As I put away the dishes after a nice and simple pasta dinner, I couldn't help but worry about the lack of news regarding my most recent scheme. It'd been a week since Remus Lupin and I had sent the messenger bat to Sirius Black, and so far, there was no word. Had Wiggles made it? Did the spells work?
There was no way to know, and nothing else to do but wait, as much as it grated. I didn't know the first thing about escaping a prison, let alone one like Azkaban. The island was as much a place to keep the Dementors in check as it was to punish criminals.
The history of Azkaban was an odd one. It had been the home of a mad Dark Lord named Ekrizdis in the 15th century, and after his death, it was discovered to have a major infestation of Dementors. And, in yet another stunning display of incompetence, the British Ministry of Magic decided to use it to hold their criminals.
See, Dementors were an ancient evil, with records dating back to Ancient Sumer describing these abominations. They mainly tended to roam colder reaches where their unearthly chill would be harder to detect by their prey, but they could live anywhere. They were known as Djinn in the Middle East, and they were the inspiration for the Grim Reaper in Europe. Nobody was certain how the Lethifolds of South America were related to them, but all sorts of academic papers had been written on the subject.
Including by Nicholas Flamel. His journal had a lot of info on Dementors, including how to eliminate them. Despite what the Ministry told people, there were ways to destroy these soul-eating pests. Magic was capable of anything, after all.
But these methods weren't easy to use, with only the most powerful spells and rituals able to harm them. Dementors were also originally solitary predators that reproduced by ingesting souls and then spitting out a copy of themselves so the majority of methods to deal with Dementors were meant for a single target. And due to their threat, they were supposed to be eliminated on the spot if discovered.
By the start of the 15th century, the Dementor population had dwindled to less than a hundred world-wide, before they all mysteriously vanished. So it was a nasty shock to find they had all somehow gathered at Azkaban without anyone noticing. Worse, there were around a thousand lurking on the island. They'd begun reproducing, using the island as a sort of nest to avoid the prying eyes of wizarding kind while stealing sailors. The Ministry of Magic had sealed it off, but that was only delaying the problem.
Desperate to contain the threat, but not willing to spend the resources to finally eliminate this unnatural species or loss face from the international community, the Minister of Magic at the time made the idiotic choice to cut a deal with the monsters.
Thus, in 1703, the Ministry foolishly turned the island into a prison as a way to keep the last known Dementors in the world out of the way in compliance with the recently implemented Statute of Secrecy.
Shaking my head at the stupidity of the magical world, I turned my mind to another topic: school. Classes at Oxford had begun, and I was slowly getting back into the rhythm. Attend class, turn in projects I lamented the loss of time for my side businesses and strongly considered finding a way to get my hands on a Time Turner just to keep up.
'At least with Inky at my side, I can appear at the Oxford campus in mere seconds, meaning I'll never be late for class unless I wanted to be,' I thought with a chuckle.
Yet out of the blue, there was a knock at the door which distracted me, and I turned to it, surprised. Who would be trying to contact me this late at night? Halloween wasn't until tomorrow!
"Um, hello?" I said as I answered the door.
"Good evening, Mr. Rose," an elderly man with old, weathered features and a beard that you could lose an entire meal in said in greeting. He was dressed in a formal black suit and tie combo, but also had a dark blue mantle over his shoulders.
"Evening," I said slowly. This man seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it…
"My name is Mr. Winkle," he said.
"Winkle? Are you related to Old Barry Winkle? One of the oldest men alive?" I asked in surprise.
"I am indeed he. Wee Willy Winkle, at your service," he said with a grin, bowing his head politely.
I stared at him in shock for longer than I was proud of, before shaking my head and recovering. "Where are my manners! Would you care to come in?" I asked him, and he nodded.
I stepped aside, ushering him into my apartment, where he sat down at the table with a smile as he looked around.
"Well lived in," he complimented. "And there's a medley of scents I recognize. A potioneer, are you, young man?"
"I dabble," I admitted as I sat down. "Can I get you tea? Coffee? Water?"
"Mmm. I'm fine, thank you. And you more than dabble. Still, a humbler home than I expected from the founder of Cauldron Remedies," he said, and I tensed up.
"No need to worry. I don't care one wit about the Statute, and personally think what you're doing is hilarious," Barry Winkle replied, giving me a knowing wink.
"May I ask why you are here, then?" I inquired curiously, not ready to relax quite yet.
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