The North Sea.
Fierce winds carried thick, rolling clouds, and waves crashed violently onto the sea's surface.
On a small island, the sea-eroded cliffs were smooth as polished stone.
A fortress-like structure, square and imposing, stood there, weathered by centuries of existence.
Azkaban.
The notorious prison operated under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic.
It held the most wicked wizards in the country—dangerous criminals who could only be kept in check by Dementors.
The Dementors floated above, resembling tattered rags caught in the wind.
But today, they seemed restless.
Oz noticed their unusual behavior.
"The Dementors seem… afraid of something?" she muttered.
Leading the Hit Wizards, she stood at the entrance alongside Pierce, waiting for someone.
The Hit Wizards whispered among themselves.
They had been standing here for half an hour, yet they had no idea whom their director was waiting for.
Some were tempted to ask, but the difference in status held them back.
Oz had lost count of how many times someone had tapped her shoulder. She turned around and glared at the young Hit Wizard behind her.
Since she had long given up on any chances of promotion, Oz had always maintained a friendly demeanor toward her subordinates. She didn't mind the occasional roughhousing.
Her close friend Lippi had been assigned a secret mission. If Pierce hadn't personally assured her of Lippi's safety, she would have suspected that she had already met a heroic end.
As the storm loomed on the horizon—
The long-awaited arrival finally happened.
A carriage flew through the sky.
A Hit Wizard, filled with confusion, asked, "How is that thing flying?"
He saw no horses, only the carriage gliding through the air.
Oz glanced at him. He was young—too young to have ever witnessed death.
In Oz's eyes, six Thestrals were pulling the carriage.
Their skeletal bodies flapped their wings, exuding an air of sorrow the moment they appeared.
"That's a Thestral. I envy you for not being able to see them," Oz said.
Only those who had seen death could perceive these creatures.
If she had the choice, she would have preferred never to see a Thestral in her lifetime.
The carriage descended swiftly onto the platform.
Pierce had been waiting for this exact moment.
As the carriage landed, Pierce braved the fierce wind and rushed forward.
With what Oz could only describe as an obsequious gesture, he opened the carriage door.
The waiting Hit Wizards craned their necks, eager to see who was inside.
Could it be Pierce's superior, Amelia Bones?
Their wild speculations were quickly shattered.
A silver mask clung tightly to the figure's face, impervious to even the strongest winds.
That mask—there wasn't a single witch or wizard in the country who wouldn't recognize it.
Johnny Silverhand.
"What's he doing here?" A flicker of confusion crossed Oz's face.
So much so that she failed to notice Tommy standing beside Johnny Silverhand.
John glanced toward the squad of Hit Wizards and asked, "What's with all this?"
"Lord Johnny Silverhand, the prisoners in Azkaban are dangerous," Pierce replied respectfully. "This is a precaution in case any of them try something."
"A very cautious arrangement."
John offered a casual compliment, though in reality, he doubted that prisoners who had been drained by Dementors for so long had any fight left in them.
The real trouble wasn't the prisoners—it was the Dementors.
John took a step forward and noticed that Tommy's gaze was fixed on a particular woman.
After a brief moment of thought, he recalled Tommy's two friends.
One of them was a Hit Wizard squad leader.
"Who is she?"
John asked the question casually, as if it were of little importance.
Pierce was momentarily stunned. He followed John's gaze and saw his subordinate.
"That's Auror Oz Hild," Pierce replied.
"She looks like a smart one," John remarked offhandedly.
Pierce immediately took note of it.
He figured he could find Oz a new position when they returned—after all, there were still some vacancies in the office.
Sometimes, life was just that unfair. What you struggled for tirelessly could be granted to someone else with just a single remark.
"Stop staring, your eyes are about to fall out."
Seeing that Tommy was still staring, John called out to him.
Tommy snapped back to reality, his face tinged with an unexpected flush.
It was hard to imagine that the captain of Johnny Silverhand's security squad could show such an embarrassed expression.
Led by Pierce, John stepped into Azkaban.
The place was even worse than he had imagined—its conditions were bleak and austere.
With its thick, fortified walls and the ever-patrolling Dementors, the entire prison was saturated with the wails of despair.
Every now and then, someone would burst into fits of laughter—clearly driven mad.
Hagrid had nearly been sent to Azkaban once, and back then, he had trembled in sheer terror.
Even now, Pierce's face was a little pale.
It seemed he didn't like this place much either.
A Dementor drifted by as part of its patrol, and the Hit Wizards remained on high alert.
John's expression remained unchanged, though no one could tell.
They continued on their way until they reached the cell of the man they had come for.
When the door creaked open, a man curled up in the corner came into view.
He was gaunt, haggard, and hollow-eyed, yet there was still a glint of madness in his gaze.
Rodolphus Lestrange.
He had likely just been disciplined by the Dementors, his entire being steeped in exhaustion and dejection.
The Hit Wizards stood by outside, leaving only John, Pierce, and Tommy inside the cell.
However, after a brief glance from John, Pierce tactfully stepped out, claiming he needed to "oversee the deployment."
"Rodolphus Lestrange, you look absolutely wretched."
John gazed at him, a hint of eagerness flickering in his eyes.
What if he simply finished off Rodolphus right now? When Voldemort eventually tried to rally his old followers, wouldn't it be amusing to see one of his key supporters already gone?
The thought flashed through his mind, but John's expression remained unchanged.
"Who are you?" Rodolphus' voice was frail.
He had been locked away in Azkaban for so long that he had no idea who Johnny Silverhand was.
John chuckled.
With a casual lift of his right hand, Rodolphus was slammed against the wall, his body suspended in midair.
A Summoning Charm.
A finely honed dagger traced a shallow cut across Rodolphus' arm, drawing blood that trickled into a waiting vial.
It took almost no effort for John to acquire the blood sample. Rodolphus' face flushed red as he struggled for air.
Just as he was on the verge of passing out, John released him.
"Haah—Ugh!"
But before he could even gasp for breath, John's hand pressed firmly onto his greasy, unkempt hair.
Black threads seeped into Rodolphus' head, and his expression gradually dulled.
John asked him about the location of his vault, and in his dazed state, Rodolphus revealed everything without hesitation.
Once that was done, John pulled out an authorization document.
For a brief moment, a flicker of resistance appeared in Rodolphus' eyes, but it quickly faded back into emptiness.
Like a puppet, he signed his name and pressed his fingerprint onto the paper.
John, now in possession of everything he needed, didn't simply let Rodolphus off the hook.
He had seen this man in the Longbottoms' memories—one of the culprits who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity.
Placing both hands gently on Rodolphus' head, John activated his inception magic.
Under his hypnosis, a seed was planted deep within Rodolphus' consciousness.
Once it took root and sprouted, Rodolphus would serve a... rather interesting purpose.
A little gift for Voldemort.
Just as John was leaving, crazed laughter erupted from the adjacent cell.
Despite being freshly drained by the Dementors, the voice was still wild and unhinged.
"Who's in there?"
"A lunatic. Bellatrix Lestrange." Tommy Replied.
John glanced at the cell beside him and found a pair of eyes locked onto him, staring intently through the bars.
________
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