“The unknown scares the world because they have no way to prepare for what is coming. They know something is coming, but all they can do is wait, and they hate that, and whatever is at fault.”

“They hate me because I’m an unknown.”

“Yes.”

“There’s times I hate my life.”

-A conversation between Harry Potter and Remus Lupin

Harry James Potter, traitor to the wizarding world, is missing, writes Rita Skeeter. He was last seen three weeks ago, on one of his rare appearances to class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His constant disappearances have inspired rumors since they began at the start of this year.

Classmates and teachers alike have expressed their concern. As was said by Ronald Weasley, former friend of the Boy, “He’s here when he wants to be, and no one knows what he does when he’s gone. We can’t trust him.”

Mr. Weasley has been one of the of the Ministry staunchest supporters since Potter’s famous betrayal. He claims that he was spelled to remain loyal, and that he was only recently freed.

Neither Albus Dumbledore nor the Ministry has given comment.

Related stories: Attack on Weasley Home pg 6; Traitor by Association Amendment pg 4.

>=====<

Lucius Malfoy set down his tea, summoned his mask and Apparated to his Lord’s current residence. He fell to his knees at once, bowing before power, and held out the article wordlessly. Though he was surprised his son had not informed him earlier, the Dark Lord’s reaction told Lucius that he was the first to bring this news. A small gleam crossed the Lord’s eyes, flaring fiery passion. He set the page at his side and hissed to Naigini, stroking her head.

“Find him, Lucius.” He whispered, “Before they do. I want him.” Lucius bowed even lower, accepting the task. “Take two others. Take your son and Rabstaban. You have three days. Begin tonight, and bring me the girl before you leave.”

Lucius bowed again, and disapparated.

Minutes after arriving home, two owls departed, bearing succinct notices. He lifted an old, shimmering cloak from a chest, and vanished again.

>=====<

Lupin ran through the dense forest as quickly as he could on his swollen ankle.

The ministry had attached a tracking spell to his magic, leaving his unable to do anything to speed his recovery or his journey. There was a muggle city a few miles away where he would be able to find better transportation.

Merciless and harsh, the pain from his ankle stabbed at his mind with each step. He had blacked out twice, but could not stop moving. Promises and vows made him continue to lift his feet just one more time, no matter the pain.

He was in Germany, crossing to a small village.

The moon had been a week previous; he had caught his paw in a tree branch as he roamed, and had nearly broken it. Instead, it was swollen to twice its natural size, and was maintaining a sickly purple cast. When he woke to the pain, he screamed, but managed to find his stash of clothing and supplies where there were certain pain potions; potions that had long since vanished.

Remus was exhausted, emaciated, and terrified for Harry. He was being haunted by the voices of his friends and his dreams were dark.

Finally, with only a mile left, Remus fell to his knees, forced to rest for a few moments.

The sun was gone and the moon was waning, and cast no useful light. Using his arms as much as possible, he moved himself onto a large rock. There were tears in his eyes. His cuts and scratches bled lightly. He had not rested since his transformation, and knew that if he did not soon, his body would fail him.

“There won’t be a bus until morning anyway.” He told himself. “If we stay here for a few hours we will have a better chance at this.” He closed his eyes and leaned into a tree, relaxing his muscles.

“A better chance at what?”

Remus flung himself to his feet, adrenaline defending him from pain, and found his face only inches from yellow eyes and jagged teeth. His hackles raised. “Good evening, Fenrir, I had no idea you were visiting Germany. If I’d known I would have been hunting you.”

“Remus.” Fenrir said, drawing out the s in a low hiss. “You never really understood did you?” Remus, in decades of magical training, working with the Mauraders and the Order, or in watching nature, had never seen anything move as fast as Fenrir Greyback. A clawed hand ripped across his face, opening long gashes and throwing him to the ground.

His back hit the rock he had rested on a moment earlier, and air rushed from his lungs.

“You never realized what we are. What gifts I gave you. You are more than them. You are stronger. But you continue to put yourself below even their standards.” He was hit again, opening the other side of his face. “You make yourself a third class citizen.” A kick to the stomach deprived him of oxygen for a second time. “You aren’t worth the power that we hold. We are more than them, and the Dark Lord will help us take that.”

Fenrir dropped to the ground beside Remus and dragged a claw through the blood drenching his face. “The Dark Lord wants to help all of us. The pack won’t let you ruin that.” His eyes were glowing in the night, fierce and hungry. He rose, and set his foot atop Remus’ injured ankle. Waves of pain swept through his mind. “You are one of us, or you are dead.” He broke the bone, and Remus was swept into darkness.

>=====<

A cloud passed over the moon, blotting out what little light the two men had used. Torches burned in the distance, but they still outside the range of their light. They moved silently, invisibly, unable to even illuminate their path. Their wands were held before them, hoping that they could overwhelm any threat before it reached them.

In darkness, they continued.

Rocks and sand slipped beneath their feet, tripping both men several times. As they rose again, it was with soft curses towards the clouds and silent prayers that the ache in their ankles was nothing more than a minor complaint.

Finally the cloud passed on, returning their light, just as they reached their destination. Both cursed the cloud again.

The door was slowly uncovered as they moved the sand with their bare hands. It was small but heavy. Grateful that it was silent, they pried it open, and slipped inside. It was even darker. They eased the door closed and began to slink along the narrow passage towards the line of light that shone beneath a second door.

They cracked the door open, nodded to each other and left their furtive manner behind.

Confident and proud they sauntered down the hall, smug looks plastered to their faces. They passed a guard, who moved deferentially out of the way. At the front of the building, a man flung himself to his feet to greet them properly. “Sirs, welcome, why…er….sirs….” he babbled, trying to work out how to properly address the two men.

“I assume you know who we are?” The first said. “We need access to the main record. There is an….old friend I need to check in on.”

“Of course Professor Dumbledore. Will Auror Moody accompany you?” The man asked.

“Yes.” Dumbledore said, forcing his eyes to twinkle. “I wouldn’t have brought him otherwise.”

“Of course Professor. Right this way.” They were led to a long room, the walls covered with cabinets, which contained every record of Azkaban Prison. “Do you need anything else, sirs?”

“No. Let us work.” Moody growled. The man hastily retreated.

The two men shared a disgusted sneer. “You start with the honest approach, I’ll find a map of the cells.” Dumbledore ordered.

Moody walked to the cabinet labeled ‘Ph—Pr’ and wrenched it open. It extended nearly five feet from the cabinets, and it took several minutes of flipping through files to find the section he sought. Harry James Potter’s record was thicker than many Azkaban inhabitants’, thanks mainly to the Traitor by Association Act.

Moody knelt with an uncommon nimbleness. He found the main file, and scanned to the bottom. There was no mention of any imprisonment. He was listed as missing, but there was no mention given to any leads. Moody called, “Sir, he isn’t listed, but he may still be here.”

Dumbledore nodded, and brought a map of cells to show. Inhabited cells were labeled with crimes and the date that the prisoner was to be released, if ever. Also listed was the day they were brought in, the person’s birth date, and a small figure in a handful of cells that he could not identify.

The most recently added was above ground, only fifty meters from where they were. It had the unidentified symbol, and no release date.

Dumbledore nodded, pointing, and made an instant copy of the map.

“We’re almost out of time, sir.” Moody said.

They closed the cabinet, and jogged to two others. Two files were removed and shrunk.

Then, they adjusted their cloaks and walked out of the room. Looking rather terrified, the man was waiting for them. Dumbledore smiled and the pair took their leave. The man was about to escort them to the ferry, but a cauldron began to boil, and he was forced to address his failing potion. The men walked out of his sight, then jogged away.

Without the dementors to guard the building, it was a child’s game to move within it. Moody pulled a key from his cloak, properly stolen from the man at the desk, and opened the door.

They stole inside silently, lighting the torch, and shuddering.

A horrid, rank filth hung in the air, causing them to choke. Dumbledore glanced at Moody, and commented, “It’s wearing off, you’ll want to remove that eye.” Moody did so, just in time for his real eye to grow. His hair thickened, growing healthy and pale blonde. The cut in his nose vanished, returning to its aristocratic shape and his eyes—both of them—turned silver. Dumbledore was growing younger, his hair turned black, his eyes lost their ability to twinkle, and his beard slid back into his face.

The two men shuddered again.

“An unpleasant thing, polyjuice potion.”

“I will never do that again, sir.”

Severus smirked. “You will if you are needed to, Draco.”

The Malfoy lifted his nose, but the look in his eye acknowledged the point.

They let the possible argument pass, and turned to the prisoner. He was curled away from them, unwashed, and though he was the correct size, his blonde hair destroyed their hope.

“Damn. It isn’t Potter.” Draco said flatly. He rolled the man to his back using his boot, and commented. “Oliver Wood, sir.”

“He’s labeled a traitor.”

Draco smirked. “Shall I wake him sir?”

Severus gestured, and within a few seconds, Oliver was scrabbling at the ground trying to get away from both light and present company.

“Mister Wood.” Severus said calmly, “Do you wish to stay here?”

To his credit, the Quidditch player did manage to stand, and announced, “I will not work for You-Know-Who.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I asked if you wanted to stay here.”

“Why are you here, Wood?” Draco asked silkily, “You were a Gryffindor last I checked, and Azkaban is more of a Slytherin vacation spot.”

“I support Harry. They couldn’t make me stop, so they put me in here.”

Severus nodded to Draco who said, “Then do you want to come help him?”

Wood , at any other time, in any other place would have laughed at the ridiculous thought of being saved by Death Eaters to help The Boy Who Lived. Presently, all he could do was nod.

The trio was back in the small passage within minutes, and into the dark on the mainland within a quarter of an hour. They were working back to the portkey when Draco shouted, dropping Wood’s arm, and causing the escapee to collapse on Severus. “I have to go, now.” He hissed.

Severus raised an eyebrow, querying. Draco nodded. “Go.” Was all Severus said before Draco had Disapparated, leaving him and Oliver to make the trek alone.

>=====<

Ginevra Weasley looked up through her eyelashes at the man in her doorway. “Lucius.” She purred in greeting before returning to her work. She was making tracking devices that her Lord used to follow his spies when they worked. He had asked that they be finished within the week, so she was trying to finish them within a day.

Lucius remained where he was, waiting for her permission to approach. She was the newest, strangest addition to the Death Eater ranks, but was one of the most heartless killers they had, and was the Dark Lord’s favorite. The Dark Lord seemed fascinated by the relationship between she and Draco, almost amused by it. The pair wielded more power than they knew.

She had quickly gone from his son’s whore, to a self-sufficent woman who had taken Bellatrix’s former position.

The fire had subsided in her hair, leaving it a rich auburn red. Blonde streaks had been replaced by bloody red. She wore sinuous silks in black, silver and green, that revealed and enhanced assets most of the world had never seen.

She was his son’s lover.

She was his Lord’s play thing.

He had been sent for her on his behalf, and despite his famous impatience, he had to wait for her leisure. No Death Eater had that power that did not also hold her position.

“Did you need something, Lucius?” She asked softly.

“No, I need nothing.” He paused. “He has asked for you.”

The surprisingly mature fifth year student rose, and flicked her wand, whispering a simple spell. Her clothing changed again. More flowing, more provocative.

She nodded, and took Lucius’ arm, allowing herself to be brought to the Dark Lord.