The Island Prison

Charlus scoffed in disbelief as Harry explained what the world around him had come to; the state of the Ministry, the political field, and the war on the horizon that most were ignorant of.

"Useless bastards," the man growled. "When I took my seat on the Wizengamot after I'd finished fighting Grindelwald, it was much the same; pampered, spoiled cowards who had done all they could to avoid fighting so they could play at being politicians. Me and a few others changed that so that we had good men, strong men who fought for the betterment of our country. We didn't bleed for Britain on the battlefield to come back to snivelling shits who though they could throw gold at everything. Even old Abraxas Malfoy learned that he couldn't just do what he wanted. It sounds to me that the Wizengamot is full of spineless cowards."

"That's about right," Harry agreed.

Charlus sighed disappointedly.

"Now for you and your stupid idea," the man huffed irritably. "This may be your war, but you'd better start using what's between your ears if you want to survive it. Taking on a single giant is risky enough, two is dangerous for even the best wizards, but thirty-six? It is utterly ridiculous to even consider it."

"So, what do I do?" Harry asked.

"Use your brain, Harry," Charlus urged. "You are not going to kill them all in one fell swoop. Track them, learn their movements, and find weaknesses. Pick them off one by one if necessary. What damned good are you to any war effort if you're dead?"

"I know, it just feels like no one is willing to do anything about it."

"People are scared," Charlus said simply. "Even when all options have run dry, they will look for any feeble excuse they can to not involve themselves. Usually, that isn't until it is already too late. You may feel alone in this, but if you play it smart, you can find advantages, and when you do, exploit them for all they're worth. War comes down to the survival of the fittest, and those that live will be the ones who take risks but mitigate them as much as possible. Yes, you must be ruthless, but equally cunning. I didn't just walk onto the battlefield and kill giants without considerable preparation. Here, you have the advantage of tracking them, laying traps, and thinning their numbers. Chances are, they will leave when they feel vulnerable. Make them fear you. They're not so bright, but fear is something they understand."

Harry nodded.

"Any other advice you'd give me?"

"Oh, I'm just getting started," Charlus chuckled. "Let's say you do find yourself in a position where you are in direct combat with a giant, or anything else for that matter, the key is preparation…"

Charlus had been very candid with his words, a tact that Harry appreciated. Since that night a little over a fortnight ago, Harry had spent much time with his grandfather who truly had proven to be a man of substance.

Charlus Potter truly was a wealth of knowledge and experience when it came to combat, and he was more than happy to pass it on to Harry who lapped it up greedily.

The man had even convinced him to meet his grandmother who had proven to be somehow as gentle and nurturing as she was rather terrifying in her own way.

"Oh, look at you," she had cooed upon seeing him. "I will be most displeased if you are with us before your time, young man!"

Harry chuckled at the memory.

Dorea Potter, the very same Dorea Black he had seen briefly in the visions, was a wonderful woman, and she had taken no small amount of joy in sharing the story of how the two of them had gotten married.

Amongst the tragedy and fallout of the war, they had found one another, and there was nothing that was going to stop them from taking what they both wanted.

Their marriage had come to the surprise of most, but few had been willing to speak ill of either the Blacks or Potters in the aftermath of Charlus and Arcturus's exemplary service on the battlefield.

It helped that both came from prominent families, and that both men commanded respect amongst their peers.

"You remind me of him," Dorea had sighed, nodding towards her husband. "So willing to fight."

"I don't have a choice."

"Perhaps not, but would it be any different if you did?"

Harry had not been able to answer that question.

He'd accepted long ago that this would be his war, and everything else that had happened most recently, and even before he could think for himself had cemented his place amongst the violence to come.

Even f Katie had not been murdered, there was the prophecy and what had happened to his parents that he'd never be able to ignore.

No, he couldn't answer the question his grandmother had presented to him, but it was a moot point.

Nonetheless, he was pleased to commune with her, and every now and then she would come when Harry summoned Charlus for their nightly talks and training.

It made him feel as though he had a family for the first time, even if it was fabricated by magic.

Harry smiled sadly before frowning as he spotted the giants ambling below him. Their progress had been slowed significantly by in-fighting and disagreements between them.

He couldn't fathom what could possibly cause such conflict between creatures who seemed to thrive on only conflict and inevitable violence, but they were still around fifty miles away from the coast of France when he'd expected them to have arrived in Britain by now.

Regardless, it gave Harry time to prepare. He had taken Charlus's advice and had been planning ahead. It would be all but impossible to prevent them entering Britain, but that did not mean he had any intention of making it easy for them.

He would stalk them across the land, making every step they took fraught with fear.

It brought a smirk to his lips as he flew above them, concealed within the folds of the cloak.

What did bother him, however, was that despite knowing they could not be far away from the giants, he'd seen no sign of the Death Eaters supervising the excursion.

Perhaps they had grown tired of the fighting and disagreements?

Not that it truly mattered.

It would have been convenient to pick them off if possible, but they had hidden themselves well enough to prevent that. Lord Nott was evidently no fool, though Harry could not imagine such a man exercising the patience that would have been required to cope being in the company of giants for a prolonged period.

With a shake of his head, realising it was a waste of time to ponder such a frivolous thing, he headed back towards Britain.

The giants would not be reaching the coast this night, but they were close enough now that Voldemort would be distracted so that Harry might succeed in his other venture.

(Break)

Hermione looked out of the window of Gryffindor Tower, watching the approaching storm on the horizon. Any semblance of the finer weather had vanished as September had given way to October, and soon enough, winter would arrive.

With it, however, came the impending Quidditch season. As such, most of her evenings were spent alone whilst Ron and Harry trained with the team, the latter not returning with the others.

What Harry was up to, Hermione could only guess, but she her worry for her friend only increased.

He attended lessons, was always at the breakfast table, but outside of those, he was seldom seen.

"I'm glad we missed that," Ron declared as the team entered the Common Room.

With the rain only just having begun hammering against the window, they were dry, though Hermione suspected that would be short-lived. Angelina was as eager as Wood had ever been and no storm would prevent her putting the others through their paces.

"How's it going?" Ron asked as he approached, nodding towards the blank sheet of parchment on the table.

"It would be easier if she would just teach us something," Hermione huffed.

"Come off it," Ron chuckled. "It doesn't matter if she teaches you or not. You'll still get an Outstanding on your OWL."

Hermione shrugged in response.

"Maybe," she conceded, "but it's not just about that, is it? We will only be here for another couple of years. Do you think it is likely the war will be finished then?

Ron nodded his understanding.

"I know," he sighed. "Probably not. The last one lasted years."

"And we won't be prepared to defend ourselves," Hermione pointed out.

Ron frowned at her questioningly.

"You have a plan," he accused.

"I have no such thing," Hermione denied, busying herself by arranging the various textbooks and notes she had taken.

"Hermione," Ron pressed.

"Fine," she sighed. "I thought that maybe we could start a defence club of sorts. The older students could help us with our OWLs and I can research some useful spells we can learn."

"That's not a bad idea," Ron replied thoughtfully. "Who would we get to join?"

"Anyone who wanted to," Hermione answered. "We'd just need someone to lead it."

"Why not you?"

"Defence isn't my best subject."

Ron frowned at her and shook his head.

"You want Harry to do it."

"Don't you think he would be best?"

Ron released a deep breath.

"He's not exactly around, is he? Something like that will just feel like a waste of time for him. What is he going to get out of it?"

Hermione had considered that, but she hoped Harry would want to help anyway.

"Can we at least bring it up with him?"

"You can try," Ron murmured, "but I wouldn't hold my breath. I don't know what he's up to, but I don't think running a defence club is at the top of his list of priorities. You've seen how he's been since…well, you know."

Hermione nodded sadly.

Harry had always been rather aloof and distant at the best of times, but since Katie had been killed, it was as though he had become little more than a ghost, a figure who appeared only for what was required before vanishing to who-knows-where once more.

"I'll mention it," Hermione decided. "The worst thing he can do is say no, right?"

(Break)

Azkaban.

Having been pondering the island prison for weeks now, Harry had deduced he needed to visit, and having discussed the matter with Charlus, his grandfather had agreed.

It had, however, been something of a heated debate between the two as to what Harry could achieve here with both becoming quite angry with one another.

"I agree that you could learn a lot from going and I'm certain the cloak will prevent you from being detected. Azkaban is designed to keep people in, not out."

"But?" Harry questioned.

Charlus had released a deep sigh, his gaze filled with disappointment.

"I cannot support your intentions, Harry. I know they are your enemies, but you cannot simply murder them in their cells. Believe me, I understand your anger and the task you have ahead of yourself, but you cannot become the monsters you are so ardently fighting against. Use the opportunity to gain information, prevent them from being effective if you must, but I cannot justify outright murder. From what you have told me, Britain needs good men, and taking that path will only lead to you becoming just like them."

"I am nothing like them!"

"I hope not, lad," Charlus whispered sadly. "From what I have seen, you are trying to do the right thing and war is a murky business at best, but you cannot claim to be any better than what you are trying to destroy by becoming that very thing. Do you understand?"

Harry deflated.

"What about those that will suffer when he releases them?"

"And who made you responsible for trying to save everyone?" Charlus returned.

Harry had not agreed with his grandfather's assessment, and yet, he remembered how well the man had been thought of amongst his peers. The easy path would be to seize the opportunity presented to him and not consider the consequences, but Harry knew that the harder path that would not see him become something his grandfather and grandmother would loath was the right choice.

In this moment, however, he questioned why he had even broached the topic with the man. Deep down, he had known Charlus would not agree with him. Had Harry wanted the man to talk him out of it?

Perhaps.

He didn't know what he expected to achieve, but now that he was here, he felt less of a burden upon him knowing it wasn't to slaughter unarmed men and women.

There was something deeply dishonourable about doing so that didn't sit right with Harry, despite his initial thoughts on the matter.

Ensuring he was covered by the cloak, he carefully approached the Island and flew a few, slow laps around the prison, peering into the small windows as he did so.

Most of those housed within were unmoving, their wide eyes staring silently at the blank walls of their cells.

Some, however, screamed fearfully whilst others cackled, their minds addled by the time spent here.

Harry felt it too, the oppressive nature of the dementors bearing down on him, stronger than he had ever felt it.

The island was full of them, cloaked figures floating through the thick, prevailing fog, searching for any joy left to suck out of the air around them.

There was none to be found, and Harry wasn't surprised Voldemort had managed to bring them to his cause during the first war. Why would they stay here when what they thrived on was all but absent?

Shaking his head, he flew another lap before heading towards the jagged roof where he perched himself and removed the cloak with a wave of his wand.

As expected, it took only a moment before the dementors became restless, sensing him and converging on where Harry waited for them.

The creatures seemed tentative to approach and kept something of a respectful distance, probing the air and even retreating from the feel of his magic.

Harry had wondered what the dementors were and where they had come from, something he was yet to discover. What had been clear since he first encountered one on the Hogwarts Express was that they were wary of him, even fearful.

"I know you can hear me," he murmured. "I know you can feel what I am. Stay where you are!"

The dementors froze, the seemingly empty hoods turning towards him.

"You will not side with Voldemort this time," Harry said firmly. "You will refuse anything he offers and will remain at your posts. If you don't, I will come for you with everything I have. Do we have an understanding?"

Harry wasn't sure what he could do to hurt them, or even if he could, but the dementors had to fear him for a reason.

"Do we have an understanding?" he pressed once more.

Much to his surprise, they nodded.

What hold Harry had over them, he didn't know. Maybe it was something he should look into? Surely someone had conducted studies and research on the origins of the creatures.

"You will defend the island from being attacked," he added.

He didn't expect the dementors to be much of a match for Voldemort, but they would certainly cause chaos amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters who would undoubtedly accompany him.

"Now, back to your posts," he instructed.

Almost eagerly, the dementors left his presence and Harry could only look on confusedly as they followed his orders. It was a strange experience, though likely less so than what he intended to do next.

"There are fates worse than death, Harry."

They had been Charlus's final words on the discussion they had as to what he should do with his time here. Harry did not understand the logic by what his grandfather had hinted at, but perhaps simply killing the Death Eaters within Azkaban was not the right approach.

Not when there was much he could glean from them.

With a final glance towards the dementors, he concealed himself within the cloak once more before taking to the sky to find a way in. The windows were too small to fit through, so with no other option, Harry made his way to the main entrance where two aurors stood guard, both shivering miserably from the cold of the dementors that permeated the island.

Knowing how long he would have to wait for the enormous, iron doors to open, Harry settled in, observing, and listening to the murmured conversation of the unfortunate guards as they waited to be relieved of their duty.

From what he had seen during his other excursions here to observe the activity, that would be around midnight. With forty-five minutes to go until then, Harry lost himself in his thoughts, preparing himself for what he intended to undertake.

(Break)

Barty cursed under his breath as he looked towards the prison through the omnioculars. Once more, he'd been ordered here to observe Azkaban, much to his chagrin.

In the passing moments, however, something had shifted in the air. Not that he could see much. The thick fog prevented that, but he did not miss the entire swarm of dementors converging on the roof.

"What are they doing?" he murmured.

Through the brief break in the fog, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the roof of the prison and he immediately activated his portkey.

Only two people were able to round up the dementors in such a fashion; Fudge, who certainly would not be here at this time of night, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

He'd learned that snippet of information from his father.

Bones.

The woman was close to the top of the list the Dark Lord wished to see eliminated, and it appeared that not only did his master have the chance to be rid of the woman, but he could also liberate his imprisoned followers at the same time.

(Break)

It was an exhausted Amelia Bones that emerged from the fireplace in the headmaster's office late in the evening, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent than Albus had ever seen.

Evidently, her role within the Ministry had become more trying in recent months, and it had begun to take its' toll on the woman.

"Thank you for coming, Amelia," Albus greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Are you finally going to tell me what it is you know, Dumbledore?"

Albus nodded.

When she had come to speak with Harry after the conclusion of the tournament, she had left with little more than the somewhat veiled truth.

"Do I need to explain it?" Albus returned thoughtfully as he leaned forward in his chair.

Amelia shook her head.

"From what Potter told me and I have seen for myself, I have no doubt that he is back. It is just like it was last time when he was looking to gain a following; the odd disappearances, businesses closing and changing hands, and the activity in Knockturn Alley has ramped up since July. He is recruiting."

"He is," Albus confirmed sadly. "Perhaps you should see for yourself what happened to young Harry the night the Dark Lord returned."

Amelia frowned and nodded reluctantly as Albus gestured towards the pensieve.

After only a moment of hesitation, she plunged herself into the memory, and in anticipation, Albus poured her a glass of her preferred Firewhiskey.

After several moments, the seasoned auror emerged, pale and trembling at what she had witnessed. Accepting the offered spirit, she drained the glass before taking a seat once more.

Albus allowed her the needed time to compose herself, and Amelia eventually shook her head in disbelief.

"Potter handled himself well," she praised. "How he survived, I don't know."

"He has quite the gift for it," Albus sighed. "I worry for him, however. He feels that he is alone in this."

Amelia nodded her understanding.

"Cornelius will not believe it."

"He will not," Albus agreed. "I fear that he will not act until it is too late. Even as we speak, the tide is turning against us. Three dozen giants will arrive on our shores in due course."

"Giants?" Amelia murmured worriedly.

"Indeed," Albus confirmed. "Perhaps worse; I have just been informed this evening that Fenrir Greyback is also making his way to Britain with a pack of over two hundred at his disposal."

Amelia rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"What do you think his next move will be?"

"It is impossible to tell with him," Albus huffed. "I expect he will wish to free his supporters that are in Azkaban and continue with his efforts in recruitment. Thanks to Sirius's efforts, his political aspirations will be stifled until the Dark Lord decides to take drastic action."

"He will kill Cornelius…"

"And likely target you to ensure your position can be filled by someone sympathetic to his cause."

Amelia's jaw tightened.

"It makes sense," she conceded. "I will see to my own security immediately. Officially, there's little else I can do."

"Unofficially, there is much you can," Albus said encouragingly. "I am doing all I can and will continue doing so for as long as I am able."

"He always was wary of you."

Albus chuckled humourlessly.

"I fear that is no longer true," Albus sighed sadly. "Long ago are the days that I could hope to match him. No, it will be another that will be his downfall."

"Potter?" Amelia asked curiously.

Albus nodded.

"Already he has done more to end this war than any other, and it will be him that ends it. Have faith in him, Amelia. Harry is just who we need to finally put this conflict to rest."

Amelia frowned deeply.

"You speak as though you are dying?"

"Not in such a way," Albus replied with a smile. "Harry will be his downfall, but he is not ready to face him yet. It is possible that I will perish before the two of them meet on equal footing. Is something wrong?" he asked as Amelia suddenly removed her auror card.

"The alarm has been raised at Azkaban!" she declared as she stood, tapping the card with her wand frantically.

"Would you like my assistance?"

Amelia nodded gratefully, gesturing for Albus to follow through the fireplace.

"We can take the portkey from my office!"

She disappeared through the flames, and Albus followed, readying himself for whatever the two of them may face on the forsaken island.

(Break)

Despite how imposing the building was, navigating his way through the halls and staircases of Azkaban proved to be simple enough. Each cell contained a single occupant, their name and convictions listed on a board above the door.

Harry quickly found that I was true what was said about this place; Azkaban house the most unpleasant of people in Wizarding Britain; murderers, rapists, and those sentenced to long terms for other varying heinous crimes.

He paused as he reached a cell bearing a familiar name; Albert Jugson.

The man had been given four life sentences for murder, allying himself with a terrorist organisation, treason, and several counts of torturing muggles.

Harry peered into the cell to see Jugson staring absentmindedly at the wall, a trail of drool hanging from his chin.

Checking there were no aurors nearby, he tapped the lock of the cell with his wand and silenced the hinges that had unlikely been oiled in many years.

Jugson looked towards the door expressionless, his wrinkled, absent eyes appearing much older than he truly was.

Without hesitation, Harry levelled his wand at the man.

"Legilimens!"

Jugson mind was a broken mess, and any defences he may have once had in place wore torn to shreds with little effort until Harry was able to reel through the man's memories at a whim.

What he saw sickened him greatly.

Albert Jugson had taken no small amount of pleasure in torturing any muggle he had come across during the raids he was involved in. Neither men, women, nor children had been spared the utmost degradation and violence he could muster.

Much to Harry's chagrin, the man had not been made privy to anything of use, so he withdrew from his mind, the anger at what he had witnessed barely being contained.

He shook his head as he looked upon Albert Jugson, his wand trembling in his hand.

'You are faced with monsters, Harry Potter, and often, you must become something akin to what it is you loathe… It is my magic that flows through you. Use it to claim the souls of your enemies, Harry Potter. Use it and become what they fear, the same way the world fears your enemy.'

The words Death had spoken to him after Katie had been murdered played through his mind and Harry swallowed deeply.

Charlus Potter had not faced what Harry was now. The two wars were different; the one against Grindelwald a world away from Britain, so far flung from the large-scale battles in the mud.

As things were, the war at home was smaller but no less unpleasant. Muggles would be tortured, husbands and wives torn from their children in the most violent of manner by the most reprehensible of people.

This war barely held any similarities to that of Grindelwald's era and Harry did not have an army at his back to win it.

No, Charlus would be disappointed in his decision, but Harry could not in good conscience allow these monsters to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Charlus had been wrong.

There was no question of morality here, and Harry had sworn long ago that there was no path he would not tread so long as it led to the death of Lord Voldemort.

It saddened him to think that he would disappoint his grandfather, but Charlus had fought his war on much more equal terms, had survived the conflict, and lived his life. He'd gotten married to the woman he loved and had a son to carry on his legacy.

There would be no life for Harry who had already had so much taken from him.

Although Harry had come to respect his grandfather, there simply was no comparison to what each had endured and the trials and tribulations they faced.

Harry glared at Jugson, the man's memories still fresh in his mind.

"I'll be back for you," he threatened as he took his leave of the cell and went in search of the next Death Eater.

He did not know what kind of alarm would be triggered if one of the prisoners died, so he did not wish to risk doing what was necessary until he had gathered what information he could.

His resolve to take what action he deemed necessary only steeled as he visited the next several cells and learned of what the Lestrange brothers had done in the name of their master along with the likes of Thorfin Rowle and the Carrow twins.

Each of them deserved the most miserable of existences and Azkaban was perfect for them, but with Voldemort undoubtedly coming to free the Death Eaters, Harry would have to be content with ending their misery yet ensuring they could never harm another again.

Taking a much-needed moment to compose himself, as he left Alecto Carrow in a dribbling mess on the floor of her cell, he stopped outside the abode of the one woman he knew would sicken him beyond all others.

Sirius had spoken of Bellatrix Lestrange when Harry had enquired as to who was the worst of the bunch that had followed Voldemort. Without hesitation, his godfather had named his own cousin.

He frowned as he peered into the dreary cell. Bellatrix, though evidently haunted and traumatised by her time here, was humming rather contently to herself as she sat on the edge of her bed.

In comparison to the others who had been subdued and rather troubled, it was quite the unsettling sight to behold.

As he had several times now, Harry unlocked the cell and stepped in and Bellatrix frowned.

"Who's there?" she demanded to know; her voice hoarse from the lack of use over the years. "Don't hide from me!"

She snatched at the air an inch or so away from Harry's face and he deftly stepped out of the path of her second lunge, freezing her with a flick of his wand before removing the cloak.

"James?" Bellatrix asked confusedly, squinting at him to get a better look.

"Not quite," Harry growled.

Bellatrix frowned and began cackling maniacally.

"Has it been so long?" she asked. "You must be his filthy offspring with the mudblood whore."

Harry's jaw tightened, though he smirked at the knowledge he possessed of Lily Potter's ancestry.

"What's so funny?" Bellatrix snapped. "Aren't you going to kill me?"

Before Harry could answer, the sound of a siren filled the air and a distant explosion sounded.

Bellatrix laughed once more.

"He's here!" she declared joyfully. "I knew he would come for me!"

Harry scowled as he pondered what to do.

Bellatrix could be a well of information, and without much thought, he levelled his wand at her once more.

"He's going to be disappointed to find you missing," he chuckled.

"FILTHY BAS…!"

Her insult was cut off as Harry stunned her and bound her for good measure before setting about making her transportable. Bellatrix was right. Voldemort had come, though he would be leaving with much less than he wished.

He may only have a few moments, but Harry was determined to ensure his foe would be deprived of a few assets at the very least.

Bellatrix was just the beginning, and as another explosion rent the air, closer this time, he took his leave of the cell and proceeded with his impromptu plan.

(Break)

The room trembled violently as Albus arrived with Amelia and around a dozen aurors they had managed together before hastily taking a portkey to Azkaban. If Voldemort was indeed here, which was inevitably true, their contingent would be unlikely to hold him off for long, even with the additional eight guards stationed here.

Albus had sent for the Order, but it would take considerable, precious time before they would make it here.

The dementors were another issue entirely, and one the headmaster hoped would not become a problem.

"We stick together," Amelia decided as she drew her wand and began leading the group from the room. "Take down anything that moves."

Albus took the rear position, clutching the elder wand, unable to ignore the underlying coldness that permeated the island outside of the ongoing conflict, the sounds of which growing closer the further they travelled.

"They've not made it inside yet," she declared as they reached the entrance where the doors remained sealed. "Perkins, what's going on?"

One of the gathered eight guards shook his head and withdrew from where he had been peering through a peephole.

"There's around forty of them out there," he explained grimly. "All wearing masks, just like the World Cup. We didn't even know they were there until the dementors swarmed. I sounded the alarm as soon as I saw them."

Amelia nodded as her gaze swept around the room.

"I want the door fortified as best we can. Where are the dementors?"

"Attacking them," Perkins answered and Albus breathed a sigh of relief.

The foul creatures had not allied themselves with Tom, not yet at least.

The relief, however, was short-lived as a spell impacted against the doors, and they groaned under the strain. Albus knew they wouldn't stand up to many such attempts to breach them.

"Are the prisoners secure?" Amelia questioned.

"Not for long if they have their way," Perkins murmured worriedly. "What's going on, Bones?"

"What does it look like?" the woman huffed, wincing as another spell impacted against the doors, buckling them under the strain.

"We can't keep them out, ma'am," one of the aurors sighed tiredly. "They've managed to send the dementors away, for now."

Another spell collided with the doors and Albus braced himself as they bent inwards, just enough that he could see a large group of masked figures through the gap that had formed between them.

"We need to find cover," Amelia declared. "We won't be able to hold them off standing in the open. Albus, any ideas?"

The headmaster nodded as he brought his wand to bear, tearing down a nearby staircase and warping it into a barrier. The aurors followed suit, and in a matter of a minute, each of them had a semblance of cover, for what good it would do.

Facing such odds, it would be a temporary measure at best, though it gave Albus time to think.

They were outnumbered with the prospect of assistance reaching them being slim at best.

It was not a favourable position, and yet, abandoning the prison to Tom and his followers was not an option. He could not be allowed to regain his supporters.

Albus could not help but think that their efforts, however, would be in vain. It was likely that most would be killed during the impending attack, a sentiment that was evidently shared by the rest waiting for the doors to give way under the onslaught.

The seasoned aurors were nervous, some old enough to have been serving during the first war.

"Get ready," Bones instructed, recoiling as the doors were blasted open.

As the dust cleared, the magnitude of what they faced was before them, and at the head of the Death Eaters was the tall, pale form of the Dark Lord.

No longer the handsome man he had once been, he cut an imposing figure, his thin lips pulled back over his teeth as he held his hands up to stifle the attack of his own followers.

"I had hoped that this could be achieved without the needless death of many," he said calmly. "That can still be the case. Lay down your wands, fetch me those you imprisoned, and bring them to me. If you do, I shall allow you to live."

"Yeah right," one of the aurors murmured.

Albus agreed with the assessment.

It was not in Tom's interest to allow any of them to live. As things were, he was relying on working from within the shadows and the dementors of all things had been the ones to force this altercation.

Any who lived would speak of what they saw, and so many witnesses could not be ignored.

"I think it would be perhaps best if you left," Albus suggested.

Tom merely chuckled before shaking his head.

"Why would I do that, you old fool?" he returned. "The advantage is mine, Dumbledore, but since you have no intention of cooperating, I see I am left with no choice."

Albus braced himself as the Dark Lord lowered his arms, and the Death Eaters unleashed a flurry of spells.

Screams of agony filled the air from those who were unable to defend themselves, and some lifelessly collapsed to the ground.

Albus immediately sprang into action, conjuring a golden shield around himself and Amelia who had taken cover next to him.

"We cannot remain idle," the woman gasped, taking aim at the Death Eaters that were now charging towards them.

"I think we would be best served leaving this place," Albus suggested as a pair of aurors were sent into the hard, stone wall of the prison. "We cannot stop them."

They had come into the situation, not knowing what to expect, and had found the odds stacked impossibly against them.

Amelia Bones was a proud and stubborn woman, but even she could see the futility of their efforts. They simply had not been prepared to face what they were confronted with.

Reluctantly, she nodded and Albus offered her an encouraging smile.

"We go back the way we came," she sighed. "My portkey will take us back to the Ministry. RETREAT!"

The aurors didn't need telling twice and began moving backwards, doing their utmost to defend themselves from the unending onslaught of attacks.

Albus and Amelia followed suit, only able to deflect spells sent their way and dodge those they could not.

Tirelessly, the withdrew inch by inch, granted no reprieve from the Death Eaters who drew ever closer.

Another scream and another auror fell victim to a blasting curse that left a gaping hole in the centre of his chest. Only two others remained, and the outlook only grew grimmer as Voldemort stepped forward, his wand whipping upwards.

The pink ball of light that tore through the air towards them sent Albus and Amelia in opposite directions, but it had not been destined for either of them. Albus felt his heart sink into his stomach as the corridor they had emerged from only moments prior caved in from the resulting explosion.

To clear it, he would need a moment's peace to work which would not be granted.

"What do we do now?" Amelia growled, managing to land a curse of her own on one of the Death Eaters.

Albus was at a loss, and his own concern only grew as he felt a distinct coldness wash over him.

The dementors were back and if they were to realise that Voldemort had the advantage it may just be enough to inspire them to join him.

Their situation only seemed to become more dire with each passing minute.

Tom alone would be difficult to defend against. With the odds stacked against them so heavily, it was all but hopeless.

Albus shuddered as another wave of coldness washed over him, and he shielded his eyes as a blinding, white light erupted in front of him. Casting a shield around himself once more, a rhythmic pounding could be heard and felt trembling through the floor below.

As his vision cleared, Albus's eyes widened at the sight of a dozen or so armour-clad figures standing in front of him and Amelia, thumping the ends of the spears they held onto the stone floor.

Amelia looked at him questioningly, and Albus shook his head, shuddering as the oppressive coldness seeped into every fibre of his being.

Where the figures came from, the headmaster could only guess but as he caught sight of the dementors floating above them, he only became more confused.

Even the Death Eaters were taken aback by what was unfolding before them and Voldemort tilted his head curiously only to growl as a body landed in front of him with a wet, dull thud.

Albus recognised the broken form of Rabastan Lestrange and he looked around for any sign of where the body had fallen from. Catching sight of an odd silhouette high above them, he squinted to get a better look, though it proved to be unnecessary.

The creature took off and began flying circles above them before it suddenly dived.

A thestral.

As it did so, the armoured figures charged towards the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, joined by the dozens upon dozens of dementors who swarmed, as was their nature.

Alas, Albus was granted no reprieve to undo the damage done to the corridor they required to make their escape as Tom immediately set his sights on him in the ensuing melee.

"Albus, get it cleared!" Amelia urged as she injected herself into the fight with the Dark Lord, firing curse after curse towards the grinning man.

Albus was hesitant to leave the woman to it. Amelia was an exceedingly gifted witch, but she would not fare well against Tom for any prolonged period of time.

Hurriedly, Albus shifted his attention to the collapsed corridor, his wand work as quick and as precise as possible, though evidently not quick enough. No sooner had he cleared one section, another errant spell undid his work, and another clipped him arm.

The appendage was broken and quickly became numb though it was the vision of a bloodied Amelia Bones skidding limply across the ground as she was felled by several, familiar green curses.

Tom had chosen not to fight the gifted witch with any honour, allowing her to be slaughtered by his followers.

Save for the dementors and armoured figures, Albus was now very much alone, his wand arm hanging limply at his side with the Dark Lord bearing down on him.

Only an hour prior, he had spoken of the likelihood of him surviving the coming war, though he had not thought that his end would have come so soon after.

Oddly, Tom paused his advance, his head snapping towards a commotion coming from further behind him.

Despite the severity of the situation, Albus too was curious by the sudden, panicked shouting and clattering of hooves.

The headmaster's eyes widened at what he saw cantering towards him.

More armoured figures hurled towards the Dark Lord, mounted on horses, and swinging great swords at the Death Eaters, carving a path through them.

At the head of the fighting force, however, was Harry, holding his wand aloft as he sat upon a thestral seemingly made of fire. Another stream of flames was spewing from his wand, and those that did not move out of his path were immolated by either the creature or the magic.

Just as Tom was readying himself to intervene, the mounted men charged forwards, joined by the dementors who converged on the Dark Lord.

"GET ON!" Harry instructed as he reached Albus, offering a hand.

The surprised headmaster accepted it and was lifted behind Harry.

Without wasting a second, the thestral cantered a short distance before taking to the sky, just as Tom managed to fend off the horde of attackers.

A scream of rage followed them and Albus breathed a sigh of relief, though he could not ignore the dread that filled him.

Amelia Bones was dead, much of Azkaban was on fire, and Tom would succeed in liberating his followers.

No victory had been achieved here this night, and Albus felt the weight of the war bearing down on him as it had throughout his life.

"I am sorry, Harry," he sighed, wincing as his arm throbbed painfully. "We tried to prevent him getting them free. How did you know?"

Harry nodded darkly.

"Well, let's just say he won't be getting what he's expecting," he replied simply.

Albus could only frown as Harry said nothing else, and the much older man deflated tiredly. He could only guess what Harry had been doing on the island, though he could not deny he was pleased he was there.

Had he not been, Albus would be dead, along with Amelia and around twenty indispensable aurors they would surely need.

Still, Harry did not seem to be so concerned about the prisoners being freed.

What did he know? Better yet, what had he done?

Albus had not forgotten about Rabastan Lestrange falling from the sky, crumbled in a lifeless heap on the ground.

What of the others?

Albus had so many questions of the young man that had rescued him; so many questions, and yet, he could only ponder just how much of a disaster the evening had seemingly been.