Tuesday, July 29th, 2014. 06:45 AM.

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  ***

  "This," Harry grumbled. "...is the definition of undignified." He was facing a vertical rock face, standing on one leg, leaning with his head on his crossed arms. His robes were tossed to one side, already cleaning and repairing themselves. His trousers and blood-soaked pants, not quite as resilient, were tossed to the other side.

  "Hush," said Hannah. "It could have been a lot worse." She was concentrating on his ankle first, so his stance would be, well, more stable, anyway. He was still a long way from comfortable.

  Hannah went on. "Your Auror Robes stopped a lot of the smaller pieces of obsidian. You'd have bled out by now if they hadn't. But the best protection charms in the world have limits. When a 15-stone man lands on a piece of razor-rock..." Her voice was professionally bland, but she was really glad that Harry couldn't see her face. It was set and strained with her efforts to control herself.

  Daniel, on the other hands, was sitting cross-legged on the ground, face buried in his hands. He sounded like he was choking as his shoulders heaved. Beside him, still lying on his back, John had his eyes screwed closed, and was rapidly chanting the same words, over and over.

  "It hurts when ah laugh. It hurts when ah laugh. It hurts when ah laugh..."

  "There." Hannah poked Harry's ankle with her wand, not particularly gently. Harry almost yelped before the absence of pain became evident.

  "Slowly put your weight on it."

  Harry touched the foot down and gradually increased the pressure. It took his weight just fine. Hannah nodded in satisfaction.

  "Okay, let's deal with this other..."

  There was a slight whoosh of air behind Harry, and Ginny's voice sounded worried.

  "I heard Harry was hurt! What...?" It stopped in mid sentence. Harry closed his eyes, set his teeth, and waited.

  "Ha-Hannah?"

  "Yes, Ginny?"

  "What.. what happened?"

  "To Harry, you mean?"

  "Y-yes." The pitch on Ginny's voice was creeping up.

  "A very close lightning strike startled Harry. He jumped, twisted his ankle as he came down, and fell onto that area of shattered rock over there. His robes caught most of it..."

  "But... not those two pieces?"

  "Sadly, no. Luckily..."

  "Luckily?" Harry's voice was a bit high-pitched, itself.

  "Yes. Luckily they remained in the wounds, which kept the blood loss to a minimum."

  "So." Ginny's voice was tremulous and strained. "They seem remarkably centered, one in each of... his..."

  "Gluteus Maximi. That's the proper term for the muscles involved. Or glutes, for short. And, by the way Ginny, it is my professional opinion that your husband has some damn fine glutes."

  Ginny choked.

  Harry said indignantly, "Hey! I'm in pain, here!"

  "Liar." Hannah said calmly. "I shut that right down. Maybe your pride is hurting... Hey. I just noticed something cool!"

  "What?" Ginny sounded as if she she were recovering, albeit poorly.

  At least she didn't laugh out loud, Harry thought.

  Hannah continued. "See how that one is almost a circle, and the other is sort of a wonky 'X'?"

  "Yes?"

  "Doesn't that remind you of the simplest ever game of Noughts and Crosses?"

  So much for Ginny not laughing out loud. Daniel was bent forward between his knees, emitting repeated Bomf! sounds through his hands. Poor John was hiccoughing, "Heh-OW! Heh-OW! Heh-OW-OW-OW!"

  Even Harry was snorting into his crossed arms.

  As such, he barely noticed the two gentle wand taps that simultaneously Vanished the rock shards, and Healed the wounds.

  "Mu...Mu..." Ginny coughed a few times before regaining full use of her voice. "Much better. That... that's the face I know and love." As Harry was quickly donning fresh clothing from his dimensional pocket, (and giving her a grateful glance for insisting he carry same), Ginny's gaze fell on the discards.

  "Oh!" she said sadly. "The kids got you those pants."

  "I know." Harry sighed. "I don't think they're salvageable, though."

  Ginny shook her head. "No, indeed. They were so proud of that pattern of Brooms and Snitches."

  "Well, it's not like I wear them around the house. They won't notice."

  "There's that. How is the debrief going?" Ginny looked to see Hannah back at John's side, making sure the laughter hadn't set him back.

  Harry scowled. "It's bad in there. We took a break, so I could SMS Kingsley. It's definitely our favorite British-Italian family, though. They apparently put their mental little daughter-of-the-house up here, to keep her out of the way."

  Ginny sighed, and shook her head. "Those poor bas..." She stopped and looked around warily.

  "Nope," Harry reassured her. "Assigned elsewhere. Made the same mistake myself."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  They turned back to the other three, Ginny crouching to check on John Talisker. He was about over his fit of laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. Harry stooped to get his Auror Robes and don them, before taking a seat by John Talisker's supine form. Harry caught Hannah's eye, and she gave him a confirming nod.

  "So, John, any idea what we can replace the D.R.E.C. Harnesses with?"

  Talisker shook his head. "Tha' weel nae be necessary. Th' large majority o' th' prisoners took it in stride, atter th' firs' shock, like. In matter of fact, most had assumed it to be so, all along. They made awfu' fun o' th' lads who got crabbit or ragin'. 'D'je fergit y' were in a prison, y' wee eejit?" Dinnae be a bawbag, y' numpty, o' course they hae a way t' muther us when we're oot and aboot. It's only good sense. Awa' an bile yer heid!' "

  "A hard bunch," Harry was a little in awe. The undercover Auror nodded in agreement.

  "And, as it came out wi' th' Harnesses..," he went on. "...we were domn lucky to have them..."

  ***

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

  Given to Head Auror Harry Potter

  ***

  Eleven Days Ago

  Friday, July 18th, 2014. Call It Early Afternoon

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Transcribed by D.M.L.E. File

  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).

  ***

  It was a bad time. The bodies were hurriedly cremated, with none of the guards' litle japes for once. Frankly, that was unsettling in itself, like even the guards were worried about something. We stayed confined to barracks, with little idea of what was going on, nor who was in charge. Meals became irregular for a while, which added more stress.

  It was strange, but until this had happened, I had not realized how much the Azkaban inmates take food for granted. There were a hundred terrible conditions to face every day, but food insecurity had never been on the list. The dining area runs in shifts by bunk rooms, mechanical as a watch. The dining shift files in and takes their seats on the stools affixed to the floor, and the flying eyes check that everyone is present. Then opaque shields isolate each diner, and food appears on the table, same as at Hogwarts. Not Hogwarts' quality by any means, but not 'Let's start a riot!' terrible, either.

  The set-up prevents food being stolen by other inmates. And there's no point in threatening someone to give up their food after. Anything not eaten disappears before the shields drop. The only exception was fruit. Under a 'good' room boss, like Shamir, this is a thriving barter system, fruit being greatly desired by unofficial 'distillers' and such. The usual deal was pledging your fruit for a specific length of time, and receiving a set amount of the end product when finished.

  A bad room boss, though? That is what kicked off the first consolidation war.

  For three days in a row, we had been shorted meals, first just one missing for a couple of days, rising to two on the third day.

  Roddy stepped into Grinder's shoes, mostly because no one cared enough to challenge him. I had my doubts about good old Roddy, and those doubts were shared by Shamir. After the first day of his 'reign' I stopped my habit of wandering through all three bunk rooms. There was no point in trying to anticipate and defuse fights, when the so-called 'boss' was the one starting them. And not just in his own bunk room, either. That first day, he gathered a group of lickspittles, and started ambushing inmates in the Hallway and Recreation Area. That got shut down quickly. Shamir, and Rosey from second room, teamed up, took their best lads, and had a 'Come To The Gods' meeting with Roddy.

  The 'best lads' in Roddy's room had died along with Grinder. The replacements he had appointed wilted like a Narcissus after a late frost. It was made clear to Roddy, this was a first and only warning. They would not interfere in his room, but other rooms' people were off limits.

  Roddy did not seem that cowed, at least to me. He talked like a politician, using phrases like 'time of crisis,' 'strong response,' and 'unified leadership.' He seemed to be talking more to the lads backing up the other bosses.

  Shamir and Rosey looked at each other, then back at their best lads. Those wore expressions ranging from sardonic amusement to disgust. The bosses looked back at each other. Rosey raised an eyebrow. Shamir nodded.

  Oh. Have I mentioned how big Rosey is? 'Cause he is big.

  After Roddy's flying body scattered his 'lads' like tenpins, the two bosses led their crews back down the Hallway. Shamir invited Rosey and his in for a drink, and maybe a quiet summit. Rosey didn't drink alcohol, but neither did Shamir, so that was fine. Juice is a lot easier to make than hooch. Neither of them grudged good men their tipple of choice, however.

  That was the first day of being shorted a meal.

  The next day, we got no breakfast. After lunch, which was barely adequate, there were no attempts to barter for fruit, most men eating theirs as they walked back down the hall. It was decent-sized apples, and, frankly, the best part of the whole meal.

  About an hour later, there was a commotion in the Hallway. I looked to see the door wedged the least bit open. I did not have to intervene in our Bunk Room. Shamir had apparently been expecting trouble.

  He spoke calmly. "Battle Stations. Secure all doors except Hallway. 'George' to the Hallway door with the Periscope. And shut the Hel up, we don't want them to know we're watching."

  'George' was already at the door. He had actually been sleeping there for the last couple of nights. I don't know if that was Shamir's idea or his own. I moved over to stand by where he lay.

  "Looks like Roddy's lot rushed to the exit of the dining hall and blocked the way out." He spoke softly, but the sneer was back in his voice as he said 'Roddy's lot.' They're letting the rest out one at a time. He's got two people escorting each one down to their room."

  He paused. "Wait. What was that? That bastard!"

  "Steady on, lad," I said soothingly. This 'George' could not possibly be as young as he looked and sounded. "Jes' keep yer mind on yer work."

  "George' looked as if he was boiling over, but his voice settled.

  "They've tu on t' Bunk Room door as well. When they get a bloke t' th' door, they poonch 'im in the gut, like, snatch 'is apple off 'im, an' shove 'im t'roo th' door." He paused again. "Reckons t' poonch is t' stop 'em mekkin' a fuss in t' Hall."

  He fell silent, having nothing new to report. The silence in our room stayed almost absolute. A few minutes later he started back up.

  "Thinks tha's it. No, wait, a coople jist rushed in th' dining hall. They're back, pushin' un 'head o' them. Got 'is arms all twisty up behint... Hah!" George's snort of laughter startled almost everyone.

  "E's got 'is cheeks puffed out loike a ground sqwirl, and grinning aroun' it best 'e can. Tha's one apple Roddy's not... Oh! Roddy poonched 'im 'ard in gut!. 'E blew apple mush in Roddy's face! 'E caught som' in t'mouth! Other feller's down and they're kickin' 'ard, and swearing a sight. Roddy's raised foot o'er neck, an..."

  "Come away, 'George,' " Shamir said. But it was too late. We clearly heard the muffled Crack! through the slightly open door. The swearing stopped. Roddy's hectoring voice broke the momentary silence.

  "T' hull lot went to the Rec Room, 'George' said dully. "Left t' dead feller lyin'. They's 'n apple they missed, like." He pulled back from the door crack, and I gave him a hand up.

  "C'm'ere, 'George'." Shamir's voice did not change a tone or inflection. We sidled through, and George stood in front of the room boss. Shamir said nothing, but there may have been a question in his eyes.

  'George' shrugged. "Seen worse."

  Shamir still did not comment. The only sign of his approval was the usual reward for good work.

  "Over to the adjoining door. He gave a slight tilt of the head. "See if Rosey's lot noticed, how they're reacting. Tell me later."

  "That lot." 'George' sniffed. "Thick 's tu bricks, all a thim."

  I went to stand by Shamir, as he looked around the room. "Dismissed from stations." Most relaxed, going to racks or forming small groups, trying to make their own entertainment. Several looked like they might want to join us, but Shamir's level gaze warned them off.

  We dropped into soft speech, moving our lips as little as possible. That was something I had taught him years ago, back when I was training him to be the new 'George.'

  "Talk to Rosey. Say I'll back him, or he has to back me. That's the one thing that idiot got right."

  "Rosey is a reasonable 'un." I spoke down at my chest. My accent tends to carry.

  "That's right." The smile was only in his tone. "You brought him along, too, didn't you?"

  The smile disappeared from his voice. "Pop?" Only 'my lads' ever call me that, and never where anyone else could hear.

  "Eh?"

  "If the body is still there, take it to the Pit."