Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 9:05 PM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  One of Hermione's Otters came darting through the legs of the mixed troops ahead of Harry and Kingsley, a long blur of motion ending with the Patronus reared back on its haunches, adorable fuzzy face looking up, paws crossed before its chest. Hermione's voice came from it.

  "They have found a choke point between the Admin Area and Residential Quarters. They're forted up behind it, and are Portkeying out in batches. Don't know where to. I tried to conceal a Patronus in someone's bundle, but it was banished by a witch on their side. Powerful witch at that."

  "Probably the one they call 'La Strega,' " Shamir interjected. "We haven't had to deal with her, but everyone on their side refers to her with either respect or fear."

  The otter nodded, "Makes sense. The Stregheria are known for being ambivalent on the division between Dark and Light. Highly protective of those they consider theirs, and very vindictive to anyone that presents a threat to same. If she is in protective mode, it's understandable that I couldn't slip past her."

  "Your call, Boss," Harry said to Kingsley. "We've knocked the Dementors for a loop. Whether that is temporary or permanent remains to be seen. Taken a good number of prisoners, but we've also taken more casualties than I like. They still outnumber us pretty badly. My recommendation is to let them run. Attacking an entrenched position could cost us badly." Harry grinned at Shamir. "Especially considering our lack of 'unit coordination,' shall we say?"

  Shamir nodded solemnly.

  Kingsley didn't hesitate. "Agreed. Keep the pressure on, but take no risks you don't have to. Take no risks at all with, ah, partisan troops." He grimaced. "The safety and security of the inmates is ultimately the Ministry's responsibility, and we have already let them down badly. Mr. Safiq, what do you recommend going forward?"

  "Status quo," Shamir said instantly. "Continue the Open Barracks situation, with only the Women's Barracks locking down as Chairwoman Rousse sees fit. And get the Quidditch going again, for the Gods' sakes! Oh, and throw in this Training Room!"

  Kingsley nodded. "Again, agreed. Madam Granger Weasley, kindly spread the word."

  "Certainly, Minister." Hermione's tone was prim, even speaking through the Otter. Once she removed her direct attention from that iteration, though, it shook itself, gave a weasel grin, and galumphed over to Jo-Jo. It threw itself on the floor at his feet, rolling over on its back with a beseeching wiggle.

  Jo-Jo grinned, leaning down. He somehow managed to ruffle the fur on the Otter's belly, as it squirmed in delight.

  "Stop showing off," Shamir said as the short man stood back up. "I warned you about St. Mungo's once already."

  Kingsley looked around. "Mr. Safiq, kindly start pulling your people out of line, and, if you will, have them deal with casualties and prisoners. Also collect any intelligence they find and turn it over to..." He glanced at Harry.

  "Ewan Ward," Harry said promptly. "He should be in Bunkroom Three of the Women's Barracks. Safiq is using that as his Headquarters, and he says there is plenty of room for us as well." Safiq nodded agreement.

  "We're on it, Minister." He left, Jo-Jo trailing casually after him, the most unlikely bodyguard in the world.

  Kingsley went on. "Harry, turn over General Operations to..."

  "Demelza," said Harry. "With Proudfoot as Tac-Ops."

  Kingsley nodded. "Good. I want you to form a team, a strong team, and start unraveling some of this place's mysteries. Specifying just a few people to start with; Hermione, of course. Weston seems to have plumbed a few depths..." The Minister for Magic was obviously thinking as he spoke. He produced his wand, (a handsome, beautifully carved piece of Mpingo, African Blackwood). Purplish-black highlights flashed along the shaft as he dispatched his Patronus.

  His voice was more resonant than usual as he spoke through the Lynx link. "Hannah, is Talisker fit for light duty?"

  Hannah's Patronus appeared moments later. Like her husband Neville, her Patronus was non-corporeal, but none the less effective for that. It even swirled in an irritated manner, as her somewhat testy voice spoke through it.

  "Probably not, but Frigga bless if I'm going to put up with him anymore. He's apparently running this whole damn place in Shamir's absence, and I'm tired of tripping over 'Georges' and 'Georgettes.' Except you, of course, Delta, dear, don't know what I would do without you. Ye hear tha', y' grumpy ol' bastid? Out!"

  Shacklebolt went on. "That Illusion Specialist you, ah, liberated from the Irish? Take her. Who else?"

  "Ron for Hermione. If I take Weston and don't take Ginny, I'll never hear the end of it. She feels responsible for him."

  Shacklebolt nodded thoughtfully. "How about a couple of heavy hitters, to back up you and Ron?"

  "Kyinté. Oh, and Dennis Creevey."

  Shacklebolt just looked at him. Harry shrugged. "He really stepped up today. As Garrick Ollivander is reported to have said, 'I see something in the boy.' Besides, I have an ulterior motive."

  "Of course you do," Kingsley said dryly.

  "Oh." Harry raised a finger. "And Nienna Robins. Messenger, if needed."

  Kingsley's smile was a little mocking. "Nothing to do with a certain redhead questioning your ability to walk and chew gum at the same time?"

  Harry drew himself up. "I acted as I saw fit, given the information I had at the moment." He paused. "Or words to that effect. I would prefer to have her where I can see her. She has a lot of potential."

  Kingsley nodded agreement. "She certainly handled that little diplomatic incident well. Speaking of..." He stopped at Harry's slight frown.

  "Ah. Time and place?" Harry's eyes darted side to side in agreement.

  "Very well. Carry on.

  ***

  "So," Ginny asked. "What are we looking for?"

  They had descended one level on the sets of stairs going down from the central rotunda. There was no apparent way to descend any further. Talisker was prowling around, walking a bit stiffly. He had a 'companionable' hand on Weston's shoulder to steady himself.

  "Fawksey made 'n excuse tha' th' noises from the lower levels wuz distractin' 'im. Definitely 'levels,' plural."

  There were empty office-style rooms, arranged just like the Monitoring Rooms one floor up, complete with hallways leading off in the same directions. There were even railings to match, but all they circled was an empty span of floor. Dara O'Briain was pacing about inside the space, occasionally firing off a small force spell. So far all she achieved were puffs of dust, and a ringing ceramic sound.

  "Oh, there's definitely something here," she said absently. "But it's an old, old spell. Miz Granger, kin ye feel it?"

  Hermione was standing at the foot of one of the two sets of steps that curved down from the upper level. She had her eyes closed, and her wand, point down, pressed between her palms. She was slowly spinning in place.

  "Yes, Dara, I do feel it. But there is an... emotion... laid over it as well. It feels... haughty?"

  "More like... clever, I would say. Too clever. As if it thinks it's smarter than me... than us... than anyone." Dara raised her eyes from the empty floor, gazing upwards in speculation. She fired one of her spells up. It bounced from something unseen, at the level of the underside of the floor above, producing the same ringing sound. "Huh."

  She called to one of the two people still standing by the railings on the upper level.

  "Miss Sigurd, would ye fire off a spell down inta th' well, here? Point it so it won't hit enyone i' it comes through."

  From her position next to Dennis, the copper-haired woman Cast a weak Incendio. The undersized fireball bounced off thin air at floor level, then fell and bounced again, finally rolling to a stop before quietly burning out in mid-air.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Hermione had opened her eyes to observe this exercise.

  "Hmm," she said. "The magick wants us to believe something is there, even though it apparently is not. I wonder if the obverse..." She started up the steps.

  "Clear the landing, please."

  Dennis and Sigurd obediently stepped out on to the rotunda floor proper. Hermione stepped up on the landing and took one, two, three steps before coming up on the railing that prevented her from walking into the supposedly thin air above the lower level. Turning about, she laid her hand on the railing leading down the steps, and closed her eyes again. She took one, two, three steps, and stepped down onto the first stair. Twenty-six steps down, following the curve of the handrail, and she stepped onto the lower level. One, two, three steps forward, and she stepped down into the floor, and kept going. Her hand was still gliding along the non-existent handrail. They heard her steps continuing as she descended out of sight, then eventually stop.

  "Can you hear me?" She spoke in a normal conversational tone.

  "Yes, dear," said Ron. "Where are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "Next floor down, I suppose. The stairwell visibly continues down from here, no idea how far. It gets too dark to tell after a few levels. Let me check something."

  There was a pop, and a slight hissing noise dwindling away. Hermione said, "No invisible floor on this level. I dropped a flare spell, and it went down about four levels before it petered out."

  "How can I get to you?" asked Ron, who sounded a bit worried.

  "Try going up a few steps, turn, hold the handrail, close your eyes and just walk. The rail felt solid to me all the way down. Be sure to count your steps on the flat."

  Ron did as he was told. He stumbled slightly on the first step into the floor, but caught himself and continued. In very little time, they were all gathered on the... first subfloor?

  "Layout is definitely different," said Harry. And it was. Instead of a rotunda with offices, this was a square space, built with fitted stone. Only two halls led away, one ahead and one behind.

  Centered in each wall that did not contain a hallway was a large set of double doors. The ones across the well shaft were unremarkable. The ones right by them, though, had a glowing crystal suspended from a protruding wall sconce. There was also a small sign on the door, print too small to read at their current distance.

  The party walked over. The sign was mounted about four feet above the floor. Several of them bent down to read the tiny print. Kyinté, Dennis, and Sigurd, however, divided the perimeter amongst themselves, and set up watch.

  The sign was floridly decorated, and the text was calligraphed in an ornate, almost unreadable script. The top half was in Italian, the bottom an English translation.

  Her Highness Margherita Marrissa Teresa Giovanna, Scion of the House of Zabini, has taken this place under her protection. Disturbing this place or its inhabitants will incur the displeasure of Herself, and Her House, with penalties and punishments assigned as the severity of any breach demands.

  "Fawksey," John said wearily. He had no doubt as to the identity of the originator of this piece of pretentiousness.

  "Whatever works," said Harry. There was a small inset in the door that looked as if it may have been for a letterbox, or something like. He rapped lightly on it.

  "Hello?" he called, speaking a little loudly, unsure of the soundproofing of the door." "Is anybody there? This is Head Auror Harry Potter from the Ministry of Magic. We've come to see if you are all right."

  He tapped again, a little harder. "Hello? Anybody there?"

  The inset piece of metal crept to the left, showing a momentary crack. "Go away." The voice was raspy, harsh, and fearful. "Little fat Master says Scrope does not have to let you in." It closed with a click.

  Harry sighed. Behind him Ginny was looking thoughtful.

  "I'm not trying to get in, Mister... Scrope, is it? We are not with the bad men. We drove the bad men off. All we want to do is make sure you and your people are safe."

  The slot cracked a bit farther. Harry could see most of a large bulging eyeball with a brownish-grey iris. "Not with bad men?"

  "No, Mister Scrope. I'm an Auror. Do you know what an Auror is?"

  "Scrope used to. Not seen any for a long time. Arrest bad men?"

  Harry smiled. "That's right, Mister Scrope. That is one of the things that Aurors do. We protect magickal people."

  The slit suddenly narrowed by half. "Is Hairy Auror here to arrest Scrope?"

  Harry shook his head vehemently. "No! Aurors only arrest bad people. Mister Scrope, you have done nothing wrong. We are here to protect you. We have arrested a lot of the bad men, and chased the rest away. And," he added, without much hope. "My name is Harry Potter, not Hairy Auror." (He, of all people, should know how House Elves got fixated on things).

  The slit opened almost all the way. The eyes looked quizzical. "Why is Master Hairy calling Scrope Mister?"

  "I'm not your Master. I am no House Elf's Master. Calling you Mister is just polite."

  The slit closed most of the way, but Harry could hear a conversation going on.

  "It is a strange Master who says he is not a Master."

  "What does he say he is, then?" This voice sounded female.

  "He says he is an Auror."

  "Did he show badge? Auror have badge."

  Harry was holding his badge up to the slot when it opened. Then it closed again.

  "What does Auror badge look like?"

  There was a sigh. "Let Marnie see."

  These eyes were a daisy yellow. They peered at Harry's badge, then swept across the people crouched around him.

  "All these Aurors?" she asked suspiciously. In a moment, there were half a dozen badges on display.

  "Hmmph." The slot closed partway. "Is are Aurors, Scrope."

  ""Scrope!" Ginny said suddenly. Scrope's eyes were back in the slot, looking slightly alarmed.

  "What?" he said.

  "Sorry," Ginny said hurriedly. "Mister Scrope, was your father or uncle named 'Scrope' as well?"

  "No," said the elf. Harry heard ears flapping as he shook his head. "Scrope is only Scrope, has been for hundreds of years."

  "Hundreds!" Ginny gasped. "Then you knew Phineas Nigellus Black?"

  Scrope gasped as well. "Yes, Scrope did know Master Phineas. He was Scrope's last Master." Harry could almost hear the elf's ears drooping. "Scrope's best Master. He died on trip, and Mistress Elladora said Scrope had to come work here."

  Harry and Ginny stared at each other. "Whoops," Ginny said quietly.

  Inside, they could hear Marnie sounding excited. "Scrope's Master was Black? Marnie's Mistress married Black! Mistress died, and Master Arcturus was sad. Sent Marnie to Mistress Elladora, who sent Marnie here."

  "Arcturus?" Ginny blurted. "Arcturus Black the Third?"

  Marnie's eyes reappeared suddenly, looking sharp and focused. "Yes. That was Master's name. What you know about Marnie's people?"

  "He was my great-grandfather! His daughter Cedrella married my grandfather Septimus..."

  "Weasley!" Marnie shouted. "Miss Cedrella married Weasley boy, and Master Arcturus cut her off and Mistress Dorea got sad and died!" The eyes narrowed into suspicion again. "Marnie can see you are Weasley, yes. But Weasleys never have girlchilds, everybody know that."

  Ron stuck his face in between Ginny and Harry. "She was the first one in forever. But now there's Victoire and Dominique and Molly and Lucy and Roxanne and our Rose...."

  Marnie's eyes were getting wider and wider as she took in Ron. "He look just like Miss Cedrella's Weasley boy." She looked at Ginny with something like hope.

  "Wait!" Ginny said. She pulled open the front of her robes and turned them so her watch was facing out. "Eirene, wake up!"

  The cover of the watch opened slowly. "I wasn't asleep!" Eirene said sleepily. "Why do you always assume... Why, Marnie! Dear Heart, how are you? It has been so long!"

  Marnie's great eyes were brimming with tears. All she could seem to say was, "Oh. Oh, Marnie. Oh, Miss Eirene......"

  Scrope gave Harry a last penetrating look. " Is are who you say you are, maybe." Then his face, (what Harry could see of it), brightened. "Wait! Scrope will get hurt peoples. They know good or bad!"

  Marnie didn't wait on him. Her eyes disappeared, and clicks, crunches, thuds and some fairly serious dragging sounds came from behind the doors. They opened inward. Marnie was looking at Ginny's face as if she was made of gold. Ginny sat right there on the floor and gathered the elf into her lap. The last Harry heard was Eirene saying, "Oh, Marnie, our girl was so happy! Sep gave her the best life anyone..."

  Scrope came around a corner heading an absolute mob of House Elves. The only place Harry might have seen more was in the Hogwarts kitchen.

  Scrope looked a bit irritated that the door was already open. The mass of elves were half-leading, half-carrying a man so wrapped in bandaging that he was almost unrecognisable.

  Almost.

  The elves put him in a comfortable-looking chair, then, when Hermione whispered to one of them, a chair was produced for Ron as well. Maybe not as comfortable, but very timely, as Ron sat down hard without even looking. He gaped for a minute. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. Ron's mouth snapped shut.

  "What..." he started. "...in the name of Thor Odhinnson's double-insulated, triple reinforced, body-girdle boxer-briefs are you doing here, Perce?"

  Percy Weasley shook his head weakly. "Little brother," he said. "It's a long story."

  ***

  Harry was looking around, as a growing sense of unease came over him. What was it? They were just House Elves. Much like many he had seen. Some of them more than others. There was one with a distinctive bulbous, snout-like nose. And another. And...

  "May I have your attention, please?" He said that a lot louder than he meant to, but went on.

  "I am Head Auror Harry Potter, of the Ministry of Magic, and I need your help with an on-going investigation. No one here is in any trouble, but your full cooperation will be greatly appreciated."

  The elves looked curious, but unafraid. They were very used to following the orders of humans.

  "How many of you came here of your own free will, seeking work? Raise one hand please."

  There was a scattering of hands, nowhere near a tenth of the total.

  "How many of you were born here, and have worked here since you were old enough to work?"

  More than a tenth, less than a fifth.

  "How many of you were convicted of crimes, and sentenced to serve terms here?"

  This brought a shocked gasp. Scrope saw Harry's confusion, and took it upon himself to explain.

  "Auror Hairy Potter Sir, Good House Elves is not doing crimes or going before courts, sir. If any Elf was a criminal, they has a place here for them what isn't humans. They wouldn't put them with Good House Elves!"

  An elderly, wizened looking elf laid a knobby-knuckled hand on Scrope's arm. "They was that one, Scrope. They puts her in one of the cells and says she accidentally killed her Mistress. But the Elders examined her, and saw the Masters had made a mistake. They brought her in with us. She was beSpelled, and Confunded, but not guilty of nothing."

  "True," said Scrope thoughtfully. "I had mismembered that one. That elf distappeart, some fifty years gone. What was the name...?"

  Hermione spoke up, aghast. "If you knew she was innocent, why would you not tell someone? "

  She suddenly found herself the focus point for dozens of pairs of wide, staring eyes.

  "Tell...?" said a small voice, uncertainly.

  ".. a Master...?" said another.

  "...they was Wrong?" This was a very small chorus of voices.

  The dozens of pairs of eyes, (not all at once), blinked, and turned away. Hermione no longer existed, as far as they were concerned.

  "Ah, yes," said Harry, flustered, but determined to carry on. "How many of you were sent here by humans, who told you you had to work here?"

  Hermione paled in anger as the rest of the hands went up.

  Harry took a shot in the dark. "How many of you used to work for the Greengrass Family?" About twenty-five to thirty percent. And now the big question.

  "How many of you used to work for the House of Black?"

  Harry looked at all the curious, trusting elves with the signature noses and their four-fingered hands in the air, and did the only thing he could think of to do.

  "KREACHER!"