(Note: The river Styx is a mythological river that winds nine times around Hades, the underworld. It is called the 'river of hate' and said to be poisonous.)
Prologue
The silence between every time the oars touched the grey sea was endless. The day was muted by thick fog, even the waves seemed frozen. You could not see the sky, nor the sun, although it had to be somewhere in the east. It was as if the world had been veiled by the clouds of breath of a giant beast which condensed in the frosty air.
We’re on a boat on river Styx, Remus thought, passing to the realm of the dead. And if he turned his head slightly, which hurt, he could see a tall figure in a grey cloak stand over them, and another one, almost skeletal, but human, rowing the boat. But he didn’t turn his head, instead he watched the sea, salty and grey.
His head was as fogged as that sea, and the painful sounds of the boat’s wood seemed to echo his feelings. Something, a human body, was warm against his back.
We’re on a boat to Azkaban, Remus knew.
Chapter One : Twenty-one Days
The boat landed on a rough shore. Grey boulders and high cliffs barred most of the island’s shores, only this small bay allowed a boat to land. Azkaban was merely a rock in the sea, massive grey stone, no seagulls lived here, and the air was drenched in stifling silence.
The skeletal man pushed the boat on the shore and then pointed his wand and the two limb men that lay inside the boat.
“Enervate,” he rasped toothlessly. One of them raised his head instantly, sitting up with a painful expression in his tired face. He was thin, his skin grey with sickness, and his hair, once a soft brown, was losing its colour, too. His robes were tattered and dirty, and seemed unfit for the cold climate.
The second man came back to life more slowly. He groaned and moved into a sitting position, trying to clutch his head with his bound hands. He had jet-black, tangled hair, and wore a black, hooded cloak, which also was dirty.
“Out,” the toothless man said. “Out of the boat!” The first man weakly struggled to get on the shore, half standing, half swaying, the second man followed him, his face still hidden by hunched shoulders and his shoulder-length hair.
The fourth figure, tall and completely hidden by it’s grey ragged cloak, swept closer as if it was floating, and both men staggered away from it, up to the prison’s high stone walls, leaving the toothless man and his boat behind. He got quickly back there and pushed away from that hopeless shore, vanishing in the thick mist.
In the stone walls there was a single metal door, which opened for them with a moaning creak, and let them inside a square yard. The yard was huge, the whole prison was built around it, and the ground there was earth, a grey and sick soil.
Two men, wrapped in thick cloaks, and a couple of the floating figures waited for them. One of the men, short, gaunt and walking on a stick, with a once handsome face and dark hair, gave the second man a parchment, who started to read it to them.
“Remus Lupin, age 38, male, sentenced to 20 years for consorting with murderers and Dark Wizards, as well as violating the werewolf restrictions. Severus Snape, age 38, male, sentenced to life for being a Death Eater and committing a number of crimes in the name of He-who-must-not-be-named.”
He paused at that, looking at them. Remus Lupin was looking back tiredly, a man with little hope. Differently the Death Eater, Snape, who wore a frosty glare of pure hatred in his face. Both were not young men anymore, but actually not old, neither by wizard nor muggle standards. So many of these wasted their life by coming here. He went on.
“You have been sentenced to spend those years here in Azkaban. You are prisoner Number 2917 and prisoner Number 2918, cell block E, cell number 21. You get a meal each day, a shower every month. Now you will get your uniforms and numbers.” He put the parchment away, and his aide, the second wizard, took Remus by the arm and led him inside the building. It was a short floor with three rooms, and he was led into the first, that looked like a very shabby infirmary. Another wizard, wearing glasses and looking slightly sick, sat at a small desk. He gave them a nod.
“Undress,” he said to Remus, who, after getting the ropes around his hands undone, took of his cloak. “Everything.”
He did so, revealing his gaunt and scarred body, a mixture of inhuman strength and slow, weakening sickness. He was ashamed, but only a little, for he was very exhausted. The man with the glasses examined him.
“Okay,” he finally said, giving him a set of striped uniforms. Remus looked at them for a moment, and it was the first time they saw real emotion on his face. He clutched them, misery plain and clear in his eyes and shaking hands, and the two prison officers feared that he might lose his composure entirely. But then he simply put them on, feeling cold. They gave back his cloak and he quickly wrapped it around him.
“Sit down,” the spectacled man beckoned and Remus sat down at the table while the man bared his arm and took out a needle. It was much like a muggle tattoo, only that it was magical, and would never be removed. Remus knew that. He looked at the other two wizards. The thin man with the walking stick took a pity on him.
“Be quiet, don’t make a lot of noise,” he told him. “Try not to get emotional, that gets the Dementors’ attention.”
“I know that,” Remus answered softly, surprised that his voice still worked. “I was studying them, once.”
“You were a Professor at Hogwarts,” the man nodded.
“So you did read my files.”
“No, actually I remembered your name. My daughter was in seventh year when you taught. My name is Phileas Clearwater, I’m the director of Azkaban.” Remus studied Clearwater’s face. He was looking like an honest, intelligent man, but rather melancholic.
The mark on his arm was done, his number, his new identity. He had barely felt it pierce his scarred skin.
“I’d like to say I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Clearwater,” Remus answered as he got up. The man nodded quietly, then he was led outside by the aide again, through the yard, where he got a glimpse of Snape being led into the infirmary, and finally he was brought into his cell block. It was even less pleasant.
The cell was actually rather big, almost twenty square yards, but it was completely made of stone, having a very small, very high up barred window and bars instead of a door. Remus knew from Sirius’ tales that it was for the Dementors to be able to look and reach inside, but it had also helped Sirius to slip outside in his animagus form. As the doors were closed and the aide wordlessly went away, Remus let himself fall on the straw that would be his bed.
Probably too small for the wolf, he thought with a look at the bars. He counted days, estimating that it was the third of February. Twenty-one nights until the full moon. But maybe he would wither and loose weight, just like Sirius had done, and then, one day he would slip out, another canine shadow of revenge.
No wolfsbane draught, for the first time in four years. It would be bad, very bad. How would the Dementors react to a werewolf? Would the director have him treated afterwards? At least that Clearwater was an alright man, it seemed.
Lost in those rather fatalistic contemplations, he felt a cold thing approach. A couple of dementors floated towards his cell, their skeletal arms dragging a struggling man. Snape was yelling hoarsely at them, so completely in a rage that he didn’t notice Remus as the cell door was opened and he was pushed inside. He whirled around and glared at them, even though he knew perfectly well they were blind and couldn’t care less, because they couldn’t care at all. But they noticed his presence, his fury and bitterness, and drew closer, filling the cell with their freezing darkness, until Snape stumbled backwards and fell. Slowly they edged away.
Remus watched Snape in horror.
“Double cells?” he whispered. “Since when do they have double cells?”
Snape turned around, and for a moment a look of complete dread passed over his face as he quickly got to his feet. His face was one you normally wore when you first got a look on mating flubberworms.
“Lupin,” he breathed with a derisive sneer. “I see you are just as delighted to see me as I am.” Remus shook his head, almost frantically.
“No,” he said. “No, Severus, you don’t understand!”
“Are you mad? Even more demented than usual?”
“You don’t get it,” he groaned. “A double cell! You’re sharing a cell with me.”
“Oh, be assured, Lupin, sharing a cell at Azkaban ranks just below sharing a cell with the gladly no longer available Mr Black on my list of worst punishments imaginable,” Snape spat. One might have wondered how he managed to get that sentence out without having to pause for breath, if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. Lupin clutched his forehead and sighed.
“I’m a werewolf, Severus,” he said softly. “Which I’m sure you haven’t forgotten for one second. In twenty-one days it’s the full moon and we don’t have a wolfsbane potion.”
Snape, already pale as a bone, went green. A very rare thing happened : he was out of words. Remus looked up at him from where he was sitting with his knees drawn close, and smiled wryly.
“Bugger,” Snape said. His bristled looks started to deflate.
“Exactly,” Remus replied.