The waves of the North Sea were an inky green, like thick phlegm pooled in the depths of the ocean.
The air was full of a salty, fishy smell, but something was missing.
Lucius Malfoy stood on a jutting black reef, his hands in Dragonhide Gloves gripping his signature snake-headed cane tightly.
The sea breeze tousled his pale blond hair, but he had no time to worry about his appearance.
It was too quiet.
This silence did not belong at Azkaban.
"Lucius, how much longer do we have to wait?"
Behind him, Avery shook out his cloak impatiently, an unmistakable tremor in his voice.
"Where are the Dementors? According to our agreement, they were supposed to send a representative to meet us as soon as we entered the perimeter. The Dark Lord promised them plenty of food."
"Shut up, Avery."
Lucius abandoned any pretense of an elegant tone and stared fixedly at the thin mist on the distant horizon.
"Use that Troll-stuffed brain of yours. Haven't you felt it?"
"Felt... what?"
Nott, who had kept his head ducked beside them, asked quietly, clutching his wand.
"Emptiness."
Lucius spat out the word, his brows knotted tightly.
Yes, emptiness.
Lucius was no stranger to Azkaban.
Even from dozens of nautical miles away, merely approaching a place like this would bring that chilling presence coiling around you like a disease in your bones, freezing your marrow and stirring nausea in the depths of your soul.
It was the field of despair created by thousands upon thousands of Dementors gathered together, a natural barrier that even the Dark Lord praised.
But now?
The air here was damp, yet apart from the fishy smell of seawater, it was actually damned fresh!
Lucius's heart abruptly stopped.
What exactly had that damned partner of his, Douglas Holmes,