0395 Azkaban

“Ensure that this world hasn’t been destroyed?” Sirius gasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and uneasiness. His eyes, wide with shock, darted frantically around the surreal landscape before settling on Bryan. Desperately seeking reassurance, Sirius turned towards him, only to find Bryan’s brow furrowed in deep concentration, seemingly lost in thought.

Rowena Ravenclaw was clearly aware of what Gryffindor had said. She gazed at the small island under the only patch of dark clouds in the otherwise azure sky, her eyes dimming slightly.

Without warning, the ship beneath their feet surged forward. The vessel cut through the waves with newfound urgency as it dashed towards the island. Bryan, shaken from his reverie by the sudden acceleration, set aside his contemplation and turned his gaze towards their rapidly approaching destination.

Azkaban- even its name sent shivers down the spines of the bravest witches and wizards. It was the most heavily guarded and feared location in the entire wizarding world, its reputation built on the tales of its infamous guards, the soul-sucking Dementors. Yet, for all the terrifying legends that circulated about its guardians, little was known about the island itself.

“Bryan—”

Sirius began, his voice barely above a whisper. As the island loomed ever closer, Sirius felt his shoulders involuntarily hunch, his body wracked by violent tremors. The increasingly vivid view before him dragged him back to the nightmarish years he had spent imprisoned within Azkaban.

The soul-deep fear etched into every fiber of his being rapidly eroded what little courage and curiosity he had mustered. Even though his rational mind insisted that everything before him was just an illusion– Sirius found himself unable to shake the terror that gripped him.

“You can be sure that we’re not in the real world now, right?” Sirius said, his voice cracking with desperation. “This is just a memory, correct?”

“That’s almost certain—” Bryan began, his voice trailing off as he noticed the unmistakable signs of distress etched across Sirius’s face. In that moment of shared understanding, Bryan’s expression softened with empathy.

After a brief pause, during which he weighed his words carefully, Bryan reached out and placed a comforting hand on Sirius’s trembling shoulder.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you can stay on the ship later. I’ll go down with these two and have a look— I guess this memory we’re in will end once Gryffindor and Ravenclaw finish exploring Azkaban. We should be able to leave by then.”

This suggestion was indeed quite tempting to Sirius. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze inadvertently falling on Gryffindor’s sword at his waist and the fluttering hem of his robe as he stood against the wind.

“I want to go—” Sirius said suddenly, his voice stronger than before. He drew in a deep breath, and his body was still trembling, but he managed to puff out his chest.

“It’s just an illusion after all!”

Sirius panted, his tone sounding both like an explanation to Bryan and encouragement to himself.

“I am from the House of Gryffindor; how can I embarrass myself in front of Godric Gryffindor himself? Besides,” he added with a forced chuckle, “if James knew I was this scared even knowing it’s an illusion, he’d definitely laugh his teeth off!”

“You can make your own decision,” Bryan replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Just don’t push yourself too hard—”

As they neared the shores of Azkaban, the boat slowed its frantic pace. At a gesture from Gryffindor, it came to a complete stop some distance from the island, bobbing gently on the swelling waves. An eerie silence descended upon the group, broken only by the soft lapping of water against the ship’s hull and the occasional mournful cry of a distant seabird.

Bryan and Sirius, the latter still avoiding direct eye contact with his surroundings, stood in tense silence alongside Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

As they drew ever closer to the island, it was as if all the color was being leeched from the world around them.

The vibrant blues of sea and sky faded to various shades of lifeless gray, while the island itself looked as though it had been ravaged by the Fiendfyre. All was so quiet, with only the painful moans of the air as it passed over the cracked rocks protruding from the island’s surface.

“The forbidden place above the North Sea, the birthplace and graveyard of death—”

The gloomy and terrifying Azkaban made even Gryffindor’s expression grow solemn.

“We’ve finally found the clues you sought in the ancient texts and Helga’s prophecy, Rowena—”

Rowena nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes dimming further.

“Can you hear the wails of the lives that perished on this land, Godric?” she asked, her melodious voice tinged with sorrow. “That complete madman. It’s unimaginable if one day such an evil person returns to our world. In Helga’s prophecy, that terrible future—”

“Isn’t that why we’ve come here?” Gryffindor interrupted, his hand coming to rest on the ornate hilt of his sword. His piercing gaze seemed to push back against the miasma of decay and despair that emanated from the island. “To prevent such an outcome?”

As they drew nearer, it became apparent that referring to Azkaban as an island was something of a contradiction. In truth, it more closely resembled an enormous, flat reef that had thrust its way up from the depths of the sea. The only structure marring its barren expanse was a singular, circular tower that rose ominously from the center of the stone platform. Weathered by time, the jet-black tower’s exterior was unnaturally smooth, its obsidian surface reflecting a faint, sickly light.

“Something’s not right—”

Sirius mumbled, finally mustering the courage to raise his head and survey his surroundings. Having endured twelve years of torment within the tower’s oppressive walls, he felt no curiosity about the imposing structure that dominated the island’s landscape. His only concern was for the Dementors – those soul-sucking monstrosities that had inflicted endless suffering upon him, stripping away not just his happiness but even his very capacity to feel pain.

“The number of Dementors—” Sirius began hesitantly, squinting against the gloom as he fought to suppress the waves of nausea and dread that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Do you see those things, Gryffindor?”

Rowena Ravenclaw suddenly spoke up, and Sirius immediately closed his mouth.

“Evil creatures—”

The fiery Gryffindor’s tone was full of disgust.

“Yes, I see them. We’ve never encountered them before, nor heard of them. Let’s go, Rowena. We’ll go over and see if it’s what we’re looking for.”

In the blink of an eye, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw vanished from Bryan’s field of vision, only to reappear moments later standing on the shores of Azkaban island. Afraid of missing any crucial information, Bryan acted on instinct. He reached out and grasped Sirius’s arm firmly, their bodies shimmering and becoming ethereal as they took flight, soaring towards the island.

Dementors!

These terrifying creatures, now infamous throughout the wizarding world, were virtually unknown to the general magical population a millennium ago.

For hundreds of years, this desolate island had remained uninhabited by any sentient beings. It was likely that Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw were the first witches or wizards to set foot on its accursed shores since the mysterious disappearance of its original inhabitants.

The Dementors that hung around the island’s periphery, having survived for centuries on the meager emotions they could garner from passing sea creatures, were sent into a frenzy by the sudden appearance of the two legendary Hogwarts founders.

Thirty to forty Dementors emitted hoarse sounds, leaving a faint frost in the air wherever they passed!

These creatures, devoid of reason or mercy, were incapable of realizing the immense magical power possessed by those they were trying to harm. As they approached within about sixty feet of the two legendary wizards, Gryffindor’s hand moved with lightning speed. In one fluid motion, he drew his sword and thrust it skyward. The crisp, ringing sound of the blade leaving its scabbard reverberated through the air, more stirring and potent than a clap of thunder.

Above them, the roiling dark clouds that shrouded Azkaban were suddenly and violently pierced. A massive hole appeared in the gray canopy, allowing golden sunlight to pour down upon the blasted landscape.

Gryffindor’s eyes blazed with an inner fire, and from his sword – now crackling with magical energy – a strange power began to emanate in pulsating waves. This force seemed capable of freezing space itself; as it washed over the advancing Dementors, they were frozen one by one in mid-air, even their tattered robes hung motionless.

It is widely known throughout the wizarding world that there is only one spell capable of affecting Dementors – the Patronus Charm.

On the Isle of Avalon, Bryan had also seen Gryffindor’s own Patronus. It was a majestic lion, and at the time, that Patronus had given Bryan quite a fright because the lion was actually corporeal.

Now, Gryffindor once again taught a lesson to future young wizards: common sense can be broken, and Dementors are not only restrained by Patronuses!

While Gryffindor held the Dementors at bay with his extraordinary display of magical prowess, Rowena Ravenclaw seized the opportunity to showcase her own formidable abilities. With graceful precision, she raised her slender wrist, directing her palm towards the nearest of the frozen Dementors. The air around her hand immediately became hazy and distorted, shimmering like the surface of a heat-struck desert.

The targeted Dementor, as if caught in some invisible current, began to drift slowly but unescapably towards Ravenclaw’s outstretched hand. Despite their imposing stature – typically standing at least a dozen feet tall – this particular Dementor appeared to be under some form of powerful magical compression as it floated towards her.

Wisps of inky black smoke rose from its massive, terrifying form. As these dark energies were forcibly expelled, the Dementor’s body began to rapidly contract. By the time it finally landed on Ravenclaw’s palm, it had been reduced to a ‘miniature’ little Dementor, no larger than a child’s doll.

Gryffindor’s penetrating gaze fell upon this tiny Dementor, and for reasons known only to him, the solemnity etched between his eyebrows deepened further.

With fluid grace, Ravenclaw brought her hands together, enveloping the miniaturized Dementor between her palms. As she did so, countless rays of dazzling, holy light began to escape from between her fingers, bathing the immediate area in a warm, golden glow that stood in stark contrast to Azkaban’s perpetual gloom.

“Stop!”

At the edge of the island, Bryan, who had just landed on the rocky shore, glared fiercely at Ravenclaw with bloodlust. His eyes blazed with an unexpected ferocity as he resolutely raised his wand, much to Sirius’s astonishment.

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