Azkaban Prison ...
Harold's Prison Cell...
The air in Harold's cell turned heavy, thick like syrup, pressing down on his chest.
"____"
He felt it again —
a presence —
watching him, breathing with him in the very same cell he was in.
Clank~ Clank~
He spun around, his chains clanking.
There, in the farthest corner of the corridor where the torchlight barely reached…
Two glowing eyes stared back.
Round and luminous, unblinking.
Not the glow of a beast, not the shine of a magical creature —
But something far older, deeper, and alien to him.
"Who's there?"
Harold barked, trying to sound brave.
"____"
No answer.
Only the sound of a chiming bell —
distant, distorted, yet echoing inside the stone walls like a maddening lullaby.
And then came the footsteps.
Chime~ Chime~
Tap… tap… tap…
Slow. Deliberate.
Circling.
Moving around him.
But nothing could be seen —
just the sound.
And the eyes never moved.
Voldemort's voice suddenly broke through the stillness, panicked, raw, and trembling —
a sound few had ever heard from him.
"You cursed him?! You idiot! You've poked the devil himself!"
Harold glared toward his cell.
"What devil?! That's no devil—just some cheap trick—"
"You don't understand!"
Voldemort shrieked, backing away into the farthest corner of his cell.
"I don't know what that thing is, but it's not human! It started showing up weeks ago—after Leo came back! And Merlin helps you if you speak his name in vain!"
"____"
Harold hesitated.
Then the chains on his wrists rattled on their own.
As if responding to some invisible touch.
Suddenly —
CRACK!
Something struck him from behind —
a blow sharp and searing across his back.
He spun, howling, but saw nothing.
Then another strike.
And another.
AHHHHHH~
He screamed.
"WHO ARE YOU?!"
The only response was a soft whisper on the wind:
"...His servant."
Followed by more laughter —
HEHEHE~
low, musical, and layered, like it was coming from multiple mouths at once.
In his cell, Voldemort had curled up, trembling, covering his ears.
Harold fell to the ground, breath ragged, the cold sweat of fear soaking his robes.
The footsteps began to recede, the bell chiming once more, and the two glowing eyes slowly vanished into the dark.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Except for the final whisper that slipped into Harold's ear:
"Next time... No mercy."
The air was dead still.
Harold sat, trembling from the unseen assault, but something far worse than bruises was setting in —
a realisation.
That thing didn't just punish him —
It warned him.
Like a predator telling its prey,
"Run, little mouse. I'll let you try."
The taunts from the guard earlier echoed in his mind.
Mocking. Gleeful.
Almost...planned.
"You two fit perfectly together now, sharing a prison cell nearby in your glorious Death Eater roles."
His breathing slowed, then sharpened into a hiss.
His red-tinged eyes glared at the ceiling.
"Jenkins... just you wait."
The rage became fuel.
Cold and sharp.
"I'm not staying here to rot like a dog."
Harold turned toward Voldemort, who sat strangely quiet, still folded in his corner. Harold's voice broke the silence like a hammer:
"I'm going to escape."
Voldemort didn't move.
Didn't even lift his head.
After a long pause, his voice came out, brittle and strangely… fearful.
"____"
"You shouldn't."
Harold narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not waiting for your permission, Voldemort."
But Voldemort finally looked up —
And for the first time, his expression wasn't haughty or condescending.
It was... haunted.
"There's something wrong,"
Voldemort said flatly.
"Something isn't adding up. Your people were meant to come. They didn't. And now... that thing is watching us. Watching you."
He took a breath and added with a sharpness that betrayed his fraying nerves:
"If you leave, you'll die. I can feel it. That thing—whatever it is—won't let you reach the gates."
Harold clenched his fists.
"I'd rather die escaping than rot in this hellhole."
"You won't even make it to the outer wall."
Voldemort snapped, his voice gaining a desperate edge.
"Don't you get it, Harold? They don't want you free. Jenkins doesn't. Leo doesn't. And it doesn't. That thing—it's guarding this place. Like a curse."
Silence fell again.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Harold, low and grim, said,
"We'll see."
Voldemort had fallen quiet, but his wary gaze still lingered on Harold.
Suddenly—
tap, tap, tap—
The sound of boots echoed through the corridor.
The same guard who'd mocked them earlier strolled by nonchalantly, whistling as he passed their cell.
But as he turned the corner, something slipped from his cloak with a soft clink against the cold stone floor.
Clink~
A wand.
It lay there, glinting faintly under the flickering torchlight.
Harold's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.
"____"
He moved slowly toward the bars, gaze fixed on the object like a starving man spotting food.
It was his wand.
The feel of the core.
The familiar grain of the wood.
Unmistakable.
He stared, stunned, then hissed,
"That idiot… he dropped it?"
A cruel grin spread across Harold's face.
Grin~
His hand reached out and took the wand from the floor.
He gripped it tight,
feeling the surge of connection roar back through him like a long-dormant fire being reignited.
But a smell hit his nose, making his face turn dark.
"____"
"You've been using my wand to clean toilets, you filthy bastard?"
He muttered, fury bubbling under his breath.
"Now you'll pay."
He stood tall and aimed at his own shackles.
"Alohomora."
Clink.
The metal bindings fell from his ankles.
Then, with a flick and a whispered Reducto, the cell door exploded outward with a dull blast.
Smoke, dust, and silence followed.
Voldemort stood slowly, peering through the haze, but said nothing.
He only watched.
Harold looked over his shoulder with a sneer.
"Told you I wasn't staying."
He took off down the corridor in a low, silent sprint, weaving between blind corners, avoiding the heavy-footed guards and the deathly drifting presence of Dementors.
Every time he sensed a chill nearby, he ducked into the shadows, holding his breath as the creature floated by, blind and uncaring.
His mind raced.
If he could just reach the lower gate—
If he could get to the edge.
Freedom was near.
Vengeance was closer.
But deep in the corridors behind him, a soft chime rang out.
Chime~
And from the dark, Voldemort only whispered to the empty air:
"You shouldn't have run…"
The bitter sea wind lashed against Harold's face as he emerged from the hidden passageway near the jagged cliffs of the island.
This passage is only known to high-ranking members of the ministry, but it would usually have high security, but today, strangely, there were no guards.
Behind him, the cursed prison loomed like a monument to misery, its towers swallowed by dark clouds.
He stumbled over rocks, breathing hard, wand gripped tightly in one hand.
His robes were torn, and the cold bit at his bones, but his eyes burned with a manic gleam.
"Free…"
He whispered to himself, tasting the word like honey on his tongue.
"Free at last."
From the shadows near the base of the cliff, a disguised boat—
left there by his inside contact—
waited with a single cloaked figure standing beside it.
Without a word, the figure handed Harold a coat and nodded toward the boat.
Harold confused and alert but seeing the figure was providing him with transportation to escape this damn island.
He climbed in, still shaking with disbelief and triumph, and with one flick of the wand, the boat vanished from view, sailing into the fog-shrouded sea.
Back in Azkaban –
Guard Quarters...
The guard who had dropped the wand returned to his post, a grim expression on his face.
He didn't even glance toward Harold's now-empty cell.
Instead, he pulled out a sealed letter, wrote a brief note in quick, sharp strokes, and attached it to a waiting owl.
The note read:
------------------
To:
Minister Jenkins
Subject: Operation Black Key
Target Harold Mitchum has escaped Azkaban successfully as planned.
The second target, Voldemort, refused to cooperate and remains in Cell 9.
The stage is set.
------------------
With a short whistle, the owl took off into the night, wings cutting through the wind, bound for the Ministry.
On Open Waters...
Harold sat in the boat, soaked and shivering, but the grin on his face refused to fade.
Grin~
"Just you wait, Jenkins. Just you wait, Leo."
His eyes glowed with hatred and ambition.
The waves rolled steadily beneath the small vessel as Harold leaned against its edge, wind battering his robes.
He muttered spells under his breath, reinforcing the concealment charm around the boat.
But in his triumph,
he failed to notice his shadow.
It stretched unnaturally across the wooden planks—
not with the soft, flickering edges of moonlight, but in jagged, twisting coils, like ink spreading through water.
It moved when he didn't.
It pulsed.
A faint bell chimed somewhere.
Distant. Hollow.
"____"
Harold shivered, clutching his wand tighter, feeling an odd weight in the air around him and he immediately increased the speed of the boat.
Coastal Port Outside Anti-Apparition Zone...
A cold wind swept over the cliffside as Minister Jenkins, Leo Morningstar, Bellatrix, and several of her trusted followers waited quietly at the secured port.
The area had been cleared by the Ministry.
Leo, standing tall in his cloak, had his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Bellatrix stood slightly behind him, her eyes flicking toward the dark horizon with a smirk.
Suddenly—
an owl screeched overhead, swooping down with practiced precision.
It landed on Jenkins' outstretched arm and held out its leg, bearing the letter sealed with a burnished "Azkaban."
She opened it quickly.
As her eyes scanned the contents, her face remained still—
save for a brief narrowing of her eyes.
Leo turned.
"He made it?"
Jenkins nodded once.
"Harold's escaped. Voldemort refused."
Bella chuckled.
Chuckle~
"It's seems snake's grown paranoid."
The crashing of waves and the rustling sea breeze were the only sound.
From the misty horizon, the small boat slowly came into full view—
its wooden frame creaking as it bobbed toward the shore. Leo's eyes narrowed slightly.
The boat hit the sand with a dull thud.
Thud.
A moment passed.
Then—
Harold Mitchum leapt from the boat, landing on the wet shore with a splash, arms raised in manic triumph.
"I did it! I told you I would! I escaped from Azkaban!"
he shouted, laughing like a man unhinged.
"That cursed prison couldn't hold me!"
He twirled once, wand raised, soaking in the air of freedom.
"And now… vengeance—!"
But none of the people on the shore responded because there were no one.
They just watched.
Leo's expression remained unreadable, but Bellatrix tilted her head and murmured,
"He's loud for someone who doesn't realize what's clinging to him."
Harold blinked.
"What? What are you—"
His words died in his throat as the temperature suddenly dropped.
Not the soul-chilling cold of Dementors… something different.
Older. More focused.
A low chime echoed—
The same one from the prison.
Harold stiffened.
"____"
His shadow moved again—
Sliding unnaturally across the sand behind him, pulsing like a living thing.
And then, ever so faintly, he heard laughter, distorted, as if echoing through water.
Hahaha~
Leo finally stepped forward.
"You chosed your future yourself."
Harold's triumphant grin faltered.
"What… Why are you here?.. what do you mean future?"
Bellatrix's smirk widened.
Smirk~
"He ment your future you wrote by escaping Azkaban."
Behind Harold, the shadow began to rise.
Two glowing, inhuman eyes flickered into view from the dark silhouette, watching… waiting.
The creature's glowing eyes blinked once—
slowly, deliberately—
before vanishing back into Harold's elongated shadow like mist drawn into a vortex.
Harold spun around, wand half-raised.
"W-What was that?! Who's there?!"
But the silence that followed was suffocating.
"____"
"____"
"____"
At the shore, Minister Jenkins, Bellatrix, and her followers stood frozen.
The very air around them seemed heavy, almost unwilling to move.
Jenkins's lips parted slightly, her voice a whisper:
"...So that's what he meant."
She turned to look at Leo, who hadn't moved, his expression carved from stone.
"You told me you'd be watching them... but I thought you meant with enchanted objects or spies. I didn't realize—"
Leo simply said,
"No one finds it unless it wants to be found."
Bellatrix, for once, didn't smile.
She just stared at Harold's retreating form who took few steps back in panic, then back to Leo.
"That thing... It looked into me."
Jenkins, standing just behind, rubbed her arms unconsciously.
"It didn't even cast a shadow of its own. It is the shadow."
Even Jenkins's most loyal followers—
wizards and witches hardened by battles—
glanced uneasily at Leo, now realizing the depth of his contingency plans.
It wasn't just paranoia.
It was preparation.
And whatever that creature was—
loyal to Leo alone—
was proof that Azkaban had a new warden, and it wasn't a Dementor.
His eyes darted around in realization.
Leo…
Jenkins…
Bellatrix…
Several more figures in dark robes—
Jenkins's elite guard.
All standing in a semicircle, waiting.
Watching.
"____"
Harold's smile faltered.
A deep sinking feeling clawed at his gut.
"No…"
he muttered, stumbling back a step.
"This... this can't be..."
Leo's voice rang out—calm, cold, and mocking:
"Oh, it is, Harold. Welcome to the part of the story where the idiot villain realizes he was never in control."
Jenkins folded her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"____"
Bellatrix chuckled softly, her wand lazily twirling in her hand.
Chuckle~
Harold's face twisted with rage and confusion.
"You—you planned this?!"
Leo shrugged casually, as though Harold had asked whether he wanted sugar in his tea.
"Planned? Harold, you're giving yourself too much credit. This was more like setting bait for a particularly stupid rat. You leapt out of prison like a pig in heat jumping a lady pig—only you squealed louder."
Jenkins and her followers burst into muffled laughter.
"That's exactly what it looked like."
Harold snarled, raising his wand in anger, but a blindingly fast flash of lightning from Leo's raised finger—
not even his wand—
sent the wand flying out of Harold's hand who started shuddering and clattering to the ground.
Leo took a step forward, his expression unreadable.
"You really thought we'd just leave you to rot in Azkaban without keeping watch? After what you tried to do?"
He paused, red eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"No, Harold. Your escape was just the next move in a game we've already won."
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)I hope you guys are enjoying the story.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review and power stone!!! It will Motivate Me.