225- Christmas and the Prisoner of Azkaban

In stark contrast to the lively and warm Greengrass Manor, Azkaban Wizarding Prison, located on a desolate island in the North Sea, remained as bleak and miserable as ever, even on Christmas.

In most places around the world, holidays bring a small reprieve even to prisoners—guards provide better meals, and supervision loosens slightly. But in Azkaban, such a thing simply did not exist, even though prisoners here were also given a few Christmas-themed foods.

However, the reason behind this was not humanitarian at all.

Azkaban's wardens were not human after all.

They were a species of dark creatures known as Dementors.

No one knew how they came into existence, whether they could die, or how they reproduced. They had simply appeared, intruding into the wizarding world's awareness.

The first recorded encounter between Dementors and wizards dated back to the 15th century. At that time, Azkaban was still privately owned by a man named Ekrizdis, who had seized the island and built a fortress upon it, where he abducted Muggles and tortured them to death.

After Ekrizdis died, the concealment magic over the island faded, revealing a nightmarish scene—the entire island was now crawling with Dementors.

Wizards clashed with these creatures multiple times, but eventually had to admit they couldn't eradicate them. Fortunately, they discovered a powerful counter-spell against Dementors, leading to a delicate balance between the two sides:

Wizards left the Dementors alone, did not destroy their fortress, and in return, the Dementors refrained from actively attacking wizards.

As for Muggle fishing boats that accidentally strayed too close or coastal villages nearby?

They became sacrificial victims, their happiness devoured by the Dementors.

Azkaban became a wizarding prison in 1718.

After the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, wizards no longer wanted Dementors wandering into Muggle lands to "hunt", and at the same time, there was a growing need for a centralized facility to imprison wizarding criminals.

The two sides struck a perfect deal, and under the initiative of the then-Minister for Magic, Damocles Rowle, Azkaban was officially converted into a prison for wizards.

No prisoner had ever escaped from here.

The Dementors would drain every last trace of happiness from the inmates' souls, leaving them in utter despair, waiting for death.

It was the Dementors who provided food to the prisoners—even distributing different types of meals during holidays—but their intention was not kindness. Their only goal was to provoke even the faintest flicker of joy in their victims' souls, so they could feast upon it.

But even a soul's joy has its limits.

The prisoners of Azkaban had already been squeezed dry, like spent sugarcane, unable to produce even the slightest bit of happiness. This was evident from the untouched meal trays in front of most cell doors.

A small boat cut through the waves, heading toward the island of Azkaban.

Onboard stood four hooded figures. The sea spray crashed against the deck, yet without touching them—as if repelled by an invisible force.

Though they sailed upon the open ocean, their surroundings remained dry and warm.

"Legend has it that a thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin fought a deadly battle against Jörmungandr right here in the North Sea.

The sky was blotted out by the serpent's massive form, the ocean was torn asunder by Slytherin's spells, and the sound of their battle could be heard as far south as Islay."

One of the hooded figures let their thoughts drift back a millennium, carried away by the rolling waves.

"Gemini, can you just focus on steering the boat?"

A woman's impatient voice came from beneath another hood.

"Hurry up and get this mission over with. Working on Christmas Eve? Just my luck!"

Her complaint resonated with the other two.

No one wanted to be out on a mission during Christmas, but there was no choice—the four of them had simply drawn the short straw.

Besides, for the Secret Order, this was a perfect opportunity.

The grand banquet hosted by the Greengrass family had drawn too much attention, making it the ideal moment to carry out their plan unnoticed.

To the Secret Order, Hogwarts had become a thorn in their side—they had lost too many operatives there, and too many valuable artifacts remained within its walls.

They needed to find a way to reclaim them.

Every force opposed to Hogwarts should be used to their advantage—and who could be more suitable than Voldemort himself?

The high-ranking members of the Secret Order had already reached a consensus:

Voldemort must be resurrected.

After activating their intelligence network, the Order's operatives confirmed that Voldemort had achieved "immortality" through Horcruxes.

Reviving a wizard who had created Horcruxes wasn't too difficult.

The only real challenge was finding the location of those Horcruxes.

The Order had found the perfect entry point:

Extracting information from Voldemort's followers—even the smallest clues about where the Horcruxes might be hidden.

All available intelligence pointed to two key individuals:

Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

The Order's operatives weren't ready to make a move on the former—but the latter?

She was locked up in Azkaban.

Much easier.

The four of them had come to extract the location of Voldemort's Horcruxes from Bellatrix.

After a brief round of complaints, the group fell into silence.

After a while, Gemini spoke up again.

"If Dumbledore is such a big obstacle, why don't we just wait for him to die of old age before making a move on Hogwarts? I mean, he's already over a hundred."

Pisces, Aries, Taurus: "…"

Nobody responded.

An awkward silence settled over the boat.

Gemini: "…?"

Finally, Taurus broke the silence, lightly easing the tension.

"And when do you think he'll die? This year? Next year? Five years from now? Ten? The Order can't afford to wait for something so uncertain. The Divine Remains must be retrieved as soon as possible."

More importantly, there was no guarantee that Dumbledore hadn't used some method to extend his lifespan.

For a wizard of his caliber, prolonging life wasn't particularly difficult—especially when he had a friend like Nicolas Flamel.

Before long, their small boat arrived at Azkaban.

"What a terrible environment."

Stepping onto the island, Aries frowned—she hated the atmosphere here.

"Keep quiet," Pisces, who had been silent until now, rebuked her, narrowing his eyes as he gazed at the Azkaban fortress in the distance.

At the same time, the Dementors, drawn by the scent of fresh souls, began to gather.

The air, already bone-chilling, grew even colder with their approach—moisture in the air seemed on the verge of freezing into ice shards.

Before long, a swarm of Dementors, their tattered cloaks billowing, completely surrounded the four.

However, to the Dementors' surprise, they couldn't absorb a single emotion from the four figures.

Now, that was unusual.

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