1,056A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I apologize for it being so long since the last update. I blame real life. Also, FYI, I have been told that someone named AlexanderBlackfyre is or was selling my stuff on . I am sorry to hear that folks are paying for something that is available for free. I am happy to authorize (and have authorized) translations and audio adaptations as long as people send me the link and give me fair credit for my contribution. I do not authorize anyone to monetize my ideas or pass off my writing as their own.
Delenda Est – Rebooted
Lord Silvere
Chapter Twenty: A Clash of Titans
Before going to Azkaban for his second day on the job, Harry stopped by one of the hotel's dining rooms for breakfast. He was pleasantly surprised to find a spread similar to the standard fare served at Hogwarts. Apparently, Bellatrix had assigned at least one of the house elves to help out in the hotel's kitchens. It seemed to have been a good idea because Harry overheard more than one guest express pleasure with the quality of the breakfast.
After eating, Harry sought out a place from where he could discreetly Apparate to work. He settled on the supply closet just off the lobby. On the way there, he passed Sabine, who was working the front desk. Harry offered her a brief smile and nod.
"Is Bellatrix awake?" Sabine called out.
"I haven't seen her," Harry replied before entering the closet and shutting the door behind him. From there, he apparated to the Azkaban guardhouse.
The Azkaban guardhouse was, in essence, a former inn and tavern situated near the shore of the North Sea. Just outside the guardhouse sat a small dock for the use of the boats that transported prisoners and others to and from the island on which Azkaban had been built.
Harry had arrived early enough to ensure he would have extra time to meet with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Auror usually in charge of the night shift. Scrimgeour was also the Auror who might have been promoted to warden if it were not for Harry getting hired on and rapidly promoted.
When Harry arrived, he found the nightshift cleaning up after some sort of pot-luck breakfast. After chatting with those on duty and declining to eat the offered leftovers, Harry invited Scrimgeour to come up to his office for a chat. The two exchanged pleasantries and some small talk before Harry got down to business.
"Rufus," Harry said, leaning forward across his small desk, "it's my understanding you were hoping to be appointed warden. Was that because your goal is to be the warden or because you were just looking for a promotion in general?"
"Why do you ask?" Rufus frowned.
"I can work on getting you promoted and reassigned or I can work on grooming you to replace me," Harry said. "Which do you prefer?"
Rufus squirmed a little in his seat under the scrutiny of Harry's striking green eyes. Eventually he answered. "I would prefer to focus on replacing you, as long as that does not take too long," he revealed. "An Auror captain who is or has been warden of Azkaban takes precedence over an Auror captain who has had generic assignments, especially if those assignments did not come with the command of other Aurors."
"Then you will be happy to know that I have no intention of clinging to this assignment longer than I must," Harry said. "That is not to say that this is a bad assignment or that I am worried about my own capabilities. It is just that–"
"I understand," Scrimgeour said, cutting Harry off.
"We can talk more in the coming days," Harry said, forcing a smile.
"Right," Scrimgeour said before excusing himself.
Left alone, Harry set to sorting through the junk left behind by his predecessor. Since he was planning to move the staff to the office space in the prison itself, Harry was not sure whether he should spend time organizing his new office in the guardhouse. He was still thinking about it when Amelia Bones knocked on his open door.
Harry looked up. "Good morning." His raised eyebrows questioningly.
"I'm working on the audit you requested," Amelia reported. "However, Proudfoot has offered to give me a tour, and I thought you might want to join."
"Thank you. I will."
Harry and Amelia were soon following Auror Proudfoot around the guardhouse as he showed them around and explained everything. Harry had quickly become bored, but his interest was reignited when Proudfoot showed them a shed behind the guardhouse loaded with brooms.
"Do we patrol in the air, then?" Harry asked.
"That stopped a long time ago," Proudfoot replied. "You'll find that most of these brooms are quite old."
"I see," Harry said, his eyes drinking in the brooms. Perhaps, if he had any spare time, he could play around with them.
Harry, Amelia, and Proudfoot continued the tour, which concluded in a room that Harry, with his Muggle upbringing and vocabulary, wanted to refer to as the control room. It was there that the prison's wards and alarms could be monitored and controlled through various magical monitoring devices.
"Can you rely on the dementors to sound alarms?" Harry asked as he stared at his surroundings.
"There's no need. Almost all alarms are automatically triggered." Proudfoot said. He began droning on about the technical details. He then moved onto itemizing which wards and alarms were not automatic and teaching Harry and Amelia how to trigger, cancel, or reset the alarms and wards.
"Does the Ministry monitor any of these wards or alarms?" Harry asked.
"I think they do," Amelia chimed in. "I've seen a few false alarms register in my time at the DMLE. Although, I guess they might have been drills, too."
"Yes and no," Proudfoot explained, apparently ignoring Amelia's contribution and directly answering Harry's question. "Most automatic alarms would register in this room and not at the Ministry so long as not too many are going off at the same time. It would be up to you, sir, to decide whether we need to request reinforcements or whether we just need to solve the issue that caused the alarm and reset the ward."
"Do the alarms go off for minor issues, then?" Harry asked. "Or even accidentally?"
"Oh, yes," Proudfoot said. "For instance, sometimes one of us forgets to take an Auror or hitwizard badge when we go to drop off or pick up a prisoner. Or maybe some creature tries to set up a nest in a vacant cell. That kind of stuff."
Harry bit his lip thoughtfully. "Does any hitwizard or Auror badge grant access to the prison, then?"
"That's right."
"We should change that," Harry decided aloud. "Can we get special badges made up so that only Aurors and hitwizards specifically assigned to Azkaban can bypass the wards?"
"I'll inquire with the Ministry," Amelia promised, "as soon as I'm done auditing."
"Excellent," Harry said before thanking Proudfoot for the tour and returning to his office.
"You can't seriously expect me to believe that my father's office is on the bottom floor of the Ministry," Bellatrix grumbled as the elevator doors opened to reveal what appeared to be the Department of Mysteries.
"This way, please," said the bland Ministry worker who had greeted Bellatrix in the Atrium and offered to usher her to the Minister of Magic's office.
"Dimwit," Bellatrix snapped, not sure whether the epithet should apply to the worker or herself. Even though she did not think she would be in danger while in the Ministry, she checked to ensure she could draw her wand should it become necessary.
Still ignoring Bellatrix's attitude, the worker led Bellatrix through a maze of hallways before ushering her into the Chief Unspeakables's office. There, Bellatrix grudgingly accepted an invitation to take a seat across from Edward Foxe, who was seated behind a massive desk. The chair in which Foxe sat looked like a Victorian throne.
Bellatrix was tempted to rip into Foxe for having her waylaid, but she knew better than to start a feud with this particular Chief Unspeakable. Instead, she settled for icily arching one of her eyebrows at him.
"Thank you for stopping by," Foxe said, his lips twisting into an amused smile.
Bellatrix folded her arms defiantly.
"I heard that you've dropped out of Hogwarts."
"I have left Hogwarts," Bellatrix clarified.
"With no passing scores on any N.E.W.T.s."
"Those will come later," Bellatrix defended.
"A lot of drop-outs say that," Foxe said, raising his arms from the armrests of his chair, leaning forward, and steepling his hands beneath his chin.
"And?"
"I'm curious about your employment prospects," Foxe said.
"Perhaps I am independently wealthy," Bellatrix smirked.
"If you were Orion's daughter, I would believe it," Foxe admitted. "But you're not."
Bellatrix shrugged.
Foxe dropped his hands from where he had been steepling them and began idly shuffling papers on his desk. "Since you seem to be unburdened with schoolwork and likely in need of a job, I was thinking that you could work here part-time."
"With no N.E.W.T.s?" Bellatrix said, her tone of voice highlighting the irony she was seeing.
"You claim that your lack of N.E.W.T.s is a short-term problem," Foxe said lightly. "Despite your failure to obtain N.E.W.T. scores, we have specific tasks for which you are qualified. The work would be piecemeal, almost to the point that you would be more of an independent contractor."
Bellatrix shook her head dismissively. "If I was hungry for work, I would go down to the Daily Prophet and apply to work in their owlery. It might be below my dignity, but at least it would be full-time and steady."
"If you want steady work, you can sit for your N.E.W.T.s so we can hire you full-time. From there, I would not be surprised if you were sitting in my chair twenty-five or thirty years from now."
The idea of becoming Chief Unspeakable intrigued Bellatrix. It was a potential avenue for her to gain power and influence within the Ministry. However, at this point, it was not intriguing enough to distract Bellatrix from exploiting her unique connection to Harry to achieve wealth and power. Still, she felt that keeping her options open would be worthwhile, especially if she could do so with minimal effort.
"What is this piecemeal work, exactly?" Bellatrix inquired, trying to avoid betraying the true nature of her interest.
"Spell testing," Foxe revealed.
Bellatrix wrinkled her nose contemptuously. "Your Unspeakables can't cast spells?"
Foxe shrugged. "Some spells require a lot of raw power."
"Poppycock! Did my father put you up to this?"
"No."
Bellatrix shook her head disbelievingly.
Foxe produced a sheet of parchment from one of the drawers of his desk and slid it across to Bellatrix. On it was written the incantation for a spell. Under the incantation, someone had written notes detailing the spell and its underlying theory.
"Can you cast that spell?" Foxe asked.
Bellatrix picked up the parchment and perused the spell notes. It appeared that the spell was intended for destroying or, more accurately, quickly overwhelming certain types of alarm wards. However, the key word was intended. From the notes, Bellatrix deduced that the incantation was not going to work despite the best efforts of the spell's developers. Of course, the disconnect between the spell's nature and its incantation could be avoided by nonverbally casting the spell.
"Was there a specific target you had in mind?" Bellatrix asked.
"That wall over there can absorb most things,'" Fox said, gesturing beyond the fireplace.
Without further discussion, Bellatrix produced her wand, angled herself in the chair and cast a low-powered version of the spell without using the incantation. The almost-invisible wave of magic slapped against the wall and let out a crackling noise.
Foxe raised his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised. "How did you manage to cast it?"
"Well, without any N.E.W.T.s to speak of, I can't be sure," Bellatrix said snidely.
"Your attitude is hilarious," Foxe said, his tone of voice belying his words. "I'll be back." He stood and left the room.
He was gone for about five minutes and returned with a thick folder stuffed with sheets of parchment.
"What's that?" Bellatrix asked.
"Your dossier."
"My what!"
"You heard me," Foxe said, sitting down and opening the folder. He sorted through various sheets of parchment, angling them away from Bellatrix's line of sight, until he came to three sheets in particular. He looked up and gave Bellatrix a chilling smile. "Here is an itemization of spells you were seen casting during the Paris, Cape Town, and Salem tournaments."
"And why did you need that information?" Bellatrix asked, frowning.
"Recruitment," Foxe explained. "With these, I think we can lean on the right people to help get you a N.E.W.T. or two. I think your record of being able to cast these spells, in the middle of a competition, would support waiver of the practicals for Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"And the written theory?" Bellatrix asked.
"Some of that, too, if we can make creative arguments. Your spell choices and occasional non-standard use of them show an innate understanding of their theory," Foxe said. "Shall we plan on you stopping by tomorrow morning to do whatever parts of the written portion of Charms and Defense that I cannot get waived for you?"
"If I must," Bellatrix grumbled, though she was secretly pleased that two N.E.W.T.s had dropped into her lap. The only downside was that she would likely be obliged to accept the occasional work assignment from the Chief Unspeakable in exchange for his pulling strings, especially if she wanted to find shortcuts to other N.E.W.T.s.
Orion, Abraxas, and Cygnus were meeting with Davian Prewett, the Director of the DMLE, and his son Fabian Prewett, the Head Hitwizard, when Minister Prewett's secretary poked her head into the room.
"Minister, your daughter is here," the secretary announced.
"Which one?" Cygnus asked, leaning forward in his seat and peering over the tops of the heads of the Prewetts.
The secretary's raised eyebrows and grimace was enough to communicate that it was Bellatrix.
"Show her right in," Cygnus instructed as Orion and Abraxas perked up.
"We can leave … ," Prewtt said, sounding reasonable, though it was clear he was struggling to conceal annoyance at the interruption.
"No, no, stay. I want to finish our meeting," Cygnus said. "I just don't want her to–"
"My dear Bellatrix!" Abraxas gushed as Bellatrix brushed past the secretary and entered the room. Bellatrix's glare in response to his greeting warmed his heart.
"Why don't you go ahead and take a seat over there?" Orion directed, gesturing to the conference table across the room from Cygnus' desk.
Bellatrix followed Orion's direction, and the discussion between Cygnus and the Prewetts continued almost normally. Cygnus, Orion, and Fabian effortlessly ignored Bellatrix's presence. However, Davian kept shooting her sidelong glances while Abraxas tried to keep an eye on everyone to gauge their behavior.
Fabian was droning on about how the Ministry, through a subtle reporting mechanism built into the British Home Office had been receiving an increasingly large number of Muggle police reports that could indicate misuse of magic. Cursory investigations performed by the Muggle police at the time of the initial call and by the Ministry after the fact had turned up no information.
"Let me see the map," Orion said, interrupting Fabian.
"Map?"
"Do you have a map showing where all these reports are originating?"
"Not quite yet," Fabian faltered.
"Let's make a map right now," Cygnus said affably. "I think you and your people may have latched onto something important.
This was easier said than done. Cygnus' secretary was summoned and asked to fetch a map of the United Kingdom and supplies to mark it up. When those items arrived, it was discovered that Cygnus' desk was not going to be big enough. So, the wizards migrated to the conference table, where Bellatrix had made herself comfortable. It looked like she was going to refuse to budge and force them to make the map on the table in front of her. Hower Davian was not about to let this happen.
He cleared his throat. "Miss Black, if you would be so kind, you could sit over at one of the chairs in front of your father's desk until we're done here."
Bellatrix glared at Davian, but she relented when her father patted her on the shoulder. She vacated her chair at the conference room table. But in an act of defiance, she sat in her father's chair behind the desk and folded her arms. Instead of pretending to ignore them, she turned the chair to face the conference table. Her disdain was so pronounced that it was as if she was the Minister of Magic watching her lackeys at work.
Abraxas smirked inwardly as Davian fumed. The byplay was soon forgotten as the wizards set about marking up the map. With a little teamwork and organization, they made short work of it. Once it was complete, they turned to Orion since he was the one who had wanted a map.
"What do you think, old boy?" Abraxas asked.
"A lot of the reports are in clusters. Let's figure out which pureblood family lives nearest each cluster," Orion said.
"You think purebloods are triggering police reports?" Cygnus asked, sounding confused.
"No. But it could be that they are being harassed and that the Muggles are seeing and reporting some of the collateral effects."
"Can you look for magical families that live near the cluster and poke around?" Cygnus asked Davian and Fabian.
"We'd want to rope the Aurors into an in-depth investigation," Davian pointed out.
"Right," Cygnus said. "I'll let you two coordinate directly with the Head Auror on that. Was there anything else for today?"
"No," Fabian said.
"Very well," Cygnus said. "Let's meet up as soon as you've got news. Don't wait for our regular meeting. Set something up with my secretary before then."
The Prewetts then departed, leaving Cygnus, Abraxas, and Orion alone with Bellatrix, who had vacated her father's chair and taken one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. Orion took the other chair in front of Cygnus's desk as Cygnus sat down, leaving Abraxas the option to either stand or steal a chair from the conference table. He chose to stand, resting his arm on the back of Cygnus's chair.
"We've missed seeing you," Cygnus said, addressing Bellatrix warmly.
"Now, tell us where you've been," Orion said.
"Here and there," Bellatrix replied evasively.
"Probably easier to just ask what she wants," Abraxas advised.
Cygnus winced and sighed. He smiled at Bellatrix. "What brings you here today?"
"Well," Bellatrix said, her voice deceptively light, "I was just wondering how it is that I am supposed to spontaneously run into Harry Ashworth and build a casual relationship if he's been assigned to Azkaban."
Cygnus rolled his eyes. "He's not the prisoner of Azkaban! He's the warden."
"How is it that you already know about his assignment?" Orion inquired, peering at Bellatrix suspiciously.
"Word travels," Bellatrix said evasively.
"Do you want an internship at Azkaban?" Cygnus asked, apparently recalling the lunch conversation on the day he became Minister for Magic where they had all discussed how Bellatrix could worm her way into Harry's life.
Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. "No."
"We cannot reassign him if your goal remains for him to organically earn promotions," Orion told Bellatrix. "Besides which, his assignment to Azkaban is fortuitous. Nobody is going to be jealous. Yet, it is an excellent stepping stone for someone with ambition."
"I understand that," Bellatrix muttered. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but Abraxas cut her off.
"I think what Bellatrix needs is some sort of social event," Abraxas said brightly. "We can organize something, invite Ashworth, and also invite some of the movers and shakers."
"We would want to start small," Orion said, perking up. "And make it so Bellatrix and Ashworth are the only young attendees. We don't want him meeting some other eligible witch."
"Yes!" Abraxas said. "Once they've had natural interactions at a couple of dinners, we can expand into a larger event."
Cygnus sighed and shook his head at Bellatrix. "These two will have you married by the end of the year if you're not careful."
Bellatrix responded with a devious smile as Orion and Abraxas plunged into planning a dinner party at which Harry and Bellatrix could publicly meet in a setting where they were no longer student and teacher.
When Bellatrix returned to the hotel, she found Sabine sorting an assortment of flyers and photographs into a dozen presentation folders.
"What's this?" Bellatrix asked as she joined Sabine behind the front desk.
"We're going into the wedding venue business," Sabine declared. "These are the advertising materials."
"Oh? Shouldn't we have already been in that business since we're a hotel with a ballroom and fancy dining room?" Bellatrix asked.
"Nobody wanted to get married here while the place was a dump," Sabine confessed. "But the renovations you've done have not gone unnoticed."
"Really?"
"Yes, the couple staying in room 313 came down this morning and inquired about the possibility of us hosting their wedding. Or at least, the man did. His fiance did not seem as enthusiastic."
"Dursley, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, smirking at the thought of Lily Evans' sister getting married in her hotel. "What was her problem?"
"I think she knows you're a witch," Sabine confided quietly.
"Her sister is one."
"That explains it," Sabine said lightly. "She was muttering something about 'her kind' and wanted reassurance that you would not be involved with staffing the celebration."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told them you were just a part-time summer employee who did not need to be part of the wedding. The man, who is very enamored with you, by the way, seemed to be under the impression that your family owns the place. So, I played it off as us having to take you on since you're a distant relative of the owner and then changed the subject to scheduling a time to sit down with them to do a bid. Anyway, that was the impetus for me putting together some wedding planning packets."
"I guess you don't want me sitting in on your sales pitch," Bellatrix said.
"Sorry, but if we want to make the sale, you'll have to stay away."
"So be it, but that won't stop me from fixing her wagon," Bellatrix muttered as she retreated into her office.
Harry finished his second day of Azkaban duty without having had to step foot in the prison or see a single dementor. This had been a welcome reprieve for Harry, but he was more convinced than ever that he needed to move the administration offices to the prison. The main obstacle was going to be finding Aurors and hitwizards who could cast the Patronus Charm. As to whether he could teach the current cohort assigned to the prison, he was more hopeful about some than others.
When Harry apparated into the penthouse suite, he saw that Bellatrix was out on the balcony sitting at a dinner table set for two. She was slouched in her chair and sipping from a goblet of wine. Feeling a mixture of surprise and doubt about the idea of Bellatrix having dinner waiting for him as if she was some sort of housewife, Harry poked his head out the door.
"Did you arrange dinner for us?" Harry asked, feeling a twinge of guilt. He had come home later than she had probably expected.
Bellatrix sat up in her chair, glanced at Harry cooly, and shrugged. "If you're hungry, there is probably enough food for both of us."
"Well, with such an effusive invitation, how can I say no?" Harry said, stepping out onto the balcony. He would have liked to stop by his bedroom to drop off his work materials and change into something more casual, but he figured he had already kept her waiting.
Harry dropped his work files on the large table and took a seat. Even though Bellatrix was trying to pretend that she was just sharing some of her own meal with Harry, the place settings combined with the amount of food signaled that she had been planning on him joining her.
"Did you have a good day?" Harry asked a little haltingly. He was happy to sit down to dinner with the teenage version of Bellatrix to which he had become accustomed. However, in the back of his mind, he could not help but marvel at the surrealness of he and Bellatrix playing house, even if it was only superficial.
Rationally, Harry knew that the steps between his traveling through time, making an alliance with Bellatrix, and now sharing a penthouse with her had been a reasonable and logical progression of events. It was just that going from regularly encountering the future alternate version of Bellatrix as an insane enemy combatant to regularly encountering her younger self as a relatively sane ally and flatmate gave Harry a little bit of mental whiplash.
It would have been easier for Harry to acclimatize if Bellatrix was fully sane. However, she frequently did things that made him uncomfortable. Sometimes it was small and innocuous things that while harmless, underscored Bellatrix's tendency toward insanity. For instance, they were in the process of having an innocuous weeknight dinner, but Bellatrix was a bit overdressed. She had even done up her hair as if she was going out to a formal dance. It could be worse, Harry mused. She could be proposing an arranged marriage again.
In response to Harry's question about her day, Bellatrix had been droning on about hotel management as Harry ruminated. However, his attention was piqued when Bellatrix mentioned that she had gone to the Ministry to visit her father.
"How'd that go?" Harry asked.
"It sounds like my family might host a dinner and invite both you and me. It could be a good way for us to associate publicly in an innocuous setting."
"Oh?"
"That way it wouldn't seem weird to people if we are spotted out in public together later on because it will be known that we've socialized after I left Hogwarts. Primarily, of course, the dinner would help you establish organic connections that can justify you being promoted out of Azkaban."
"Right," Harry said as he finished scooping some vegetables onto his plate and waited for Bellatrix to pass the platter with slices of roast beef.
As they finished filling their plates, Bellatrix briefly mentioned how she might be taking on some gig work for the Department of Mysteries and how it could turn into a shortcut for passing N.E.W.T.s.
As they ate, the discussion eventually turned to Harry's day, and he briefly described what he had done and the lack of organization he had so far discovered. He gestured to one of the folders he had brought home. "Amelia has been doing an audit, and that's her initial report."
"Remind me how Amelia Bones fits into the grand scheme of things."
"You mean how did she turn out in the alternate future?"
Bellatrix nodded.
"She was the head of the DMLE when I was a Hogwarts student," Harry disclosed. "She was well regarded and formidable. It was generally known or accepted that she was so powerful that the Dark Lord himself killed her. I always had a high opinion of her, but I can't say I'm overly impressed now. My sense is that she's a lot better at office politics than actual Auror work. Now, I can't help but wonder if that was how she always was."
"She would have survived a war by the time you came along," Bellatrix observed. "I imagine that would have transformed her."
"True."
"Is she at least good at paperwork?" Bellatrix asked, grabbing the folder with Amelia's report and flipping it open.
"I would say so," Harry said. He was not sure he felt good about Bellatrix going through his work papers. On the other hand, they were pursuing a common goal, and she had sworn allegiance to him. Leaning on Bellatrix to help him pursue his crusade against Voldemort could include accepting her help with his day job. After all, his day job was a means to an end instead of a pure attempt to earn a living and build a career.
"See anything interesting?" Harry asked lightly, feeling a little passive-aggressive over how Bellatrix had helped herself to the folder.
Bellatrix was frowning as she reached for her wine glass. "The list of prisoners who are being held in the wrong security level is awfully long."
"I saw at least a few prisoners in the wrong security level yesterday and suspected that they were not the only ones," Harry said. "Apparently, the dementors have been rearranging cell assignments to suit themselves."
Bellatrix was sipping her wine and continuing to peruse the file when she abruptly paused. "Why is Evander Edgecombe in low security?" she asked.
"They said health reasons," Harry said, feeling a little foolish. Something told him that Edgecombe's presence in a low-security cell was more than just a minor error.
"He belongs in high-security." Bellatrix opined. "By the time Grindelwald was defeated, even the purebloods were happy to see him locked in Azkaban."
"I'm afraid I don't know a lot about the war against Grindelwald," Harry confessed.
"Apparently neither does Amelia or else she would have been in your office expressing concern about Edgecombe's security." Bellatrix said waspishly, beginning to thumb through the file. "I wonder if there's anything else about Edgecombe in here."
"Maybe you could educate me about him," Harry said, frowning intently.
"He was high up in Grindelwald's organization," Bellatrix revealed. "I wouldn't precisely call him a lieutenant, but he was certainly among Grindelwald's top people in Britain."
"Was there much fighting here? I thought the war against Grindelwald was mainly on the Continent."
"It was, but Grindelwald was looking to build and maintain support here," Bellatrix explained. "Edgecombe was an enforcer and terrorized anybody who appeared to be anything less than sympathetic to Grindelwald's cause. It backfired when the purebloods got sick of being bullied. Once Grindelwald was defeated, even his British supporters were all too happy to turn on Edgecombe."
"I see," Harry said.
"It could be that the Bones family somehow managed to emerge unscathed from that time period and don't remember Edgecombe as being any more significant than any other Grindelwald follower," Bellatrix speculated. "Or maybe the older Bones generation hid their deeds from their children."
"Could it be that your family simply knows more about Dark wizards?" Harry asked.
Bellatrix shrugged as she finished thumbing through the file. "Not much else about Edgecombe in here. Although it looks like Amelia noted that some of these cell reassignments were approved by the Azkaban staff. Yaxley approved Edgecombe being moved."
"That's not good," Harry said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "He's a future Death Eater. If he was an Auror, maybe I could chalk it up to coincidence. But as a hitwizard, I think him approving cell reassignment was overstepping in the first place. And come to think of it, he didn't own up to being responsible for the cell reassignment yesterday. Could he be hoping that Edgecombe will escape? Is Edgecombe capable of escaping?"
"I've heard he's powerful," Bellatrix said slowly. "I suppose the risk is less about him escaping and more about him somehow being able to communicate with people outside of Azkaban. I mean, he could help blackmail a lot of people."
"And if he's in high security, he's less likely to be in a mental state to communicate," Harry concluded. He thought about it for a moment. "If you're an up and coming Dark Lord, he would be the exact person to help grow your base."
"Precisely," Bellatrix agreed. "He knows where the bodies are buried. He knows who is a sincere supporter of the Dark Arts."
"Well, I'll put him on the agenda for tomorrow," Harry mused. "I'll ensure Evander Edgecombe is not communicating and cannot communicate with people on the outside. Part of that may be keeping Yaxley away from him. And then, of course, I'll have to think about what to do with Yaxley."
After dinner, Harry and Bellatrix retreated to the main living area of their penthouse. There, Bellatrix sprawled onto a couch and dived into N.E.W.T. test preparation while Harry studied Amelia's report. It didn't take him long to absorb the material, and he soon found himself sitting in his armchair debating over what he should do next while Bellatrix continued thumbing through her study guides.
For some reason, Harry was feeling the urge to turn on the telly, which would have made more sense if he or Bellatrix had owned one. Just as Harry realized his telly-watching urge stemmed from many years of watching television with the Dursleys on hot summer nights, an owl crash landed into the penthouse clutching a sheet of parchment.
"It's for you," Bellatrix said, not even glancing up from a study guide.
"How can you even know that?" Harry asked as he pushed himself up from the armchair and went over to the owl, who was lying prone on the floor.
"Because I'm smart enough to conceal my location," Bellatrix said matter-of-factly.
"Perhaps we should talk about that more," Harry muttered as he attended to the owl. It appeared that the problem was that the owl, like the Weasley family's Errol, was simply too old for the job. "Way to pick an owl that would actually get the message to me," Harry said, his muttering taking on a sarcastic tinge.
"What was that?" Bellatrix asked.
"Nothing," Harry said as he finished retrieving a piece of parchment from the owl and left it on the floor to rest. He plopped back down into his armchair and unfolded the parchment. The contents of the letter led him to swear angrily.
"What?" Bellatrix demanded.
"Apparently, several staff from the night shift came down with food poisoning," Harry explained, as he stood up. "Scrimgeour has left Thicknesse in charge, and Thicknesse will be reaching out to Yaxley and maybe others for backup coverage."
Bellatrix looked down at the owl, who was still lying exhausted on the floor. "I'm going to go ahead and conclude that whoever sent you that message was hoping you would not receive it."
"Or at least not receive it soon enough," Harry said grimly. "Luckily, we live close to Azkaban."
"Shall I come with you?" Bellatrix asked, somehow managing to sound bored and eager at the same time.
"It might be good," Harry said, again feeling odd about teaming up with Bellatrix.
"I need to get dressed properly."
Harry bit back a retort about having to wait for her to get dressed as he rushed to his own bedroom to gear up for what might be a fight. In less than a minute, he met Bellatrix back in the main living area. Instead of completely changing her outfit, she had retained her semi-formal dinner attire but augmented it with equipment, the most prominent being boots and dueling gauntlets.
"Okay, we'll sidealong Apparate to the guardhouse," Harry instructed, holding his arm out, which Bellatrix accepted. "I'll probably go in alone. You'll be my ace up my sleeve."
Without waiting for Bellatrix to respond, Harry cast the apparition spell. They disappeared with a pop and reappeared near the guardhouse, which appeared to be on fire.
"Maybe I'll go in with you, after all," Bellatrix mused, drawing her wand.
"No, stay out here and cover me," Harry directed as he rushed toward the building.
Although billowing smoke indicated that there was a fire, flames had not yet engulfed the entire building. So long as there was an opportunity to navigate the building safely, Harry wanted to ensure that everyone had escaped and also wanted to see if any alarms had been triggered. Perhaps the building could even be saved from the flames.
Inside the guardhouse, Harry found an eerie emptiness. He thought he could hear shrieking, and he remembered that Estella Borgin might be in one of the guardhouse's holding cells. He rushed to the cells and found her in a panic. Short on time and feeling a bit brutish, Harry stunned her and cast a levitation charm.
With Estella in tow, Harry rushed to the control room and found that several alarms had been triggered. It appeared that some of the defenses around the island were under siege. However, it did not appear that any alarms had been triggered from within the prison itself. The alarms directed to notifying the Ministry of Magic that there was an ongoing emergency had not been activated, so Harry quickly took that step, feeling relieved to know that help would be on the way soon.
Harry was debating whether to see if he could pinpoint the location of the fire when he heard a series of explosions outside. Abandoning hope of fighting the fire, Harry rushed outside, with Estella still in tow, to check on Bellatrix. He found her, stalking the perimeter of the building.
"What happened?" Harry called out.
"Someone's out there. I didn't get a good look." Bellatrix said, gesturing to the dark beach beyond the guardhouse's perimeter. "Who's that you've got?"
"A prisoner," Harry said. "We need to find a place to secure her. I think we need to get to Azkaban."
"How do you propose getting there?" Bellatrix demanded. She pointed toward the dock, and Harry saw that the boat was burning.
"Was that burning when we got here?" Harry asked.
"Nope."
"Bother," Harry grumbled. He gestured for Bellatrix to take care of Estella and rushed back toward the building.
"Don't go back in!" Bellatrix cried. "You don't know what kind of incantations are feeding the fire."
"I'm not," Harry yelled. "I'm grabbing brooms!"
While Bellatrix stowed and concealed Estella away from the guardhouse, Harry raced to the shed behind the burning guardhouse and grabbed the pair of brooms that looked most serviceable. He ran back to meet Bellatrix and offered her one of the brooms.
"I'll just mount up behind you," Bellatrix yelled, her voice barely carrying over the sound of roaring flames that had gradually been increasing since their arrival.
"Right," Harry said as he mounted the better looking of the two brooms. Bellatrix hopped on and wrapped her arms around Harry's middle as he coaxed the antique broom into the air. Soon, the pair were zooming toward the prison at a decent clip.
"What's the alarm I'm hearing?" Moody demanded, bursting into the DMLE's ward monitoring room with his trainee, Frank Longbottom, following close behind.
"Azkaban," the witch in charge replied. "It's weird though, it's like someone activated a bunch of random alerts. None of them make sense."
"Get the Prewetts out of bed. Drag in anybody you can find. Send them to Azkaban. I'll take Longbottom with me," Moody barked.
"It could be a malfunction," the witch offered, but Moody didn't hear her. He was already out of the room with Longbottom in tow.
"Pathetic," Bellatrix sighed as one of her stunners connected with a dark robed Death Eater who had failed to notice Harry and Bellatrix creeping up from behind him on their broomstick.
Harry took a moment to watch as the nameless Death Eater fell off his broom and tumbled to the North Sea below. He wondered if they should perhaps take steps to ensure the Death Eater did not drown, but his attention was pulled away as a more vigilant Death Eater spotted him and Bellatrix.
"Here we go again," Harry said, drawing Bellatrix's attention to their new opponent.
Bellatrix took a deep breath. "Don't–"
Harry went into a straight downward dive as Bellatrix gasped.
"If you keep diving, I'm going to puke!" Bellatrix screamed as Harry leveled the broom and began an upward helix. Despite her complaining, Bellatrix was able to shoot a barrage of spells at the Death Eater who had foolishly tried to follow Harry's dive.
"Diving is our only option. This blasted broom can't go upward fast enough to be useful in a proper dogfight," Harry reminded her as she shot off several more dueling combos, frightening the Death Eater into a retreat.
"You should've bought a decent broom when you had a chance," Bellatrix lectured.
Harry ignored the comment and pushed the broom higher as they approached the island. Even with a bad broom, the combination of Harry's flying skills and Bellatrix's dueling skills was impossible for any single Death Eater to overcome.
"I don't understand what they're trying to accomplish," Bellatrix said. "Why are they just circling around? Shouldn't they just raid the prison and be done with it?"
"I think they're waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive," Harry guessed. He had been paying close attention to his scar and had not felt so much as an itch let alone the pain that usually gauged Voldemort's proximity to Harry. "They probably don't realize that the cat is out of the bag. They think they have time."
"It's a sloppy operation, if you ask me," Bellatrix opined.
"None of them have a lot of experience with raids," Harry pointed out.
Harry and Bellatrix were drawing near to the main entrance of the prison when a sickly yellow light flashed in the sky. It was followed by a deafening bang. Within seconds of the flash and bang, Harry's scar began to prickle.
"He's here."
"The ward that just fell must have been keeping him out somehow," Bellatrix theorized. "I wonder how the ward makers crafted that. Clearly, some of the underlings had no trouble getting past the wards."
"My best guess would be that the people who got past the wards had Auror or hitwizard badges," Harry said grimly as they landed at the prison entrance. A number of dementors were loitering near the entrance, but they quickly retreated into Azkaban as soon as they spotted Harry. Apparently, he had made an impression.
Harry gestured for Bellatrix to follow him into the prison. "I'm going to point you toward where Edgecombe is kept. I want you to figure out a way to hide him while I see what I can do at the entrance. Meet me when you're done."
"Merlin's beard!" Moody exclaimed as he and Frank arrived to find the Azkaban guardhouse completely engulfed with flames. The dock had also caught fire and was burning.
Far off in the distance in the direction of Azkaban, yellow light flashed. A sharp bang followed.
Moody began swearing as he took a miniature broom out of one of his pockets and cast a spell to bring it up to normal size.
"What was that noise?" Frank asked.
"Ward failure," Moody barked. "Go back to the Ministry and tell them this is a full out attack on Azkaban. Tell them this could be an aerial battle and they had better send reinforcements with brooms."
"I guess they're coming for you," Mundungus Fletcher whispered as the sound of boots on stone echoed briskly down the corridor toward the cell Mundungus shared with Evander Edgecombe.
Evander Edgecombe shook his head contemptuously. "They're wasting their time."
The sound of the boots on stone stopped outside the cell door. The owner of the boots opened the cell door and revealed herself as being a teenage witch with raven-black hair and violet eyes.
"Are you one of the Dark Lord's followers?" Mundungus asked, feeling a little skeptical.
"No," the witch said.
"Who are you, then?" Mundungus asked, feeling confused.
"She's a Black," Evander said.
"How can you tell?" Mundungus demanded, again amazed at Edgecombe's strange ability to discern people and events.
"It doesn't matter," the witch said, looking a little shaken that Evander Edgecombe had identified her as being a Black. "You're both moving cells, and you had best cooperate."
"I think moving both of us presents a logistical problem for you," Evander suggested.
The witch shrugged and abruptly cast a stunner at Mundungus. The infamous petty criminal dropped like a sack of potatoes as the witch allowed herself a satisfied smirk. It didn't last long as alarms began sounding in the prison in response to the unauthorized magic. Evander smirked as the cell door, in response to a lockdown protocol, swung shut and sealed the witch in the cell with him.
Harry had positioned himself at the entrance of the prison. While waiting for Voldemort and his followers to show themselves, he had been familiarizing himself with the mechanism of the giant entrance doors. He was debating whether he could better defend from inside or outside the doors when alarms began blaring through the prison. Before Harry could react, the doors swung shut.
Bother! Harry fumed. Before he could decide what to do next, the pressure in his scar abruptly intensified. Harry turned around and spied Voldemort walking up from the shore toward the prison entrance.
Coming face-to-face with Lord Voldemort was not a new experience for Harry, but that did not make it any less distressing. Harry took a deep breath and gripped his wand. Recalling Pythia warning him against using the holly wand, Harry made sure that he was using his yew wand instead of his holly wand. He was not sure what the difference would be, but he had no good reason to justify ignoring Pythia's warning.
Voldemort stopped walking toward Harry once he was within earshot. The two wizards stood silently, sizing each other up. Recalling that he had been in disguise the last time they had crossed wands, Harry realized that Voldemort might be approaching this as if he had never met Harry.
"Captain Ashworth," Voldemort said. "Or should I say Lord Ashworth?"
"I make no such pretensions," Harry said blandly, deflecting both the allusion to Auror rank and pureblood status as he weighed whether he should continue conversing with Voldemort or cut to the inevitable duel. As he considered his strategy, Harry ensured he was keeping his mind closed to any attempts Voldemort might make at Legilimency.
"You are or you are not?" Voldemort pushed.
"I'm not aware of the Ashworth family being pureblooded or ancient enough to be able to claim a so-called lordship."
"Lord Peverell, then?"
"I daresay the House of Peverell is defunct," Harry said. "What makes you think I am some sort of ancient lord?"
"Bellatrix Black would not have sworn fealty to anyone of less stature than the Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black," Voldemort hissed, betraying his frustration with Harry's coyness. "She would wed her uncle or cousin first. Either that or kill them."
"Perhaps I am also a Dark Lord," Harry suggested cryptically, indulging in the temptation to tease Voldemort. "Unless there is a pureblood family more noble and ancient than the Blacks. Your logic is faulty though, since you cannot really prove that I am anything more than Ms. Black's former professor and coach."
"You're no Dark Lord," Voldemort insisted, his eyes glittering malevolently. "The magic that summoned you to rescue Bellatrix from me in the Black family's ancestral graveyard was not Dark. It was that of an ancient, pureblooded lord."
"Again, there's a logic gap," Harry insisted, struggling to hide a smirk as his heartbeat accelerated. "You cannot prove I did whatever you're talking about."
"You're about to," Voldemort said, his lips twisting into a smile. Without any other warning, he twitched his wrist, pointed his wand toward Harry, and let fly with a sickly blue curse.
To avoid triggering Priori Incantatem or any telltale sign that Harry and Voldemort's wands had met before, Harry's only option was to meet Voldemort's curse with a high-powered and broad shielding spell that would deflect instead of connect. The result was a loud boom as sickly blue met cool silver. Voldemort fired several similar spells and Harry met each of them either by renewing his original shield or adopting a different type of shield designed to repel the specific spell. Booms, bangs, and cracks ripped through the air.
"Your dueling style is betraying you," Voldemort sneered.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said calmly, refusing to give Voldemort the confirmation he craved. He cut his wand through the air and began summoning lightning strikes aimed at Voldemort.
"That's right. Run, you coward!" Moody roared as he zoomed toward Azkaban. A masked wizard of some sort had just tried to engage him but had turned tail when Moody had fired back with a flurry of attack spells.
It would have been an easy thing for Moody to chase the hapless wizard down and apprehend him, but Moody was anxious to get to Azkaban to foil any breakout or raid attempt. As he approached, he suddenly heard a loud boom followed by a string of other deafening bangs and cracks.
"Merlin," Moody muttered as he came close enough to see two wizards dueling each other in front of Azkaban's entrance. Lighting began flashing as the duelist closest to the prison unleashed a devastating attack, which had forced the other combatant to fall back.
Impressively, the combatant dodging lighting was able to fall back as if he was gliding backward and into the air. Without missing a beat, he raised both his arms into the air and stabbed downward, triggering a shockwave that visibly rippled through the ground toward where the other wizard was standing near the prison entrance.
The other wizard stabbed his wand at the ground. It was not clear what spell he had cast, but as best Moody could tell, he was channeling pure power to freeze the ground and stop the shockwave. As the shockwave met the ground frozen by the defending wizard's power, the earth between the duelists let out an agonizing shriek as the rocks that had responded to the shockwave were ripped away from the rocks held solid by sheer force of magic.
The sound of rock ripping made Moody clench his toes as his hair stood on end. The moment passed in a flash. Moody watched as the dueling wizards abandoned their attempts to manipulate the ground and reverted to attacks and shields that exploded against each other in rapid succession.
Moody was now close enough to see that the defending wizard was Harry Ashworth. As for the other, Moody did not hesitate to conclude that he was looking at Lord Voldemort. Hoping that surprise would lead to a quick victory and perhaps even capture, Moody shot off the most powerful stunner he could muster.
Somehow, the Dark Lord sensed the spell coming from behind him. He twisted his body around to Moody and managed to cast a shield without a wand or incantation. The sheer power of Moody's stunner cut into Voldemort's awkward shield, but not far enough to have any effect.
The consolation prize was that Voldemort, while distracted by Moody, had stuck his arm out back toward Harry and relied on a generic shield to respond to Harry's latest volley of spells, which had included a bludgeoning spell. Voldemort's shielding spell absorbed the energy from the bludgeoning spell. Before it could dispel the energy, Harry hit the shield with another volley of spells, and the shield imploded.
Because Voldemort had used his advanced understanding and command over magic to maintain a connection with the shield so that it would have a continuous source of power, the shield's implosion went back toward Voldemort's wand. Lesser wizards or witches tinkering with such risky high-level magic would have lost their hands as their wands exploded. However, Voldemort was able to channel his magic to counter the implosion, and he escaped with wand intact, albeit with a severely tweaked arm.
Having suffered an injury and apparently realizing that Ministry reinforcements had arrived, Voldemort disappeared, likely having activated an emergency portkey.
"Merlin's beard!" Moody exclaimed over and over before letting loose with a streak of more colorful profanity. He landed near where Ashworth was standing and dismounted.
"What's our status?" Moody demanded.
Harry gestured skyward with his wand. "Looks like your folks are harrying the Dark Lord's followers. I think the worst danger has passed."
"Was the prison breached? What happened?" Moody pressed.
"No breach or escapees as far as I know," Harry said. "I received word that a lot of the night shift had gone home sick. When I got here, the guardhouse was burning. I activated the alarms as best as I could and rushed over here. I think you pretty much saw what happened next."
"I saw plenty," Moody agreed, beginning to curse angrily as he reflected on the attempted raid.
"Let me repeat myself," Moody said, pounding his fist on his armrest. "Ashworth. Was. Not. Even. Winded. Neither was Lord Voldemort!"
"I heard you," Dumbledore assured Moody from where he was slumped in the chair behind his desk. Moody had seen fit to come to Hogwarts and share the facts as soon as he had been released from his duties at work. This meant that Dumbledore was going without needed sleep.
"It was like watching a battle between titans," Moody declared.
"You said that."
"He's the one referenced in the prophecy," Moody insisted. "Ashworth is lurking in his fortress as we speak. After briefing the Prewetts, he said he was going to do a walkthrough of Azkaban to check things and declined any help."
"Why did he decline help?" Dumbledore asked, choosing to avoid wrangling with Moody over prophecy interpretation and importance.
"He was giving a lot of the Aurors and hitwizards the side-eye," Moody said.
"He's not dumb," Dumbledore mused as he helped himself to a lemon drop. "He must know that somebody with a badge helped Voldemort in. We'll have to see what comes out of the investigation."
After the alarms locked the prison down, Bellatrix had risked a couple of more spells to disguise and reinforce the cell door so that Death Eaters raiding the prison would be unable to find or access Evander Edgecombe's cell.
As for Edgecombe, he had uttered a few things designed to elicit a reaction from Bellatrix. However, she had been smart enough to feign inability to hear or understand the terminally ill wraith's jibes.
After what seemed like two or three hours, a knock, followed by Harry's voice, sounded on the disguised door.
Bellatrix undid the spells, welcomed Harry in, and reported what had happened. Harry updated Bellatrix, and they turned their attention to Edgecombe.
"Warden Ashworth," Edgecombe said, greeting Harry with his weak voice. "Or shall I just say Warden? You're no Ashworth."
"What makes you think that?" Harry asked, his lips curving into an amused smile.
"I know the purebloods. The most you can claim to be is some remnant of the Peverell dregs. But for the most part, you're a mongrel," Edgecombe rasped.
"Somehow, I'll have to endure that handicap," Harry said drily, waving his wand and silencing the old wizard with a charm. "Meanwhile, I will be finding another place to stash your miserable carcass."
"What about him?" Bellatrix asked, pointing at Mundungus.
"How good are you at memory charms?" Harry asked.