Chapter Text
All characters are the property of Ms Rowling. I am eternally grateful to her for creating them.
A/N With huge thanks to my beta, RaeWhit who illustrated just how much I didn’t know – and I still love her!
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Chapter One—Azkaban
The island of Azkaban was every bit as forbidding as Harry had imagined it would be. Sheer cliffs rose out of the turbulent iron-grey sea, seeming to scratch at the glowering clouds. No seabirds screeched around the rocky outcrop, the only sound the shuck and crash of the white-topped waves as they flung against the stone.
Harry cowered under his invisibility cloak as the island drew nearer. He was nonplussed as to where the small boat that he had sneaked aboard was going to land. There did not appear to be anywhere that the craft could approach where it would not be smashed to pieces. But the old, wizened fellow who manned the tiller obviously knew a way through. As he steered the little boat around the island, Harry then noticed a cleft in the rocks.
At the end of the small inlet stood an ancient wooden jetty. Seaweed hung like wet rags where the tide had receded, and bone-coloured barnacles crept like a plague over the rotting timbers. Harry noticed a path leading away from between a cluster of mean-looking shacks that ranged along the base of a steep incline of rocks.
Two men approached the boat as it drew level with the dock. The old sailor tossed out a rope, then one of the men made it fast to a bollard, drawing the vessel against the side. The old sailor jumped out.
He greeted the two me, and then gestured to his cargo. “More supplies. Store or up top?”
“Store,” one of the men replied. “We’ll sort 'em, Doric. Hammett wants you.”
“Aye, I know he does. Well, if you’re all right with the unloading, I’ll get off.” Doric stood for a moment, and then turned and set off up the path between the buildings.
Harry managed to scramble quietly from the boat, then hurried after the old sailor. He pulled the cloak more tightly about him, as much to fend off the creeping cold and the lazy wind that seemed to go straight through him, as to ensure he remained undetected.
The path led steeply up from the dock through a narrow defile. Harry stole along, conscious that the close confines of the trail would make it nearly impossible to get out of the way of anyone coming from the opposite direction. He heaved a sigh as the path eventually broadened, the black rocks dropping away on either side of him to reveal an expanse of withered, coarse grass, stretched between the edges of the surrounding cliff tops like a cavity in a tooth. The few trees in evidence were stunted and diseased, bent in angles away from the vicious wind. At last—there before him stood the prison itself. A monstrosity of sheer walls and soaring crenulated towers, the windows mere slits in the hard stone. In the miserable daylight, the place looked black and forbidding. A beaten track marched on from Harry's feet through the sparse vegetation, up to Azkaban.
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Harry had crept aboard the boat in the early hours of the morning, just as grey-haired dawn was stretching her misty fingers over the still sleeping land. He had made himself as small as possible under his invisibility cloak, altered his magical signature with a very useful but little known charm that Hermione had once discovered, and settled in to wait. The charm was necessary, as the wards set up around Azkaban recognised the intrusion of any witch or wizard into the area. The spell changed his signature to that of an animal, effectively cloaking him from the sensors. The cloak itself took care of his obvious physical presence.
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The ancient mariner had now reached the great doors to the prison. Iron-bound black wood, scarred and weathered, stretched up to a height of twenty feet. Cut into one of the huge portals was a small door, that now opened to reveal a stout wizard. His hair was black and hung lankly over his shoulder, while a straggly beard and moustache managed to obscure the disfigured face. Black beady eyes glared at the sailor with mistrust.
"Doric," the warder grunted in greeting.
"Aye, Marlden, now let me in out of this blasted cold."
The warder grudgingly backed through the door, leaving it open for the sailor to follow him. Harry had to take his chance that the door would stay open long enough after the old man had sidled through to give him time to creep in. He was lucky. Marlden slammed the heavy wooden door shut just seconds after the young wizard had slipped into the prison.
Harry found himself in a vast cavernous hall. From what he could see in the dim light that filtered through the narrow windows, there was a flight of stairs just opposite that led to the upper stories. A stone-flagged floor, grimy with years of dirt, stretched away into the gloom. Various doorways led off the hall, through one of which Harry could hear voices. It was towards this door that Marlden and Doric were now moving. Harry hesitated a moment before following them.
The prison was obviously huge, and it would take Harry too long to search every cell for his quarry. Somewhere there must be a list of prisoners and which cell they were confined in; he would just have to hope he could locate the document quickly, as he really had no wish to stay longer in this morbid place than was necessary. Even without the dementors, there was a doleful feel about the prison—the cold crept into one’s very bones and chilled the soul to the core. There was no hint of light or happiness anywhere, nothing to relieve the stone-grey monotony of the walls. Harry shuddered, then slipped through the doorway after the two men.
He found himself in a small antechamber. Through an archway he could see a larger room, in the centre of which was a long trestle table with benches arranged along the sides. A number of men were seated at the table eating, the hum of voices contrasting starkly with the sombre silence of the hall outside. A large fire crackled in a huge fireplace, and Harry moved gratefully towards its warmth, careful to keep to the edge of the room to avoid accidentally brushing against anyone. To one side of the hearth, a huge man was asleep in a rocking chair, his snores punctuating the conversation around him. The belt stretched tightly across his vast stomach boasted an impressive collection of keys. Harry slipped his hand down to feel the reassuring hardness of the lock-pick he had secreted in his pocket—he really did not want to have to add key-stealing to his already impressive “to do” list. Besides, there were wards in place to prevent the use of magic.
The man awoke with a start and a curse. The conversations paused for a moment as if the men wished to judge the mood of their fellow warder. Then the quiet hum of voices began again. The man scratched his stomach in a desultory fashion, then glanced around the room.
Catching sight of the sailor Doric, he called out, "Hah! Doric, darkening my doors again I see. Did you bring what I asked you for?"
Doric ceased his conversation with Marlden and approached the big man,
"Aye, Chief Warden Hammett, I have it here." He reached into his filthy, salt-stiffened tunic, brought forth a small package twined round with hairy string, which he then handed to the Warden. Hammett seized it gleefully, a large smile spreading across his red face, revealing a number of blackened and missing teeth.
"Ah, good, good." He fished in a waistcoat pocket, his stubby fingers barely able to reach into the small confines, and extracted a Galleon. He tossed it to Doric who caught it expertly, brought the coin to his mouth, then bit down to test the validity of the gold.
"Will you stop for a bite and a pint, Doric?" Hammett invited, struggling to extract his bulk from the chair and stand up.
"Nay, I'll be getting back, if it's all the same to you. There's a bit of weather on the way, if I'm not much mistaken."
"Ah well, as you like." Hammett stomped to a sideboard where a number of plates of food were arranged. He grabbed a chicken leg and began to gnaw on it. Doric disappeared back through the door to the hall, taking with him Harry's last chance of retreat.
A swell of voices approached, and a moment later a number of men entered the room calling for their breakfast. Harry realised he was witnessing a shift change and tried to squash himself even further against the wall as the men jostled to replace those seated at the table. Hammett spat the chicken bones into the fireplace and bellowed.
“All right, all right. Who the hell is guarding if you lot are all here?” The hubbub ceased, the men turning expectantly to their chief.
“Get yerselves sorted. Day shift, you should be gone. Night shift, anything to report?”
A tall, well-built man pushed through the now departing day shift and came up to Hammett.
“Hammett,” the man nodded in greeting. “No, all’s quiet. Although bloody Malfoy’s been complaining again.”
Harry pricked up his ears.
“Really?” Hammett questioned in an ugly voice. “I’d give him something to really complain about if I had my way.” He slammed one of his beefy fists into an open palm. “Smarmy bastard. So much for his ‘pureblood’. He’s down in the filth with the rest of ‘em now, rot his hide.”
The other man laughed, but laid a cautionary hand on Hammett’s arm. “That may be so, but don’t forget who his master is. I wouldn’t want to be answering to him if he should come calling and find his old mate in less than perfect condition.”
Hammett frowned. “Think that’s likely, do you?”
“Well, now that Dumbledore is dead, we only have the boy between us and the Dark Lord. Can’t see a young lad being much use against the power of that one.”
“But Potter defeated him before.”
“Maybe, but that was then, this is now. All I’m saying,” he went on in a lowered voice, “is that it might not be such a bad idea to keep our options, er, open, shall we say.”
Hammett regarded the other man stonily. “I see what you’re saying, Emaris, and I think you’d best keep your ideas to yourself.”
Hammett went up several degrees in Harry’s estimation.
Emaris shrugged. “I was only saying….”
“Well don’t.” Hammett snapped. “Do you have the reports?”
Emaris dragged a sheaf of papers from his tunic and held them out to Hammett. The big man grabbed them and turned away from Emaris in a gesture of dismissal. The other man glared at Hammett’s back for a moment, then went and helped himself to breakfast.
Hammett walked across the room and disappeared through another doorway. Harry followed him, taking care to move as quietly as he could, although he felt the chance of being heard above the riot of noise was slim. The doorway led to a long dismal corridor. Several doors led off to each side, and Harry concluded they must be the guards’ quarters. Hammett passed along the corridor to the end and then made his way into a further room. Harry hurried to keep up with him, sure that the man was leading him to where he might find a list of prisoners and their cell numbers.
He was right. Hammett entered a small office and plumped himself down at the desk. To one side of the room was Harry’s Holy Grail. A huge map of the prison, each cell drawn in painstaking detail. Each cell was labelled with the name of the inmate in tiny, spidery writing. Harry hurried over to the map, caught his toe in a frayed end of the rug on the floor and nearly tripped. Hammett shot round in his seat, scowling at the doorway.
“Emaris?” he called. “That you?”
Harry held his breath, cursing his clumsiness. Hammett got up from his chair and went to the door, glanced up and down the corridor then, muttering, slammed the door shut and locked it. Seating himself once more at the desk, the big man drew out the small package that he had secreted in his jacket and began undoing the twine. In spite of his desire to read the map, Harry was intrigued as to what the parcel might contain, so stayed where he was and watched. Hammett fumbled over the knotted string, then carefully unfolded the paper that surrounded the small object within.
It was a silver pendant, enamelled in green with some pattern Harry couldn't distinguish from his remote vantage-point. Hammett grunted in satisfaction, tilting the pendant to catch the sliver of light that slanted through the window. He rubbed a thumb over the enamelling, polishing the surface, then lifted the lid of a small wooden box on the desk top and slipped the pendant inside. Snapping the lid closed, he withdrew a chain from around his neck, on which hung a tiny gold coloured key. Hammett proceeded to lock the box with it before tucking it away again beneath his shirt.
The Chief Warden then pulled the report papers towards him and began to read. Harry tried to get comfortable. He might be in for a long wait and the onset of a cramp would not help matters. The young wizard was just beginning to think that he might as well try and slide down the wall to sit on the floor, when Hammett suddenly pushed the papers to one side, sighed and stood up. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “better go and check up on things. No rest for the wicked.” He ambled to the door, unlocked it and went out. Harry heard the key in the lock as the door was secured from the outside, then the faint sound of Hammett's retreating footsteps.
The young wizard let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding and allowed his body to relax. He was now effectively trapped in the room. It would be too risky to try and pick the lock when he couldn't be sure if there was anyone walking along the corridor outside who might hear him. He would simply have to wait until Hammett returned. In the meantime, the map beckoned, so Harry made his way to it and began to examine the names.
Harry finally found the one he was looking for after ten minutes of careful scrutiny. He noted the number and the floor of the cell that contained the man he was seeking. Now all he had to do was wait for the Warden. Harry slid his back down the wall until he was sitting.
He woke with a start to hear the sound of the key in the office door. Hammett had returned. As Emaris followed the Head Warden into his office, Harry took the opportunity to slip back out into the corridor. The first part of his self-appointed task had been accomplished. That was the easy bit. All that Harry had to do now was find the cell, and convince the man imprisoned within that he wanted to escape.