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The downpour battered unceasingly against him, the wind threatening to upset his balance and pitch him off of his broom into the turbulent sea below. Squinting through the gray rain, Frank caught a glimpse of Fabian's blue robes before him, flaring wildly out behind the man though Fabian himself was flattened against his broomstick, staring determinedly ahead as though he could see through the immense gray clouds before them. Through the corner of his eyes, Frank noticed the streaming black robes, darker than midnight, of their Dementor escort, three of the foul creatures which constantly rotated around them, steering them away from their post of Azkaban.
Frank shivered, not because of the rain but because of the sense of despair and remembrance of near-death that rolled over him at the sight of the creatures; the relief he felt that this assignment was over could hardly lessen the tensing of his stomach and ease the foul taste in his mouth. Shaking himself, Frank instead focused on each pinprick of icy rain, of the sting of sea salt in his eyes, willing away the nausea and forcing back the helplessness threatening to overthrow his mind.
How he hated the things.
Gritting his teeth, he turned his head to glare at the creature flanking him only to find it bearing down on top of him, a scaly hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder, fetid breath escaping its gaping hole of a mouth as it drew him nearer...
Frank cut off a curse as he slipped on a patch of loose gravel in the icy, rocky path he was climbing. Berating himself for letting his attention wander so far inward, he tried to focus on the here and now, taking in the frozen, mushy landscape surrounding him. He shivered once again, and once again it was not caused by his surroundings; the strengthening grasp of winter was evident in the biting air and the dusting of snow beginning to grace the ground, but he could ignore them.
What sent chills down his spine was the thought that though the Ministry might think that they had the Dementors under control, after touring Azkaban and observing how the Dementors interacted with the Ministry officials, Frank knew the Ministry was simply fooling itself. The Dementors' attitudes and actions were skewed; one of them had just come perilously close to taking his soul, unprovoked and unordered, for Merlin's sake. He could sense their unease, their desire to swallow all happiness and peace in the world and replace it with gray shadows, and knew it was only a matter of time before they threw in their lot publically with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was a more-than-worrying matter, one that must be reported to the Order immediately.
Frank bit his lip as he continued to make his way automatically up the path, keeping his guard yet lost in his thoughts. Dwelling on the Dementors lead him inevitably to thoughts of his promotion. Moody had placed him on an Auror task force specializing in magical creatures such as Dementors, Werewolves, Giants, Banshees and other such high-risk entities that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would want to target for support. Frank's team-which included Fabian Prewett and two others-was to monitor these creatures' interactions with Death Eaters, try to prevent any attacks from happening, and then study the aftermath of any attacks that did occur. The small team reported solely to Moody, who reported only to the Minister-and to Dumbledore unofficially, of course. The job was fascinating and yet it was horrible; it was hard to comprehend the things that some Dark creatures were capable of. Frank had even heard rumors that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was creating creatures of his own to use in warfare. He fervently hoped that these rumors were not true, yet he sighed at the thought, resigned, knowing that he'd be there on the front lines to deal with it if the rumors came to fruition.
Blinking in surprise, Frank realized that he had reached a tall, iron-wrought fence. A heavy chain was coiled around the gate, and a tarnished lock rested upon its links. Unthinkingly, he reached out and tapped his wand against the thick steel of the lock. It recognized him through his wand, and with a loud click the lock opened before the uncoiling chain dropped away.
For a moment, Frank stared past the gate and through the thinly falling snow, his eyes climbing the crevices of a cliff before finally resting upon the towering castle beyond. It was quiet, silent but for the shush of falling snow, and this stillness-combined with the rush of memories that had come to him as he gazed upon the castle-seemed to build anticipation within him. He smiled, suddenly, and his breath caught with excitement before he eagerly pushed open the gate. As he stepped across the threshold, he took a deep breath, reveling in the combined and comforting smells of a thousand fireplaces burning, of the morning's chill, and of the old familiar forest. Only one comforting aroma was missing, but Frank had no doubt that as soon as he had Alice in his arms he would feel complete.
"It's good to be back," he murmured absently, and started toward the castle.
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