Chapter 87: Prison Break At Azkaban.

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Days After The Grey Bank Ball

Littletree Castle - Littletree

Johnathan Grey

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[Eliminate Lucius Malfoy: +2,500 SP]

I wasn’t sure if that was an insult or a compliment to the man’s value in the grand scheme of things, or if my earnings were reduced due to having Grindelwald deal with him. Either way, I would take it. 

His accounts were drained, all his contacts and blackmail material were extracted from his mind rather painfully, and now he won’t be a problem again. The only drawback I see may only come in the form of Draco wanting to follow in his footsteps, but I have faith in Narcissa's ability to deter such suicidal thoughts. No good mother would ever want their child to fight a Dragon to the death, after all.

[Destroyed another one of Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes: +35,000 SP]

Now, those numbers were more familiar to me. I only had to deal with the snake, then it was game over…. unless he decided to make another. But based on what I’d see, that wouldn’t be the case. Right about now, Tom was looking for more allies, much like he did in the original series, and why look elsewhere when Azkaban had them stored there waiting for him to visit.

The stone corridors of Littletree Castle echoed faintly with my measured footsteps as I left the ritual chamber, the once-tainted diary now inert in my hand, with its dark whispers replaced by regular parchment. Behind me, Agnes wordlessly followed at a respectful distance, having been waiting outside the room as I worked.

With a [Daylight Ring] in her possession, she had long since set up and started managing blood banks in the Muggle world for me, selling blood to vampires around the world. But for some reason, she still wanted to continue her role as my castle’s caretaker. Something she saw as even more important than anything else she does, not that I was complaining. She was really good at her job, after all. 

When I entered one of the castle’s many dining halls, the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed tea was the first thing to greet me. The Flamels were already seated at the long oak table, holding their tablets like twenty-first-century kids, with sunlight spilling through the tall enchanted windows to illuminate the room. Agnes took her post beside the door, folding her hands in front of her with her eyes fixed forward as I slid into my seat beside Nicolas and Perenelle.

“Good morning, lad,” Nicolas greeted with a warm smile. His eyes, however, flicked to the closed diary in my hand before he returned his focus to his tablet. “The plans for the school are complete, curriculum, list of potential teachers and all. Once we file your Mastery at the Ministry, you can review them in detail if you’d like, not that you really need the masteries in the first place.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it was nice to have the accolade added to my ‘legend’ as Grindelwald would put it.

Reaching for the teapot, I poured myself a cup of Earl Grey. “We’ll likely have to wait. A minor situation will follow the filing and the demonstrations. If things unfold the way I’ve seen… we’ll be busy.”

Perenelle’s brow arched delicately. “...You mean another ambush?”

I sipped my tea before casually giving her an answer. “No. I’ll be permanently dealing with Tom Riddle. It'll technically be us ambushing them this time.”

A flicker of surprise crossed their faces, but only briefly. The Flamels had been with me long enough to know it was going to happen soon, after all. Nicolas, however, only leaned back in his chair with a nonchalant shrug. “About time the world was rid of that snake. Honestly, I was surprised he never personally showed up when so many of his followers’ attempts failed. Then again, he was always the type to tire out his opponents before arriving to take the glory.”

As if on cue, the breakfast appeared on the table, plates and silverware settling neatly into place just as the clock struck eight. Nicolas began serving himself eggs without missing a beat.

Perenelle set aside her tablet with a curious glint in her eyes as she speared a piece of toast. “And will this require us to face a large group?”

I allowed a smirk to cross my features, reaching for a slice of bread myself. “Yes. We’ll be paying a visit to Azkaban. But it won’t be a problem. Dumbledore and the Aurors will have arrived by the time we get there anyway, so they can handle the ones trying to escape.”

“Ah, so that’s why you had the alert wards checked a few days ago when you were studying the dementors,” Nicolas let out a low hum as his expression sharpened with interest. “Did you find out if your spell would work against them?”

I had wanted to double-check if the combination of [Protego Diabolica] and the [Patronus] would permanently destroy them and release whatever souls they had stored up. Naturally, Madam Bones allowed it when I mentioned the spell during our meeting regarding my support for her campaign.

Fudge tried his best to be a nuisance about it, using the Daily Prophet and everyone's favourite journalist to make it out to be me messing with the wardens of Azkaban, but no one would listen to a moron over one of the greatest healers of all time. Rita Skeeter outright declined his attempt, even writing about it the next day after she was anonymously contacted regarding her [Animagus], so Fudge had to go with someone else in the ‘reputable’ new paper. 

Soon enough, we had finished our breakfast and were using the green powder of the Floo to arrive at the Ministry. Barely a moment later, the green flames of the Ministry Floo spat the Flamels and I out into the busy Atrium, where Witches and Wizards hurried about in suits and formal robes were headed to their day jobs. More than a few slowed down as they recognised me after the Bank opening days ago, my face was basically plastered across all the newspapers around the world almost as much as my world healing tour.

With that, respectful nods and hushed greetings followed.

“Lord Grey.”

“My lord, thank you, my uncle can work again because of the moonlight ring.”

“The Bank is brilliant, much better than Gringotts.”

Naturally, I returned their thanks with polite nods while keeping my stride steady, maintaining my pace and causing people to step aside instinctively as we passed. While I was appreciative of the praise, I still had places to be. When our path started getting crowded, I simply allowed the smallest sliver of my magic out, causing some to step back due to the pressure alone. It wasn’t anything dangerous or anything, neither was it flashy or even an application of telekinesis, but it was enough for instincts to recognise significant magic power.

The Flamels got some attention too, but it seemed to be drowned out by the focus on due as the ‘man of the hour', as some stated.

At the Mastery Office, I was ushered into a warded demonstration chamber, similar to the room I was led to demonstrate my [Animagus]. The examiners, three senior witches and two wizards in gold-trimmed robes, watched me with professional detachment as I worked through their questions and completed practical spellwork, though some couldn’t entirely conceal their curiosity.

I raised no theatrics, unless my lack of wand-use was considered such. I seamlessly transfigured steel into living, breathing birds before returning them without a flicker of strain, layered charms with such delicate complexity that even the examiners muttered under their breath, demonstrated battle magic that shattered reinforced wards like glass, and brewed potions beyond what they would consider perfection.

I even went as far as brewing the [Potion of Minor Healing] using some of my Skyrim plants, just because I could. They would not be able to get their hands on the plants anyway, so there was no worry of having ‘my’ recipe stolen.

Then came the use of mind magic, which would have them attempt to delve into my mind to the best of their ability within a certain time limit. Something that had them trying to hide their glee at potentially obtaining my secrets.

Of course, they failed miserably, with some getting nosebleeds due to sheer effort alone. Perenelle had to smack Nicolas over the head for laughing out loud, chastising the old baby for his disrespectful behaviour. Not that it did much for their self-esteem, she couldn’t hide the smirk on her own face either.

When it was all finished, silence hung for a beat before the lead examiner cleared his throat and spoke. “Lord Johnathan Grey, by unanimous agreement, you are hereby awarded Mastery in Transfiguration, Charms, Battle Magic, Potions, Herbology, Mind Magic, and Enchanting. You are the youngest Mastery holder in history, and one of only a handful to ever have so many.”

Now there was Merlin, Dumbledore, myself, three from China, two from Japan, another two from Russia, four from the Americas, and a whopping twelve from Africa who had earned so many masteries in their lifetime. I started to think there was a magical version of Wakanda when I read that, but unfortunately, we weren’t able to find it when we went looking. Regardless, I was inclined to believe their use of wandless magic and teaching the animagus transformation to children at a young age had something to do with it.

The examiners politely applauded as I inclined my head in thanks, though my expression remained composed, even when I noticed the Beatle [Animagus] on the wall. With her now realising her position in the grand scheme of things, there was no need to capture or inform anyone of her actions.

“Expect the official documents to be delivered within five working days.” 

Resisting the urge to mention they all had magic and things shouldn’t take as long as it does for Muggles, I nodded.

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you plan to write about the plants at any point?” The lady with both Herbology and Potions Masteries asked with hope in her eye, almost pleading for a positive answer.

Not wanting to disappoint the woman, I gave her just enough hope to make sure she doesn’t lose some love for her subjects. “Well, I’ve thought about it. I wanted to first focus on a book on improved potion techniques and recipes of the potions we already have for now.”

After the formalities, the three of us made our way to the DMLE. The moment we stepped into the department’s main floor, we were met with chaos. Aurors scrambled to pull on some shoddy enchanted armour, wands at the ready, and voices overlapping as orders were shouted.

“Azkaban! Now!” Madam Bones stormed out of her office. “We’ve got a break-in, high-level dark wizards, multiple reports of Dementors swarming the guards!” She looked around, trying to find someone. When she spotted an officer on the larger side running to her, she gave him her entire focus. “What did the Under Secretary say about their control of the Dementors?”

Catching his breath, he struggled to get the words out, which was embarrassing to see, because all he had to do was run to the Floo and run back after speaking with Umbridge. “She said… they have full control of the Dementors… and that there shouldn’t be any reason they should go rogue…. so if there’s a problem then it's due to the actions of the dark wizards..”

She gave the man a deadpan look, looking his exhausted form up and down for a moment before shaking her head and walking away. It reminded me of the type of look Allister Thorne would give Samwell Tarly in Game of Thrones, honestly.

Her officers moved as one, boots thundering against the floor as they converged on the Floo, probably to Floo out of the Ministry in order to [Apparate] to the Ministry. A rather inefficient method of deployment if anyone asked me, they could have just made an area in the DMLE to allow for [Apparition]. That would have to change, and soon.

“Madam Bones,” I caught her eye as she passed. “I suggest summoning Dumbledore. You might need an experienced war veteran if this is who I think it is.”

The insinuation was enough to make her momentarily stilled, but she shook it off rather quickly. She gave me a sharp nod, turning on her heel and striding back to the Floo without question, throwing powder into the flames. “Hogwarts! Headmaster's Office!” There was a beat as the flames of the other Floos were going off as grim-faced Aurors walked through the green flames, then she spoke once more. “Dumbledore, your presence is needed at Azkaban… we may have a snake problem.”

If I didn’t have confirmation of Dumbledore talking to her about Voldemort’s return before, I do now. Not that I blame him.

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Albus Dumbledore

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The sharp crack of apparition split the air, allowing Albus to appear just beyond Azkaban’s jagged perimeter thanks to the destruction of the unplottable charm, too focused on arriving as quickly as possible to bother with silencing his arrival and departure. The fortress loomed like a blackened wound in the sea, with Dementors wheeling and diving above it in thick, choking swarms.

Without hesitation, Dumbledore raised his wand and spoke, keeping the ongoing battle between Aurors and Death Eaters in his peripheral vision. “Expecto Patronum!”

From his wand’s tip, a burst of blazing pure silver phoenix silently cried out as it cut through the unnatural chill, swooping into the air. Its wings flared wide, scattering the circling Dementors and driving them back from the embattled Aurors below, reducing several variables in the battle.

“Grab me bollocks ’n slap me mam, that’s fookin’ Dumbledore!” One Auror exclaimed, causing combatants on both sides to pause a beat and slowly turn to him in confusion and mild disgust at his words. The man at least had the decency to look embarrassed when he realised everyone was staring at him.

Then, as if taking the man’s embarrassed cough as a sign, shouts rang through the battered courtyard. From the massive iron gates, Death Eaters unleashed a barrage of curses, sickly green Killing Curses, jagged purple hexes, and flame-bright conjurations from behind jagged stone cover.

A wide-eyed Auror staggered as a jet of green light lanced toward him. Luckily for him, Dumbledore flicked his wand with reflexes startlingly quick for his age, yanking the man’s body out of the way and causing the curse to sear harmlessly past. The Auror blinked at him in shock, then gave a wordless nod of gratitude before diving back into cover and returning fire at the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore turned, wand raised, ready to add his formidable skill to the Aurors’ efforts, wanting to end the madness as quickly as he could, but paused and looked back as he felt the tell-tale magic of disapparition. Another rush of magical cracks sounded as Amelia Bones stormed through with another squad of her officers, wands already in hand as she surveyed the battlefield.

“Headmaster,” she greeted curtly with a nod, before snapping at the nearest Auror, “Report!”

The man ducked as a curse screamed overhead, firing back a stunner before answering. “We’ve confirmed half a dozen Death Eaters beyond the gates, the Dementors seem to be joining them in attacking us, but we're assuming there are several more breaking the prisoner out of their cells. They’re keeping us pinned here. They—”

He cut off mid-sentence as the air changed. Every spell flickering through the courtyard faltered as if smothered. The very atmosphere thickened, pressing the now cold and heavy air into lungs, carrying with it a presence steeped in hunger and hate. Even the Dementors paused in their flight, drifting back as though something even darker had stepped onto the stage.

It was a presence Dumbledore remembered well, and while he resigned himself to the coming battle, he hoped this would be the final time. He was waiting for another to arrive, and would have to stall until he got there for as long as was necessary. 

From the shadows of Azkaban’s entrance, a pale, snake-like figure emerged, with scarlet eyes burning as Tom walked with terrible calm toward the battlefield. And behind him came others, masked Death Eaters spilling out of the gates like unleashed hounds, with their freed brethren rallying the descendant of Slytherin’s back.

While the much older Aurors' breaths caught in their throats, possibly remembering their own time during the war just over a decade ago, the younger, more naïve Aurors simply shifted in anticipation of the sheer numbers, tightening their hands on their wands.

Dumbledore, however, had no time to properly educate the youth, hoping they would be fine focusing on the weakened Death Eater force while he dealt with Voldemort.

The sea wind howled against the jagged walls of Azkaban, but the weight of Voldemort’s presence drowned it out. He walked with deliberate steps into the courtyard, wand loose in his pale hand as his crimson eyes swept across the chaos before him. The Death Eaters at his back fanned out, adding to the sinister anticipation hanging in the air.

The Aurors had long since conjured anti-apparition wards, preventing escape, but Dumbledore saw Tom’s stance on ceremony as an apt time to add to those wards, subtly reinforcing them. When Voldemort stopped, the Dementors seemed to hover at the edges, waiting for what seemed like their leader’s word.

Voldemort’s magically amplified voice carried throughout the courtyard as he hissed his declaration, breaking the silence. “You hide behind your laws. You shackle yourselves with chains you call ‘justice.’ And yet here you stand, trembling, because the truth has broken free.” He lifted his wand skyward, and sparks of deep crimson light cascaded outward, illuminating the courtyard in a bloody glow. “I am returned. For that which is immortal shall never truly die”

A ripple of dread swept through the Aurors as more of them truly felt his power like Dumbledore’s magical senses could. A few faltered, wands trembling as masked Death Eaters cheered behind him, fists raised in exultation, but many stood ready.

Voldemort turned his gaze to his followers then, even as he no doubt felt Dumbledore’s machination to reinforce the Wards. “Brothers. Sisters. You were abandoned. Left to rot in this fortress while the Ministry fattened itself on lies. No more. Tonight, you are free. Tonight, the chains are broken.” He spread his arms like a benevolent patron. “Follow me to victory, and together we will build a new world. One where the strong will not kneel to the weak. One where our kind will reign as it was always meant to!”

His eyes swept to the Aurors, to Madam Bones standing resolute, and finally to Dumbledore, who met his gaze without flinching. Voldemort’s lips curved into something between a smile and a snarl. “Stand in my way, and you will share their fate,” He gestured contemptuously toward the fortress itself. “Cold, forgotten, devoured by the dark. There is no place for mercy in the world to come.”

A ward masking what was happening in the prison was released the moment he finished his last word, allowing Dumbledore to feel for the magic of those still inside, but found nothing. Not a living person was still alive inside, indicating they were killed for declining the offer.

Dumbledore had to admit, he respected them for doing so. Even though they were criminals and had the choice of some form of freedom from the torment of Dementors in exchange for servitude, or death… they chose death.

Albus was feeling rather glad he had stunned and bound Severus before his arrival the moment the potions master had run into his office, informing him of the mark’s summons. He could rest assured that, should Tom escape, the light would retain their spy.

“Tom,” Dumbledore addressed his old student, unmoved by his speech. ”You will find the world less eager to kneel than you believe, my boy.”

Names had power. He remembered the phrase in the visions young Grey allowed him to witness. He remembered the phrase being spoken by a fearless wizard speaking his old student’s name as his last form of defiance before being cut down, for no other reason than Tom’s madness.

He would call him Voldemort no longer.

The snarl on the red-eyed dark wizard's features became clear for all to see, all the while the Dementors circled again, as if reacting to his emotions. All were looking ready to pounce on the living as their hunger demanded.

Just before the silence was racked like glass, Dumbledore heard deep, baritone words he would remember until the day he died, without even sensing the speaker's entry like he did the Aurors. Words that would put an end to the Dementors of Azkaban forever. Word that many would try to make illegal… and fail, due to sheer lack of actual power to enforce their displeasure.

“Expecto Patronum…. Diabolica.”

Then there was fiery light.

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“A word of caution: dementors are vicious creatures. They will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way.”

— Albus Dumbledore.

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Hello There

Has anyone ever seen a snake get spanked in real life?

…I mean, they technically don’t have bums. But I’m pretty sure it's possible.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character and ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.

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Thank you for reading.

As always, stay awesome.

Until next time, Light's out.