[SNM] Force Multiplier [Pyxis]

The rain fell in thick even droplets against the mottled surface of the ancient wrought iron bars that filled the small gaps in the stone walls; comically referred to as windows by some. The bars themselves had grown rusty after years upon years of the maritime North Sea weather. Everything corroded here, whether it was the hinges on the heavy doors with their multiple bolts and latches and locks, or the simple metal cups used by the inmates during mealtimes. And if a man was not mentally cut out for it, one could say that the inmates themselves corroded over time.

Life in Azkaban was one of harsh, dull routine. Prisoners was awakened at the same hour every morning; they took a walk in the exercise yard at the appointed time, they ate when told to do so, and they attempted to sleep on the cruelly thin mattresses that were laid on top of harsh iron bed frames that were considered by many to be barely fit for human use. Of course, it would not be right to complain. There were no more Dementors stalking the glum, cold corridors. Without those demonic creatures, Azkaban was practically a holiday camp in comparison.

Gaius Purcell stood by the wall, looking out through the gaps in the bars at the rough grey sea beyond. He was dressed in the drab shabby robes of a prisoner. His hair was longer than he liked it, and slightly unkempt. He had not shaved for several days, and a harsh grey stubble had developed around his chin and jaw. In his right hand he held a well used chinagraph pencil, which he absentmindedly manipulated between his long fingers. The wizard’s hazel eyes scanned the vanishing horizon; laden heavy with dark clouds. To the inmates, it appeared that the weather at Azkaban never changed. It either rained incessantly, or was unseasonably cold. The old fortress, build from stones and iron hundreds of years ago, could never be heated sufficiently. Today was a bracing mixture of the two; rain and a seeping cold that appeared inexplicable when one considered that it was apparently May outside.

Time moved in strange ways in Azkaban. Hours of the day crawled; if one was lacking an outlet, it was nearly insufferable. And yet, months would fly by in such a way. All of a sudden, a prisoner would realise they had been incarcerated for 6 months, or perhaps one year, and their life had been bled from them in the monotony of nothingness. But not Gaius. Since his first day in Azkaban, he settled into a life of near monastic discipline. It was simply a requirement to last for any length of time in this place with one’s mental facilities intact. He split his day into sections; he exercised by himself; he wrote; he read copiously.

But Gaius’ life within the prison was somewhat unlike that of his neighbours. He was imprisoned for life, following a trial which he personally considered to be more of a high-profile theatrical event for the entertainment of the populace. A prisoner of his status was treated rather differently to his peers. For one thing; he had been delegated a corridor on the uppermost floor of the fortress to himself. The corridor contained six cells in total, three on either side; and four of which had been now left vacant. Gaius inhabited the two cells at the very end; he used one for sleeping, and the other for working and receiving guests. The corridor itself was sealed with a heavy locked iron door at it’s opening, and access through this entrance was strictly controlled. The post was manned twenty-four hours each day by two Aurors who would rigorously inspect and frisk any persons who had need to enter. This meant, that between the doors to his cell, the door to the corridor, the door to the wing, the door to the inner courtyard, the door to the outer courtyard, and to the entrance of the prison itself, there were six magically locked doors between Gaius Purcell and freedom. And he never expected to cross the threshold of those six doors whilst he still had breath in his body.

The cell that Gaius stood in was identical to every other in the building, except that he had slightly more possessions. In the centre was an old worn desk, at which the wizard both wrote and took his meals. Today an extra chair had been added for his guest. By the wall was a small travelling trunk, that had been in a terrible state of disrepair when Gaius had found it rotting in these unused cells, but he had restored to a working order. Upon it stood a metal carafe filled with drinking water. Next to the trunk were some shipping crates, which had been appropriated into makeshift bookshelves. Upon the lower shelf were several large tomes; the writings of wizard and muggle authors that Gaius held close to his heart. On the upper shelf lay many rolls of parchment. These were the foundations of the text that one day he hoped to publish. The sagacious memoirs of a loyal follower of Lord Voldemort.

Today there would be something of a slight change to his normal routine. For today, he would have a special guest, and to that guest he would deliver a message. He had requested the presence of his young protege Pyxis Abercrombie. Pyxis had had the misfortune also to be a guest of Azkaban, but his time within the confines of it’s walls was fast approaching it’s end. And this meant that Pyxis was suddenly going to become a very valuable asset. The time had come for a reckoning with the world beyond the prison walls.

Gaius had an excellent relationship with the warders, and he planned to keep it that way. At first, naturally, they had resented him. However some; the younger, the more green Aurors; turned out to be more “flexible”. Perhaps it was because some had no direct experience of the conflict, or perhaps they had viewed him with a sense of macabre awe - here was the infamous Gaius Purcell, just like in the newspapers. The butcher (one of the less elegant names those esteemed journalists of the Prophet had branded him with) was in their midst. During his first days in the prison, one guard had even asked him for his autograph. Such was his notoriety. After several weeks, Gaius noticed that some of his belongings had gone missing. It turned out that a genuine quill or piece of parchment or even shaving mirror that once belonged to “the Devil’s Diplomat” had an impressive resale value on the black market. No doubt some of the more ingenious denizens of Knockturn Alley were attempting to hawk counterfeit “Authentic” Gaius Purcell quills to wizards of a particularly lurid bent.

After some time, Gaius’ notoriety, plus his ability to charm even the most resolute of souls, had paid off. Guards who had allowed him some slight benefits were in turn rewarded well. If contraband (usually some fine liqueur that the wizard liked to enjoy on the quiet evenings) was not discovered, there would always be a few bottles of firewhisky in the package to satiate the appetites of the guards. Over time (and with associated payment in both cash and items), Gaius had constructed a rather pleasant and efficient relationship with the guards assigned most closely to him. He behaved well, they behaved well, and now and again were happy to overlook the packages that went his way, assuming there would be some interesting items for themselves and their wives and children back home.

Even the most steadfast could be corrupted in such a way, and that thought often caused Gaius disappointment. Obviously Azkaban guards were not the crème de la crème of the Auror department, and yet, they were all that separated these supposed horrors of wizarding society from the innocents of Britain. From Gaius’ perspective, it was cruelly ironic how wizards of his and Pyxis' persuasion were detained here for nothing more than protecting their society, whilst the corruptible and unprincipled wandered the streets with impunity. But such is life.

Gaius’ trail of thought was interrupted by the heavy hollow metallic click of an iron key in the lock at the end of the corridor as it echoed through the passageway down to his cell; it appeared as if his guest had arrived, and would soon be allowed ingress to his chambers. And then, the difficult part of their meeting could begin.

Thud, Thud, Thud.

This was the sound that echoed throughout the Hartridge heir’s cell as he aimlessly wandered the small space available to him. The sloshing sound of heavy rain drops beating against the iron bars of his cell adding to the drudgery of the scene. Pyxis Abercrombie was restless. Today was one of those days where every second felt like a minute, where every hour felt like a lifetime. The twenty eight year old felt like he would have screamed had he not been raised to exude elegance and class at all times. It was only here in the privacy of his cell that he allowed himself to indulge in something as telling as pacing.

The reasons for this agitation were simple. Firstly, he was bored. The heavy rain had limited the time they were able to spend in the courtyard without risk of developing pneumonia or other troubling diseases. The denizens of Azkaban were not allowed to carry wands, after all, and the wardens were not inclined to aid them by casting spells that would make them impervious to the elements. Pyxis did not doubt that many of them would see the loss of an inmate to disease as a welcome development. The loss of their life to something easily cured by a potion as the ultimate humiliation for those they had come to revile. The second reason for his restlessness was more unusual. He had been invited to join Gaius in his cell. That in itself was not unusual, but the manner in which he had been invited was. Ordinarily he and Gaius would arrange their next encounter at the end of a meeting, or the older Deatheater would spontaneously issue an invitation to his cells during an encounter in the courtyard. Today however the invitation had been issued by way of a guard. To the Hartridge heir this unusual behaviour displayed urgency. The question of the day, now, was; what information could be so important Gaius had not just waited until their next courtyard encounter to issue his invitation?

Much to his relief Pyxis was actually looking respectable that day, at least by Azkaban standards. One of his twice weekly showers had occurred the night before allowing him to escape the stale musk he had come to exude on the worst days. The drab grey prisoner robes he was clad in were a relatively new set and thus free of the shameful stains that came to sully older pairs. He had managed to persuade one of the friendlier wardens to acquire for him a hair tie so he could shape his dark locks into a pony tail. It was not his ideal style, and he would be instantly cutting it upon his release, the following month, but it was better than the free flowing mess it had been before. 

The Hartridge heir’s focus moved to the doorway as a harshly spoken “It is time Abercrombie. Follow me now” made the presence of another known. The speaker was Aodh Byrne, a fifty six year old, Irish, veteran of the first and second war with Lord Voldemort. The Irish man had harsh features which were wrinkled from aging and a harsh life, dark green eyes that held a haunted look, and red hair, which was beginning to give way to grey locks. Aodh was a no nonsense individual who was known for his particularly cruel treatment of the prisoners. It was well known that more than one prisoner’s injuries could be attributed to the heel of his boot. It was said he had never been the same after the loss of his eight year old daughter during a particularly brutal Deatheater raid.

Pyxis instantly walked towards the older man as commanded while maintaining a respectable distance between them. While the pureblood heir had managed to charm some of the wardens during his time on the island this man was not one of them. The last thing he wanted was to get on the wrong side of the Irish man. He did not need to acquire permanent scarring or bone breakages with so little of his sentencing left. The brisk walk through the stone fortress was held in silence. Aodh offering the two Aurors a terse nod as they arrived at the heavy locked iron door that separated Gaius’ domain from the rest of the building. The remainder of the journey was continued in that same uncomfortable silence until; at last, they had arrived outside of Gaius preferred cells at the end of the corridor. The twenty eight year old nodded in understanding as the man informed him he would be back in exactly an hour to escort him back to his cell. Other guards would not have limited their time so, but Aodh was not other guards.

The Hartridge heir made his way into the cell with slow, controlled movements. He stood upright with the cool gaze expected of one who had been given an aristocratic upbringing. “Gaius, how are you?” He greeted politely as he took a seat in the extra chair without waiting for an invitation. The two men knew each other well enough now to discard of such niceties when they were on their own. The pureblood’s gaze fell upon the travelling trunk that had been in a state of disrepair the last time he saw it. It seemed his companion had hidden talents if his feat of presumably fixing it without a wand was anything to go by. “A glass of water would be welcomed if you would not mind” he offered with a teasing smirk as he regarded his older companion. It was a serious request, though, as access to water was not so easy down in the section for low key prisoners Pyxis inhabited.

The Hartridge heir waited for the older man to oblige him. He took a few sips of the refreshing beverage before asking the question that had plagued him since receiving his invitation that morning. “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” His cool tone displaying the slightest hint of curiosity as his grey-blue eyes met the hazel hue of the older man’s eyes.

Gaius turned from the window slowly as Pyxis spoke. The older wizard nodded in greeting to the Abercrombie whilst he seated himself. “Thank you, Auror Byrne,” stated Gaius courteously as the guard closed and locked the door with his oversized set of iron keys. “We’ll let you know when we are finished.” The lock clicked shut and echoed loudly within the confines of the room. Gaius walked around the back of Pyxis’ chair, placing a firm hand on the shoulder of his comrade. “As always, Pyxis, it is a pleasure to see you.” From the carafe he poured two full glasses of cold water into the metal mugs; placing them onto the table top. "You are looking slightly peaky, my friend. You must eat more."

Gaius walked slowly to the trunk and opened it. From within he extracted a small piece of broken mirror, roughly the size of the palm of his hand. The Death Eater made his way to the locked cell door and carefully angled the mirror through the small barred opening along the top of the aperture, watching as the Auror retreated the full length of the corridor. The second door was then closed and locked behind him. Satisfied, Gaius returned to the trunk and replaced the shard.

Next, from the chest he removed a long thin bottle filled with a honey coloured liquid, along with two more of the brutish beakers. Gaius placed the cups upon the rough lopsided surface of the table, and uncorked the bottle. “Tesseron Lot 29. I would have preferred something even more refined for my guests; but beggars cannot be choosers.” He smirked as the poured a generous amount of the cognac into the empty cup by Pyxis’ side, and repeated the gesture for himself, before seating himself opposite the younger Death Eater. “I trust you will still find it to be acceptable to your palate. You must excuse these rather poor drinking vessels.”

Gaius raised his cup to Pyxis and allowed them to collide with a ringing clang. “To you, young Pyxis, and to your release. I wish you nothing but success and health for your endeavours outside the walls of this . . . establishment.” Gaius allowed a generous amount of the cognac to slip into his mouth; savouring it for a moment. “Oh, that is truly very good.”

The older wizard replaced the cup upon the table directly in front of him, with his hands flat upon the surface either side. He sat forward, posture straight, his eyes locked upon his protege. His face, worn and rough with time and the bracing effect of Azkaban’s climate, portrayed a contented expression. “Nothing but my own selfishness drives to me to tell you, that I will very much miss your presence here. You have been a keen confidant, an intellectual equal, and most importantly, a loyal friend to me here. There are very few, if any, I can rely on within these godforsaken walls. You have always been the exception. But then again, I need never have doubted you. You served us excellently during the conflict.”

Gaius broke off, reaching to his right, where on the makeshift book shelf sat quite a few old copies of the Daily Prophet; stacked precariously on top of each other; the sheets dry and frail like eggshells, the ink fading from months in the daylight. Two in particular had been placed to the side; Gaius collected these copies and placed them on the table, moving his beaker to the side to make space. He began to flick through the pages carefully, like a man looking for sports results or a columnist he favoured. He continued whilst scanning the document with his eyes. “I want to thank you for agreeing to see me in my cell today. Normally, I like for us to have our little tête-à-tête’s outside, but due to the inevitable forward march of time, I decided it was best you come to me. Thankfully our jailers have also been rather accommodating to us in that regard. Now,” and with this he swung his eyes from his bowed head up to meet Pyxis, “It’s important to clarify that I have the distinct impression that Auror Byrne likes to record the conversations that are held in this room. I have no evidence, but I would, if I were him. Perhaps he has a set of Extendable Ears cemented within the walls.” He gave Pyxis a smirk, before returning to his newspaper. If Pyxis had taken a closer look at the cover of said paper, he may have noticed the date: “2nd September 1999”. The copy on the table was similarly antediluvian: “18th November 1999”.
“The state seems to think that I may say something extremely incriminating regarding several former colleagues of ours who are once again in the open, enjoying their lives as free wizards. And so perhaps Auror Byrne is on the case. There are no flies on Auror Byrne, are there, Auror Byrne?” He spoke the last sentence loudly for extra effect, with another grin flashed towards the younger wizard.

“Auror Byrne is a very dedicated man. A very dedicated man.” Gaius turned the pages again and again, until he came to the very spot he wanted. He extracted the page carefully; folding the rest away and placing it aside. He then repeated this procedure in the second newspaper; first scanning for a suitable article, removing the page, and discarding the rest. Content with is selection, he looked back to Pyxis, folding his hands upon the table.

“Times are changing, Pyxis. For all of us. You’ve been in here long enough. The world you are about to revisit has changed. It is vastly different from what you and I were part of. And what you must ask yourself, is what exactly is there amongst the ruins of this shattered world, for us?” The older wizard sat forward in his chair, elbows now on the table; like a politician pleading to the electorate. “That is the decision that you must make now. And that is how I would like to guide you, if I may be so bold.”

Gaius took another sip of his cognac, as he looked into the corner of the room; deep in thought. “Auror Byrne most certainly is a very dedicated man. The auror department owe him so much.”

The Death Eater removed the chinagraph pencil from his robes, peeling the paper sheath back from the wax core.

—————

Over the weeks and months, Gaius had broached the topic in fits and starts. As time progressed, the complete picture had been painted to Pyxis. Elements which the younger wizard had only heard in rumours, had been explained to him in full.

In early 1998, Gaius had been called to a meeting of senior Death Eaters. It had taken place in the bowels of the Ministry, in a small smokey brown meeting room usually reserved for use by the Auror department. Several of those present presented to the senior member a “fall-back strategy” that they had taken on themselves to concoct. They wanted a safety device; a stay-behind organisation, to be called upon should the Dark Lord fall. This band of second-string Death Eaters would be selected in secret, unknown even to themselves. Their sponsors would mark them, not with a Dark Mark, but something personal, that would be invisible until they were “awakened”. If needed, this motley band would be activated, instructed, and sent to carry out tasks specially selected for them.
From the outset, Gaius vehemently and very publically rejected this plan. For one thing, it showed a lack of faith in Lord Voldemort, which in itself was a treasonable crime. One could perhaps excuse the idiots in the general populace with having wavering loyalty to the cause; but from the higher echelons of the Death Eaters themselves? Gaius may himself have privately questioned many of the Dark Lord’s actions in these final months, but never publicly.
Secondly, there was a terrible security risk in this plan. Normally Death Eater recruitment was a carefully curated process. Whilst Gaius and other Death Eaters may have not seen eye to eye on many topics (in fact there were few he would call his friends), he knew he could always rely on their abilities. They were the elite. And now they wanted to call up some raw children to carry the fire, should the rest of them become incapacitated? This was not even considering the risk of nepotism, which surely meant that many sub-standard candidates would be selected by their eager parents. No, the plan was amateurish in the extreme, and Gaius refused to take part in the whole ghoulish exercise. The gathered Death Eaters were dismissed, ordered never to speak of such sedition again.

Two days later, Gaius contacted various attendees of the meeting. He told them to begin the preparations, and tell no one.

As harebrained as several elements of the plans were, the wizard had seen a figment of brilliance in the idea. Should the unthinkable happen (and no matter how much it was discouraged, Gaius often had to think of such events), they would be destroyed. Pureblooded loyalists were always in the minority. If the balance of power was ever to shift, the blood mixers would easily overrun them. And the danger of the Dark Lord's ideal was it’s all-or-nothing nature. Either they won; their Coup d'état becoming the fixed replacement for Wizarding governance in Britain; or they would be eliminated. A covert group, no-matter their inexperience, would at least give them a small chance of a return.

Gaius was well aware from his historical studies of muggle stay-behinds causing chaos, even amongst the most highly trained military organisations. If executed carefully, such a group could be leveraged to cause large amounts of disruption. And yet it was important for such ideas to be publicly discarded. Should the Dark Lord ever find out that defeatist plans were in motion, Gaius and his colleagues may have had very short careers in the new government.

The plans moved swiftly. Several marking and awakening spells and charms were quickly developed, and the appointed “wakers” were educated appropriately. The green light was given, and apparently several unwitting volunteers were marked in their sleep by their parents, siblings, guardians or friends; all unaware that someone had selected them to one day become a soldier, for a cause they may not even care for.

Pyxis Abercrombie had been one of the men in that room that day. He was already well versed in the wakening procedures required. He would now be the trigger for this vicissitude.

—————

Gaius locked eyes with the young Death Eater. “We must talk about your activities once you leave Azkaban, Pyxis.”

Pyxis’ mask remained in place as Gaius seemingly ignored their jailer’s statement that he would return in an hour. Did this mean the elder Deatheater intended for their meeting to take less time than they had been designated, or was he playing a power game, of sorts, due to his connections with the other guards? He decided not to openly question Gaius on the issue not wishing to admit ignorance. Besides, if it was the latter, why would he want to deny his companion his bit of fun? “And it is of course a pleasure to see you once more” he replied in a neutral tone as a hand extended out to lift one of the recently poured glasses of water to his lip. As the cool liquid slid down his throat he felt relief and satisfaction at having his thirst quenched. It was amazing how much a stay in Azkaban made one grateful for the little things in life. Pyxis doubted he would take such things for granted ever again. Thick brows arch upward in a gesture intended to portray disbelief and amusement as Gaius berated him for not eating enough. If only he had the option of eating something other than the stingy portions Azkaban offered to low key prisoners like himself.

The Abercrombie watched with an inscrutable expression as the more senior Deatheater extended a broken mirror from the travelling trunk. His interest peaked as Gaius discreetly checked on the progress of Auror Byrne’s exit. It seemed whatever the life timer intended to say or do required privacy. Not that a physical retreat assured them of that in the world of magic Pyxis mused with a grave expression on his handsome features. His curiosity was partially sated as a bottle of Tesseron Lot 29 appeared on the lopsided surface of the table that separated them. The Hartridge heir doubted the red headed Irish man would have turned a blind eye had he caught his companion with such contraband. It seemed having a private cell and the ears of his personal guards was paying off for the older Deatheater.

Pyxis sat in silence as Gaius spoke of his desire to provide something more refined to his guests. While it was not the finest wine to touch his lips it would have been deemed acceptable by the pureblood even before his incarceration. It was only after Gaius toasted him that the younger man deigned to verbally respond to his companions comments. “And to you Gaius, may you continue to handle your stay here in Azkaban with the grace and dignity you have displayed thus far”. It was a compliment of the highest order from one such as Pyxis Abercrombie who considered self-restraint and personal dignity to be of the utmost importance. After all it was one of several things that separated the truly elite from the plebeians, or those who had stumbled upon money and had ideas above their station as a result.

It was then that Pyxis moved the cup towards his lip and took a tentative sip to test whether it was still in an appropriate condition. Once he deemed it acceptable he took another small sip. His movements were controlled so that he would both appear dignified and not risk becoming drunk. It had been a long time since he last sipped on an alcoholic beverage, and it would not do for him to suffer the indignity of becoming intoxicated on a drink he once could have drank with ease. “It is indeed most acceptable to the taste buds. Well done my old friend, well done” he praised with a rare warm expression on his regal features.

As Purcell began to speak once more the Hartridge heir sat his cup on the lopsided table so he could give the older man his full attention. Besides, it seemed those few sips of the rich cognac had been enough for his stomach, which had become rather sensitive during his stay in the wizarding prison. Pyxis felt emotion stir as Gaius began to discuss how he would be missed upon his release from Azkaban. The pureblood felt pride in his ability to be a confidant and a friend to the elder male. What’s more he felt a sense of loss. While he was rather looking forward to escaping this hell the Abercrombie knew he would miss his friend upon his return to the world outside the walls of Azkaban.  It was there and then he vowed to himself to free the more senior Deatheater one day by any means necessary. Of course none of that sentiment made its way to his features, which remained shaped in the inscrutable mask he had been trained to present to the world since his childhood at Harlington manor. Instead he offered the man an acknowledging nod, which he was confident the elder man would understand to mean the sentiment was mutual.

The Abercrombie watched with interest as his host reached for a pair of old copies of the Daily Prophet and began to pursue them in search of a particular article. He nodded in acknowledgement as Gaius thanked him for coming before smirking as Gaius warned them of the possibility of duplicity on the part of Auror Byrne and his fellows. He did not allow a grimace to appear at the mention of Extendable Ears. Blast those Weasley twins. “I have the same impression truth be told. Like yourself I would have done the same thing had I been in his position”. Not only that, but he had been made aware of such methods of espionage during his days as a top Ministry official during the reign of Voldemort. There was more than one instance of blood traitors and mudbloods getting caught by Deatheaters due to friends and relatives incarcerated in Azkaban being foolish enough to utter their location for their guards to hear.

Ever observant the twenty eight year old observed the dates written on the cover of each paper. His keen mind instantly focused on those two dates so he could figure out their significance. After a minute or so of thought he concluded they held no significance aside from the former happening to fall on his twenty ninth birthday. An amused smirk graced the Hartridge heir’s regal features as Gaius proceeded to taunt the efforts of their captors. As if a man of ‘the butchers’ intelligence would be stupid enough to give away any information he did not want to give. The Abercrombie had been made of the elder man’s plans to release memoirs, but of course they would only include incriminating information on those who had proved themselves disloyal to the cause, and thus the state were welcome to do with them what they will.

When the famed Deatheater reiterated the dedication of Auror Byrne to his cause, while extracting the page he sought it all fell into place. How very clever of his companion to use something as innocuous as old newspaper clipping to get across the message he wished to portray. The twenty eight year old regarded the senior Deatheater with renewed interest as he watched him extract the page he wanted from the second newspaper before discarding the rest. Pyxis was very interested to find out what information could be so important Gaius had put so much effort into ensuring their discussion of it remained a secret. Especially, now, that the war was considered over by most due to the loss of Lord Voldemort.

The Hartridge heir nodded in agreement as ‘the butcher’ began to speak of the differences the world had gone through since his incarceration. Although the war was said to be over he knew that was not the case. Even from the walls of Azkaban he knew the war continued through the bureaucratic methods the Ministry were employing against the wizarding elite and the political and economic power they represented. The Abercrombie did not immediately answer Gaius’ proposal that they discuss his post-Azkaban plans. Instead the twenty eight years old gaze shifted to the articles his host had carefully laid aside. He read them as a whole once; the first being a piece on a medical breakthrough that had allowed St. Mungo’s doctors to awaken a comatose patient, while the second was an advertisement of a potion that had the caption “Kept awake all night by your loved ones snoring. Not anymore. One drop of this full purpose sleeping potion and you’re guaranteed a peaceful night’s sleep”. The former Deatheater’s mind turned to memories of meetings held long ago. Meetings that had been considered most dangerous for all involved at the time they were held. Now it seemed Gaius wanted him to put those old plans into action.

“Well the first thing I intend to do is have a nice long sleep, one, which I will allow others to wake me up from when the time is right”.  There was a deliberate emphasis placed on the words sleep and wake so that Gaius would realise the message had been received loud and clear. He was also pleased he had managed to respond in such a way that any ministry officials who happened to be listening would be blissfully unaware of the information the two had just exchanged. It really was foolish of them to indulge Gaius with frequent copies of the Daily Prophet, but Pyxis was not going to complain.

“After that… I am really not sure. What would you suggest?” The query was spoken in a seemingly innocent tone. He was pleased that he had figured out what Gaius wished for him to discover. For the moment he was content to allow the older man to continue leading the conversation and laying out all his cards so to speak.

Pyxis was intelligent. Thus Gaius hoped only the most delicate of hints would be required. Everything needed to lay the foundations of the subject had been mentioned beforehand, during their languid walks around the glum exercise yard. And now, all Gaius had to do was to covertly give the final command.

With the pencil in his right hand, Gaius swiftly and lightly underlined the word “sleep” in the garish sleeping potion advertisement, before spinning it one hundred and eighty degrees, ensuring Pyxis could see the marked word. He next took the article that detailed St. Mungo’s revolutionary new treatment, and underlined the word “awoken”. A brief eye contact was made between the two men; Pyxis looked away, and his next statement was a throwaway remark regarding his sleeping pattern.

And that was enough. The older Death Eater knew that the message was transmitted; the order given. Befehl ist befehl.

Gaius smiled, folding the pages from the Daily Prophet up into small squares and placing them aside. His gaze once more returned to the younger Death Eater sat opposite him before speaking.
“I wish to underline one thing to you. And that is the following. The movement; that hallowed ideal that you and I once served to the best of our ability, that we would have died for; that movement is gone. It is finished.”

Gaius slowly rubbed his throat with his right hand, as if making such a statement was causing him physical discomfort.

He continued sombrely. “I think you know that fact well enough. However, it bares repeating. The ideals of the Dark Lord died, fairly on the battlefield, two years ago. And thus now, we; more so you; have a dilemma. How do old soldiers rejoin a life that rejects them so vehemently?”

The older Death Eater took a sip of his cognac.

“The suggestion that I make to you today; no, beseech to you, is to not look back. You are a privileged man, my friend. For one thing,” he gazed into Pyxis’ eyes deeply, underlining his point, “you are intelligent, and between you and I, much more so than the vast majority of the others we served with. Use this well when you are outside these walls. And secondly,” on this point he leaned back into his chair, palms flat upon the table, “you have an exceptional background, and the heir to a quality pureblood lineage. This is a rare quality. It will make you powerful, but it will also make you lazy. You will be surrounded by sycophants. They will make your brain soft; make you desire the simple pleasures of the flesh. And when that happens, you will no longer be able to discern true quality. Do not allow that to happen. Enjoy your luxuries, by all means. But treat them as disposable items. Do not allow yourself to drown in the trappings of your heritage.”

Gaius stood to his feet, and slowly, deliberately, he walked to the cell wall, looking out upon the lead-grey skies that filled the small breach in the stones that represented a window. He held his hands behind his back like a general overseeing his troops; the irony being that the only officer this general had left was the young Hartridge heir at the table. The air was cool and refreshing, the scents of iodine and mineral, algae and salt, filling his nostrils.

“The future for you, Pyxis, is not one of violence, but of influence. You served your time. You paid back the obscene debt this ridiculous society has asked of you. I’m sure you’ve read of young Farren Abercrombie in the Prophet.” He turned once more to his protégé. “She’s related to you, yes? She’s gaining influence; she’s never out of that rag, and seems to darken the doors of the Ministry rather frequently. Her representation of pureblooded excellence is something we can all aspire to. I recommend you talk with her upon your exit.”

Gaius allowed silence to once again fall between the two men. This had all been a smokescreen anyway. Once the message had been passed, all that remained was to fill the rest of the meeting with nonsense. Gaius was rather pleased with what he had stated. With any luck, Auror Byrne would be feverishly scribbling it down onto a piece of parchment anyway to return to Whitehall by sundown. The older Death Eater turned back towards his guest, and walked to where he sat, standing behind him and placing a firm hand upon Pyxis’ shoulder.

“I think you have had enough dull lectures for one day, no?” Gaius smirked at the Hartridge heir. “I trust you will do what is correct for a pureblood of breeding of your status, when you are on the outside. Now,” and with a firm slap upon the younger man’s shoulder, “It is time I gave you your gift.”

Gaius calmly walked to the door of the room, rolling the tattered sleeves of his robes up to his elbows as he went. The Death Eater reached the bolted door, looked up to the little opening at the top, and theatrically cleared his throat.

“Auror Byrne, I have a question if I may.” He spoke loudly, clear enough for the Auror to hear him through the corridor, whether or not his Extendable Ears were functioning.

“Did that little mudblood sow of yours scream for her daddy before they killed her?”

Pyxis watched with a regal demeanour as Gaius placed the pages of the Daily Prophet aside. With the exchange of information completed, there was no need for the publications outdated copies to remain out in the open. Thick brows furrowed in thought as the life timer bluntly spoke of their movement’s demise. The Hartridge heir was surprised to hear the words that spilled from the older man’s lips. It wasn’t the sentiment itself that surprised the young pureblood, but the fact Gaius felt the need to state such an obvious fact aloud. With the Dark Lord dead, along with several of his generals such as Bellatrix Lestrange, and others such as Gaius imprisoned alongside the majority of low ranked Deatheaters it was obvious, to all but the most mentally deficient, the war as they knew it was finished. A lesser man might have angrily pointed that out while rebuking ‘the butcher’ for speaking to them like a simpleton. Pyxis was not a lesser man. Instead he continued to calmly watch the senior Deatheater with his right leg crossed over his left. His long nimble fingers lay flat against the lopsided table’s surface.

A nod of reserved acknowledgement was offered as the older man finally began to get to the point of his speech. The question of what he was to do with himself in this brave new world was one he and his lawyers had discussed. In spite of that he was still interested in hearing Gaius’ thoughts. The senior Deatheater was an intelligent man and may have come up with a strategy they had failed to consider. While the Hartridge heir was a proud individual, unlike others in his position, he was not stupid enough to simply discard the opinion of those who had proven their worth.

In a mirror of the other man’s movements he reached for his drink and took a small sip. Warmth entered the Deatheater’s eyes as Gaius spoke of his intelligence. It the only visible sign of the pride he felt from his former mentor’s words. Otherwise his demeanour was the picture of regal composure as he nodded his head, with the slightest movement, as though such compliments and more were his due. A shrewd light entered his eyes as Gaius warned him of the trappings that came with being the spawn of two of the wizarding world’s most powerful families.  “You do not need to worry about that my old friend” he stated simply, not inclined to explain himself beyond the simple assurance. Azkaban had changed the Hartridge heir, hardened him. Upon his release from Azkaban Pyxis intended to fully embrace the privileged lifestyle that awaited him. He was a Hartridge – Abercrombie and that made anything else unthinkable. However, the pureblood would not become reliant on the lifestyle. No, he would keep his duelling skills at the top of their game rather than trusting in wards to be enough. He would independently research the happenings in the wizarding world rather than rely on the accounts of others. Pyxis fully intended to keep himself sharp enough to match the responsibilities that his position in society entailed.

Thick brows arched upwards in curiosity as the infamous life timer turned away from him and walked towards the window. The imagery was not lost on Pyxis. However, he also knew, and suspected Gaius knew, that this would be the last time this troop would be taking orders from the general. Once he was outside the walls of the prison Pyxis would have to go his own way. While his grandfather Callum lived a certain safety and direction would be offered, but when the man died Pyxis would be expected to lead the Hartridge family decisively. He had grown up as a member of the lower branches of two families where obedience was encouraged, but now, well, now he was going to have to further mature and become the man he was meant to be. A man capable of leading his dynasty during these troubled times and ensuring they survived for generations to come.

“She is my second cousin. Her grandfather and the current patriarch of the Abercrombie family is the older brother of my grandfather”. The explanation rolled off the edge of his tongue with ease. When one belonged to families as traditional and obsessed with lineage as the Hartridge’s and Abercrombie’s you quickly learnt how those around you were related to one another, those within your own family most of all. The mention of Farren aroused mixed feelings in the pureblood. There was uncertainty; memories of a frivolous girl who was more concerned with modelling and engaging herself to barely acceptable older men than preserving their way of life, made him wary of Gaius’ description of her as a centre of ‘pureblood excellence’. However, two years was a long time, especially in a post war environment, and it would be foolish of him to judge her based on memories of her teenage years. Besides he had always respected Farren, for all her faults, due to her position as the heir of their family. In addition to this uncertainty there was guilt. The Abercrombie felt guilty for his inability to be there for his family during their time of need. Intellectually Pyxis knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had not deserted, or tossed aside their way of life, but he still felt self-loathing for his failure.

When Gaius spoke of a gift the pureblood ensured his expression was shaped into an inscrutable mask. What type of gift could the senior Deatheater be talking about? While he trusted the older man there was something about the smirk that made the Occlumens wary. The Hartridge heir watched cautiously as Purcell approached the bolted door and loudly mocked the Irish man stood outside. What the hell was Gaius playing at? The Abercrombie was on red alert as his mind shifted from one possibility to another.

It was as Pyxis was submerged in thought that the red headed guard entered the cell. His harsh features were distorted into an expression of rage as he eyed ‘the butcher’ with what could only be described as unadulterated hate. The Irish man’s fists clenched at his sides. The man’s wand out of sight, as though in his rage he had forgotten about the magical weapon, or perhaps the man simply wanted the satisfaction of physically dealing with the prisoner who would mock him so. The pureblood jumped on to his feet with a horrified mask in place. “Gaius, how could you? I really thought I was getting through to you” the words spoken with picturesque shock and indignation. The Abercrombie was still not entirely sure of Gaius’ end game, but he doubted the older man would mind him using this incident to ‘prove’ his loyalty to their guards. Perhaps providing him with an opportunity to earn points with the enemy was the man’s ‘gift’ to him.

It was then that Gaius used the man’s closeness as an opportunity to expertly knee him in the groin. The senior Deatheater ruthlessly used the auror’s gasp of pain as an opportunity to smash Byrne’s head against the wall. Blood oozed from the Irish man’s nose. His face already becoming a mishmash of colour due to the force he had been hit with. The Occlumens watching the scene expertly shifted his features into the very epitome of horror. “Gaius, what are you doing? Stop this at once!” He offered his mentor a smirk when a bloodied Byrne, who was pushed on to the ground and presently being kicked in the ribs, could not see. However, it was not long until the performance was resumed and a seemingly panicked Pyxis was loudly crying “Guards, guards!”

It was maybe thirty seconds later that a jet of scarlet light appeared from the cell’s entrance and Gaius was immobilised. A pair of nearby guards entering with one instantly moving to heal Byrne, while the other hauled a stunned Gaius on to his feet. “Thank you for your help Abercrombie” the one holding Gaius offered in a begrudging tone, while he waited for his companion to ascertain the damage done to their comrade.

Unfortunately, based on the relieved sounds escaping the second guard, it seemed Auror Byrne would survive the attack.

((Do you want to make a quick closing post and then I think that’s us. Thanks for threading with me! This has been wonderful <3333))

It would not have been difficult to imagine the chain of events. How Auror Byrne, his features distorted with disgust, would have dropped his quill onto the parchment; how he would have shoved his chair back with such force that it would have clipped the hip of the Auror by his side; how the others would have placed their hands upon his haunched shoulders, those taught shoulders that carried the weight of mourning and horror and loss and all the other harrowing emotions that bereaved parents see when they stare at their gaunt faces every morning in the mirror; how they would have tried to restrain him with a “He’s taunting you, ignore him, don’t give the bastard the satisfaction, Aodh, walk away, we’ll fucking do him later,”; how he would have shrugged them off forcefully, opened the door to the stony corridor and locking it behind him, and march down it with tears stinging his eyes.

To think of that arrogant, murdering fucker with his airs and graces, speaking of Mairéad like that. Over my dead body. Over my dead body.

—————

Gaius turned to Pyxis. “One of the most fascinating things that I have observed about muggles, Pyxis, is their need for simple brute force. It’s quite bizarre, really. It is as though they cannot fully process their emotions unless they are participating in acts of violence; both big and small. And . . .”

Auror Byrne was at the door, the iron keys jangling frantically as he attempted to unlock it.

“ . . .even the magical ones would rather throw a punch before reaching for their wand. Quite interesting.”

The door flew open, crashing against the wall loudly. Gaius took a step backwards.

“Auror Byrne, always a pleasure.”

The Auror struck Gaius with a wild swinging right hook, directly upon the centre his face. The Death Eater stumbled backwards, blood suddenly gushing like a faucet from his nose; the crimson stream darkening the front of his grey prison robes. Gaius wiped some of the blood away with the back of his hand. “Auror Byrne, now we both know you are not supposed to assault the prisoners.” He smirked at the irishman through his blood splattered mouth. Byrne’s face distended with hatred, and with a cry he took a swift step towards Gaius. But this was exactly what Gaius had wanted. Stepping quickly to the right, he took Byrne’s blow to his left shoulder, and, spinning around the auror, he was suddenly behind him. The Death Eater had quickly raised his right foot high, before bringing it down hard upon Byrne’s calf, causing the auror to fall screaming to his knees.

Before Byrne could even react, Gaius had him by the hair, and with as much force as he could muster, he brought Byrne’s shocked face against the back wall of the room. A dull thump echoed throughout. He repeated the gesture one more time, before stepping over the slumping body of the auror and carefully checking his blood-smeared face to ensure that he had caused a LeFort III orbital fracture. Content, Gaius dropped the stunned man to the floor.


“Well now, I would have preferred it if he had not broken my nose, but beggars cannot be choosers.”

Sounds from the corridor indicated that Auror Byrne’s colleagues were frantically attempting to open the outer door. The Death Eater quickly picked up the wooden chair that he had not two minutes earlier been seated upon, and, after taking a quick look at how the fallen auror was draped upon the floor; he very carefully placed the side of the chair back sideways over Byrne’s forearm.

“I have always found, Pyxis, that a basic knowledge of human anatomy always comes in handy.”

Gaius stamped as hard as he could upon the uppermost edge of the chair back. It loudly snapped into pieces, and along with it, Byrne’s radius bone; a horrific compound fracture ripping through the skin. The Auror screeched out like the possessed, before sinking into a fit of gagging and retching. Gaius gave the stricken man a firm kick to his ribs for good measure.

Satisfied with his work, the Death Eater swiftly strode to Pyxis. “This is your gift, Pyxis. He will not bother you during your remaining time here. And use this, my friend. Let them think I’ve gone crazy. Distance yourself from me, and proceed as planned.”

Pyxis’ shouts to the guards, now running along the corridor towards the cell, indicated to Gaius that he had understood well enough. The older man gave one final nod to the younger man; the briefest of goodbyes; the most clandestine wish of “good luck”; before he was incapacitated by the onrushing Aurors.

But no matter. Alea iacta est.