Light's End

Chapter 8: Afterhours

Saturday

12:30 AM.

The grim faces in the dormitory mirrored the horror of the story they had just heard from the last Slytherin... a story of slaughter, evil and chaos that could only be rivaled in the most seriousness of History lessons, and never in such an engaging, first hand way.

While countless had watched as Harry and Ron re-entered the common room with Blaise Zabini, only a small handful had been allowed into the sixth year boys' dormitory, where the terrible tale had been spoken. Harry had repaired his own bed with a simple spell and Blaise had collapsed upon it, speaking to a group consisting of him, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Lavender, Colin, Dennis and Ginny.

The room was crowded, but each had managed to find a place to sit. Hermione and Seamus were lying side by side on his bed. Ron, Colin and Dennis were sprawled on the floor by Harry's bed. Dean was sitting on his own bed, his knees under his chin, arms wrapped about his legs in deep thought. Parvati, Lavender and Ginny sat upright on Ron's bed while Harry had removed himself from the group and instead perched himself upon the windowsill, staring down at the courtyard below.

All had been quiet for a minute now; Harry noticed every Gryffindor in the room was paleface and terrified. Yet, while he screamed on the inside, his face was indifferent - he might as well have been learning how to turn snails into coffee pots instead of hearing about the death of two hundred students.

At last, Colin Creevey broke the silence. "I think I'm going to throw up."

No one told him to leave the room - Ginny pushed a trash barrel over to her fellow fifth year. He put his hands around it, but did not retch.

"Draco told me to give you a message, Harry," Blaise's voice was barely audible, for retelling the story had a terrible emotional effect on her - she had to stop for minutes at a time because she could not stop crying.

Harry resumed looking out the window. Beyond the courtyard, he could see the light of many campfires burning high into the sky. All the help in the world, so close yet so far away.

"What was that message?" asked Harry, deadpan.

"That he forgave you - and hoped to shake your hand soon."

More silence, broken a half-minute later by Dean. "So, the Slytherins are now vampires..."

No one needed to say anything.

While staring at the camp fires and below and thinking of the only things he could do, Harry hit a conclusion. Blaise had detailed the ease of their entrance - Draco had hypnotized Pansy into letting him in. One fact seemed to be that a student was needed to grant the undead passage into their common rooms. To prevent that from happening, they would have to remove the guards near the portrait - all it would take is one Slytherin bloodsucker to plead with Jones to let them in, and they would all be slain.

"Colin - Dennis... go downstairs and tell everyone to get away from the entrance." He looked pointfully at Colin then. "How is your Silencing Charm?"

Colin looked up from the wastebasket and nodded. "Good."

"Put a Silencing Charm on the backside of the portrait - I don't want any sound from the outside able to come in. No vampire can charm his way in if he cannot be heard."

Given purpose, the two Creevey boys nodded. Colin seemed to recover from his sickness and they both rushed out of the room.

Harry then looked to Ginny, Parvati and Lavander. "Second - I want you three to conceal every window in this tower. I don't want any Gryffindor able to look out, or any sound to be able to get in"

Ginny blinked with confusion. "What's that going to do? No one can see in from the outside."

Hermione was the one who answered. "No one is sure what these vampires can or cannot do. If they can get outside, they could just as easily hypnotize someone through the windowpane to open the portrait. Can't do that if no one can see or hear anything on the outside."

That was enough for Ginny. Harry nodded in affirmation, and the three girls took off, also on a mission.

"Hermione - Seamus... you two need to tell the Gryffindors what Blaise has told us, okay?"

Seamus nodded weakly but Hermione just continued to stare at Harry coldly. It was clear their hostile encounter of just a half-hour ago was still fresh on her mind, and she was not taking kindly to being ordered around at this time.

"C'mon, Hermione," whispered Seamus softly, "He's right - they all need to know - they are all probably scared witless by now."

This earned a sigh from Hermione, and she nodded. The two prefects rose and left the dormitory.

Harry turned to Ron and Dean, not quite sure what he could have them do. Blaise seemed to be asleep on Harry's bed; her eyes were closed and her breathing was soft and patterned. His mind began to race - what were all the ways they could come and go from a common room. The windows and the portrait were covered; no one outside the Gryffindor common room knew the new password and no vampire could try and force his way in without an invitation.

"We need to warn the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs," Ron suddenly blurted. "What if the Slytherins all go to their dorms and try the same exact thing - they'll have no idea and will probably fall for it."

Harry gasped, shocked he hadn't thought of that himself.

He was also even more shocked when Dean nodded rapidly. "Bang on, Ron. You and me can do that."

But Harry was already shaking his head. "No... it's too dangerous."

"Damn right it is," Ron said - despite his brave voice, fear was present in his watery blue eyes. "And it won't matter who runs into two-hundred vampires... if that happens, that person is gonzo."

"... and becomes one of the enemy," added Dean, shaking with fear. "If Harry became a vampire, the school of the spirit would break..."

Harry decided not to correct him by saying school and spirit should be the other way around - it had clearly taken all of Dean's bravery to back this play, even some of his verbal skill.

"If Dean Thomas became a vampire," he continued, his voice taking on a somber note, "Nothing would change..."

"Or Ron Weasley..." the redheaded boy added. "Face it, Harry - you are too valuable."

Oh, Harry did not want this - how could he ask Ron or Dean, his own dormmates, to do such a dangerous and terrifying task in his stead? But, at the core of it, he knew they were right. For the first time in Ron's life, Ron seemed to be treating Harry as 'Just Harry' - a person who, if facing two hundred vampires, would die just like the rest of them. Yet, at the same time, he was saying his life was more valuable... that wasn't true.

"I can't ask you guys to do this..." Harry snarled, a wild, inexplicable anger in his tone.

"Then don't," said Dean, standing up. "We are just asking you not to stop us."

Cornered and trapped, Harry could only resume looking out the window and just nod. When Dean and Ron rose, however, he was unable to maintain such detachment. He leapt off the sill and moved over to the two of them.

"Thank you... both of you."

Dean tried to smile, but he was shaking so bad it made his teeth chatter. "This isn't good-bye, Harry - you should be happy for me. I'll get to spend a night with the Hufflepuffs, and you know I've had a thing for Susan Bones for so long."

Harry forced a smile for Dean's benefit - he truly didn't expect to ever see the boy again.

Dean punched Harry's shoulder - perhaps it was just nerves, but Dean punched a bit too hard and actually cause physical pain. For Dean's sake, Harry did not flinch.

"I'll give you two a moment..." He trailed off. He just let that hang in the air, turned and walked out.

An awkward moment followed and Harry eventually turned to Ron. Ron took a deep breath, steadied himself and gave Harry a casual nod.

"I'll see you in the morning."

That broke Harry's resolve. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw his arms around Ron, hugging him tighter than he had ever hugged another person before. Harry had expected Ron to be taken completely off guard but he wasn't - not in the slightest. In fact, later, Harry was almost positive they had both acted at the same time. There they stood for seconds that turned into minutes, unthinking and unwavering, hugging each other like soulmates and brothers... like they had never done when they were friends, in long, long years.

"Mates?" Harry eventually asked, as he separated himself from Ron.

Ron stared at Harry, tears rolling down his cheeks. "For life."

Without another word, Ron nearly raced out of the dormitory - Harry wanted to scream at him, demanding him not to go. He could always just have another Gryffindor do this. But, Ron had already shut the door behind him - he had been in a big hurry, as if he feared his own resolve would falter if he hung around.

He would see Ron and the Ravenclaws in the morning.

"You love him, don't you?" said a voice from Harry's bed. "Love him like a brother."

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin. Blaise Zabini had opened her eyes and was staring at Harry with dull interest. He had forgotten she was there.

"Yes," Harry replied immediately, staring at the door - wishing he could take Ron's place in this endeavor.

Blaise gave Harry a very tired smile. "Amazing... I never thought you'd be the type who could love a person more than yourself."

Harry glanced back at Blaise. "You don't know the first thing about me."

"No, I suppose I don't," she replied. "But, since when does ignorance stop someone from assuming things?"

Harry snorted, but didn't speak to the contrary. He just resumed staring at the door.

"Harry."

He looked back once more. "What?"

"Come here."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled - at once, his danger sense began to tingle. There was something about the way Blaise had ordered him that made him weary of her at once. She had hidden something else... of this, Harry was certain. How many secrets did Blaise still have?

"What?" repeated Harry, drawing close to the bed.

Blaise reached into the fold of her robe and for a wild moment, Harry thought she was about to get naked. Instead, she removed something - a large, rectangular object. Peering closely, he could see golden glint of letters on the front cover. One of her fingers covered half of them, however, and he was unable to make out the letters.

"You might want a look at this," she said, handing it to him. Harry took the book with a cautious air, as if afraid it would animate itself and tear off his arm. The letters on the cover were Draco D. Malfoy.

"The hell?" asked Harry, as he flipped it open. After reading a few words on the first page, he realized that this was Draco's personal diary. He flipped through the pages, experiencing a strange sense of time as the letters grew thicker, neater and more pronounced until the end... the last page of the diary. The letters were barely more than scribbles and were dated the day before he died.

"I'm sick I'm tired I'm sick I'm tired I don't know what's wrong with me I'm scared I can't think I'm sick I'm tired something is coming to get me."

"Draco knew he was being hunted by something," Blaise said softly, sitting up on the bed and crawling to the foot. "I read that too."

Harry flipped back a few pages, scanning the words on the page before him.

"I was outside for several hours - I didn't think you'd open up for me until dawn," continued Blaise. "I kept myself sane by reading as long as I could - he told me of a dream he always has, and it inspires so many of his journal entries."

Harry glanced up from the book. "Do tell."

"Do you know of the Eye of the Raptor?"

Harry didn't. He looked back at the journal and flipped back a few pages. The parchment beneath his fingers felt old and ancient, like the skin of a withered old hag. The words were loopy and strange, seeming to flicker in and out in the dim light of the dormitory. Once before had he experienced a feeling like this while holding a journal... that feeling of looking but not seeing. When he had turned over Tom Riddle's journal, over and over, he had felt the weight of a thousand words but seen not a thing.

"No."

Blaise nodded, "Most half-bloods don't even remember - Draco spoke of it to me. I always thought it symbolized his father but... Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry blinked - he had not even realized what he had done. Apparently, unconsciously, he had reached under his own bed and produced a vile of ink and a quill. He had flipped to the last page of Draco's journal and was holding the quill high above the page. A drop of ink had fallen on the page, splattering it in bold, black color.

He expected it and balked at the same time when the ink did not remain - it drained into the page, sucked in without a sound or remains. It made sense, in a strange yet peculiar way. Tom Riddle had been sixteen when he had made a diary like this one... and Draco had been sixteen too.

"Blaise," said Harry, looking up at her. "Come here."

Curiosity overriding her own fatigue, Blaise crawled off the bed and joined Harry, looking down at the book nestled upon his crossed legs.

"What is it?" she asked.

And Harry told her everything, something he had never done before to anyone. He did more than just tell the story of Tom Riddle's diary, he relived it. He remembered how the pages had flown - how the words he had written had absorbed into the parchment without so much as a scratch. He told her about the confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets that had nearly been the end of Ginny Weasley and himself. When he finished, he was sweating once more.

"I'm going to write something," Harry said, with determination. He dipped the quill in the ink, and was about to write, 'Draco, are you there?' when Blaise put her hand upon his wrist. He noted arbitrarily that her hands were soft and comforting.

"Let me," she said. "If a figment of Draco's old self is locked within this diary... I do not think it will respond to you. Many words in this diary have been written in contempt of you."

The logic was sound enough for Harry and he turned the quill over to Blaise without a voice of complaint. She heaved a deep sigh and pushed a rogue strand of her long auburn hair from her eyes. She, too, was sweating. Without further delay, she began to scrawl on the empty page dated the day Draco had died.

It's me, Blaise.

Nothing happened.

At least at first.

Just as she was about to look at Harry with dismaying eyes, the ink slowly absorbed, sucking into the page and vanishing without a trace. Harry experienced such a keen feeling of déjà vu that it frightened him to his very core.

In place of her script came the reply: Hello Blae.

Blaise gasped, nearly dropping the quill. She needed no further coaxing from Harry, and began to scrawl frantically, like she were trying to save his life. Harry noted that some strong connection existed between these two... whether it was love or not had yet to be seen.

Draco?

Again, it disappeared, replaced by a word. Yes. I am sorry for having deceived you, Blaise.

Harry arched a brow and looked at Blaise, who was looking shocked and confused. She wrote the next so hastily that she didn't even bother to spell right.

Decieved??? What do you mean?

This one took a great deal longer, but finally, the words vanished and another sentence reappeared.

Are you alone?

Blaise looked to Harry, who met her with even eyes - he wouldn't have her lie. Blaise frowned and looked back to the page.

No.

Who is with you?

Again, Blaise looked to Harry, who returned her hard look without one expressing an opinion of what she should do. This was her show in every way. With a slower, more reluctant hand, she began to write.

Harry Potter.

Then, before the ink faded, she wrote as fast as she could.

Something's happening at Hogwarts and it happened to you. We both want to know why.

The pause took nearly a minute, and Harry could see Draco Malfoy, in whatever form he was, scowling and scratching what might have passed as a chin in real life. He could almost weigh his conflictions - on one hand, he truly cared deeply for Blaise yet on the other hand, he knew Harry Potter had access to all his vital memories. If he had as much control as Tom Riddle had over his diary, he could very well erase all his words and fall dormant for as long as he wished.

But yet, Draco had made this diary for a reason.

Then, the ink vanished and words appeared. Tell him to get out. NOW.

In a fit of impatience, Harry snatched the quill from Blaise's hand, dipped it with enough force to nearly shatter the bottle, and scrawled as fast as he could in barely legible penmenship.

It's HARRY. I'm not going anywhere. Blaise is only with me because her entire House is DEAD, Draco.

He almost felt as though he were speaking.

They are all DEAD because YOU killed them. If you have something worth telling me or Blaise, say it now, or by Merlin I'll throw this book into the fireplace!

"Harry?!" shrieked Blaise.

Harry gave Blaise a firm look. While it was a bluff (at least he thought it was), he was not going to be left out of this for anything. He wanted to know why Draco had done this. He wanted to understand from Draco's mind itself... not from Blaise's second telling of it. Perhaps that was the only way he could help his fellow students

As if sensing the urgency, all of Harry's angry words vanished and were replaced by one.

Don't.

Harry resumed writing, this time slowed with renewed temperance. What were you going to show her?

More hesitation - this time, Harry could see Draco scowling and wrestling with whether or not to tempt Harry to throw him into the fireplace or show him an intimate detail of his past. Blaise was nearly beside herself with anxiety

Finally, the diary replied and Harry could almost hear Draco's drawl, buried in its words.

Very well, Potter. First, I want to make it abundantly clear that, if you and Blaise are reading this, events that have transpired in both your lives have rendered me dead. I am as dead as a doornail. The creature you say that killed House Slytherin is not me. It is a raptor with my body, magic and mind.

The words faded. Harry tapped the quill upon the page and wrote. What's a raptor?

The reply was immediate and snappy. Blaise, culture the idiot.

Harry scowled, but Blaise disarmed him quickly by putting a hand on his shoulder. She informed him of the vampire wizards, the greatest of all the night birds. At light's end, they owned the night and all vampires of every house and sect bowed to their reign. They were known to answer but to one creature - the Master.

Once the info was assimilated, Harry wrote.

Go on.

Before Draco could reply, there was a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" asked Harry.

"It's me," came the reply - Colin's voice. "The spell is in place on the portrait... and Ron and Dean just left." He then added. "Everything okay in there?"

"Yes," Harry replied... the look Blaise gave him told him to loose Creevey fast. "I'm just taking a nap," lied Harry. "Wake me up if something happens, okay?"

"Harry, I'm sorry to be a bother... but, can you come downstairs and take a nap there?" There was an awkward hesitation. "It's very quiet down there - no one's talking, and everyone is scared to high hell. If people could see you sleeping... it might ease up the tension and fear."

Harry's mind raced. "Let me get changed, I'll be down in five or ten minutes."

"Harry, you don't have to get changed... pajamas are fine," continued Colin's voice. "Please."

Harry had no idea where it came from, but he blurted it out. "For Gods sake, Creevey, I'd like to masturbate one last time before I die! I doubt doing that in the common room would be good for morale!"

And despite the entire situation, Blaise clamped both her hands to her face, at first turning red... and then nearly bawling with laughter. It came out as a soundless explosion of air.

He could almost see Colin's expression of pure violation and humiliation when he heard his voice. "Right... sure Harry, I... I... dig. I understand, sure, um... just come down when you... when your fini- uhm, done."

The footsteps moved away from the door - quickly.

Blaise lowered her hands after smothering her laugh. "I wonder if he remembers I'm in here," she said, in a half joking voice.

"Doubt it," muttered Harry, looking back down at Draco's diary. At the same time, a lengthy paragraph appeared.

I knew I would be the first. You two must understand that I knew this was a forgone conclusion - I've known for years. You'll notice I've written in this diary every day of my life since I was ten. This is how you construct a diary like this - no fancy spell, no amount of research... you have only one outlet in your life and you literally pour your soul into the pages of a tome. Few have ever been so isolated and alone to successfully craft one.

Voldemort also was... noted Harry.

I wrote in this diary at first because no one would listen. My mother told me they were just bad dreams - my father told me I was merely seeing my own cowardice in another form. Right around the same time as Sirius Black's (Harry winced as if slapped upon seeing the name of his godfather, but continued seamlessly) escape from Azkaban, I began to realize that something has been hunting me. Something led me around Hogwarts one night, well after dark... before the attack on Harry, when the hallways were still clear.

Do you wish to see that night?

Harry and Blaise exchanged glances and both nodded at the same time.

Yes.

The diary began whirling through its pages, back years. The ink on the page became shapeless blurs until, at last, it settled upon one date in time: October 2, 1993. Again, that feeling of reliving the past as a box opened up in the heart of the page, like a small tele built into the page itself. On instinct, both Harry and Blaise leaned forward - and were swallowed whole.

* * * * * *

1:00 AM.

Ron had never been so afraid in his entire life. As he walked the corridors of Hogwarts that bloody night, knowing that two-hundred some odd vampires had seized the school from within and could be lurking around the very next turn, he couldn't help but feel the keen sensation of imminent urination in his bladder.

Dean, a half a step behind him, was faring no better - Ron could see the ghost of terror in the white's of his eyes every time he glanced over his shoulder, afraid they were being stalked from behind.

They were in a hallway lined with antediluvian suits of armor, standing tall like knights frozen six-hundred years ago and left to thaw. The walls behind them sported empty portraits, their inhabitants having all fled like rats on a sinking ship.

The way was light by a ghost moon, filtering in from one of the many narrowed windows high above their heads. Needless to say, it was very difficult to see but neither dared conjure a light charm.

The few times Ron had walked the corridors at night, Hogwarts always seemed to have a secret to tell. Hogwarts seemed as a child, aching for the perfect opportunity to blurt one of the many things on its mind. Tonight, Hogwarts felt like an old man... the last of his secrets having been squelched by a torrent of fire whiskey. It seemed to watch them with glassy, glaring eyes as they walked down the corridor, caring naught or whim of their final fates.

Then, an echo brushed past Ron's ear with a delicate taunt. Neither there not away, it seemed as though a ghost had whispered something confident to him. But, Ron apparently wasn't the only one. Ron nearly shrieked when Dean clasped his shoulder. He stopped himself only by biting his lip, hard.

"By Merlin," whispered Ron harshly, wiping a drop of blood from his mouth. "Are you trying to make me throw up?"

But the expression of terror on Dean's face told Ron that if anyone was going to throw up here, it was him. "Shh, listen..."

Both boys fell silent; Ron heard only Dean's breathing for a moment.

And then, there was something else... a dull, din - the sound of a crowd of people a long way off. Chatter, conversation... perhaps even clanking of some kind. This strange sound was then accompanied by footsteps from behind. Ron all but released his bladder then and there.

Ron grabbed Dean's collar, and both boys lunged for the side of the hallway, finding themselves an old suit of armor to hide behind. Ron could only pray they had been in time. Dean curled up into fetal position, his entire body a shaking mass of nerves. Ron, mastering himself better - but only a little - peeked out from behind their cover.

At first he saw nothing. Yet, the echo of footfalls continued through the tangible darkness, drawing nearer and nearer. Then, out of the shadows emerged a figure into the pale moonlight. The first thing Ron noticed was the eyes. They were bright blue, the color of a beautiful, crystal lake... only they were glowing and seeing, impaired not in the slightest by the darkness around them.

Ron recognized Brian Maylee at once, yet he looked so different. His round build had become trimmed with shrunken skin and his foppish hair had straightened and slicked to the point of sharpness - Ron suspected that if he ran his hand through his hair, he'd pull back many cuts. His skin was as pale as alabaster, the color of milk.

Behind him, countless more shadows came to life, parting slowly to reveal smaller, less recognizable people. Ron spotted a face or two he knew in the crowd of two dozen, maybe more, but most were young... first or second years. Of the two he recognized were Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode - all looking at Brian with a patient eagerness.

As fate would have it, Brian decided this was a great place to stop and address the crowd.

"You will now attend the Sorting Ceremony. As the first ones awakened, you will be sorted first. The rest shall await the Sorting Hat's decis..."

Brain jerked his head up, as if having caught air of something amiss. Ron saw his nose expand and contract twice, two audible sniffs over the silence in the hallway. His eyes rolled from side to side and Ron's head jerked back behind the cover of the knight. He did the only thing he could think of - he grabbed his groin to keep from urinating in terror.

One pair of footsteps, so close that Ron could feel them vibrating against the ground, drew closer to his position. Ron looked to Dean, who was rocking back, whimpering softly into his arms. In Dean's hand was his wand, clenched tightly. As terrified as he was, he was capable and ready to make a last stand.

"I think we have some unexpected visitors..." said Maylee's tone - sweet, convincing and kind. "Come on out, and I promise your awakening will be swift."

Little did Ron know that he was reliving Harry's moment in the graveyard against Voldemort - hiding behind the tombstone, impending doom closing in on him from the front. And, Ron felt the same feeling Harry did... the same angry thought racing across the frame of his mind.

If this is going to be the end, I'll not die a baby in a puddle of my own piss - I'm going to die fighting.

Ron prepared himself to come out indeed... wand blazing. While he was sure he had little chance against twenty-five vampires, a crude plan formed in his head. With a spell, he could pop up and disarm Brian. Then, he could cast a spell that Harry had showed them this year in the D.A... a perfect cross between the Impediment curse and Incendio. He could surround himself with a perimeter of fire that no vampire would be able to cross. That would work until Millicent and Pansy disarmed him, and his spell faded to nothing. There was always a chance Dean could counter their disarm attempts, but it would be him against the two former Slytherins - all of Ron's focus would go into keeping up the barrier. Even if Dean could hold Pansy and Millicent (and Brian when he recovered his wand), they would be trapped.

Nevertheless, if they wanted his blood - they would have to work for it.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed throughout the hallway, spinning all the raptors around. Brian had even let out a growl that sounded like a lion's - his cloak whipping in the darkness.

"There!"

With that, the horde of vampires rushed back the way they came, fading into darkness.

Ron grabbed Dean's arm emphatically, not questioning this amazing turn of fortune.

"C'mon!" he whispered harshly. Dean rose and both boys sprinted out into the corridor, racing in the opposite direction. Then, the most uplifting song Ron had ever heard hit his ears with the welcome of a breezy, spring wind.

"The raptors marchin' one by one, Hurrah! Hurrah!"

Another clang, and a dozen hisses.

"They dress like queers and smell a ton, Hurrah! Hurrah!"

An entire row of armor must have fallen, because now the sound was absolutely deafening.

"The raptors marchin' one by one,"

"The little one stopped to bite his mum,"

"And they all go marchin' down underground,"

"Cause dem afwaid of da sun... Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

Brain's irritated call echoed through the hallway. "Damn! It's just Peeves!"

As they cleared that hallway, leaving the raptors behind, Ron swore an oath... he would never get mad at Peeves ever again.

* * * * * *

1:10 AM.

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.

It nearly drove Nymphadora Tonks insane. It was bad enough that she had to walk down the slimy, desolate corridors of Azkaban, but did Mad-Eye Moody really have to keep tapping his cane with every step.

See, the Wizarding Prison of Azkaban is a haunted and terrible place. The air about it was polluted with ghosts of wizards long driven insane by a torment Tonks could not even imagine - and did not wish to. When so much despair filled an area, all sounds within seemed much more pronounced. This was because the misery of this place didn't like change, and Mad-Eye's cane tapping the cold, hard stone interrupted the fearsome lull of the prison.

Tonks shivered and reached into her pocket. She withdrew a Hershey's bar that she had purchased just moments before at a twenty-four hour Muggle convenient store. Be it superstition or not, few Wizarding Stores remained upon during the Witching Hour itself.

Remus Lupin did the same - the chocolate would stave off the cold despair for long enough to complete their mission in this isolated bastion of hell. Moody, of course, didn't eat any chocolate... when Tonks had offered him a candy bar, he just snorted and said 'Ain't never had much of a sweet tooth.'

Moody had been released by Voldemort a little more than an hour ago. He was still intact and well (Dumbledore had made certain to check of signs of Polyjuice), and as bitterly resistant as ever. It was scary how true to his word the Dark Lord seemed to be in Moody's release - once Dumbledore had given Voldemort the agreement to a pooling of resources, Moody had been freed at once. He spoke nothing of his hours in Voldemort's company, though Tonks noticed how fatigued he was and how he leaned so heavily on his cane, making that god awful racket with every step.

Tonks didn't want to know what hell her companion had suffered during his stay with the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore's message to the Deatheater Avery, who had waited in Little Hangeton for his word, was simple: 'Release Mad-Eye Moody before we talk about releasing the prisoners from Azkaban in exchange for further cooperation.' Dumbledore refused to bargain while Voldemort held any edge over him.

The Dark Lord had backed down, complying with Dumbledore and had even extended the deadline to dawn for Dumbledore to decide whether or not to release the prisoners. This oddity was not lost on Tonks, who could only begin to wonder what the Dark Lord was planning.

Azkaban Prison was located on the North Sea, a sea so unnaturally dark and cold that it led some credibility to the horrors that existed upon it, hidden from Muggle eyes by the most powerful enchantments of the known world. The tower of Azkaban was like a demonic replication of the leaning tower of Piazza in Italy. Slanting to one side, its cast-iron structure tipped ever so slowly toward the surface of the sea. It had made no progress in its descent for years, but it could resume once more at any time.

A dour chant filled the air whenever one stepped foot onto Azkaban Island. It was like the terribly powerful and fearsome chant of Tiberian monks, lost to the conscious world in meditation. Those few wizards who worked there were as the dead - Tonks, Remus and Moody had to sign in and state their credentials to get into this area of the prison by a bald-headed man with sickly blue skin. He looked like a dementor with a real face.

That was step one of visiting prisoners in the High Risk ward of the Prison. Step two required all three of them to drink a potion of Veritaserum, stating their intentions and affirming that they were, indeed, not under magical compulsion. The first two tests were conducted upon the entry level, where prisoners being held for an impending trial were given slight reprieve from the black-robed horrors that protected the prison.

They ascended a spiraling staircase, for no elevators existed in the prison of magic. They came to the first level check point - a fat, hairy wizard with insane eyes checked their credentials once more, cackling with glee over an unspoken joke. Next, came the Iron Niffler... or as Tonks thought of it, the Violator. No more than six inches long, it climbed all over Tonks, sniffing every area of her for anything she might be smuggling in to aid a prisoner. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and prayed for it to end.

A sign above her head showed the occupants of the first level - a few of which she had put in here herself. These were the non-lifers, guilty for minor crimes such as Using Magic without Restraint, Vandalization, Practicing Minor Dark Arts Without a License, Theft, Assault and Fraud. The list went on, but when the niffler left her and moved onto Remus, she closed her eyes and fought back her own queasiness.

They ascended to the second level, where once again, they were forced to give their credentials. On the ground level, they checked papers and magical compulsion. One the first level, they checked you for items... here, they checked to make sure you were really who you looked like. Compared to the Veritaserum and Violator, this was a simple process. A simple wave of the wand by a man more closely resembling a skeleton and the curious sniff of a badger sent them on their way. On the second level, Manslaughter, Possession of Illegal Arcana and Assault with Intent to Permanently Curse criminals were kept under close watch.

Two more levels to go.

The third level, they displayed their credentials for a fourth time and were simply asked to hand over their wands. No armed wizards were permitted into the upper tier of the prison. Normally, all non-Ministry personal were required to turn in their wands on the ground level, but not until level three did it become mandatory for all wizards to surrender their magic.

After complying, they knew they were alone. No human guards protected them in the upper levels. From there on in, it was dementors... and only dementors.

They arrived on the fourth level... those imprisoned for rape, murder and using the Unforgivable Curses. This time, it was a dementor that stood before them on the landing, the spiraling staircase seeming to lead right into it.

Remus looked it squarely in the cowl, bit off a piece of his chocolate bar (one of the few times allowed beyond level three.), and spoke. "We are here to see Lucius Malfoy."

The dementor extended its hands, and for a fifth time, their credentials were checked - though Tonks wasn't exactly sure if dementors were capable of reading. After a minute of peering over the documents in Remus's hand, it hissed once - breath exhaling from beneath its cowl like a snarling cat - and pointed toward the continuing flight of stairs.

Fighting the cold, Tonks and her company continued up to the final level of the Prison - the Level of Unmentionables, built for creatures guilty of crimes so extreme that no one save Ministry Personal were allowed to visit. They included the Yeoman Strangler, who had killed thirty muggles by using a Snake Summoning charm and strangling them with boas, the Scottish Wolf, Terry Lutz who had slain a family of five and eaten the flesh off their very bodies... and several Death Eaters, caught a few months ago in the Ministry of Magic. Worship of the Dark Lord was its own, unmentionable crime.

For a sixth and final time, their credentials were checked... again by a dementor, who also extended three satin collars toward them. Tonks grew suspicious at once, but Remus and Moody complied obediently, putting the collars around their necks.

"What do these do?" asked Tonks, at last breaking the iron-clad silence of the group. She placed the black, leather caller around her neck

Remus explained. "They are Deterrents - if, somehow, we got something up to this level of the prison and were able to instigate a break of one or more prisoners, they will turn into snakes, sink their fangs into our necks and paralysis us... that's so the dementors can suck our souls out through our mouths before we kill ourselves to prevent it."

"Ducky," shivered Tonks. "How did Sirius ever get out of here?"

"Ye don't want to know, girl," said Moody truthfully. "Ye don't want to know."

At last, they were allowed off the landing. A rod iron-door as thick as a bank vault swung open with an official sounding squeal, revealing a way lit only by spiked and cruel looking chandeliers above the narrow corridor. The chanting that seemed to fill every part of the prison fell silent once this door opened, as if horror itself was holdings its breath and waiting for Tonks to scream.

Moody led the way fearlessly...

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.

They kept to the right, passing by cell after cell. Yet, this was not needed. Many of the cowled, ragged prisoners sat in the corners of their cells, motionless and brooding. The dementors of the ward had long since drained any strength from their souls. Yet, after passing by Terry Lutz, an old man with a tangle-weed of grey hair, they were amazed to find the smiling faces of Jacob Crabbe and James Goyle - cell mates that seemed to deserve each other. Like their sons, they were large and ugly. They had been watching outside with predatory eagerness, as if knowing they were coming.

"Yello Moody," greeted Crabbe, "Who's your son and daughter?"

Moody ignored them, but Tonks stared at Goyle for a moment - the large, trollish man rubbed his plump, dirty hands together and blew her a kiss.

The next cell was Warren Macnair and Troy Nott - both standing and smiling, mirroring Crabbe and Goyle perfectly. Nott chilled Tonks's blood - Nott had been the Head Boy in her first year at Hogwarts.

"Hello, Nymphadora..." he said, his skull's teeth flashing a roguish grin. "It's so charming to see you again."

"Too soon for me," muttered Tonks as she kept walking.

"Ignore 'em," ordered Moody - it was not a request.

Next, Rookwood and Mulciber. They were all but arm and arm, looking as though they were going to break into a song.

"Hey, Remus!" called Mulciber, a snicker upon his face. He grabbed a bone from what might have been scrapes from a dinner. He began to bark loudly, and then threw the bone through the bars at his head. "Fetch boy! Heel Fido! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!"

Rookwood burst into laughs as the bone struck Remus on the arm. The werewolf kept walking, not giving them a second look.

Next were Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, giddily waving at them. By now, Tonks was afraid. This was not natural behavior for people in Azkaban prison with no hopes of ever getting out. They were laughing, they were merry - no dementors seemed to have drained anything from them, and they were all but surrounded by them. While none patrolled the corridor this time of night, they were still very close. Tonks could feel them, despite going on her second bar of chocolate.

Next, Dolohov and Jugson.

"Look, it's that Ministry bitch!" exclaimed Jugson, "The one who tripped and fell down the stairs!"

Tonks cheeks flared red. She whirled on the two Deatheaters.

"Yeah, well, look who's in prison and who's not!" she cried. "Who won that fight in the end?"

Dolohov, who still unknowingly haunted the dreams of Hermione Granger after so nearly ending her life, chuckled. "No thanks to you. You are just a useless second rate Auror who couldn't stand their own in a real fight if you were cornered."

"Shut up!" cried Tonks, feeling little more than a child. Remus grabbed her arm and forced her to keep walking.

And finally, in the last cell of this wing (which explained why some of the Death Eaters were in the same cell - sheer overcrowding), sat Lucius Malfoy, alone. His cell consisted of little more than a bed, a chair and a small table, but he was making the most of it. The only Deatheater to be sitting, he was still all too close to the bars for Tonks's comfort. His bare feet were resting upon the table of his room and his arms folded calmly over his chest. He was reclining on the rear two legs of his chair.

He was an amazing sight. Dressed in little more than rags, his sleek, long blonde-hair had dirtied something disgusting. His face, normally pale and immaculate, was tarnished by dirt and grim. The smell of human body odor was strong with him, suggesting he had not properly bathed in more than a month. He was twirling a spoon in his wand hand, with no small amount of dexterity.

"Well, well, well - look what the cat dragged in," Malfoy said, his voice calm and rolling. The twinkle in his eyes was that of a man bordering insanity. "It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure."

"Careful Malfoy," Moody said darkly. He nodded to the chair that was reclining perilously on two legs, "Wouldn't want ya to fall and break your head before we finished talking to you."

Malfoy leaned forward, grounding all four legs with a loud bang. "Thank you, Moody. Safety first, wouldn't you say?" Malfoy straightened up. "Now then, to what do I owe this distinct honor... three Aurors as distinguished as yourselves."

Remus stepped forward, producing a folder from within his robe. "Here are some papers I need you to sign."

"Is that a fact?" asked Malfoy, blinking innocently.

"We wish to find out what killed your son," explained Remus, falling into monotone, "I know it must be a hard time for you, Mr. Malfoy, but we must know if you or your wife are at risk of a similar death."

It was a half-truth, of course, one that the three of them had concocted on their way over. Malfoy never had a record of caring how much harm he inflicted upon students at Hogwarts given his involvement with the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. It was very unlikely that any reason other than selfish motivation would inspire the Deatheater to sign.

Malfoy smiled. "By all means, my dear werewolf... send those papers through and I'll sign at once."

Tonks's eyes widened with surprise. That was easy.

Too easy.

Remus was also left unconvinced. He did no such thing. "These papers confirm that we have your consent to exhume your son's body for a post-mortem autopsy."

"Yes, yes... stop delaying."

Tonks almost wanted to tell Remus not to, but that would have been totally absurd. Having no reason to delay any more, Remus did indeed slip the papers between the bars... holding them for Malfoy to take. The werewolf did not fear Malfoy's strength, should he try to grab him or anything of that sort.

Malfoy reached up and took the papers. He set them down at his table and began to flip through them, a page turning every six seconds. Yet, his eyes never left the three Aurors, begging the question as to how he was reading them.

"I heard you visited our Lord tonight - we all did," Malfoy said calmly.

Remus crossed his arms. "You heard that, huh? How, may I ask?"

"Oh, that's not all that important," said Malfoy, glancing to Moody with a smile wide on his face. "But, I heard of the arrangement - come tomorrow, we will be free men."

Moody approached the bars, beckoning Malfoy forward with one of his old, gnarled fingers. Malfoy obediently rose from his chair and drew next to the bars, no more than inches from Mad-Eye. With a sudden lunge, Mad-Eye grabbed the collar of Malfoy's rags and pulled him painfully against the bars.

"Ye listen to me, Malfoy, and ye listen good..." Moody muttered. "You will never, ever, ever be free. Dumbledore may have you released, but ye'll be back in before the sun falls that day. I promise ye... ye will never escape."

"Is that so?" grunted Malfoy - his face was mashed up against the bars almost comically. His smile had fallen. "Let me tell you a story."

Moody grunted, and even chuckled. He did not release Malfoy, however. "Go right ahead."

Malfoy sucked in some air and began, "Once upon a time, there was a deformed Auror who came to visit a man he had put in jail. He helped this man and all his companions escape."

At once, Tonks looked at Moody, with confusion on her face.

Moody snorted, and barely restrained his laughter. He then pulled Malfoy against the bars hard, slamming his head into the metal "And how much did this deformed Auror make the man pay for such a stupid story?"

Malfoy scowled, a small cut on his head forming from the injury. He narrowed his eyes and fixed Moody with a killer's expression. "Absolutely nothing..."He extended his arm through the bar, inches away from Moody's chest and cried out.

"ACCIO WAND!"

At first, Tonks wondered what the hell Malfoy could be on about. Sure, wandless magic was possible for even the most untalented of wizards, but spells cast such a way were at a pathetic amount of strength... so minor that they weren't even considered a threat. Heck, a summoning charm cast without a wand would probably only summon an objection within a few feet at most.

It turned out that's all Malfoy needed.

Moody suddenly retched, his eyes bulging wide. While constant vigilance was his motto - even this one must have gone beyond him. Had Tonks pushed Moody for information about what had happened that night with the Dark Lord, Moody might have said, 'Well, I was hit by the Cruciatus Curse 'til I passed out... awoken... passed out... awoken... passed out... fer pretty much all night.'

What Moody couldn't have understood was what had happened during the time he was passed out. At least until now.

Moody grasped his chest, but it was too late.

What happened next was something that would haunt both Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks every night for the rest of their lives. Every time they closed their eyes, the following six seconds repeated over and over again. Of all the horrors either Auror had ever seen, nothing was quite like this.

There was a squishy explosion of flesh and muscle tissue as Moody's stomach imploded. A torrent of blood splashed like a waterfall from his injury, drenching Malfoy and most of his cell in a thin lair of maroon. Moody howled in his death throes, falling away from the bars, following most of his innards to the stone floor. He gasped his last, like a gaffed fish might keep wiggling for a few seconds before he fell still, his eyes glazed over with death.

In Malfoy's hand was a blood-covered wand... a wand chosen by the Dark Lord and forced down Moody's throat while he was unconscious.

The other Death Eaters were chanting and cheering loudly. Though none of them could see what was happening... they all knew.

Tonks was beyond words or actions, but Remus made a lunge for Malfoy's hand, attempting to wrestle the wand away before things could get worse. Malfoy was too quick, however - he spun the wand, adjusting its point to Remus, and spoke.

"Incendio!"

A crack of lightning slammed Remus in the chest, sending him careening into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. Hitting the back of his head on the stone wall, Remus's eyes rolled to the top of his head and he fell unconscious.

Calmly, as if aware Tonks could do nothing, Malfoy aimed the wand at the jail cell lock and spoke, "Alohomora."

In a place where no one could possibly bring a wand and the prisoners rarely did more than brood in the corner, there was no need for complex magic protecting a prison cell. The bars swung open and Malfoy strode out, his eyes on Tonks with a mixture of amusement and... perhaps lust?

Tonks turned left to right, hoping above hope that dementors were on their way... hoping that they'd appear through the floor and all around, grab Malfoy, and suck his soul from his body for what he had done. At the same time, Tonks knew this would not happen.

The dementors of Azkaban, Voldemort's loyal supporters, had turned the other cheek.

"Now then... all alone..." said the freed Malfoy. The only other sound was the hollering and cheering of the Death Eaters, a high praise to their Dark Lord. He stepped over Moody's corpse and reached for her. She lowered her head, too frightened to move and too defenseless to fight back. He felt his moist, crimson hand touch her cheek. He felt his insane eyes comb her body.

"Whatever am I going to do with you?"

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