Year V

Chapter Twenty

Secrets and Questions

Friday morning started out fairly uneventful...at least until Jesse entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. As he sat down and flipped open his text book, he glanced up to see Umbridge glaring at him. He returned her silent challenge with an icy glare of his own, before suddenly smiling and winking at her.

Okay, that's going to throw her off.

As predicted, her eyes seemed to bulge outward even more than they were. "Mr. McCade, is there a problem?"

Ignoring the silent groans of his housemates, Jesse smiled and shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, Professor...should there be a problem?"

"Five points from Hufflepuff for talking back."

Jesse bit back the comment he wanted to throw back at her, figuring she might as well enjoy her little victory for the moment...she was going to have a very bad day the moment the class ended. He returned his attention back to his book and Umbridge continued to glare at him while she was writing something down on a piece of parchment. About five minutes before class ended, the professor asked for the students to turn in their essays. Jesse took his time, deliberately procrastinating as other students handed their papers forward. There was another reason he did this instead of giving it to one of the students to pass forward...it wouldn't do to have the curse passed on to someone other than the target.

The bell rang and Jesse pulled the rolled up parchment out of his schoolbag, smiling as he approached the desk and holding out the paper to her. "Here you go, Professor," he said cheerfully.

"I advise you to watch your tone, McCade," said Umbridge. "Because you will be put in deten-" she stopped when she noticed the bandage on Jesse's hand as she took the parchment from him. "What happened to your hand?"

Jesse glanced at his hand for a moment. "Oh...this...it's nothing, I cut my hand trying to chop up some ingredients for potions." Then he gave her an evil grin. "It's not like I was doing lines or anything."

Umbridge's eyes widened and bulged out to the point Jesse could see blood vessels in the corner of her eyes. Her face also turned a dark purple color and she looked like she was about to explode. "Get out!" she growled, her voice trembling with rage and her hand clenching the parchment in her fist.

Jesse gave her a mock bow and walked out the door. As he continued down the corridor towards lunch, he heard the faint sound of music in the air, a little enchantment he added this morning to act as a signal that his little curse was active. He chuckled softly as he silently whispered the lyrics to the music being played.

Every move you make

Every vow you break

Every smile you fake, every claim you stake

I’ll be watching you

There was a shriek and a sudden crash in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but Jesse didn't bother to turn back. He just kept walking, a smug grin on his face. The faint music had once again faded into nothing. Oh yes, he decided, the next three weeks would be very interesting indeed.

During lunch, Jesse noted with satisfaction that Professor Umbridge was missing from her usual spot at the High Table.

"I saw it happen," he heard one student say. "She was walking by that suit of armor on the third floor and the battle-axe just fell loose from the display, skinned her arm, it did."

"I heard her chair broke on her earlier today," another student said. Jesse smiled as he heard other comments along the same lines.

"One of her desk's legs broke and the corner fell on her foot, broke a few toes..."

"A trophy case fell on her..."

"A chandelier barely missed her..."

"It must be Peeves..."

"I thought I heard some music when it happened..."

Jesse chuckled softly as he sipped his water. He looked over at Gryffindor table and saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione quietly talking to each other. When Potter looked in his direction, Jesse raised his glass in a mock salute. The other boy glanced over at the High Table at the place where Umbridge would have been sitting before looking back to Jesse, a questioning look on his face. Jesse smiled and shrugged as if to say "Accidents happen all the time".

"So," said Zach as he sat down next to Jesse. "I saw that you signed up for Quidditch tryouts today."

"Yeah," said Jesse. "Figured I'd at least try out for a Beater position...that's what I usually played."

"I thought you Yanks played Quodpot instead."

"They play both, though Quodpot is more popular with the Colonials than the Guilds."

"The Guilds?" repeated Zach. "You know, I remember studying about them back in third year, but I haven't really heard much about them."

"Not surprising given the fact that they're kind of isolated and stuck mostly in the US."

"But why?"

"Hey, don't ask me...I'm just a stupid half-breed that doesn't know anything."

"Half-breed? One of your parents was a Muggle?"

"Not that lucky, I'm afraid," said Jesse. "Dad's a Colonial, Mom's a Guilder...let's just say that makes me an 'abomination' by Colonial standards."

"And why is that?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," said Jesse, who really didn't want to deal with such a touchy subject. "Look, we're getting a little off track here. What do you think my chances are of getting the Beater position?"

"Well, that depends," said Zach. "Most of the teams are starting from scratch this year, mostly because there was no Quidditch season last year. So depending how good you are...I'd say you have a fair chance." He hesitated for a moment. "You are good at flying, right?"

"Don't worry about it," laughed Jesse. "I'm perfectly capable of handling a broom."

"That's good to know."

"If anyone knows how to crash into walls the right way, it's me," Jesse added with a snicker.

"That's not funny, Jesse."

* * * * *

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it," said Ron. "Umbridge was walking right by that bust of Otto the Mad and the pedestal it was on just fell on her."

"According to other students, strange accidents have been happening to Umbridge all day today," said Hermione. "What's even more odd is the strange music that seems to play whenever something happens to her."

"Filch is blaming Peeves for it," said Ron. "But according to witnesses Peeves was throwing water balloons at some first years on the second floor."

Harry's mind drifted from the conversation as he looked over at the Hufflepuff table where Jesse McCade was pouring himself a glass of water. The other boy glanced up at him and raised his glass in salute, a slight smirk on his face before falling into conversation with Zacharias Smith. "Yeah," said Harry, "it is kind of odd, especially since it started today."

"What are you getting at, Harry?" asked Ron. Harry nodded his head towards the Hufflepuff table. Ron followed his gaze. "What? McCade? What about him?" His eyes suddenly widened in realization. "You don't think-"

"It's a possibility," said Harry, cutting his friend off.

"But he was nowhere near Umbridge when the accidents happened."

"What are you two talking about?" asked Herimone.

Ron and Harry glanced at each other for a moment, both realizing that Hermione didn't know about Harry's detention sessions with Umbridge. "Harry getting his hand sliced up by Umbridge every night," said Ron before he realized that Harry was giving him a sour look.

"What!?!" Hermione looked over at Harry. "Is that true?" Harry sighed in resignation and held the back his hand out for Hermione to see the words 'I will not tell lies' still lightly etched into his skin. Hermione managed to stifle a gasp before she spoke. "You need to tell someone about this, Harry."

"No," said Harry and Ron at the same time.

"Why not?"

"Because Harry's not sure how much power Umbridge has here," said Ron. "And I think he might be right about that. I mean, my dad works for the Ministry and Fudge seems intent on making his life miserable and-"

"And Umbridge's being here is obviously an attempt to meddle," Hermione finished for him. "I just didn't think they'd move that quickly."

"Well, they were quick enough to drag my name through the mud and turn a lot of people against me," said Harry.

"So who else knows about what Umbridge did to you?"

"Just McCade," said Harry. "And I think he's got something to do with what's been happening to Umbridge today."

Ron smiled and looked as if Christmas had come early this year. "You know, he may be a git, but he does have some good qualities. How do you think he's doing it?"

"I don't know, but it's no secret that he doesn't like Umbridge either." Harry couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I know it's wrong, but I'm not going to complain."

"If he's behind this, someone should stop him," said Hermione.

"Why?" asked Ron. "The way things are going, she'll be in a body cast before we have to endure another class with her."

"Because if anything really bad happens to her, the Ministry will send someone else and claim to have an excuse to meddle even more in how this school is run. It could get worse."

Reluctantly, Harry had to agree with her. "Okay, maybe you're right, but you still can't prove he did it."

"Leave that to me," said Hermione. "He must be using some sort of curse, I'll just have to go through the library and see what I can find that resembles what's happening to Umbridge. In the meantime, we could confront him about it and tell him to stop."

Ron shook his head and smiled at her. "I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione. Every time you try to order McCade around, he'll just ignore you."

"Or slip something in your drink again," said Harry.

"Don't remind me." Hermione glared over at the Hufflepuff table. "What bothers me is that you two seem willing to cut him some slack for what he's done. Even you, Ron."

"Yeah, well..." Ron hesitated for a moment, his ears starting to turn pink. "He did kind of help us out when Diagon Alley was attacked."

"What did he do?"

Ron hesitated again, a plead for help in his eyes. Harry's mind raced as well. They were right in the middle of the attack on Diagon Alley, but Mr. Weasley had made them both promise not to say anything about what happened. What exactly could he tell Hermione?

"He cast a spell that deflected most of the fire that was coming down on us," said Harry. It wasn't the complete truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie either.

"Oh...is that all?"

"Er-yeah," said Ron, thankful at Harry's quick thinking. "It was kind of weird though...not your standard protection spell, but it worked."

Harry shot him a dangerous look while Hermione studied both of them for a moment. "Interesting," she said though the tone of her voice told them both that she suspected they were hiding something. "I'd love to hear more, but I have to head off for Arithmancy. However, we will talk about this later."

Ron waited until Hermione had grabbed her book bag and walked out of the Great Hall. "That was close," he said.

Harry gave his friend an incredulous look. "'...not your standard protection spell'? Nice recovery there, Ron."

"Hey, you're the one who said McCade had deflected those flames."

"And you had to bring the whole incident at Diagon Alley into the conversation?" Harry paused for a moment as he pondered something. "Speaking of which, did your father say anything about the attack on the Ministry?"

"Yeah, but he didn't tell me much more than was revealed in the Daily Prophet. The Ministry was attacked, but they don't know who the guy is working for."

"Is?" repeated Harry. "He's still alive?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "They shipped him off to Azkaban after that. You think it was as Death Eater attack?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Harry, "but it's just...I don't know...something doesn't feel right about this."

"Um, Harry...Death Eater attacks aren't supposed to feel right."

"You know what I mean, Ron. When Voldemort did something before, my scar hurt, but it didn't during Diagon Alley. And I'm certain I would have felt something when the Ministry was attacked."

"Well maybe he had someone else do it."

"Maybe, but to take on the whole Ministry like that? If they have that kind of power, why work for him when they can take power for themselves?"

"Don't ask me," said Ron, nodding in the direction of Slytherin table. "Maybe you should ask the Death Eaters in training."

Harry followed Ron's gaze and saw Draco Malfoy talking with Pansy Parkinson and Adrian Pucey at the Slytherin table. He found it odd because whenever they caught sight of eachother, Malfoy would sneer or hurl an insult in Harry's direction, but not this time. Instead, Draco's hateful glare was aimed at the Hufflepuff table. Harry turned back to the Hufflepuff table and saw Jesse smirking back at Draco Malfoy, almost as if daring the Slytherin to try something. "I'm guessing there's a lot of bad blood there."

"Uh-oh...sounds to me like someone's getting jealous," snorted Ron. "What's the matter, Harry, feeling left out now that Malfoy has someone else to hate other than you?"

Harry couldn't help laughing at that. "No...it's just weird, that's all. It's a nice change, but it still feels weird."

"Well, don't get too used it," said Ron. "I heard that Snape has ordered the Slytherins to stay away from McCade so I expect Malfoy and his little club to return their attention to us."

"You're probably right," said Harry. "But still, I really want to know what's going on between Malfoy and McCade."

It's not that hard to figure out," said Ron. "They're both gits, battling it out for supremacy, I say let them go at it." He smiled at Harry as he grabbed his schoolbag and got up from the table. "Besides, it's fun to watch. Now come on, we don't want to be late for Divination unless you want Trelawney to predict another particularly gruesome death for you."

"Good point. What was it last time...decapitation?"

"No, that was Monday, Wednesday was drowning, I'm guessing you'll be eaten alive by something today."

* * * * *

At five o'clock that evening, Harry knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he thought would be the final time, was told to enter and did so. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.

"You know what to do, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge. What struck Harry as odd was her demeanor. All this week, she would give him one of those sickly sweet smiles and patronizing glares, but today was different. Today, Professor Umbridge looked nervous and more than a little twitchy. He can see faint scars where it looked like something had cut into the side of her face.

Ignoring the urge to ask Umbridge what happened to her, Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the office window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right...On the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goal posts, apparently waiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.

I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.

I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting.

I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down his wrist.

He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goal posts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell-

CRASH!

The sudden loud noise and a shriek made Harry look up to see Umbridge on the floor surrounded by the remains of the chair that suddenly broke on her. That's when Harry heard something else...music...it was faint and sounded like it was drifting away, but he could hear it clearly enough. What's more, he recognized the music belonging to a Muggle rock group called "The Police".

"That the fourth time today," Umbridge muttered under breath as she got back on her feet and leaned on the desk. "What are you looking at, Potter?"

"Oh...nothing, Professor. I was going to ask if something was wrong."

"Never you mind," snapped Umbridge. "Just go back to writing. I'll just pour my self a spot of tea and AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHH!"

The teapot Umbridge was holding had broken off at the handle and shattered on her desk, spraying her with hot liquid. And once again, the faint music returned for a few moments before fading off. It took Harry all his effort to keep from laughing, but he managed to accomplish this by returning his attention back to the parchment and continue to write, actually thankful that the painful cuts from the quill made him momentarily put aside the urge to laugh.

Harry continued write on the parchment, gritting his teeth slightly.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell -

FWOOSH!

"Bloody hell!" screamed Umbridge. Harry looked up again and saw that the lamp on Umbridge's desk had tipped over and oil had poured over her desk, igniting and setting the desk on fire.

And again...that music began to play for a few moments before fading off. After Umbridge had managed to extinguish the flames, she turned to look at Harry who had managed to look as shocked as she was (and hoping that he wouldn't start laughing). "Mr. Potter," she said, pausing for a moment as if she were considering something but then dismissing it, "you may go, and hopefully you have learned your lesson."

Harry didn't say anything, but simply left the room. He wasn't more than ten feet away from Umbridge's office when he heard another crash and a cry of pain from Umbridge. He kept going until he reached the staircases where he heard some voices coming down one of the corridors. He immediately recognized one of them as Snape and quickly ducked behind a suit of armor.

"I thought we had an agreement," said Snape.

"We did, and I honored that agreement." Harry recognized the other voice as McCade's. "I was not in the castle, I was out of your sight, I acted in self-defense, and I have a couple faculty members who are more than willing to back me up as witnesses."

"You broke Montague's ribs."

"It was an accident, just like he accidentally hit a bludger at me when my back was turned." Then Harry heard McCade snicker softly, "I only sent the bludger back at him. It's not my fault he wasn't ready for it."

"You're walking a very thin line, boy," said Snape. "However, I will merely deduct points for this infraction. After all, you did follow our agreement to the letter."

"Wow," said McCade, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "You certainly showed me."

"I'm warning you, McCade."

"Or what? You're going to curse me? Not much more you can do to me, Professor. Your good friend Lucius Malfoy saw to that." Harry heard some more footsteps and could hear McCade's voice fading slightly as he walked the other direction down the corridor away from Snape. "But don't worry, Professor, our agreement still stands."

Harry didn't move as he saw Snape angrily walk into view and make his way to the staircase leading down to the dungeons where the Slytherin common-room was. "Damn Guilder," Snape hissed under his breath. "Dumbledore should have left him alone."

Harry waited until Snape had descended down the stairs before he came out of hiding.

Guilder?

For some reason the term sounded familiar, but he didn't know why. He walked up the staircase leading to Gryffindor tower. He was certain he had heard that word before...perhaps Hermione would know. At the very least, it would give them some more information about McCade.

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy had rarely seen Snape this angry with Slytherin house, but this was one time that made Draco actually wish he was studying in the library. However, the professor had ordered all the Slytherin prefects to meet him in the common room. Now there they were, lined up and facing a scowling Snape. For a moment, the professor had said nothing, instead regarding them with cold eyes before speaking.

"I distinctly remember saying that I wanted all of you to stay away from Jesse McCade." Though he spoke softly, the professor's voice was as cold as ice. "And yet, some of you seem to think that my orders are subject to interpretation and can be ignored."

"Professor, it was an accident."

"An accident," repeated Snape. "Then tell me Miss Parkinson how Montague had managed to accidentally hit a bludger directly at Jesse McCade from behind."

"If anyone should be in trouble for their actions, it should be McCade," said Adrian Pucey. "He deliberately hit that bludger back at Monatague with intent to harm. You saw Montague's injuries...he had a broken arm, several broken ribs, and his spine was cracked from the impact when he hit the wall."

"Mr. Montague made an error in judgement and it cost him," said Snape. "What's more you let your arrogance and pride get in the way when you should have paid attention and realized that this is an enemy we can't afford to have."

"I honestly don't see what the big deal is, sir," said Pucey. "This is just an American Wizard."

"And if you continue that line of thinking, Mr. Pucey, you will be joining Mr. Montague in the hospital wing. I can assure you that Jesse McCade is not an American Wizard and if you treat him as such, many more of you will be spending the term in the hospital wing as well."

"Then what is he exactly?" Draco couldn't believe he just blurted the question out like that. He was originally planning on just keeping his mouth shut and let Snape's wrath pass, but his curiosity at the professor's last statement got the better of him. "What is it about this McCade that has you worried, Professor?"

Snape glared at him for a moment before he spoke. "That's an interesting question coming from you, Mr. Malfoy, especially since you entertained some of his kind recently at your home."

"What do you me-" Draco's words suddenly caught in his throat when realized what Snape was talking about. Dimitrias! The Guilders! Jesse McCade is a Guilder?

Snape nodded as if he were reading Draco's mind. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, McCade is one of those people. And while you've had limited exposure to them, what do you think of them?"

"Mysterious...and possibly dangerous."

"Mysterious and 'possibly' dangerous, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape shook his head and gave him a patronizing smile. "That is an understatement." He then refocused his attention on the rest of the students. "Now, I will say this one more time, you will all stay away from Jesse McCade or I will start taking points and assigning detentions until you get the message, is that understood?"

The students all nodded and Snape dismissed them then left the common room. As the others dispersed, Draco sat down in a chair facing the fireplace and watched the flames dance as he pondered what he had just learned.

Jesse McCade is a Guilder? That explains some things. Dimitrias was blind, but he could sense me and where I was standing. If Jesse is like him, he must have sensed the bludger coming and reacted on instinct. What are these people exactly?

"Hey, Draco, snap out of it."

Draco looked up and saw Pansy standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"We lost you for a few seconds there," said Pansy. "I've only said your name four or five times."

"Sorry, Pansy. I was thinking about something."

"Really? Care to enlighten those of us who aren't drifting away on your level of consciousness?"

"I was just thinking about something Binns had talked about History of Magic."

"Wow, you actually paid attention to Binns? I thought you spent most of that class sleeping."

"Very funny," Draco deadpanned. "Seriously, do you remember when he talked about the International Wizarding Community and he talked about Wizarding America?"

"A little bit, he barely touched on it, but he talked about how the American Community was actually broken down into three groups...I think they were the Colonials, the Native Shamanics, and the Guilds?" She gave him a curious look. "Snape said something to you...something about how you had dealt with McCade's 'kind'. What did he mean by that?"

"Before the end of the holidays, we had some guests come from America, they were Guilders, not Colonials."

"Really? That must have been interesting," said Pansy. "So were they as backwards and primitive as Binns had described?"

"Far from it, actually," replied Draco. "I would say that they were very refined, intelligent, and are nothing like the Colonials."

"I find that hard to believe," said Pansy. "The material in our textbooks say that they are a sub-class society that survives on the fringes of Colonial civilization."

"Yes, well, the material from that textbook is probably older than Binns. Believe what you want, Pansy, but the people I met are hardly what I would call backward or primitive."

"Then what would you call them?"

Draco looked at his fingers for a moment before answering, remembering the conversation he had with Dimitrias that night.

"Young Malfoy, I hear hundreds of thousands of voices calling out your name."

"Let me guess, my followers?"

"Your victims."

"Like I told Snape," said Draco, unconsciously rubbing his fingertips as he recalled the burns he had sustained from his mother's Arcadian fire-roses that night. "Mysterious and dangerous."

"Dangerous?" laughed Pansy. "How so?"

"The old man I talked to was blind, yet he could tell where I was standing and moved about easily without tripping over anything. And then you have McCade, you saw what he did today. Montague sent that bludger at him, but it was like McCade had eyes in the back of his head, sensed it coming, and sent it back, hitting Montague dead center and nearly killing him."

"It was luck, Draco. McCade had anger and adrenaline working in his favor. As for the blind man, you said he was old, he had probably learned how to compensate for his blindness over a period of time." Pansy shook her head and gave Draco a reassuring smile. "Look, it's getting late and we're all tired, I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed."

Draco watched her head off to the girls dormitory and looked back at the crackling fire. He had learned a few interesting things in the last couple days about McCade, but it still didn't answer the question that had been bothering him since that encounter on the train. How did McCade know who he was and why does he hate the Malfoy family? He had tried to talk to his father about it, but all he got was anger and contempt instead of answers.

Perhaps he was asking the wrong person.

Draco got up out of his chair, walked up to the fireplace, grabbed some of the floo powder from a bucket on the mantle and tossed it into the fire. He then stuck his head in the green flames and said, "Malfoy Manor. Dimitrias...I know you're there and I know you can hear me. We need to talk."

* * * * *

Roger Kindt hated his job. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong or who he and crossed at the Ministry, but being assigned to part of the "containment" squad at Azkaban was the worst kind of duty an Auror could pull. Contrary to what the title implied, his job was not to contain the prisoners at Azkaban, but to monitor and keep Azkaban's jailers in line and prevent them from trying to fly off and look for fresh victims to drain. When he had originally become an Auror, Kindt never thought that 'containing Dementors' would be part of the job description, but here he was, along with twenty-four other unlucky souls who had to deal with the soulless Dementors and the depraved prisoners they guarded.

Every night, he and a group of four others would patrol the prison together, checking on the prisoners to see if they were still alive or finally expired in their cells. Sometimes they would oversee the process of a Dementor's kiss performed on a prisoner, but those were rare. Most of the time, it was mostly just prisoners crying out in anguish or whimpering in the corners of their cell as Dementors lingered around their door.

And then there was prisoner 347.

"Now the king told the boogie men

You have to let that raga drop

The oil down the desert way

Has been shakin' to the top

The sheik he drove his Cadillac

He went a-cruisin' down the ville

The muezzin was a' standing

On the radiator grille."

"That's enough!" yelled Kindt as he approached the door of Prisoner 347's cell. He noted that there were no Dementors near the door. In fact, the closest Dementor was standing a couple cells away.

However, Prisoner 347 ignored Kindt and kept singing.

"The shareef don't like it

Rockin' the Casbah

Rock the Casbah

The shareef don't like it

Rockin' the Casbah

Rock the Casbah "

"I said that's enough!" roared Kindt as he looked through the small barred window on the door. For some strange reason, the Dementors didn't linger too long around this prisoner and Kindt began to realize why. There was something about this prisoner, something in the eyes, that told Kindt that this man was more than he appeared to be. This prisoner was to be kept chained at all times to the wall and there was good reason. According to the reports, this man had single-handily destroyed a large chunk of the Ministry and killed many people. He was slated to receive the Dementor's Kiss soon, but the prisoner hardly seem worried about it...instead, he kept singing.

Chained to the walls of his cell, Nicholas only smiled as he watched the human guard stare at him for a few moments before walking away. He had been here for nearly a week and while he did enjoy re-living some of the more fun memories of his life courtesy of the Dementors, it was time to put this little charade to the end. By his calculations, it was Friday night. Less than twelve hours to go. He looked in the dark corners of his cell and saw little red pinpoints of light where the shaders silently waited for his signal, occasionally hissing with impatience.

"Almost time, my friends....almost....." he said, chuckling softly, his voice echoing from his cell and into the corridors of the prison itself. "It's almost time..............tick...tick...tickety tick-tick...tickety tick-tick...."