XIII: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter XIII: The Prisoner of Azkaban

The sky was a gun-metal grey, with storm clouds churning overhead. There was no escape from the bitter wind, which seemed to blow from all angles. The sound of the sea echoed around the walls that enclosed a bare scrap of earth that was called a graveyard. But there were no headstones, no flowers; the fog lay thick on the ground, and Morgana wondered if it was really only the wind she heard howling or if it was the moaning of lost and tormented souls. What an utterly depressing place! Not that there were any cheerful graveyards in the world, but this one surely took the prize.

'Everyone here, then?' Moody growled as the last trainee appeared out of thin air, clutching onto his Portkey as if it were a security blanket.

'Welcome to Azkaban, ladies and gentlemen,' Moody continued, for a moment almost sounding like the host of a sightseeing tour. But after having given everyone in the group a scrutinising look, he became serious. Today's field trip was anything but a walk in the park.

'Remember that we will need to stick together. If you lose the group, send red sparks into the air. I will see them, no matter how far away you are. And I will come and get you. Try not to panic while you're waiting for me, otherwise the Dementors will think you're a prisoner. Well, they don't really think. They'll just sense that you're a human being in distress and will come swooping down on you. And then you might just end up in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. Or, in the worst case, here.'

He made a sweeping motion across the graveyard, and several of the trainees shuddered.

'The best thing you can do, actually, is conjure your Patronus,' Moody advised. 'It will be even harder than during the training sessions as Dementors tend to make people lose faith in their happy memories, but I know that each of you can do it! If I didn't believe in you, I wouldn't have brought you here.'

Again, he looked around the group, letting both his eyes rest on each trainee for a couple of moments, and Morgana returned his gaze, unblinkingly. But if she weren't so stubborn and hell-bent on making a good impression, she would have told Moody that she didn't feel up for the task. Unlike him, she had not much faith in her Patronus. Already at Hogwarts, she'd had difficulties with that particular charm, and even now, after they had done little else all week than practice for their little field trip to Azkaban, it still took her two or more tries to succeed most of the time. But Moody believed she could do it. And Moody must know best.

'We'll start with a tour of the cells so you'll get an idea of the kind of scum that is housed here,' he informed them, now stomping towards an iron gate which looked like the entrance to hell. 'You'll get used to the screaming after a while. Now, come on, no dawdling.'

They trooped after him in twos, always a rookie with a trained Auror by his or her side, just as they had been instructed. Morgana paired up with Tonks, and together they made up the end of the line behind Dawlish and Jacob Bloom, a thin, blond youngster whose skin was so pale that he could easily be mistaken for a ghost. Surely, he would pass his Stealth and Tracking exam with flying colours. No one ever noticed him.

'Get used to the screaming, my foot,' Tonks mumbled. 'Last time I was here, I had a headache for three days afterwards. Okay, the bottle of tequila I shared with a friend the night before might have had something to do with it as well, but don't tell Moody.'

Morgana smiled feebly. She liked Tonks a lot. The young Auror was a good laugh and always tried to cheer her up. And Merlin knew she needed cheering up in this place!

It had been cold in the graveyard, but as they entered the prison, the temperature seemed to drop below freezing point, and several trainees seemed to want to turn around.

'I never said it was a holiday camp in here,' Moody addressed them. 'And I am fully aware that some of you will be feeling like owl droppings by the time we leave. But you need to see where Dark wizards go once you have caught them. This is as much a part of the wizarding justice system as the Wizengamot. And if you're very lucky, you won't have to come back here too often.'

They made their way down a first dark corridor, passing several cells. In some, the prisoner was rolled up on the floor, unmoving; in others, the prisoner sat rocking on the floor or was pacing back and forth. Most of them were quiet, and none of them seemed to notice that they had visitors.

'That lot have been here for a while,' Moody explained. 'Lost their minds, most of them. Now, as you know, only two people ever escaped the prison: Barty Crouch, Junior, in 1982, and Sirius Black, in 1993. Crouch was smuggled out by his father, and Black was able to escape by changing into his Animagus form of a dog. Now, can anyone tell me why the Dementors didn't notice?'

'They can't tell the difference between different persons,' one of the trainees answered quickly.

'Exactly,' Moody confirmed. 'So once again, this is why it is so important that we stay together. If the Dementors find you wandering around on your own, they will think you're a prisoner who managed to get out of their cell. Now, what crimes earn you a sentence here?'

'The use of the Unforgivable Curses.'

'Good. What more?'

'Being a follower of You-Know-Who.'

'Right. All of the above.' Moody seemed pleased. 'As you've noticed, the building is laid out in a pyramid form, with cells along each of the three outer walls. Now, always two pairs together, I want you to take a leisurely stroll around one of these walls. Take a good, hard look at who is behind the enchanted bars. Try and imagine what grisly crime they committed to end up here. And remember, if you get separated, send the distress call. Pronto. Is that understood?'

All muttered a yes and started to walk off in different directions, Morgana and Tonks together with Dawlish and Bloom, all four holding their wands aloft in order to spread as much light around them as possible by means of Lumos. The warm glow, however, didn't seem to help much.

'You never really get used to it, you know,' Tonks said quietly after a while. 'The gloom, the cold. I don't even want to imagine how it feels to be locked up here.'

They had now reached a corridor a bit higher up where the prisoners were much more active than in the first. They were rattling at the bars of their cells, shouting and screaming, some of them throwing themselves against the stone walls as if trying to knock them down. But of course, the walls did not budge, and all the screaming did was produce the headache Tonks had mentioned before.

'Poor sods,' Tonks commented. 'If you didn't know they deserved to be here, you could almost feel sorry for them.'

'Are you sure everyone deserves to be here?' Morgana asked, and Tonks turned towards her with an expression of surprise on her face.

'What do you mean?'

Morgana shrugged. 'There is no such thing as a flawless system. Some of the people here might have been wrongfully accused.' She leant in and dropped her voice to a whisper. 'We both know your cousin didn't deserve to be here.'

Tonks opened her mouth to speak, but before she got a chance to, there came a scream from further down the corridor, followed by a blast, hurried footsteps and Dawlish's agitated voice:

'Come back here, Bloom! He isn't going to hurt you. Bloom!'

'What's happened?' Tonks asked once she and Morgana had caught up with Dawlish. He was alone.

'That prisoner here grabbed Bloom by the arm. I stunned him immediately, but the kid got spooked and ran off.'

'Not good,' Tonks commented. 'We better go find him, or Moody will have our heads.'

'Shouldn't we send the distress call?' Dawlish asked.

'Sure, if you want Moody to know that you lost your trainee.'

Dawlish pulled a face. He was already on Moody's bad side and had no desire to slip down even further on the man's list of favourites. So without further comment, he set off after Tonks who was already running down the gloomy corridor. Neither of them noticed that their second charge, Morgana, was lingering by the cell seemingly fascinated by the stunned prisoner. She recognised him, despite his filthy clothes and unshaven face. She couldn't remember his name but was quite certain that she had seen his face in the Prophet. He was one of the Death Eaters that had been caught in the Hall of Prophecies.

Morgana swallowed drily. She didn't know if there was a system to which prisoner ended up in which cell at Azkaban, but if this Death Eater was here, then there was a possibility that Lucius wasn't too far away. She raised her wand. The cell to the right was empty, and the two to the left occupied by females. No blond mane, no Lucius.

Then the stunned Death Eater stirred, and Morgana realised the temperature dropping. Surely, the Dementors must have sensed the disturbance and were now approaching to find its cause. Her standing here all alone was not a good position to be in.

'Nox,' she whispered, hoping that the darkness would lend her cover as she hurriedly made her way down the corridor after Bloom, Dawlish and Tonks. But already after a short way, she was confronted with a problem: the corridor was parting in two, and she had no idea which way to turn.

She swore under her breath. Surely, she hadn't lost that much time. She should still be able to see Tonks and Dawlish or at least hear their footsteps. But both corridors were deserted and silent. The two Aurors could have gone either way.

Furtively, Morgana glanced back over her shoulder. She could see a couple of Dementors hovering outside the stunned Death Eater's cell, but they didn't seem to have noticed yet that she was lost. At least, they didn't look like they'd come swooping down at her any time soon. And thus Morgana decided to ignore Moody's clearest order and try to find her way on her own. If she sent red sparks up into the air now, the others would have to come to her rescue, and that would mean they would have to abandon their search for Bloom. And who knew what kind of trouble he was in?

Unable to figure out whether Tonks had gone left or right, Morgana placed her wand flat on the palm of her hand. 'Point Me,' she whispered, and the wand started to rotate, finally coming to a hold with its tip pointing down the left-hand corridor.

'So, that's north,' Morgana said to herself, and set off down the other corridor, once more clutching her wand firmly in her right hand. She didn't know if heading south was the right choice, but she had to give it a try. If she didn't find Tonks or any of the others, she could always turn back and go north.

The cells in that corridor were all empty, and the eerie silence made Morgana move with uttermost care. She didn't dare make a sound lest she drew attention to herself, and she didn't cast the Lumos Charm either. It took her eyes therefore a while to grow accustomed to the semi-darkness, and it wasn't until she had walked past several cells that she realised that the corridor was a dead end. How convenient, she thought. Now she knew for sure that Tonks and Dawlish had run the other way.

She had just turned around when the tiniest ray of sunshine fell through one of the miniscule skylights in the ceiling high above her. It wasn't a bright light, but since it had been as good as dark only moments before, Morgana couldn't help but turn away in order to shield her eyes. And as she blinked, she caught sight of movement in the very last cell. There was a man pacing, moving just as silently as she had been. His clothes were dirty and torn, his shoulders slightly slumped and his hair dishevelled. But no matter how little he resembled the always well-groomed and impeccably dressed lord of the manor, there was no mistaking Lucius Malfoy.

Morgana covered her mouth with her free hand to muffle a gasp. She had known, of course, that Lucius was in Azkaban and had been prepared to catch a glimpse of him on her tour, but she had not expected to meet him like this, not on her own. Now her first impulse was to turn and run, run away from him and leave him behind. But her feet weren't moving and her eyes unable to look away.

He was pacing his cell like a trapped animal. To and fro, he walked, to and fro, and Morgana wondered if he did it to keep warm, or if it was merely for something to do. Or if Azkaban had broken his spirit already, that he wasn't even aware of his actions. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and despite her better judgement, she took a step forwards.

'Lucius?'

She called his name softly, yet it still echoed around the bare stone walls. And Lucius stopped and looked up in surprise, staggering backwards slightly as he caught sight of her.

And what a sight she was to behold, her pale face contrasting sharply with her black clothes and her flaming red hair the first speck of colour he had seen in weeks, mesmerizing him just as much as the thin ray of sunlight behind her. Surely, this couldn't be, not in this place, where there was nothing else than fear and despair. She could not be here.

'Mor... Morgana?' he croaked, not daring to say more or raise his voice lest the vision disappear just as it had disappeared from his dreams so many nights to be replaced by nothing but suffocating darkness.

But just hearing Lucius call her name sent a shudder down Morgana's spine, and it was with great effort that she kept herself from whimpering. How she had missed the sound of his voice. How she had missed him looking at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon. How she had missed him.

Slowly, she stepped closer.

'Morgana,' Lucius repeated, encouraged by seeing her coming closer and hearing the rustling of her robes. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't his mind playing tricks on him. She was really there, right in front of him, almost close enough to touch. But what was she doing here?

He approached the iron bars and somewhat fearfully raised his gaze. He couldn't see any Dementors, but for the very first time since he had been brought here, he could make out a piece of blue sky through one of the skylights. He blinked. For five weeks, he had not been able to make out anything but clouds and grey skies through those mocking holes. Was this it? Was this the day he would be a free man once more? Had she come to his rescue?

'Morgana,' he whispered for the third time, closing his hands around the iron bars. 'I knew you would not forsake me.'

But to his disappointment, Morgana stopped at an arm's length away from the bars. She could have touched him if she wanted to, and Lucius could reach out and touch her. But instead, they both stood motionless, gazing at each other.

Lucius was a pitiful sight. The spell that had always kept his cheeks and chin smooth was fading, and the stubble was unwashed. There were dark circles under his eyes and lines disfiguring his handsome face. But Morgana did not see any of it. She could only see his eyes, those grey eyes that had always been filled with love and desire whenever they had fallen upon her. And today, they were filled with hope.

'Dearest heart,' Lucius began, sensing that Morgana was reluctant to approach him. 'How much I have missed you. How much I have longed to see you, to touch you.'

Morgana tried to smile, but her face seemed frozen. And as she tried to swallow, she noticed her throat being filled by a big lump that prevented her from speaking. Instead, she reached out and let her fingertips trail over Lucius' grazed knuckles.

He inhaled sharply. He had not experienced any physical contact with another human being for the last five weeks, and her tender touch made a warmth surge through his body that had nothing to do with the rays of sunlight that were now illuminating his cell. Her touch was giving him life. It was giving him hope.

'Have you missed me, too?' he asked, resisting the urge to grab hold of the hand that was caressing him. He couldn't afford to frighten her. If he made his move too quickly, she would withdraw and disappear, and with her his chance for freedom. If he played his cards right, he would be out of Azkaban by mid-afternoon.

'More than you can imagine, Lucius. Every day without you is a day in hell.'

They both flinched at the sound of her voice; Lucius because he had not been prepared for it to be just as hoarse as his own and Morgana because she could not believe that she had just spoken those words out loud. She was not supposed to miss him. She was not supposed to feel sorry for him. She was supposed to hate him for all that he had done. But she found herself unable to.

'Beloved,' Lucius whispered, moving his face closer to the bars, never once breaking eye contact. 'I am begging for your forgiveness. The knowledge that you're hurting, that you're hurting because of me, is more painful to me than any cruelties the Dementors can come up with. Please, forgive me.'

'What are you begging forgiveness for, Lucius?' Morgana asked, her throat now so tight that every uttered syllable caused her pain. 'For lying to me, for using me?'

'No, beloved. No!' Lucius interrupted her. 'This wasn't me. It was... It was the power, Morgana. I thought that the Dark Lord could give me power. But all he did was turn me into a monster and put me in this godforsaken hellhole. Morgana, please. Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.'

No, he never had. Morgana had tried to convince herself of that ever since the moment she had left him sleeping in the tower room at Hogwarts. He had not meant to hurt her that night, she had told herself a million times. He had been drunk, and he had been angry, and she had been the one who had made him angry. She had deserved to be punished that night.

But had Lucius not hurt her long before that?

'I love you, Morgana,' Lucius added, pouring his very soul into his words. He needed her to believe him, like she had almost a year ago. 'I always have.'

Morgana saw her hand shaking, and she feverishly tried to blink back the tears that were welling up in her eyes and obscuring her vision. Be strong now, she told herself. Don't let him fool you once again. Free yourself from him.

'You have never loved me, Lucius Malfoy,' she said slowly, feeling that every word she spoke undid a stitch in the bond that had once been woven between her and the man in the cell. 'You never even cared for me. From the very first day you sent gold to the orphanage so they could buy me new robes, you only thought about yourself and hoped that my family name would help you achieve the glory your own name denied you. You used me. And I was foolish enough to fall for you.'

'No. No, Morgana! That's not true!' Lucius exclaimed, and in a desperate attempt to keep Morgana from turning away from him, he grabbed her hand. To his surprise and utter satisfaction, she did not withdraw.

'I loved you,' he reaffirmed. 'I would have given up everything for you. My wife, my family... It was the Dark Lord who turned me into a fiend.' He looked crestfallen, like a wounded puppy, and as he carried on, his voice was shaking. 'I never meant to hurt you.'

Morgana slowly shook her head, unable to break eye contact and unable to pull away her hand.

'You planned it all, Lucius,' she said. 'You and no other.'

'How can you say that?' Lucius asked, his voice cracking. 'I am suffering here, Morgana. Suffering for all I have been forced to put you through.'

'What about my suffering, Lucius? What about all the sleepless nights, all the uncried tears? What about the child that was never born? Do you really think some weeks in here make up for what you have done to me?'

Lucius swallowed. If Morgana thought that he did not regret the loss of their child, then she was wrong, so incredibly wrong. Losing that child had lost him everything. He knew that he had not ended up in Azkaban solely because he had failed to retrieve the Prophecy. The Dark Lord was powerful enough to free him if he wanted to. But the Dark Lord had decided that Lucius needed to be punished for having lost him his heir and was now not lifting a finger. In fact, Lucius was convinced that the Dark Lord had meant for him to fail and end up behind bars, just to teach him a lesson.

'I will never forgive myself for the loss of our child, Morgana,' he whispered, and the lonely tear that rolled down his cheek was one of the few honest tears Lucius Malfoy had ever cried.

'I would do anything to be able to go back in time and make things undone, Morgana,' he assured her. 'I would prefer the Dementor's Kiss than to live another day knowing you will never forgive me.'

Morgana whimpered, and the tears she had so stubbornly fought for months were now rolling down her face, one by one, in a stream that seemed unstoppable.

'It's myself I cannot forgive, Lucius,' she brought forth, 'for loving you when I know I should hate you.'

That was when Lucius Malfoy made his move. Tightening his grip around her hand so she could not pull away, he sneaked his free hand through the bars and took hold of Morgana's chin, pulling her closer until their lips met. She stiffened at first and tried to pull away, but after a few moments, he felt her sinking into his kiss, and he knew that he had won her over, yet again. He was certain of it.

Morgana felt herself tremble and had to hold onto Lucius' hand as not to fall, so weak were her knees. His lips weren't as soft as she remembered them, and he smelled of anything but expensive cologne, but his kiss was just the same, just as passionate, just as demanding, just as breathtaking as ever. She could do nothing else but moan and press herself against the bars of Lucius' cell. His kisses had awoken a fire that she had thought extinguished. And now the only thing that could keep her from bursting into flames was to be close to him, to feel his body against hers and his hot breath on her skin. She all but forgot where she was and who she was kissing. But Lucius had not forgotten where he was, and he had not forgotten who he was kissing. Just as little as he had forgotten that Morgana was carrying a wand. It was all going according to his plan.

He struck as quickly as a snake, pulling her left hand through the bars and making it impossible for her to move away as he snatched her wand from her.

'Love and hate, Morgana,' he whispered into her ear, still keeping a firm grip on her hand, 'are just two sides of the same coin, are they not? You may try to hate me, but you will never forget me and never stop loving me. Because no one else can make you feel the way I do. Isn't that so, dearest heart?'

Morgana never had time to react or think about Lucius' words. Mere seconds after he had taken her wand, the sunlight disappeared and the corridor was plunged into darkness, not gloom as before, but pitch black, impenetrable darkness. And with the darkness came the cold.

'No. No!' Lucius exclaimed and stumbled backwards, thus releasing Morgana's hand. 'Not the Dementors! Not now!'

But they were approaching. Not one or two, not ten. Morgana was unable to make out how many they were. She just felt her insides freeze to ice as they increased in numbers and drew ever closer.

'My wand, Lucius,' she whispered. 'Give me back my wand.'

'No,' Lucius croaked. 'No! I need it to... I have to...'

'Give me my wand, Lucius,' Morgana repeated slowly, reaching out her hand through the bars of the cell. 'You do not know how to conjure a Patronus. Give me my wand, now. Or we will both die.'

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard him move in his cell, felt his ragged breath against her cheek and his sweaty hand thrust her wand into hers. And without even once looking back at him, she spoke the incantation.

'Expecto Patronum!'

Nothing happened, and she tried again.

'Expecto... Expecto Patronum!'

Nothing. Not even a feeble shield of light. And the Dementors drew closer.

Exhausted and freezing, Morgana sank to her knees with her back against the iron bars, just to notice that Lucius, too, had sunken down and was clutching onto the bars right behind her.

'I have loved you, Lucius Malfoy,' she whispered. She really had. And as he had pointed out, she probably always would. And now that she was facing the Dementors and most probably death, she could admit it without shame.

Lucius shifted behind her, and as she felt his breath on her neck, unnaturally warm compared to the icy air that was now engulfing them, she thought that she heard him whisper that he had loved her, too.

For a third time, she raised her wand and spoke the incantation, but as her Patronus took form, Morgana knew that it would not be able to save them. For a Patronus to be strong, one's happiest memory had to be true, yet hers was nothing but a bittersweet dream.