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The Dark Phoenix by L A Moody

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Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.



Twenty-Four
The True Nature of North


It was a place were the laws of physics no longer held sway. A place of such unearthly power that wizards had long ago magically cordoned it off from Muggles forever more. Eons later, the residual magic of their spells still lingered in the air – even though no one had the slightest inkling of how to undo the impenetrable barriers.

Having seen the fanciful maps of ancient seafaring peoples, Remus had often wondered whether any of them had accidentally stumbled onto this remote and bitter landscape. Likely, their wild tales had woven into the local folklore and inspired the artful renderings which often illustrated little-known areas of the map. It was not so absurd to think that the world was flat and that the oceans cascaded with a mighty roar over the farthest lip – not when they had witnessed a similar phenomenon for themselves.

Or had it been one of those coincidences where Muggle superstition came so remarkably close to true facts in the wizarding world that it was practically uncanny? But Remus was a man too bound by logic to accept such accidental concurrences and preferred to see it as further proof that Muggles and wizards alike stemmed from a common root.

Now faced with the sight before him, it was difficult to accept what he saw through the Omnioculars which Alastor Moody had handed him upon their arrival. Even with an extra strong Impervious Charm and polar gear, the air still found ingenious ways to try to strip the very skin from his cheekbones. Yet he resisted the urge to retire to the nearby bunker in order to smell the sharpness of the lingering ozone. Its source: the storms which ringed the horizon as dementors had once guarded the black prison halls themselves.

Azkaban.

It was the inspiration for every fearsome prison which mankind had erected since. Often similarly situated on their own islands, fortresses such as Alcatraz had hoped to isolate criminals from the general populace. The now deposed Soviet Union had come the closest with their gulags; the enforced labor in subarctic conditions stealing the inmates’ spirits just as much as a dementor’s kiss. Any foolhardy prisoner who had sought to escape by swimming would have frozen instantly.

But all that paled in comparison to Azkaban. Impossibly perched on a bare outcropping of volcanic rock, the angry ocean swept continuously over its sides and past the precipice, creating a waterfall of gigantic proportions in the middle of the deepest ocean. To this day it was accessible only through Apparition and then only if one knew the proper coded spells which changed in irregular, but frequent, intervals. A single mishap and an escapee would find himself stepping into oblivion with no hope of survival.

He’d been surprised to learn that Azkaban was not situated in the North Sea as he’d always supposed – not at least according to the labels on Muggle maps. Tracing a line across the top of the globe in Remus’ study, Moody had adroitly pointed out that a much vaster area was designated by wizards when they referred to the wild seas north of the British Isles.

“As the dragon flies, we would soon reach the polar ice caps and the rugged Siberian coastline beyond,” Moody maintained. “But it’s hardly a misconception the Ministry is eager to point out. Wizardkind would not have survived if we had not zealously guarded our secrets.”

It made perfect sense, Remus admitted to himself. The North Sea area that hugged the Belgian and Dutch coastline was crisscrossed with shipping lanes. Despite the Unplottable nature of the island, its magic would surely have caused even early compasses to register an anomaly. How long before modern sonar readings led to more and more ambitious expeditions to unlock the fortress’ secrets?

Recalling a lesson from his own school days, Remus acknowledged that the maps in the History of Magic texts often bore little resemblance to those of the modern day. It was not that the contours or landmasses were inaccurate he soon learned, but that wizards simply labeled things in a much broader sense. Many of the place names commonly in use were byproducts of the fractious nature of Muggle governments; and, consequently, held no meaning to wizards.

“Look at it this way, Moony,” James had postulated with a wide grin. “Muggles far outnumber wizards, always have. That’s why there’s so many blowhards willing to lend their names to every bloody shrub and boulder that dot the landscape.”

Not that many wizards didn’t suffer from a surfeit of ego, Sirius had countered as he’d launched into an impassioned tirade about the more detestable aspects of the Black family.

But it had been James’ wry commentary that stuck with Remus after all these years. So much so that he found himself offering the same advice to students who approached him with questions about the sites described in their history lessons.

The residual ache in his bones reminded Remus that it had been a long and arduous journey. The remoteness of the broadcast site necessitated special travel arrangements for all involved.

“Just be glad you’ve me as your travelling companion,” growled Moody as he arrived at Godric’s Hollow not long after daybreak. “Otherwise we’d be so covered in Floo Powder they’d think we were snowmen by the time we arrived.”

Floo Powder also created havoc with Moody’s magical eye; and the constant tumbling sensation of international Floo connections often made travelers unsteady on their own two feet, let alone someone who had to deal with an artificial leg. Kingsley was adamant that Moody’s specialized skills were just as crucial as Remus’ to the success of their current plan so a series of Portkeys had been arranged. The timetable was ideal for Remus who had his school duties leading up to the weekend and could not acclimate himself a number of days early as Ginny and the rest of the WWN crew had done.

“It won’t be like popping over to the continent for a cozy dinner in Paris or Rome, mind you,” Moody had warned.

Taking him at his word, Remus had made certain to get extra hours of sleep but to eat only a light meal before setting out. The first stops north through Sweden and Norway had seemed effortless, the summer sun shining at midday intensity as they proceeded through time zones that made the hours fly by. As the hour of dusk approached, though, the northern sun did not falter, giving Remus an unsettling feeling that he had left his comfort zone behind.

Instinctively, he recognized the distances were shorter if they traveled across the pole, but only Muggle aircraft could traverse that frozen expanse without risk of being lost forever among shifting ice floes. Before leaving the tree line behind, Moody insisted they don the fur-lined parkas which had been provided for their use. The buds might be in full bloom in the Scottish highlands; but in the arctic circle it was winter until mid-June.

It was with a shock that they tumbled onto spongy tundra that sparkled with ice crystals beneath a round orange sun. With a scowl, Moody checked his pocket watch and announced they were ahead of schedule.

“I told those wankers they were allowing too much extra time between jumps,” he grumbled. “Neither one of us has to deal with an army of suitcases like my ex's always packed.”

With a soft laugh, Remus took a deep breath of the pristine air tinged with just a hint of pine. Settling himself down on the nearest boulder, he observed, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea, is there?”

“A regular pub would be more to my liking,” Moody snorted as he offered his companion a slug from the flask at his waist.

“Aren’t you on duty?” Remus replied as he politely declined.

“What makes you think it’s not ordinary water?”

“Wrong color.”

“Energy drink.”

“Too sugary for the most part,” Remus grinned. “And I’d only believe that of someone who’d spent most of his life among Muggles.”

“Like Hermione?”

“Or someone who embraces their customs, like Tonks.”

“What if I told you it was an Invigoration Draught?”

“They don’t work well on werewolves. Thanks just the same.”

With a small defeated huff, Moody screwed the lid back on and hitched the flask to his belt anew. “Feels too much like taking a swig before lunchtime,” he groused as he nodded towards the golden horizon. “Never have been able to sleep in this mixed-up land.”

“What about in winter?” Remus prodded as he uncapped the water canteen from his own rucksack.

“I’d be an imbecile to wander into the middle of a tundra meadow in winter! These old bones feel the cold deeply enough as it is.”

“They’d find you eons later. Cheek and jowl with a mastodon incased in the ice.”

“My point exactly! That’s hardly the legacy I’d want to leave behind.” Swiveling about to survey a dark flock of birds winging towards the south, he nonetheless took Remus by surprise when he posed, “What’s with the book?”

Remus shrugged for the benefit of the magical eye that was obviously trained in his direction. “Just a paperback I packed in case I got bored. Something I always do when I travel.”

“What is it about that particular book?” Moody prodded with unerring accuracy. “I found Kingsley with his nose deep in the same Muggle book and now you, too.”

Remus stopped himself from retorting that he was hardly a stranger to literature. After all, Moody’s powers of observation were legendary. “It came highly recommended by Hermione. Said it would help us to understand Umbridge’s mind set.”

“And has it?” Moody wondered as he read the upside down title. Brave New World. “Is this Huxley some sort of visionary or just a huckster?”

Remus chuckled at the irreverent pun. “A Squib would make more sense, although there’s no evidence to support that. Hermione researched that angle thoroughly.”

“Was this a recent assignment of hers? I know Amos often depends upon her to provide a fresh outlook in his Department.”

“Seventh-year term paper. Or as she preferred to call it: an undergraduate thesis.”

Moody harrumphed, “Pretty full of herself, wasn’t she?”

“You wouldn’t be so dismissive if you’d read her paper.”

Moody seemed to chew this bit of data before observing, “I thought Minerva served as Hermione’s faculty advisor.”

“Oh, she did for the most part. Professor Hooch filled in during the fall months while Minerva was overwhelmed by the transition to Headmistress duties.”

Moody’s magical eye stopped its trajectory to bear upon Remus in tandem with the other eye. “How do you figure into the story? Hermione hardly seems the type who would solicit outside assistance with her assignments.”

Remus laughed sharply. “Hardly. I would’ve been ill-equipped to come to those conclusions on my own.”

“Too far-fetched?”

“Too insightful; but with a clarity of vision that often comes from an outsider.”

Moody chuckled as he recognized the familiar outlines of Hermione’s take on wizardkind. “What foibles did she hold up for scrutiny this time?”

“Voldemort’s rise to power and how the blueprint was contained within two futuristic novels penned by Muggle authors.”

“Blimey! I never suspected Minerva of having such a cruel streak. Did she collude with Severus to come up with that assignment?”

Remus laughed deeply at the image of Snape trying to unseat the resident know-it-all. “He might at that if he hadn’t been deep in hiding during those months. But in this instance, Hermione was allowed to select the topic on her own.” Undoubtedly as a result of his own conversation with Ginny about her Muggle Studies project, he added inwardly.

“Trust your instincts, Ginny,” he’d counseled from his hospital bed. “Just like you did when you faced down Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“I’m not sure Professor Hooch would relish that comparison!” Ginny shot back irreverently.

“No, impressing your instructor with your prowess requires a different tactic,” he responded. “A truly outstanding paper requires 20% research and 80% thought.”

He’d left it at that to avoid Ron’s steely accusations that Ginny was being given an unfair advantage. If students only gave it some consideration themselves, they’d realize that teachers were thoroughly familiar with the subject matters already. Unless a student was able to uncover unprecedented information – which was highly unlikely – a simple recitation of accepted fact would hardly impress. No, a truly outstanding treatment relied upon a student’s interpretation – the more unexpected, the better. The discordant elements which fused to create a new and unique symphony.

It did not surprise Remus, however, that Hermione had taken note of his words in the Hospital Wing that night.

“Right,” Moody’s gravelly tones insisted on Remus’ undivided attention. “So how did you fit in?”

“You recall how I was laid up for a few weeks after the final battle?”

“Farewell gift from Pettigrew.”

“Exactly. Dark magic from a dark source filled with dark intentions, or so Poppy Pomfrey claimed.”

“Always the fatalist, Poppy is. Still, it never hurts to be overly cautious in her profession.”

“I was confined to conducting what lessons I could from the Hospital Wing – under constant supervision. So Minerva took over my Transfiguration classes and I met with Hermione in the mornings and Harry in the afternoons.”

“Thus circumventing the long-standing policy of same sex advisors.” Moody nodded. “Poppy gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘constant vigilance.’”

Remus decided not to mention the inevitable pairing of Pomona Sprout with Neville; proof-positive that Minerva was not afraid to break with tradition. Aloud, he supplied, “Enforced bed rest makes for long, boring hours spent staring out the window at others enjoying their lives. Trust me; I had enough of that as a lad. Since Hermione was using two novels as the basis for her conclusions, I started in on 1984. I was cleared to return to the classroom before I started on the second --” Remus waved the paperback volume of Brave New World for emphasis. “—so Minerva insisted on reading it for herself. By then I’d gotten so swept up in the entire notion that I practically begged Minerva to allow me to be a part of it.

“ ‘If only so I don’t have to read both books, then,’ she allowed.

“Although I always suspected she went behind my back and read it anyway. If not before she heard Hermione’s conclusions, she certainly would have been compelled to do so afterwards. As for me
” Remus took a deep breath. “I always intended to do likewise but never could find the time.

“When this whole debacle with Umbridge started, Hermione reminded me that it would give me additional insight. I suspected she meant to distract me from that deplorable werewolf manifesto in the process, but I can’t fault her acumen – on either count.”

“Then why is Kingsley reading it?” Moody prodded.

“Because I recommended it to him.”

“Care to share what our resident wunderkind came up with in her
”

“Undergraduate thesis,” Remus affirmed with a knowing smirk.

“Aye. You weave a good story, but I’m straining to get to the point before the next Portkey looms.”

“She drew a most compelling parallel between how Huxley’s Brave New World was the springboard to Orwell’s 1984 in the same manner that pureblood mania had fueled Voldemort’s unique vision.”

Moody whistled lowly in appreciation. “And she pulled it off?”

“Admirably. Orwell had been a student of Huxley’s at Oxford so he’d been exposed to the tenants of Brave New World from the author himself. In it, Huxley describes a utopia in which humans are born into different castes with different job duties, each programmed from birth to think they have been born into the luckiest of circumstances. No room for dissention and no reason to be displeased.”

“It’s the Fountain of Magical Brethren translated into Muggle parlace,” Moody interjected. “No wonder you’d think the man was a bloody Squib.”

“Essentially, although Huxley claimed British imperialism had been his springboard. In 1984, Orwell took his inspiration from the communist movement, particularly its opportunistic attempt to swallow most of Eastern Europe in the mid-twentieth century. He describes a post-industrialist society ruled relentlessly by four Ministries, each dedicated to perverting the ideals which they claim to uphold. No personal freedoms allowed at the risk of an ignoble death – not that life under those restrictions would have been any less ignoble.”

“Did he see post-Churchill Britain headed in that direction?”

“I saw it more as a cautionary tale; intended to warn the world of the dangers of waging constant war in order to maintain an economy which no longer produced anything of value.”

“Why four Ministries, though? Hardly seems a random number. The four horsemen, perhaps?”

“Only two of the Ministries’ names coincided, though: War/Peace and Famine/Plenty. I pondered that one for a long time, Alastor; but in the end I decided that it was Orwell’s attempt to draw attention to the incongruent elements of our own constitutional monarchy.” At Moody’s blank expression, Remus elaborated, “Take into account the two houses of parliament, the monarchy, and number ten, Downing Street. Four separate and distinct elements. As much as they often clash with each other, Orwell warned of a grimmer picture if they worked in dark collusion. Hermione postulated that Voldemort had been greatly influenced by 1984; and being a budding psychopath, had seen it as validation of his own utopian goals.”

“Dumbledore always claimed young Riddle carried Machiavelli’s The Prince around while at school,” Moody supplied.

“I don’t doubt it, but the publication date of 1984 supports Hermione’s conclusion that it would have influenced Riddle just as he was reworking himself in the guise of Lord Voldemort.”

“How close are you to the end of that one?” Moody inquired as his magical eye swiveled to pinpoint Remus’ bookmark.

“Only a few more chapters.”

“What’s the outlook for a happy ending?”

“Too soon to tell; but it doesn’t look promising.”

“Good. I hate saccharine endings. Would you consider loaning it to me once you’re through?”





Ruddy dragon’s spawn, it was COLD! Remus’ lungs struggled to breathe after the encapsulated whirlwind of the Portkey.

“I did warn yeh,” Moody chortled with glee as he tightened the straps on his thestral hide gloves.

“And how exactly is this preferable to traveling across the polar ice?” Remus groaned as his vocal cords strained to form coherent words.

“No polar bears.”

“A merry chase might be just the thing to keep my arteries from freezing shut!”

“So say the polar bears. I guarantee you, the end isn’t pretty.”

Remus shaded his eyes as he tried to get his bearings. Glare from the stationary sun made looking northward excruciating no matter how much he squinted his eyes.

“Here,” Moody offered as produced a tiny set of Omnioculars. “Can’t seem to set the polarization feature properly with these bulky gloves.”

After fumbling with the tiny gears himself, Remus resorted to a mumbled spell with his wand. “If I don’t fry my retinas off, you’ll know I succeeded.”

A purple row of mountains rose like the spiny back of a sea creature before him. The grayish masses which frosted their summits had to be snow – which explained the blinding reflection that had assaulted him.

Moody took the proffered Omnioculars from Remus’ mitt and nodded curtly. “Right were we should be,” he muttered more to himself than anything.

“Please forgive me for disparaging your skills as a travel guide, but where in blazes are we?”

“Byrranga Mountains,” Moody supplied as if that explained everything. “We’re standing in the foothills.”

“Allowing that we can’t just go popping into the High Street no matter how small and insignificant the villages may be --”

“No sane Muggle would choose to live here. Even the gulags settled for less forbidding areas. We’re just taking a brief detour.”

“Why? I thought we were in a time crunch!”

“That’s the problem when you’re a free-lancer like me,” Moody explained, relishing the Muggle terminology Tonks had taught him. “Every other Department feels like they can claim a chunk of your time. I promised I’d take a quick shufti for an Unspeakable mate.”

“And you couldn’t resist bringing me along?” Remus groused more to keep his jaw muscles from seizing shut than anything else.

Moody shrugged nonchalantly. “Consider it payback for all the desultory routes your pub conversations have taken.”

“If you found my topics ponderous, you could have encouraged me less. Firewhiskey makes me more talkative, not sullen like some.” Remus spared a silent thought of Sirius.

“Oh, you’re always entertaining,” Moody shot back with a grin. “Even more so when you and Hermione put your heads together. If you two are ever looking for a career change, you should seriously consider establishing one of those organizations that generates ideas. Like they do in America.”

It took a few minutes for Remus to catch on. “You mean a think tank? Those are primarily run by borderline fanatics who could stand to edit the majority of the rubbish they spew forth.”

“Your words not mine. Visionaries without borders, I’d say.”

“Why do I feel like that’s a euphemism for the -- ” Remus stopped himself as a peculiar electrical sensation made the hair on his arms stand on end. Apprehensively, he gazed past the swirling snow crystals that whipped about their faces, but the sky was colored an incongruent rose by the slanting rays of the sun.

“I felt it, too,” Moody growled in reassurance. “My eye’s been going haywire with all the different frequencies. I’m hoping it’s an indicator that the dementors are breeding with abandon.”

It hit Remus like an icy avalanche. No wonder the mountain range seemed vaguely familiar. Hoping outrage would shield him from the despair that was dwelling in too close proximity, he railed, “What could be worse than coming face to face with a herd of dementors?”

Unperturbed, Moody remarked, “Quite a few things considering how handy the two of us are with Patronuses. This patch of land was uninhabited long before the dementors were relocated. Seemed the ideal site, really. All our studies showed the nasty creatures are totally unaffected by man-made scourges.”

“What sort of scourges? Disease? Epidemics?”

“Totalitarian governments who were intent on making their mark in the burgeoning field of nuclear energy. But that was decades ago, 35 years at least. Nothing to worry about.”

Remus’ veins froze with a terror that far eclipsed anything a dementor could have generated. “Radiation?” he wheezed. “Did Tonks tell you she didn’t want any more children, because it’s news to me!”

“Dissipated long ago.”

Decayed, Remus corrected inwardly; nuclear energy decays, not dissipates. Aloud, he urged, “What makes you so bloody certain?”

Moody tapped his restless magical eye. “Would have caught the shimmering trail it leaves in its wake.”

“But a nuclear accident of such proportions would have made world news. Even the Prophet wouldn’t have failed to comment on the irresponsibility of the Muggles who rule our world; I can just hear their string section tuning up.”

“Why is this the first you’ve heard of it?” Moody surmised. At Remus’ sharp nod, he continued, “Massive cover-up. Or rather, total lack of information. No survivors to carry the tale. Only recently did the Russian Ministry of Magic put all the pieces together. A map from the early twentieth century showed a number of small villages dotting the area. More recent maps show absolutely nothing. Looks like someone took a massive eraser to the area. Only the contours of the mountains and foothills remain.”

“Did anyone take into account Josef Stalin’s aggressive pogroms?”

Moody leveled a stern look at his companion. “You’re not the only wizard who’s attuned to the happenings in the Muggle world. This was much bigger than that. Annihilation on a much broader scale. The Russians assured us that the area has been thoroughly cleaned-up by those responsible.”

But they would have exposed themselves in the process, Remus started to say then stopped himself when the stark truth turned his stomach. The enforced labor of political dissidents that was known to move mountains. It had just been one more gruesome assignment for the gulag crew. “We’re cooperating with those who harbor a complete disregard for human life,” he growled deep in his throat.

Moody’s voice was full of gravitas as he cautioned, “Do not equate the actions of past administrations with those of an entire nationality. The same could easily be said of our government for having condemned Sirius without a trial.”

Remus hung his head to hide the single tear which had caught him by surprise. After all, he had long ago ceased to chastise himself for not having made the pilgrimage during those desolate years when his friend had been wrongly imprisoned. Ironically, it had been Sirius himself who had set him straight.

“Sweet Merlin’s knickers!” Sirius exclaimed as they spent another lonely night catching up around the kitchen table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. “Don’t you ever tire of beating yourself up needlessly?”

“I’m not sure--” Remus started to protest only to be cut short.

“Why would you have gone to visit a traitor? Answer me that, Moony. Because until we met up again in the Shrieking Shack twelve years later, even you had no real idea of the truth.”

Refusing to back down, Remus emphasized, “You were still my friend. The last remaining Marauder.”

“Who had single-handedly brought about the murder of the others -- or so you thought. Besides, your misplaced altruism would have required me to assume human shape thus subjecting my mind to the dementors.”

Remaining in Animagus form among the shadows in his squalid cell had allowed Sirius to retain his last shred of humanity, Remus recalled. Otherwise, he would have likely been staring into the eyes of a soulless madman that very minute.

Capitulating, Remus noted with typical gallows humor, “So in hindsight, my cowardly carcass would have just kept you from fulfilling your master plan.”

With a sharp bark of a laugh, Sirius had thumped Remus companionably on the back as he refilled their glasses with Firewhiskey.

With a start, Remus realized it was Moody’s thick glove on his back and not Sirius’.

“We would be just like those past tyrants if we did away with the dementor population,” Moody pronounced softly. “It was the Russians’ way of making amends by contacting the Office of International Cooperation and volunteering this site.”

“So tell me about the Dementor Program,” Remus insisted as he turned his sights away from the past.

“It’s being handled by the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Must you constantly be a thorn in my side, old man?” Remus rumbled. “I’m aware of the friction this has caused with the Magical Creatures Department who feel that all species’ preserves fall within their jurisdiction. Don’t brush me off with common knowledge once you dragged my arse to this forsaken hillside!”

Moody issued a deep belly laugh. “I’m hardly an expert, mind you. They breed only when they feel the conditions are right.”

“Such as when they were intent on helping Voldemort’s dark forces enslave the world?”

“I don’t pretend to know how the creatures think, mind you. My mate just said they have to be content to breed. Apparently this climate suits them as their surroundings come pre-encased in ice.”

“Surely they don’t expect us to conduct a census!”

“No clipboards for the data,” Moody chuckled. “Just a quick boundary search should suffice. It’s a huge expenditure to mount an expedition so they wanted me to see if such a thing was warranted in the first place.”

“As long as you were planning to be in the vicinity.”

“Admittedly, I was a bit curious. Don’t look at me like that! I’m not Hagrid who’s going to want to take one home as a pet. No matter how lonely my bachelor’s life can get.”

“So what are your findings?”

“That I can’t see a ruddy thing from this hillside. We’ll have to go in closer.”

“Blathering banshees, Alastor! Those things are dangerous!”

“So are werewolves; yet you don’t see me reconsidering.”

“It’s not a full moon. That’s the one thing you can be sure of in this perpetual afternoon.”

“Not true. The moon still rises, but can only be seen from a very limited area. The Azkaban guards testify that werewolves still transform; that’s why the lunar charts were consulted very carefully when planning this expedition.”

“Good to know you haven’t forgotten our true objective,” Remus mumbled as he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and followed Moody to the ridge of the hillock and down the other side.

Keeping close watch on the time of the next scheduled Portkey, they trudged in companionable silence along a small ridge. Below was a bowl shaped valley which writhed in misty shadows. Despite the width of the ancient path, Remus was apprehensive that he would trip on an errant pebble and stumble to his death. It’s a gentle grassy slope he kept reminding himself as the dementors’ presence made itself known.

“Should I issue a Patronus umbrella as a precaution?” Remus suggested as his stomach pitched once again with a phobia he did not share with his wife.

“No need. Ambrose claims they only feed when they’re bored and unhappy. When they’re breeding, they consider humans to be irrelevant.”

“I’m still not likely to bring a christening gift,” Remus retorted.

“Nor am I,” Moody answered sharply. He thrust the glass of his pocket watch right under Remus’ nose. It was beginning to ice over on the edges.

“Damn it, Alastor!” Remus wailed. In the next instant, his wand burst forth with a silvery giraffe which galloped in a wide arc around them.

Moody’s venerable whale swum in a counter-clockwise direction, but still in a wide oval with them in the middle. Strange behavior for creatures which could never be trained to perform like circus animals. The conclusion was inescapable.

“THEY HAVE US SURROUNDED!” Remus roared with sharply rising panic.

“Overrun their boundaries,” Moody snorted as he fumbled for the next Portkey, schedule be damned.

“Is that good or bad?” Remus inquired more to keep his mind from clouding with fear than anything else.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Moody shot back. “And I can’t imagine caring one bloody way or the other!”

With his giraffe still skirting the perimeter, it took Remus a phenomenal amount of concentration to summon even a hint of silvery smoke from his wand tip. But he could tell that without his assistance, Moody would never be calm enough to cast the complicated spell that would trip the Portkey early.

“Hang on to me, lad!” Moody urged in desperation. “I’m hardly the expert Dumbledore once was.”

Remus caught Moody’s elbow just in time as a rusted can opener was thrust into his other hand. He barely managed to hang onto his wand as the disorienting pull dragged him by the navel into oblivion.

There was no chance of maintaining any dignity as they tumbled into a heap against a hard concrete wall. Remus could smell the ocean before he gingerly opened his eyes to see the churning expanse that bled into the horizon.

“Take a moment to catch your breath,” Moody suggested as he struggled to right himself. “I’ll let them know we’ve arrived a wee bit ahead of schedule.”

“Is that
?” It was all Remus could manage through his awe.

“Azkaban’s that spec in the distance. Set for maximum magnification, but don’t release the polarization just yet,” Moody instructed as he placed the Auror-class Omnioculars at Remus’ side.

Remus nodded wordlessly.

“Everyone reacts this way,” Moody soothed with a wry chuckle. “The time zone changes play havoc with your sense of reality. Take your time getting acclimated; it will make you feel less disjointed when you join us inside. I’m going to start on the paperwork for the Portkey Office to justify our last minute schedule change.”

As Remus stared at the coiled power of the raging waves before him, he felt a new appreciation for the absolute lunacy that had driven Sirius to attempt an escape from Azkaban in the first place. It was difficult to believe the frothing seas ever calmed themselves, but Sirius had explained the eerie phenomenon which sometimes preceded a dry lightning storm in summer. Even in his cell, he’d overheard the few human guards commenting about how unsettling they found the glassiness of the water coupled with the electricity dancing across the obsidian parapets of the prison towers.

Recounting his escape, Sirius stressed how every curly strand of Snuffles’ fur had stood on end when he’d had set out that night, the few hours of twilight offering only a partial cover against the brutal summer sun. Being part Newfoundland, Snuffles had no fear of the icy water as he paddled relentlessly towards the faint ribbon of land on the horizon. The inhuman power of the storm had broken over him long before he reached the shoreline, sweeping his bobbing black form parallel to the coastline as the tide conspired to continually push him away from land. It had been pure luck that the fishing trawler had happened alongside and hauled him up in its mighty netting or he would surely have drowned. With the unerring sense of a dog bred to rescue, he’d slowly found his way to British shores, then Surrey, then Hogwarts.

Of course, Remus had not realized then how much longer a journey it had been. Sirius’ canine memories were not intentionally vague; but it was clear that, even as a man, he’d never pinpointed Azkaban’s location on a map.

Moody’s suspicious mind had shared a much more startling conclusion with Remus on that long night following the debacle atop the Astronomy Tower. Remus had still been reeling over Dumbledore’s murder at the hands of one of their own, but Moody had insisted on redirecting his analytical powers. If he had ever doubted Moody’s acumen before, he didn’t now, Remus concluded astride that stark escarpment. Sirius had been allowed to escape. His convenient rescue by rustic fishermen, his intrepid return smuggled in various containers aboard tramp steamers, every random leg of his flight could so easily have been aided by anonymous hands. Death Eaters who were intent on loosing Sirius among the Hogwarts students to neatly rid themselves of the troublesome presence of one Harry Potter. Death Eaters who’d been convinced by Sirius’ apparent betrayal of Harry’s parents that they were all on the same side.

But those dark conspirators had not taken Peter Pettigrew’s master plan into consideration. Why would they? Pettigrew was dead – or so everyone thought – and dead men do not hatch conspiracies. Nor was Peter an accomplished virtuoso to circumvent death itself like a select circle of Death Eaters knew their Dark Lord had attempted to do.

The more he thought about it, the more Remus concluded that Pettigrew’s plans had been effectively derailed by Sirius’ arrival at Hogwarts in full fugitive mode. Recalling the infamous newspaper photo that had put everything in motion, the squirming rat in Ron’s hands was doing its best to avoid being recognized. How long would Peter have remained in disguise as Ron’s pet with unprecedented access to the Gryffindor Tower dormitory? Had his goal been to infiltrate the hallowed halls of Hogwarts much more effectively than Snape and thus catapult to favor with Voldemort? Or were his stealthy stratagems those of an assassin waiting for the proper moment to claim his victim?

They’d never know. Pettigrew’s final tirade had dished out all manner of childish slights as he made a last ditch effort to recruit Remus. A single-mindedly demented effort in the face of his own doom. But fanatics never saw it that way, of that Remus was certain; their certitude was a balm as much as an antidote to common sense.

Feeling a rough hand upon his shoulder, Remus turned to gaze into Moody’s grizzled features. “You were right, Alastor. All of it. Sirius couldn’t have escaped unaided. Not and made it to shore, let alone Britain. And your analysis of Pettigrew’s puerile plotting allowed for his stunted intellect much more effectively than I ever could -- even though I once considered him a close friend.”

“An outsider’s view is often less clouded,” Moody remarked philosophically. “But it’s time you joined us inside. Even your werewolf stamina is no match for the elements here. Besides, the tea you were longing for hours ago has finally been laid out.”






He was caught up in a tornado of cascading copper the minute he stepped into the bunker.

“Remus! I’m so glad you’re safe. Mad-Eye was telling us about the close call with the dementors! Do I need to locate some chocolate for the two of you?” Ginny’s brown eyes came into focus as he pulled back from her effusive hug.

“No need. You know how he likes to spin out a good yarn,” Remus replied as his innate modesty rose to the surface. “Always has to be the center of attention, especially when there’s fresh faces involved.” He searched behind Ginny, but other than Percy helping himself to a lavish buffet, the room was empty.

“I’m dying for you to meet Eunice,” Ginny breathed. “But Moody insisted on going over some last minute security issues and followed her into the sound booth.”

Remus released the pent-up breath he’d been unconsciously holding. So Alastor hadn’t spoken out of turn about the dementor installation. All matters consigned to the Department of Mysteries had a tendency to come with a secrecy tag attached – or at least a need-to-know warning.

“I didn’t know you were part of the team, Percy.”

“Wasn’t originally,” Percy mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. “But the Minister had a last minute schedule reshuffle and sent me as a stand in.”

“That’s why we’ve been treated like royalty,” Ginny quipped as she poured some tea from a gleaming Russian samovar. “They were prepared to let out all the stops for the Minister himself and they couldn’t very well just scale everything back when they saw it was only the Chief of Protocol.”

“I’m sure Harry was relieved that Ginny travelled with family,” Remus commented as he bypassed the scones in favor of more exotic offerings. Dainty salmon canapĂ©s with tiny caviar would do quite nicely, Remus decided, as would smoked mussels and tomato aspic. Ginny handed him a delicate porcelain tumbler of fragrant tea into which she stirred a ripe cherry for sweetening in the imperial fashion.

“I see you’ve had time to learn the local customs,” he noted as he felt the warmth begin to ease the knots from his limbs. He’d not realized how tired he was. Who knew what time it really was, anyway?

“Don’t let them talk you into any of the local potato vodka,” Percy warned as he drew up a chair. “It’s great if you want to sleep during these white nights, but otherwise
” Ginny mimed an exaggerated swoon as Percy pulled a face. “You have no room to talk, sis. I saw you stumble into your room as well.”

“Nice accommodations?” Remus asked politely as he savored a tiny potato no larger than his thumb stuffed with dill cream and blood red caviar pearls. “Judging by the local delicacies
”

“First rate,” Ginny confirmed. “Eunice and I were all set to share but when the Minister didn’t show, Percy inherited his lavish suite so I took one of those rooms instead.”

“A temporary residence of true tsarist dimensions – large enough for the entire Weasley clan,” Percy expounded. “You know how much extra space is always allotted to the Minister’s entourage.”

“Are you referring to that extra bedchamber that’s designated for the man’s ego?” Moody supplied as he ushered a woman about Tonks’ age before him.

“That was just for Minister Fudge,” Percy joked, pleased when Eunice broke into laugher.

Before Ginny had completed the introductions, Eunice was offering her hand to Remus. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Professor. I didn’t quite know what to expect when Ginny said she’d secured a subject matter expert.” Remus couldn’t help noting the pleasing Welsh lilt to her words that was not a part of her on air persona.

“You were expecting someone from the Ministry?” Remus smiled into her deep azure eyes.

As Eunice shook her head slightly, her raven locks stirred Remus’ memory.

“You must forgive me for staring, but surely I would have remembered if you’d been among my students,” he tendered.

“Missed your fabled Dark Arts class by two years,” Eunice volunteered. “Although Ginny told me about your winning ways with a boggart.”

“Am I never to live that incident down?” Remus commented with just a hint of embarrassment.

“Not as long as Professor Snape is still on faculty,” Eunice returned with a sharp laugh. “I’m certain you remember my cousin, though. Leah Llewellyn.”

“How could I not? She was one of the Gryffindor Prefects. I was so disappointed she didn’t return for her final year.”

“What can I say? My uncle got posted with a fledgling branch in Ontario and Leah couldn’t resist the adventure.”

“So she finished her schooling at the Winnipeg Academy?” Remus inquired as was expected of him.

“She did, but it wasn’t the same. I think she really missed Hogwarts; but if she’d stayed behind, she would have missed her mum and dad.”

“Glad to hear her French lessons were put to good use then. I never got the feeling her heart was truly committed to my new curriculum.”

“She’d kill me if she knew I was telling you this,” Eunice whispered, “but I think she only signed up for French because she so loved your Transfiguration lessons. Not that it’s intended as a criticism of your teaching skills, mind you.”

“No slight taken. But as long as we’re sharing confidences, I was all set to recommend Leah as Head Girl – even though it might have proven an uphill battle. Teachers aren’t really supposed to reveal those sorts of things; but it’s all hypothetical now, anyway.”

“She’d be thrilled to know. But why don’t you think the other teachers would have supported her?”

Remus smiled into the dregs of his teacup and wondered just how much he should reveal. Students were often so different at school than at home. He settled for, “Leah was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Such admirable diplomacy, Professor. My guess would be that the faculty was afraid Leah would mount a bloodless coup and be running the entire place by Yuletide.”

Remus threw back his head and laughed heartily. “The worst part is, I think she would have taken me and a number of other teachers with her! Please be sure to give her my regards – and you could remind her that teachers aren’t adverse to receiving owls from former students.”

Seeing that Remus was deep in conversation with Eunice, Moody joined Percy near the rosewater and clove cookies.

In a low rumble, Moody confided, “I coulda told you that ole Rufus Scrimgeour wasn’t going to show. Anything dealing with Azkaban, he delegates. Can’t stomach dementors.”

Percy gulped noticeably as he remembered how the ghastly creatures could be seen floating among the barren trees in the Forbidden Forest. To this day, he still felt his time as Head Boy had been overshadowed by their presence. With as much nonchalance as he could muster, he issued aloud, “Who does? Not even Hagrid, I venture. But the dementors have been relocated; you said so yourself.”

“Aye, but to Rufus they’re still part of the fundamental aversion he feels for this place. You see, he had a close call once. Back when he was still part of the rank and file who escorted Sirius Black to his plush accommodations. Another Auror stepped in when he couldn’t get his Patronus to materialize quickly enough. With a few extra seconds to spare, Scrimgeour was able to summon his twin piranhas to nip at the dementor’s retreating tail.”

In an awed whisper, Ginny shouldered her way into the conversation. “The Minister has a double Patronus?”

With a scowl that made his magical eye wobble, Moody acknowledged, “Aye. It’s rumored to be a portent of great things.”

“Something tells me you think otherwise,” Percy interjected with a mischievous glint reminiscent of Fred and George.

“A man who needs two guardians is just that much more of a coward in my book,” Moody scoffed. “But the Minister’s an all right bloke in other ways. Due to his paranoia, he argued vehemently against sending dementors to Hogwarts when he headed the Auror Department; claimed a thousand encounters with a deranged murderer like Black would be preferable. A student had a better chance to outrun or outsmart a human attacker. He and Umbridge had a shouting match right in front of Fudge’s office; it was really quite entertaining.”

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