Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"
The North Sea
Daniel strode along the corridor as if he owned it. He had a suitably worn Guard Uniform on over Talisker's extremely worn clothes. His old International was propped on his shoulder like a rifle, brush end up. He was almost to the complex corridor junction where the Airlock Doors were located, when someone called after him.
"Murchison! Hold up!" Daniel turned to see the guard with the potbelly and rumpled uniform scuttling down the corridor after him. He knew the man to be one Morticae Johnson. Kingsley supplied the name, having interviewed every guard at Azkaban after taking over as Head Auror, and interviewing every new hire as well.
"What do you want, Johnson?" Weston couldn't show disgust with his modified voice, so he hoped his body language conveyed it adequately.
The guard half-hesitated when called by name, but came on. "Her Flippin' Majesty's pet dwarf wants to see you. Where have you been? I've walked my legs off in these damn corridors!"
Daniel let his shoulders drop a bit, as if fed up. "None of your damn business. Lead the way."
He waited until the other started off, then caught up to him. Noticing the anger on the man's face, he said, "Sorry. Johnson. Hel of a morning. Some sort of escape attempt yesterday, and they sent a single man, me, to see if I could find anything out in those hectares of rocks. I had to spell myself dry when I got back in."
Johnson looked a little mollified. "I heard about the escape attempt. I was there when the boy Apparated in, white as a sheet, well, paler than usual, anyway. He said he cursed the inmate out of the sky, and down into the rocks, after his two wingmen were taken out."
"Huh." Even Daniel's monotone managed to sound sceptical. "That's right strange, since I found this piece of tat washed up on the beach." He secretly patted the Universal with his fingertips to reassure it.
Johnson sniffed in disapproval. "Much as I thought." He eyed Daniel sideways. "Murchison, why don't you take off that mask while we walk? I don't like not being able to see someone's face when I'm talking to them."
"My first suggestion is not to talk to me at all. In fact, I remember specifying that exact thing. But we still have to work together, so, I'll tell you what. You answer a couple of questions, and I'll think about it."
He shrugged. "So ask."
"What color are my eyes!"
He stutter-stepped, then recovered. "What kind of man notices another man's eye color?" he scoffed.
"Which tells me something else to dislike about you. Okay, do I wear a moustache, a beard, or neither?"
Johnson paused a bit too long, and Daniel went on. "Never mind. You're playing one of your bloody games, and I'm not having it. Sod off."
They were coming up on one of the Monitoring Stations, as described by John Talisker, and a lilting voice came out the door.
"Is that Murchison at last? My dear man, do come in. The young mistress wanted me to check some things with you.."
Daniel stepped in, but as Johnson started to follow, Daniel turned and got right in his face.
"None of your business, Morty. And you need to keep in mind what I said earlier. Piss. Off." He shut the door in Johnson's suddenly apprehensive face.
"O, well spoken, well spoken indeed. While you're standing there, set those dials to Taurus left and Libra right. Or is it...? No, I'm certain that's correct."
Daniel did as instructed, and turned to face the speaker. Sitting in the chair was an odd character. Short, yes, but not dwarfish by any means, he had his hands through ornate braces' straps and resting on a comparatively large, but very firm-looking belly. He would probably been about 5'5" when standing. Wavy salt and pepper hair, pug nose and his face wasn't really plump, considering his girth.
He tilted his head as he regarded Daniel. "Well, who do we have here? I was expecting Uisge Beatha Johannes, but you most certainly are not he. I assume you represent the help he went to fetch?"
Daniel took off the enchanted beret, and gave a polite bow. "Indeed, sir. May one introduce himself? One hights Daniel Weston, formerly of Oxfordshire, and currently residing in Berlin."
The man practically teleported to his feet and courteously returned the bow. "Enchanted, Dear Sir. Standing before you is Jonathan Aman ffolkes-Fawkesworthy, of Paris' Saint-Germain-des-Prés, by way of the benighted Italian countryside, currently residing in the benighted Welsh forests and foothills."
"Charmed. One has heard much that is good of you from the afore-mentioned Whisky John. A question, if I may, Master Fawkesworthy?"
The little man courteously nodded assent. "Certainly. But, please, do call me Fawksey."
"And I am David to you. So, tell me. Is it 'ffolkes' with two small Effs? One's Mother is a ffolkes on her Mother's side."
"Indeed?" He seemed delighted. "It is 'ffolkes' of a certainty! I was aware of a Weston connection, but chère Grandmere always refused to elucidate, because they were associated with La Famille.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Daniel chuckled ruefully. "Alas, La Famille threw one's entire bloodline to Les Loups. That was how one ended up as an Alumnus of this fine Institution."
"No doubt the Reunions are quite festive."
"The venues could be be better. Alas, rude as it may be, I must on to business." Daniel smiled apologetically.
"C'est ne rien. I am all ears." He glaced down at his plumplitude. "Maybe not all."
Daniel sighed inwardly. The command decision had been made to trust this strange little man. Personally, he thought both the Potters and Kingsley Shacklebolt were too prone to approving of odd people just because they were odd. But Whisky John was one of the sharpest people he knew, and he vouched for the fellow. Insisting, though, that he had his own mysterious agenda, and it would be wise to keep a weather eye out.
"At Eighteen Hundred Hours, or Six PM if you prefer, an Auror Strike team will seize this administration area and seal it against enemy action. They will open the Warehouse Drawbridge and Gate, and the Main Force will begin the assault. Prior to that, at Seventeen Forty-Five Hours, the prisoners will stage a Diversionary Riot and Breakout. What we are requesting of you are three things. Primus: Set all the Locked and Blocked Barracks Doors to open, and remain open, at five minutes before Eighteen Hundred Hours. Secundus: Use the following overrides on the Harnesses, so they will only affect those people who are not wearing a Harness, or not carrying an attuned Auror Badge. And, Tertius: Take any and all precautions to preserve yourself and complete your mission."
Fawksey stilled. With a cock of his head, he regarded David fixedly. "I must ask that you elucidate, good sir."
"How did our mutual friend John put it? 'Ah dinnae ken whut th' sod is up ta. Boot ah trust 'tis important. Hard tho' it may be, y' dinnae use a diamond t' pound nails.' "
Fawksey raised an eyebrow. "That may be the kindest thing anyone has ever said about me. And that damned Scot is too wily for his own good."
Daniel nodded. "In service of that, I have something for you." He handed Fawksey two small chamois bags, with drawstrings cinched up and secured by rune-stamped wax seals.
"These are two unattuned Auror Badges. Break the seals, and the next person to touch them will be recognised by all official personnel and magick in place as an Auror on Dedicated Detached Duty, for the duration of this operation. You will not be impeded or questioned in your movements or actions."
Fawksey bounced the small bags in the palm of his his hand. "Entirely too wily," he muttered. Looking up, he said. '"These will fit nicely into my plans. Please assure John that he will receive full disclosure. Eventually."
David shrugged. "John is an uncomplicated soul. Devious and dangerous, most assuredly. But uncomplicated."
Fawksey chuckled. "Traits I have little experience of." Daniel's pawky look made him laugh out loud. "So, you must be off, then?"
"Indeed," Daniel said, donning his beret. "I just hope that treacherous slime Johnson doesn't run into the real Murchison with awkward timing."
The little man's smile was beatific. "Oh, I addressed that issue immediately upon observing young Safiq's masterful improvisation." He turned to a cabinet behind him marked 'URNS' and opened it. The bottom half held a man in a very uncomfortable-looking fetal position, with a black bag over his head. He was very, very still.
"The tricky part..." Fawksey confided. "...was getting him into that position before Petrifying him."
***
Daniel decamped from the Airlock Door for First Barracks almost into the arms of a 'George' he recognized. Much more grown, but still just a mite, the lad grinned at him.
"Blimey, Dano, Oi knew yer got turfed out in t' firs' round, but sticking yer back in 'ere is a bit mooch!"
"One's team will get them next time, 'George' old boy. Got words for the Big Boss."
"Frum Whisky John, oi warrant. Tha's 'is kit yer 'ave on. Mended tha' seam there meself. An' is tha' blud?"
"That it is. He got into a good old brumscrum, as he would say, with three of them. Put down two, and ran the third off. He was bad off, but we got to him in time."
'George' nodded, as if he expected nothing less. Jerking his head toward the Hallway, he led Daniel out of the Rec Room.
The gathering at the Grate and Pit end of the Hallway was about as eclectic a group as could be found in any prison, and remarkable even for Azkaban. Young to old, albino pale to melanistic black, and from magical traditions the world round. Not to mention one red-headed witch and one Muggle Berserker.
Shamir's voice cut the low chatter off as Daniel and 'George' approached.
"Okay, Fawksey, we get the basics. I have questions about the Rules of Engagement."
"And here comes the very person to address them to. I withheld his name in case he met with mischance. I assume most of you are familiar with Master Daniel Weston?"
Every head turned, every eye widened. There was an intake of breath, a moment of silence...
Into which Sergeant of Arms Billy said firmly, "Shut It."
Every eye swiveled to look at him. And shut it.
"Good Slags. Bosses are talkin'."
Daniel spoke. "Good to see you all. One hopes we have time to chat later. Shamir, John sent me with some suggestions, but told me to emphasise these are only suggestions. You are in complete command, and no one will be sent to replace you, or to dictate your actions."
"You asked about ROE. John suggests using the same Table of Organisation you had in the taking of Barracks Three. Red for Head-Breakers, Blue to Secure Prisoners, and Green to work behind the lines. Put everyone you can trust in one of those three categories."
Shamir's eyes pierced Daniel to the quick. When Daniel had left, he had been just a Best Lad with a lot of potential.
"What about the ones I don't trust?" His words were quiet, but firm.
Daniel met his gaze. "Don't use them."
He continued. "Gather the Harnesses. You don't need all of them, just enough for your people. File them through here, and Fawksey will activate only those Harnesses. Tell your untrustworthy types that all they have to do is stay out of the way, because no one else will even slow down for them. That will be all the contribution they have to make."
Shamir raised an eyebrow. "Contribution? To what?"
Daniel inhaled deeply. He reached into the threadbare shirt's pocket, and pulled out a medallion the size of his palm. It was circular, with a capital M in serif stretched across the width, and a point-down wand in the center.
"I Daniel Weston, have been charged to deliver the bonded promises of Kingsley Shackleford, Minister for Magic. These are his words:
'Upon the completion of this operation, win or lose, a High Commission will be seated upon the Island of the Prison of Azkaban, and will remain there until every inmate's sentence has been re-examined and re-evaluated. The management of the prison will be placed in responsible hands, and will be rigorously supervised. Secure means of reporting abuses will be provided, and timely responses will be guaranteed. Any contribution to the success of this operation will be considered in the reevaluation of sentences, even to the help of staying out of the way and letting others contribute.'
'Witness here my Mark on the Great Seal of the Ministry of Magic.' "
With those words, the letter M on the Seal blazed with white light, which gathered and sprang to the floor. It coalesced into a massively muscled lynx. It met each pair of eyes that regarded it, in recognition of promises made.
It yawned, stretched, coiled and leapt, over their heads and through the wall above the Grate.
Everyone released the breath they didn't know they were holding. Daniel tucked the Great Seal away, and opened his mouth to speak.
There was a sudden Eep! in Fawksey's voice, which babbled on.
"Ah... Nice Kitty? Yes, yes, I see you, too. Just... just move along, Kitty. Kitty?"