Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Prisoner Transportation and Visitation Procedures

Morfin Gaunt was still alive.

According to incarceration records, he had been in Azkaban since July of 1943 – 37 years ago. He had spent half of his life locked away in the isolated fortress, devoid of human interaction, and surrounded by dementors. There was no telling his mental state, but he was - according to every source they could find – the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin.

And the last Parselmouth.

Timing, for once, seemed to be on their side. The latest mandate coming out of the DMLE was one of the most egregious oversteps that Sirius and Isabella had seen under the Crouch administration. The proposed mandate would make it so that people could be arrested and imprisoned, in Azkaban, with their trial at an unspecified date if caught ‘practicing the Dark Arts’ – ever-loosely defined. The Wizengamot was entirely split on the matter, but what was unanimously agreed upon was that this was the furthest regulations had ever tried to push into controlling magic.

It hit the news cycle hard. Outside of the war itself, it seemed to be the new topic no one could get enough of and papers across Wizarding Britain eagerly lapped up the attention. Though both of the Blacks had grown rather wary of the news cycle’s proclivity for fixation and exaggeration, particularly where the Dark families were concerned, this presented an undeniable opportunity.

The papers had given them the gift of ensuring that that their interest in Azkaban would not be scrutinized in the slightest.

In their visitation request form - just as complex as Isabella remembered – they outlined how she intended to write an article about the effects of an extended stay on the prisoners of Azkaban. Knowing the demographic currently in control of so much of the Ministry, the letter had a certain pureblood lean to it, focusing on five prisoners whose targeted crimes against muggles or muggle-borns had landed them a lifetime behind bars. They hoped they’d written the letter in a way that would appear as though they’d simply pulled a list of names, incarceration dates, and crimes and requested their visits.

It was, in fact, exactly what they had done, with the sole differentiator being that they had carefully chosen the criteria so that Morfin Gaunt had fit the definition perfectly.

And then they waited.

And waited.

There was nothing wrong with the first week of waiting, per se. There were still unknowns worth exploring before further action felt compulsory.

If the artifacts they were searching for were the subject of legends, the Chamber of Secrets was no more than a whisper in the wind. Source upon source gave them nothing that could prepare them for what they’d find, and they were slowly forced to conclude that their primary knowledge of the Chamber surpassed anything that had been written. It was said that the school had been searched time and again and no one had ever found evidence of its existence. They knew where its entrance was. They knew the last time it had been opened and that it required Parseltongue to do so. And they knew that whatever was down there – Slytherin’s Monster - had killed someone the last time it was opened.

It wasn’t hard to reach the conclusion that Slytherin’s Monster was a basilisk. It followed that it was a serpent of sorts; in order to command the monster, a Slytherin needed to be able to speak to it. It needed to be a serpent that could live or hibernate for centuries on end. And Moaning Myrtle’s comments eliminated any further doubts.

There was only one creature that had a pair of large, yellow eyes that could kill on sight.

Week one was fine in a way that week two was not. The questions became less focused, the avenues less necessary to explore before the Chamber, and yet they continued winding their way down the rabbit hole.

Though Regulus had made a compelling point about focusing on significant locations rather than the objects themselves, they couldn’t help but speculate. What else was there to do?

There was a strong case to be made for both Hufflepuff’s Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem to be the artifact at Hogwarts; both belonged to one of the four founders, both had historically resided in Hogwarts, the cup represented the beginning of formalized education for wizards, while the diadem represented intelligence and academic success.

It seemed the deaths associated with each object made the only meaningful difference. There was no doubt in their mind that Hepzibah Smith’s death was used to turn the cup into a horcrux. The timeline then followed that Wool’s Orphanage was used for Slytherin’s locket, leaving Arman Greengrass’ death for the diadem, wrapping up 1955 in a bloody bow.

Greengrass had been schoolmates with Tom Riddle, irrefutably connecting their relationship to Hogwarts, whereas there was no such connection with Hepzibah Smith. Of course, without further knowledge of Greengrass, they had no way of knowing if there was also a connection to Gringotts, or the diadem itself.

There were two things, they conceded, that they had never found a connection to in all their months of research – the cave Kreacher had visited and the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw.

In many respects, they were lucky. They had been handed the cave. And they didn’t need to fixate on how the Dark Lord had come to possess the diadem. It was enough to declare that it could have happened, and then search the significant locations. Provided it departed the school with the Blacks, the diadem could’ve sprouted legs and walked itself into the Chamber of Secrets. It was a curiosity, sure, but it was not their chief concern.

They wanted it destroyed.

And yet their visitation request, the key to getting into said Chamber, lingered in a void.

By week three a certain sense of idleness clung to them like wet fabric; unpleasant, unsubtle, and entirely unignorable.

If they rested on the conclusion that the diadem resided in the Chamber, that left the cup in Gringotts. And haulted on one end, the question of the Gringotts vaults was pushed to the surface.

The cup was certainly not in the Smith’s vault; for an artifact that went missing 25 years earlier, it sounded as though it was still fresh in the family’s mind. They would not overlook it on a bank statement.

The safest location would be in the vault of an old family, buried deep in the depths of the bank’s caverns, and likely under the supervision of a high-ranking Death Eater. Now this didn’t exactly narrow things down; there was no shortage of prominent families in the Dark Lord’s ranks. The smartest options would be ones with multi-generational followers, such as the Notts, the Malfoys, the Averys, and the Rosiers – all Sacred families, all with deep vaults.

The Lestrange vault, too, was worth consideration. Cyrille Lestrange had been in the same year as Tom Riddle, and Arman Greengrass, and had been a formidable figure in both the legitimate and illegitimate political scene from the very beginning until his brutal death in 1978.

And of course, the artifact’s placement, tucked securely in the vaults of Gringotts, had almost certainly preceded his death.

Lestrange’s murder was one of the only hits from the resistance that had ever managed to shake the Dark Lord’s ranks. Many suggested that Rodolphus Lestrange would step in to his place, others argued Rodolphus and Bellatrix would both been brought up to fill his father’s rather large shoes. To that, Isabella couldn’t speak to, only that Bellatrix carried herself as though she was in the inner circle, and Regulus certainly spoke of her as though she was.

But she was not - not yet at least - in the same league as Oliver Nott, Abraxas Malfoy, Charlus Avery, and one Emeric Rosier.

Isabella vehemently denied that the Rosier vault should be on the consideration list; her grandfather was in control of the main vault, and though his younger son and his grandson were Death Eaters, they weren’t in the main line.

But then there was the matter of Zander.

She had refused to ask the Potters if Alice Longbottom had spoken truthfully about her brother, and she didn’t bring it up to Regulus either. Neither had volunteered the information and she found she had serious reservations about prying it out of them. It was like Schrodinger's Cat; it could both be true and untrue, until she learned any better. It was too serious, too awful, too… heartbreaking, frankly.

But if Lyzander Rosier was a Death Eater, the possibility of their vault opened up.

And even willful ignorance wasn’t enough to dismiss potential progress.

Isabella checked the Rosier vault herself late-September, under the pretenses of looking for a particular opal pendent. To her immeasurable relief, there was no cup to be found. Of course, Sirius, and Regulus, and James, and Lily had all in turn reminded her just how much they had been hoping the search for the second horcrux would’ve been successful then and there, and how very difficult it was going to be to access any of the other vaults on the list.

They were right. But it didn’t change how she felt.

The cat remained in the box for another day.

A consequence of this… she refused to call it denial, but avoidance of the potential truth, was that she had hardly spoken to Zander in months. She couldn’t bring herself to. It hurt to ignore, but it wasn’t impossible.

There was quite enough else to fixate on.

In the end, it took almost a full month before they even heard from the Ministry on their visitation request and the response was as bureaucratic as it got –

Dear Sir/Madame,  

Due to an extended backlog, the Ministry regrets to inform you that the reviewal process will take longer than anticipated. Please keep an eye out for a follow-up owl in the next 4-6 weeks.

Thank you for your patience.

Prisoner Transportation and Visitation Procedures

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Isabella had stared at the slip of paper in front of her, not even on official stationery, and had to resist the urge not to crumple it before passing it over to Sirius.

It was entirely and unequivocally unacceptable.

And she was in no place to accept setbacks.

“Who the bloody hell is in charge of Azkaban visitations right now? Or what do they call it – the Head of ‘Prisoner Transportation and Visitation Procedures’?” Isabella demanded, storming into the Black Library, Sirius at her heels.

“Oh hello. I see we’re in a wonderful mood this fine morning.” Regulus glanced up from his newspaper. “Isabella, trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to know.”

It was almost certainly a Death Eater then. It was the exact kind of role that the organization had done such a strong job infiltrating; positions that weren’t high enough to raise alarm bells, but were significant enough that having someone in the role would make a real difference. It was still relatively unique to have them within the DMLE.

“So it is one of yours then? To be clear - ” she shoved the letter in his direction, “ - I don’t have the luxury of not knowing.”

Regulus slowly put down his paper and took a moment to process the letter’s contents. “Merlin, this is – this is really rather unfortunate.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea how bad this is gonna to be…”

“Enlighten us then,” Sirius grumbled. “Who is it?”

“Is it Lucius?” Isabella asked, her mind running through a list of younger Death Eaters who could conceivably hold ministry jobs.

“No. No that would be… that would be preferred.”

“Then who? Who could possibly -”

“Oh fuck me – is it Snape?” Sirius interrupted. “‘Cause we’re getting fuck-all out of him, if so.”

“Okay,” Regulus stifled a laugh as he straightened himself slightly, “that makes me feel slightly better because it’s not Severus, and I’m inclined to agree that would be worse. Maybe. It’s – well – Isabella…”

The second he addressed her directly, her heart sunk.

There had been many bridges burned after Sirius and Isabella’s relationship, and then engagement, came to light - exacerbated a bit of a violent situation in Slytherin common room. When provoked, she found she could be a rather brutal duelist. Though she wasn’t left without scars, her “capacity for violence” – as Dumbledore had called it when he politely explained why she wouldn’t be made Head Girl – had won her the duel.

As the scars faded, she built back some of the relationships where necessary, like with Alecto Carrow, who she had nearly a year and a half left of living with, and Rabastan Lestrange, whose family was tightly connected to the Blacks - at least she got to a point where she could be cordial. Others she could ignore and allow herself to slowly move on.

But there was one name she had never quite forgiven.

“It’s Yaxley. Corban Yaxley.”

“Oh good Merlin,” Isabella said, slumping in the armchair to her right. Sirius remained standing, white-knuckle gripping the chair in front of him.

It was somewhat luck on Yaxley’s part that he was the one that had actually landed anything on her. All of them had intended to hurt her, he was just the only one who did.

“Is there any reason to think this was personal?” Sirius asked his brother, as Isabella struggled to focus on the conversation at hand.

“No, the orders are just to muck things up with communications with Azkaban, nothing personal. I didn't know it went this far, or I would've... well, I don't know. Warned you?”

“Alright,” Sirius straightened abruptly, “well then, I suppose we best be off to the Ministry to have a little chat with our old pal. Shall we, love?”

Isabella froze for only a moment, staring into middle distance, before an unnecessarily large smile spread across her face.

“Absolutely!” She accepted his outstretched hand with a loud clap, practically flying out her seat. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

“Woah there, both of you, is that smart idea?!” Regulus interjected.

“Of course not,” Sirius snapped back, “but it’s my only idea.”

“Well at least take a breather first. Remember what it is you’re supposed to be angry about… because you both are disproportionately angry about getting delayed in writing an article.”

“Fine, then I’m pissed off about the bureaucracy of it all and that I have to deal with Yaxley!” Isabella shouted. “Consider the article a second tier of anger!”

“Look at you both! You look like you’re gearing up for a duel. If you walk into the ministry like this, you’ll have everyone on high alert. Don’t you want to think at all before you charge into the Ministry?!”

Both of them looked at Regulus like had just spit on them before they stormed out of the library.

They’d had a month to wait and think. It had been two months since they’d destroyed a horcrux, five months since they discovered the existence of the potential fourth horcrux, and five since they’d located the only horcrux they’d actually had in their possession.

And it had been a full year since their search began.

There was a time and a place for careful planning, but this was not it. The request had already been drafted and sent, their cover created, and all that was left was to take it a step further.

The Ministry had become the epicenter of the conflict, stuck in the crossfire between the DMLE’s staunch and aggressive resistance and the Death Eater’s infiltration. The Wizengamot remained one of the only untouched Ministry institutions, but only because there was almost no need for subtlety. Those that sat on the Wizengamot could, and did, speak vocally about their beliefs. The sheer fact seats were majority hereditary aided its independence - it was essentially a pureblood institution.

The primary floor of the Ministry was quieter than it had ever been throughout recent history. Those not involved in the conflict had learned to keep their head down when going about their day job. The only ones who dared stand out were those who could afford to make a scene.

The Blacks, of course, could make a scene. And though they tried to slow themselves down to a more reasonable pace, Regulus was right; they looked like hell. Their movement echoed in the chamber as they exited the floo and made their way towards the wand checkers, wands already at their side.

“Good morning – please state your business?” a young blonde checker who looked straight out of Hogwarts asked as they approached, barely looking up from her book.

They just stared at her.

“Wands please!” she held out her other hand, eyes still glued to the pages in front of her.

They shrugged and handed over their wands.

“Mr. & Mrs. … Black.” The checker finally looked up with a far more concerned in her eyes. “Apologies – what did you say your purpose was for this visit?”

“We didn’t,” Sirius replied flatly.

“I’m… I’m sorry I don’t mean to be a bother, it’s just procedure, I need to write it down…”

“Of course,” Isabella narrowed her eyes as she spoke. “How about ‘for fun’?”

“Uhhh, that’s not really one of the accepted options…”

“Fine. Then why don’t you put that we’re here for a brief conversation with an old friend,” Isabella said, unmistakably insincere.

“I’ll p-put personal matters, then,” the wand checker said quickly. “Proceed.”

They swooped through the atrium, Isabella’s heels clacking on the tile floors below before finally taking shelter away from prying eyes in the elevators. Only few had truly turned and watched them, most were only willing to sneak a glance before quickly averting their gaze, but it was still more than they would’ve liked.

“Wartime must be rather good for funding,” Sirius joked as the elevator door opened up to a rather opulent lobby for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While most of the working floors were still blessed with the 1960s gift of wood paneling, the DMLE had upgraded. Black marble met gold finishes, giving it a rather sleek, modern, and expensive, look.

It took them only a few moments to find Yaxley’s office.

“Is he in a meeting?” Isabella asked his receptionist brusquely.

“No – but he doesn’t take walk-ins either…”

“He’ll make an exception.” Sirius moved past the desk and opened the door for Isabella to enter first.

“Hell-” Yaxley froze mid-word staring at the couple in his doorway.

“Hello,” Isabella said coolly, glancing around the modest office before turning back to her husband. “Darling, close the door behind us.”

Sirius snorted at her casual delivery and followed her in.

Physically, Isabella could only hope that she looked like she was in complete control, because mentally she was screaming. She hadn’t interacted with Yaxley since that morning; the morning he sliced up her face and her hair and had threated worse. She could still remember the feeling of complete and utter helplessness. Looking his direction, she struggled not to be transported back to that terror.

Yaxley cautiously rose to greet them and they didn’t miss the fact he’d grabbed his wand in the process.

“Please, take a seat,” he directed them to the wooden chairs in front of his desk as he himself slowly sat back down, studying both of their faces. “I’ll be transparent, I don’t know what to make of this. I am frankly… stunned to see you both in my office... I don’t know what else to say.”

“If we could have this conversation with anyone else, rest assured, we wouldn’t be here,” Sirius said bluntly.

Yaxley sighed. “I should’ve reached out - ”

“So you’ve seen our bloody visitation request?!” Isabella blurted out before Yaxley could even finish his thought.

“What? No… oh good Merlin, please tell there’s not a Black or a Rosier in Azkaban right now…” He began shuffling through the short stacks of paper on his desk. “That’s a huge oversight. There’s not supposed to be.”

“There’s not. Unless it’s new, there’s not.” Sirius turned to Isabella who nodded.

“Then what request? Why didn’t you submit it directly to me?” Yaxley caught himself and quickly shook his head. “Of course. So then I’m assuming you got stuck in the bureaucratic loop…”

He turned to a separate, far less organized pile of papers stacked on a shelf behind him. “Either of your families should’ve been able to tell you that’s not how this is done. I’ll have a word with them.”

“Don’t bother. We didn’t tell them. It wasn’t urgent,” Sirius wisely added, “but it had just become immensely frustrating.”

“Here it is.” Yaxley pulled their request form from the pile and began to skim through, “Merlin, this is interesting. You’re writing an article?”

He turned to Isabella and made eye contact for the first time since she’d entered the office. Looking into his icy blue eyes, she felt like she was going to puke, but she focused instead on nodding.

Yaxley looked through five prisoner’s names without seeming too focused on any one of them. “I recognize most of these prisoners, but they’re all old cases. Similar crimes. All with extended incarceration dates?”

“That’s correct,” she managed to say.

“I assume I don’t need to ask what got this on your radar?”

“As I’m sure many have pointed out,” Sirius seized the conversation, “it has become a bit too easy to find yourself with a one-way ticket to Azkaban.”

Yaxley raised his eyebrow with a knowing nod.

“And we feel that the public has gotten a bit flexible when it comes to what should constitute as an imprisonable offense. Perhaps if they were more aware of the conditions in Azkaban, they wouldn’t be so callous about who they sent there.”

“Hmm,” Yaxley said with a slight smile, “very interesting. Very, very interesting. And you both intend to go?”

The couple nodded.

“Okay, if you’re sure, but you know Azkaban is an unpleasant place. You’ll hear it from the prisoners, but the conditions are no better as a visitor. You’re just there for less time.”

“I can handle unpleasant,” Isabella said through gritted teeth.

“I know.” Yaxley sighed, looking back up at her. “I know this is not what you came here today to discuss, but a conversation between the two of us is long overdue. And I apologize that I’ve not reached out.”

He paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts. If he was about to take the conversation where she thought, she was in serious danger of passing out; she certainly wasn’t getting enough oxygen and it couldn’t possibly be healthy for her heart to be beating this fast.

“Isabella, I’m truly sorry for what happened between us back at Hogwarts. At the time, it seemed like the right course of action because of everything that had happened and where it seemed your allegiances were. I’m sure others have said this to you before, but this is war. We have never been soft on our enemies. Ever. But we made a mistake targeting you. An egregious mistake that I can only offer my sincerest apologies for now.”

She was too stunned to even know how to react so she simply stared at him, mouth agape, as he continued -

“It has been… suggested that what transpired that morning may be a catalyst for your lack of participation in the Cause. Or perhaps, a contributing factor. If that’s the case, let me know what I can do to make it up to you. Or what we can do. Please.”

Though he sounded genuinely remorseful, the pressure he must be under couldn’t be understated if the Death Eaters believed him to be the reason the two of them hadn’t joined.

She couldn’t tell if it made her feel better or worse.

What had happened between the two of them that morning in the Slytherin common room had been one of the worst moments of Isabella’s life and part of her wanted dig into it with him. The other part of her wanted to accept the apology she never thought she’d get. But there was a third option, one she knew she had to choose, even if it checked neither of the boxed.

She worked to steady her heart rate and control her voice. “If you can get me into Azkaban, I’ll consider it a strong start.”

“Consider it done, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can with the details. We should be able to get you out there early-November at the latest.” Yaxley glanced down again at their request form. “For the record, this is exactly the kind of action that our side supports. No one deserves what we put those prisoners through. It is unending torture, plain and simple. And for those longer-term prisoners you’re looking at, it hasn’t stopped for a decade, some decades. And Black, as you pointed out, we have an administration that’s hell-bent on imprisoning people for things that the three of us wouldn’t even consider a crime. And now without a trial.”

He stacked up their paperwork, knocking it into a neat pile, before slipping it back into its folder.

“It’s good to know that someone outside of our circle sees what’s happening. Just know you’re not alone in thinking that there’s something very wrong with this system.” Yaxley smiled. “I’m glad you came by.”