fire and rain (4/?)
Title: Fire and Rain (Part 4 of ?)
Author: redtapestry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Sirius Black
Spoilers: All books/films
Warnings: Violence, gore, schmoop!, romance, gratuitous descriptions
Summary: History must be rewritten if the Order is going to win this war.
PART FOUR
Hermione paces the floor in her hotel room for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out what exactly someone does the night before breaking into a prison. A heavily guarded magical prison at that. She should be feeling stress and lots of it. Perhaps she should be shaking or babbling or feeling some kind of anxiety the night before she plans to launch a full-fledged attack on the Ministry of Magic, not to mention their incredibly deadly prison guards (trained Aurors), the Dementors. She should be feeling something other than what she is feeling, which is calm.
Hermione is really calm right now. Really damn calm, and she doesn't know why. She's not wringing her hands. She's not throwing up, nor is her stomach doing any kind of flip flop or whirly whirl. She's perfectly content to pace back and forth, simply enjoying the routine motion.
Maybe it's the fact that she's in the Past and doesn't technically exist yet (her mother and father probably haven't even met) so neither do her hang-ups.
The plan is quite simple. Even Magical defendants get rights to a lawyer, so that's what she'll be. She's studied Magical Law for some time, the language and black and white of the rulings attracting her, so she should fit the part nicely. Then, it's just a matter of getting in to see one of the lesser criminals. She highly doubts Sirius Black is allowed visits from a solicitor; he didn't even get a trial before they shoved him in his cage. When she's alone with her supposed client, she'll knock him out, jimmy the lock, knock out some wizards/repel some Dementors, and grab Sirius before anyone is the wiser.
Why isn't she panicking about this plan?
The next day, the sky is gray and dark and the ferry to Azkaban is empty. Rain pelts the single solicitor sitting in the center of the upper deck. She doesn't seem to mind the drops splattering over her, nor is she concerned about becoming wet. Hermione's hair is tied back in a fierce bun at the nape of her neck. Tendrils of loose curls flutter around her face, but she insists on shoving them behind her ears. She's dressed in a plain black suit with white blouse and black flats. She wears normal black robes over the ensemble, covered with a coat with heavy pockets, and carries her solicitor-style briefcase on her lap.
The captain of the ferry, a gruff wizard by the name of Ewan Pritchard (a plain wizard if there ever was one, with a bushy beard and leather rain-repellant robes) hops on the top deck and makes his way over to her. She's already ascertained by their long conversation from the shore to the island up ahead that he lost his foot in a ferry accident, and he's got a magical prosthetic that twinges something awful in the wet.
She nearly smirks at the entire situation; a magical pirate if she ever saw one. He even has a peg leg.
"All that's missing is the parrot," she murmurs to herself as she watches him walk closer.
"What'cha say, miss?" Pritchard growls from beneath his substantial moustache. When he first greeted her at the dock, she thought he was trying to intimidate her. Some men tend to put on a ridiculous dominating show, wanting to send the clear message to the woman that they're in charge. She learned later that it's simply his voice and no trick.
"Nothing, Mister Pritchard. Just reviewing my client's case." She rises from her seat and gazes out into the heavy, thick fog settling over everything. It's almost thick enough to touch, but when she passes her hand through it, all she feels is cold. It clings to the surface of the ship. She can barely make out the railing of the upper deck, much less the murky water over the side or anything in the distance. Were they even close yet? How much further? Hermione voices her worries to Pritchard when he comes to stand at her side.
"We're very nearly there now, miss," Pritchard lets her know. He checks the magical compass on his wrist; it doesn't point north, but instead, the dial points straight forward, due west. Hermione has seen that type of instrument plenty of times. It must be enchanted to find Azkaban seeing as no one can really see where they are going. "Just a few more...Ah, there we go."
Out of nowhere, a dock juts into view. The dark brown of the wet wood is almost the same color as the water, so Hermione practically misses it as the ferry begins to slow. She glances up towards the helm where the wheel steering the boat stands, and she's almost surprised to see the ship steering itself. You'd think someone as used and well versed to magic as Hermione would stop being surprised by these kinds of things. As she watches, Pritchard whips out his wand from his inner sleeve and motions a wandless spell to tie off the ferry on the dock.
It's a soft landing; surprising considering the vessel Hermione currently occupies has probably seen its share of the plague. Hermione grabs her briefcase as Pritchard lowers the ramp from the ferry to the dock. He rests near the opening, as if waiting for the mass crowds to depart. He's the door man to the island of Azkaban. All he needs is a spiffy uniform with gold buttons.
Seeing as she's the only passenger on this Merlin-forsaken boat, Hermione takes her time gathering her things and leaving the boat. When she does, she gives only a small salute to the man who has accompanied her for the past seven hours. He returns her gesture with a tiny nod, and limps back onto the ship towards the magical wheel without another word.
Azkaban looms before her atop a giant hill; tall, dark, and scary as Hell. Like any stereotypical haunted location, it's shrouded in mist. The combination of the dangerously cloudy sky, harsh black building, and hiss of wind against the wet rocks of the cliffs at the eastern half of the island sent prickles of gooseflesh all over her arms and legs. She climbs up the stony path, shoes occasionally slipping on the slimy rock. Hermione really hopes she doesn't fall to her death; that would be really anticlimactic.
Hermione doesn't know what she expected before, but instead of the huge draw bridge and wrought-iron door with Dementors standing guard, there is simply a plain wooden door with a silver handle. Hermione is more than well versed in magical law procedure, so she knows there are plenty of enchantments and magical protections laid into each grain of the wood. Obviously, if someone were to try and break out (or, in her case, in), they would be immediately stopped. That could present a problem later.
The interior is even worse. Cold stone surrounds her as she steps through the door and into the inner dwelling. Compared to the outside, the temperature had dropped about a million degrees in here, as if the stone leeched the warmth from the very air. Hermione wraps her arms around her body she starts to shiver. She can feel her wand tucked into her sleeve, but she doesn't give any indication that she feels anything when the Auror responsible for all incoming prisoners and visitors approaches her.
He's the only one in the room.
That's it? Just one Auror? She had expected six or seven at the entrance, maybe wearing blades along with their wands. It's an incredible surprise when she enters the first chamber. In a moment, she decides to throw out her old plan (the whole "knock out a lesser prisoner, yadda yadda yadda") and just..."go with it". After all, it's only one Auror.
He looks like a pleasant fellow. With mild brown eyes and dark hair, pale skin to be expected from living in this sun starved place, he seems nice enough. Nothing really stands out about this particular Auror, and Hermione is glad because that means when she knocks him unconscious, he's not going to weigh on her mind at all.
"Do you have an appointment?" Even his voice is soft.
"Yes, with my client," Hermione replies with a cock of the head.
"And who might that be?" He asks her, reaching for the clip board containing no doubt the appointments of the day. It's not very full, and there are only two names on the list that Hermione can see from her vantage point.
"Sirius Black." She straightens her back, fingering the end of her wand with her index finger. She can draw it from her sleeve sheath in a matter of seconds, but is that going to be enough? Or should she just go with it, hope that this Auror is the dunce of the Academy to be placed way out here, in the middle of nowhere on a no-doubt shit duty.
He sends her this strange look, like You can't be serious, but she doesn't say anything else, so like any good doorman, he checks the list. And double checks it, just in case. The Auror's brow furrows as if he's trying to solve some heinous math problem, and he flicks through the papers on the clipboard before replacing it at his side.
"There must be some mistake, ma'am," the Auror, always the military-type of man (polite to a fault), says. "The prisoner is not accepting any visitors, and there is no solicitor on record."
Yes, Hermione knows that. She remembers reading about this time period in History of Magic class. When she first heard about Sirius Black as a measly third year, she immediately rushed to the school library and ensconced herself in the card catalogue. Over the course of a week, she learned all she could about the then-mass murderer and the trials (or lack thereof) and the Death Eater hunts after You-Know-Who's Fall. She learned about Bartemius Crouch and the Aurors' involvement and Sirius Black's crimes in the street where thirteen Muggles, plus Peter Pettigrew, died.
Yet it's completely different now.
It's different because she's in the thick of it now. She's up to her neck in what she previously thought as history; it's no longer history. It's her present. It's the here and now, and that makes everything different.
Hermione moves to stand next to the Auror. She motions to the clipboard. "Check again, because there must be some mistake."
"Ma'am, I don't know where else this information could be. There is no solicitor..." And that's all he spoke when Hermione whispered a Stunner spell at his back. It hits the Auror in the kidney, and in a second, he's down for the count. Hermione doesn't bother to move the limp body. She simply steps over his chest, finds Sirius' name on the clipboard, and continues on through a far door she presumes leads to the prisoner cells.
+ + + +
Bartemius Crouch Junior has never enjoyed flying. It's time consuming when one can simply Apparate, and it's incredibly cold with the wind whipping past, harsh as razor blades. Plus, and he would never admit this even under penalty of Avada Kedavra, but it musses with his hair, and that he cannot abide. Sue him; he's a vain Death Eater.
However, the wizard prison Azkaban is heavily guarded by both magic and magical creature. As well as being patrolled by Dementors, it's impossible to Apparate to or from the grounds. Makes sense, doesn't it? Suppose an inmate escaped the cell and managed to make it outside the walls before the Dementors caught up with them? They would have no choice but to start swimming and the nearest land is at least ten kilometers away in either direction. They'd be shark bait in a second.
That's where brooms come in. For experienced fliers like Lucius Malfoy heading the pack, and poor little Igor Karkaroff bringing up the rear, it's a walk in the park. For those like Barty Junior over here, and of course no one would mention how helpless they feel in the air like this, it's simply a struggle to remain on his broom at all. Of course, though, he keeps up and remains with the pack of fliers. He isn't about to fall behind and embarrass himself. The Death Eater does know this is the fastest and most covert way of getting to the island. They just have to fly in the fog, and no one can see them until the Death Eaters are right on top of them.
The fogs are getting denser and denser with each kilometer they cover over the ocean, and that can only mean one thing: they are drawing close to Azkaban. The magically conjured fog is a sure sign; Dementors are close, and where there are Dementors...
Barty's pulse quickens. They're almost there.
It's not that he's particularly excited or thrilled about rescuing their wayward comrades from the Dementors' icy grips. He can't care less about the Lestranges and the rest of their maniacal friends caged and gagged. In fact, Barty has quite enjoyed the quiet in the past few weeks without them at the weekly Death Eater meetings or the late, sinister dinners at the Malfoys' manor. The one thing he's excited, nervous, anxious, cannot wait for is the recognition. This is his plan. This is how he played it out in his head, and if it works, he's going to be honored. He'll have rescued the Lestranges, Yaxley, and Rosier.
It's all him. And that feels amazing.
Of course, in a crowd like this, his personal feelings don't matter in the least. It's follow or be killed, and for Barty, that's the easiest decision in the world to make. So, he's on a broom, potentially heading to his death or eventual arrest, but it beats being slung into his already-dug grave.
"Keep your eyes open," Lucius calls from the front. Barty adjusts his grip on the broom handle and leans forward, doing just that.
The fog is quickly thickening. Barty knows that if he dares to stretch his hand out to the side, he'd be swiping his fingers through soft cotton and cream. That could only mean one thing: Azkaban is close. More than close.
Azkaban is a huge, looming figure in the near distance. Barty has never seen it, not even pictures, but he can still imagine this fabled place of nightmares. Azkaban is wizard Hell; something to taunt kids on the playground while swinging stick "wands" back and forth, pretending to cast charms. It's dark and immense and, something Barty will never admit to in a million years, still incredibly intimidating.
The Death Eaters are still within the brunt of the fog, and they come to a halt in the air. Lucius tugs his skull mask down, motioning for the others to do so a well. It is time.
Barty's mind goes over the plan they all agreed upon the previous week:
The East Wall of the prison is weak. Their contact inside, one of the Aurors who has a very sweet and loving attachment to his wife currently residing in the basement of Lucius Malfoy's family manor, maintains that the Ministry has arranged contractors to repair the wall's foundation...next week. If there ever was a time to attack, it is now.
A few well-placed Blasting Hexes should do the trick.
+ + + +
Hermione has very little time before the changing of the guard and someone realizes there's an Auror down. Then the alarm will go up, and everything will go downhill. Fast.
There are no blueprints on file for this prison. It's almost as if even the Ministry itself has no idea what lies within its four walls. Yes, it further heightens the fear and mystery surrounding the prison, but it makes it incredibly difficult to navigate the surely thousands of tunnels and hallways that lead to the cells. The night before, she'd gone over the plans a million times, and for some reason, this lack of knowledge of the prison's structure has never bothered her. It still doesn't. However, it does make time a little tight when she knows there are going to be guard changes and Dementors and scary things lurking around corners, not to mention the depressed prison inmates who have all basically had bits of their souls sucked out every minute of every day for Merlin knows how long screaming and crying and carrying on when she's trying to concentrate. Don't they know she's trying to accomplish something illegal here and needs to concentrate?
Hermione makes a left, another left, and then a right. The light grows a little dimmer with each step she takes, the torches lit fewer and farther between. She doesn't know what that means, but she has an idea.
To keep herself on the right track, Hermione slides her hand alongside the stone wall. It's grimy and moist from the rainfall and constant humidity, and she has to stop herself from constantly wiping her palm on her robes. Her wand is out, ready to do battle with whatever crosses her path.
So far though, nothing. It's as quiet as the grave, which isn't very comforting. Hermione thought there would be more noise. Whenever she watched Muggle films the summers she was home from school, prison inmates chucked themselves against the bars and threw garbage and swore and shouted. Anything to be heard. To unsettle those walking the halls. Yes, Hermione realizes Hollywood and the movies aren't real life, but they have got to have some reality in them, right? However, Azkaban's inmates are silent. Completely silent.
All around her are doors. Doors of all shapes and sizes and colors, though the colors range from black to gray and perhaps a smattering of brown here and there. There are no bars on the doors; they are simply regular doors you might expect to see on the front of a house or to a bedroom. The brass knobs are nearly as black as the doors themselves, but they are coated with slime and grit and whatever else they've managed to accumulate.
Sirius' cell number is 144. She's headed in the right direction when she sees the ascending numbers, starting with 127. As she quickens her step, she can't help but feel excited. Excited that this is all finally happening. Excited that she's actually going to change things. Excited because all these months of planning, the trouble of getting the Time Turner, and her own training has finally paid off. She's about to release Sirius Black and stop everything that's happened from happening all over.
140...141...142...
She's almost there...
"HEY YOU!"
Hermione stills. She briefly wonders if she's able to fit into the decor of the wall, but alas, no luck.
Eight Aurors, clad in the telltale red robes of their station, fall out of the shadows, wands drawn and faces grim. Hermione doesn't recognize any of them, and she doesn't know what that means. If there happened to be someone from the Order here, she might risk problems and elements of danger down the line from the Order in this world, not to mention the Order in the future. Even if that Auror did happen to join the Order, which might not even happen due to her meddling in the past...
"State your name, title, and reason for trespass, or be subject to capture and Kiss," a tall Auror instructs, voice icy and serious. He appears to be the leader of this small band, so Hermione addresses him directly. She does, however, keep an eye on the rest of them and their wands.
"I'm Hermione Granger, solicitor from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!" She raises her hands, a show of submission, and adds a little squeak of surprise to her voice. This will hopefully convince them she's innocent and supposed to be here. Then, maybe, she can be on her way.
"We didn't receive word of any MLE lackey--"
"Tut tut, solicitor," Hermione interjects.
"Fine, solicitor, and we sure as hell don't tolerate surprises or changes to the agenda." Tall Man gestures to a clip board, similar to the one the Entrance Auror used, and pulls aside some sheets of paper to investigate.
"Who are you here to see? This is the Maximum Security Ward; no one here has any contact with non-prison personnel." This time, a small, short woman with dull brown hair and sallow skin speaks up. Hermione ignores her.
"I'm here to see--"
KABOOM!
The prison walls shake and she's nearly thrown to the ground with the sheer force of the explosion. The Aurors are all shocked, scrambling to recover. Two of them don't get up; one woman is bent against the wall, her body contorted and a head wound bleeding profusely at the base of her scalp The other is face down. Hermione doesn't know if they're alive or not. A second wave of explosions hit, hard and fast. Debris cascades down from the ceiling, crumbling rock being knocked loose. Hermione's lucky; as she's watching, three chunks of rock take out three Aurors. Down for the count. Hermione balances herself, hand struck against the harsh rock. The air used to be heavy and moldy and wet, but now, it's suddenly filled with dust and debris and Hermione can barely see the white, etched numbers on each door. A huge gust of wind crashes into her and nearly throws her down. She stumbles, but catches her hands on a slippery door knob and manages to stay upright.
There's three Aurors left standing. Easier than the eight before, and Hermione feels good about her chances. That is until she gets a good look at the damage.
Where a mostly solid wall used to be, there is now a huge, blown-to-hell hole leading out. It's about a million degrees colder than it was. Hermione shivers inside her coat, but keeps her eyes on the hole. She doesn't know what's going on, but it can't be something good.
"What's going on?" Tall Man barks and the other two Aurors don't reply at all. "Can someone please tell me what the BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE HAPPENS?!"
She jumps to her feet. Hermione rushes a little further down the hallway, her shoes slapping the hard rock.
"STOP!" Tall Man shouts at her. She doesn't.
She's no longer worried about sound and remaining invisible, or even about the Aurors behind her. Something is going down, and the last thing she wants is to be caught in the middle of it all. They'd be pretty stupid to follow her.
Hermione comes to a stop right next to Sirius' cell door, door 144, with a great sigh of relief. She's found it. She's found him.
But she's no longer the only person in the corridor. Without warning, wizards on brooms begin crowding through the gaping fissure in the stone. They're clad in midnight-black robes, robes she recognizes, with high hoods and gleaming white face masks meant to frighten and terrify. They flood in, must be fifteen to twenty of them, like invaders, a cancer to infect the space around her. Hermione flattens herself against the door. It's still dark in here, despite the sudden burst of gray dusk from outside, and she's hoping they continue on their way...in the opposite direction.
"What the Hell?" The Tall Auror exclaims. "DEATH EATERS!"
Suddenly, light from a million spells are firing in either direction. A couple even flare past Hermione.
There's too many Death Eaters and not enough Aurors. The ones that hadn't been hurt in the explosion, the ones that hadn't been too close to the opening of the hole to survive, are incredibly outnumbered. They do fight valiantly, Hermione watches this happen from the shadows, but they are outmatched and outgunned. When the signature green of the Avada Kedavra lights the hall, splashing the stone and Hermione's face for a brief instant in malevolent color, she has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from giving herself away with her sob. As the three bodies of the Aurors drop to the ground, Hermione can't help but mourn them for a moment. They had gotten up that morning to go to work, expecting just another day. They didn't expect to be murdered in cold blood for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This is why Hermione uses Stunners. She doesn't kill or maim. She merely borrows their time, and returns them in as good condition as they were in before.
A Death Eater steps forward, and kicks the bodies out of the way.
"Well, that was incredibly easy. I'm almost embarrassed for the Ministry," a smooth voice mocks from the head of the pack. Hermione's eyes clamp shut for a moment, and she tries to swallow but can't. Her mouth is too dry. She'd recognize that velvet voice anywhere. Lucius Malfoy, young and still very much the evil bastard she knows years later.
The rest of the Death Eaters chuckle to themselves, so confident in the fact that they're alone with the prisoners. They don't even feel the need to sneak around. Although, they don't really need to sneak considering everyone from Azkaban to Taiwan knows they're here.
The last thing Hermione wants to do is attract attention to herself. Behind her, she feels the door knob to Sirius' cell digging into her back. It's harsh and real, and while she's still spinning over the knowledge that yes, she's actually here, the fear of being discovered by wand-wielding maniacs with a penchant for torture is growing by the moment.
"He said the cells should be here," another voice speaks up, serious and hard.
"Did he manage to give you numbers?" Lucius growls, obviously irritated.
Hermione gets it. It's a light bulb moment, and a hilarious one at that. She has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Of all the ironic things to happen today, the thought of Death Eaters breaking into a prison on the same day she's doing the same is just too much! She would laugh if she could, if she wasn't petrified of them getting their hands on her. Maybe later, she'll allow herself a little giggle. Now, though, she has to get into this cell before they realize she's standing there, watching them.
"I'm not an idiot," the second man speaking responds, his voice biting.
"That remains to be seen," comes Lucius' dry reply. "The numbers, Karkaroff."
Hermione doesn't react, simply makes note of the name (though it is one she recognizes from her fourth year), and keeps trying the lock.
The man she assumes to be Karkaroff says something she can't quite hear.
"Fan out. You two, guard the entrance. Crouch, find the cells. Get them open. Get our people out..."
Breath catches in Hermione's chest. They're here to break someone out. No doubt a fellow Death Eater on the wrong side of the Auror's wand. She's got to hurry if she's going to get Sirius out underneath their noses.
Trying not to rustle her coat, Hermione reaches into one of the inner pockets. This is where her previous planning pays off: knowing she'd come in contact with some touchy locks she doubted any normal charm would affect, she'd packed Harry's penknife. It had suffered some damage when he and the rest of the DA broke into the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year, but they managed to salvage it. Now, it's going to come in handy.
Hermione whips it out of her pocket, unfolds it, and slides it into the fairly rusty lock on the door. She knows, while it's rusted out and flaking around the edges of the keyhole, it's just as strong as the day the craftsmen laid spells on it. She turns the knife, hears the tumblers rock through the motions of unlocking, and turns the knob as quickly as possible. It gives a tiny squeak, probably from misuse, but the Death Eaters are busy stomping around, and don't appear to hear it. Hermione lets out the gasp she didn't realize she was holding, and slips inside, shutting the door as quietly and quickly behind her as possible.
+ + + +
She makes sure the door is locked as it was before she opened it. If any Death Eater were to try it, they'd find it just as locked as the rest. Satisfied they're not going to be disturbed anytime soon, Hermione turns to face the man she's been sent here to collect.
Hermione has only known the older Sirius, a worn, war ravaged man with a shattered spirit. He was still a good man, but pieces of him were missing. This man before her, sitting on the gnarled mattress like a king on a throne, is not the same man from the future. She guesses thirteen years sitting here, thinking of nothing but the treachery that put him there. This man before her looks nothing like his future self. Instead of the salt-and-pepper hair, strands of white amongst the black, he has a full head of dark, curling hair. His eyes are a piercing blue, still sharp and full of wit as he looks upon his new cellmate. He wears the tattered uniform of an Azkaban prisoner, worn by men and women before him, but it fails to hide his youthful physique. He's obviously still healthy, and that's good news for Hermione. It means he'll be able to run out of here.
The silence is uncomfortable. He's looking at her, she's looking at him. Neither knows what to do with the other. In all her planning, it probably would have paid off to plan out what to say to the man when she did break in. She can't after all simply grab his hand and whisk him away.
Of course, in true Sirius fashion, he solves her problem for her.
"Are you here for my conjugal visit?"
"Um...no." She doesn't quite know what to say to that.
"Oh, pity," Sirius practically laughs at her. "You're prettier than the last girl they sent me. I actually think she was a man. Big hands, you know." To demonstrate, he flexes his own fingers as he rises from the mattress on the floor.
"I'm glad," Hermione stutters out. She's never been very good with the witty comebacks; that's the main reason the girls and bullies at school thought her stuck up in her first year. It wasn't because she thought she was better than them. It was because, while they were teasing her, she was constantly trying to think up retorts for their insults. OF course, she would think of them hours later after the bullies had left and she was alone in her bed. Not very useful then.
"You're welcome, then," Sirius replies. He slaps on that classic Sirius smirk and starts coming towards her. Hermione nearly smiles back because it's a small relief realizing some things just don't change.
He stops moving when his eyes sweep over her and settle on the wand in her hand. Hermione can practically see all the possibilities rushing through his head. Is she here to kill him? Is she from the Ministry and they're marching him down for the Kiss? Is she taking him to London for more questioning? Or are they even going to bother with the legality of it all and simply kill him here and now? The Ministry has already forsaken criminal trials. An Unforgivable Curse is par for the course.
Trying to calm his fears, Hermione shoves her wand back up her sleeve and raises her hands.
"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you," she tells him. Hopefully, he finds that reassuring.
"Oh good. Because I was worried you'd kill me and take me from my grandiose surroundings," Sirius snaps, all the mirth and humor gone from his voice. For a moment, the facade of charming ladies man drops and Hermione can see the real Sirius, the one that's scared shitless to be confined to a prison like Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit.
"Well, you don't have to be rude," Hermione barks. Her eyes narrow and she hopes she's putting on her best angry face.
"I'm sorry," Sirius apologizes, though it sounds about as fake as a chocolate coin. "Did I offend your delicate sensibilities? Please forgive me, madam. I seem to have left my manners back in the free world." He accompanies the fake apology with a fake bow, low and overdone.
Hermione's briefly contemplates leaving him here to rot. Instead, she straightens her back and gestures behind her.
"Seeing as how there are a dozen Death Eaters out there plus a few hundred Dementors, you might pay me a little more respect as I'm the one with the wand and a way to get out of here."
She waits for his reply, and when none comes, she smiles and removes her wand from the holster in her sleeve. She'd put it away to show she was no threat, but seeing as how there is a very real threat just on the other side of the door, she doesn't think she can afford to have her wand away any longer.
As she goes over the different situations and possibilities of escape in her head, she realizes she's lied to Sirius. She has no means of escape. Sure, she has a wand. But so do the Death Eaters. She cannot Apparate until away from the prison. She doesn't have the ferry waiting on her (and besides, wouldn't Mister Pritchard be a tiny bit suspicious when she comes out with more people than when she went in) at the dock. The alarm is about to go up any second, if it hasn't already. And there are a dozen Death Eaters, as she previously pointed out, between her and the only door out of here.
"Well?" Sirius asks from behind her. She spares a glance over her shoulder to see he's standing there, arms crossed, facial expression the epitome of mocking.
"Well what?"
"What's your plan to get us out of here then?" He explains. "Seeing as how you're the one with the wand and everything."
Pride and ego combined won't let her explain that, sorry, she has no plan. So she remains quiet and goes over everything she managed to shoved into the pockets of her coat the night before: the penknife, healing potions (in case he was worse off or something happened on the way out/in), Peruvian Darkness Powder from the Weasley twins, money for the ferryman, an extra wand should anything happen to hers, and shrunken foodstuffs and bottles of water in case she found a starved and thirsty Sirius instead of a sarcastic one. She had left her briefcase in the front room, hoping that no one will notice a plan black bag in the corner.
She almost reaches in to retrieve the wand and hand it over to Sirius, but she doesn't know this Sirius. She doesn't know whether or not he'll stab her in the back with it simply to escape on her own. She has no idea what's going on in his head; he doesn't know her after all. She's simply pushed herself into his life and left no room for questioning it.
"You don't have a plan, do you?" Sirius asks, voice suddenly cracking with what Hermione can only call fear. Fear and anxiety and a hell of a lot of sarcasm. The inmate throws up his hands. A gesture of...Hermione doesn't know. "That's brilliant, you know. I'm so glad this rescue is happening without a plan."
"Hush!" Hermione's liquid brown eyes, now on fire, darted to Sirius' face and back to the door. "I'm trying to concentrate so we can get out of here, plan or no. So don't be a git and shut your mouth."
Surprisingly, he does.
Hermione goes over the supplies again in her head. She takes them apart with her mind, going over everything once, twice, three times a plan. Honestly, the last thing she wants to do is go head to head with Death Eaters -again- but it looks like they don't have a choice. After all, they are standing in between Hermione, her mission, and her one last way out.
Unless...
Hermione jams her hand into her coat pocket and frantically jerks a small purple pouch from within. Inside is a black, finely ground dust that will help them escape. Another gift from the future, something to help her along her way. Hermione had stuffed it in with her things at the last moment, thinking you can't have too much Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder on your hands, especially when you're trying to commit what some might call a "terrorist action". Now, she's glad she had because it's going to come in very handy in the next few seconds.
She whirls about to find Sirius sitting back on his cot, arm over eyes, pretending to all the world like he's sound asleep. She knows better, and gives him a swift kick in the shin.
"Ow!" Sirius exclaims. He immediately springs up, keeping a long-fingered hand on his shin, massaging the reddened area. He glares daggers at her, but she doesn't care. "You harpy! What is wrong with you?"
"I've got it. We're getting out of here."
"Well, you could have just said that! Instead, you stabbed me with your pointed shoe, and I've probably got internal bleeding to top it all off," Sirius complains, sending a well-timed glare her way.
"Don't be such a baby," Hermione scolds. "It's only going to bruise. Now, pay attention. I'm going to get us out of here."
It's an instantaneous sight; Sirius transforms from the whining, squealing little mama's boy into the Auror-trained, offensive wizard who was bloody good in a duel once upon a time. Even his posture straightens. He drops his hand from his leg, and readies himself for the task ahead. Hermione likes the change; he's obviously alert now, eyes darting everywhere, taking every bit of information in.
His fingers curl around an invisible wand.
"I'm ready."
+ + + +
The Junior Crouch finds the doors in no time. He's not stupid; he can count. It's simply a matter of determining where the numbers go, up or down, and in which direction. These are the cells belonging to the Lestranges.
If Lord Voldemort is the devil, then the Lestranges are his demons. They are the things that haunt the edges of your vision, the reason you don't go out at night. Period. They kill for fun, and maim for pleasure. Bellatrix is the worst. In Barty's opinion, she's seriously unhinged. She's more than happy to use magic in public, to kill in front of witnesses, laughing as she escapes. Her husband, Rodolphus, is the more subtle of the two. He's the snake in the grass while his wife is the charging rhinoceros. Both are equally dangerous and deadly, and both will strike you down without a second glance.
They'll even enjoy it.
Logically, Barty should leave them here. He should let them rot in this dank, dark place forever, and never speak of them again. Then, it would be that much easier for him to rise in rank amongst the Death Eaters. While the Dark Lord himself might be out of commission, that does not mean that his followers give up his directives. The ideas aren't dead. Just the messenger. In the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, the Lestranges have always been at the top of the tier, alongside Lucius Malfoy. Barty Crouch wants what they have. He wants the notoriety, he wants the fear. He wants people to talk of him with fear in their voices. He wants to be more than he is, and the Lestranges are standing in the way of his goal.
However, he can't just leave them here to rot. As much as he wants to.
The Auror whose wife is currently a houseguest of the Malfoys managed to give them a copy of a master key to the cells. He's been put in charge of the key like a young child, delegated this simple, can't-screw-it-up responsibility. He clenches the key in his palm, letting the knobs of the key's handle jab into his skin.
"Crouch! What's taking so long?"
Barty ignores it, and instead slips the key into the lock, feeing the tumblers jerk and topple. He turns the key, and unlocks the first door. Door 148. Without further adieu, he throws it open to reveal a spitting mad Bellatrix Lestrange.
Black curled tangles hang around her pallid face. In the few weeks she's been captured and held, she's lost weight. Always particularly thin, she's now downright skinny. The baggy uniform given to her hangs so loose that Barty can barely see her body's outline in the fabric. Her face has hate written all over it, rage etched into the new wrinkles around her scowling mouth.
"Took you long enough!" She cackles, and pushes past him. Crouch groans as his shoulder hits a jutting point in the rock. She dances past him, weaving in and out. She doesn't walk straight; she bobs along like a viper, about to strike. She twirls a strand of hair on her finger, leers at her fellow Death Eaters come to rescue her, and retrieves her wand from Lucius Malfoy's outstretched hand. Barty watches the show of camaraderie as they pat Bellatrix on the back and welcome her back into the fold, all the time thinking what a bunch of hypocrites they are. They hate her, fear her, just as much as him, yet welcome her back with open arms. He scoffs at the reactions, and continues on to door 148 to release Rodolphus.
The Mister Lestrange is more subtle than his wife. He merely exits the cell, a king leaving his chambers, with his posture straight and shoulders back. He's proud, and he wears that pride like a mantle. He's got dark hair that's grown longer since being here. It curls at the nape of his neck and over his ears. and his ice blue eyes glint and flash, the only expression in his entire demeanor. He follows his wife, but refrains from clapping hands and smiling like a bandit. He seems as if he just wants to leave.
Who wouldn't?
Yaxley and Rosier are further down the other way in cells numbered 125 and 134, so Barty tucks the key into his pocket and heads over to find the remaining cells when the lights go out and the world goes dark.
"What?"
"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Bellatrix roars, ever the loudest of the bunch.
Barty tries to see his way through the sudden darkness, but it's thick. It's not smoke, and it's not a spell because every single one of them is trying to repel or reverse it. It's as if someone turned out the sun. It's so dark that Barty can't even see the hand in front of his face. To his right, a door slams open. He doesn't know who it is or what is happening, seeing as he has the only key and he hasn't left any doors open. He cocks his head, thinking he hears something when someone knocks him on his ass.
Hard.
"Accio broom!" A cry comes out of the dark, to the left he thinks. Barty tries reaching out, grabbing hold of something, but comes up empty.
Spells start firing in either direction. Red Stunners and purple hexes go back and forth mingling with the bright green of a few Unforgivables. The sudden bright lights flare up and illuminates part of the corridor, so quick that Barty only catches a glimpse of the other occupants.
FLASH! There's a girl, dodging spells and leaping over the bodies of the fallen Aurors.
FLASH! She's grasping someone's hand, a man, as they each hold onto the broom and dart towards the hole.
FLASH! Barty narrows his eyes and shouts when he realizes that the woman is leading Sirius Black by the hand, the one thing the Death Eaters needed to pass off the blame for the breakout.
FLASH! Sirius takes the first place on the broom, the woman swings her leg over the broom, and they take off through the gap into the air.
"There! They're getting away!" Apparently, one of the others saw them as well, and the spells start flying out into the open, light-filled air. The darkness is slowly fading, and the Death Eaters are crowding around the gap. Barty rushes towards them, trying to see over their heads. Black and the woman nobody knows are straddling the same broom and coasting above the waves. The spells the other Death Eaters are shooting glance off the broom or fall uselessly into the water.
"Move, you idiots!" Lucius shoves some aside, throws his arm out, and casts some random hex. It hits the woman in the back, and Barty can see the spray of blood from here. She slumps into the man in front of her, grasps him for balance, and they both end up tumbling into the water. The broom cascades off into the distance ahead of them.
"What are you all just standing there for?" Lucius hisses into the cold sea air. "We came here for a reason!" Lucius jerks his head at Barty, motioning for him to continue releasing their comrades. Barty nods and turns to head back into the prison, but can't resist a view behind him at the water.
No one has resurfaced.
Barty shrugs. They're probably dead. People will just assume Sirius Black died in the escape, and whoever that woman was, it doesn't matter now.
She's not coming up for air anytime soon.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author: redtapestry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Sirius Black
Spoilers: All books/films
Warnings: Violence, gore, schmoop!, romance, gratuitous descriptions
Summary: History must be rewritten if the Order is going to win this war.
PART FOUR
Hermione paces the floor in her hotel room for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out what exactly someone does the night before breaking into a prison. A heavily guarded magical prison at that. She should be feeling stress and lots of it. Perhaps she should be shaking or babbling or feeling some kind of anxiety the night before she plans to launch a full-fledged attack on the Ministry of Magic, not to mention their incredibly deadly prison guards (trained Aurors), the Dementors. She should be feeling something other than what she is feeling, which is calm.
Hermione is really calm right now. Really damn calm, and she doesn't know why. She's not wringing her hands. She's not throwing up, nor is her stomach doing any kind of flip flop or whirly whirl. She's perfectly content to pace back and forth, simply enjoying the routine motion.
Maybe it's the fact that she's in the Past and doesn't technically exist yet (her mother and father probably haven't even met) so neither do her hang-ups.
The plan is quite simple. Even Magical defendants get rights to a lawyer, so that's what she'll be. She's studied Magical Law for some time, the language and black and white of the rulings attracting her, so she should fit the part nicely. Then, it's just a matter of getting in to see one of the lesser criminals. She highly doubts Sirius Black is allowed visits from a solicitor; he didn't even get a trial before they shoved him in his cage. When she's alone with her supposed client, she'll knock him out, jimmy the lock, knock out some wizards/repel some Dementors, and grab Sirius before anyone is the wiser.
Why isn't she panicking about this plan?
The next day, the sky is gray and dark and the ferry to Azkaban is empty. Rain pelts the single solicitor sitting in the center of the upper deck. She doesn't seem to mind the drops splattering over her, nor is she concerned about becoming wet. Hermione's hair is tied back in a fierce bun at the nape of her neck. Tendrils of loose curls flutter around her face, but she insists on shoving them behind her ears. She's dressed in a plain black suit with white blouse and black flats. She wears normal black robes over the ensemble, covered with a coat with heavy pockets, and carries her solicitor-style briefcase on her lap.
The captain of the ferry, a gruff wizard by the name of Ewan Pritchard (a plain wizard if there ever was one, with a bushy beard and leather rain-repellant robes) hops on the top deck and makes his way over to her. She's already ascertained by their long conversation from the shore to the island up ahead that he lost his foot in a ferry accident, and he's got a magical prosthetic that twinges something awful in the wet.
She nearly smirks at the entire situation; a magical pirate if she ever saw one. He even has a peg leg.
"All that's missing is the parrot," she murmurs to herself as she watches him walk closer.
"What'cha say, miss?" Pritchard growls from beneath his substantial moustache. When he first greeted her at the dock, she thought he was trying to intimidate her. Some men tend to put on a ridiculous dominating show, wanting to send the clear message to the woman that they're in charge. She learned later that it's simply his voice and no trick.
"Nothing, Mister Pritchard. Just reviewing my client's case." She rises from her seat and gazes out into the heavy, thick fog settling over everything. It's almost thick enough to touch, but when she passes her hand through it, all she feels is cold. It clings to the surface of the ship. She can barely make out the railing of the upper deck, much less the murky water over the side or anything in the distance. Were they even close yet? How much further? Hermione voices her worries to Pritchard when he comes to stand at her side.
"We're very nearly there now, miss," Pritchard lets her know. He checks the magical compass on his wrist; it doesn't point north, but instead, the dial points straight forward, due west. Hermione has seen that type of instrument plenty of times. It must be enchanted to find Azkaban seeing as no one can really see where they are going. "Just a few more...Ah, there we go."
Out of nowhere, a dock juts into view. The dark brown of the wet wood is almost the same color as the water, so Hermione practically misses it as the ferry begins to slow. She glances up towards the helm where the wheel steering the boat stands, and she's almost surprised to see the ship steering itself. You'd think someone as used and well versed to magic as Hermione would stop being surprised by these kinds of things. As she watches, Pritchard whips out his wand from his inner sleeve and motions a wandless spell to tie off the ferry on the dock.
It's a soft landing; surprising considering the vessel Hermione currently occupies has probably seen its share of the plague. Hermione grabs her briefcase as Pritchard lowers the ramp from the ferry to the dock. He rests near the opening, as if waiting for the mass crowds to depart. He's the door man to the island of Azkaban. All he needs is a spiffy uniform with gold buttons.
Seeing as she's the only passenger on this Merlin-forsaken boat, Hermione takes her time gathering her things and leaving the boat. When she does, she gives only a small salute to the man who has accompanied her for the past seven hours. He returns her gesture with a tiny nod, and limps back onto the ship towards the magical wheel without another word.
Azkaban looms before her atop a giant hill; tall, dark, and scary as Hell. Like any stereotypical haunted location, it's shrouded in mist. The combination of the dangerously cloudy sky, harsh black building, and hiss of wind against the wet rocks of the cliffs at the eastern half of the island sent prickles of gooseflesh all over her arms and legs. She climbs up the stony path, shoes occasionally slipping on the slimy rock. Hermione really hopes she doesn't fall to her death; that would be really anticlimactic.
Hermione doesn't know what she expected before, but instead of the huge draw bridge and wrought-iron door with Dementors standing guard, there is simply a plain wooden door with a silver handle. Hermione is more than well versed in magical law procedure, so she knows there are plenty of enchantments and magical protections laid into each grain of the wood. Obviously, if someone were to try and break out (or, in her case, in), they would be immediately stopped. That could present a problem later.
The interior is even worse. Cold stone surrounds her as she steps through the door and into the inner dwelling. Compared to the outside, the temperature had dropped about a million degrees in here, as if the stone leeched the warmth from the very air. Hermione wraps her arms around her body she starts to shiver. She can feel her wand tucked into her sleeve, but she doesn't give any indication that she feels anything when the Auror responsible for all incoming prisoners and visitors approaches her.
He's the only one in the room.
That's it? Just one Auror? She had expected six or seven at the entrance, maybe wearing blades along with their wands. It's an incredible surprise when she enters the first chamber. In a moment, she decides to throw out her old plan (the whole "knock out a lesser prisoner, yadda yadda yadda") and just..."go with it". After all, it's only one Auror.
He looks like a pleasant fellow. With mild brown eyes and dark hair, pale skin to be expected from living in this sun starved place, he seems nice enough. Nothing really stands out about this particular Auror, and Hermione is glad because that means when she knocks him unconscious, he's not going to weigh on her mind at all.
"Do you have an appointment?" Even his voice is soft.
"Yes, with my client," Hermione replies with a cock of the head.
"And who might that be?" He asks her, reaching for the clip board containing no doubt the appointments of the day. It's not very full, and there are only two names on the list that Hermione can see from her vantage point.
"Sirius Black." She straightens her back, fingering the end of her wand with her index finger. She can draw it from her sleeve sheath in a matter of seconds, but is that going to be enough? Or should she just go with it, hope that this Auror is the dunce of the Academy to be placed way out here, in the middle of nowhere on a no-doubt shit duty.
He sends her this strange look, like You can't be serious, but she doesn't say anything else, so like any good doorman, he checks the list. And double checks it, just in case. The Auror's brow furrows as if he's trying to solve some heinous math problem, and he flicks through the papers on the clipboard before replacing it at his side.
"There must be some mistake, ma'am," the Auror, always the military-type of man (polite to a fault), says. "The prisoner is not accepting any visitors, and there is no solicitor on record."
Yes, Hermione knows that. She remembers reading about this time period in History of Magic class. When she first heard about Sirius Black as a measly third year, she immediately rushed to the school library and ensconced herself in the card catalogue. Over the course of a week, she learned all she could about the then-mass murderer and the trials (or lack thereof) and the Death Eater hunts after You-Know-Who's Fall. She learned about Bartemius Crouch and the Aurors' involvement and Sirius Black's crimes in the street where thirteen Muggles, plus Peter Pettigrew, died.
Yet it's completely different now.
It's different because she's in the thick of it now. She's up to her neck in what she previously thought as history; it's no longer history. It's her present. It's the here and now, and that makes everything different.
Hermione moves to stand next to the Auror. She motions to the clipboard. "Check again, because there must be some mistake."
"Ma'am, I don't know where else this information could be. There is no solicitor..." And that's all he spoke when Hermione whispered a Stunner spell at his back. It hits the Auror in the kidney, and in a second, he's down for the count. Hermione doesn't bother to move the limp body. She simply steps over his chest, finds Sirius' name on the clipboard, and continues on through a far door she presumes leads to the prisoner cells.
+ + + +
Bartemius Crouch Junior has never enjoyed flying. It's time consuming when one can simply Apparate, and it's incredibly cold with the wind whipping past, harsh as razor blades. Plus, and he would never admit this even under penalty of Avada Kedavra, but it musses with his hair, and that he cannot abide. Sue him; he's a vain Death Eater.
However, the wizard prison Azkaban is heavily guarded by both magic and magical creature. As well as being patrolled by Dementors, it's impossible to Apparate to or from the grounds. Makes sense, doesn't it? Suppose an inmate escaped the cell and managed to make it outside the walls before the Dementors caught up with them? They would have no choice but to start swimming and the nearest land is at least ten kilometers away in either direction. They'd be shark bait in a second.
That's where brooms come in. For experienced fliers like Lucius Malfoy heading the pack, and poor little Igor Karkaroff bringing up the rear, it's a walk in the park. For those like Barty Junior over here, and of course no one would mention how helpless they feel in the air like this, it's simply a struggle to remain on his broom at all. Of course, though, he keeps up and remains with the pack of fliers. He isn't about to fall behind and embarrass himself. The Death Eater does know this is the fastest and most covert way of getting to the island. They just have to fly in the fog, and no one can see them until the Death Eaters are right on top of them.
The fogs are getting denser and denser with each kilometer they cover over the ocean, and that can only mean one thing: they are drawing close to Azkaban. The magically conjured fog is a sure sign; Dementors are close, and where there are Dementors...
Barty's pulse quickens. They're almost there.
It's not that he's particularly excited or thrilled about rescuing their wayward comrades from the Dementors' icy grips. He can't care less about the Lestranges and the rest of their maniacal friends caged and gagged. In fact, Barty has quite enjoyed the quiet in the past few weeks without them at the weekly Death Eater meetings or the late, sinister dinners at the Malfoys' manor. The one thing he's excited, nervous, anxious, cannot wait for is the recognition. This is his plan. This is how he played it out in his head, and if it works, he's going to be honored. He'll have rescued the Lestranges, Yaxley, and Rosier.
It's all him. And that feels amazing.
Of course, in a crowd like this, his personal feelings don't matter in the least. It's follow or be killed, and for Barty, that's the easiest decision in the world to make. So, he's on a broom, potentially heading to his death or eventual arrest, but it beats being slung into his already-dug grave.
"Keep your eyes open," Lucius calls from the front. Barty adjusts his grip on the broom handle and leans forward, doing just that.
The fog is quickly thickening. Barty knows that if he dares to stretch his hand out to the side, he'd be swiping his fingers through soft cotton and cream. That could only mean one thing: Azkaban is close. More than close.
Azkaban is a huge, looming figure in the near distance. Barty has never seen it, not even pictures, but he can still imagine this fabled place of nightmares. Azkaban is wizard Hell; something to taunt kids on the playground while swinging stick "wands" back and forth, pretending to cast charms. It's dark and immense and, something Barty will never admit to in a million years, still incredibly intimidating.
The Death Eaters are still within the brunt of the fog, and they come to a halt in the air. Lucius tugs his skull mask down, motioning for the others to do so a well. It is time.
Barty's mind goes over the plan they all agreed upon the previous week:
The East Wall of the prison is weak. Their contact inside, one of the Aurors who has a very sweet and loving attachment to his wife currently residing in the basement of Lucius Malfoy's family manor, maintains that the Ministry has arranged contractors to repair the wall's foundation...next week. If there ever was a time to attack, it is now.
A few well-placed Blasting Hexes should do the trick.
+ + + +
Hermione has very little time before the changing of the guard and someone realizes there's an Auror down. Then the alarm will go up, and everything will go downhill. Fast.
There are no blueprints on file for this prison. It's almost as if even the Ministry itself has no idea what lies within its four walls. Yes, it further heightens the fear and mystery surrounding the prison, but it makes it incredibly difficult to navigate the surely thousands of tunnels and hallways that lead to the cells. The night before, she'd gone over the plans a million times, and for some reason, this lack of knowledge of the prison's structure has never bothered her. It still doesn't. However, it does make time a little tight when she knows there are going to be guard changes and Dementors and scary things lurking around corners, not to mention the depressed prison inmates who have all basically had bits of their souls sucked out every minute of every day for Merlin knows how long screaming and crying and carrying on when she's trying to concentrate. Don't they know she's trying to accomplish something illegal here and needs to concentrate?
Hermione makes a left, another left, and then a right. The light grows a little dimmer with each step she takes, the torches lit fewer and farther between. She doesn't know what that means, but she has an idea.
To keep herself on the right track, Hermione slides her hand alongside the stone wall. It's grimy and moist from the rainfall and constant humidity, and she has to stop herself from constantly wiping her palm on her robes. Her wand is out, ready to do battle with whatever crosses her path.
So far though, nothing. It's as quiet as the grave, which isn't very comforting. Hermione thought there would be more noise. Whenever she watched Muggle films the summers she was home from school, prison inmates chucked themselves against the bars and threw garbage and swore and shouted. Anything to be heard. To unsettle those walking the halls. Yes, Hermione realizes Hollywood and the movies aren't real life, but they have got to have some reality in them, right? However, Azkaban's inmates are silent. Completely silent.
All around her are doors. Doors of all shapes and sizes and colors, though the colors range from black to gray and perhaps a smattering of brown here and there. There are no bars on the doors; they are simply regular doors you might expect to see on the front of a house or to a bedroom. The brass knobs are nearly as black as the doors themselves, but they are coated with slime and grit and whatever else they've managed to accumulate.
Sirius' cell number is 144. She's headed in the right direction when she sees the ascending numbers, starting with 127. As she quickens her step, she can't help but feel excited. Excited that this is all finally happening. Excited that she's actually going to change things. Excited because all these months of planning, the trouble of getting the Time Turner, and her own training has finally paid off. She's about to release Sirius Black and stop everything that's happened from happening all over.
140...141...142...
She's almost there...
"HEY YOU!"
Hermione stills. She briefly wonders if she's able to fit into the decor of the wall, but alas, no luck.
Eight Aurors, clad in the telltale red robes of their station, fall out of the shadows, wands drawn and faces grim. Hermione doesn't recognize any of them, and she doesn't know what that means. If there happened to be someone from the Order here, she might risk problems and elements of danger down the line from the Order in this world, not to mention the Order in the future. Even if that Auror did happen to join the Order, which might not even happen due to her meddling in the past...
"State your name, title, and reason for trespass, or be subject to capture and Kiss," a tall Auror instructs, voice icy and serious. He appears to be the leader of this small band, so Hermione addresses him directly. She does, however, keep an eye on the rest of them and their wands.
"I'm Hermione Granger, solicitor from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!" She raises her hands, a show of submission, and adds a little squeak of surprise to her voice. This will hopefully convince them she's innocent and supposed to be here. Then, maybe, she can be on her way.
"We didn't receive word of any MLE lackey--"
"Tut tut, solicitor," Hermione interjects.
"Fine, solicitor, and we sure as hell don't tolerate surprises or changes to the agenda." Tall Man gestures to a clip board, similar to the one the Entrance Auror used, and pulls aside some sheets of paper to investigate.
"Who are you here to see? This is the Maximum Security Ward; no one here has any contact with non-prison personnel." This time, a small, short woman with dull brown hair and sallow skin speaks up. Hermione ignores her.
"I'm here to see--"
KABOOM!
The prison walls shake and she's nearly thrown to the ground with the sheer force of the explosion. The Aurors are all shocked, scrambling to recover. Two of them don't get up; one woman is bent against the wall, her body contorted and a head wound bleeding profusely at the base of her scalp The other is face down. Hermione doesn't know if they're alive or not. A second wave of explosions hit, hard and fast. Debris cascades down from the ceiling, crumbling rock being knocked loose. Hermione's lucky; as she's watching, three chunks of rock take out three Aurors. Down for the count. Hermione balances herself, hand struck against the harsh rock. The air used to be heavy and moldy and wet, but now, it's suddenly filled with dust and debris and Hermione can barely see the white, etched numbers on each door. A huge gust of wind crashes into her and nearly throws her down. She stumbles, but catches her hands on a slippery door knob and manages to stay upright.
There's three Aurors left standing. Easier than the eight before, and Hermione feels good about her chances. That is until she gets a good look at the damage.
Where a mostly solid wall used to be, there is now a huge, blown-to-hell hole leading out. It's about a million degrees colder than it was. Hermione shivers inside her coat, but keeps her eyes on the hole. She doesn't know what's going on, but it can't be something good.
"What's going on?" Tall Man barks and the other two Aurors don't reply at all. "Can someone please tell me what the BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE HAPPENS?!"
She jumps to her feet. Hermione rushes a little further down the hallway, her shoes slapping the hard rock.
"STOP!" Tall Man shouts at her. She doesn't.
She's no longer worried about sound and remaining invisible, or even about the Aurors behind her. Something is going down, and the last thing she wants is to be caught in the middle of it all. They'd be pretty stupid to follow her.
Hermione comes to a stop right next to Sirius' cell door, door 144, with a great sigh of relief. She's found it. She's found him.
But she's no longer the only person in the corridor. Without warning, wizards on brooms begin crowding through the gaping fissure in the stone. They're clad in midnight-black robes, robes she recognizes, with high hoods and gleaming white face masks meant to frighten and terrify. They flood in, must be fifteen to twenty of them, like invaders, a cancer to infect the space around her. Hermione flattens herself against the door. It's still dark in here, despite the sudden burst of gray dusk from outside, and she's hoping they continue on their way...in the opposite direction.
"What the Hell?" The Tall Auror exclaims. "DEATH EATERS!"
Suddenly, light from a million spells are firing in either direction. A couple even flare past Hermione.
There's too many Death Eaters and not enough Aurors. The ones that hadn't been hurt in the explosion, the ones that hadn't been too close to the opening of the hole to survive, are incredibly outnumbered. They do fight valiantly, Hermione watches this happen from the shadows, but they are outmatched and outgunned. When the signature green of the Avada Kedavra lights the hall, splashing the stone and Hermione's face for a brief instant in malevolent color, she has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from giving herself away with her sob. As the three bodies of the Aurors drop to the ground, Hermione can't help but mourn them for a moment. They had gotten up that morning to go to work, expecting just another day. They didn't expect to be murdered in cold blood for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This is why Hermione uses Stunners. She doesn't kill or maim. She merely borrows their time, and returns them in as good condition as they were in before.
A Death Eater steps forward, and kicks the bodies out of the way.
"Well, that was incredibly easy. I'm almost embarrassed for the Ministry," a smooth voice mocks from the head of the pack. Hermione's eyes clamp shut for a moment, and she tries to swallow but can't. Her mouth is too dry. She'd recognize that velvet voice anywhere. Lucius Malfoy, young and still very much the evil bastard she knows years later.
The rest of the Death Eaters chuckle to themselves, so confident in the fact that they're alone with the prisoners. They don't even feel the need to sneak around. Although, they don't really need to sneak considering everyone from Azkaban to Taiwan knows they're here.
The last thing Hermione wants to do is attract attention to herself. Behind her, she feels the door knob to Sirius' cell digging into her back. It's harsh and real, and while she's still spinning over the knowledge that yes, she's actually here, the fear of being discovered by wand-wielding maniacs with a penchant for torture is growing by the moment.
"He said the cells should be here," another voice speaks up, serious and hard.
"Did he manage to give you numbers?" Lucius growls, obviously irritated.
Hermione gets it. It's a light bulb moment, and a hilarious one at that. She has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Of all the ironic things to happen today, the thought of Death Eaters breaking into a prison on the same day she's doing the same is just too much! She would laugh if she could, if she wasn't petrified of them getting their hands on her. Maybe later, she'll allow herself a little giggle. Now, though, she has to get into this cell before they realize she's standing there, watching them.
"I'm not an idiot," the second man speaking responds, his voice biting.
"That remains to be seen," comes Lucius' dry reply. "The numbers, Karkaroff."
Hermione doesn't react, simply makes note of the name (though it is one she recognizes from her fourth year), and keeps trying the lock.
The man she assumes to be Karkaroff says something she can't quite hear.
"Fan out. You two, guard the entrance. Crouch, find the cells. Get them open. Get our people out..."
Breath catches in Hermione's chest. They're here to break someone out. No doubt a fellow Death Eater on the wrong side of the Auror's wand. She's got to hurry if she's going to get Sirius out underneath their noses.
Trying not to rustle her coat, Hermione reaches into one of the inner pockets. This is where her previous planning pays off: knowing she'd come in contact with some touchy locks she doubted any normal charm would affect, she'd packed Harry's penknife. It had suffered some damage when he and the rest of the DA broke into the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year, but they managed to salvage it. Now, it's going to come in handy.
Hermione whips it out of her pocket, unfolds it, and slides it into the fairly rusty lock on the door. She knows, while it's rusted out and flaking around the edges of the keyhole, it's just as strong as the day the craftsmen laid spells on it. She turns the knife, hears the tumblers rock through the motions of unlocking, and turns the knob as quickly as possible. It gives a tiny squeak, probably from misuse, but the Death Eaters are busy stomping around, and don't appear to hear it. Hermione lets out the gasp she didn't realize she was holding, and slips inside, shutting the door as quietly and quickly behind her as possible.
+ + + +
She makes sure the door is locked as it was before she opened it. If any Death Eater were to try it, they'd find it just as locked as the rest. Satisfied they're not going to be disturbed anytime soon, Hermione turns to face the man she's been sent here to collect.
Hermione has only known the older Sirius, a worn, war ravaged man with a shattered spirit. He was still a good man, but pieces of him were missing. This man before her, sitting on the gnarled mattress like a king on a throne, is not the same man from the future. She guesses thirteen years sitting here, thinking of nothing but the treachery that put him there. This man before her looks nothing like his future self. Instead of the salt-and-pepper hair, strands of white amongst the black, he has a full head of dark, curling hair. His eyes are a piercing blue, still sharp and full of wit as he looks upon his new cellmate. He wears the tattered uniform of an Azkaban prisoner, worn by men and women before him, but it fails to hide his youthful physique. He's obviously still healthy, and that's good news for Hermione. It means he'll be able to run out of here.
The silence is uncomfortable. He's looking at her, she's looking at him. Neither knows what to do with the other. In all her planning, it probably would have paid off to plan out what to say to the man when she did break in. She can't after all simply grab his hand and whisk him away.
Of course, in true Sirius fashion, he solves her problem for her.
"Are you here for my conjugal visit?"
"Um...no." She doesn't quite know what to say to that.
"Oh, pity," Sirius practically laughs at her. "You're prettier than the last girl they sent me. I actually think she was a man. Big hands, you know." To demonstrate, he flexes his own fingers as he rises from the mattress on the floor.
"I'm glad," Hermione stutters out. She's never been very good with the witty comebacks; that's the main reason the girls and bullies at school thought her stuck up in her first year. It wasn't because she thought she was better than them. It was because, while they were teasing her, she was constantly trying to think up retorts for their insults. OF course, she would think of them hours later after the bullies had left and she was alone in her bed. Not very useful then.
"You're welcome, then," Sirius replies. He slaps on that classic Sirius smirk and starts coming towards her. Hermione nearly smiles back because it's a small relief realizing some things just don't change.
He stops moving when his eyes sweep over her and settle on the wand in her hand. Hermione can practically see all the possibilities rushing through his head. Is she here to kill him? Is she from the Ministry and they're marching him down for the Kiss? Is she taking him to London for more questioning? Or are they even going to bother with the legality of it all and simply kill him here and now? The Ministry has already forsaken criminal trials. An Unforgivable Curse is par for the course.
Trying to calm his fears, Hermione shoves her wand back up her sleeve and raises her hands.
"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you," she tells him. Hopefully, he finds that reassuring.
"Oh good. Because I was worried you'd kill me and take me from my grandiose surroundings," Sirius snaps, all the mirth and humor gone from his voice. For a moment, the facade of charming ladies man drops and Hermione can see the real Sirius, the one that's scared shitless to be confined to a prison like Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit.
"Well, you don't have to be rude," Hermione barks. Her eyes narrow and she hopes she's putting on her best angry face.
"I'm sorry," Sirius apologizes, though it sounds about as fake as a chocolate coin. "Did I offend your delicate sensibilities? Please forgive me, madam. I seem to have left my manners back in the free world." He accompanies the fake apology with a fake bow, low and overdone.
Hermione's briefly contemplates leaving him here to rot. Instead, she straightens her back and gestures behind her.
"Seeing as how there are a dozen Death Eaters out there plus a few hundred Dementors, you might pay me a little more respect as I'm the one with the wand and a way to get out of here."
She waits for his reply, and when none comes, she smiles and removes her wand from the holster in her sleeve. She'd put it away to show she was no threat, but seeing as how there is a very real threat just on the other side of the door, she doesn't think she can afford to have her wand away any longer.
As she goes over the different situations and possibilities of escape in her head, she realizes she's lied to Sirius. She has no means of escape. Sure, she has a wand. But so do the Death Eaters. She cannot Apparate until away from the prison. She doesn't have the ferry waiting on her (and besides, wouldn't Mister Pritchard be a tiny bit suspicious when she comes out with more people than when she went in) at the dock. The alarm is about to go up any second, if it hasn't already. And there are a dozen Death Eaters, as she previously pointed out, between her and the only door out of here.
"Well?" Sirius asks from behind her. She spares a glance over her shoulder to see he's standing there, arms crossed, facial expression the epitome of mocking.
"Well what?"
"What's your plan to get us out of here then?" He explains. "Seeing as how you're the one with the wand and everything."
Pride and ego combined won't let her explain that, sorry, she has no plan. So she remains quiet and goes over everything she managed to shoved into the pockets of her coat the night before: the penknife, healing potions (in case he was worse off or something happened on the way out/in), Peruvian Darkness Powder from the Weasley twins, money for the ferryman, an extra wand should anything happen to hers, and shrunken foodstuffs and bottles of water in case she found a starved and thirsty Sirius instead of a sarcastic one. She had left her briefcase in the front room, hoping that no one will notice a plan black bag in the corner.
She almost reaches in to retrieve the wand and hand it over to Sirius, but she doesn't know this Sirius. She doesn't know whether or not he'll stab her in the back with it simply to escape on her own. She has no idea what's going on in his head; he doesn't know her after all. She's simply pushed herself into his life and left no room for questioning it.
"You don't have a plan, do you?" Sirius asks, voice suddenly cracking with what Hermione can only call fear. Fear and anxiety and a hell of a lot of sarcasm. The inmate throws up his hands. A gesture of...Hermione doesn't know. "That's brilliant, you know. I'm so glad this rescue is happening without a plan."
"Hush!" Hermione's liquid brown eyes, now on fire, darted to Sirius' face and back to the door. "I'm trying to concentrate so we can get out of here, plan or no. So don't be a git and shut your mouth."
Surprisingly, he does.
Hermione goes over the supplies again in her head. She takes them apart with her mind, going over everything once, twice, three times a plan. Honestly, the last thing she wants to do is go head to head with Death Eaters -again- but it looks like they don't have a choice. After all, they are standing in between Hermione, her mission, and her one last way out.
Unless...
Hermione jams her hand into her coat pocket and frantically jerks a small purple pouch from within. Inside is a black, finely ground dust that will help them escape. Another gift from the future, something to help her along her way. Hermione had stuffed it in with her things at the last moment, thinking you can't have too much Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder on your hands, especially when you're trying to commit what some might call a "terrorist action". Now, she's glad she had because it's going to come in very handy in the next few seconds.
She whirls about to find Sirius sitting back on his cot, arm over eyes, pretending to all the world like he's sound asleep. She knows better, and gives him a swift kick in the shin.
"Ow!" Sirius exclaims. He immediately springs up, keeping a long-fingered hand on his shin, massaging the reddened area. He glares daggers at her, but she doesn't care. "You harpy! What is wrong with you?"
"I've got it. We're getting out of here."
"Well, you could have just said that! Instead, you stabbed me with your pointed shoe, and I've probably got internal bleeding to top it all off," Sirius complains, sending a well-timed glare her way.
"Don't be such a baby," Hermione scolds. "It's only going to bruise. Now, pay attention. I'm going to get us out of here."
It's an instantaneous sight; Sirius transforms from the whining, squealing little mama's boy into the Auror-trained, offensive wizard who was bloody good in a duel once upon a time. Even his posture straightens. He drops his hand from his leg, and readies himself for the task ahead. Hermione likes the change; he's obviously alert now, eyes darting everywhere, taking every bit of information in.
His fingers curl around an invisible wand.
"I'm ready."
+ + + +
The Junior Crouch finds the doors in no time. He's not stupid; he can count. It's simply a matter of determining where the numbers go, up or down, and in which direction. These are the cells belonging to the Lestranges.
If Lord Voldemort is the devil, then the Lestranges are his demons. They are the things that haunt the edges of your vision, the reason you don't go out at night. Period. They kill for fun, and maim for pleasure. Bellatrix is the worst. In Barty's opinion, she's seriously unhinged. She's more than happy to use magic in public, to kill in front of witnesses, laughing as she escapes. Her husband, Rodolphus, is the more subtle of the two. He's the snake in the grass while his wife is the charging rhinoceros. Both are equally dangerous and deadly, and both will strike you down without a second glance.
They'll even enjoy it.
Logically, Barty should leave them here. He should let them rot in this dank, dark place forever, and never speak of them again. Then, it would be that much easier for him to rise in rank amongst the Death Eaters. While the Dark Lord himself might be out of commission, that does not mean that his followers give up his directives. The ideas aren't dead. Just the messenger. In the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, the Lestranges have always been at the top of the tier, alongside Lucius Malfoy. Barty Crouch wants what they have. He wants the notoriety, he wants the fear. He wants people to talk of him with fear in their voices. He wants to be more than he is, and the Lestranges are standing in the way of his goal.
However, he can't just leave them here to rot. As much as he wants to.
The Auror whose wife is currently a houseguest of the Malfoys managed to give them a copy of a master key to the cells. He's been put in charge of the key like a young child, delegated this simple, can't-screw-it-up responsibility. He clenches the key in his palm, letting the knobs of the key's handle jab into his skin.
"Crouch! What's taking so long?"
Barty ignores it, and instead slips the key into the lock, feeing the tumblers jerk and topple. He turns the key, and unlocks the first door. Door 148. Without further adieu, he throws it open to reveal a spitting mad Bellatrix Lestrange.
Black curled tangles hang around her pallid face. In the few weeks she's been captured and held, she's lost weight. Always particularly thin, she's now downright skinny. The baggy uniform given to her hangs so loose that Barty can barely see her body's outline in the fabric. Her face has hate written all over it, rage etched into the new wrinkles around her scowling mouth.
"Took you long enough!" She cackles, and pushes past him. Crouch groans as his shoulder hits a jutting point in the rock. She dances past him, weaving in and out. She doesn't walk straight; she bobs along like a viper, about to strike. She twirls a strand of hair on her finger, leers at her fellow Death Eaters come to rescue her, and retrieves her wand from Lucius Malfoy's outstretched hand. Barty watches the show of camaraderie as they pat Bellatrix on the back and welcome her back into the fold, all the time thinking what a bunch of hypocrites they are. They hate her, fear her, just as much as him, yet welcome her back with open arms. He scoffs at the reactions, and continues on to door 148 to release Rodolphus.
The Mister Lestrange is more subtle than his wife. He merely exits the cell, a king leaving his chambers, with his posture straight and shoulders back. He's proud, and he wears that pride like a mantle. He's got dark hair that's grown longer since being here. It curls at the nape of his neck and over his ears. and his ice blue eyes glint and flash, the only expression in his entire demeanor. He follows his wife, but refrains from clapping hands and smiling like a bandit. He seems as if he just wants to leave.
Who wouldn't?
Yaxley and Rosier are further down the other way in cells numbered 125 and 134, so Barty tucks the key into his pocket and heads over to find the remaining cells when the lights go out and the world goes dark.
"What?"
"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Bellatrix roars, ever the loudest of the bunch.
Barty tries to see his way through the sudden darkness, but it's thick. It's not smoke, and it's not a spell because every single one of them is trying to repel or reverse it. It's as if someone turned out the sun. It's so dark that Barty can't even see the hand in front of his face. To his right, a door slams open. He doesn't know who it is or what is happening, seeing as he has the only key and he hasn't left any doors open. He cocks his head, thinking he hears something when someone knocks him on his ass.
Hard.
"Accio broom!" A cry comes out of the dark, to the left he thinks. Barty tries reaching out, grabbing hold of something, but comes up empty.
Spells start firing in either direction. Red Stunners and purple hexes go back and forth mingling with the bright green of a few Unforgivables. The sudden bright lights flare up and illuminates part of the corridor, so quick that Barty only catches a glimpse of the other occupants.
FLASH! There's a girl, dodging spells and leaping over the bodies of the fallen Aurors.
FLASH! She's grasping someone's hand, a man, as they each hold onto the broom and dart towards the hole.
FLASH! Barty narrows his eyes and shouts when he realizes that the woman is leading Sirius Black by the hand, the one thing the Death Eaters needed to pass off the blame for the breakout.
FLASH! Sirius takes the first place on the broom, the woman swings her leg over the broom, and they take off through the gap into the air.
"There! They're getting away!" Apparently, one of the others saw them as well, and the spells start flying out into the open, light-filled air. The darkness is slowly fading, and the Death Eaters are crowding around the gap. Barty rushes towards them, trying to see over their heads. Black and the woman nobody knows are straddling the same broom and coasting above the waves. The spells the other Death Eaters are shooting glance off the broom or fall uselessly into the water.
"Move, you idiots!" Lucius shoves some aside, throws his arm out, and casts some random hex. It hits the woman in the back, and Barty can see the spray of blood from here. She slumps into the man in front of her, grasps him for balance, and they both end up tumbling into the water. The broom cascades off into the distance ahead of them.
"What are you all just standing there for?" Lucius hisses into the cold sea air. "We came here for a reason!" Lucius jerks his head at Barty, motioning for him to continue releasing their comrades. Barty nods and turns to head back into the prison, but can't resist a view behind him at the water.
No one has resurfaced.
Barty shrugs. They're probably dead. People will just assume Sirius Black died in the escape, and whoever that woman was, it doesn't matter now.
She's not coming up for air anytime soon.
TO BE CONTINUED...