They Shook Hands : Year Four

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Delta - Missing Scenes from Year Four

Sirius and Remus sat in the arsenal sitting glasses of firewhiskey. Harry had long since gone to bed, worn out from a hard day of cleaning the house with his friends.

"Some day, eh, Moony?"

"It certainly is that. We got a lot done."

"Lots to go."

"Be positive."

"I'm positive there's a lot to go."

"That's the spirit. I think with all these extra hands helping out, we'll be done in no time."

"It is terribly amusing to put pureblooded kids to work cleaning. I can't lie about it."

"They're good kids, Padfoot," Remus argued. "Obnoxious little bastards at times, but then so were the Gryffindors I taught, and so were we."

"They are good kids," Sirius admitted. "When they're not tormenting Muggleborns and hexing anyone who crosses their path, they're absolutely delightful. I honestly believe they bring their mothers flowers and whatnot."

"Now you're being disingenuous."

"Gesunteight. Not junior Death Eaters, which I would have expected, but they're not nice people."

"And I say again, Padfoot, were we so much different at that age? Do I need to remind you what you tried to have Severus do to himself?"

"Yes, I'd love to hear the story again."

Remus chuckled. "Oh, knock it off. It's the way of children to be ignorant and stupid. Only life and experience can make them grow up. These children have been involved in some pretty heady affairs in their short lives. They're almost tolerable now."

"I suppose I can understand that. I just worry about how much they influence Harry."

"Because of how he grew up, he has very solid reasons to hate Muggles. The purebloods have fed in to that. It will be extremely difficult to change his mind on that issue. He's going to need years of therapy when this is all over and done with. But he's latched on to Lily being Muggle-born and done something very interesting with it. Harry holds no prejudice about purity of magical blood, only about its presence."

"And this is what? Progress?"

"I would say so."

Lucius Malfoy's arm was burning. Toxic magic seared his skin. He came awake with a scream that split the night. He howled, clutching at his left forearm and holding it close to his stomach.

The pain! The mind-bending pain! An infinite number of white-hot needles were jabbed in to every nerve ending. But where injury was a flash of pain that receded, this agony did not relent.

The last time he had felt it had been in the presence of his old master.

The dark times! The days he'd left behind without regret all came back to him. When his Death Eaters failed, the Dark Lord was free with his curses. It was impossible to leave once summoned unless one were dismissed and given permission to go. Lucius had been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's wrath more than once, and each time he had sworn not to scream only to break his vow eventually.

"Lucius!" Narcissa, his perfect wife was instantly by his side. "Look at me!"

Her voice registered on the very edge of his consciousness. Fighting to focus his eyes against the pain that gnawed on his sanity, he looked at her.

"Lucius, stay with me. Be strong, my love. Be strong."

Her love struck him with the force of a blow. Her eyes captured his, and he was sinking in to their beautiful blue depths. His mind reeled from the emotion, and the pain diminished slightly.

His trembling and shaking continued, but she held him. She whispered soothing words to him and rocked him back and forth. Her comfort eventually calmed him, and he fell in to an exhausted sleep.

When he had recovered from the agony of the Dark Mark reigniting on his skin, Severus Snape headed to the Headmaster's office. He had a house in the country, but what was the point of going there? Without the moronic students who regularly prevented the fine art of potion-making from taking place, the dungeons were emminently suitable. His laboratory was already set up here at school.


The door opened. Snape stepped inside.

"You do have the most odd invitations, Albus."

"I've said 'Come in' and 'Enter' so many times that I've grown quite bored with them, Severus. A thesauraus is a wonderful tool."

"So it is."

"What brings you here at this time of night?"

An odd question, considering that Dumbledore seemed quite awake.

"The Dark Mark has returned. I am only now suitably recovered from the pain to come and report."

"What?" Dumbledore was aghast. "How?"

"I know not. But see for yourself." Snape pulled back his sleeve.

"This is most serious."

"He's done something. I don't know what, but something has changed."

"Do you think there's anything that can be done?"

"Until he chooses to summon me, I can learn nothing."

"And that should be only a matter of time. Things look to come to a head this year. We must be ready. I should like to consult with Alastor on the matter."

"Mad-Eye? So he's accepted the job, has he?" Snape tried not to be bitter about that. He was continually passed over for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"He has."

"Very well."

Dumbledore placed a firecall to the residence of Alastor Moody, newly retired Auror. He had accepted a teaching post, so his retirement was obviously not going to be quiet.

Floo was a very convenient means of communicating, but it did mean that anyone in the room could hear both ends of the conversation.


Dumbledore pulled his head back sharply as what sounded like a Blistering Hex crashed in to the fireplace.

"Alastor, it's Dumbledore!"

"Dumbledore? Warn me before you just pop out of nowhere like that!"

"My sincerest apologies, Alastor. Do you have a few moments to talk?"

Dumbledore laid out what little they knew.

"The biggest question I have is whether or not you intend to tell Harry," Snape said.

"Why does he need to know?" Dumbledore asked. "What good can it do?"

"He can prepare himself. Why should we not give him the chance to comprehend the enormity of the threat he faces?"

"We don't know for certain if there is a threat," Dumbledore said.

"Albus, the Dark Mark is irrefutable proof," Moody declared. "Potter can't be vigilant if he doesn't know about what's out there."

"He knows Voldemort is out there," Dumbledore argued. "They've clashed on several occasions."

"This is true," Snape admitted. "But this is specific, not general. I will tell him.

"No, Severus, I feel it best if we do not enlighten Harry as to this development. We don't really know anything, and we can tell him if something happens."

"That might not be in enough time. The Dark Lord strikes without warning."

"Severus, please do as I ask."

"No. Harry is one of mine, and I will not see harm come to him. Knowledge is power, Albus, as you well know."

"Snape has the right of it, Albus. The more he knows, the safer he is."

"The more he knows, the more of his childhood I take from him," Dumbledore said with a great sigh. "I want to spare him the loss of innocence. No, he must not be told."

"I will tell him anyway. It is my right as his Head of House."

"I am the Headmaster, Severus."

"Perhaps a compromise?" Moody suggested. "Potter lives with Black, right? Why don't we inform him. He's Potter's legal guardian after all."

"That would be a collosal mistake, Alastor," Snape said coolly. "The first thing Black will do is tell Potter."

"Can he be made to see reason?"

"You obviously don't know him very well. Black is a loose cannon. He is reckless, dangerous, prone to profound acts of stupidity, and firmly convinced that he knows everything there is to know. He should not rely upon his discretion."

"That will do, Severus. No, Sirius should not be told either. We might as well tell Harry directly."

"As you say, Albus."

Note: Rough draft written by Elle, edited by Dethryl

"Hey, Jamie? Do you have your old potions notes?" Blaise asked, poking her blonde head into her sister's sunny pink room. "I figured I might as well start on next year's work."

Jamie had been trying to practice her flute, trying to keep her mind off her problems, but was having little success. She turned to her sister and smiled sadly.

"Not much else to do, is there?" she asked, gesturing for Blaise to come in and sit with her. "I'm sorry."

"No, I like it. We get to spend time together," Blaise lied valiantly, biting back the look of pain. Jamie had seen the same distraught look every morning when she looked into a mirror and realized she and her sister were persona non grata in the social world. "Usually, we're too busy to even see each other."

It was true. Had life been proper, Jamie would have been queen of her year's social set. She would have passed the summer shopping with Bridget, going riding with the girls, and sitting in Malfoy Manor with Elan. Her clothing would have been copied, her jokes repeated, and her likes and dislikes noted. Blaise would be with her little friends, serving a similar role. They would be where they should be.

"You're being too kind. This is all my fault. Even Mum and Dad are suffering because of me," she whispered helplessly, running her fingers through her hair nervously. Mum had been snubbed in public, and Dad was barely holding onto his contacts at work. While they wouldn't be losing their home, it was a definite blow to their family. Jamie tried not to worry, but she couldn't help it. She could take suffering on her own, but bringing her family in to this was just plain crossing the line.

Elan had been none too pleased with her complaining about him and had decided to make an example of her. As a Malfoy, he could do what he pleased and everyone would follow his lead. A few words from him, and suddenly everyone was too busy to notice anyone from her family. There were no teas in the garden, no wild parties to hide from her parents; she was boring and unwanted.

She could even pinpoint the fall from grace. In the beginning of the summer, Jamie had seen her once best friend Maddy Fitzjean buying new dress robes. Maddy had blushingly claimed it was for a cousin's wedding, even though everyone with a lick of sense knew it was the Beltane party at the Malfoy country home. For the first time in years, Jamie had not received an invitation. Since that day, she had been aware of the cooling of relations with everyone she thought had been her friend. Appointments were cancelled, parties went uninvited, and no one had owled her all summer.

"It's no one's fault," Blaise said, trying to be cheery. It was a complete lie. The Zabini family was completely ostracized by polite wizarding society, and she knew who to blame for her family's suffering.

"Potter still ignoring you? He's a damned fool, you know," Jamie said tenderly. Blaise was sharing her exile. That was probably Elan's fault as well. He was much admired by Potter, and a few suggestive words would have been all that were needed.

"Everyone is. No invitations for parties or even casual gatherings. No one wants to see me. I don't exist," Blaise whispered, completely breaking down in tears as she buried her face in Jamie's shoulder. "All because I love a boy who doesn't love me back. They hate me."

"No, Blaise, they hate me, and they're just using you to hurt me," Jamie explained, knowing it made things sound so much worse. She knew that none of them would cross Elan, he had everyone in their circle on his side in some way, either by friendship or family. "That blasted Malfoy, he thinks he owns everything. He and that damned Weasley pet he keeps, they turned everyone against me. My own friends. I trusted them."

Blaise continued crying, and Jamie stroked her hair. She didn't know how she had fallen so low, to be the social outcast. She had thought she had friends as well. Now, she didn't know what to do.

"I don't understand! Breaking up with Malfoy, and he decides to destroy our family? Does he do this to all girls he dates?" she sobbed.

"Lynn and Maddy and Sam and Bridget are just too afraid to do anything, because of him and his little pet. It was Weasley who wanted me thrown out of the group, you know. He was jealous of me and Elan. And Elan just loved it; he loved the attention. And stupid Bridget, she didn't even warn me. She was always after my place, but she was as flat as a piece of bread and into her books. Now because she finally has a figure, she thinks she can ignore me? I remember helping her stuff her shirt so she didn't look like a boy. And now she's Miss Wizard's Choice?" she spat. "I bet she was using potions to finally get herself to look normal. St. Mungo's records should be checked."

"Elan did it because he thinks Bridget is prettier?"

Jamie stiffened. "Elan did this to me because he wanted to have the whole group to himself. He wanted everyone following him, and I was too much of a threat. He thinks he can find someone who will just jump at his command," she snapped angrily to no one in particular.

Blaise just sobbed harder. "Men are pigs," she sniffled, finally making some sense. "We should just hex them."

"Yes we should, little sister. I just saw Lynn slumming with that abominable Weasley. He has to work for a living. I should be pitying Elan for even letting him into the social set. They just lowered standards, and when I protested, they threw me out. And Maddy's dating the son of a Death Eater, so she's no real prize. And Sam's just a pathetic weakling. If it wasn't for Elan, he'd have been stuffed into small, cramped spaces by older students. I'm better off without them."

Blaise hugged her tight. "You are better than them," she agreed sweetly. She always knew the right thing to say. "Let's go shopping, we'll find some nice jumpers for the new season. By then, things will have gotten better."

Jamie wished she could tell her sister the truth. Things would never get better till someone took Elan down a peg.

As Harry spoke the language of snakes, Jenna felt a shiver run down her spine. Parseltongue, the gift possessed by Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. No other wizard in British history (or greater Europe, for that matter) could speak it except his line. This was all the proof she had required before acknowledging Harry as the Heir of Slytherin.

And now she watched as the pipe leading down beneath the school was exposed. The Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts' oldest legend. Only the Heir of Slytherin could open the Chamber, so the tale went. Harry had opened it once before, and now it was opened again.

Harry cast the Featherfall Charm on her, and she felt a tingling behind her ears. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He was so very cute when he was trying to be solemn and serious. She chose not to disrupt his little moment with a sarcastic comment.

The journey down to pipe was rather boring. It was all very clean ceramic. She touched it with one hand, tracing her fingers on the ancient plumbing.

At the bottom, she landed gently on her feet and stepped out of the mouth of the pipe in to a stone cavern. They were miles beneath the castle, surely. Globes of flame lit the way forward.

Jenna gasped along with the others when they glimpsed the giant skin. Harry had faced down this beast as a second year with only his gift of serpent speech as a weapon? She shuddered to think of how easily they might have lost him.

The great ornate door required another word, and it swung open on silent hinges. She stepped inside the Chamber, not knowing what to expect next. It was a very long room, lined with towering stone pillars that were entwined with more carved serpents. At the far end of the hall, a statue as high as the Chamber itself loomed into view. The giant face above was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Filtered light lit a circle on the stone floor at the statue's feet.

Jenna felt her knees trembling. Who was she to be standing here amidst history? Her bloodline was not particularly distinguished. Her mother had remarried after the war. Her father was new money, having helped develop several new innovations to broom safety charms. She wasn't worthy to be here.

Harry called them all back to their purpose. He needed their help to train for the First Task. Dragons. What insanity.

Charlie Weasley watched Harry Potter flying circles around the Chinese Fireball and felt the stirrings of envy in his gut. Strange. He hadn't envied anyone anything in years. Well, maybe his dad and mum for the phenomenal love they shared. You had to be in love to raise seven kids together. Charlie wanted that for himself some day.

"Some fancy flying, eh Ron?"

His younger brother, watching the First Task from the sidelines instead of in the stands with his fellow Gryffindors, snorted rudely. "Potter's not bad," he grunted, and even that admission appeared to pain him. "You're better."


Ron watched Potter for a silent moment or two, his emotions plain on his face, for he had never learned to hide them. "I hate him. He's a smug, smarmy, slimy, slippery, evil Slytherin. He struts around the school like he owns the place. Just once I'd love to see him put in his place."

The wild look in Ron's eyes suddenly set Charlie on edge. That was the look of a madman. "Ron?"

"Charlie, you're my favourite brother. You know that, right?"

Oh no, he was using the "favourite brother" introduction.

"I've always wanted to be like you. I've always wanted to be great at Quidditch like you. I want to fly high and win glory for Gryffindor. But there's no way I'll ever be able to do it. I can't afford a good broom, and I don't have anyone to teach me."

"What are you saying, Ron?" Charlie knew, but he wanted to hear it from Ron's own mouth.

"Will you teach me how to be a Seeker? You were the best, everyone says so. If you teach me everything you know, I'll be sure to make the team next year. We've got lots of time to train."

"Sure, Ron. This summer, you come to Romania. I'll have lots of time apart from work. Maybe I'll even get you a job as an assistant stall sweeper. Could you work around these big lizards? Pay's pretty good."

"They're not so bad," Ron said bravely.

"It would go a long way towards paying for a new broom," Charlie advised him. "If you put in the effort, Mum and Dad might be able to come up with something to help you out."

"Mum and Dad can't, and you know it. Ever since Dad got demoted and had to pick up his night job, things are really tight. She bought me dress robes, right? But they're from ages ago and might as well be a dress. I love 'em, but we're poor. I couldn't fly well, knowing that it meant the family was going without something."

Charlie was as impressed as he'd ever been with his youngest brother. His words reflected a remarkably mature attitude about money. Things hadn't been so bad when Charlie had been younger. Everything had cost less, and there weren't so many mouths to feed.

Charlie's first broom had been second-hand, yes, but also top of the line acquired for a song by Dad through a friend at the Ministry. Then he'd gone out in to the world to make his own way, and it was finally starting to pay off. He had a tidy flat, which he shared with one mate. He'd managed to put away a handful of Galleons each month while still sending money back to England.

"Not to worry, Ron," he said warmly. "I'll make up the difference. How about that?"

"So we're agreed then," Ron said. "By the time we get back to the common room tonight, we'll both have dates."

"Right," Neville said.

Ron wished he felt nearly so confident as he pretended to be. The thought of asking another girl to the Yule Ball made his stomach twist up in knots. He'd asked Parvati Patil three times and been turned down. Well, he was supposed to be a Gryffindor, right? He'd find his courage somewhere - he hoped.

Either Merlin or Godric Gryffindor himself was with him, for as Ron left lunch and headed to Transfiguration, Chrissy Golding emerged from a secret passage - and she was alone!

"Hey, Chrissy," he said casually, before his nerves could stop him. Fred had just gone and done it. Ron needed to do the same.

"Hi, Ron."

Wow, she was really pretty when she smiled. It rearranged her entire face.

Ron was speechless for a few moments. He tried to smile back, but it probably didn't come off all that well.

"Are you going with anyone to the Yule Ball?" he asked brilliantly.

"No, not yet."

"Me either. I was thinking-"

"Always a dangerous proposition."

"Yup. Would you like to go with me?"

"Sure. We've all got to go with someone, right? I don't fancy anyone, but it should be a lot of fun."

"Great. Fantastic."

They grinned rather foolishly at each other.

Chrissy brought them back from the clouds. "We should get to Transfiguration."

"Yeah. Wanna sit together?"

"All right, then."

Note: Rough draft written by Elle, edited by Dethryl

Michelle returned from the ball, still feeling like Cinderella. She couldn't believe she had been the date of the Boy Who Lived! She had raised her social standing for years. She had even gotten him to kiss her! Even if he wasn't interested in her now, things could change. The seed had been planted.

As she left the common room, Michelle couldn't wait to tell her friends what had happened. She was the luckiest girl in the third year, and everyone knew it. The other girls would be so jealous. Dancing with a star like Potter had been a dream come true. She sashayed lightly down the hall to her dorm, still remembering the feel of Potter's arms around her. She didn't even bother to be quiet. She knew everyone would be waiting to hear from her.

In the third year girls dorm, Ginny was being unbuttoned by Sarrah, as they all giggled together. Their smiles faded as she sat down.

"So, the little strumpet returns?" Laine said acidly.

Oh heck.

"Come off it," she said softly, her good mood fading away, but it was too late. Michelle knew Laine was in love with Harry, and her blazing eyes could have reduced Michelle to cinders on the spot.

She looked around at the others, but the venom in Shawna and Sarrah's eyes told her that Laine's feeling had spread.

"Are you just stupid?" Shawna hissed. "Do you really believe we'd be nice to someone who betrayed their own friend? You knew Laine liked Harry and you still went after him. Loyalty isn't only for Hufflepuffs."

"So eager to go off to Harry, you practically threw yourself at him," Sarrah said disapprovingly.

"You're a horrible bint," Shawna hissed angrily, turning her back to her. "You should be ashamed to call yourself a Slytherin."

"You aren't our friend," Sarah continued, folding her arms. "You're just a floozy tart, and no one wants to know you anymore. I hope you enjoyed tonight, because it is going to cost you."

Michelle looked around. Ginny was staring off into the corner, too cowed to say anything against the people who had taken her in.

"I'm sorry, I'll never do it again," she pleaded, realizing now that Laine's quiet on the matter had been the final warning. "Please, forgive my stupidity, it was just a little fun, nothing more."

Ginny suddenly looked up. "All right, I think I could use some help undoing my hair pins, Laine. Could you give me a hand?" she asked, clearly trying to smooth things.

Laine's glare moved to Ginny. "I think you'll be all right," she said softly, before returning her glare to Michelle. "It wasn't very funny to me."

"It was just a favor, I figure-" Michelle began, before seeing a flash of purple hex.

"Vieo," Laine hissed, as a sharp pain filled Michelle's mouth. A stitching charm; her mother had used it a hundred times. She tried to speak, to protest, but her lips wouldn't part. Only sounds emerged, her whimpers through the pain.

Laine knelt down at Michelle's side. "I would advise you to keep silent about that," she hissed. "Now, you're really going to get it."

Ginny's voice floated through the air. "What is she talking about?" Michelle realized through her tears what she had done wrong, but it was too late to correct it.

"It's nothing," Shawna said. "Some people just don't know their place."

"Exactly. Since you seem to be too stupid to hear warnings, let me put it to you plainly. You're a ghost now. No one can speak to you. No one can be friends with you. Until you learn your lesson, you're officially vitandus," Laine said softly. "That's the last you are going to hear from anyone of us for a while."

Michelle got to her feet and ran outside, hoping to get a prefect to help her with her mouth. Even through the stitches, she could still sob.

Ron was furious at another victory for Potter. And it didn't help that one of the judges was his own traitorous brother who was walking over to him in his fancy robes, all powerful and acting as if he was anything but a swot who had sold his own family for a position.

"Would you like to have some tea with me?" Percy asked, jogging over to him. "I've spoken to Dumbledore and he said I could take you to Hogsmeade so we could talk. My treat," he explained, sounding nervous.

"Not sure I want to say anything to you," Ron said, wondering if he was fast enough to hex his older brother. "You've made Mum cry. Youngest ever Department Head who doesn't invite his own family to the celebration party. Not sure why you want to be seen with me."

"I know," Percy said, looking miserable over that. "I didn't even know about the party. Elan planned it for me. I was told it was an office meeting on cauldron bottoms," he tried to explain. "Please, just listen to me."

"Try explaining it to Mum and Dad. They were crushed. You know, they're dumb enough to still care about you. Mum keeps setting a place for you at the table and then crying when she has to remove it because you're too busy trying to make yourself important to be part of the family," Ron sneered, enjoying watching his powerful older brother's face. He had been furious at him ever since Percy had taken Ginny to the Quidditch World Cup and left him behind.

Percy paled but stood his ground. "I didn't come to you to fight. I just want to talk. I'm still your brother, and I want to try and have a civil conversation with you."

Ron was having none of it. "You know, I'd believe you if you weren't such a suck up for power. I get you voting for the Hogwarts Champion, but do you really have to vote for Potter all the time? Full marks? Twice?" he demanded. It was something that drove him crazy; his own brother had the power to make Potter suffer and didn't!

Percy glared at him. "Are you accusing me of cheating?" he demanded, looking like he was about to start hexing.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You cheat? You don't have the Knuts to cheat. If you were a halfway decent brother, you would have sneaked me into the Tournament. But no, you just seem to be Potter's biggest fan. Couldn't you be as critical of him as you are to your own family?"

Percy adjusted his glasses. "Potter has managed to do well in the tournament, as Mister Bagman and Professor Dumbledore have always noted, Ronald. I see no reason to punish an excellent performance. And the thought of you suggesting I enter your name fraudulently, well, you should be glad I don't speak to Mum and tell her about this wild idea. She'd set you straight," he said pompously.

Ron's eyes widened on that train of thought. He hadn't thought about what his mother would do to him for risking his life like that. "Well, you'd actually have to talk to Mum to tell on me," he managed to say, knowing it was a low blow. "Are you planning to do that? Or do you just plan to keep kissing up to Potter and giving him a free ride?"

"I tried, Ron. Merlin knows, I've tried. You know where I am if you wish to find me," Percy said, trying to avoid looking stung. "And you might want to remember he saved Ginny's life. You owe Potter that!"

Ron glared at him and knew the perfect insult. "It should have been you who did it. Your own sister was nearly killed, and you, a prefect, did nothing for her," he said, knowing that would be something Percy would never recover from. "You abandoned her to die."

Percy smiled thinly, a rather terrifying smile that reminded Ron of the twins at their worst, and had his wand out before Ron could even blink. At that moment, Ron keenly was aware that his elder brother was a very talented wizard who had scored highest in his year in all of his classes, gotten twelve O.W.L.s in his fifth year, had been selected Head Boy, and had gotten a dozen N.E.W.T.s to polish it all off.

"You shouldn't talk about what you don't know. You really don't know me at all," he said softly, turning on his heel and walking away. "What a pity."

He hadn't even tried to hex him, even though he could have. It was - actually a nice gesture.

Ron watched his brother take a step away and decided, against his better judgement to be slightly nicer. "I don't know you at all, but take care of yourself," he found himself saying. "Don't work yourself to death."

Percy turned his head. "You too," he said cautiously. "If you want to still have tea, my offer stands."

"I'm busy. I have to practice drills. Charlie's teaching me to be a Seeker," Ron confided, still feeling weird. He didn't want to spend more time with him that he had to.

"Good to hear. But try and concentrate on your studies too," Percy said lightly. "See you at the next task."

Voldemort took his first step on to solid land and ended the spell that had let him cross the choppy waters of the ocean. He inhaled deeply, pleased that he was not even slightly tired after such a strenuous task.

He studied the bleak, grey fortress. It was imposing, even to one who had seen as much as he had. It had once been built to keep people out. Now it was used to keep people in. He smiled. Soon it would return to its original purpose.

He raised his wand to his throat. "Sonorus!

"Aurors of Azkaban! I am Voldemort, Darkest of Dark Lords! Unless you wish to die this day, throw down your wands and surrender yourselves to me! Resistance will be met with oblivion! Those who fight me will be destroyed!"

There was a pause, during which they would assuredly be trying to call for help. Let them come when they were unprepared for him. It would be a delightful slaughter.

"Whomever you are, this prison is answerable only to the Ministry of Magic. We do not recognize your authority. Now go away before you join the residents here."

Voldemort smiled. "But there those who do recognize me. Dementors! Your master has come at last! Rise up! Slay the guards! Open the gates for me!"

Within moments, terrified shrieks could be heard, carried on the gusting wind. The guards, who had to live with the Dementors and their happiness-destroying presence, surely had wondered at one point or another how awful it must feel to receive the Dementor's Kiss. Now they knew just how awful it was.

When the screams had stopped, he began the journey to the gates. Azkaban belonged to him now.