Chapter 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

They are all dead, save one. And one broken human cannot stop the darknesswhich is to come.

-- Knights of the Old Republic

*~*~*~*

Dear Mum and Dad,

This is the first chance I've had to write home. Being at Hogwarts is so busy! You may have heard from James or Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione that I'm a Gryffindor! Rose, too! The Sorting Hat took forever to sort me.

All of my roommates are pretty cool and some of their parents went to Hogwarts with you guys. I've met Gary Thomas's dad a few times with you, dad, at Quidditch games, and there's a boy here called Colin Creevey who says his dad knows you, too.

I'm doing well in all of my classes, especially Charms and DADA. Professor Drogin set a quiz the other day and I didn't get a single question wrong. Some of the stuff I didn't even know I knew! I earned Gryffindor fifteen house points, the first points Professor Drogin's ever given. I also earned ten house points in Charms the other day when I accidentally levitated one of the big heavy desks as well as a feather. An inkpot fell all over Hannah Longbottom and she's still trying to wash it out of her hair.

Quidditch tryouts are in a few days and James is driving me and everyone crazy about it. He's trying out for Seeker, and I thought I'd try out too even though first-years can only play in reserve.

I've got Transfiguration straight after breakfast and I can change a match into a needle with no trouble at all. Rose can too, almost, and Frank and Gary keep asking me to help them because they can't get it. I don't really understand how it works just yet, but I still get a needle nine times out of ten.

Rose and I are going to tea at Hagrid's tonight and I'm bringing Frank and Gary and she's bringing Hannah. I've warned them all about the rock cakes! Speaking of food, I'm sending this off with Merlin early because I don't want to miss any of the pancakes and muffins for breakfast.

Love you lots,

Al

Digging into his own breakfast of bacon and eggs, Harry read and re-read Albus's letter before passing it down the kitchen table to Ginny. She read it aloud to little Lily, who was busy feeding Merlin a strip of bacon.

“Sounds like he's settling in,” Ginny said. “He's a lot like you were back then, all independent and such. James wrote home the morning after his sorting, not a week later.” Ginny scanned the letter again. “And he's already making an impression with his professors.”

Harry grinned. “Just like James, although he's picking up the magic a lot faster. Levitated a whole desk on his first go! It took Ron and me two months to manage anything bigger than a feather.”

“The troll on Halloween?”

“Hard to believe that was twenty-five years ago now.”

The clock on the wall chimed nine o'clock and Harry looked up at it with a sigh. He was running late and would have to apparate into the Atrium in the Ministry. He didn't like doing that. Even after nineteen years people still stared at him - at the scar. He stood up to leave, quickly shovelling his eggs onto a piece of toast and folding it in half.

“I'm taking Lily over to mum's today,” Ginny said. “I've got work this afternoon - Cannons are playing the Harpies.”

Harry snorted. “You could write that one up right now.”

“Ron said he'd be coming along if he could get off work.”

Harry shook his head. “Not likely - the head of department won't allow it. Too many new recruits need bringing up to scratch.”

“Aw, honey, let him come and watch a match. It's been months since he could get away.”

Harry sighed and leant over the table to give his wife a peck on the cheek, Lily too. “Send Albus and James my love, will you?” His unruly hair was sticking up at all odd angles this morning, a lot more than usual.

Ginny's eyes sparkled. Harry's hair always made her so happy. “Will do,” she said.

Harry had to walk to the end of the driveway to apparate away. He had made his home unplottable, had installed every ward under the sun from anti-apparation to Dark magic and Dementor detectors. Outside of Hogwarts and Azkaban, and possibly the Ministry itself, his home was the most secure and fortified building in wizarding Britain.

It was a cool morning and the dew lay heavy on the lawn and on the petals of the rosebushes that ran up the drive. Lily's toy broom had been left floating on the front steps and Harry tripped over it and nearly fell over, stumbling onto the gravel stones. He tossed the broom aside with a curse and set off at a quick jog for the edge of the property.

The house was made of old wood and stone and creeping vines clung to the outside walls, almost coating them entirely. In spring small red flowers and grapes blossomed on those vines, with the aid of a little magic, and the house practically glowed. The roof was vaulted and arched, with no sure footing - another precaution, another defence. No one on a broom could land comfortably up there. Surrounding the perimeter ran a high stone wall that was both as old as the house and the keystone to many of the wards.

Harry stepped down over the edge of his land and out onto the country road that ran through to the motorway and eventually into Devon. He had stepped clear of most of the major wards and behind him the house wavered, almost disappeared, and he had to fight the magic to keep it in his sight. The wards knew him, however, and the perception filter over the property failed to confound him.

Off to his left were the beginnings of an old wood that grew almost all the way to Ottery St Catchpole and just beyond that to the Burrow. About twenty miles away, as the crow flies, and near to where Amos Diggory still lived with his wife. It had been some time since Harry had seen the Diggorys... He would have to change that soon.

The River Otter flowed through the wood and ran alongside the property, as well, and every time Harry saw the clear waters it brought up the memories of the warm summer nights spent with Ginny on its banks, alone with the stars and before any of the kids had been born, back when he had just been a rookie Auror.

Although with more experience than most Senior's, he thought, preparing to apparate into the Ministry.

He disappeared from the southwest of the country and reappeared miles away in the heart of London - beneath London - right next to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The Ministry was packed this time of morning, what with peak hour and everyone starting work for the day. Harry thought he might be able to blend into the crowds.

He cut a beeline for the golden-grilled elevators before any civilians recognised him. He got maybe halfway across the Atrium, ducking and diving through the crowds, before somebody pointed him out and the stares and whispers followed him all the way to the lifts.

Thankfully Harry and all the other department head's had a special priority elevator all to themselves. So as he was running late, the compartment Harry stepped into was empty save for one person.

“Morning, Commander,” the attendant said. He was an old man dressed in velvet robes with a small, pointed hat embroidered with a golden 'M' covering his thinning grey hair. Ever since a bunch of teenagers had broken into the Department of Mysteries some twenty or so years ago now, the lifts were always attended. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement today, or another top-secret meeting with the Minister first-up?”

Harry laughed. “Good morning, Greg. I wish things were exciting enough for top-secret meetings. Level two, please.”

“Ah, you can't fool me, Commander. I used to be in the Auror-reserves, you know.”

Harry knew - Greg mentioned it every time Harry was forced to take the elevator, Merlin bless him. “Well keep the wand polished, Greg, because first sign of trouble and you're back on the active duty roster.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg said. “Someone's got to show you young fellas which end of the wand to point at the enemy.”

“It's the pointy end, isn't it?” Harry asked.

“Very funny, Commander. Here we are: Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

The golden-grille slid open on its own and Harry stepped out of the lift compartment and into the Auror Headquarters. A series of open cubicles stretched from one wall to the other, and most of the cubicles were covered with pictures of known Dark wizards, clips from the Prophet, maps and a dozen other bits and pieces. “Thanks, Greg, I'll see you later.”

“And you, sir.”

No sooner had Harry stepped out of the lift than a dozen inter-departmental memos rushed at him and flew in dizzying circles up and around his head. Harry swore and brushed them away - it was far too early to read about whatever misdemeanours some unlucky sod had been charged with last night, or how many of the other Department Head's were requesting the Aurors for whatever reason.

Harry walked swiftly across the floor, nodding to the men and women that worked beneath him, and stepped into his office away from the open cubicles, the small paper memos following in his wake. There was a cup of coffee steaming on his desk and Harry muttered a thanks to whoever had been so thoughtful.

It was second nature for Harry to run a quick sweep for Dark magic and poison over the coffee mug. He didn't expect anything and the cup was clean. He sat down in his chair and leaned back at his desk, sipping hot coffee and making plans for the day. His office was packed with filing cabinets along the side walls - all of them bursting at full capacity, and on top of those cabinets were stacks and stacks of further files piled haphazardly, just waiting for one to fall so they could all come tumbling down.

His desk was a mess with the latest mission reports from the active field Aurors, and on the wall behind him were a few dozen commendations and awards of merit for his work in the field. Off to the side a bit, its golden finish dull and dusty, was an Order of Merlin, First Class. Kingsley had arranged that little award for doing away with Voldemort.

Harry yawned and began to move the reports about on his desk. There were none marked with a priority and flashing red, which was good - Priority Red meant someone had screwed up big time, and there was an Auror dead. There had only been one Priority Red during Harry's time as Head of the Department, and that had been when he and the Aurors had finally caught up with Walden Macnair three years ago. The ex-Death Eater had been on the run for years, and hadn't come quietly when the team had been given a good tip-off to his location. Harry had personally put the man down for good.

All the reports were marked Green One, which meant mission accomplished, suspect in custody, no Aurors or civilians injured. Under Harry, most cases were resolved Green One. Yellow reports meant mission accomplished, but someone had been injured - an Auror or civilian - and reports marked Black meant the suspect had escaped, but there had been no loss of life.

A desk full of Green One reports meant nothing immediately required Harry's attention, so with a flick of his wand at the flying memos he directed them into his 'In' tray and finished his coffee.

There was a knock at the door and Ron Weasley let himself in, nursing a mug of his own. “Mornin', Harry,” he said. “Got you the good stuff before it was all gone.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said. “How's it going? How's Hermione?”

“Good and good.” Ron stepped across the room and sat down in the leather chair opposite Harry, knocking a few old reports off the chair and onto the floor. “We got a letter from Rose this morning - she's settling in just fine and making friends. Told me little Al's a Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, Al wrote home, too. He loves it - going to try out for the Seeker position on the house team.”

“Just like his dad, aye.”

Harry nodded, feeling that same warm rush of pride in his chest. “James just might make it - he's a whiz on the Windburn, and Al's light enough to be quicker than the rest. It'd be great to see them play back on that old pitch.”

Ron laughed. “It's not our generation anymore, is it? We're old, and there's a whole new generation ready to save the world.”

“From the looks of things they won't have to,” Harry said, tapping the stack of Green One reports on his desk. “All quiet, not a blip of real Dark magic in months, and Cooper and Singh finally broke up that house-elf smuggling racket.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Really? I hadn't heard.”

“Cooper fire-called last night with the good news, although apparently Singh did a lot of the work. Cooper wants to sponsor him for the senior apprenticeship.”

“How'd they do it?”

Harry grinned. “Singh arranged a meet with the seller and spent fifty-two thousand galleons of the Department's end-of-year budget buying every elf's collar. He then threatened his new elves with clothes unless they led him and Cooper back to the smugglers. Think Hermione put him up to it?”

“Merlin's beard!” Ron chuckled into his coffee. “That kid's got style.”

“He'll be one to look out for,” Harry agreed, signing off on a few of the memos before any more arrived and the stack became unmanageable. “How are your recruits doing?”

“That's what I came to see you about, actually,” Ron said, sucking in a deep breath.

Harry smirked. “And you thought you'd butter me up with a good cup of coffee beforehand, hmm? I can't be bought for anything less than a glazed donut, Weasley, and there wasn't even any cream in the coffee.”

Ron scowled. “One of the recruits got a little... eager this morning.”

“What happened?”

“We were out at Dover for the sea-cliff exercises, search and rescue, reconnaissance and infiltration one-oh-one.”

“Yes...”

“Standard active force one and two,” Ron sighed. “Team A and Team B simulating a dark wizard infiltration. Recruit Crichton put Auror Wilkes in St. Mungo's.”

Harry frowned. “Wilkes?” Wilkes was very nearly a Senior. And the recruits were practically fresh out of Hogwarts. “How did it happen?”

“Crichton was concealing a second wand in his boot - smart, Wilkes should have checked - and stunned him.”

“And a stunner put Wilkes in the hospital... why?”

Ron ran a hand back through his hair. “Crichton stunned him right over the edge of the white cliffs. Quick bit of wand-work cushioned his fall - that was Crichton again - but he still hit hard enough to break both legs, an arm, and most of his ribs.”

Harry winced. “So this recruit, Crichton, was he playing the Auror or the dark wizard?”

“Auror.”

“So he pulls out a concealed wand and stuns Wilkes over the cliff and then, on the spot, manages to catch him with a cushioning charm?”

“Pretty much,” Ron said.

“Did you mark him down for it?”

“He lost points for not minding his surroundings, but 'lethal' use was authorised for the exercise.” Ron shrugged. “Bit excessive, but given the circumstances it could have been a lot worse, I suppose. He didn't break any of the rules.”

Harry agreed. “Yet one of our best is still crippled for a week, at leat. Keep an eye on, Crichton,” he said. “Make sure he's not to spell-happy. Sounds like an honest mistake though.”

“No room for mistakes, Commander,” Ron said in a deep, rough voice. “Isn't that your unofficial motto these days?”

Harry laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“The recruits think you're a bit of a hardass, Harry. Especially after that speech you gave at the start of the program - 'one slip up and you're out', were your exact words, if I recall.”

Harry shook his head and pulled another memo from the pile in front of him, inking his quill. He scanned it briefly - an invoice for a shipment of wand holsters - and signed the request through, shoving it into his 'Out' tray, where it promptly folded itself back into the air and zoomed off out of the hole above his door made especially for the little annoying things. Things were a little dull, he thought, being in charge of the department and not out in the field.

Oh sure, he got out on occasion - usually in a case that had the potential to become Priority Red pretty fast once the situation had escalated out of control, but as he'd told Ron, there had been nothing even approaching that in months.

He had been thinking of taking some time off, a bit of annual leave. Maybe polish the old broom and go for a bit of flying, get a snitch and everything and make a real go of it. Then there was time with Ginny - they could leave Lily with her grandparents and go away somewhere warm and tropical. The more he thought about it like that the more appealing it seemed, and Harry knew he was due a tonne of annual leave, having only taken time off for his wedding and honeymoon some fifteen years ago now.

He'd have a talk to Ginny about it once he got home - she'd probably jump at the idea. They never got much alone time so long as there was at least one child at home. Harry realised he was thinking of 'alone time' with Ron's baby sister whilst he was still in the room. He felt a small blush creep into his cheeks.

Ron, being a highly trained Auror, spotted it. “What you thinking about?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Harry cleared his throat and shuffled some reports around his desk. “Just about taking some time off since there's about as much excitement around here as there was back in History of Magic with Professor Binns.”

Brriiinnnggg!

No sooner had he spoken the words than a shrill and high-pitched alarm began to sound throughout the room, and the fireplace between the cabinets on Harry's left flared to life with urgent green flames.

“Just when you've got a grip on things, Harry,” Ron said, rising and checking his wand. “Fate comes along and jumps on your fingers.”

Harry was up and already approaching the fireplace, his face grim and determined. He hadn't wanted anything to happen, not really, but this alert meant there was a potential Priority Red situation - an emergency already well underway. Spinning in the flames, a wizened face appeared and sharp eyes swept across the room, searching for Harry.

“Williamson,” Harry said, recognising the Head Auror assigned to the security detail at Azkaban.

“Commander Potter, situation delta - one of the high-security prisoners disarmed Auror Michelle Connelly. She's being held hostage in the cell now, wand at her throat.”

Harry grimaced. High security meant long-term to life sentences, it meant the old crowd, and it meant it could have been one of the many Dark wizards or witches Harry had put away over the last sixteen years.

“How did this happen?” Ron asked, almost spat. “High-security convicts are to be secured at all times!”

“She was secured,” Williamson said in return, glaring at Ron. “We don't know how she slipped her restraints or how she overpowered Connolly, Weasley!”

“She?” Harry said quietly.

Williamson's head nodded, the emerald flames dancing within his eyes in the fireplace. “Prisoner DE145 - Dolores Jane Umbridge.”

Harry whispered a low curse but Ron, who had always been able to swear like a champion, found a few choice words that explained Harry's own feelings better than he ever could.

“And Commander,” Williamson continued, “Umbridge is saying she'll only talk to you, that if anyone else enters the cell she'll kill Michelle faster than we could take her down. I believe her.”

Harry sighed. And today had been shaping up to be so quiet, as well.

*~*~*~*

After Harry defeated Voldemort and ended the Dark War, the Dementors, who had betrayed the Ministry and sided with Voldemort, had returned to Azkaban as if all would be forgiven. The newly-formed Ministry under Kingsley Shacklebolt had not been so forgiving, and the Dementors had been removed from the prison and a full contingent of forty-two Aurors had been assigned to guard the maximum security wizarding prison.

The Dementors themselves were still kept on the island, as there was no real safe place for them anywhere in the world. They were imprisoned in the caves beneath the island - which ran all the way down to the bed of the North Sea. The entrances to the caves were sealed and warded and checked daily for any breaches. No Dementor had escaped the confines beneath Azkaban for nineteen years.

And Merlin willing, Harry thought, as he looked out at the island from Williamson's office on the top floor of the dark and dank prison. And Merlin willing, none of them ever will.

He stood with Ron and Williamson himself, as well as half a dozen of the Aurors that guarded the island prison.

“She's armed, insane, and holding one of our own hostage,” Harry said slowly, carefully, keeping his anger in check. He had a personal score with Umbridge that he had considered long-since settled.

“Auror's Murphy and Heart on the scene say Connolly was forced into the prisoner restraints and is secured against the far wall. Umbridge is behind her and demanding to see you, Commander.” Williamson's tone was brisk and to the point. The man was calm in a potential crisis - that was good.

Harry's eyes flashed. “Well let's give her what she wants,' he said, and in a tone that suggested she was going to regret it. “Take me to her.”

Williamson nodded and led the way, with Harry and Ron falling in behind and the entourage of Auror-guards bringing up the rear.

Azkaban may have no longer been home to the Dementors, but their presence most definitely still seeped out of the walls, and along the dark corridors that, although lit with dozens of torches, seemed to hold no light at all. The fear and hopelessness was almost visible hanging in the air, heavy and oppressive, and a fierce cold swept through all of them as they approached the high security wing.

Harry always had problems staffing Azkaban with its full forty-two Auror contingent, twenty-four hours a day seven-days a week. No one wanted the assignment. Even when pay was double-time and a half for a regular ten hour day, only the hardest of the hard managed more than a month or two before requesting a transfer. The blasted Dementors had well and truly left their mark within the prison's haunted walls. A mark that had not dulled over the years, but festered.

Only a week ago Minister Shacklebolt had requested Harry take one of the wards and key it to his magical signature. He had obliged, and felt that ward now with his senses still up and in place, glowing strong. It was the ward that confounded any one stepping on the ground outside of the prison on the island itself. There were only a handful of pathways that were safe to walk on upon Azkaban, and those were known only to a handful of Aurors.

All of the wards remained in place, according to Williamson, so how had Umbridge escaped her restraints and overpowered a fully-trained Auror? Harry intended to ask her - politely.

“It doesn't make any sense,” Ron was saying. He was flipping through a manila folder that had Umbrdige's mugshot stapled to the cover. Her criminal record and prison history. “Not a peep from her in nineteen years - she's eligible for parole next year - and now this.”

“She never was right in the head, Ron,” Harry said.

“Something about this doesn't feel right.”

“You don't need to be an Auror to know that.” Harry agreed. “You'll remain in the corridor when I enter her cell. Is that clear?”

“Like hell-” Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

“That's an order, Auror Weasley. And it goes for the rest of you, too. I won't have Umbridge snap and damage Michelle Connolly in any way. This won't become Priority Red. Am I clear?” The last was mainly directed at Ron.

There was half a dozen short and sure 'Yes, sirs,' and Ron sighed.

“Ginny will kill me for letting you go in alone with that madwoman.”

Harry laughed. It sounded out of place in the hollow, freezing corridors. “If you promise not to tell her you can have leave for the Quidditch this afternoon.”

Ron's eyes brightened. “Deal!”

The high-security wing was perhaps the single dreariest place on planet. Back when the Dementors had patrolled these corridors, this part of the prison had been under constant supervision. Where prisoners in other parts of the prison would sometimes scream into the night for years following their incarceration, as the occasional Dementor would glide passed their cell maybe once every other day, here the prisoners had only screamed for days before the constant attention of the Dementors destroyed their will and their minds.

Sirius Black had been incarcerated in this part of the prison.

The inmates of today's world lived in relative luxury compared to what the guilty - and the innocent - of the past had suffered through.

Harry always felt a kind of helpless despair when he thought of his godfather spending twelve godforsaken years in what had been an inhumane hell on earth.

Williamson alone had access during the lockdown that had been enforced during the hostage situation. The Head of Azkaban Security waved his wand and muttered whatever that week's passwords were over the titanium-enforced thick doors. They were doors that barred all entrance and exit from the corridor that held the worst offenders from the Second Dark War.

A lot of ex-Death Eaters were imprisoned in the following row of stone cells. A lot of the men and women Harry had considered his responsibility to bring in over the years would spend the rest of their lives here.

They all heard Umbridge before they saw her.

Her voice had always been high-pitched and a little childish. Nineteen years in Azkaban had robbed her of that, and now her voice croaked and cracked against the echoing stones almost painfully. She sounded like the toad Harry had always likened her appearance to, all those years ago.

“POTTER...” The word seemed to groan through the stones. “EEHHHHHHHH, HARRY POTTER....”

“Christ almighty,” Williamson said, approaching the Aurors that stood guard outside of cell number 145. “How long has she been howling like that?”

“About ten minutes, sir,” an Auror Harry recognised as Sarah Heart - just five years into the job, still young - said.

“AYAYAYAYYYYY... HARRY POTTER. SHE DIES! SHE DIES, POTTER...”

“She was speaking normally before then - even reasonably - Commander.” Williamson turned to Harry. “She said she'd hand over the wand after talking to you.”

“POTTER... DARKNESS, DARKNESS IN THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH...”

“Well it would seem,” Ron said, “that a somewhat major screw has popped loose since then.”

“I'd have to agree with that assessment, Auror Weasley.” Harry ran a hand back through his unruly hair and checked his wand holster on his right arm. With a flick of his wrist he could have his wand in his hand in a heartbeat. It was also usefully concealed by the sleeve of his robes. “Give me five minutes,” he said, nodding at the cell door. “After that move in and stun anything moving - including me. Understood?”

“Gotcha, Harry,” Ron nodded. His tone was solemn now, serious. “Take care, mate.”

Harry slapped Ron on the back with a grin and approached the cell door. There was no viewing window in the high-security wing. Prisoners were not given an inch in which to see the world beyond their cell. Only once a day did the door open - for routine security checks and meal trays to be exchanged - and during that the restraining cuffs shackled to their wrists and ankles tightened so that they were facing the far wall and unable to move.

“AAAAYYYYYYYYY, POTTER, POTTER, POTTER-”

“Open it, Auror Heart,” Harry said, putting his game face on. “And no one better be standing behind me.” There was no mercy in his eyes as the cell door swung open outwards on well-oiled hinges, barely making a sound.

“-POTTER, POTTER... AYYYIIIEEE-”

Umbridge's cries abruptly ceased as the light from her cell fell on Harry standing in the corridor, and Harry saw his one-time 'professor' for the first time in nineteen years. What he saw didn't impress him.

Dolores Umbridge had always been a rather squat woman with a broad, flabby face and a slack mouth - resembling a large, pale toad. Now she was that and then some.

Her eyes were wide and bloodshot - the whites stained a sickly yellow - and her hair hung in sweaty curls flat against the drawn skull of her face. She was drooling, and a frothy mess of spit and what looked like blood coated her chin.

Expecting a killing curse or something much worse to have come shooting out of the cell as soon as the door opened, Harry almost dived to the side. Yet Umbridge held her stolen wand against the throat of its owner. Auror Michelle Connelly was trapped with her back to the wall. Shackles around her small ankles and wrists restrained her completely. Her eyes filled with relief when they found Harry.

“You wanted to see me?” Harry said - and quite calmly, he thought.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. “Step inside, inside, inside...” she hissed, her head twitching back and forth. 'Or he'll hear you...” She blinked first one eye and then the other, as if not daring to take both her eyes off Harry at the same time. It was so absurd he almost smiled, but didn't - it might provoke the woman.

“Sure thing,” he said.

“The door! Close the door, Potter.”

“You got it.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder and waved his hand at Auror Heart. She hesitated, biting her lip, but Harry nodded. The door swung shut with a clang that felt somewhat final.

Azkaban's cells were fairly basic. There was a bed of stone that was actually part of the thick walls. A thin mattress and blanket spread across it. There was a simple toilet and a single globe of magical light hanging from the ceiling. No personal effects, nothing but three regulation meal trays littered the floor.

“Long time no see,” Harry said after a moment.

Umbridge gnashed her teeth together and took a step forward, almost removing the wand from Connelly's neck. Harry would have flicked his wand into his wrist in an instant and stunned the women if she had.

“You... Harry Potter... I hate you.”

“That's because I won, Dolores,” Harry said, a terrible confidence in his voice. Here he was not Harry Potter the father, the husband, or the friend - here he was Harry Potter the Auror, the Boy Who Lived, and the defeater of Dark Lords. “I won and you've spent nineteen years in prison.”

Umbridge laughed - she cackled - and her watery eyes danced in their sockets. She pushed the wand deep into Connolly's neck, forcing a choked gasp from the petite woman. “It's not too late, Potter, but one day it will be.”

“Too late for what?” Harry asked. That had been the most coherent thing she had said so far, for all the sense it made.

“The light of heaven, the light of heaven and the darkness in the depths of the earth... Twilight, Mr Potter, twilight and mist!”

“Okey dokey then,” Harry replied. “How about you tell me how you managed to get loose?”

“I must not tell lies.”

Harry's hand flinched. “You got that right,” he said, and his tone was cold enough for frost. “So tell me how you've managed this?”

“He Who Must Not Be Named,” she tittered, and for a moment her eyes focused on Harry and they were frighteningly sane.

“Voldemort is dead, Umbridge. Dead and buried.”

“You know who, Harry,” she whispered. “You... know... who...he...is...”

This hostage negotiation was going nowhere fast. And any minute now Ron was going to come in wand blazing. Harry had to end this, and soon.

“So Voldemort came back to life, dug his way up out of six feet of hard earth, flew all the way here and busted you out of your chains so you could tell me he was back?” Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Few problems I can see with that, Dolores, from my side at least...”

“A warning, Potter-boy, a lightning bolt, a key to the Lord Myst. He Who Must Not Be Named walks in the shadows, and no one is safe... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord...”

Harry's wrist twitched and he slowly began to slide his wand into his hand, keeping his palm concealed in the folds of his robe. “Are you going to let my Auror go, Umbridge?”

And to that Harry received no answer - no answer he understood. Umbridge's eyes rolled up into the back of her head until only the bloodshot whites were showing, the back of her eyes. Her mouth stretched into a grin so wide he thought her face would split, and her nostrils flared wide enough to double in size.

“Potter... you have been warned, the pieces are moving. This gift I give to you.” Umbridge stopped speaking then and faster than Harry would have given her credit for she moved her wand arm away from Connelly and shoved the tip beneath her own chin. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Emerald green light cast a cool pall over the cell, and Dolores Jane Umbridge was dead before she crumpled to the floor.

It was at that moment that Ron burst into the cell, his wand at the ready. He took in the scene in an instant, saw that Umbridge was down, and together he and Harry worked free the restraints pinning Michelle Connolly to the wall.

“What the hell happened, Harry?” he asked.

Connolly was shaking but she could walk, yet both Harry and Ron held one of her arms between them, keeping her steady. The shackles had worn away the skin around her ankles and wrists, and they were red-raw and bleeding.

Harry shook his head. “She didn't say a lot that made sense. Anything, actually - it was nonsense. And then she topped herself with the bloody killing curse.”

“Did she say how she managed to break free?”

“Oh yeah, she said Voldemort did it.”

“That old rascal,” Ron said dryly.

Harry clicked his teeth together, his mind running at about a million miles an hour. “Either one of the Aurors released her, or someone breached Azkaban itself, in which case they might still be here. Getting on to the island is far easier than getting off.”

Ron thought about that as they left the cell, leaving it for Murphy and Heart to secure the scene. Williamson began to lead them back to his office, to the floo connection there. Connolly would need to be checked out in St Mungo's in case she'd been cursed or jinxed whilst captive.

Back in Williamson's office at the top of the prison, Harry ordered a full scale search of the prison and the island and then accompanied Auror Connolly to the hospital. He called in on Wilkes, too, while he was there - the Auror Ron's recruit had knocked off a cliff - and then headed back to the office.

There was a tonne of paperwork to do for the morning's events, and a full investigation to mount. Harry wouldn't let it go until he discovered just who had freed one of the high-security prisoners, a prisoner of personal interest to him.

One thing he knew for certain - it definitely hadn't been bloody Voldemort.

*~*~*~*