***

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

  Given to Head Auror Harry Potter

  ***

  Eleven Days Ago

  Friday, July 18th, 2014. Call It Suppertime

  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).

  ***

  By suppertime, all the details had been hashed out. Rosey had stepped back to remain Second Room Boss, and First Officer under Shamir. The big man knew he didn't have a tactical mind. The most likely of Shamir's 'lads' had been made Third Room Boss. Rosey and Shamir agreed that a Barracks Boss shouldn't be a Room Boss as well.

  We were gathered in Second Room, with 'George' at the door. He and I had modified the Periscope. Now he could lie beside the door, not in front of it.

  The two groups of 'best lads' had been supplemented by anybody that showed promise, with the non-combatants well out of way.

  The fruit at the meal had, perhaps unfortunately, been a decent sized bunch of deep purple grapes. These were particularly good trade-bait, but, again, most of our people ended up eating theirs. I knew Roddy's cupidity would set the fire to his stupidity. If he ended up with most of the grapes from his room...

  Stupidity, indeed. It was like he had never heard the old saw that started, "Fool me once..." Talk about un-tactical minds.

  "Door's open," our 'George' reported. "Taking position. Here comes the first 'un. He's walking out, hands spread, nothing to show.

  Through the barely opened door, we heard Roddy shout, "Teach 'im a damned lesson!"

  'George's' tone was approving. "Smart 'un, that. Dropp't t' floor, curled in a ball, hands over head. Three trying to attend to 'im, boot they'm's in each other's way.

  Rosey's 'George', crouched by our's feet. said softly, "Tsk, tsk. That be no way to run a cockfight."

  Our 'George' nodded without moving from his post. "'Ere's th' next. No, there be tu of 'em, trying t' force past. Th' 'lads' er try'n' t' beat 'em back, boot they'm bein' pooshed fr'm behind, like. The ones in dinin' hall are breakin' throo!" He raised his voice. "Ah'd say now, Boss!"

  "Do it," said Shamir, voice calm and cold. Rosey's 'George' snatched ours back away by the ankles. The door to the Hallway was wrenched open, and the 'best lads' started through it. I have to say they 'deployed," in fact. No crowding, and taking their cue from Shamir's lot, no shouting. The section of the hallway by the dining area was already a melee of struggling fighters, two and three of the regular prisoners to each of Roddy's enforcers.

  Roddy himself was a brute and a bad 'un, though. He was holding his own, and had at least three on the floor by him, groaning and bleeding, and one completely still. That one's blood was just oozing out, what with no working heart to pump it.

  But Roddy had his back to us, and he was down, pinned, before he could think.

  "Break this up!" snapped Shamir. "You know the ones I want. Don't hurt anyone else more than you have to."

  "It's over, lads!" I said loudly. "It's old Whiskey John, and y' need t' put a sock in it!"

  ***

  Frankly, it was over as soon as Shamir spoke. You never saw a more relieved bunch of hardened criminals and practitioners of the Dark Arts in your life. The ones who had laid low in the dining hall stuck their noses out, then came out to join the rest. Not all of those were necessarily cowards, though. Some were elderly, and some were fragile. And there was one unassuming, mousy little man, who had been held back by general consensus. He had cheated an old Scandinavian wizard on a deal, and had a ridiculously strong Berserker Curse laid on him. Nicest guy you would care to meet, con man in fact. But if his blood was drawn in anger, well... *(See Footnote One).

  We proceeded to have an All-Barracks Meeting in the Recreation Area. It was the first one ever, the guards having discouraged such things in the past. And by discouraged, I mean people disappearing and never being seen again.

  We had no idea of the guards' fates. But between the missing meals, the use of the Magickal Tannoy, and the fact that the latest corpse had laid on the Grate over the Pit all afternoon, we figured it wasn't business as usual.

  I spoke first. I was the closest thing to a neutral party in the Barracks. Everybody knew me, and a good majority trusted me, as much as they could trust anyone.

  "Hard times, lads." There was a general murmur of agreement. "We're sewer rats to th' world, and we know't, but even sewer rats have a right t' be left alone. That's all most of us want. T' be left alone."

  "But there's always some-like worse. Can't settle for bein' a rat, no even th' Boss Rat. Try t' treat us like property, nae, like trash. And hez t'rummage through th' trash for what little there is t' hev."

  I looked across the faces, scared, angry, sullen, almost every expression but hope. "An' in the usual run, we'd let the Room take care of its own, like you lads were starting t' do. No skin off our noses if you're under a bad 'un. It'd come right in the course of time."

  I glared around. "But this ain't the usual run! Got nutters pulling the strings, no idea if the guards are in or out of it, and now someone's messin' aroun' th' food!

  The room rumbled with discontent.

  "And speakin' of nutters..." I looked to where Roddy was being held, hands tied behind his back with one of his shirt sleeves, and the other sleeve stuffed in his mouth. He looked mad enough to stroke out. Rosey had one massive arm between Roddy's elbow and chest on one side, and his best 'best lad' had done the same on the other side. Lars was a big 'un as well, as tall as Rosey, but not as thick about. The two were relaxed, but Roddy started trying to wrench away and kick out at them. They simply straightened to their full height, leaving Roddy's feet a foot off the ground. As the strain came onto his shoulders, Roddy's face twisted with pain. He signaled surrender by going completely still, and was lowered till he could get his feet back under him.

  I had let everyone watch the byplay. I was paying attention to Roddy's lickspittles and bullies. They were sitting, on the floor, in a group behind where their 'Boss' was being held. And there was nothing but fear in their eyes.

  Good enough.

  I went on. "Muggins there was right about one thin'. We hev to be united t' get through this. We need a Barracks Boss. And it's going t' be Shamir." I added that last hurriedly as I saw discontent on some faces.

  "There's nae question of votin', or discussin' or suggestin'. Th' hardest men in here hev said it, and you lot are going t' do yer best t' stay oot a th' way!"

  Most looked to Shamir, where he stood in front of the door to the Hallway. And behind him were his best lads, and Rosey's best lads, and every other man from the two rooms who had an ounce of grit in him. All their faces were set like stone. It was clear that any who didn't like it, were not going through that door tonight.

  "So it's Shamir, and Rosey at his back. Wouldn't be fair for Shamir t' have a Room. He'll be right hard set t' take care of us all. Shamir's lad Billy will take over Third Room."

  I fixed my gaze on where First Room were mostly gathered. "An' Rosey's lad Lars will be First Room Boss." Most of what I saw was relief. Lars was no angel, but he was strong, and, above all, reasonable.

  "We'll be movin' some best lads aboot, and tekkin' on some new faces, on probation, like. Y' hev owt wrong in yer room, go t' the Boss like always. Y' hev problems with a Boss, y' come t' old Whiskey John, an ah'll fix it if I kin, even t' givin' th' Boss in question a spankin'!"

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  That got more of a laugh than it deserved, but there had been damn little to laugh about lately.

  "And if ah cannae fix it, we'll go t' Shamir. An' tha' is no what ye want t' do. 'Cause if Shamir has t' fix it..." I shook my head, and left it there on th' ground where Loki flang it.

  One of Roddy's 'lads' spoke up. He didn't look up, but his voice was clear, and free of fear.

  "What about... 'im?" He jerked his chin toward Roddy, who had once again been released from the surly bonds of earth.

  This started Roddy flailing his legs harder. I looked over at Shamir.

  "Tell them." He spoke clearly, but not loudly.

  I looked back and sighed. "He killed two of his own. Our own. At least."

  Looks were darted at three figures huddled against the back wall, with some from our Room helping the little they could.

  "For fruit." I knew I sounded vicious, but at that moment, I did not care. I swept my gaze around the room catching every pair of eyes that dared to meet mine.

  I am not Shamir. I had hate in my voice as I spoke.

  "He is nae here. He does'nae exist. And atter this day, ye weel nivver, nivver, see 'im alive agin."

  Silence.

  After just long enough, Shamir said, "I will not make you watch. I take this act upon myself, and myself alone. Go. Now."

  As people rose, our 'George' gave a little Harrumph! in my direction.

  "Oh, aye!" I called over the rustle of the crowd. "And keep yer eyes and ears open. We know nothing of these eejits now runnin' the place, save they're mad as Spring Hares! Ye see somethin' odd, or out'a place, magical or not, y' tell one a th' 'Georges.' " The six of them, the 'Georges' and their trainees, had come up to stand beside me, looking about as trustworthy as twenty yards down Knockturn Alley.

  I finished, "We're the only ones that give a damn about us, an' we've lost tu many already!"

  ***

  Ten Days Ago

  Saturday, July 19th, 2014. Call It Breakfast Time

  (Even if We Didn't Get Any).

  Azkaban Prison, "The Rocks"

  The North Sea

  Transcribed by D.M.L.E. File

  ***

  The next morning, (no breakfast again), Shamir and I were standing near, but not too near, the Pit and the Locked and Blocked Barracks Door. There were now four bodies lined up, counting the one already on the Grate. Which was, just barely, beginning to whiff of corruption.

  Shamir, as always, let me state the obvious.

  "T'is nae good, Son."

  "No, Pop, it is not." We were alone in the Hallway. All three Bunk Rooms had been 'locked down' when it became obvious breakfast was a pipe dream. Not literally locked. Shamir had suggested using the time to get everyone settled in their new assignments, and had our two 'Georges' getting Lars and Rosey up to speed on the simplified 'Manual of Arms' that Third Room used.

  Shamir was showing a little of the stress that he could not let anyone else know about.

  "I swear, by the Gods, John, the only thing I can think of is to let them get good and ripe, then tear them apart with bare hands. Flush what we can down the loo."

  I gagged a little.

  Then someone else gagged a little. I glanced in surprise at Shamir, because he really wasn't the type. He looked surprised as well.

  I checked the Hallway behind me. No one. I looked back around, and said, as quietly as possible, "Hi? Is somebody there?"

  A voice came back, from where I could not tell. "Oh. Yes. Sorry to bother you. I'm... really just supposed to observe. But what you said... Please don't... Please don't... do... that. It's all projections in here, and I can't even turn them off..." There was another gagging sound.

  Shamir said, in a very reasonable tone. "Well, could you suggest what I can do with them? Why aren't you cremating them?"

  "Shush!" came the reply, "I'm really not supposed to be talking to you!"

  "Hev ye got the door open?" I asked. Shamir glanced at me, but said nothing.

  "Uh... no?"

  "Weel, tha' will block enythin' but magical means, and those spells are nae generally well known. But, j'st in case, see the two astrological wheels on the back of th' door?"

  'Uh... yes?"

  "Turn them so Taurus on the left dial is in opposition to Libra on the right, an' even magical methods won't work. O' course ye wull be still able to hear ootside th' door. Nuthin' worse thin hevvin' th' boss sneak up on ye."

  "Oh, you have no idea!" There was a sort of shuffling sound. "There. Thank you, by the way. I have no idea what I'm doing here."

  Shamir looked at me, and I at him. He ventured, "I assume that is why the bodies are backing up?"

  "Oh, yes! There an entire panel in here marked 'Cremation' but the guards we... I mean, our guards hadn't been fully trained, when she... and, well... Never mind."

  I sighed. I was going to have to answer questions. A lot of questions. Luckily, I had a partial truth to fall back on.

  "Look, if you're willin' like, ah kin walk you through it. That is, if ye kin do an Incendio." Shamir gave me another look, and frowned a little. I mouthed, Later!

  "Oh. Oh, my. Yes, yes, I can. I... I don't have to come over there, do I?"

  "Nah, none o' that. How far away kin we be, an' you still hear us?"

  "Oh, I can hear you anywhere, if I know to listen," the voice said, quite brightly. "It's actually a good bit of fun, like listening to my stories on Wizarding Wireless Network. The things you fellows get up to!" Whoever it was seemed to notice they had lost the thread, and hurried on. "But I can only talk to you within about thirty feet."

  "That'll do fine." I suddenly decided to throw a lie into the mix, to keep from getting burned by an accidental or intentional burst of fire. "Just make sure nob'dy is within twenty feet o' the Grate, or it may backfire."

  "Oh, dear! I shouldn't take the chance, but those... remains are so depressing!"

  "Oh, it'll be fine, ah..." I couldn't tell if the voice belonged to a lad or a lass. I decided not to risk it.

  "See th' drawer at the right bottom o' the panel, marked, 'Cremains'?"

  "Yes."

  "Pull it open. Is there an urn already in the socket?"

  "No."

  "Grab one from the cupboard t' yer left."

  "Labeled 'Urns'! Why, this isn't hard at all, is it? Do I have to open the urn, or anything?"

  "Nah, nah. All done by magic. Close th' drawer wi' th' noo urn in place."

  "Check! How professional I sound! Check!"

  "Now, pull up an Incendio on the last three inches of your wand, but don't Cast it, j'st hold it there."

  "Got it! I mean, Check!"

  "Now we wull back off t' give y' room t' work. Mek sure your flame is not too bright. White or blue flames is too much. Yellow is too little. Bright orange to red is where y' want t' be."

  "How exciting! There!"

  "Nah, then. See th' metal plate on a side pivot in th' midst o' th' board?"

  "Yes!"

  "That's yer Igniter. Turn it till th' hole is completely exposed."

  "Check!"

  "Y' see a blue light in the center of the darkness?"

  "Yes! It looks far away. Is it far away?"

  "Neither here nor there. It's good that y' see it tha' way, though. What you need t' do now is Cast y'r Incendio as if that light were about twenty feet away."

  "Oh! Is that why you need to be at least that far away?"

  "Uh, sure." Why not, I thought. "Whenever y'r ready."

  "Oh, my! I'm shaking like a leaf! One, two, Cast!"

  The Pit flared, at, admittedly, the perfect level, and the man with brown, half-chewed apple chunks all down his front was gone.

  "Oh, I did it! I really did it!"

  "And ye did it as well as ah've ever seen it done, tu. Now close th' plate, take th' urn out and place it on the shelf behind you. Then load another urn. We'll get your next, ah, customer ready."

  We backed off again. I said, "Now talk me through it as y' go. So ye wull know y' hev it fer sure, like."

  The voice dutifully ran through th' steps. When the flare died, it was another optimum result. I started to say, You're cookin' now! I thought better of it.

  We did the next one without incident, then it was Roddy's turn.

  I spoke as we were backing off. "There, friend. Now y' kin just say ye figured it out by yourself, and y' called with a Howler t' get some t' load for you. Y'heard them remind each other aboot th' twenty-foot rule. That way y' nivver spoke t' enyone, see?"

  "First rate!" the voice said proudly. "Defense in depth. As Grandmere used to say, 'There's a lie for every occasion, the trick is in keeping them straight.' "

  "A wise woman, indeed." I swear, Shamir should have gone into politics.

  "I wish I could do... something, in return?"

  "Friend, if ye kin get th' domnable meals straightened out, it would do you an' us all th' good in th' world!"

  The reply came in a sullen tone. "I am working on that. If I can just get her ear, away from... Oh! What's that noise? Is it on your side?"

  "Nae." "No."

  "Oh, it's her. Speak of the Harpy, and she drops a mess on your head. You chaps better scamper!"

  The door to the Pillar Room was right there. We 'scampered' inside, but stayed by the slightly open door. The voice had, intentionally or not, left the channel open.

  "Fawkesworthy, you idiot, why was this door closed?"

  Shamir and I exchanged a glance. We knew that Harpy's voice.

  "I'm sorry, My Lady. I was puzzling out the Cremation procedure, and I closed it so I could concentrate. Sometimes the noise from the sub-levels drifts up here, and it throws me off. My apologies, My Lady."

  We gave each other a puzzled look. Sub-levels?

  "You are such a weed... Wait. You figured out the Cremation process?"

  "Yes, My Lady. As you see, I am down to the last one."

  "You started with three, correct?"

  "Four, My Lady. Apparently some poor soul passed during the night."

  "Bother and Blast their pour souls! What is it like? Is it thrilling?"

  "Oh, indeed! I wish we had one at the Manse. Hours of good, clean fun. Would My Lady care to do the last? I can talk you through the process."

  "Is Cousin Seraphina a drooling idiot? Of course! Show me!"

  ***

  FOOTNOTES:

  *1 - He was a former Muggle, in fact. Don't know what you'd call him now. He calls himself 'Jo-Jo Buttons' His true name is Joseph Barnaby Button-Jones. He was quite unsuccessful at his chosen trade, confidence games, until he became aware of the Secret World of Magic. Since many wizards and witches are delightfully naive by Muggle Standards, he was able to develop scams targeted toward them.

  He was finally arrested, and did six years in Azkaban. He had maintained the pretense of being a wizard through his trial and imprisonment, and thus was not Obliviated upon release. Easy enough, since he had been relieved of his (stolen) wand upon his arrest. And no one at Azkaban could do magic, so no problem there. As sometimes happens, he learned much about crime in prison, and once released, newly enlightened, went back to his old ways.

  Upon cheating áleifr Olafsen, (a Durmstrang graduate, and direct descendant of Olaf the Quidditch-Obsessed), he became a victim of the Berserker Curse. His Muggle status was finally discovered at St. Mungo's, where he was treated while awaiting trial.

  They had to fake his death and put him back in Azkaban. He would have gone through a Muggle prison like a dose of salts. And it's hard to explain away someone growing to three times his size and having ten times his strength.

  Unless it's in a comic book or something.

  The prison's magic blocks him from those manifestations, but does nothing to stop the blind rage and homicidal intent. And even a normal man can do a lot of harm, if he feels no pain and has no higher mental functions.

  Once or twice a year, they make us truss him up, like a Rabid Dog, and send him off to St. Mungo's. They try some new counter-curses or other treatment, then send him back. For some reason, he always asks us to call him 'Hannibal' at these times. I am hopeful that one day they will succeed, and he can be Obliviated and released. He has already served more than enough time on the Fraud charges.