The Prisoner

He is in the dungeons.

April had taken the elivator as far as it would take her, and was now hurrying down the steep stairs towards the lowest dungeons.

That's where he was. That's what her boss had said, disgust dripping from his voice.

He is in the dungeons.

Somewhat short of breath April came to a halt in front of a set of intimidating doors. And somewhere behind them she'd find some of the deepest and darkest sets of prison cells.

The ones located on the floors above were for those lucky enough to be awaiting their trials. The ones down here were reserved for those poor souls whose crimes where to dark to be aired in a room of law. These cells were for those who went straight to Azkaban.

Though at this moment there was but one occupant.

The massive doors swung open and torches flared up in the hall that ran behind them. Taking a deep breath she plunged on, her feet sounding like those of a dragon in the unnerving silence. The door on the far end slid open as well, and soon April found herself to be in a room few others had seen, much less lived to tell.

On her left was three doors, each just as dark and intimidating as the two she had already passed. On her right a long metal chain and a pair of wristlocks were hovering in the air. Portkeys that would take you to a secret location on the mainland just off the island that kept Azkaban Prison, she had been told once.

But no more pondering could be done, for now the largest of the three doors on her left side squeaked open and three dark cloaked wizards appeared. Upon seeing her they came to a sudden halt.

"How did you get down here?"

One of the cloaked men stepped briskly towards her. Whether to protect her or intimidate her, April did not now. She handed him a slip of parchment, the sole reason she had managed to get past the countless magical restriction spells, and not to mention the two doors.

"I'm to get a fingerprint and a blood sample from the prisoner," she stated calmly, amazed that her voice did not tremble. The wizard grunted in reply. His two companions stepped over to the portkey, while he himself stood guard by April.

Soon three figures materialized from the darkness beyond the open door, two dark cloaked guards with the limp prisoner in between. His dark hair was hanging limply over his brow, his head lolling on his shoulder and his feet dragging along the flagstone floor. The two accompanying guards stepped to the side as they approached the centre of the room, leaving him hanging limply in the air. April's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

"Revive him," she said at last, with only a slight tremble to her voice. The man seemingly in charge gave her a quizzical look before raising his wand and removing the spell they had used to sedate him.

A tremble ran trough the prisoner's limbs and with a ragged moan he lifted his head from his shoulder. Stormy grey eyes flew open, landing directly at April.

Limply shrugging off the warning hand of the guard April stepped forward. His grey eyes never left her blue. Slipping away from the fumbling hands of his guards he lifted his right hand. By gently leaning it on Aprils left shoulder his hand made contact with her cheek. The touch was soft and caring, and she battled to keep her tears in check. Never letting go of his gaze she pulled a square parchment from her pocket. Charming it to hover in the air she took his other hand in hers and let the tip of her wand slide across his thumb. This left a sheet of dark blue ink covering the swirls and lines that made up his fingerprint. Pressing it gently onto the parchment left a clear, blue print. The parchment was quickly ushered back into her pocket, and she pulled out a strange device, which in appearance it greatly resembled a see-though egg-glass. She turned his hand over and pressed it into the soft flesh of his arms. As the skin bulged within the crystal-clear boundaries a needle appeared pricking a hole in the skin, filling up the hollow compartment on the top with deep red blood. Once filled April removed the device, and let it drop back into her pocket. He hadn't flinched once during the entire process, always keeping his intent gaze locked at her. With a barely audible, though still trembling, intake of air April dropped his hand and stepped backwards. Soon his arm slipped from her shoulders, and then hovered outstretched in the air for a moment before dropping to his side.

The guard by her side looked impatient.

"Finished?" Deciding not to trust the strength in her voice April simply nodded. She only nodded once, but all the same she felt she had sentenced the young man in front of her to his doom. Biting her lip, she watched as the guards took their stand by the chain that hovered in the air, the prisoner prepared to be locked into his chains.

At the spur of the moment April lifted her left hand slightly and let it rest on her stomach, with a begging look at the prisoner.

For the first time since he had been revived his gaze left her eyes, dropping to her arm. But only a second later it popped back up, eyes all questions. But then realization seemed to dawn on him, and he looked back down again. The stare he now fixed on her was wilder than any she had ever seen. Desperation gleamed in the grey of his eyes.

"No, no, it can't be," he whispered, mostly to himself. He was staring at her intently, as if begging her not to affirm the assumption he had made.

Slowly she nodded.

A flicker of a smile twitched his lips, slightly ironic and sad, but all the same letting her know that in any other setting he would have been thrilled. In any setting but this.

The guards clamped the iron around his left wrist, and for the third time his gaze slipped form hers, this time to look upon the object that would bring him to the place of nightmares.

April was breathing heavily, using every inch of self-control she owned to keep herself in check.

The dark haired prisoner brought his free hand up and clasped something in his fist. He opened his mouth as if to speak.

"I-." But with a hissing noise he disappeared, along with the five guards and the dark iron chain of the portkey.

But a bright clinker of something against the stone floor told that he had left something behind.

With a strangled cry April leapt forwards, sinking to her knees at the spot he had occupied only seconds previous. There, on the floor, was a silver medallion on a chain. Gathering it close in her hand April got to her feet, turned sharply around and fled the room.

Running as fast as her feet allowed her to she soon appeared at the desk of her boss. He looked at her as she let the square parchment and the blood-filled device drop onto his desk. For the first time since she could not decipher the look in his eyes. With a slight sob she walked away.

A few minutes later she had left the Ministry of Magic behind and appeared in muggle London.

Opening her hand she looked upon the silver medallion in her hand. His favourite cousin had given it to him years previous, April knew. And it had burned Remus quite badly once during a birthday hug. His -condition- made him react quite badly to the pure silver of the medallion.

Not noticing the tears that poured from her eyes April wondered how all this could have come to be. The handsome, dark-haired man, who would soon get his first glimpse of the castle Azkaban, had been her friend for years. And not even two days ago he had caused the deaths of top-Auror couple, and incidentally two of Aprils best friends, Lily and James Potter. Though he hadn't killed them with his own hand, that had been the work of all-time bad guy Voldemort, he had apparently delivered information about their exact whereabouts, which again resulted in their deaths. Their young boy, Harry, had survived the attack, unknown how, and Voldemort had ... Well, no one really knew what had happened to him. Most chose to believe he was dead.

April brought the slim chain of the medallion around her neck and clasped it shut. It had, after all, belonged to her boyfriend of some time, and also father of her child-to-be.

She trailed down the London Street, not knowing where to go or what to do. A substantial part of her world had, after all, been brutally stolen from her.

The cold November sun was reflected in the silver medallion. The engraved image on the front of the medallion was in the shape of a rather large and shabby dog, a child's depiction of the Dog Star. She did not need to turn it around to know the inscription on the back. Merlin knows she had seen it many times before.

Forever Free, Sirius Black.