An Isolated Island in the North Sea, Azkaban
Whhhoooosh. Whhhoooosh.
The desolate island of Azkaban was battered by relentless winds, howling like anguished spirits. Its gray, barren landscape stretched out beneath a perpetually overcast sky, with only a sparse scattering of sickly vegetation breaking the monotony.
In the island's heart loomed a massive fortress built from black stone, its towering walls exuding a palpable sense of dread. Surrounding the structure, shadows flitted through the air—humanoid figures draped in tattered cloaks, their forms twisted and unnatural.
The dementors moved in silent patrols, their chilling presence radiating despair. To encounter one was to feel all joy, hope, and warmth siphoned away. To be caught by them was far worse—souls drained to a husk, leaving nothing but hollow shells behind.
This was Azkaban, the wizarding world's most infamous prison.
At the Port
"Damn it," Auror Liman Bilic muttered, pacing along the crumbling stone dock. "Why haven't the replacement Aurors arrived yet?"
His frustration was shared by his companions, all of whom cast frequent glances at the bleak horizon.
"Liman, calm yourself," Captain Rudolf said sharply, though his own patience was fraying. "The Ministry assured me they would arrive today. We just need to wait a little longer."
Rudolf's stern tone carried the weight of authority, but his weathered face betrayed his weariness. Like the others, he longed to leave Azkaban and escape the constant presence of dementors.
Just as Liman opened his mouth to retort, a faint black speck appeared on the horizon.
"Captain!" one of the younger Aurors called out. "There! A boat's approaching!"
The group turned toward the sea, their spirits lifting as the speck grew into the unmistakable outline of a wooden boat bearing the Ministry of Magic's crest.
Rudolf raised his wand, sending a bright red flare into the sky to guide the vessel to the port.
The boat docked moments later, its occupants becoming visible. At the helm stood a young wizard, his features sharp and striking, exuding an air of elegance and power. His pure-blood lineage was evident in his aristocratic bearing.
Behind him, a dozen more wizards disembarked, their expressions cold and unreadable.
Something was wrong.
Rudolf's instincts flared. These were not Aurors. Their demeanor lacked the discipline and camaraderie typical of Ministry officials.
Stepping forward, Rudolf addressed the group cautiously. "I am Rudolf, Captain of the Azkaban Guard. Identify yourselves."
The young wizard at the front—Tom Riddle, though none recognized him—did not respond. Instead, he continued walking, his steps deliberate and unhurried.
The Death Eaters trailing him exchanged knowing glances but said nothing, falling in step behind their leader.
"Stop!" Rudolf barked, his wand now raised. "I said, stop!"
Riddle ignored him, his expression serene.
Rudolf's patience snapped. "Petrificus Totalus!" he shouted, casting a Full Body-Bind Curse.
But Riddle was faster.
"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, his voice as smooth as silk.
The sickly green jet of the Killing Curse struck Rudolf's spell, shattering it effortlessly before continuing toward its target.
Rudolf barely had time to leap aside.
"Avada Kedavra."
The second curse was instant, precise, and unrelenting. It struck Rudolf square in the chest, extinguishing his life in a flash of green light.
His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
"Captain!"
The remaining Aurors shouted in panic, some raising their wands while others instinctively backed away.
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Desperation fueled their attacks, but Voldemort barely noticed. With a flick of his wand, he unleashed another volley of Killing Curses.
"Avada Kedavra."
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light tore through their defenses, as if mocking their feeble resistance. Each curse found its mark with deadly precision.
One by one, the Aurors fell, their bodies collapsing onto the weathered dock.
Voldemort stepped over the corpses without so much as a glance, his footsteps steady and unhurried. To him, these were not battles—they were exterminations.
The Death Eaters followed in his wake, their reactions varied. Some swallowed hard, their fear of their master outweighing their revulsion at the carnage. Others reveled in it, their eyes alight with fanaticism as they marveled at Voldemort's prowess.
As the group advanced along the dirt path leading to Azkaban's gates, Voldemort's immense magical aura rippled outward, resonating with the dark energy of the island.
The effect was immediate.
Dementors halted their patrols, their hooded heads swiveling toward the source of the disturbance. Then, as if drawn by an irresistible force, they began to converge on the intruders.
The Death Eaters faltered, shivering as the dementors' oppressive cold crept closer. Panic flickered in their eyes.
"Master—" one began, but Voldemort silenced him with a glare.
Displeased by their cowardice, Voldemort raised his wand.
"Incendio Infernum."
A wall of dark red flames erupted on either side of the path, roaring with supernatural intensity. The infernal blaze surged forward, creating a protective barrier that forced the dementors to retreat.
The spectral beings recoiled, their inhuman screeches piercing the air. Though immune to most magic, the hellfire burned them with unnatural ferocity.
Voldemort observed the effect with a satisfied smile. Hellfire indeed. Lockhart's infernal gift has its uses.
Behind him, the Death Eaters straightened, their confidence restored by their master's display of power. They now looked upon the retreating dementors with a mix of awe and newfound arrogance.
At last, Voldemort reached Azkaban's gates. There, waiting for him, was the leader of the dementors.
This creature was larger than the others, its form more defined, its aura of darkness nearly suffocating. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly, exuding malevolence.
Voldemort stepped forward, his expression calm but commanding.
"Alix," he addressed the creature, his voice resonating with authority, "in the name of the Dark Lord, I call upon you to fulfill your promise. Surrender to me, and I shall lead you beyond this wretched island. Together, we will feast on endless souls."
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