The Auror shook his head regretfully.
"As you wish, sir. But I must state for the record—I did warn you."
"Enough talking."
The magically powered lift screeched into motion. After a wild plunge through darkness, it slammed to a halt.
The doors opened.
Before them stretched a pitch-black corridor that seemed to have no end—so deep and oppressive that merely looking into it felt like staring into an abyss, as though one careless step would drag a person in forever.
Only two braziers burned near the lift entrance. Two Aurors in heavy cloaks stood guard, one on each side, breath billowing white in the frigid air.
Shivering as the cold poured in, the Auror operating the lift cast a warming charm on himself, then explained:
"This is the high-security wing, Mr. Weasley. Unlike other levels, Aurors are stationed here at all times. And—" he deliberately emphasized,
"—even for a guest like you, the Dementors are not withdrawn. They are watching everything."
As if to prove his words—
A deeper cold swept over them.
From beyond the brazier light, a cloaked figure drifted out of what should have been solid stone.
It looked like a floating scrap of rotting cloth—tall, warped, unnatural—stretching nearly to the ceiling. Slowly, it glided forward.
Then it extended a hand.
That hand glowed faintly grey, skeletal and shriveled, like something pulled from a swamp—or a deep-sea creature's tentacle.
It reached into the light, wavered… then pointed directly at Vaughn.
The Dementor recoiled slightly, bent forward, and inhaled deeply beneath its tattered hood.
The cold intensified.
Vaughn felt his consciousness shudder as something unseen pressed down on him—frost creeping into flesh, bone, even soul, freezing everything tied to life itself.
"Damn it!"
"Get back, you disgusting thing!"
The Aurors shouted and drew their wands, but panic strangled their focus. No happy thoughts—no Patronus.
Fear surged.
If this Wizengamot member was Kissed here, they were finished.
Then—
A cold, contemptuous voice sounded.
"Record this. The Aurors stationed at Azkaban are incapable of even deterring a Dementor."
"…What?"
The three turned in shock.
Vaughn, still shrouded in the Dementor's haze, looked completely calm. He finished his note first—then raised his wand.
"Expecto Patronum."
Light exploded.
A tidal wave of silver-blue brilliance burst from the lift, shredding darkness. At its forefront, a massive silver-blue Maine Coon cat took shape—
Bounding.
Running.
Leaping across rippling air.
It slammed headfirst into the Dementor.
A shrill, soul-piercing scream echoed—felt more than heard.
Grey mist erupted as the Dementor shrank violently, recoiling in terror and retreating into the wall.
The Patronus roared.
It bounded forward again—
Boom!
The wall detonated in a burst of grey vapor.
"Stop!" an Auror cried. "Those walls are Dementor anchors—the strongest defensive structures here!"
Vaughn glanced at him.
"Come back."
The Patronus obeyed instantly, padding back to Vaughn's side, rubbing against him affectionately.
The Aurors stared in stunned silence.
The Patronus Charm—one of the most difficult spells in existence. Even seasoned Aurors often produced only mist or vague outlines.
And yet a twelve-year-old boy had cast a fully corporeal Patronus—with enough force to injure a Dementor.
Swallowing hard, the Auror finally said, "May… may you proceed, sir?"
Vaughn nodded and walked into the darkness, silver-blue light receding.
Behind him, one Auror muttered bitterly,
"We suddenly feel very useless…"
Walls of Dementors
Vaughn studied the corridor walls.
They looked like ordinary black stone—but they were not.
They were magical containers, structures designed for Dementors to inhabit.
As the Patronus passed, the walls smoked, faint silhouettes writhing inside.
According to wizarding history, Dementors were not natural creatures at all—but constructs of dark magic, created here.
Azkaban had once belonged to a Dark wizard named Ekrizdis, who lured and murdered Muggle sailors. Torture and despair soaked every stone.
By the time the Ministry discovered the island, the Dementors were inseparable from the fortress itself.
Even dismantling it was deemed impossible.
Fascinating—but Vaughn had no time for research.
Bellatrix and Sirius
A shrill voice rang out:
"Boy! Let me see your Patronus!"
Behind iron bars stood a skeletal woman with wild curls and bulging eyes.
"Come closer… I haven't felt happiness in so long… Oh? A Weasley? We're family, you know—come closer, let Auntie Bella see—"
Another cell rattled violently.
"Bellatrix, you witch! Don't listen to her, Weasley! She'll take you hostage!"
Bellatrix screeched back, then laughed sweetly.
Vaughn ignored her.
He stopped before Sirius Black's cell.
The man clung weakly to the bars, gaunt and ruined. In the Patronus light, warmth flickered briefly across his face.
"You… Weasley," Sirius rasped. "Why are you here?"
Then he shook his head.
"Never mind. Leave. This place is filth."
But Vaughn smiled.
"I came for you, Sirius Black. Or should I say—Harry Potter's godfather."
Sirius froze.
"…Who are you?"
"Harry's doing alright," Vaughn continued calmly. "Hogwarts suits him. He has friends."
"In the Muggle world… less so. But he survived."
Sirius whispered, "That's… good…"
Hope flickered—and faded.
Vaughn leaned closer.
"You didn't behave like a Death Eater. You didn't deny anything. Why?"
Silence.
Then, hoarsely:
"Peter deserved to die. So did I."
"Because you changed the Secret-Keeper," Vaughn said softly,
"and blamed yourself when Peter betrayed James."
Sirius snapped his head up.
"…How do you know that?"
Vaughn answered simply.
"Because Peter told me."
The photo came out.
A fat rat.
Missing a toe.
Sirius broke.
The Wicked Weasley Brat
As Sirius screamed, Death Eaters howled in delight.
Vaughn turned cold.
"Quiet."
The corridor erupted with threats.
He walked toward the Lestrange brothers.
"Yes," Bellatrix purred. "They tortured the Longbottoms."
Vaughn sighed.
"I hadn't planned to do anything to you."
Then he raised his wand.
No incantation.
Silencio. Accio. Combined. Wordless.
Bellatrix and the others were slammed against their cell doors, pinned helplessly.
Vaughn seized Rodolphus Lestrange's head.
Silver light flared.
Memories were ripped free.
"Such filthy minds," Vaughn murmured. "Perfect for planting ideas."
Bellatrix watched in horror.
The Weasley brat smiled—
And moved toward her.
Aftermath
When Sirius awoke later, only the photograph remained.
A new thought whispered in his mind:
Wait.
The time will come.
Because Sirius Black was not yet meant to leave Azkaban.
Not until Vaughn was ready.
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