group. There were snarls of agreement and dissension in the ranks.

"Enough! I realise some of you have a philosophical difference of opinion to myself and to others in your class. To put it in the vernacular, some of you are junior Death Eaters, but I will name no names. What I ask is that, no matter what your philosophy, you will refrain from any action until the juniors of your House are safely away. Anyone in this group is a legitimate target... Enough! But anyone younger would be a lamb to the slaughter, and therefore only a coward would destroy such poor targets."

"On the other side of the coin, if the Junior Death Eaters agree to this, although, as the headmaster said, we don't need any confirmation at this time, they will be allowed to leave the group unmolested and rally at a point they choose without hindrance from the rest of us," Harry said conversationally, the rest of the teachers and the students breaking out into loud denials. "Shut up! Even the bloody Muggles allow for this exchange of courtesies at the declaration of war, are we any less than them?"

The rumbling subsided into thoughtful silence. "Thank you, Harry. If this series of 'courtesies' is agreeable to you, please send a parchment to my office with your written agreement and use any charm or ink potion you like to disguise your identity, as long as you all are agreeable to the terms. However, and let me make this perfectly clear to both sides of the coming conflict, if anyone abrogates the agreement in any way, there will be Hell to pay, and I do not mean a lost of house points." For a single shining moment the true strength of the headmaster shone from his eyes and even those without a guilty conscience fell back in terror from that power. "Very well, with that out of the way, I estimate we have perhaps ten Juniors here, perhaps twelve...."

"There are more Slytherins than that," the same terse, angry voice called out harshly.

The Slytherins immediately banded together, but it was Harry that snarled the reply. "Get over yourself! Just because a person is Slytherin doesn't mean they are automatically Dark, surely the revelations of the past few years have shown you all that? One of the greatest betrayers of our times was a bloody Gryffindor. One of the most notorious torturers was a Ravenclaw. Don't you get it yet? House colours are not worth a pinch of pus in the real world, they are just a convenient way to make sure we have four teams to compete in Quidditch, for Merlin's sake!"

"Oh, I don't know, Potter, there are probably very good fashion reasons too. I can't say I'd suit red, nor would you suit yellow, and I know Goyle would look ghastly in blue." The amused drawl Malfoy used made a spurt of laughter wash through the group, defusing the situation nicely. "Oh, and Aunt Bella was a Slytherin, actually."

"Yes, but she is mad, so I don't think that counts and I actually meant Percival Trench," Harry quipped and Malfoy conceded the point with a graceful fencer's gesture. "My point is, House plays little part in philosophy, so get over that sort of fuzzy thinking. Now, listen to the headmaster."

"Thank you, Harry. I am going to assign you each a battle group and a post. If the school grounds are invaded, I want you each to make your way to the area and prepare to defend that target. If someone does not turn up, then I want one or two of the reserve pool I will also create to make their way to that group to bring it up to strength. Professor Moody will be holding extra classes two nights a week to help you improve your defensive and protection spells. Oh, one more thing, people, don't pester the juniors about where they are going if they have to leave. There are charms and protections on the evacuation plans to make it impossible for the children to tell anyone, and they really have no idea until the spells are completed."