The Contract

Chapter 101

Albus Dumbledore, who was entirely unrecognizable, whimpered at being let out of the cell he was in. It palpable even without the sounds to go with it, the cell had no window, and was very small, it was also very isolating. You could hear nothing, see nothing, do nothing from within the cell. Entire body shaking, two guards roughly grabbed him under his armpits and marched him to the meeting room. His beard and hair gone, he had instead a buzz cut and tiny smattering of hair tufting out his face as if his body was no longer capable of producing hair.

He never thought he'd be so glad to see the guards, or to be touched. He had always exuded an untouchable aura, but to actually be so? It was horrifying, he never wanted to end up back in that cell, and prayed they would take pity on him. The Dementors were around the isolation cell much more frequently, maybe if he promised never to get in touch with anyone again, they might give him his old cell back again. It was so cold in that cell that he felt himself warming as he was shoved onto his seat.

Mild whirling, what day was it? How long had it been? "Wh...what day is it?" he asked, teeth chittering as he rocked a bit back and forth shivering. Praying that he wouldn't be sent back, that someone was taking pity. His black and white jumpsuit did nothing to retain any of his body heat.

"You'll be facing the wizengamot panel in three hours," sneered the guard, giving Dumbledore a look that suggested he was filth. It wasn't a full out court trial, merely the wizengamot, witnesses and Minister employees.

"Your Lawyer will be here soon." The second guard declared, a cup of lukewarm hot chocolate - debateable - was put in front of him before the guards went to the other side of the room. As if Dumbledore's very presence was poison and they wanted to avoid him as much as humanly possible while doing their job.

Dumbledore was never to be left alone with a single person, not even a guard. Not even his lawyer when he entered the room, they could put up all the spells they wanted...but they were not risking Dumbledore breaking out of Azkaban. Not when they were so close to permanently removing him.

As proven by Barty, it was all too easy to Polyjuice as someone and make a break for it. Dumbledore had fanatics everywhere, not all of them were publicly known, so better safe than sorry.

And almost all the guards were either sons of the Knights of the Walpurgis, followers of the 'Dark Lord' Voldemort or of course, sympathisers for the cause. Those loyal to Dumbledore had been weeded out a long time ago, and were kept a very close eye on.

Lord Slytherin kept a close eye on his enemies after all.

Dumbledore's teeth chittering was the only sound in the room, along with his shivering. "Please," he murmured, he was so cold, so very, very cold...just a warming charm...just a small...small warming charm, it wasn't too much to ask. His lips were almost blue, due to the cold he'd endured.

His mind drifted back to the day it all started, the day he received the letter from Gringotts dismissing him of his duties as Harry Potter's magical guardian. He'd been furious that his plans had been disturbed after a decade of smooth sailing. Enraged that his plans for the boy and the use of his estate had been interfered with. It was, he had determined, been a hindrance nothing more, intending on correcting that hindrance. Even if it meant manipulation, and if that didn't help, arranging an accident would prove to be an easy thing. After all it would be for the greater good.

He so wished he could go back to that being his only problem.

When the boy proved to be far smarter than he anticipated, refusing to give up the names of his betrothed and the family. He began to despair, the boy it seemed, didn't trust him, and wasn't malleable as he should have been. He had been raised by the Dursley's that was clear from the visit to Marge Dursley's home where he'd finally found the Dursley family. They had treated him as he suspected they would, he spitefully wished they'd been harder on the brat. Perhaps then he would have had the perfect weapon to work with.