Oh Voldie, Where Art Thou?

Oh Voldie, Where Art Thou?

Chapter One

Azkaban

(In Which Lucius Malfoy, Craven Crabbe, and Grey Goyle Discover Azkaban Prison Empty, Make Friends With a Dementor, and Escape the Island on the Ship of Fools.)

Lucius Malfoy had a pleasant dream.

He dreamt that the events of that June evening that had been his undoing were very, very different. He saw himself handing the Prophecy to Voldemort, who slapped him on the back and declared, "From now on, you will be my Number Two!"

Somewhere in the group of Death Eaters, a few masked wizards snickered.

Voldemort stretched out a hand to them, and soon they were withering on the ground, whimpering. "You know that's not what I meant," the Dark Lord said dryly.

Then they turned on Potter and the children with him, and soon the walls were painted with Muggleborn blood, Arthur Weasley's son had been changed into a cockroach (and subsequently stepped on), and Potter stood as still as a rod, fighting Lucius's Imperius curse. But this did not last for long. Voldemort soon grew tired of the games, divested Harry of his head (the one on his shoulders), and sent The Boy Who Was Now Headless to a bloodstained grave. The Death Eaters then Apparated away joyfully and had a huge cocktail party at Malfoy Manor, from which Lucius slipped away with his lovely bride of twenty years. To the Master Bedroom they went, up flights upon flights of stairs, and, with the door closed, his lovely Narcissa began to perform a slow striptease...

"Luc!" a voice called.

Lucius sat up on his cot, grey eyes snapping to the open door of his cell. Azkaban had no bars; it did not need any. One was unlikely to cross a Dementor and attempt to leave. The consequences were, shall we say, fatal.

A cold wind blasted through the small window near the top of the cell. Just beyond, Lucius could hear the waves crashing against the shore, against the building, drenching the sand and stone in grey sea. Otherwise, he could have sworn that the sun...shone.

"Luc!" the voice demanded.

Lucius slid off of his bed, his standard issue grey prison robes falling around his booted ankles. "What is it?" he said between clenched teeth.

Craven Crabbe slowly backed into the room as if some sort of enemy lay outside. When he turned to look at Lucius, he simply looked scared out of his wits.

"Well?" Lucius demanded. "What is it that was so important that you felt the need to disturb my sleep?"

"You slept?" Craven asked, raising both eyebrows. "For how long, Luc?"

"I have no idea," Lucius snapped irritably. "It was dark when I fell asleep and..."

And that was the moment that Lucius Malfoy got the gist of it. He had not slept for more than an hour at a time since he arrived at Azkaban. Part of keeping his sanity intact involved quick naps and doing so as frequently as he could.

Lucius walked over to the door of his cell, peering down the hall. There were no Dementors. In fact, no one seemed to be stirring.

"Have you seen any...?" Lucius began.

"Dementors? No. Not this morning."

"Or anyone else, for that matter." Grey Goyle stepped out of one of the other cells. The very tall man, built like a rugby player, appeared rather confused.

Lucius laughed. "That's impossible. This is Azkaban." He turned, sweeping down the cell block which the three men occupied. "There must be someone here. There wouldn't be a prison break and no one would...Hello?" He ducked into a cell, and found it empty. "Hello?" He walked to the end of the cell block, glancing into the nook where the Dementors usually stood guard.

Frowning, he strode over to the door that led into the courtyard. He started to open it, then, upon laying his hand on the doorknob, he realized that this might be a rather stupid thing to do.

"Crabbe. Goyle. Over here," Lucius called, beckoning toward the two larger men.

"Is there anyone out in the courtyard?" Grey asked as he approached.

"I don't know," Lucius replied.

Craven inquired, "Then why don't you open the door?"

"Because," Lucius said, quite pointedly, "we could trip the alarm."

"Seems to me that there's no one to hear the alarm, Luc," Craven pointed out.

"We...don't...know...that..." Lucius said, glaring at the two larger men.

Craven and Grey glanced at one another. They knew very well when to keep quiet and let Lucius do what he wanted.

Lucius opened the door slowly. No alarms rang. Not a soul (or a soul-sucker, for that matter) stirred. In fact, save for the bitter cold, they could have been in a complex upon a British Moor. The three Death Eaters stepped out into the courtyard, all staring up at the sky, the tall walls, and over at the door that led to the entrance of the prison.

"Hello?" Craven called out.

Only the wind answered him.

"Bugger all. Where is everyone?" Grey asked.

Lucius started for the entrance. "I'm not asking any questions. I'm leaving before they return."

Again, Craven and Grey exchanged glances. Then, without another word, they started after Lucius's retreating form.

They passed through the Visitors' Chamber, weaving their way around tables and chairs, all neat and tidy as if they were prepared for use, then entered the main hall. Not a warden nor Dementor stopped them as they headed straight for the foreboding fifteen-foot doors flanked by a portcullis of glowing iron spikes, both of which had been left wide open.

"Do you reckon?" Craven asked.

"I do," Lucius said, pausing at the entrance. "No blood, anywhere. No corpses." He stepped outside. "You'd at least think they'd be moving about." He trotted down the long flight of stone steps that led to the beach below. "Come. We have to find a way off this island."

"That's not what I was asking." Craven knitted his brows.

"What were you, then?" Grey inquired as he started down the steps after Lucius.

Craven watched as Lucius headed for the shore. "Why do you reckon they call it 'High Tea'?"

"Huh?" Grey asked as he ran a hand through his short brown hair. "I have no idea why."

"I mean, it's not high, right? Some of the trays are quite short."

"Perhaps it's because of the cakes and all," Grey replied.

Lucius walked along the beach, occasionally shading his eyes and glancing out over the grey ocean. His hair blew out behind him, occasionally flying in his face.

"Then, why not call it 'Sweet Tea' or 'Big Tea' or even 'Lunch Tea'?" Craven asked.

"We call it 'Full Tea' at my house," Grey replied. "But we don't have time for tea very often."

"My missus doesn't like tea," Craven mumbled to himself, watching as Lucius vanished behind the other side of the castle. "She took to some sort of foamy stuff when we were on holiday in London last."

"What sort of foamy stuff?" Grey started off toward the last place he'd seen Lucius.

"I think she called it 'Chino'," Craven replied.

"Chino? Isn't that a sort of trouser that Muggles wear?"

Craven shook his head. "No, it was a drink, a bit like coffee. Every day, she'd say to me, she says, 'Dear, go get me a Cup of Chino, will you?'"

Grey paused in his footsteps. "You mean, cappuccino."

"That's what I said," Craven said, frowning.

They turned the corner, and both stopped at the same time, halting in their tracks. Lucius stood a few feet away, also standing very still, his thin frame appearing rather tense.

For near the water's edge stood a Dementor.

The Dementor did not seem to have seen them. In fact, one would have thought that the trio of wizards would have sensed the Dementor before they saw it. However, this one seemed substantially less threatening somehow. Perhaps it was the fact that its arms were crossed and it seemed to be looking out onto the ocean, or the fact that the wizards did not hear their worst memories screaming in their head at the creature's mere presence.

Then, after a moment of silence, the Dementor turned around, and cocked its hooded head. "Oh, hello," it said. "I thought all of you were gone." It turned back to the ocean.

Lucius lifted his chin slightly. "What do you mean?" he inquired.

"All the humans left on the boat, you see." The Dementor turned back to them. "The others went with them. I decided to wait."

"Excuse me," Grey said, stepping forward. "I don't wish to be rude, but I've never met a talking Dementor before."

"Well, I don't wish to be rude, either," the Dementor replied, "but we usually don't speak unless we have someone worth speaking to, you see."

"So," Lucius said slowly, "you know who we are?"

"Of course," the Dementor replied. "I remember you three well. You were in the circle of other humans when the Dark Lord summoned a few of us."

The three humans exchanged glances.

"Then can you help us?" Craven asked.

"One thing you should realize, human, is that being direct is the best way of getting what one wants." The Dementor raised one of its scaly hands as it spoke, shaking a withered finger at Craven. "I'd suppose that you wish to get off this island."

"Uh..." Grey looked between Lucius and the Dementor. Again. And again. Then he said, "Yes?"

"Ah." The Dementor reached inside of its hood, almost as if to touch its gaping-hole-of-a-mouth. "Well, then. The Ship of Fools should be here any moment."

Again, the three humans exchanged glances.

"Ship of Fools? I don't know of such a thing," Lucius said, his voice now bordering on irritation.

Th Dementor turned its hooded head slowly, then peered down at Lucius. After a long silence, it said, "You-Know-Who was right. You aren't very smart, are you, Lucius Malfoy?"

Grey snickered. Craven cuffed him on the arm. Lucius glared at Grey.

"The Ship of Fools is a boat for dark magical creatures who wish to travel from continent to continent on their own accord." The Dementor sounded as if it was teaching a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, lecturing in a broad, clear voice. "Grindylows can't Apparate, can they? And unless we are released from our binding spells, Dementors can't travel any place that they are not told to go."

This time, when the three Dark Wizards exchanged glances, their eyes were wide in shock.

"You mean, you're not under anyone's control?" Craven inquired.

"It seems not," the Dementor replied. "Most of my kind went back to our Master, you see, but I decided to travel. See the world. I hear that in some cities in the States, there are many of my kind that live quite happily. Walking about on the streets, sucking out souls of humans, buying homes, starting software corporations, running for Pres..."

"Excuse me," Lucius interrupted, clearing his throat. "Can the Ship of Fools take us back to England?"

The Dementor drew itself into a straighter posture, apparently affronted. "Yes. But there is a hitch. It will set you down wherever it wishes, and once you call your destination, you must get off there. It's the way it's done." It looked over the ocean, then exclaimed, "Ah, there it is!"

The three ex-inmates followed the Dementor's gaze. A large wooden ship sailed directly for Azkaban, its black sails unfurled and taut. As it drew closer (which it did so quickly, moving at quite a clip with breeze that clearly could not carry a ship that speed), the sound of singing floated over the island, as did a distinct stink that caused Grey to wrinkle his nose.

"It smells like..." Grey said, grimacing.

Craven finished his thought. "...smelly socks."

"Like death," Lucius said softly, his head tilted as he observed the ship.

The Dementor sniffed the air. "Luxurious," it replied. "I do miss the scent of human suffering."

Cheers arose from the deck of the ship as it sailed even closer to the island--drawing to a distance that would have caused any nonmagical ship of its size to crash upon the shallow bottom. The ship, like the sails, was painted entirely black, with tar that oozed from the bowed wood on the sides.

"Lower the anchor!" A bright red demon called out from a basket set upon one of the masts.

There was a pop, and then an incredible splash as an anchor landed in the shallow water right next to Lucius, Craven, and Grey. The three men jumped back as their clothes became soaked.

As they did so, they looked up. The figure of Voldemort stood on the deck.

"Master?" Grey called out.

Another pop broke through the ocean air, and Voldemort turned into an elderly, black-haired witch. The woman cackled loudly and waved her cane.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Boggart," he muttered.

"How d'ye know?" Grey looked to Lucius curiously.

"My mother-in-law is a lot of things, but not a magical creature," Lucius replied dryly.

"Lower the gangplank!" The demon shouted.

Craven snickered. "Luc, you're afraid of your--"

"Shut it," Lucius said a bit musically, and through his teeth.

A troll grunted as it tossed a very large board the size of a house table at Hogwarts over the side of the boat. The board adhered to the boat, then became like liquid for a moment, reforming into a set of stairs.

"Ah, here we are! Come along, humans, come along." The Dementor began to whistle as it ascended the stairs.

Lucius drew a deep breath through his mouth as he looked to Craven and Grey. "No wands. No floo powder. This is the only way. We can survive it for a day or what have you."

"Okay," Grey said weakly, his face tingeing green.

Lucius held his head high, his mouth open as he took shallow breaths through it. And then, he headed up the stairs and found himself on the deck of the Ship of Fools.