Chapter 5: Attack on Morsmordre Prison: Part One

A/N: with the release of Half-Blood Prince, entirely new concepts of silent casting have come up that have made me reconsider my action scenes. After some thought, I've decided to incorporate some silent casting, but still have the majority of spells used with incantations. There's something more fun about incantations than just thoughts.

Deep underground Muggle London lay the Ministry of Magic building. A long and splendid hall stretched forward, polished dark wood floorboards and shiny dark wood walls making up most of what is known as the atrium. Highly wrought gilded fireplaces were set into the walls and on the left, robed wizards and witches emerged from them with a whoosh, hastily keeping their heads down and their eyes locked onto the floor as the scurried to work. On the right side there were short queues in front of the departure fireplaces; the occupants looking relieved to be leaving. The roof, which had once been peacock blue, was known a mixture of glowing silver and glistening green and was inlaid with a gigantic dark mark. The skull leered unpleasantly at those who walked below, while the snake flicked its tongue in and out of its mouth, occasionally bobbing its head.

In the middle of the Atrium was a large statue. Once a Fountain of Magical Brethren has stood there but it had been damaged in a duel between Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort and destroyed in the final days of the previous Ministry reign. Now, three cloaked Death Eater's made of ebony obsidian stood proudly, their shoulders back, their chests out and their backs straight. Two of the Death Eater's were masked and stood slightly behind their middle comrade, their wands leveled in front of them at an unseen foe. The tallest Death Eater was unmasked and had the face of a handsome wizard, arrogance and pride etched into his features. His wand was aimed towards the sky and a pillar of shimmering magic rode from the tip, supporting the Dark Mark which lay on the roof.

At the far end of the hall lay a pair of gates. The originals had been destroyed in the war and had been replaced with large silver-wrought gates. Two security desks lay on either side of the gates and wizards and witches bustled towards them, signing themselves in. Next to each desk, four masked Death Eater's stood motionless, their wands by their sides as they guarded the only entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Occasionally two groups of Auror's, twelve men and women in each group, ventured from the gates and lapped the atrium, tense and on edge.

It was a Ministry of fear and power.

Deep within the Ministry, past the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was a dark and lavish room. Lit by only a flickering fireplace and a dozen floating candles, the room was made of polished dark wood. Thick furs lined the ground and on the wall and bookshelves lined the walls. In a throne-like chair made from pure gold sat the Commander of the Army of the Pure, more commonly known as Death Eaters. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. Twenty five years ago, Bellatrix had been a prisoner at Azkaban for fourteen years. The effects of the prison had not left her and while she was considered to be in the middle stages of her prime, her features were haggard and gaunt. Two purple eyes gleaming with fanaticism peered from thick dark hair and her bony fingers were wrapped around a jewel-laid goblet filled to the brim with white wine. Her other hand held a thin wand. Standing in front of her was a very nervous Draco Malfoy.

"Six people are dead," Bellatrix hissed in a hoarse and weak voice. A wicked looking scar had been sliced across her neck, still as raw as it had been twenty years ago when she had received it. A powerful dark curse had given that scar to Bellatrix, courtesy of Harry Potter, and it had only been the timely intervention of Lord Voldemort and powerful magic that had kept her alive. "Why?"

"Madam, the attacks were more vicious than they have been in three years. We could not have properly anticipated such a vicious and powerful attack on…" Malfoy started; a flicker of fear in his eyes before they bulged as something strong clamped down on his throat. Bellatrix calmly lowered her wand but kept the spell active as she regarded her goblet of wine thoughtfully. Only Malfoy was able to comprehend the dangerous glint in her eyes as she raised her eyes to stare into his.

"You dare speak without my permission!" She hissed menacingly, her wand leveled idly towards him.

Malfoy wouldn't have said anything if he could. His face was slowly turning blue as his hands involuntarily leapt to his throat, trying to part away the invisible force that squeezed it. Never did it cross his mind to reach for his wand. The last person who had done that had been blasted apart with such a powerful curse that only a few tiny pieces had ever been found of him.

Bellatrix eyed Malfoy with sadistic amusement and with a casual wave of her wand; Malfoy sucked in a huge breath and gasped loudly, his throat aching and sore. He regarded the dangerous witch in front of her with fear and swallowed nervously, his forehead beading with sweat and his hands involuntarily rubbing his throat.

"The Order has been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side for twenty years," Bellatrix hissed. Her gleaming purple eyes flickered with rage as she continued. "Potter has proven to be resourceful, time and time again. Do not dare say that you underestimated his prowess! It is due to your incompetence that he was able to deliver such a blow!"

Malfoy nodded quickly, swallowing down his fear as he regarded the livid witch in front of him. His hands flew back to his sides and he straightened up, trying to conceal his trepidation.

"There are times that I long for Harry Potter, so that I can bestow upon him my…" Bellatrix started, before an utter look of malevolent rage crossed her face and suddenly she transformed from an articulate pureblood to a raging madwoman. She let out a piercing scream of rage and stood up, hurling the goblet at the wall with all of her strength. It struck the wood and shattered; splatters of wine dribbling down amongst the shards of gold and gems.

"I hate him! He ruined me, he ruined my husband! I want him dead… Dead! I want to find him, torture him… knives, yes! Watch him bleed… make him bleed… Carve into his flesh, destroy him, mind, spirit, body… I will devour him, consume his very magic! He will beg for death, for mercy, but he shall receive none! Yes….kill, rip, tear into him! Blood… drain him…." Bellatrix spat out maniacally. Her eyes were bright with madness and her face was twisted into a snarl of insanity. Nearby, a large pitcher of wine suddenly exploded in a rain of glass shards as her control over her magic lessened. Her mouth was foaming, white froth tinged with red blood; she had probably bitten her tongue again.

Malfoy had taken several steps backwards and was pressed against the wall, fear raging through his body. Bellatrix's psychotic sessions were terrifying to talk about, let alone witness. The last two people who had been unfortunate to be witness an attack like this had not made it out alive. One of them had been blasted to pieces with such ferocity that they were still looking for the pieces, while the other had been mutilated badly and died a few hours later at Saint Mungos

But Bellatrix seemed to be calming down. Her wand, which was still clasped tightly in her bony hand, was shooting out cackling dark sparks, but it was dying down and Malfoy cautiously approached her, eyeing her wearily but the madness had left her.

"But it does not matter," Bellatrix said and sat back down again as if nothing had happened. "Soon, the time will come! It will be only a matter of weeks before the Order is destroyed. You Malfoy; do not fail me until that time! "

"Madam?" Malfoy ventured carefully. "May I ask what you have in mind?"

"It's very name is top secret," Bellatrix said slowly, after a few seconds. She regarded Malfoy carefully and suddenly a terrible smile came upon her face. "You are not privy to such information. But be ready, nephew! Be very ready indeed!" Her face was taught with anticipation and terrible longing and Malfoy squirmed under her gaze until he blinked and looked away.

Bellatrix leaned back into her throne, sighing in pleasure at the numerous comfort and cushioning charms. She frowned at the broken goblet and pitcher and gestured at Malfoy. "Bring me another goblet and some more wine!"

Malfoy immediately made his way to the door to carry out her order until her voice stopped him and he turned around.

"I want all Auror reserves placed in active duty. There will be regular patrols in Diagon Alley. Increase the security of our safe houses, Potter attacked the Zabini House because it was a former safe house. If it is required, take Auror's from the Ministry and Morsmordre. They are sufficiently defended without them." Bellatrix ordered. A twisted smile curved her lips as she pondered something. "And tell my Death Eater's that tomorrow nights excursion is still on. I am in the need of some… fun."

"It will be as you ordered." Malfoy said quickly and nearly sighed in relief when she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. As he opened the door to leave, her voice reached him one last time.

"Firstly, bring me my wine!"

The Next Day

"Well, it worked," Ron said as he leant on the long oak table in the meeting room. "The streets are absolutely crawling with Auror's. Hopefully we've drawn out enough from Morsmordre."

Harry nodded as he stared out of the window and out towards the ocean. The noon sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, but on the horizon dark clouds loomed ominously. Harry knew that there would be a storm tonight, which would help his raid immensely.

"What about Phillip's memories?" Harry asked. "Are they of any use?"

Ron nodded, his scarred face crinkling up horribly as he smiled grimly. "We've got several entry points and we're working on the plan now."

"Good," Harry said and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile and it promised pain to those it was directed at. "They'll never know what hit them."

"What teams are you sending?" Ron asked in curiosity as they both left the room.

"My team and Kingsley's," Harry answered as they walked through a narrow stone hallway, made of the same dull stone as the rest of Azkaban. R

Ron nodded as they both emerged from the hallway and entered a moderately large room. Large tables were covered in scrolls and massive sheets of paper, some detailing architectural plans of various facilities while others were filled with small spindly writing. At least twenty wizards and witches hurried amongst the room, some waving their wands to summon an occasional scroll. On the wall were several photo-like pictures, revealing dark and damp tunnels and a gloomy island. They were covered in brightly glowing dots and circles and two witches and a wizard dressed in the standard Azkaban black robes were talking animatedly over one of them, gesturing wildly. A nearby wizard was muttering under his breath as he waved and swished his wand over a pensieve, extracting a slither-thin string of glowing silver from the large basin. Once the wizard had extracted it, he flicked his wand and started chanting long incantations as he began the delicate process of transforming the raw memory into pictures suitable for analysis.

"What's the plan so far, Ted?" Harry asked a nearby wizard. The small balding wizard looked up, large eyes behind a thick pair of glasses. He had tufts of grey hair growing from behind his ears and his nostrils continually flared as if he smelled something bad. He was the leading analyst and strategist in the Order and had once been part of the original Order of Phoenix, joining up after the death of Dumbledore.

"We're still working on it, sir," he replied grumpily. Ted was always grumpy; he had been since the Death Eater's had invaded his home for amusement and killed his wife and six year old son, merely because his wife had been a Muggle. "But this is what we've got so far, so shut up and listen… sir," He added belatedly, but Harry waved off the rude tone and listened intently as Ted started explaining what they had come up with so far.

When the balding man had finished, Harry nodded in approval. "Good work," He praised.

Ted nodded sourly and turned back to one of the pin-ups, frowning as he considered another alternative.

"When should I alert Kingsley?" Ron asked quietly amongst the mutterings of the room.

"It's roughly noon now, so we'll attack at six." Harry answered. "That should still give us a few hours before Bellatrix shows up. We think that there's only thirty or so Muggleborns imprisoned at the moment, so the raid should last twenty minutes if it works."

"'If it works'" Ron echoed in part amusement and part resignation.

Harry shrugged slightly. "These things rarely do," He said, a touch bitterly, as he left the room.

At six o'clock, the sun had almost gone down. The last verges of light were rapidly diminishing and large angry clouds had gathered in the sky, spewing out sheets of rain. Thunder roared in the air, lightning flashing violently, and the sea became choppy and rough, white-capped waves pounding into the island docks of Morsmordre. The island was well defended inland, with thick stone walls wrapped around an imposing castle fortress. However, the small docks were not part of the stronghold and lay on the south side of the rocky island. A long jetty jutted out from a small inlet, which was sheltered underneath a small warehouse. Fires roared in their torches along the walls and amidst the stacks of wooden crates, the wind howled eerily. For the five Auror's on guard, it was the worst post on the island and none of them were particularly happy at the moment.

"Merlin curse them," One of them snarled, withdrawing a pocket watch from his Auror robes and glancing at it in the dim light of the warehouse. "How long will they be?"

"The supply boat will get here when it gets here," One of the other Auror's snapped, clearly irritated at his partners whining. "Now shut up!"

While prisoners were taken to the island by either Floo or Portkey, supplies came every week in a rickety little vessel from the nearest Wizarding port. An unexpected delivery had been called in that night just hours ago, which was why the Auror's were standing out in the cold rather than inside the castle. Lightning flashed again and sleets of rain pressed a wave of coldness amongst the robed men, causing them to shiver despite the numerous warming charms applied to them.

"Wait, I see something!" One of the Auror's said and squinted into the darkened sea. Waves pounded furiously against the wooden docks, spraying the men with droplets of water as they moved forward. Sure enough, a small light was approaching them.

"Pity, I thought they had capsized and drowned," the whiny Auror muttered to himself as the boat approached. It was a shaky vessel made from rotten wood and most likely held together by magic alone. As it came closer, the Auror's could five crouching robed figures sat around a stack of wooden crates identical to the ones in the warehouse behind them. They were beneath an invisible dome, which shielded them from the rain as it pelted against the magical shield. Still, the figures were shivering and had huddled together. As the vessel magically propelled itself with an unseen force, one of the people looked up and waved vigorously. Although it was too dark to make out his features, the Auror's could tell that there was an expression of relief on his face.

"Why are there five of them? The last shipment of food only needed two," One of the Auror's muttered to his companions as the vessel moved underneath the warehouse and towards the end of the inlet.

"Thank the Dark Lord," One of the hooded and heavily robed men panted in exhaustion from the boat. He stood up, shivering slightly as he got up from the boat and climbed onto the pier. He apparently didn't notice the suspicion of the Auror's as he turned to his colleagues and gestured towards the crates. Quickly, they all began swishing their wands and levitating various crates onto the pier.

"Why are there so many of you?" An Auror asked as they all approached, their wands clasped firmly by their sides. With the recent attacks performed by the Order of Phoenix, they were understandably cautious.

The man grunted as he levitated another crate off the boat. His head was covered but the Auror's could tell that he had dark skin. "Boat needed all of our magic to propel itself through this storm," He said as he dropped the crate on the pier. "It's a piece of rubbish but the company still makes us use it."

After a few minutes, the delivery had all been taken from the boat and placed on the pier. The man sighed in obvious relief and turned to the Auror's, reaching into his robes for something.

"Don't move!" An Auror shouted as they all leveled their wands at him.

The man rolled his eyes in annoyance as he removed his hand, producing a scroll of parchment from his robes and tossing it towards the Auror. "You have to sign for the delivery," He muttered in obvious irritation.

The Auror who had caught the scroll sagged as he put his wand away; rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly as he gestured for the other Auror's to lower their wands.

"Sorry," he muttered. "It's been a long day. You must have read the Daily Prophet; the Order's at it again."

The man nodded sympathetically before he quickly turned around and clasped his hands to his ears as the Auror opened the scroll. For a split second, just stared at four intricate runes, frowning in puzzlement before comprehension dawned on him. As it did, a brilliant white light pulsed from the runes on the scroll and an eerie wail screeched in the air for a single-second, before suddenly both the light and noise was gone.

The robed man turned around and removed the hands on his ears. On the boat, his colleagues did the same and they all turned to regard the Auror's, who were lying on the damp ground with blood dripping from their noses, ears and closed eyelids, their wands lying uselessly next to them.

"Nice spell-work Collins," Kinglsey Shackelbolt remarked as he prodded one of the Auror's with his feet.

"Thank you sir," A man with dark blue eyes and grey streak in dark hair remarked casually, shedding the thick bundles of robes that he wore. Underneath, he wore the black dueling robes of the Order. His companions also shed themselves of their thick robes while Kingsley tied up, gagged and immobilized the Auror's for good measure. He swept his wand and the Auror's slid across the ground towards the stacks of crates. With another flourish of his wand, the crates that the Raiding party had bought with them, empty of course, flew from their positions on the ground hovered over the area. With a mumbled incantation, they formed a nice stack of crates that effectively hid the Auror's from view.

"Ellie, Haldeman, are you done with the boat?" Kingsley asked when he was finished. He turned around to see Ellie, a albino women with pink eyes, pale skin and white hair, working with Haldeman, a new recruit with short blonde hair, nervous grey eyes, as they both disillusioned and warded the boat with notice-me-not charms. It never hurt to have a second way out.

"Woods, you're with me at the front," Kingsley ordered. A man with dark hair who appeared to be in his forties nodded, an arrogant look etched into his face. He was, however, well liked amongst the group. "Ellie, Haldeman, you've got our back. Collins, you're our scout. You all know the signals, let's go!"

Thunder rumbled ominously and lightning flashed once or twice every few minutes as the group stealthily made its way up a path filled with running water and mud towards the large walled castle. While it was nowhere as impressive as Azkaban, its high walls and forbidding look was enough to make people fear its very name. The permanent Dark Mark that shone in the sky, the skull sneering down at the ground and the snake that hissed silently, also helped to inspire a certain amount of fear. Rain pelted down as the group left the path and crept towards the outer walls. Because of the large storm, there were few patrols outside and Kingsley's group was easily able to avoid the patrols that were there, the Auror's more concerned with getting out of the rain rather than a potential break-in.

"Sir!" Collins called softly from a few meters away. "It's over there!"

Kingsley nodded and turned his head back. With a few deft movements of his fingers, he ordered the group to follow him as Collins led him to their primary access point outside the greater wall. It was a small tunnel guarded by a single Auror, which led to the quarters of the House Elves of the prison. Apparently, House Elf magic was severely restricted, possible because at one point there had been a few House Elves that had been prisoners, and they enjoyed being outdoors whenever they were able to.

The Auror stood at the entrance to the small tunnel with a weary stance and tired eyes. Kingsley motioned again and held up three fingers, then two, then one. The Auror never stood a chance as from the darkness, five figures jumped forward. Blasts of pure air and invisible forces pounded into the Auror, who let out a weak gurgle as his ribs snapped under powerful bashing spells, and a powerful concussion charm struck him in the head and knocked him unconscious. All of the spells that had been used had been spells that did not produce flashes of light, so Kingsley was fairly certain that they hadn't been discovered.

The group took a few steps into the tunnel until Kingsley halted them and gestured something. Collins stood where the Auror had been standing while Woods dragged the unconscious body out of the rain and visible sight. Ellie and Haldeman took guard at the front of the Kingsley, who fiddled with a small spindly object and placed it on the ground.

"What's that?" Haldeman asked softly.

"A beacon of sorts," Kingsley answered in his deep baritone. "It will draw Commander Potter's Portkey to this location."

"I thought you needed a Ministry issued Portkey to get passed the wards?" Haldeman asked curiously, while Wood tied up and gagged the Auror.

"He's got one, he just needed a location or he could have wound up anywhere when he tried to use it." Kingsley answered. "And before you ask me, no, I don't know how he got it."

Haldeman nodded just as five dark-robed people appeared soundlessly. Harry Potter stared at Kingsley Shackelbolt with gleaming green eyes while his companions spread out along the tunnel, their wands out and poised. A small smile curved on Harry's lips as he gestured forward.

"Shall we?"

The group of ten renegades moved stealthily along the dark and damp tunnels. At various points there would be aged torches lining the walls, most likely for the convenience of the Auror who had to stand guard rather than the house elves. While light was dim, there was enough for the group to see where they were going. Rain dropped from the jagged stone roof, echoing eerily in the long tunnels while outside, thunder boomed menacingly. Some of the taller members of the group had to duck their heads as they walked to avoid overhanging rocks, since the tunnels had been made for house elves. After two minutes of walking, Harry stopped the group at adjoining tunnel and turned to Kingsley, pointing towards the left tunnel as he talked.

"This tunnel will take you to level one, where some of Voldemort's political prisoners are being held. Free them and give them these Portkey. They're touch activated and there's a five second delay," Harry commanded as he held out a small box of shiny marbles. Kinglsey took the box as he nodded his acceptance of the orders and gave motioned for his team to follow him as he disappeared down the dark and long tunnel.

"Where are we going, boss?" Davis asked nervously, his brown hair scruffier than normal.

"Third Floor, Muggleborn prisoners," Harry answered as he gestured towards the right tunnel.

After Harry's group had walked down the tunnel for ten minutes, they reached a small room that contained rusty set of iron stairs that spiraled upwards. The room had two House elves in it, both carefully carrying a platter of steaming hot food each. When Harry entered, both House Elves froze in shock. They were dirty and ratty looking creatures, heavily scarred from abuse and skinny from neglect. However, like most house elves, they were fanatic about their masters, and they dropped their platters and tried to sprint up the stairs.

"Stupefy!" Davis said quickly, his wand flying into his hand, and a blast of crimson magic spiraled towards the first elf and knocked it off the stairs. It landed on the ground with an audible thump, unconscious, while its partner raised its hand desperately, trying to summon some of its magic. But the powerful magical restriction wards layered around the castle only allowed them to cast their magic in a few places, and the stairwell was not one of them.

Another blast of magic slammed into the House Elf and it crumpled to the ground, next to the dropped platters of steaming food, which lay on the ground in a heap. Bowden grunted as she quickly surveyed the room for any other threat, while Jordan went to the bottom of the staircase, her wand leveled upwards as she tried to peer past the shroud of darkness. Robert limped towards the food and knelt down. He gathered a handful of meat covered in a rich thick sauce and threw it in his mouth, chewing noisily as he sampled it.

"That's disgusting, Robert," Jordan said, her beautiful looks wrinkled up in disgust.

The grizzled man shrugged and stood back up, only wobbling slightly on his crippled leg. "It's quite nice, actually,"

Jordan shook her head, partly in disgust and partly in amusement, while Harry tapped the stairway with his wand and muttered several Latin phrases. The stairway shimmered as magic poured from his wand, coating the metallic surface and Harry withdrew his wand, seemingly satisfied.

"I've placed powerful silencing wards over them," He told his group. "They shouldn't creak. I've also placed a few supporting charms on them, just in case. I doubt that they were designed our weight.

"Are you calling me fat?" Jordan said, raising an eyebrow saucily. Harry merely looked at her and she grinned as the group moved on.

Morsmordre prison was a large prison capable of holding over a thousand criminals. The prison cells were divided by levels around a long courtyard, built into the walls. Metal walkways had been built into the walls and Auror's routinely patrolled them, crossing over the bridges from one side of the room to another. Inside thick iron bars and powerful magical wards was the cell itself, no larger than three by three meters. A rickety bed was welded in one side of the room and a dirty and smelly toilet was on the other side. There were fifty cells per level, twenty five cells on each side of the courtyard walls, and ten levels. Currently, Morsmordre was operating at less than a quarter of its capacity and held roughly thirty newly discovered Muggleborns, some as old as seventeen and others as young as six.

An Auror walked past the small niche where the stairway of the house-elves, he never saw the slim wand leveled at him or the whispered Unforgivable Curse that dove into his mind and suppressed his free will. He stopped walking as a blank expression filled his face, his eyes vacant and devoid of logical thought as Harry whispered suggestions into his mind. After a few seconds of initial resistance, the Auror obediently obeyed what he was told and continued his patrol. Behind him, five disillusioned figures broke from the stairway and headed towards the two other Auror's patrolling the level.

"Imperio!" Jordan muttered again at another robed Auror, with a large beard and grey stern eyes, and he stopped with a start. This Auror had been much more trained to resist the Imperius Curse than the other Auror, but in the end it was not enough. Jordan's specialty was the Imperius Curse and it was not uncommon to see Auror's surrounding her during a fight, protecting her with their very lives as their free will was ripped away from them.

"Imperio!" Bowden whispered on the other side of the room and snatched the will of the third Auror with a short jab of her wand. Her head was craned upwards, at the forth floor. She could see an Auror walking directly above her, no less than ten meters away and his shoes making a distinctive thud on the metal grating. She was very quiet as she instructed the Auror to begin opening cell doors. From across the other side of the room, the first captured Auror had already opened the first door and Harry had walked into it.

Harry ducked into the cell and glanced around. A teenage boy with a severe acne problem and a look of fright on his face was sitting on the bed. He was dressed in a shiny pair of jeans, Muggle fashion of the day, and a shirt bearing the latest popular Muggle musical group. He shrunk back in his bed as Harry approached and spoke up with a quavering voice.

"W-What do you want?" He asked, shivering at the coldness of the night. "I've already t-told you, I don't h-have any m-magic, I swear!"

"You do have magic, or you wouldn't be here," Harry disagreed softly. He reached into his robes and pulled out a shiny marble. "This is a prison break. If you want to escape, touch this."

The boy looked completely flabbergasted but took the marble hesitantly. After a few seconds, he vanished without a sound as the Portkey activated, bypassing the Anti-Portkey wards and disappearing to Azkaban, where teams of healers waited. Harry moved out of the cell, closed the doors inaudibly and moved towards the next cell. He commanded the Auror to open it and watched as the Auror placed a key in the lock and turned it. The key was much more than a piece of iron, it was keyed into the wards that layered the cells and turned them off as it opened the door.

Harry walked into this cell, but had to duck as a young girl of about twelve hurled a crumbled rock at him, taken from a cracked stone in the wall. The rock shot past him and suddenly stopped in mid-flight, seconds away from clanging into the rail and drawing attention. He summoned it back to him quickly as he turned to face the livid and frightened girl, who had taken in a deep breath, was prepared to scream.

"Stop!" Harry hissed softly, casting a quick look out of the cell. Luckily nobody had seen or heard anything.

The girl closed her mouth and watched him with a scared but defiant look on her face.

"This is a prison break," Harry told her and enjoyed her bewildered look that washed over her face. He handed her a small marble, which she took dazedly, as if she couldn't believe what was happening. After a few seconds, she disappeared and Harry moved onto the next cell.

Unknown to Harry or the Order, Morsmordre had a monitoring station on the ground floor which monitored all magical activity in the prison. While it was unable to detect individual spells because of the powerful wards that surrounded the complex which interfered with magical detection methods, it was able to pick up a series of Portkey departures, at least twenty five on level three and twelve on level one in under five minutes.

"Are there any scheduled Portkey departures listed?" A worried Auror asked his partner who flipped open a scroll and peered down at it. After a few seconds of scanning the contents, the Auror shook his head and frowned.

"You better alert the Auror's on those floors and see what's happening," He said.

The other Auror nodded and stood up from his cluttered workplace, taking a pinch of powder and throwing it into the flames, which roared green as the Auror stuck his head through it.

The last Muggleborn disappeared from the prison and Harry sighed softly in relief as he climbed out of the cell, brushing off dust and cobwebs from his robes as he peered around. Jordan had just entered the second last cell on the right side of the room, while Bowden was down the far end of the pathway, nodding her head at him in confirmation. Davis and Robert had been placed on guard duty and were no doubt lurking around here somewhere. Suddenly, a clutter of noise broke out from beneath them. Feet pounded along the metal grating as somebody sprinted down the stairs. There were muffled shouts and suddenly blasts of lights illuminated the large courtyard in different shades of colours as curses and hexes were thrown around.

"Reducto!" Somebody screamed; a high-pitched panicked voice.

"Refgra!" Another person boomed, and Harry recognized the deep baritone of Kingsley. The other spell-caster screamed in pain as he or she was presumably struck and started sobbing. Suddenly a piercing alarm shrieked through the air as the prison stirred to life. Harry growled in irritation at the sound of hurrying footsteps above him as Auror's moved in, no longer sleepy or dreading the storm.

They had been discovered.