Chapter 8
That night Harry mulled over Hermione’s words and realized she was right.
He was an Auror.
And that came with…certain privileges. For one, they weren’t as closely monitored as other visitors to Azkaban — a perk he intended to take full advantage of if he was going to pull off a prison break.
As with most ideas that struck him in the night, Harry initially brushed it off, but the more he thought about it, the more brilliant it seemed.
If Draco Malfoy was trapped in Yaxley’s body living out his prison sentence while the old death eater ran free, well that just wasn’t on.
It was a matter of principle.
And besides, Harry had broken into Gringotts. How hard could breaking someone out of Azkaban be?
**
The answer, it turned out, was very.
With the dementors gone and visitors allowed, security measures in Azkaban were ramped up.
The roster of Aurors guarding the prisoners changed every week, with the schedules being confidential to everyone but the Head Auror and the individual Aurors involved, so greasing palms was out — not that he’d really considered it.
On top of that, the ministry had installed an anti-enchantment detector à la Thief’s Downfall that all visitors had to go through upon entering and exiting the interior of the prison, so polyjuice wouldn’t work.
But even if Harry somehow managed to get possibly-Malfoy out of the tower, there was the other matter of escaping from the island itself.
Anti-apparition wards covered the premises for miles from every direction. Visitors were required to apparate to a separate island and take a ferry there and back, escorted by an Auror each time.
For Harry alone, that wouldn’t be an issue since all Aurors were granted apparition access straight to and from the island in case of an emergency. But if he wanted to smuggle a prisoner out, he would need to get creative.
The last thing he had to find a way around was justifying his presence there on the day of a breakout. But then, being Harry Potter came with some perks too.
**
“Hey Crawley,” Harry smiled.
The young MLE patrol officer dropped his files in surprise.
“Oh! Harry Potter! I mean Mr. Potter. Er, hello. Sir,” he stammered. “Harry’s fine,” Harry said, amping up the grin. “Here, let me help with those.”
“Thank you,” the younger wizard flushed as Harry crouched next to him.
“Sorry to startle you,” Harry said, putting the last of the files back in Crawley’s arms. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations. I hear you’re responsible for catching the perp in the potions smuggling case.”
“Well it wasn’t just me, but I mean-”
“Hey now, no need to be modest. That was an impressive arrest! Important one, too. He’ll be off the streets for a long time,” Harry commended, placing a proud hand on Crawley’s shoulder.
“Yeah, 10 years in Azkaban. Suppose that’s not bad for my first arrest,” Crawley beamed.
“Not bad at all,” Harry agreed, walking the wizard back to his desk. “Just too bad about the paperwork, eh?”
“Oh, don’t get me started,” Crawley chuckled.
“It’s almost worse than escorting the criminals to Azkaban,” Harry laughed.
“Well, I have heard the stories,” Crawley said uneasily.
“Oh, I wouldn’t put any stock in the stories,” Harry reassured him. “No, no, experiencing it yourself is much, much worse.” Harry leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, like he was sharing a secret. “Sometimes I swear I can still feel the chill in my bones from my first visit,” he said with a faraway look. Then, “but I’m sure you’ll do just fine!” He slapped Crawley on the back, causing him to stumble.
“When is that anyway,” Harry checked his watch. “This afternoon, yeah? Suppose you’d best prepare yourself.”
“Er, yeah. Right,” the kid said, looking pale.
“Alright, there?” Harry asked, concerned. “You don’t look too good…maybe you ought to take the rest of the day off.”
“No, I’m ok-”
“You know, I’d be happy to cover for you this afternoon. There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to visit Azkaban if you keep up the great work.”
Crawley looked uncertain. Time for Harry to pull out his ace.
“Consider it a favour, mentor to mentee.”
Crawley’s eyes lit up. “Mentor?”
“Sure,” Harry shrugged.
**
Two hours later Harry was outside the island prison, filling out the paperwork to register Azkaban’s newest resident.
“I thought this was Crawley’s case,” a gruff looking guard said, escorting Harry and the prisoner through the gates.
“It is. I’m just covering for him. Poor bloke got ill, you know how it is.”
The guard snorted. “Rookies.”
Being an Auror on duty meant Harry didn't have to go through the usual wand checks. Just as they entered cell block six, he cast a Confundus at the guard and his charge, making them believe he was walking with them as they continued on. Then, he quickly made his way over to Yaxley’s cell.
Yaxley stood up as Harry approached. “Where did we meet?” Harry asked him urgently.
Yaxley’s eyes widened and he appeared to struggle getting the words to form on his lips. He gripped his left arm tightly, before choking out, “Madam Malkin’s.”
Harry nodded and took his shrunken invisibility cloak out of his pocket, setting it back to rights before tossing it to who, by now, he was convinced was Malfoy. Probably.
“What are you doing?” Most-Probably-Malfoy hissed behind the bars, grabbing the cloak. “Rescuing you, obviously! Now put it on. I’m escorting an inmate to a cell upstairs. Be ready to leave by the time I’m back.”
With that, he turned away to catch up with the others.
“Potter! Wait!” The wizard formerly known as Yaxley in Harry’s mind called out in a loud whisper. “What?!” Harry said, looking back.
“It’s about bloody time,” came the voice from the empty-looking cell. Harry rolled his eyes. That had to be Malfoy. “Yeah, well don’t thank me yet,” he muttered.
By the time he’d caught up with the guard and the prisoner, they were already at the stairs. Harry followed them up, refreshing the charm.
Once the prisoner was locked away in his cell, Harry followed the guard back down to finish up the paperwork. But before they made it to the reception desk, a wailing alarm sounded through the tower.
“Code red, all Aurors report for duty,” a witch’s voice rang out through a Sonorus on repeat. Harry turned to the guard, eyes wide. “A prisoner escaped?”
The guard was already speaking into the receiver on his shoulder, barking out orders. “Potter, you’re with me,” he said.
Harry watched the tower go into lockdown, portcullises crashing down on every floor, Aurors rounding up the prisoners who had been out of their cells for recreation or labour and herding them back into their cells like sheep to a pen.
Harry and the guard made their way into the fray of shouting Aurors and jeering and hollering prisoners cheering on the escapee.
“It’s cell block six!” He heard an Auror shout. “Who?” the guard next to Harry asked. “Yaxley,” came the grim response. “He was in his cell and then he wasn’t. He doesn’t get rec time.”
Harry followed the guard to Yaxley’s cell, the metal bars still secure, lock in place. “Has anyone searched it?” he asked loudly.
The guard grunted and proceeded to undo the containment spells on the cell, swinging the door open. Harry felt a gust of wind go past him and a light tap on the shoulder. “Stay close,” Harry said, leading the guard into the cell.
He helped the guard search the room per protocol. When they found nothing, they made their way back to security.
Before following the guard into the control room for magical surveillance, Harry tugged on the cloak he felt hovering next to him. “You need to be seen,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “If you can get a wand, even better.” He got a nudge in the foot in response.
Inside the room, images of every corner of the tower floated on the walls, an imitation of muggle CCTVs. Hermione’s influence, no doubt.
He scanned the makeshift screens for signs of Definitely-Maybe-Malfoy in Yaxley’s body among the army of scarlet uniforms storming through every floor, spelling shut every potential exit and strengthening the wards.
“There!” Harry shouted, pointing out Yaxley when it looked like the wizard had gotten far enough.
“The bastard slipped right past us!” the guard growled. They charged out the door with a third Auror in tow, a fourth staying behind to continue surveillance.
Harry ran to the spot near the security exit where he saw the escaped prisoner headed, and granted himself a second to appreciate how strange it was that the sight of Corban Yaxley gripping a wand made him feel hopeful.
“Stupefy!” He yelled, letting the spell go wide. Harry was hit back with a blasting spell, that barely missed him. That wouldn’t do.
He moved in closer as reinforcements appeared, and sent Yaxley’s body flailing backwards into a brick wall. “Do your worst, then wait for me past security,” Harry muttered as the other wizard sat up, clutching his stolen wand.
Yaxley’s features contorted into a grotesque smile as He Who Shall Be Referred To As Malfoy lifted his wand and lashed a severing curse at Harry, followed by a knock-back jinx.
Harry landed with a thud beyond the security gate, and gritted his teeth. He pointed his wand back at Malfoy as the other Aurors advanced. “Gemino,” he whispered, and a shock of purple light hit his target square in the chest, blending in with the rest of the curses being shot in his direction.
“He apparated!” Someone yelled. “Impossible!”
“I’ve got him!” called another Auror, slowly approaching the Yaxley doppelganger.
“Alright, Harry?” Harry recognized the voice of Miranda Smith, an older Auror he was often paired with for missions. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding. Get to Mungo’s, we’ve got this,” she said, running past him to join the the throng of Aurors moving in on the body double.
“He’s, he’s multiplying!” Harry heard and could barely make out a sea of Corban Yaxleys growing bigger by the second. When he felt something tug on his arm, he grabbed it, whispered a Finite at the crowd and activated the emergency portkey sewn into his Auror robes.
Harry landed with a thud on the floor of St. Mungo’s curse ward, in the section reserved for Aurors injured on the job. “Malfoy?” he whispered when he got his bearings. Another tug on his arm.
Satisfied, Harry got up and steadied himself on the nearest bed. A mediwitch rushed in, green robes flailing as she took in Harry’s bloody and bruised appearance.
“We just heard-” she started. Harry put out a hand to stop her. “There’ll likely be more coming, save the beds.” It was a lie, but she didn’t need to know that.
She nodded and got to work patching him up. “You’re lucky that spell missed any vital organs,” she tsked, handing him a murky looking potion.
“Drink that and you’ll be good to go. I know you don’t like it Mr. Potter, but I’ll have to recommend bed rest for at least two days,” she frowned. “I’ll send a note to the department. Off with you now, straight home!”
Harry smiled. “Yes ma’am.”
With a whoosh of green fire, Harry was back in his living room, tripping over the invisible mass at the foot of the fire place.
He stood up grinning, feeling the high of victory and turned around to help his guest up to his feet.
“So. Are you hungry?”