Azkaban

Prologue - Azkaban

A woman sits in the corner of her cell, head between her knees, curled into a fetal position. Shivering, her eyes seek out the piece of bread on the other side of the cell, her stomach begging for even the smallest crumb. A dementor floated on the other side of the bars, waiting patiently for her to take it.

It was inevitable, sooner or later she would crawl over, not being able to look at the food any longer. However, she would put it off as long as she could. 

During her time in Azkaban, dementors became her greatest fear. The dementor's kiss. It was dreadful, happening every week, sometimes even two or three times. They were brutal, only barely keeping her alive to let her regain her strength so they could feed again.

She couldn't remember exactly when she had been thrown into this hellhole, only knowing that she had lost count of the markings across her cell wall a long time ago; she no longer had the strength to stand up and tally the days. Even if she did, it was far too cloudy to get the dates right, unable to tell sunrise from sunset, if she could even view it.

The stench of a rotting corpse draws her attention away from the bread. Looking over into the cell beside her, she stares. Bones and flesh, practically gone by now, of the man she had tried to help. He had been thrown in here with her, practically starved to death already. She had given him her bread, right before she fell asleep on the cold ground. When she woke, he was gone. She could remember his body on the floor, the bread halfway eaten in his hand.

It was her fault, she realized soon after. She had lost control of her powers once again during the endless torture she was subjected to. And the worst part of it all? She remembered how she had to pry the bread out of his hand, as his cold, dead eyes stared at her. He stared at her as she ate the bread, as she cried on the floor over killing him. Until his eyes were nothing but hollow sockets.

The smell was there. She swore she could smell it. No matter how many days passed, how many weeks, or months, decades or centuries. She would be able to smell it.

She leans her head back in sorrow at the memory, not being able to produce any tears. Her stomach grumbles, even louder this time, and she moves her body, starting to crawl ever so slowly over to the dementor.

Her body shivers uncontrollably the closer she gets, her hands even colder than they usually are. Her arms give out and she falls to the floor, heavy chains making noise against the concrete floor. The breath is stolen from her lungs, the dementor hovering over her until only the faintest whisper of life is left, and then finally retreating. She never knew where they went; maybe to another cell to do the same thing, or outside into the relentless rain and wind, floating around like a depressing fog. 

Her chains, partially embedded into her wrists and ankles, feel heavier as she tries to move, hunger gnawing at her stomach. Finally reaching the small piece of stale bread, she brings it to her mouth, taking a few small bites, before there is none left.

A flash of light blinds her temporarily. A man's voice, familiar in the best possible way, starts to speak, "My little warrior. You've grown since the last time I saw you. Though not really, that face will always be the same." The woman on the ground doesn't respond, barely having the energy to look at him, let alone blink. "Right, we'll catch up later," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm not entirely clear on the specifics of how we're interacting, but you don't have to worry anymore. You're going to a safe place; they won't be able to get you. They'll protect you. Uh...blink if you understand."

The woman shuts her eyes, making the man frown, bending down beside her,  stroking her hair lovingly. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. Everything will become clear soon, you're smart...just like your mum. She misses you by the way. Everything will be fine, my princess. I promise everything will work out in the end. I promise, okay?"

Bending down, he kisses her temple, and a bright light flashes enveloping them both.

---

A wild storm raged outside 12 Grimmauld Place. Trees swayed at the force of the ferocious and howling winds, and rain slammed against the roof and windows so hard that some wondered whether the house would crumble. These nervous suppositions were only furthered when a rumble of thunder shook the whole house, lightning flashing brightly across the night sky, shrouded with dark cumulonimbus clouds.

Inside the house, a certain group of witches and wizards sat around the table in the kitchen; the Order of the Phoenix. The talk inside matched the stormy weather outside, not an ounce of happiness in the room. Only part of the involved Order was present: Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Nymphadora Tonks, although she preferred just Tonks. Just up the stairs, four redheads and a brunette stood, an extendable ear dangling over the railing, enabling them to hear whatever was going on inside the locked area.

"Harry needs to be here," a man grumbles. Sirius Black was the owner of 12 Grimmauld Place. He was also Harry Potter's godfather, and felt a great deal of love for him, wanting to keep him protected always.

"They're talking about him again."

One of the redheads, Fred, turns to the brunette girl, "Yeah, that's kind of the whole point, Hermione. You-know-who... Harry, they're kind of intertwined. Probably only me who noticed though, I am the smartest."

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, grumbling under her breath. The redhead's twin, George huffs, "Shut it, we're just tryna hear. And we can't do that with all your talking, can we?"

This time, it's Fred's turn to grumble, their attention turning back to the extendable ear. A new voice from inside is talking, "I'll take Nymphadora too...as long as you behave."

"It's Tonks, Alastor," a girl sneers; Nymphadora. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, it was her real name. "And I always behave." A snort of laughter occurs, and then a quick apology is made.

Inside the kitchen, Sirius almost smiles, thinking about the last time Tonks went on a mission, almost exposing them with her clumsiness and sarcastic remarks. A bright light flashes, followed by a thump. A shriek quickly follows as Molly's eyes adjust and meet the short body.

Everyone is silent, the body not moving. The teenagers leaning over the railing look at each other, confused. They rush downstairs, almost falling over each other, with George reaching the door first. He sticks his tongue out at Fred before opening the door, all of them piling in and standing still at the sight before them. A woman's body was on the table, or at least they assumed it was a woman. They couldn't tell, ragged clothes and chains obscuring any signs of supposed gender.

Coming out of his trance, Remus nudges the body a couple of times, getting no response. Severus takes out his wand, turning the body so that their back is on the table. Sirius takes his hand, moving thick black hair out their face, revealing a woman's face.

He takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her, barely being able to recognize the face. "Nobody touches her. Nobody touches her, even in the slightest," he says, his voice shaking slightly.

"Is that..." Remus starts, trailing off. Sirius nods, looking up at Snape and then over at Remus. A creaking noise makes Molly jump, her head whipping around to see the group of teenagers walking closer. 

Snape moves in front of the body, "All of you need to go to your rooms, immediately."

The group looks at each other, slightly shocked that Snape is speaking to them. "We want to know what's going on," Hermione states. "We deserve to know. We're not children; Fred and George are even of legal age."

Sirius walks to stand beside Severus, and to everyone's surprise, except Remus, sides with him. His eyes are stern, "He's right. All of you need to go back up to your rooms. Now."

Molly finally moves, rushing them out and closing the door. "What in the hell is going on," Tonk's breaths out, terribly confused just like everyone else in the room.

"Well," Sirius clears his throat after a few moments of silence. Everyone turns to look at him, "It's either one of the luckiest or worst days of our lives."

"And why's that," Alastor asks.

"Because, you're standing in front of one of the most powerful witches, no, the most powerful witch there ever was."