Chapter 16: "Azkaban is Full of Talented Individuals"

Chapter 16: "Azkaban is Full of Talented Individuals"

"And what in God's name do you mean you want to go to Azkaban?"

"Who the hell do you know in Azkaban?"

It was early morning, and Moody felt he was on the verge of losing his mind.

He'd been up for half the night, working to make various firearms "sprout" from trees and bushes across the wizarding underworld, a guerilla marketing campaign to build hype for the little terror's new arms shop. He had only just returned and was a few bites into his breakfast when Shelby, his new master, had come up with his latest brilliant idea—he wanted to take a trip to Azkaban.

"Prison serves as a very effective educational tool," Shelby explained, his face a mask of perfect sincerity. "By witnessing the grim fate of those who have lost their freedom, visitors are shocked into abiding by the law. This is a form of self-education. It is very important."

We haven't known each other long, but who the hell does he think he's fooling?

The kid who snapped three wands to tame one is going to become a sweet, law-abiding little wizard after a single trip to a prison?

Moody cursed him soundly in his head. A profound weariness washed over him. Ever since Dumbledore had tricked him into taking this job, the title was "bodyguard," but the work was "nanny," and it was one exhausting headache after another.

"Azkaban is not a place for a day out, lad. The Dementors don't care how much money you have, and they certainly don't care if you've got a gun!" Moody pleaded, trying to reason with him.

"I'll just have a look around," Leon insisted, unmoved. "A brief chat with the inmates, and that'll be that."

What kind of gangster doesn't visit a prison? In a way, a place like Azkaban was a university. More importantly, a potential teacher for the Shelby family was currently incarcerated there.

Over the past few weeks, the number of young, orphaned wizards adopted and housed at Shelby Manor in Birmingham had grown to nearly one hundred. A gathering of so many magical children was inevitably causing problems. Arthur and John had already called several times, begging him to send someone to take control of the situation. From the sound of it, they were at their wits' end. It was time to put "recruit a reliable magic tutor" at the top of the agenda.

"Mr. Moody, please rest assured," Leon said, his tone earnest. "I do have some business to attend to, but you have my word: I will not leave your sight."

Mad-Eye ran a hand over his scarred face, then popped his magical eye out and back in with an audible click.

"I am now desperately looking forward to the start of the Hogwarts term," he grumbled under his breath. "Then I can dump you on Dumbledore and let him be the one with the headache." He sighed in resignation. "Fine. We'll leave early and get there before noon. The Dementors are less active around that time."

"I am ready whenever you are, sir. Please, finish your breakfast," Leon said with perfect courtesy.

Moody shot him a glare, stuffed the rest of his fried egg into his mouth, and began stalking towards the door, chewing furiously.

Leon put on his cap and followed at a calm, unhurried pace.

A desolate island stood alone in the choppy waters of the North Sea.

Though it was midday, the sun could not penetrate the thick fog that blanketed the island. A harsh wind blew in from the sea, stinging Leon's cheeks.

Moody stood in front of him, blocking the worst of the gale. He cursed the weather and said gruffly, "Stay close. I'll break the wind for you."

He tilted his head back, his magical eye piercing through the layers of fog to see the Dementors circling high above the island.

"You can't stay here long. They've already noticed you," Moody's tone was non-negotiable.

Leon was no fool. He nodded in agreement.

The two of them, one large and one small, pushed on against the wind. Before long, they arrived at a stone tower on the northernmost tip of the island. Moody told Leon to wait, then went to speak with the guards on duty. He returned a moment later, his neck hunched against the cold.

"They say the Dementors have been restless lately. They can only give us twenty minutes."

Leon nodded, and under Moody's guidance, he stepped into the infamous prison. The air inside was dark, damp, and cold. The silence was broken by the occasional, feeble cry of despair, a sound that chilled the bone.

"This tower is for the most vicious and depraved criminals," Moody said, his voice tight with disgust. He pinched his nose. "You will not leave my sight, not even for a second. The bastards in here have been worn down by the Dementors, but you still have to be on your guard..."

Leon listened to Moody's warnings without any sign of impatience, simply nodding and repeatedly promising to do as he was told. He walked down the corridor, glancing idly at the cells on either side.

For security reasons, it seemed, each cell in the tower was a single-person affair. The inmates within were little more than grey, skeletal figures, lying weakly on the stone floors. Occasionally, they passed an empty cell. Moody explained that the previous occupant had not survived the torment.

Leon only gave them a passing glance, moving on without pause. Moody followed behind him, a confused look on his face, completely unable to fathom what the boy was up to.

Suddenly, Leon stopped. He was looking at a nameplate outside a cell: "Barty Crouch." The cell was empty and thick with dust, indicating its inhabitant had been dead for a very long time.

"A notorious Death Eater. An animal with no humanity," Moody sneered when he saw where Leon was looking. He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice filled with regret. "A pity he died in less than two years. The bastard got off easy."

Leon's eyes flickered, but he said nothing. He didn't tell Moody that the one who had died in that cell was, in fact, a heartbroken mother.

He continued walking.

The further they went, the emptier the cells became. Moody explained that these cells housed the criminals who had been captured in the earlier years of the war.

Finally, as they neared the very last cell in the corridor, Leon stopped. He walked to the bars and looked inside.

The man within was impossibly thin, his matted hair hanging to his shoulders. His eyes were vacant, his breathing shallow. For some reason, he reminded Leon of a stray dog that had lost everything.

"Sirius Black," Moody's voice was like ice. "The despicable traitor. If it weren't for him, the Potters would still be alive."

At the sound of Moody's voice, the man slowly lifted his head. He said nothing, simply letting his head fall again. But when he heard the name "Potter," his hands, thin as kindling, gave an involuntary twitch.

Leon narrowed his eyes and let out a sigh so quiet it was almost imperceptible.

"Moody," he asked suddenly, his question seemingly coming from nowhere. "Are there any animals in the wizarding world that can talk?"

Moody blinked, then shook his head. "Not that I've heard of. I'm no Magizoologist. Why the sudden question?"

"No reason. It's just that back at my home in Birmingham... at Shelby Manor, you know," Leon said, clearly enunciating the address. He glanced subtly at Sirius before continuing. "I saw a rat. And it was talking."

In the cell, Sirius remained as still as a corpse.

"It was a very fat rat," Leon continued, his voice serious, ignoring Moody's 'what in the bloody hell are you on about' expression. "Shifty-looking thing. And the funniest part is, I think it was missing a toe. Isn't that strange?"

He glanced one last time at Sirius Black and added the final piece.

"My memory is a bit hazy, but I'm almost certain... it was the right front paw."