Bellatrix was hauled up by two patrol officers.
She suddenly struggled.
"Who brought me back?"
No one answered her.
Her eyes darted through the fog.
"Was it him?"
"The one who took my memories?"
The female patrol officer's hand paused.
The old Auror immediately said, "Keep moving."
Bellatrix burst into shrill laughter.
"You don't know."
"You don't know anything."
"You'll steal the credit."
"You'll bury the truth."
Her laughter abruptly stopped.
Pain doubled her over.
She knelt in the muddy water, her forehead pressed against a stone.
"The paper."
She gasped for breath.
"No."
"I didn't write it."
"I didn't."
The female patrol officer's expression changed.
"What did she say?"
The old Auror said gravely, "Memory fragments."
"Record it as incoherent speech."
The lead patrol officer had already reached the shore.
He stared at the communication cylinder.
The red light at the top of the cylinder lit up in successive layers.
The message was being sent to London.
From the North Sea patrol.
To the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
To the Azkaban Reconstruction Office.
Then to the Minister's Secretariat.
The red light lit up each layer of the bureaucratic chain.
Normally, they were as slow as snails in winter.
This time, though, they moved faster than a jinx.
Because every level knew.
This was no trouble.
This was credit.
The young clerk suddenly called out, "A reply's come in."
The lead patrol officer turned around.
"What does it say?"
"We're to reinforce the cordon on site."
"A second escort team has already departed."
"The officer in charge at the scene is to maintain communications."
By the time the young clerk reached the end, even his voice had brightened.
"And a report on the discovery is to be submitted immediately."
The lead patrol officer clenched his fist.
He looked at