First Report, Verbal, by Senior Auror John Talisker, Continued

  Given to Head Auror Harry Potter & Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt

  ***

  Yesterday.

  Monday, July 28th, 2014. Mid-Afternoon.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  ***

  TOP SECRET - DO NOT RELEASE TO M.O.M. FILE!

  (NOTE: Language has been converted to English from Whatever It Is that Talisker Speaks - Demelli).

  I could usually find Shamir one of three places at this time of day. In the Outside Recreation Area, either playing or refereeing Quidditch, in the Women's Barracks, whose empty Bunk Room Three had been made Headquarters, or the Inside Recreation Area of Barracks One, our original 'home.' With the Consolidation Wars wrapped up, we had named the Active Barracks as One and Two on the Upper Level, Three and Women's on the Lower.

  Since I had just come in from Outside, that eliminated that. I hadn't been playing, but my Ellerby-Spudmore needed the air-time. The old girl had been very cranky, when we finally finished our enforced time-out. And I hadn't been Refereeing either. Well, unless you count slapping down would-be Prima Donas demanding more pitch-time. The time just wasn't there to be had. Every Bunk Room had a team, and each Barracks as a whole had a team. And any seven people who could keep from attempting to murder each other long enough to get through a three-game probationary period could register a team. Personnel changes after that were none of anyone's business. If a team split, the registration went with the majority. The rest had to form a new team, or find a place on an existing team. If a team was inactive for more than a month, the registration was dropped, and the team name was retired, barring the majority of a new team having been on the original team roster.

  I swear, it's better than a soap on the Wireless sometimes. I'm just glad that a Quidditch team consists of an odd number of players.

  Careful measuring and placement gave us the equivalent of three full pitches, and about another pitch worth of various pieces of waste ground for training and such. I'm working on a plan to stack pitches, with an extra set of goals floating two to three-hundred feet above the current ones. Since that will often be right up in the weather, I'm also going to institute a Premier League. I only want the experienced flyers up there.

  The current issue, and one I wanted to speak to Shamir about, was whether we were going to try to run the Intra-Inter-Barracks Sudden Death Tournament. Our outside time was currently constrained by the drama Fawksey was trying to shield us from.

  He could only let us out from mid-morning to dusk, and we had to maintain a pretence of being locked down at night. I say pretence, because the Head-Busters had to be able to respond to any of the Men's Barracks at any hour.

  Barracks One's Rec Room was the second place I checked, and there was The Man himself, having a sit-down with the other three Barracks Bosses. Besides myself, I mean. It wasn't an official meeting, or I would have been called in.

  As I approached, I saw it wasn't official at all. Rosey and Eunon were kibbutzing as Shamir and Debbie were playing chess. Regular chess, not Wizard Chess. I supposed it was part of Shamir's plan to have games and such that did not rely on Magic being available. Having the Barracks Bosses at least familiar with the game would make it more likely to catch on. Despite what you might think, it is quite as hard to go from playing Wizard Chess to non-magical chess as the reverse. Frustrations abound.

  Debbie was a monster at the game, though. Excuse me, I should give her full name and title: Madame Déborah Rousse, Chairwoman of the Witchy Women Mutual Protection Committee, Azkaban Chapter 001. (Sigh. Whatever works).

  Debbie was one of those women it was hard to pigeonhole. She looked to be in her early thirties, but something about her iridescent green eyes gave an impression of age and experience. And possibly wisdom, but how wise could she be, considering where she was? And the flaming red hair did not lessen the slight air of recklessness. Despite the French name, she had a pronounced American accent, with an occasional obsolete turn of phrase.

  Despite anything, though, the Women's Barracks was run well, and had been long before any of the rest of us had even thought to try. All of the female inmates were well-content for her to manage things. Her Committee Members, (the equivalent of our 'Best Lads'), thought she walked on water. An implausible number of those were red-haired as well, ranging from strawberry blonde to rich auburn. (I sincerely hoped some had found ways to dye their hair. I question the idea that Ginger Women are statistically more likely to commit crimes, or be Dark Practitioners).

  I took a seat nearby, waiting for the game to play out. I wasn't in any particular hurry.

  Then.

  The door into the Hallway was open, but I think we could have heard THIS Howler in any of the Barracks.

  INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! DANGER, SHAMIR SAFIQ! DANGER!

  Shamir was up and moving before the message was half done. "Bosses and 'Georges' on me!" he snapped. The three Barracks Bosses and about half-a-dozen Room Bosses were behind, along with about double that number of 'Best Lads' and a few Committee Members.. About seven 'Georges' and one 'Georgette' ranged alongside and slightly ahead of Shamir, as was appropriate. They needed to stay in at least his peripheral vision, so he would know who was available.

  "Two 'Georges' to each Barracks, your Home Barracks if possible. 'Best Lads,' follow and assist." Our own lads were already taking station at the Bunk Room doors, still listening. "Roust everybody back to their Home Barracks, and send residents to their Red Alert stations." For most, that would be their bunks. " 'George' Primus, stand by me."

  The lad flushed at the mention of his new title.

  " 'Georgette,' same for your Barracks. Debbie, tell off two Committee Members to back her up. Especially bounce any males, fast!."

  "Affirmative." Debbie started speaking in an undertone to her subordinates.

  Just then the primary fastener on the Harnesses popped loose, on everybody but the women. We were about halfway down the Hallway.

  "There, that's the signal for Red Alert," Shamir said. "And that will give the women some muscle to throw around if needed. Your Harnesses are now set to Repel with no backlash. Spread the rest of your Committee out to expedite getting all the women back to the Barracks. Don't forget the Quidditch players. The second your head count tallies, seal the Door from the inside, and then your Harnesses will deactivate."

  "Should we shed them, then?"

  "Accordin ' t' our source, it disnae matter. Whatev'r y' think best." I said.

  As we came within thirty feet of the Locked and Blocked Barracks Door. Shamir said, still cool as a cucumber, "Fawksey, talk to me."

  I stepped around the remains of the Howler, which had been powerful enough to scorch the floor. (Sometimes there's a little magic left in them, and if you value your toes...).

  Fawksey also sounded as cool as a cucumber, which surprised me a bit, given the Howler he just sent.

  "Certainly, old chap, er, chaps. Oh, and one chapette. Madame... Rousse, is it not? I'm a long-time admirer."

  Debbie nodded graciously, but had a slightly wary look on her face.

  "I hope we can speak later, as unlikely as that seems right now. Business first. The Vicomte Zabini has arrived, with a largish contingency of loyalists, and the whole place is gone topsy-turvey. Apparently, they were expecting that doo-lally that caused such a fuss, and the disappearance of Bates has put the cat well and truly amongst the pigeons. They are turning the place upside down everywhere except the Barracks, and they may turn their attention your way shortly."

  "And why ere they nae givin' us th' Evil Eye?" I said suspiciously.

  "Well, two reasons, actually. The records kept by our observers clearly show Our Mister Bates being set loose to do his, I guess 'hunting' is the best word? And, equally well, they do not show him being returned to Barracks."

  "Fawksey, y'r a marvel," I said sincerely. I had no doubt whose thumb was firmly pressed on our side of the scale.

  "And the other reason?" Shamir didn't seem alarmed, just interested.

  "Bit of a Hoist on their own Petard situation. What the Yanks would call a Catch-22. The guards we suborned were quite low-level, and the ones we didn't were stubborn enough to arouse Lady Marrissa's ire. A little patience might have made a difference, but, alas, by the time patience was an option..."

  He sighed, then continued. "Passing over a difficult juncture, while we know there are ways for the guards to deal with inmates safely, none of those ways are known to the collective us. So the current, admittedly, bad choices are to either leave the magickal suppression on, and frankly engage you all d'homme à homme..." Rosey, Eunon and I all snorted. Debbie raised an eyebrow. Shamir stood pat.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Fawksey coughed slightly, which I took to be his version of a snort. "Yes, quite. Alternatively, they would have to turn the suppression OFF, and face your numbers armed, but unsure of what innate magick you may have. None of the people that have been here all along are willing to endorse that plan."

  Shamir looked as if he were close to smiling. "Because...?"

  "No idea. I mean, yes, in helping Marrissa with her Project, I have been going through a lot of your records, and I might have saved a few of the more egregious examples of wandless crime, you know, to share over the dinner board. They were quite popular, as long as you lot were safely in there."

  "But, if Bates were in there, these monitoring screens would surely find him. I and others have been set to searching to make sure. Luckily, I got to this one first. Except for Snakety McSnakerson, who unaccountably tripped in the rotunda, but, Hey, for the life of a serpent, am I correct?"

  There was a moment of silence, "Wait. Someone is coming on my side. I'm switching the monitoring view to the Gestation Chamber, but I'll leave the sound going, in case there's something pertaining to you."

  Shamir held one hand up, fingers spread, and closed it into a fist. Everyone who had eyes on him froze in place. And everyone had eyes on him.

  The next we heard were muffled, feminine sobs, much like some one crying into someone else's shoulder.

  Fawksey sounded absolutely astonished. "Why, Lady Marrissa, what ever is wrong, dear girl?"

  The sobs got a little clearer. "Oh! Father is so angry! I've never seen him like this! He actually laid hands on me!"

  Fawksey sounded honestly aghast. "I can't believe it. I mean, I know he and your brother have... issues, but you? Never! Dear Heart, you are the Light of his Life! The World upon which his Sun sets and his Moon rises! Did he hurt you?"

  She was getting into the hiccuping phase. "No, (hic), foolish man! He's not mad at, (hic), me! He's angry with that horrible, (hic), Bates man! They finally found him..."

  Fawksey interrupted, gently. "My Lady, here. A nice clean linen handkerchief and a cool glass of water. Take just a moment..."

  There was a sort of snuffling sound, and a pause.

  Fawksey continued, "There! Isn't that better, My Lady?"

  "Yes." A sniffing sound, then, "Thank you, Fawkesworthy. I fear you are the only one who even tries to understand me."

  "My Lady, it is an Honour to Serve." I could hear the Capital Letters. "What were you saying about that awful Bates person?"

  "Oh!" Indignation just rolled off the word. "They found him! He was apparently sleeping off a drunk in one of the Solitary cells! He was supposed to have caught the last Eater they needed..."

  "Eater, My Lady?"

  "Oh, you're not cleared for that, are you? Just keep that to yourself, do you understand?"

  "Of course, My Lady."

  "Just leave it that there is a thing called an Eater, and they can only be found here, and this Bates excrescence is the only one who can catch them. And he sent word that he had the last one needed three days ago, and then disappeared."

  "Oh, my!"

  "Oh, my, indeed! And I went with Father when they said he was found, and he was in some kind of coma, or something. And he had dyed his entire head black, for Circe's Sake!"

  "How bizarre!"

  "As it happens, Father brought La Strega with him, and she was able to bring him out of whatever sort of fugue state he was in. When he was coherent enough to speak, Father asked him about the..." she whispered the word, "...Eater."

  "And he said he had caught one, but he had no idea what had happened to it. And Father said he could damn well catch another. Bates said that it didn't work like that, another one might take weeks to incubate to the proper... Oh. Don't mention that part either, Fawkesworthy."

  "Your wish, my command, My Lady."

  "Then he said he had to find his wand, because he needed it to catch one safely..."

  "And then, My Lady?"

  "And then Father got quiet. So quiet that everyone stopped talking, and moving, and just watched him, like a sacrifice on an altar watching the knife. You know, the way la Nonnina gets quiet?"

  "Indeed, My Lady." I could hear the shudder in his voice.

  "And then Father said, in somebody else's voice, 'Safely?' " There was a pause. "Then he looked at me, and his eyes were amber, like la Nonnina's get, and he told me to leave. And when I wouldn't, he put his hands on me, turned me, and pushed me. And he said, in that voice, 'Go.' "

  There was a longer pause. Nobody in the Hallway so much as twitched. We were barely breathing.

  "Oh, My Lady, My Dear Lady. Your Father is not upset with you."

  "No?" For the first time, she sounded like what she was, an insecure teenage girl, desperate for attention.

  "Of course not. You know your Grandmother has been accelerating his training, so he will be ready when the Time arrives?"

  "Yes?"

  "And you know she had to wait for him to reach a point where he was ready to accept her teachings? If he was not ready, or she rushed him, very bad things could happen?"

  "Ye-e-ss? Oh! I see what you're getting at. I'm not ready to see the magick he needs to use!"

  "Exactly, My Lady. He was just protecting you, as he always has, and always will. I certainly would not have stayed down there willingly, and those who did...? Well, we might see them again, since it is your Father. If it were your Grandmother, well..."

  "Fertiliser for the fields of the Tenuta!" She sounded quite merry now. "Oh, Fawkesworthy, I feel much better now. I can hardly wait until I am ready to study with la Nonnina!"

  "Better wait than never."

  "Was that meant to be a joke, Fawkesworthy?"

  "A poor one, My Lady. But, like even the poorest of humour, a kernel of truth resides therein. I advise that you wait until your Grandmother says you are ready."

  "Yes." She sounded regretful. "I suppose you are right. And, mad as she is becoming, I may have to learn from La Strega."

  She sighed. "I suppose I need to pack away my Project and all my notes. I doubt Father will be long in getting what he needs."

  "I have no doubt, My Lady. And you do have enough research to carry your Project far forward from where it is now."

  "For now, yes. I might need further information down the road. Fawkesworthy, make a note to research what would be needed to duplicate this arrangement. I know you were only jesting before, but this research has truly..." She stopped, obviously searching for a word.

  "Fired your imagination? Aye, m'lady, old Fawksey'll get right on that!"

  She gave an inelegant snort before controlling herself. "Fawkesworthy, if you are seeking employment as a Court Jester, I advise you to be content with your current occupation! I'm off!"

  I'll say, I thought.

  We heard her voice, a little attenuated. "Fawkesworthy, why is Snade lying in the corridor here? I remember stepping over him on the way in, but it didn't seem important at the time."

  "No idea, My Lady. I suppose Bates must have gotten liquor someplace..." He artfully let the phrase trail off.

  "Hmpf," she hmpfed. "He's on my list anyway. Come by my study when you're done here. I feel a spate of plotting coming on, and you're such a good sounding board," she paused, "Fawksey. How droll."

  "Of course, My Lady. Until then."

  There was an extended pause, then a Whuff! of released breath. "I swear, chaps, it's like tiptoeing around a sleeping dragon, while carrying a full selection of Burmese gongs. Still, another shot in the plums for old Snakety, what?"

  Shamir said, "What's your call on how we should proceed?'

  There was a long moment. We were all thinking hard.

  Fawksey sighed. "Chaps, I'm afraid we need to keep our heads down. I know it will be hard on your people, but I really don't think it's a good idea to get back in the Harnesses until we see how this shakes out. If the Vicomte gets the... Eater, and it's truly the last thing he needs..."

  "...we have no idea what their exit strategy is," finished Shamir. "Don't worry about our people. We've got this whole place nailed down now, and we know we're all in the same boat."

  "Leaky tho' it may be," I muttered. "So, then, Fawksey. No Quidditch, and the Magick stays suppressed, like?"

  Shamir nodded, and added, "Outside Recreation for breaks only, and only at our scheduled times."

  'If you can make them stick to that, I see no reason to seal the Barracks off. Except the Ladies, and seal the Men's off while they are taking their breaks."

  Debbie's head came up, and her eyes flashed. Literally.

  Shamir put his hand up. "No disrespect to you and yours. But not all of mine are wrapped that tightly, and without Harnesses..."

  Debbie simmered for a moment, then cooled. She nodded reluctantly.

  "And I have another reason, Madame Rousse." Fawksey sounded apologetic. "Until this latest influx, we were short-handed and under the thumb of a temperamental girl-child. And while she is quite mad, there are still limits to her wickedness."

  Shamir's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

  "There have been whispers, not to me, but I have been monitoring our own people as much as possible. Speculations on the settings of the Harnesses, and the presence of a, ah, captive audience? None dared speak them aloud with Marrissa in charge. She may be young, but she is a very strong, very vindictive witch for her age. But now there are a lot more men about, and they are not... nice men. I do not trust either Blaise or La Strega to rein them in." There was a pause. "Blaise has always had a misogynistic streak, and his training has exacerbated that, if anything."

  "Anyway, Madame Rousse, your ladies are secure, and their Harnesses are deactivated. As yours will be, once you are secure as well. And I strongly suggest you ignore any orders to don them."

  Debbie... no, this was clearly Déborah. Déborah smiled, and it was wicked, and reckless, and resolute all at once.

  "Master Fawkesworthy, your warning and your effort are welcomed, and appreciated. But if it gives you a quantum of solace, measures were put in place long before this current situation arose."

  Now she had a slight French accent. Odd.

  "I assure you that any who come upon my Witches unawares, will end up quite red in the face as they retreat."

  "Enough," Shamir said. "You all know what to do. Do it." He added, "Primus," then looked about for the lad. He spotted him on the floor, reversed chessboard in his lap, writing furiously. (Fawksey hadn't been able to stand it, and had found 'George' some protective gloves, before he had managed to spot his hands up too much).

  Shamir did smile then. Well, as much as he ever did. "Good. Cut it there, and hand it off to your copiers. One for each of the Barracks Bosses."

  A jut of the chin, and he was gone.

  It was just Shamir, me, and, in absentia, more or less, Fawksey.

  "Well, my! Quite like Old Boys Week, isn't it? I would love to stay and chat, but time, tide and mentally disturbed young baggages wait for no man."

  "Just a couple of quick questions," Shamir said. He checked over his shoulder to make sure we were alone.

  He turned back, hesitated, then asked, almost wistfully, "Was that Patronus really an African Water Buffalo?"

  "Oh, that. Yes, I'm afraid. No idea how he ended up with me. Grandmere said he was a sign that I had hidden depths."

  "And ah'll wager she told ye t' keep 'em hidden."

  There was a chortle of laughter. "It's almost as if you have met the woman!"

  "Ye paint a compellin' picture."

  Shamir pressed on. "How did you learn to project a Patronus through a Howler?"

  "My dear boy, I was as surprised as you were! More so, probably. I was just hoping to get you some breathing room, and perhaps scare off the Dementors."

  I was shaking my head. "An' under suppressed magick, at that."

  Fawksey hmmed. "Patroni don't play by the usual rules. There's surely quite a lot we don't know."

  Shamir issued one of his rare smiles, a little wider than usual. "Well, it was truly marvelous. I'm glad I got to see it." He sighed, and settled into himself. "Time to see if any heads need breaking." Turning away, he started back up the Hallway.

  "Ketch ye up in a minit, lad."

  He just waved without turning. He looked tired, until he got close to The Rec Room door. Then his responsibilities dropped onto him, 'like rich armor worn in the heat of day, that scalds with safety.'

  "Quite a young man," Fawksey said quietly.

  "Aye, he's a good 'un."

  "And what, Whiskey John, are your 'quick questions'?"

  "Oh, no questions, old sod. J'st a couple of observations, like."

  "Like?" I could hear amusement in his voice.

  "Like, ain't ye afeerd Bates will remember somm'at... embarassin' like?"

  "Oh, not a bit. My family, on Mumsy's side at least, are quite well known for our Memory Charms. Some more than others of course. I had a distant cousin come to quite a bad end..."

  "And, like, y'r luv'ly camp little ways of speakin'? They tend t' fall by th' wayside, when y' get a bit serious."

  I swear, I could feel him grinning through the damn ether.

  "My dear boy, I have no idea what you are babbling on about! And...?"

  "And, for th' evil little shite y' claim t' be..." I glared at the world in general, because I had no idea where to glare at Fawksey.

  "...thet wuz a dom fine Patronus."