Azkaban.
This is an island in the North Sea, untraceable on any map.
Perhaps, aside from the prisoners held within and a select few employees of the Ministry of Magic, no one else knows its exact location.
The surrounding waves roar with a mournful wail, as if echoing the cries of those who perished here in agony; every wall is steeped in despair and suffering, the very sustenance of the Dementors.
Jane Yu and Dumbledore disembarked from the small boat. She lightly touched the silver badge pinned to her chest, which also exuded an ominous aura, as if it were the embodiment of resentment.
—It was their identification as Ministry officials.
At this moment, they were no longer Jane Yu and Albus Dumbledore, but Aurors Plout and Robards.
"Remember, keep your emotions in check," Dumbledore reminded her. "Anyone who comes here should be in low spirits."
Almost as soon as he finished speaking, a tattered, pitch-black cloak floated toward them—it was a Dementor. It emitted a sound that was unintelligible, so coarse and raspy that Jane couldn't discern which part of its body the sound originated from.
But suddenly, she felt a slight movement within her, from the Obscurial that usually lay docile and pliable, ready to be shaped at her will.
The Dementor paused briefly, sensing the significance of the badges on their chests, then floated away. Its long, waterlogged body drifted upward and disappeared through a window.
Dumbledore stood outside the fortress and waved his wand.
Jane knew it was a Revelio spell, as a pale golden light spread across the ground.
There were no footprints; no human feet had touched this place for some time.
Dumbledore murmured another incantation, causing the golden light to rise and spread across the walls of Azkaban—
The light gradually coalesced into the silhouette of a figure flying upward... but Jane felt it could hardly be called a person...
Because it was cloaked entirely, its head disproportionately large compared to its body.
Its frame was bound in thick bandages, emaciated like matchsticks or kindling.
She couldn't make out its face, hidden beneath the heavy hood.
But it gave her a sense of both familiarity and strangeness... She knew exactly who had left such an impression on her—
Voldemort!
"Avensegiu (Tracking Spell)," Dumbledore incanted.
Another golden light extended from beneath their feet, gradually forming a winding line that led into the fortress.
Dumbledore began to move, and Jane followed closely behind, her gaze lifting upward—
The shadow of Voldemort circled the outer walls of Azkaban, then turned and flew into a specific window, vanishing inside.
"This is not good." Dumbledore paused, his lips and beard twitching slightly. "He's recovered quite a bit... and is acting swiftly."
He hesitated for a moment, then plunged the tip of his wand into the seawater—
A silver-white phoenix emerged from the wand, taking form beneath the waves, and darted away swiftly, likely to deliver a message to Madam Bones.
"Let's hope it doesn't get upset," he said with a shrug. "Making a phoenix swim might not make it very happy."
Dumbledore stepped toward the prison doors and spoke again:
"Stay close to me, Jane. There's no turning back now. Keep silent."
Jane followed Dumbledore, and almost as soon as she set foot in Azkaban, a cold, damp air engulfed her.
She had never seen so many Dementors before, and she had to be very careful not to bump into any of them—
Their limbs looked as if they had been soaked in water, their bodies covered in scabs and pustules.
Yet she inexplicably felt a sense of predatory hunger, a thrilling rush of adrenaline.
The Obscurial within her stirred again, like a hunting hound spotting prey, eagerly waiting for its master to unleash it.
Jane pressed it back down, feeling it squirm in protest just beneath her skin.
They passed by cell after cell.
Aside from the sound of waves crashing against the rocks outside, Jane heard no human voices. The prisoners on this level were eerily silent, lying sprawled on stone beds as if asleep.
But she knew they weren't asleep; they were imprisoned within their own minds, consumed by despair.
The Dementors had long since drained them of joy, leaving only empty shells behind.
The Dementors began delivering food to the prisoners, opening cell doors one by one to check on their conditions.
The prisoners barely moved, even when food was placed before them.
Those in slightly better condition opened vacant, hollow eyes. Driven by a faint survival instinct, they crawled toward the plates, mechanically grabbing bread and stuffing it into their mouths. But the fleeting joy brought by the food was immediately sucked away by the waiting Dementors.
The bread fell onto the filthy stone floor, and the prisoner collapsed, once again becoming a living corpse.
But most were in far worse condition, not moving at all.
The Dementors sniffed at the prisoners, determining whether they were still alive or already dead.
They carried out bodies of those who had succumbed to despair or illness, their limbs pale and lifeless, piled in a corner. Some still had their eyes wide open.
Seeing this, Jane suddenly felt nauseous.
She retched but couldn't bring anything up.
She looked at Dumbledore, only to find his expression more grim than she had ever seen. Every muscle in his face was taut, his brows furrowed deeply in anger, and his blue eyes burned with sharp fury.
But he did nothing, unclenching his tightly balled fists, and silently gestured upward, signaling Jane to continue climbing.
Following the golden trail of the tracking spell, they passed through the second and third levels, where the conditions were no different from the first.
But Jane's ears gradually caught the sound of wretched screams and maniacal laughter, coming from the higher levels.
As she climbed, the screams and laughter grew louder, clearer, mingled with sobbing and wailing—
Finally, she saw the source of the sounds. At a glance, she recognized the figure as a member of the Black family.
The woman bore the same arrogant features as Sirius and Narcissa, as if they had been carved from the same mold.
Her hair was disheveled, her appearance haggard. She seemed both insane and lucid, as she clung to the bars, her eyes following Jane and Dumbledore's movements, darting from one end of the cell to the other.
Jane glanced at the nameplate on the cell—Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I'll kill you—"
She stopped screaming and instead forced out a broken, threatening sentence from her throat.
She watched the two ascend, her crazed smile growing wider until it turned into hysterical laughter.
Jane realized that the upper levels likely housed the most resilient Death Eaters, those who had survived years of Dementor torment without succumbing.
She saw several Lestranges and a Dolohov, all still capable of movement, even remaining unfazed as Dementors surrounded them, slowly eating their bread.
The Dementors fed on their fleeting joy, leaving them groaning in pain, their bread falling to the floor.
But after a few seconds, they would pick up the filthy crumbs with their fingers and stuff them into their mouths.
Hearing the footsteps of Dumbledore and Jane, their eyes shifted, fixing on the two with chilling gazes.
They, too, laughed like Bellatrix, some with low chuckles, others with high-pitched cackles, all tinged with a twisted delight and madness.
Jane halted at the final staircase.
From the prisoners' deranged laughter, she realized that on the topmost level, they might face Voldemort directly.
Dumbledore had clearly anticipated this as well.
But he had thought even further ahead.
He handed her a small Deluminator.
"Besides him, there will be Dementors, and perhaps these Death Eaters as well," his voice seemed to echo directly in Jane's mind. "If they lose control and attack us, use the Portkey to leave... It will take you to the LeMay couple. You can do this, can't you?"
Jane stared at him. She wanted to nod but couldn't bring herself to.
Her stomach churned endlessly, turning into a gnawing hunger, as if acid were burning within.
She pressed the restless Obscurial back down again. Sensing danger, it grew more active, eager to protect its host.
Dumbledore cast a dozen spells on her, making her feel as if she were encased in impenetrable armor.
The two ascended the final staircase. Though it took only seconds to climb, it felt to Jane like an eternity.
She heard Dumbledore speak in a calm, almost casual tone:
"It's been a long time, Tom."
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