THE KEEPERS: A Hogwarts Legacy Story

Chapter 7

***cw: descriptions of violence, prison, blood, injury

Though Diaz was an Auror, he preferred not to be in Azkaban if possible.

One didn't truly understand the horror of the place until one was in it. Azkaban was a labyrinth of prison cells, its dark corridors illuminated by rusty torches on the walls. The flickering flames did little to break through the mysterious fog that shrouded the corridors, which carried with itself the revolting odor of sweat, urine, and feces.

Diaz was tempted to pinch his nose, but he didn't want to look squeamish. His partner was walking a few steps ahead, hardly seeming to mind any of it - not even the prisoners standing at their cell doors, shaking the bars and yelling profanities on top of their lungs.

"Please, sirs!"

Diaz stopped at the sudden coherent voice. To his right, he saw a middle-aged woman, in a striped garb far too big, tears flowing down her cheeks. She stretched a trembling arm towards him through the bars.

"I can't stand it anymore. Please, take me with you! I'll do anything - anything! "

Diaz sped past her. A new inmate, he noted grimly. Ones who'd been in Azkaban long enough wouldn't beg. Begging required a certain amount of hope. Azkaban took every ounce of it from its inmates, leaving them only with the blazing rage that kept them screaming their hearts out, or the gut-wrenching sorrow that kept them languid on the floor, sobbing and mumbling to themselves.

Diaz caught up to his partner. "I can never get used to this wretched place."

No response. Diaz cleared his throat.

"Morton, are you sure this is worth our while?"

Morton halted and faced Diaz. Though Morton's face was shadowed under his black bowler hat, his spectacles somehow glinted off of what little light there was in the dark corridor.

Morton said, his voice low and dry, "do you have a better idea?"

"N-no," Diaz replied lamely. "I suppose we're desperate for anything now."

A look of disdain flitted on Morton's face. He strode on without another word.

Diaz knew Morton wasn't fond of him much - and boy , was the feeling mutual - but didn't dare do anything about it. The fellow had an eye for good cases, ones in special interest of the higher-ups, and knew how to be assigned to them. And he didn't mind doing all the work either - often preferred to work alone, in fact - allowing Diaz to simply reap the benefits of his partner's hard work.

As Diaz contemplated the character flaws of his otherwise perfect partner, he realized that his breaths had turned misty in the air. A sudden chill traveled down his skin, and with it came a distant but growing feeling of despair.

"They're here," Diaz whispered, hoping his fear was well concealed in his voice.

Morton brought his forefinger to his lips. He drew his wand and glared down the length of the corridor with a look of concentration.

After what felt like a minute, six - no, seven - dementors emerged from the corner at the end of the corridor. The Dark creatures glided towards the Aurors at an alarming speed, smelling a fresh batch of souls to prey on.

Morton sucked a sharp breath in. With the breath out, he incanted, "Expecto Patronum."

A stream of silver-white vapor spun out of his wand. When its tail departed the wand tip, the vapor had formed the shape of a large hyena, standing in front of the Aurors with its ears perked up.