Blood on my Hands//Closed// Tristan, Isis.

[Ashton Wentworth]

The ride was far longer than he had been wanting, with his ribs still aching and only allowing him to take shallow breaths every few seconds, it had made finishing his cigarette impossible. So without it to make him feel better was putting him in a more foul mood than he would have been if he had been forced to sit this close to Tristan on a regular day. If he had felt that he could have managed it without passing out, he would have kicked the man in the shin for good measure. Sure, he had been a help with Isis, and a very, very minor one at that. It was the most credit that he was able to give the man. The girl next to him was making soft moans in pain every few minutes, or whenever the truck hit a large bump in the road. He was just staring at Tristan, there was nothing else to look at. He couldn't stare at Isis without feeling like some sort of demented pervert. He knew his own head was bobbing every few minutes as the lack of oxygen to his brain was starting to make him feel light headed. He could feel his chest throbbing, not just from his internal injuries but from his badge. No doubt there was a string of messages waiting for him to listen to whenever he got a spare moment to himself. He was really starting to hate the new messaging system. Sure it was nice enough to not have any messages floating around his head, but right now was the worst possible time for him to listen to anything. He didn't want Tristan to get some inflated sense of self worth by listening to privileged ministry information in his presence. His vision was swimming, he wanted to start spewing a stream of insults about everybody and anybody but his mind was else where, dipping between his thoughts and the pain growing in intensity all over his body. He could feel the bruises starting to form. He didn't trust Tristan to heal any part of him, so he was just going to have to suffer in silence.

He could feel the car coming to a stop, he hoped that there would be somebody there to help with Isis, since his adrenaline had stopped along the ride he was going to need all of his strength just to pull himself off of the car and to the ground, maybe they wouldn't mind if he could crawl onto the boat? If there was nobody, he was just going to have to grind his teeth to the marrow and lift her. He wasn't going to let Tristan get the best of him no matter what. The driver had put the vehicle into park and he could hear the man walking around the side to open up the doors from the outside. When the doors were ripped open, his eyes squinted to adjust to the light with a frown, he couldn't quiet bring his arm up to shield his face, it didn't seem to want to lift any higher than about half way. Giving up, he was just going to have to wait till the Captain came over to check them over and load them onto the boat. He wasn't sure if they were going to have to check their wands or not, since they were Ministry officials after all. Tristan might have to, since he didn't have a badge. Merlin he hoped that they were going to take away Tristan's wand. It might just make him feel well enough to walk onto the Ferry instead of crawl. He started to turn to release Isis's arm restraints from where they attached to the truck, he didn't dare to release her all together. He didn't know how long the tonic was going to last and he didn't want to find out by her clawing out his insides halfway to Azkaban. Even though if she did, she wouldn't have much of a choice but to swim all the way to the prison anyway. Only his hands didn't want to reach that high. His fingers turned toward his torso to gingerly touch at the spot where he knew his ribs were broken. His shirt was starting to hurt his skin where the fabric was stuck to him. He wished that he had a spare change of clothing he could summon but he was just going to be stuck in these grimy blood stained and rubble spotted ones until he returned home very late tonight, if he was lucky. Tomorrow morning if he wasn't.

He was going to need help, or else he feared that the lung was going to collapse all together. He knew that healers were capable of wonderful things, but he didn't know if there was a time line that they needed to adhere to before they were just forced to heal the old fashioned way. He knew that even after Stavros had almost killed him that they had fixed him up like almost new in a matter of minutes, and he hoped that this would be the same. Yet, with them headed to a prison where not many people were allowed to venture on a round trip basis he didn't know how long it was going to be until he would come in contact with a healer. Did they have healers at the Prison? He knew that the Dementors wouldn't be very happy with it but he supposed that they must have at least a couple. The people were bound to get sick in that place, unless that was just something that they were forced to endure as part of their incarceration. For his sake, he hoped there would be a healer at the prison who could attend to at least him while he waited for Isis to come around. He needed his lungs to function for smoking, and also for the questioning that he would need. He wondered how far Rutherford had actually planned the emergency drills? Did it include food for him while he was waiting? Sure It was a horrible time to be thinking about food but it would give him something to do. Glancing over at Tristan who had managed to free the ankle shackles he felt like he was slacking, and a gasp of pain left far more loud than he would have liked as he forced his arms to free the wrist restraints. He promptly collapsed in half after he was done. Whenever he looked up, the need to punch Stavros was back, he almost wished that Isis would have finished him off before she had been subdued. The image of Isis once more ripping Stavros' back in half played over in his mind. However it was followed by the vision of his hands grasping his innards and it made him almost nauseous. Normally he had a very strong constitution, he was going to blame it on the broken bones.

The Captain appeared in front of the door, hat tucked under his arm, and hand outstretched to shake their hands. Ashton didn't want to be rude, but he didn't feel like he was going to be able to move much. The man was talking, something about choppy waters, and a long ride ahead of them. Sighing, or groaning, he couldn't be sure his head rolled to the side and his hand wrapped around the edge of the truck, using it to pull himself as far as the end of the metal booth he had been sitting on. Glancing in the direction of the boat, he could have passed out in happiness at the first thing he saw. Green Scrubs. Thank Merlin Rutherford had been insightful enough to put healers on the ferry. They were loading up stretchers to come and get them. The Captain took a step back to let them come out and Ashton let the darkness take over for just a moment. It was better than losing his lunch to the ground. He could hear Tristan being loaded up onto a stretcher beside him, and Isis being strapped down to some sort of table that he imagined would contain just about anything feral for the length of the ride. He hoped that they were going to tranquilize her just to be sure. Even though her body temperature should burn through it fairly quickly he hoped that they could keep dosing her. Besides, he had no idea if her healing had kicked back in yet or not. Whenever he was able to see properly again, it was only in burning heat flashes. Fingers probing into what was apparently a hole in his side where the ribs were poking out, his lung had been fine just a little squashed from the reposition of his bones. His shirt had been removed, and he doubted that he was going to get it back. At least if they changed Isis into a jumpsuit or something , he would have his jacket back. He could remember them pushing his shoulder back into socket and more of that awful blood potion. He felt like he was melting under the sun and all of the things that they were doing to him.

By the time that he was functional again, they had him sitting against the Captains room on his stretcher, Tristan was in the same position next to him on his own floating stretcher. The ocean in front of him was indeed choppy and dark. The waves were causing the boat to bob up and down painfully. He still had a headache which was bound to be expected. There was a tingling in his hands and feet that he couldn't explain. A small healer was hovering between the two of them, repeating the fact that they really shouldn't try moving yet, that they were still setting. Also that they were about half way there and that the Prisoner was still out light and apart from bruising all over her body seemed rather healthy given all that had happened. It wasn't everything that he wanted to know, but it was a start. He started to ease himself forward on the stretcher, only to have a sharp stabbing pain all over his entire body, like every inch of skin was being poked at with something hot. The healer rushed to his side to push him back into the position he was in, muttering small abrasive comments about not listening and putting Ash just the way that he had been and threatening to strap him down if he couldn't follow instructions. Scowling he tried moving his head at least then he could bang it against the wall he was propped against perhaps knock him back out for the remainder of the journey. How badly had he really been injured to be still treated after who knows how long of a time. He hoped they would be given the green light to move soon, he didn't like sitting still and there were some cigarettes in his pocket screaming his name.

He hated boats. There was no way about it. Of course the prison was best located on an island, but ever since that mass break out that had happened all of those years ago they had placed anti-apparation charms the whole path and enforced security in ways that even he wasn't allowed to know. He wouldn't be surprised if only the Minister himself knew exactly how well it was guarded now. Ashton had been to the prison a couple of times before. He had never been forced to use the high-risk entrance, and certainly wasn't looking forward to it now. He had dropped off a few people that he had tracked down over the years. Those who weren't willing to register of their own free will, he had brought them here for a weekend every now and then to scare some sense into them. Those few who had tried to attack him during their meetings, and those who had previous records with the Ministry for previous offenses. He didn't mind dropping off the prisoners so much as he minded sitting in court for hours beforehand. Even still, he had always questioned them at the ministry and then brought them here. Never once had be been forced to bring somebody here to question them. He knew that if and when Isis came back around and was coherent enough to be questioned he was going to be thankful for the help of the dementors and all of the other armed guards. Yet, it was still enough to make him weary. Turning to Tristan he figured it was time to test out his voice again. “I still hate you”

[Deleted]

He was really getting tired of Wentworth staring at him. Tristan didn’t know how long the three of them had been in that rickety truck driving to Vienna’s port, but a majority of the time had been spent staring the other down. Though his wrist was throbbing and now looked deformed, he was close to ignoring the inevitable pain that came from holding down Ashton as he punched him with his semi-good hand. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking at him for since Tristan hadn’t said one thing since they had apprehended the woman and brought her into the truck. Yet he still chose to look at him like this had all been his fault. However, if Ashton really wanted to pull this card, his argument was already lined up. The events of the day had been replaying in his mind over and over, besides the constant hatred for the man sitting across from him. He kept remembering how everything started in the Ministry, then going down to the alley to check out things for himself and then going into the bank. Wentworth had been the one flying into him. Wentworth had cast a spell that kept him stuck to the ground. Wentworth was the reason why the werewolf woman had advanced on him. Every time he had thought about what the man had caused, he just got angrier and angrier. Though he wasn’t expecting anything in the form of an apology Tristan would have thought that maybe, just maybe, he would have gotten a nod of approval for being part of the reason why Ashton hadn’t become dog chow in those last minutes of the battle.

He knew that was too much to ask for though. Honestly, if Ashton had chosen to acknowledge his assistance, Tristan would have laughed in his face thinking it was just another part of his endless sarcasm. He was amazed that they had gotten this far without any sort of physical violence though. This had probably been the longest amount of time either had gone while being in a confined space without throwing a punch to the other’s face. It was fine with him. He was still in no shape to be slamming Wentworth’s ugly face into the walls of the truck, regardless of how easy it would be considering the amount of noise the vehicle was making as it was. The man himself was also in no shape to fight, considerably worse for the wear than Tristan was. He had chuckled a few times at the sight of Ashton’s misery. He could barely breathe and when he did a sickening wheezing sound came from him. He had also been unable to finish his cigarette which Tristan was thankful for given the lack of space separating the two. Several times he had been sure Wentworth had purposely blown a cloud of smoke in his face, but he had ignored it. Watching him suffer now was enough satisfaction for him. He genuinely hoped Ashton would keel over any minute, or at least pass out so he could get at his jacket to see if there was any more of that potion he used on the woman left. From what he had seen from the woman’s reaction, he was willing to bet Wentworth’s would be even worse. Not only because he wasn’t a werewolf, but because he was in an extraordinary amount of pain as it was already. Tristan smiled sinisterly to himself while thinking about Ashton withering in a slow and painful death on the floor of the truck.

In order to keep from punching Wentworth in his face, Tristan often looked towards their prisoner. She was drifting in and out of consciousness and occasionally moaning in pain. So much that if the she-devil hadn’t tried to kill him he might have actually felt sympathy for her. He couldn’t fathom how it was possible for a woman to transform into what he had seen. He wondered what her story was, where she came from and her background. Was she born like that? Was she bitten? When she had been in all of her glory, he hadn’t seen any bite marks but he had been focused on other things to really examine her. Tristan figured it would come out in her report whenever a Healer got to her but until then he was left to wonder for himself. One thing he did know was that she had experience. Even at the Masquerade he could tell that she knew what she was doing. Nothing she did had been on impulse. And to him those kinds were the most dangerous. They were more accurate, more precise. After two times of facing the woman now, he made a note to head back to the library in Alzubra to do his own research on werewolves whenever they came back from Azkaban. He’d die before ever giving Wentworth the satisfaction of being a valuable source of information. The thought of it caused a scowl to form on his face.

Only too thankful for when the truck finally came to a stop, Tristan eagerly waited for the doors to be opened. He knew this was nothing compared to the confines of Azkaban, but it was torture nonetheless. Plus he was ready to be in a wide and open space. His eyes continued to glare into Wentworth’s just to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull any funny business. His fighting may not have been up to its usual par but he would damn sure give every ounce he could if it came down to it. The sound of the lock being opened was music to his ears. Once the doors were pulled open and sunlight poured into the space he had to refrain from jumping out and kissing the ground. Instead, he blocked the sudden light with his elbow and blinked several times to adjust himself. It dawned on Tristan shortly after that this was only the first part of their trip. They still had the boat ride, the prison visit, the boat ride back and then the ride back to the Ministry. Whether Wentworth liked it or not, he was very much part of this and he had no intention of disappointing. This was more than just his pride, this was about his job. The longer he had thought about it on the ride, the more he realized what his actions in the battle had done for him. His actions were going to have to be taken into consideration. Besides saving a life or two, he had aided in bringing down an unregistered criminal, one who had helped turn Gringotts into a bloody warzone for Merlin’s sake. A sense of arrogance came over him as he moved to unshackle the woman’s ankles from the floor. That was the other reason why he needed to keep his temper from getting the best of him. The hope for reconsideration was hanging in front of him on a thread. One false move and it would be cut and everything that he had worked so hard for, the past few months, today, would all be for nothing.

The woman’s arms remained shackled while Tristan heard a thud come from outside. Upon closer inspection, he realized Wentworth’s legs had given out and he was unconscious on the ground. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and began loosening her arms from their restraint. Leave it to him to have to do everything. Though he was worried about releasing the woman from her he knew it had to be done. And it could be helpful to his case that he was the one able to remain awake and help in the transport of the woman to the boat. Once her arms were freed, he carefully slid one arm underneath her and the other to hold onto her right arm then lifted up. It took him a few seconds to adjust himself. Besides making sure he wasn’t purposely touching any part of her exposed body, Tristan needed to put the less amount of weight on his left wrist as possible. At this point however, it was impossible to do anything to make him feel even the slightest bit of relief. He would have to suck it up and pray he’d receive the necessary medical attention en route or at Azkaban. He groaned as he carted the woman to the doors. She was a lot heavier than expected out of form. He passed her off to the Captain’s first mate who then proceeded to walk her to a floating stretcher and began strapping her down with the assistance of other men. At the sight of the stretchers, he couldn’t help but to smile in relief. Healers were standing around them. Wentworth was already on one and he was being beckoned to join him on the last remaining one. Tristan didn’t need to be told twice. Carefully maneuvering himself off of the truck, he hopped down and walked over to his stretcher. When he laid down the thing felt just as heavenly as it looked. Apparently they had been enchanted to make them as comfortable for the two as possible. He allowed himself to drift off to sleep as the stretcher began trailing a Healer to the ship.

His treatment and recovery was going far better than Wentworth’s, giving Tristan a sick satisfaction as the man moaned in pain and took longer to heal. He had been asleep for a majority of his treatment, only rousing when a pain similar to a thousand stabbing needles was felt at his wrist. He had been told the SkeleGro potion had been injected directly at the source since he had been asleep during the healing. The benefit was that his bones would grow back quicker, but potentially more painful. On the bright side though, his face and other wrist looked just as they did before he had entered the bank earlier that day. His lip was no longer split and his vision was clear. His right wrist was bandaged but he told it had been simply for precaution. All in all, Tristan was surprised that he hadn’t been subject to more damage during the battle, especially when the werewolf sent him flying into a wall near the end. At the thought of the woman, he was curious as to what was happening with her. However, he knew he would be unable to receive an update until Wentworth had fully woken up. He was really starting to get tired of having to wait on him for everything. Instead, he sat with his back against the wall of the room they were in and enjoyed the last bit of relaxation he would get before things kicked back into gear. Unwilling to linger on everything that had happened in the past few hours, Tristan instead chose to think about the work he had waiting for him on his desk. There were contracts for every member of the Austrian Quidditch team that needed his inspection to make sure that everyone got the best in the long run. There were also several papers that had just arrived the other day requiring the signature of every Head of Magical Sports and Games of every Ministry who had a country partaking in the World Cup. There were sure to be a few Howlers waiting for him once he got back to the office at taking so long to respond.

Thoughts about work continued to dominate his mind until Ashton had finally woken for good. The two now sat in a similar position on separate stretchers. Wentworth had attempted to move a couple of times, but to Tristan’s enjoyment, suffered every time his head bobbled to the left or right. It was also funny to hear the Healer that had continued to keep watch over them more or less insult him for not being able to obey orders. He didn’t know why the man was so insistent on moving. The stretchers were nothing short of divine and he personally had no desire to shorten his time of comfort. Besides, the Healer had already told them that the werewolf was stabilized and that she was still restrained to wherever they had put her. Let someone else deal with her until they were a hundred percent. In the back of his mind, Tristan knew that Wentworth was thinking the same thing. If it hadn’t been for the mysterious appearance of levitating rubble, it was very possible that they could have been two of the bodies the Ministry would be unable to recognize if it hadn’t been for their badges. Just because they had the momentum and adrenaline running through their veins didn’t mean that both could take down a werewolf with their cracked ribs or broken wrists. It was better to wait until they had fully healed before taking on that crazy bitch again. They had to swallow their pride for a little while longer.

The sound of Wentworth’s voice brought him back to the present. ”I still hate you.” Chuckling, Tristan shook his head and turned it to the side to glare at the man on the stretcher next to his. “I loathe you,” he responded, wishing he had something to chuck at the ribs he still assumed were healing. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Ashton had so quickly become hostile again. Actually, he was assuming it would have come earlier during the truck ride. Then again, he had probably been smart for once in his life and realized that fighting in the presence of a werewolf, regardless of the effects she was currently undergoing, may not have been the smartest idea. Thinking of her caused another scowl to form on his face. As much as he hated to do it, he needed to ask the question. “Who is she?” he asked, doing his best to keep the resentment directed at the prisoner. “I think I deserve that much.” He didn’t want her whole life story if the man knew it. Tristan just needed to know her name so he could do his own digging on her whenever they were back at work.

[Ashton Wentworth]

The gentle rocking of the boat was enough to make him want to vomit. He didn't think that he had done that yet, which was surprising considering how long he had been sitting next to Stavros. He didn't want to look at the water anymore, the clear blue almost green color of the water was how he imagined his skin to look. Sort of like a cartoon character that turned a nasty shade of green before losing their lunch all over the place. Well, if he was going to lose whatever was in his stomach, he really wanted to do it exorcist style and make it land all over Stavros' smug face. The image of opening his mouth as wide as he could get it, and ruining Stavros' day was a very pleasant one indeed. Since he still couldn't move properly, and the obnoxious healer was still watching him like a hawk he started to take a mental check of his body, he inhaled as deeply as he could and was glad that it didn't feel the same pains or hear the annoying wheezing. His attention turned to the man in the scrubs, waiting to have the go ahead to move again. He wasn't sure how long they had left but he certainly didn't want to be on this boat for much longer. They were going to need to sedate him again if it was another hour or so. He couldn't think of much worse than sitting here in this tense silence. Sleep would be better. Of course, the only thing worse would be what was in store for Isis for however long her sentence was going to be. He personally hoped that she was going to get life behind those soul sucking bars and never see the moonlight again. He wondered what would happen if she couldn't ever see the lunar cycle again? Would she still change? Obviously she could change at will so it shouldn't be a problem. He wouldn't be surprised in the least bit if she became the Ministry's new testing agent. He assumed that they would offer her the deal of a shortened sentence in exchange for testing out that little purple tonic and all of the changes that they made to it whenever they felt like it. Of course, there was no way that she was going to escape being registered now, he would have her sign the paperwork by force this evening if he needed to and have it filed and her name on the permanent roster by morning. He almost couldn't wait to tell her.

“I loathe you,” Good. So long as they still had an understanding. This wasn't likely to happen again and while he was inevitably tied to Stavros for the next few hours, and however many hours at work he was going to have to put up with him for standard things like reports and briefings, he would use every opportunity that he could get now that he was in working order again to pummel him into whatever hard surface they could come across, whenever he felt like it. He knew that Stavros didn't think that just because they had worked together once that it was ever going to happen again. It was just a freak coincidence. Yet, he had helped. He wasn't going to admit it, no it certainly wasn't going to happen. At least, out loud he wasn't going to admit it. Internally, he knew that if it hadn't been for Tristan holding her down in those last few minutes, she would have ripped his throat from his body. He had been at fault for part of the mess, but he had saved Stavros too by being the one to inject the she devil. They could play at that game, arguing over who really was the one who saved the day all day long and never come to a consensus. Then again, they both would have been dead if it weren't for those bits of rubble that had landed on her at such a convenient time. He didn't like being humbled any more that he could admit to being wrong. Ever. Yet there it was, playing over and over again in his mind. Those large rocks falling, her body collapsing on top of his own. Then it would play in reverse and stop just as her face was leaning closer to his, that putrid breath filling his nose and making him want to pass out the look of feral hunger in her eyes as she looked at him, condemning her to a painful death. If he focused on it much longer the curiosity of who it was exactly that had saved his life would get to him and he would go nuts, he needed to push it as far from his mind as he could until he was filling out the report on today, which he hoped wouldn't need to be done until sometime next month. There was enough else to fill up his time until then regarding the incident that would be hands on work that if he couldn't get somebody else to fill out the report for him while he dictated then he would at least put it off for as long as he could.

There was absolutely no part of him that was looking forward to seeing Rutherford any time soon. Whenever he did return to work he was aware of how it was going to go, he was going to have to sit and listen to a long winded lecture while he stared absently into space. Rutherford was no doubt going to ask him and endless amount of questions and want it all put into a report that was going to wear his fingers to the bone. Of course he was going to have to take part in the questioning of all of the numerous witnesses, meaning more time spent in the hospital. Which was something that he certainly wasn't looking forward to in the slightest. Every person was going to have to fill out an incident report, then an opinion card to see how they personally feel the Ministry could have prevented this now and in the future, what the Ministry could do for them and then answer any questions that they could have. The fact that they had apprehended such a dangerous member of his followers was going to be a good card to play. No doubt the papers would be all over it. He would have to attend the press conferences since he was the only one in his department, and of course his department would have to be made pubic which he didn't like the sounds of. He wasn't cut out to be a public figure. Then of course he was going to have to sit on the review board for Tristan once again. That would be worse than any of the rest of it, he was going to have to testify as to Stavros' help in the matter and it just might be easier to curse himself rather than admit to anything positive about the man that he loathed so much. The only positive that he would be able to see in any of this would be that Stavros just might give up the annoying mantra that Ashton was a Death Eater.

“Who is she?” He opened his mouth to answer. Then he remembered who it was that was asking the question. Knowing full well that it would irritate Stavros more to not be answered. Rolling his head around to look back at Tristan with a smirk he knew Stavros could do nothing about he chanced a shrug. It just felt like his body was waking up from being asleep now. Just the irritating tingling feeling “That's classified” he was still reeling from the information himself. He had gotten a bad feeling about her from the moment she had stepped into his office. He had known that there was something wrong from her golden eyes to the fact that she was investigating him for no reason. There was so much more to her than just an official, than just a werewolf or a follower and he intended to find out. He had no regard for her privacy or her rights since she had none for him. She had been following him for a long time after their first meeting, and given what he knew now it was all the more curious to him. Sure, she had been very stealthy about it but since he had placed a tail on her as well (one that didn't find out very much about her apparently) he had found out. She was obviously working for the Dark Lord, and he was somehow intimately tied to Kaydence somehow. He knew that she was a Death Eater as well, but there was something else. From the way he looked at her, it was more personal than that. He couldn't possibly feel this jealous and protective over a business relationship. Wasn't that the best classification for his followers to him? He was trying to put the pieces together, and that was just making his headache worse. Shouldn't they be giving him something to fight that sort of thing?

“I think I deserve that much.” Ashton scoffed. He wanted to disagree, to tell him that he didn't deserve anything and was in need of a serious ego check. Yet, he didn't. He did deserve some basic information since they were no doubt expected to question her together. With any luck though, he would be able to convince the higher ups to let him do all the talking and to make Tristan just stand in the background since it was his first time and all. It wouldn't be an unreasonable request, and he would get much satisfaction from making Tristan sit on the sidelines. Straightening his arms out with only moderate protest from the healer, he used them to force his body to sit up straighter on the cot. It was painful at first, using his arms for anything but it was a good hurt. Like lifting too much weight for a day and then the morning after having to use those arms to brush your teeth. Whenever he was situated he looked over at Tristan, bringing his legs up and folding them in front of himself until they looked not dissimilar to a pretzel. “I'll answer your question, and you will answer one of mine” it was a game he had played whenever he was a child, only now it seemed the only way that both men were going to get what they wanted from the other. He didn't wait for confirmation from Stavros, because he wasn't going to take no for an answer. “Isis Moswen. International Representative for Europe” he knew that Tristan would understand that it was a ministry position, and a fairly high ranking one at that. He didn't know if Tristan would fully grasp the gravity of her having that title at first, but no doubt it would sink in over time.

The healer seemed like he wanted to interject that they shouldn't be talking so much, and that Ashton had no business moving around like he was but he too seemed far too interested in what Ashton had to say. Yet, Ashton was only telling Tristan because he was honestly going to need to know for later this afternoon. He would find out anyway but it would save time if he was filled in on the basics before they even got there. Craning his neck to the healer the man turned away to look like he hadn't been hanging off of every word they were saying “Listen, If I can't get up yet, I'm going to need you to give me updates every 15 minutes on the prisoner, understand?” The man seemed confused at first, and then understood that Ashton was telling him to get lost or become useful and get Ashton healing faster. He wandered over and sprayed something on Ashton's face without warning, it was cool on his face, but it didn't feel like water and sunk in almost instantly. The healer was rubbing his small hands together after coating them in some sort of balm and rubbed it directly onto Ashton's tender ribs down to his hip nodded once and exited the room. He was starting to feel better, whatever he sprayed on his face felt like it was getting rid of his headache. He hoped the man was going to check on Isis, even though Ashton wanted to be the one doing it himself. Yet, he was resigned to his cot for the foreseeable future. Flexing the fingers on his hand just to test his range of movement little by little he turned back to Stavros. “No point in checking. Her file is squeaky clean. It's annoying actually” He knew his own was littered with basic information, the good highlight reel of his accomplishments so far in his position, a few bad things, copies of the death records for his late wife and then his record. Small bar fights, a few larger fights but nothing so awful that could have kept him from getting the job that he wanted obviously. He had pulled hers right after their little meetings and had found nothing interesting that he couldn't have guessed for himself. It had gotten him nowhere and that was why he had put a tail on her. Even asking around her department had yielded little results. Everybody seemed to adore her or was jealous of her which was to be expected from a woman that looked the way she did.

He didn't want to hear the annoying side comments that Tristan was no doubt thinking whenever he asked his question. The truth was that he didn't know the name of the Dark Lord and he was going to need to know and not just for business reasons. Whenever he got around to confronting Kaydence (and he would even if she had tried to skip the country, he could work anywhere which was the perks of his position) he would need to know his name for their sake and for the questions he had brewing in his mind. He also just wanted to know the name of the person who had caused him so much grief. “What's his name? The Dark Lord or whatever” He didn't look Tristan in the eyes because he knew that it would amuse him too much, he kept his face stone blank and looked at a spot just past Tristan's head, little groups of fish were making bubbles in the wake of the ferry behind them.

[Deleted]

Tristan hissed through his teeth as another sharp pain came from his left wrist. He had been forced to take SkeleGro once or twice during his Quidditch years back at school and like now, neither had left him with a pleasant memory. The worst one though was during his sixth year. He had been blocking the quaffle from going into his middle hoop when a bludger appeared out of nowhere and shattered his femur. It was a pain that he had never experienced before and hoped never to have to again. After he had been taken to the hospital wing in the castle, he had been forced to stay overnight and a majority of the next day for evaluation. SkeleGro had been administered to him after the Healer had given his leg a thorough examination. The pain started after Tristan had been asleep for an hour and only intensified with every passing one after that. By the time it was late night, it felt like his leg was being stabbed over and over by a knife that kept piercing his skin. He was usually able to take pain like a man, but that had forced him to yell out in agony for the remainder of the night. He had been so angry with the Healer for not attending to him regardless of knowing that nothing was wrong with him besides his bone growing back. From then on, he had resolved to never break another bone in his body for as long as he lived. He sure did well on that promise. Wincing slightly as he fingers grazed over the bandages, Tristan contemplated risking everything to jump off the stretcher and head off in search of that bloody werewolf so he could bash her head in with his good hand. She had been the reason why he was being forced to endure this torture. If she wouldn’t have tried to kill him, none of them would be in the positions they were now.

Yet, in a strange way, Tristan was glad the werewolf had made him her intended target. If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t be swaying back and forth on a boat going to Azkaban. Nor would he surely be sent up to see Rutherford upon their arrival back to Austria. The frown that had been on his face slowly turned into a small smirk. There had to be nothing but good things coming from this. HAD to be. He had done just as much as Wentworth had when it came to taking down the werewolf woman. He had conveniently brought her over to where he and Ashton had been, made himself a distraction while Wentworth got his special little potion, used her moment of weakness to pounce on her and keep her right where she was at so Ashton could inject the syringe into her neck, and kept her captured while waiting for the truck that had picked them up. If Wentworth tried to play it off like his involvement was nothing, Tristan wouldn’t stand for it. The prat may have hated him almost as much as he did, but even he should be man enough to admit the part he played in capturing the she-beast. He had a feeling though that when the Healers reported back to Rutherford about the condition both he and Wentworth had been in upon their pick up that the man would be smart enough to put two and two together. There was no possible way that Ashton would have been able to take on a raging werewolf alone with the injuries he had sustained, no matter how skilled he was at what he did. Tristan had felt her strength and speed firsthand. If he had been as damaged as Wentworth, neither one of them might have made it out alive. He was by no means saying that he was the reason the woman had been captured, as much as he would have liked to, they both played their parts in apprehending her.

There was still that thought in the back of his mind though. The mysterious rubble that had appeared out of nowhere and then been dropped to make her collapse. Tristan had no earthly idea who it was that could have aided in her capture. Secretly, he was grateful for it. He had never taken on a werewolf before. He had no clue as to what tricks to use to subdue her and the such. If it hadn’t been for that rubble, the two would have either wasted more time getting her to the point where they could coerce her into her natural form or much worse. It did hurt his pride a bit that it hadn’t been all their doing. He would have preferred all the secret and public glories go to them. That they had been the ones, and them alone, to save what was left of Gringotts bank and its inhabitants from an untimely demise. He doubted the mystery caster would ever reveal themselves, but Tristan figured it wouldn’t matter. They would have the ultimate satisfaction in knowing their part in the circumstance. He brought his right hand to the back of his head and scratched at it. It wouldn’t do to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed. What had happened happened. And it did the way that it had supposed to have been. In time perhaps they would learn the identity of the rubble thrower, but for now they would have to take what had been given to them and roll with it. No doubt the Ministry spokespeople would have a field day with their triumph and blow the whole thing out of proportion anyway.

Tristan was waiting for Wentworth’s answer to his question. He had a nagging feeling that the man was going to be difficult, but he always had feelings of ire when it came to the wanker. ”That’s classified.” He was beginning to be able to read the man like a damn book. Every look, every movement gave him some foreshadowing of what garbage was to come spewing out of Ashton’s mouth. Sighing angrily, he did his best to keep the vision of knocking his enemy off of his magical stretcher and forcing his head to bounce over and over again off of the floor of the boat. “Cut the crap Wentworth,” he warned, sitting up a bit straighter. Don’t pull that shit with me.” His words seemed to have worked. After adjusting himself, Ashton answered. ”I’ll answer your question, and you will answer one of mine.” Tristan scoffed and rolled his eyes. It seemed like they had all the time in the world, but he wasn’t up for playing a game of ‘I tell, you tell’. He just wanted the blasted name and remain in silence for the duration of the boat ride. He was anxious to see the condition the woman was in anyway. The Healer had said that she was still sedated, but he wanted to see for himself. He was curious if she was slowly regaining her abilities and what sort of security was in place if she just so happened to turn while they were still on the boat. He didn’t have to be a full-time Auror to know the danger it would cause to everyone on board. Of course it helped that him and Wentworth were in much better condition now then they had been on arrival, but how much could be done with limited supply in relatively small quarters? Tristan’s hand moved around his torso and thighs. He didn’t even know where his damn wand was at if such a scenario arose.

He could feel Wentworth’s eyes peering into him. If he didn’t answer, he would have no choice but to remain ignorant to the woman’s identity. Ashton clearly knew who she was making him, at this moment, Tristan’s only hope for some sort of understanding. Sighing again, he nodded once. He’d play along with his little game. ”Isis Moswen. International Representative of Europe.” The gravity of the title sunk in almost immediately. This was not going to look good for the country. Once the press got hold of her name and her title, there was no doubt in his mind that the Austrian Ministry would be flooded with calls from other government agencies across the continent. He was willing to wager that some would probably even consider burning treaties they had with Austria out of anger for the country not knowing who it had working for them. A low whistle came from his lips. He couldn’t help but to wonder if this would reject Austria’s bid for representation in the World Cup. It was too much for him to think about now but Tristan knew that such news could cause a ripple effect that could potentially devastate the country. He was intrigued. How long had she been able to keep up the façade? How had she not given herself away or made other suspicious? Was she really that good at keeping up false appearances? So many questions were running through his mind that if he didn’t stop thinking them now he was going to get a massive headache. There was one thought that lingered in his mind however. What if this delayed his inevitable board hearing for active status? Tristan suddenly felt very down. If it wasn’t one thing, it was always another. He wasn’t even sure if this would affect him personally, but with the amount of time it had taken for him to be considered already, he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took even more.

His low feeling only got worse as he heard Wentworth instruct the Healer to give him updates on Moswen. Tristan yearned to have the power to say something like that to someone. To feel in charge. He was in charge in his own department, but it never gave him the fulfillment he knew being a full-time Auror would. It wasn’t all about the power for him though. It was the sense of accomplishment. Finally being rewarded for his hard work and persistence in going for a job he knew that he had been put on this earth for. Quidditch had been and was still a good portion of his life, but in the years he had been at the Ministry he learned that it didn’t give him the ability to help people, well not in the sense of giving them winnings for betting on him in a national game or anything. No one could ever seem to understand that. Looking back over to Wentworth, he suppressed a laugh at the sight of the man being front massaged by the tiny man Healer. While he was sure the long on Ashton’s face was only that of relief that his pain was subsiding, Tristan thought that it was too rich, and also quite disturbing, to see him so pleased with another man’s hands rubbing all over him. “That puts so much into perspective,” he said to himself, not fighting the smile that took the place of his laughing. As soon as the Healer was gone he had every intention of making fun of what was currently happening. As the man’s hands went lower, however, Tristan was forced to look away. That was just uncomfortable.

He chose to focus his mind back on Isis Moswen. However, it seemed like Wentworth was able to read his thoughts. “No point in checking. Her file is squeaky clean. It's annoying actually.” Tristan’s eyebrow arched. “What do you mean it’s clean? Are you sure you did your research thoroughly? It’s hard to believe that a she beast like that hasn’t done anything to gain Ministry attention here or in other countries.” Unless she was just that good. He stared off into the distance. “Are you sure that’s really her name? What if it’s just an alias she used so she wasn’t found out?” If the Ministry had gone this long without knowing her true identity, surely there was a way they’d be unable to see past her deception. If that was her real name though, there had to be somewhere in the world that had information on file for her. “Where was she born?” Tristan asked suddenly. Birthplaces were always good places to start. His question went unanswered, much to his dismay. Ashton had apparently grown tired of listening to his questions and was ready to ask his own. He wondered what exactly the man had to ask him though. If he was about to get smart with him, then Tristan was going to break his jaw. No questions about it. He was already playing this game with him. He didn’t want to add another into the mix.

“What's his name? The Dark Lord or whatever.” His eyes squinted as if he had trouble hearing what he just said. Was he really trying to go there? After what Tristan had witnessed only a few hours ago? Wentworth had been right there with Kaydence and her brother Darren. The way they were talking looked damn clear to him that they knew each other well. The confusion quickly turned to anger. “Come off of it Wentworth,” he responded. “I’d rather not talk about your betrayal to your country right now.” He was tired of sitting down. Pushing himself from the stretcher he got up and walked towards a window. The skies outside were grey and it seemed the further they pressed on, the darker they got. The waves kept getting choppier as well. There was a storm off into the distance and he hoped they wouldn’t be caught up in it. Tristan didn’t mind being in a boat, but he did mind being in one when he was surrounded by nothing more than endless and angry waves. “Don’t try to tell me that your little honey bee failed to tell you about big brother being the leader of the Dark side.” Folding his arms together, he finally let loose the laugh that he had been holding in for so long. “Darren Morgan was the head of your worthless house for Merlin’s sake. You would have to be an idiot to not know his name.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

The reality of the situation was this; he had no idea where to even start with Isis. He had an abundance of questions, a go deal of them were highly personal and he was going to need to figure out a way to make them fit into the given questions that the ministry needed to have answered. He obvious ones of course, the where is he hiding, what are his plans weren't going to get anything out of her. That much was obvious. He knew from first hand experience how far she was willing to go to get her information. Of course now, the chances of that happening any time soon were slim to none. The image of her bent backwards over his desk flashed before his eyes, but was quickly replaced by the image of her swiping at his torso and his eyes clamped shut, pushing the vision far into the recesses of his memory. They had to be at least halfway there by now, he couldn't be sure because he couldn't see the sky properly from where he was sitting. It was a very small room and to not have windows was just a little strange. He wanted to know exactly how long he had been out, but the healer had conveniently forgotten to mention that part. Ashton made a mental note to ask him how much further it was whenever he came back into the room. Perhaps the strange creature would actually clear him for movement and he could go up and ask the captain himself. He was cleared for that sort of thing after all, perhaps he would even be able to make Stavros sit into the room. He really was hoping that the man would get some sort of guest badge in the room and not be allowed to say or touch anything in the prison. Just a helpless observer. Ashton might not be able to report negative things about him from the fight, but he sure as hell would point out every shortcoming during the questioning process. He was going to have to be on his very best behavior, and he doubted that it needed to be brought to his attention. Whether Stavros liked it or not, he was going to have to do some more ass kissing, and keep his damn mouth shut to get any sort of recommendation from Ashton. Tristan might currently have one foot in the door, but he wasn't a done deal yet.

The moment Stavros learned the woman's true identity, the questions began swimming across his face. Apparently, he wasn't as dimwitted as Ashton liked to think that he was. He watched in silence, waiting for the inward dialogue to stop so that he could ask his own question. He didn't blame him for being curious. If Ashton had been the kind of man to worry about the future he might be in a tizzy about now. He of course would have to be attempting to do a dozen things at once, something that he didn't much care to do. In times like this, it was very fortunate that he was generally mellow whenever it came to situations of stress. He just didn't see the point in worrying. Generally, it was best that way for his job. It allowed him to spring into action rather than think about the best thing, strategy or even the repercussions of doing such a thing. He did know that he was in for a large headache the second they stepped foot back on Austrian soil, but for now he was going to just have to wonder about how he was going to work his personal questions in with his professional ones. Perhaps he could ask for some private time with her, maybe even before they got there, while she was still under sedation. People tended to talk far more freely than they did whenever they were completely sober. “What do you mean it’s clean? Are you sure you did your research thoroughly? It’s hard to believe that a she beast like that hasn’t done anything to gain Ministry attention here or in other countries.” Ashton couldn't help but smile. The urge to gloat was just too strong to fight. At least that let him know that his mind was back in working order again. Hanging his head it shook softly and he came back up smiling. “I am the active Auror here. “I do know how to do my job far better than somebody who plays with balls for a living.” Of course he had checked thoroughly. While he did have a point, it was exceedingly strange that she didn't have any record anywhere, not even so much as a public intoxication. Looking into her past, visiting her family and tracking down her relatives had been next on his list. Of course that was going to be pushed back now that he had so much else to do, but he was going to threaten her with her family if she refused to answer any of his questions. That, and more of the tonic which of course he didn't have. But she didn't know that. He felt he was going to have pretty sufficient bargaining chips when the time came down to it. More than anything he was looking forward to the look on her face whenever she woke up and realized where she was, and that she was going to be there for a very, very long time.

“Are you sure that’s really her name? What if it’s just an alias she used so she wasn’t found out?” This was getting annoying. This was the third question and Ashton had yet to get any answers for himself. Turning to have his back up against the wall again he began to hit the back of his head up against the wall in an attempt to drown out the sound of the other man's voice. Obviously he thought that Ashton had the mental capacity of a three year old, and he was fed up with it. Even if Ashton had been incompetent, he would think that since Stavros was also an employee of the Ministry he would remember that everybody gets questioned with veritiserum before they are allowed to start work, so of course it was her real name. They also matched up statements with school history since most of the people started working right out of school. He was just being stupid, and that was part of why he had never been granted active status. He was going to need a kick in the teeth soon. Part of being on the magical enforcement floor meant that you had to have a relative trust that everybody else was doing their jobs correctly. Stavros didn't need to like him, Ashton was pretty sure that if the man ever attempted to be nice to him on a regular basis, Ashton might just vomit. Yet, Ashton was very good at his job, Obviously. More than one source had told him that. He didn't dignify the question with a response. “Where was she born?” More questions. He didn't even bother looking in Stavros' direction. No matter what he said he was going to pull the file and find out for himself. It was what he would have done, had the situation been reversed. Of course if he had been forced to work with Quidditch players, he might just kill himself and be done with it so that he didn't have to be such an utter waste of space like Stavros was. Whenever the man finally shut up long enough for Ashton to hear himself think, he had asked his question. He had turned back to face him, waiting eagerly for an answer. He had no however, been expecting that look from Stavros. He didn't like to be made to feel stupid. He had the strong urge to leap forward off of his stretcher and punch the man's eye socket in on itself. He clamped his mouth shut. He should have just waited, looked it up himself whenever they made port.

He couldn't honestly still think that Ashton was one of them, could he? If he was really that bumbling stupid, Ashton would eat his badge. “Come off of it Wentworth,” He stared blankly, confused. He had thought that they had resolved this matter whenever he had exposed his forearm earlier. He glanced down at that same exposed forearm now. He really didn't believe him? If it were any other subject he wouldn't have cared in the least, but they were working on the same side and he really needed to understand that. His face furrowed, and he glanced down at the badge hanging against his exposed torso, it was going to be a bitch to have to eat it. But it seemed that he really was just that horribly unintelligent. “I’d rather not talk about your betrayal to your country right now.” His eyes rolled as the man rose to his feet. There was no betrayal, perhaps a few swift punches to the back of his head would clear out his head a bit. His eyes followed the man's body as he crossed over to the window that Ashton couldn't see from his sitting position. He was honestly dumbfounded by the news, he was going to follow the man over to where he stood and beat some sense into him, but he started speaking again. “Don’t try to tell me that your little honey bee failed to tell you about big brother being the leader of the Dark side.” His heart dropped to his stomach. That couldn't possibly be true. He knew that they didn't exactly discuss their pasts by any means, and they certainly didn't ask each other questions of any kind but that wasn't the sort of thing that one usually forgets to mention. Her brother? That would explain the intimacy they had. It was a family bond, on the one hand he felt marginally better that the man wasn't any sort of competition, but then quickly corrected himself. They were done, even more so if her brother was what Tristan claimed him to be. His eyes dropped to the floor, hoping that Tristan wasn't watching him as his brain attempted to catch up on the information. There hadn't been a single clue, not even a hint at what he was before just a few short hours ago. Had she just planned on stringing him along forever, hoping that he wouldn't ever find out what an abomination that she was? She must have thought very little about him after all. He had to assume that she was just playing with him this whole time, and figured he was some bartender in some dive that wasn't of any importance. His hands gripped the edge of the stretcher. Slowly, he slid his body forward, he shook his head to himself, no that couldn't be true. Stavros was just trying to hurt him. “Darren Morgan was the head of your worthless house for Merlin’s sake. You would have to be an idiot to not know his name.”

He tried to remember, to think back to school. Except, he hadn't gone. He didn't pay attention and the few classes that he did go to, he slept through. His eyes moved about as he tried to fit the pieces together but they didn't want to fit easily. He hadn't ever met with the head of his house, he didn't spend much time in his dorm except to sleep, and the only thing he did on the grounds regularly was eat. Being head of house implied that he was a teacher of some sort, but he didn't remember ever seeing that face before today. How was it possible not to remember any of this? His hands moved to his head, running through his hair. The anger at being so ignorant to how she really was started to take over his mind. He didn't want to wait any longer for the report. Rising to his feet he grabbed a spare scrub shirt off of the rack on the side of the room with all of the medical supplies and fished into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, hoping that there was at least something in the pack that was savable. His hands were shaking and for the first time since getting onto this boat he was angry at something more than he was at Tristan. He didn't give an excuse, just plucked half of a cigarette from his pocket and started to head out the door. He pulled the thing closed behind him quickly before Tristan would have a chance to follow him out. He needed to work through this before Tristan started to make fun of him, and call him names or else Ashton might just throw him off the side of the boat and let him fend for himself. It was only a small walk way, since it was a small boat. He grabbed onto the railing tightly, more out of anger than fear of the way that the boat was whipping about. The waves were splashing up over the side of the boat and licking at his boots. Wishing he still had his jacket, which he hoped they didn't dispose of after getting it off of her body. He assumed they would already have her dressed in her prison uniform. The black and white stripes really didn't look good on anybody. He made his way toward the front of the desk, pretty sure that Stavros had to be following him by now, the man was so desperate for the job he wasn't going to let out of his sight. Which was unfortunate because space would have been very beneficial right now. The harsh winds were making it hard to keep the cigarette lit, but he took as large of a drag as he could while pulling the green fabric over his torso to help stave off a tiny fraction of the wind. Leaving the smoke in his mouth he picked up a random crate from the side and threw it with all of his might off the boat, watching it with his eyes as it sunk below the boat, no doubt shredded by the motor. He gripped the railing and leaned over the edge, letting the sight of the water whipping up the sides of the boat help calm him down. He needed to keep his mind focused on work, but that was going to be very difficult now.

If he squinted, very far off in the distance he could see the dot of an Island that was Azkaban, so hopefully they would be there within the next half hour, provided that they didn't have to slow down due to the coming storm. The waters were starting to turn back, but he wasn't sure if this was really nature in it's fury, or just residual off of the deterrent charms placed around the prison. Of course they wouldn't want muggles coming around and mucking about on the island, so it tended to push most boats off course, except for the designated ferries of course. He breathed deeply, still reeling from the news about Kaydence. How could he have been so foolish? He resolved to have to track her down after this, he deserved an explanation from the lying wench. And he was going to get it, she had strung him along and played him thus far. Yet, he wasn't going to allow her to hussy herself out of this one. A light, but freezing rain then hit the boat, they had to be crossing the protection spells now, sure enough, the waters got even worse, and he was forced to hang onto the railing so as not to loose his footing. He heard somebody struggling to come up behind him. If Tristan was here to gloat, he was going to throw him off just like he had the crate. “Oh Sod off already” but the voice continued approaching. Turning around he grasped the person by the shoulders, ready to use the rocking of the boat to his advantage and heave. A terrified squeak came and he focused on who he was looking at. It was just the healer. Frustrated, he set the man down, and pushed the shoulder of his shirt back into place “Just....w-wanted to l-let you k-know that the l-lady is starting to s-stir” He wanted to believe that it was just the freezing rain making him stammer so, but he knew it was because he had to of frightened the man more than he deserved. Nodding once Ashton felt slightly guilty, “Thank you” he mumbled and the man bolted back in the direction of what he guessed was the sick bay room that he and Tristan had been in earlier. Glancing back at the main part of the boat he glimpsed Tristan looking far too smug for his liking on the side of the boat that he had just come from. His eyes narrowed, no longer wanting to speak to the man. Flicking the last tiny bit of his cigarette in the man's direction he walked over to the other said of the hull and grabbed onto that railing, still quiet a bit shaken up, and enraged at what he had just learned. Smoothing down the hem of his now frozen shirt he almost wished that he hadn't even bothered with it, and pushed down the door handle and into the room. Two large prison officials were on either side of the door, and instantly asked him for his badge. Lifting it with slightly blue, shaking hands they permitted him to enter. He hoped that his wand was in this room, since he knew that he had to of been searched at some point.

It was smaller than the room that he had been in before. It only had one light mounted to the ceiling, it was a flickering, florescent thing that wasn't often used in the wizarding world, but it was making Isis' normally tan skin look very green. She was on a plain metal table in the middle of the room, directly under the light. She looked not much better than she had in the van, other than the fact that she was no longer bleeding, and her skin seemed flawless once again except for a rather strange looking bump on the side of her neck, must have been from where he had stabbed her, apparently that sort of thing just doesn't heal. She was in her uniform, and It hung off of her small frame, her feet were bare, no doubt they didn't have just generic shoes for her to wear. Her arms and legs were strapped down tightly, and the cuffs looked almost like they were a part of the table. It had to be something special made so that she couldn't just break free. There was an IV in her arm, with some sort of pale orange fluid being pumped into her system by a drip. He didn't know what it was, and didn't much care to ask either. Aside from the guards on the door, another with a tranquilizer gun sat on a small metal bench by her feet, and a healer was hovering around her head. He assumed it was a healer anyway, since it was wearing scrubs and seemed to be listening to some sort of body function. He wasn't sure who to ask for information, they all obviously knew who he was, should he have gone to the captain instead? He should know whats going on in his ship anyway. Running a hand over his have in attempt to get his blood flowing again he then rubbed his hands together “What's her status?” He said to nobody in particular. Hoping that somebody was going to answer him, and tell him what their plan was for waking her up and getting her into the building whenever there was a rustling noise from behind him. Turning to look he smirked at the sight of Tristan, the wands of the two guards pressed up against his throat ”He's got no badge” He looked Tristan right in the eyes, almost as a warning to not bring up what they had been talking about earlier. He had the power to keep the man out, but didn't want to listen to Stavros' voice any longer, nor hear him start to cry being he wasn't being allowed to play with the big boys. Ashton waived his hand, as if to signal the two men to let him in. Slowly, hesitantly they lowered their wands. Now, he just needed to wait for an answer.

[Deleted]

Tristan tried not to show it on his face, but was eagerly anticipating Wentworth’s reaction. He figured he would play dumb, deny everything. It was what he had been taught after all. There was a part of him, however, that prayed he’d detect some sort of slip-up in Ashton’s face. Maybe overly confused widened eyes. A nervous twitch of some sort. It was a long shot but he could hope. He was slowly starting to convince himself that his full-time Auror status was inevitable. What if he was able to bring in yet another undercover DeathEater working for the Dark Lord? He could become head of all the bloody Aurors or something. A smirk came to his lips as he thought about it. It would easily be the quickest promotion in Austrian Ministry history. Tristan could see his name and face in the papers. His family would be bursting with pride over his impressive accomplishment. Most importantly, he was sure it would attract the attention of more than a few witches. He wasn’t normally the one to bed a woman and then move on to another the next night, but it was possible he’d give himself a reward for his hard work. It had been almost four years in the making now. Even better, it would give him the opportunity to forget about a certain wit, no, vampire who had ensnared him in a false relationship. Thinking about Keara caused the smirk to disappear from his face. Now was not the time to bring her into this. He was going to have enough on his plate within these next few weeks to even remember those blood red eyes that had saved him from the she beast. She was out of the picture now. There was no point in dwelling on the past when there was so much in the future to look forward to.

The reaction he had been waiting for never came. Wentworth didn’t speak a single word. Tristan’s gaze never left him as he watched the man appear to let the news sink in. Ashton’s eyes were focused on the ground, his face contorting into bewilderment. His own face slowly began to do the same. Except he was more baffled as to how Wentworth was about to put on such an act considering how the man didn’t seem mentally capable of being able to act his way out of a box. All of a sudden, the prat got up to steal a shirt and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Tristan brought his arms to his chest. There was no explanation for that. Then again, there probably didn’t need to be one. Wentworth was always as moody as a woman on her period. From the time he had known him, the man tended to jump off the handle if someone looked at him the wrong way. His behavior shouldn’t have been surprising but somehow it was. He had no intention of chasing after him, more so because he knew he needed time away from the man as much as he needed it from him. The two had been together for hours now with only hours more to come. Wentworth was probably just pissed that he wasn’t able to put on more of a bigger spectacle, or that Tristan’s opinion of him hadn’t changed even though he hadn’t seen a mark on his arm. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that not every DeathEater was branded with one of those disgusting things. From what he had heard, it was only the ones who had truly shown their loyalty to him. Darren needed to keep him on the inside and as less of a suspect as possible. The lack of a mark would do just that.

Sighing, Tristan ran a hand through his hair. He wondered what was going to be happening next. He knew they were obviously going to Azkaban, but he didn’t know how much longer it would be. Was there paperwork that needed to be done before their arrival? If so, he preferred to go ahead and get it done. If he was to be promoted, he needed to assure Rutherford that he was capable of handling it, even if it included an office full of papers that needed to be filled out and signed. He grew frustrated. Wentworth better not have been keeping him from doing duties that were required of him. He knew the man would be livid over the two sharing a title. He swore to Merlin though that if the prat did anything to mess this up for him then he would buy himself a one-way ticket to the cell next to Isis’ for murder. Ashton knew damn well how long Tristan had been looking forward to this. The man was a dick. There was no question about it. He wondered though if the jerk would really stoop as low as to ruin something this big before he even took his picture for one of those snazzy badges. His fists balled up to the side. He wouldn’t put it past Wentworth at all. The man was a selfish prick who would do whatever he could to get what he wanted, no matter who it meant stepping on to get it.

Hearing the door open he looked towards it, expecting Ashton’s ugly mug to reappear. Tristan had already assumed the position. All it would take was one unnecessary comment and he’d lunge at him. Instead, it was the Healer from earlier who was looking frazzled. “Sir, where is Mr. Wentworth? I asked him to stay here. He doesn’t need to be moving around with his injuries. Everything is still settling!” He shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think I am?” he started. “His keeper? “ The Healer wasn’t too happy with his answer. “He disappeared out that door a few minutes ago and I haven’t seen him since. “ Turning his head to the side, he muttered under his breath, “Hopefully he jumped overboard.” Without another word, the Healer turned around and went back out of the room. Tristan’s curiosity was getting the better out of him. He wanted to know where Wentworth went like the man did. For all he knew, the prat could be doing Aurorly things without involving him. He was associated with this just as much as he was, whether he liked it or not. Gritting his teeth, he stalked after the man. As soon as he had exited the room, he saw him standing at the bow of the boat like he thought he was some king of the world. Tristan was more than happy to make him Poseidon if he wanted to be. The boat was rocking every which way causing a huge deterrence to getting to his enemy. Unhappily, he stood with his back against the wall and watched as the tiny Healer man approached Wentworth and was almost taken out in the process. He couldn’t help but to laugh. Ashton presumably thought that was him. The two exchanged words and began heading off towards the left and the back of the boat. As the two made eye contact he made sure to produce the same smug expression on his face that he had earlier. He didn’t even flinch when the prat tried to burn him with the small bit of cigarette he had left.

Wentworth had another thing coming if he thought that Tristan was going to stay put. He gave them a few seconds head start but turned to the left and followed after them. The only time his eyes left them is when he noticed a distortion off into the distance. Azkaban. It was black on the horizon, but there was no mistaking what it was. Their journey would not be any more than thirty minutes longer he wagered. That was fine with him. He was ready to have his feet on solid ground and his balance not threatened. The two men disappeared into the last door before the end of the boat. Quickening his pace, he reached the door not long after and opened it. He was instantly greeted by two men, unfortunately a bit bigger than he was. They grabbed him and shoved him up against a wall, their wands pressing into the skin of his throat. Tristan balled up his fists, ready to do his best to take them down when he saw Wentworth acknowledge his presence in the room. ”He’s got no badge.” He wanted to thank the guard for being Captain Obvious. Glaring at Ashton, he swore to himself he’d throw the man off of the boat as soon as he exited the room if he was kicked out. Wentworth returned the glare, but nodded to the guards, allowing his release. The two men reluctantly let go of him. Straightening his shirt, he was tempted to flip them up but decided against it, for the sake of his job.

He moved over to where Wentworth stood and inspected Isis’ body. She looked like an experiment. She was still strapped down but she was fully clothed in those drab black and white stripes. She seemed the type who would bitch and moan as soon as she woke up that the color was not suiting her complexion at all. Tubes seemed to come out of her at every angle. Her skin appeared to have lost some of its color. Tristan was eager to know what they had done to her. It was amazing how a woman who was this indisposed was capable of becoming a bloodthirsty beast. ”What’s her status?” The Healer didn’t even look up. As he poked at a spot on Isis’ arm, a low moan came from the woman. While it appeared they had the situation under control he wished he had his wand, just in case. He knew what she could do first hand. ”She is in the state of being awake but still trying to give in to sleep and will be until we are nearly at Azkaban. Her vitals are normal. A majority of her abilities have come back already after being frozen from your potion Mr. Wentworth. The only thing that is still taking longer to come back is her healing ability which you can see from the protrusion on her neck.” Tristan nearly wanted to throw up at the hideous purple bump on her neck. ”Though I do not think it will be permanently disabled. I believe she is able to understand the conversation we are having but cannot respond to it until the effects of the potion have fully been eliminated from her body.” The man looked to both him and Ashton. ”You should probably be aware that a body of a werewolf does not respond to certain potions and spells that normal human’s do. Because of that, attempts to use Veritaserum may be ineffective. It’s not guaranteed, but depending on the age and experience of a werewolf, other tests have shown that it doesn’t have the same effect on every one. Just something to keep in mind.”

That wasn’t what Tristan wanted to hear. “But you’re saying there is still the chance she will be able to truthfully respond to every question she is asked?” The Healer nodded. ”A small one, but yes, a chance. The woman is being treated as a high-risk inmate and must be moved with extreme caution. Even though she may not look it Mr. Wentworth, you are aware that looks can be deceiving.” He couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. He hated feeling like he wasn’t important enough to be in the room but there was nothing he could really say. He didn’t know what else to ask.

[Isis Moswen]

There was no worse feeling in the world then being defenseless. Being unable to control your body movements or fend off people putting their hands on you, it was awful. It was a feeling that was rare to Isis Moswen. So rare that the simple thought of the being defenseless was laughable. The last time she had found herself in such a state was way back when while she was still in Egypt. It was the first and last time she had been the head of a pack. Her pack had been confronted by one much larger and much more aggressive. In the end it had been her and her second in command, circled by six other wolves. Four others under her watch had died. She had felt responsible. They had walked into enemy territory unaware. No one was to blame but herself. The memories were still fuzzy from that day but she had managed to make it out alive. She had no idea what had happened to Dante, her second in command, but she could only assume the worst. It had been one of the worst moments in her life and she had sworn never to go through something so awful again. Isis was a proud woman. She knew how powerful and smart she was. She was a significant aid in battle. She was strong, confident and independent. She considered herself to be the type of woman that all women should strive to replicate. Arrogant, yes, but she felt like she had every reason to be. Isis felt like she was on the top of the world. Unstoppable. Invincible. The world was her oyster.

Until today. Today that had all changed. Everything Isis had worked so hard for had crumbled within seconds. Her head had gotten the best of her and she had been caught. It was something that she would have difficulty piecing together in the coming weeks. How exactly had it happened? She had the advantage for so long. She was so close to killing those two Ministry idiots as she had been so long ago at the Masquerade. She had been in form and everything! Yet something had happened and she had been caught off guard. That brat Wentworth used it to his advantage and he had stabbed her with something that made her feel like her insides were melting. Almost back to the days when she was still getting used to shifting. The pain from that was nothing compared to whatever it was he had injected her with. The last thing she fully remembered was her body transforming involuntarily back to its human form. Everything from then on came to Isis in bits and pieces. One minute she was in Gringotts, the next she was in a truck. It was so hard for her to stay awake. Any time a bump in the road shook her and she woke up, she was out almost five seconds afterward. It was like she had been poisoned. She had no control over her body. Every limb felt heavy. Her head felt like it just wanted to roll off of her neck and onto the floor. She would have far preferred to have just been knocked completely out, unable to feel any of this misery. Defenseless. The feeling she had been able to prevent for so long was back and this time it had given her a swift kick in the ass.

The last image in her mind was the sky. She had seen the clouds and the sun. Had she died? With the way she was feeling it was definitely possible. Isis had heard muttered voices all around her. She heard Wentworth’s name and someone respond to Stavros. Hands were all over her. She could feel a heavy pressure coming from her ankles, waist and chest. She had no idea what was going on but one thing was for sure, she was incapable of doing anything. As her eyes closed shut, she began to dream. She was back at home. The scenery was comprised of rolling hills of sand, somewhere in the desert. A light breeze was blowing, sending particles of sand bouncing gracefully all over the pace. There was no one else in sight. Just her, the sand and the hot temperature which was stifling considering how high her normal body temperature was as it is. She began walking. To where she didn’t know but her legs seemed to know the trail. It felt like she was walking forever. With every few minutes that passed, the sun kept beating down its rays hotter and hotter on her. It was getting so bad that Isis began to feel nauseous, like her insides were beginning to boil. She had clothing on but whenever she tried to pull the sticky fabric away from her for some relief, it was cemented to her skin. Panic began to settle in. There were no more breezes either. Sweat was pouring from her pores. Her skin was hot to the touch. Falling to her knees, Isis kneeled in agony as it got even hotter. Sounds of agony were coming from her mouth, getting louder the more frightened she became.

Then everything went silent. Looking up, Isis’ eyes widened as she saw a large and dark cloud off into the distance falling to the ground. Upon hitting the ground it picked up speed. As it got closer she could see that it was a wall of sand. She tried to push herself up from the ground but it was impossible. She began to scream. The wall was getting closer and she could the sound of the vicious wind pushing it towards her. No amount of struggling could pry her from her sandy grave. It was close enough now where she could feel the sand lifting up from around her and being pulled to it. Her body, however, remained where it was. She lowered her head as the wall came a few inches away from her. She’d be buried any second now. The sound was deafening. Her screams were lost as the wall covered her and the wind stopped, dropping the sand and burying her deep underneath. Sand was going into every open hole in her face, paralyzing her. Her abilities were no help to her. There was no strength. She couldn’t change. Her healing ability especially had failed her. What normally would have pushed the sand back was allowing it to seep in even deeper. Isis couldn’t breathe anymore. There was no sense of fight left whatsoever. The only thing she could do was give into defeat.

Then things went black and stayed that way for what felt like eons. Suddenly, Isis began to hear low voices all around her. ”Check her vitals.” ”She’s stabilized.” ”Her heart rate is back to a normal pace.” There were things touching her. The left side of her neck was killing her. She moaned as the area began to throb. ”Get Wentworth. She’s coming out of it.” She still had no idea what was going on. Everything was dark, but the sound around her was becoming clearer. Isis tried to move her hand though it was pointless. Her body was nothing but dead weight. If this was what it felt like to be brain damaged, she wished someone would go ahead and kill her now. She was helpless. This was no way to live. Sometime later she heard several footsteps come from the door followed by a bit of commotion soon after. How she wished she could see what was going on. At very least be put back to sleep. The sand burying was almost better than this. ”What’s her status?” What was her status? Was she to remain like this? Was she having an out of body experience? “She is in the state of being awake but still trying to give in to sleep and will be until we are nearly at Azkaban.” The voice clearly didn’t know what it was talking about. She would have loved to give into sleep, it was just having none of her. She was thankful that she wasn’t dying. Also thankful that her hearing had come back to her and was almost as sharp as it normally was. Though the mention of Azkaban blurred out every other bit of conversation going on around her. Azkaban? That’s where she was going? She had never been to the wizarding prison before. She had known people who had been held there, but never visited as an outsider.

The chance that she may one day end up at Azkaban had never even crossed Isis’ mind. She was too good to wind up with the slum of the world. It was quickly becoming apparent that she had no choice. She had been caught and these people were taking her to the only place they felt she could properly be contained. Doing her best to open her eyes, she screamed when she couldn’t. The scream came out as a low moan outwardly though. She wondered if they could tell that she was doing her best rouse herself from whatever the hell this was. She hoped she’d be able to do something before they got to Azkaban because if anyone was truly aware of what she was capable of, they’d all be lucky to make it out alive.

[Ashton Wentworth]

He knew that the day wasn't going to be getting any better. Between the gloating looks on Stavros' face that hadn't moved since the second he had been allowed to get on the boat, to knowing that without a doubt Isis wasn't going to give them much of anything. He knew that it was going to take a long time before she realized that he wasn't going to stop coming back for information, and that he was willing, and able to put off her trial for as long as he wanted. The longer that she had to wait to go to trial, the longer it would be before she would know how long she was going to be sentenced for. He was willing to put off that trial for months, just to bury it deep down beneath the large stacks of forms and paperwork littering his desk and in small piles on the floor surrounding his desk. He knew that he needed to make it abundantly clear to her that her time wasn't even going to start until she had seen the inside of the court room and that it would be up to her, and how much information she was willing to give them before he would allow that to happen. Yet, even with this information he was fairly certain she was going to drag it out, out of pure spite and hatred. She would know, without him ever saying a word that they needed her information, very, very badly. The stupid smug look on Stavros' face was more than he could bear. That was it. The man would be spending the rest of the day in the waiting room. Or, it he changed his attitude and started behaving, and not acting like such a spoiled brat the whole time Ashton might give him authorization to sit in and watch through the tinted glass. Allowing the image of Stavros being shoved up against the wall by the thugs to play over and over in his head was just going to have to be enough for now.

”She is in the state of being awake but still trying to give in to sleep and will be until we are nearly at Azkaban. Her vitals are normal. A majority of her abilities have come back already after being frozen from your potion Mr. Wentworth. The only thing that is still taking longer to come back is her healing ability which you can see from the protrusion on her neck.” That must be very frustrating for her, drifting in and out like that. Good. He wanted her angry, he wanted to stand an inch away from her grasp and for her to know, that once again she was powerless to get information out of him, to know that she wasn't going to get anything from him, and once again, she couldn't touch him. He wanted her to know that he had won. He couldn't wait to get his hands on some more of that tonic, he certainly wouldn't be hesitating to use it from here on out if necessary. It seemed to work very well, and he liked having the upper hand like this. He wondered if she could hear what they were saying, he wondered if she knew that she was going to Azkaban yet, that she was going to spend the future rotting inside of a cell, dank and dark with only the wails of the people next to her for company. He hoped that they fed her only canned dog food. ”Though I do not think it will be permanently disabled. I believe she is able to understand the conversation we are having but cannot respond to it until the effects of the potion have fully been eliminated from her body.” Well, that answered that question. He let his gaze drift from her neck up to her face. Her eyes were fluttering about under the lids, like she was having a bad dream. He wanted to shove her, to make her wake up just to gloat. He may have been powerless as to Stavros' presence here but he could control the situation with Isis as much as he wanted. “Do we know yet how long that will be?” He man ignored the question and kept talking ”You should probably be aware that a body of a werewolf does not respond to certain potions and spells that normal human’s do. Because of that, attempts to use Veritaserum may be ineffective. It’s not guaranteed, but depending on the age and experience of a werewolf, other tests have shown that it doesn’t have the same effect on every one. Just something to keep in mind.” That was simple enough, he assumed that due to their elevated body temperatures the potion would be sweated out of their system much more quickly than it would a normal person. He nodded along as the healer continued talking. That was fine, he preferred to resort to physical violence anyway.

“But you’re saying there is still the chance she will be able to truthfully respond to every question she is asked?” Ashton scoffed before he had a chance to stop himself. Like he was going to let Stavros sit in on the questioning for have anything to do with it. He looked at the man standing next to him with widened eyes, like he was crazy to even be talking. That he should be worshiping Ashton's feet for just allowing him to be in the room with such a high profile prisoner. The healer gave Ashton a nervous glance before continuing. ”A small one, but yes, a chance. The woman is being treated as a high-risk inmate and must be moved with extreme caution. Even though she may not look it Mr. Wentworth, you are aware that looks can be deceiving.” Ashton smiled as the healer continued to talk to Tristan like the man was a toddler, breaking everything down into pieces. Then the man turned to Ashton and gave a warning. Ashton turned the incredulous look to the healer now. Looks can be deceiving? He had some nerve talking to him like that. He knew that first hand, this was the same woman who had landed him in the hospital for such a long time. He crossed his arms across his chest, his hands resting just below his armpits and he shifted his weight to effectively look at the healer like he was the stupidest thing he had ever seen in his life. The woman had almost killed him, she had removed his organs from his body before without even blinking once. He knew that if it hadn't been for those blocks falling on top of her at such a perfect time that she would have eviscerated him again and snacked on his liver. Deciding to ignore the comment he looked back at Isis. She seemed to be starting to stir. His eyes turned to her face, and a small smile formed on his face as she moaned in pain.

The boat was slowing down, and the healers started to pack up all of their things. The one who had been previously attending to them pushed another vial of something clear into Isis' IV without telling them what to do and then monitored her vitals one last time before giving Ashton a nod ”I'll be in the room with you, to make sure that she's not a danger to anybody but herself” and hustled out of the room. No doubt wanting to get an early start so that he could set up his things. As everybody started to file out of the room to get everything ready for transport he leaned in really close her Isis's ear, so that only she could hear him “I'm going to make you wish you were dead” he breathed before righting himself and nodding to Stavros who seemed to be itching to help out. He moved to the bench that an armed guard had been sitting on before. On the bench rested his jacket, still full of rubble and other unmentionable things. No doubt bits of Isis's beastly blood as well. It was just going to have to wait. He wasn't going to put it back on until it had been cleaned. Besides if he did, he would be forced to have to go over the events of the past few hours in his head once again and he was tired of watching that movie over and over again. He would just leave it on the boat, somebody could grab it if they really wanted to. There wasn't anything else left in the pockets and it was easily replaceable. He knew that he needed to be with Isis since he was the official Ministry representative on the boat, he was going to have to be the one to check her into the prison. With that being said, there wasn't much else for him to be able to do until the boat was docked and everybody had cleared off of it, readied her questioning cell and come back for him. Luckily, the process only took a few minutes and he wouldn't have to wait too long. Crossing his feet at the ankles he brought his hands behind his head, making sure that his badge was easily visible on his chest. “You can go scrub the deck with the rest of the help” He said as a last statement to Stavros before it was go time.

[Deleted]

Respect. It was a word with several different definitions, but one that stood out most to Tristan was to show regard or consideration for. Holding one in esteem or honor was another, but not one he felt he had earned himself the privilege of yet. Respect was something that had been bestowed upon to him by his parents. “You are family. You must love and respect one another” was something they would always say to him and his sisters. They had emphasized it from birth and still to this day. Naturally, the word had an important meaning to him so it wasn’t one he took lightly. It defined his life in the sense that he made sure his actions were worthy enough of it. Men were respectable only as the respect was a quote that kept Tristan as level headed as possible. He sought to be an example, having no qualms with others who wanted to do the same. While his behavior had the tendency to be childish at times, though mostly only to the idiot standing next to him, he considered himself a man worthy of it. The fact that he wasn’t getting any now was beginning to make his blood boil. He felt he deserved some, anything. He wasn’t asking for a medal or something, just to be treated as equal as he could in this situation. He had risked his life just as much as Ashton had. The two had set out to take down Moswen for more of their own selfish purposes then to protect the innocent in Gringotts. Yet Wentworth was getting the credit because he was a bloody Auror and werewolves were his specialty.

It irked him to no end that the Healer was giving more attention to Ashton then to him. Tristan felt like he had every damn right to know what was going on. He was part of this. From the moment he had agreed to help Wentworth he had been. He kept his mouth shut though. Unfortunately he didn’t have much of a choice. Anything he did or said would be judged. His ranking was insignificant to these people. He did comprehend that. The Head of the Magical Games and Sports department didn’t routinely take out the witches and wizards of the Ministry’s most wanted list. Active combat wasn’t part of their job description. It wasn’t a department high on the priority list since officiating rules and games of Quidditch and gobstones didn’t affect the way the wizarding world was ran. It was embarrassing now that he thought about it. Tristan knew his skills and size were better suited to the Law Enforcement department. It had been something he had been thinking a lot about lately. While Quidditch had and always would be a part of his life, the only way he would have been fully happy is if he was out in a pitch. The other sports weren’t his forte and he wasn’t much a fan of sitting behind his desk day after day. For his first few months of work, people often asked him if he was lost when he got off the lift for his floor, which was surprising considering that an athlete seemed fitting to work in such a department. However, a Ministry position for their career choice wasn’t appropriate or even comprehendible to some.

Releasing a heavy sigh Tristan brought his hand up to the side of his head and rubbed at it to keep from saying anything to get himself in trouble. The look Wentworth had given him after he had been genuinely interested in what the Healer had to say made him want to snap the man’s body in half. He remained that way while the people around him began moving. The boat was moving as fast as it had been which could only mean that the prison was nearing. Everyone left the room soon after, leaving only him, Wentworth and the she beast. His eyes gravitated towards her still frame. From this angle, she looked helpless, unable to do any sort of damage. Tristan knew exactly what she was capable of though. As the Healer had affirmed, looks can be deceiving. Isis looked like a fighter. There was no denying that. If he had been aware of what she looked like before she had taken form, he would have just been another one of those bumbling ideas groveling at her exotic feet, completely unaware of the monster within. Thoughts of what she had done to him came flooding back to him, his anger threatening to rear its deadly head at the unconscious woman. Instead, he chose a more subtle approach and spat on her clothing while Wentworth leaned in towards her. He had no idea what was being said, probably trying to brainwash her into acting him some more. Regardless, the desire to find some form of silver and stab her straight through the heart with it was prodding at him. So much that he actually looked around the room to see if there was anything that would be able to do just that, or at least give him vivid fantasies of giving Isis as much of a dishonorable death as possible.

Once Ashton had righted himself and walked off towards the awful leather jacket Tristan had repeatedly made fun of him for, mostly because he seemed to exemplify the role of a greaser to a t, his hands quickly scanned his pockets to make sure his wand was still with him. It wasn’t, and he cursed to himself at the thought. It was probably still in the room where he and Wentworth had been healed. At least he hoped it was. Though they were heading to another one of the supposedly safest places in the world, he felt strange without having some sort of defense with him. What if Morgan had followers waiting for them there lining the outside of the prison? Unlikely as it may have been, he still had a sickening feeling in his stomach. After all, no one expected him to attack at Gringotts yet that had happened. Morgan continued to slip through the Ministry’s fingers at every chance possible. Tristan felt any form of paranoia was justifiable. He had turned his body, ready to go check the room for his wand when Wentworth faced him. The prick had a smug look on his face meaning that he had something to say. When did he not? His head was so far up his ass that he thought people actually gave a damn to everything that came out of his mouth. Clenching his jaw he waited for it. “You can go scrub the deck with the rest of the help.” It could have been worse. He gave him that much. However, it was still enough to rile his bones. Tristan knew he could get a good punch or two out before someone heard the commotion but thought against it. There was other ways he could get back at Wentworth. Sometimes words cut deeper than punches. He had thrown a fit last time the Morgan clan was mentioned. That was useful.

Stepping closer to him Tristan got right in his face and stared at him. “That’s alright. I’d rather wait to have your girlfriend in the same position Moswen is in now. You got your woman and I’ll get your other one.” He smirked, stiffening his body as if waiting for some sort of reaction. Commotion from outside broke their focus though. He couldn’t hear what was being said but could only assume that they were closer than he thought. Turning his attention back to Wentworth he gave him a nice solid push on the shoulder. “Like it or not, I’ve got a funny feeling you’re going to be stuck with me for awhile. Get used to it you stupid son of a bitch.” Before he could react Tristan stepped away and quickly left the room. His wand was the only priority at the moment. Even if it was going to be taken away from him when they got to the entrance of Azkaban, he’d at least feel better knowing he had it for as long as he could. He pushed past oncoming bodies, everyone was preparing for docking. Moving towards the bow of the boat he couldn’t help but to stop and hold on to the side of the rail as he really caught his first full glimpse of the wizarding prison. It was dark and towering, haunting. It was strangely shaped like a triangle, a steel triangle. It was covered by sharp, thick black boulders able to undoubtedly pierce through the siding of a boat. Tristan brought his arms to his chest, rubbing at the sides of his triceps with both hands. The temperature had dropped. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the location or if the prison purposely had these security measures in place but it made the whole place even eerier. He turned to the right and walked back towards his room. The space was empty still meaning he had free roam without being interrupted. He took full advantage of it. Every visible surface was searched. He finally found it in the drawer of the rolling table the Healer had stored his potions and bandages on. Tucking it safely in his pocket he pulled down his hole infested shirt to cover it as best as he could.

Tristan left the room, opening the door just in time to see the prison even closer to the boat then when he had left. He swallowed, his expression stone-faced. He wasn’t sure of the reason why but his heart was beginning to beat faster. Maybe out of anticipation, maybe out of anxiety. Either way he knew that things were about to get serious and it was time to put all anger and frustration aside to be as professional as possible. It was time to make it or break it. Breaking it was not an option.

[Ashton Wentworth]

If he was really lucky, then Tristan would just turn around and leave. He would sulk off to some corner of the boat and then remain there until they were ready to go back to the mainland. If he was just fortunate beyond all belief, then Tristan would be tossed overboard and call into the water and drown. Or get eaten by sharks. That would have been just wonderful as well. The image of Tristan floundering around in the water, his screams nothing more than panic'd gargles as Ashton stood watching from the safety of the boat. Not doing a damn thing to help him. Of course, the fates had never been that good to him yet. At the very least, he would be able to sit here and repeatedly kill Stavros over and over again in his mind. He waited for his comment to sink in, that was all that he could do. “That’s alright. I’d rather wait to have your girlfriend in the same position Moswen is in now. You got your woman and I’ll get your other one.” The prick had a death wish. The much was obvious now, even more so than it had been during the rest of their arguments. Their petty squabbles were one thing, this was crossing a line. His teeth clenched together, causing his jaw to start pulsating. He felt his hands ball into fists at his sides. He brought his legs closer to his body, ready to spring into action if Stavros dared to say another word. He wasn't sure how exactly he had found out about him and Kaydence before today, but he deeply regretted that he did know about it. It wasn't his place. Then again, with his little vampire girlfirend, it wasn't like Stavros really had any grounds to be talking about the women in their lives. “Yeah, you do that” he started through clenched teeth “And whenever that vampy hussy is in my custody, you better believe I will remember what you said here today” He could see the words sink in, as Ashton started to rise to his feet “Like it or not, I’ve got a funny feeling you’re going to be stuck with me for awhile. Get used to it you stupid son of a bitch.” Ashton felt himself smirking. They would just have to see about that. Of course, before he had a chance to comment, Stavros was leaving the room like he knew what he was doing. Rolling his eyes he called out to the retreating figure “That's right, walk away”

Frustrated, and thinking over the words that Stavros had just said he exited the room just in time to have his forearm grabbed by the small healer from before and lead toward the front of the boat where Isis's stretcher was being moved. He couldn't see Stavros, which he took to mean that he was going to sit this one out after all. Feeling hopeful he listened as the Guarded started in on their spiel about not leaving the regulated areas without an escort or they could not be responsible for the dementors behavior, and to stick to somebody with a badge. That was more for the healers than anybody else, but it was good advice none the less. People could get seriously hurt here, and they often did. The boat was just coasting now, coming into the docks, whenever he spotted the flowing wisps of fabric. The walls of the triangle prison seemed to be moving, but he knew better. It was the dementors awaiting their newest prisoner, no doubt they were not going to be kind to her in the least. She was going to be in for tough times, and Ashton didn't feel an ounce of pity for her. They lowered the guard rails and Ashton took a deep breath the steady himself before moving forward with Isis's stretched whenever Stavros came up behind them. 'great' he thought to himself. Of course he wasn't lucky. He had used up every ounce of luck had in procuring this prisoner in the first place. His pulse was quickening out of excitement. He had only been here once, and this was going to be a very long, interesting questioning session, he could already see it. He knew that from past experiences with Isis, that things were not going to be easy of course, and he was curious to see just how much he could threaten her to get what he wanted. Perhaps even a little light torturing would be in order. Pushing aside the sadistic thoughts, the people around him seemed to huddle closer together, not that he could blame them in the least.


As he was exiting the boat one of the armed escorts handed him back his own wand, and Ashton was blissful to note that Stavros hadn't been given his back. As soon as the guards back was turned, he was going to have to rub Stavros' face in that very fact. The turned, allowing the armed guard to once again check his frame for anything hidden that some inmate might try to use as a weapon he was pleased whenever the guard turned him to face Tristan, Ashton brought his wand in front of his face, as was customary before one was going to start a duel, and then delivered a snarky wink and then glanced down at his badge. His get out of jail free card, as it was. He laughed audibly whenever they found Stavros' wand in his pocket and confiscated it. Dropping his arms back to his sides he placed on hand on the stretched that had the now stirring Isis and they moved down the narrow and abundantly windy path. Small, but fierce droplets of rain started to pelt down at him and he could feel it hitting him through his scrub shirt. It was instantly chilly, and the closer that they got to the building, the less it had to do with the rain and the more it had to do with the copious amounts of dementors hovering the grounds at a regular pace. He could feel the blood draining from his face involuntarily, doing his best to keep his face stoic. Normally, with a dementor they had to be close to you, to feed. Yet, with this many in one concentrated area, the residual sorrow was inevitable. He could already feel the grief that he had tucked so shallow beneath the surface starting to swim forward, he could see Georgie's headstone clearly. He hoped that once they were inside of the building to the holding cells that it would be better. It was just about the only area of the whole Island that the dementors couldn't go. Everybody seemed to have the same idea and they all increased their pace at the same time, closing the distance more quickly. The guards leading the group wrenched open the reenforced steel doors and allowed everybody passage. The healers instantly went to work, darting off down the hallway that was only illuminated by a single light on the ceiling while Ashton went over to the check in desk to fill in the paperwork to admit him and Stavros into the rooms to question Isis.

Approaching the desk he held out his badge for the man to look at as he pulled the clip board over to himself, and tucked his wand away within his pants pocket once more. Pulling the pen from the clip board he started to fill out the papers, smirking the whole while because Stavros hadn't been given any. He seemed more than a little disgruntled at this fact. “You can only come in if I give you permission” he commented, without even bothering to lift his head to see his reaction. For all that Ashton knew, this was going to be his last chance to really stick it to the man before all hell broke loose whenever they got back to ground. There was nobody that Stavros could run to crying on this Island, he was only here as Ashton's guest. A fact that he planned on exploiting at every chance. Reaching the bottom of the paper he finally slid the clipboard and pen over to Stavros “sign the bottom” he ordered with a smirk “It just says that you are agreeing to be my ward, my quiet, uninvolved ward” He knew that Stavros would sign the paper because he wouldn't want to stand here all night, and possibly into tomorrow but he was going to be upset about it. Ashton knew that some sort of snarky comment was going to be heading his way and he didn't care. There was nothing that Stavros could do about it.

[Isis Moswen]

Taking advantage of the weak was a coward’s way of building their pride. There was an exception when it came to survival. Isis had turned to miniscule prey that stood no chance of putting up a fight when she had gone for days without food. In her younger years, she had toyed with humans when in form just for the fun of it. The smell of fear was intoxicating. Often like a powerful drug that gave the user an overwhelming daily desire for a fix. It was always worse in the beginning. As a werewolf aged and grew more attuned to their senses, it lessened but still had its occasional flare that reminisced of their past. With her inability to focus on anything, she wasn’t quite sure what was making hers starting to jump off the charts. Being held against her will had a lot to do with it added with the fact that she was mentally here but not physically. Plus she could smell the Healer that had spoken earlier basking in it. Her kind were unpredictable. She couldn’t smell it as strong as she usually could but it was getting there. Whatever the hell she had been injected with probably attributed. Isis had been able to make out several voices in the room before their conversation had ended. Even with her hearing making the voices out to be mumbles, she could detect five beating hearts in the room. Three of them were emitting anxiety like sweat. The other two, they were hard to place. At least one of their hearts had skipped the occasional beat while the other’s was beating at a fast pace, though that once was hard to tell if it was from fear or excitement.

She could hear footsteps exiting the room. Once the door had swung closed, the two hearts from earlier were still present. Isis was curious as to who had chosen to stay. It certainly wasn’t a Healer for the man seemed far too eager to leave the room. Her senses were obstructed, but the tone in his voice and the beads of sweat she could smell from his skin made it fairly obvious. Silence filled the room. Were the two humans that were left guards? Forced to stay to make sure she was contained and shot up again if she awoke? She could feel the air next to her change as if something were obstructing it. “I'm going to make you wish you were dead.” If that voice belonged to a guard then someone sure was a cocky asshole, overstepping the boundaries of their job to take advantage of the weak. Her own heart began to race. Fury was taking over her body. Enough of it actually made her hand spasm for the briefest of seconds, at least it felt like it did. Isis had never liked being threatened. She especially never liked being threatened by someone so incapable of doing anything harmful without the assistance of a wand or a potion. By the time she awoke, she would remind the man of his threat and elaborate on it. She was going to attack him like she did with the victims who showed defiance to the very end. She’d paralyze him, but making sure he still was able to feel everything she did to him. Isis would then slowly cut and slice at various limbs and tear through veins, muscles and bones. When she grew bored of them, she’d move to the stomach, going even slower with penetrating organs until her victim died of shock. This man would die a slow and painful death for his words.

Once that man had finished, the other came in close enough to spit on her. The feel of the warm saliva soaking through the fabric of her clothing made the vein in Isis’ neck pulsate. Were these two bastards going to get it. Her rage seemed to be helping with getting her senses back and aided in being able to detect the two different tones bickering. Bickering. That’s when it hit her. She didn’t need to listen to anything else to know that the two men in the room with her were Wentworth and his little butt buddy. It had been a long time since she had ever truly despised someone to the point of wanting to seek them out and kill them with the mention of their name. Wentworth and the other man made her want to locate their families, kill them first and then attack the two when they least expected it. It was the very least they deserved with treating her the way that they did. If they had just left her alone at Gringotts then they would have never been in the place that they were. Isis’ sight had been on those stupid vampires. She had been forced to attack from their own stupidity. She was an uncaged animal who needed to get what she needed out of her system. But no. They had chosen to interfere to play the roles of the heroes of Gringotts. She was sure they’d get some bloody medal or recognition for their hard work. The last time she checked, hard work came from taking on a werewolf who wasn’t distracted and was fully capable of biting a person in half with one bite. The anger just kept coming. Even when the two men and she was sure she was alone, her heart was pumping blood through her body at such a rate that she wouldn’t have been surprised if every part of her was a deep red.

Her solitude was short-lived. A couple of minutes later she heard the door open again and the same bodies enter the room that had left before Wentworth and his muscle-head of a friend. The sound of a horn blowing long and loud from outside filled her ears. Azkaban had to be near. While the nervous Healer worked around her and the other two bodies pulled her straps tighter than they needed to be, all she could think of was the wizarding prison. How had she gotten to this point? Her brain was still too jumbled to go back to the events that had led her to the position she was in. She could remember brief glimpses of faces, mostly the married couple that had captured her, but they didn’t seem able to secure her as they did. There had to have been outside help. But from who? A headache was starting to form with the amount of thinking she was trying to do. It was impossible. Isis would have to submit to obliviousness until she had her head on straight. Apparently she was going to have plenty of time in thinking about it. Azkaban scared her. She couldn’t even lie. It was fear of the unknown. Usually she was pretty good at dealing with it, but being in the state that she was and the notorious reputation the prison had as it was made her even more terrified. She could only help that when she roused from whatever this was that she could act as if nothing the walls and its dementors could do could affect her. Isis had a feeling that would be a lot easier said than done though. She had never heard anything good about Azkaban, only tales of fear and death. She didn’t know how close they were to the prison but she could swear that she could already detect a gloomy aura coming in from the distance.

She didn’t even realize the boat had stopped. Actually, Isis didn’t realize she was moving until her skin suddenly became bathed in cold and rainy air. She was outside being transported. Low murmurs came from all around her. They were easier to make out but could tell that the low voices were due to their surroundings. The weather made the gloomy feeling much worse. She could hear the wisps coming from the bottom of the dementor’s robes. They knew she was here. It was rare to read of a werewolf being captured and sent to the prison so they were probably excited for her arrival. Another moan came from her throat. She could hear so much going on around her. Wentworth and meathead were arguing. Other men were solemnly talking to each other. All she could focus on though was the sinking feeling of sadness that seemed to come from out of nowhere. The fingers on both of her hands began to move. This time Isis was sure of the movement since people surrounding her pointed it out. Maybe it wouldn’t be much longer after all. She prayed it wouldn’t be. She wasn’t sure if she could handle being blind with this growing feeling of doom from the dementors. Isis preferred to see her enemies face-to-face so she could evaluate them herself. Being deprived of one of her most very important senses was agony. The muscles in her arm began to tense up as she began getting feeling back into her upper arms. She couldn’t move them very much because of the constraints, but it was enough to keep the chatter around her going on. Being able to move just this much was a good sign and Isis was eager to get feeling to the rest of her limbs.

Her wish didn’t go unanswered for much longer. The toes on her feet were next. Feeling shot up her legs like a match that had just been lit. Like her arms, Isis’ legs were strapped down tight enough to cut off circulation but she could still move them. That was all that mattered. The potion hadn’t left her permanently paralyzed. It was wearing off. Soon she would have to be in the shape she was before being injected, right? Then it felt like air had been forced down into her lungs. She took a deep breath, her back arching as far as it could as she exhaled. This was like being reanimated. It had to be. She had practically been dead and useless. Her eyes still hadn’t opened yet, but she could now freely breathe. It took several minutes to get her breathing back at a regular pace but soon she was able to. Given that she was breathing her mouth Isis wondered if she could talk. She had so much to say, so so much to say. If she could talk, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop. It wasn’t like she would have anything else to lose. Talking might make some of her gloominess go away as well. It was only a thought, but it was worth trying. She couldn’t succumb to the evil powers of the dementors already. She had faced worst enemies then them. For now, anyway. “You… better hope… my eyes stay… closed,” she squeaked out, in a voice that broke up every few words. “Because…if they open..you’re all dead.”

[Deleted]

Tristan was really starting to wish he had a coat. The temperature had dropped more than several degrees from the warmth there had been in Austria. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been a good twenty-five degree drop. It didn’t help matters that his shirt and jeans had holes sporadically through the fabric. He brought his hands together, rubbing them rapidly to try and provide himself with some sort of warmth. Lifting them to his mouth, he blew on them. The resulting heat was short-lived. This was pointless. Sighing, he dropped his arms to his side and decided to suck it up. The quicker he got used to the cold, the easier it would be for him to handle, maybe. His eyes moved up to the large steel walls of the prison. Now that they were coasting towards the docks, the torn fabric of the dementor’s cloaks was clear. Their presence was only going to make the cold worse. Breathing in deeply, his eyes narrowed as Moswen appeared from the corner. Her stretcher was being levitated towards the front of the boat. Personally, Tristan thought it to be a waste of time. All they had to do was dump her paralyzed body over to the side and be done with her. He doubted even a dog could swim its way out of these choppy waters. Wentworth and the Healer from earlier appeared next, following after Isis and the guards. Fortunately, the man avoided eye contact with him. When the two disappeared from sight, he grabbed the rails of the boat and stared off into the distance. Was this whole trip pointless? Should he just have stayed on land? The thoughts in his head were foreign to him. Unexpected. How had his attitude about things changed so quickly when not even two minutes ago he had been ready to face the horrors of Azkaban?

His question was answered a few seconds later as he looked up and noticed three dementors that had broken away from the others and were hovering about the top of the boat. Their darkness was ominous. Tristan doubted he would ever be able to not be surprised by the speed at which they could change a human being’s emotions. Pushing off from the rail, he decided to go and join the men gathered at the front of the boat with Moswen. Making his way over to them might make him feel better about things again. Pushing past a sailor with a large amount of rope in his hands he walked down the small walkway. As he reached the edge leading to the open space in the front, he quietly took a place behind Wentworth and the Healer who had apparently just finished listening to prison procedures. He was angry with himself for missing it. Even if there was nothing he was able to do while in the confines of Azkaban, he would have at least liked to have been in the know with everyone else. It was like he had given yet another thing for Ashton to hold over his head. Two men came from the back of the boat and took places on either side of the bow. Four men waited on the docks on their respected sides waiting for the rope to be thrown that the men had in their hands. Once the rope had been thrown, the men worked together to pull and secure the rope to the rails and the thick pieces of wood raised up from the dock. It didn’t take long for them to tie the braided fibres into tight knots. After checking to make sure they held, the boat was pulled in and the unloading process began. The guards and Moswen were first, followed by Wentworth and the Healer and then finally himself and the remaining members of the crew.

The moment the group stepped out on the docks, they were all stopped to be searched. Tristan rolled his eyes as the Azkaban guards checked Wentworth and permitted him to keep his wand. He bit down on his tongue to the point of drawing blood when the man made it a point to show how his Ministry badge gave him ability to keep his wand. He knew the same wouldn’t go for him. Sure enough, when it was his turn, his wand was quickly found and taken from him. He kept his eyes focused on the wall of the prison as Wentworth laughed like a five year old. Act professional he had to keep telling himself. Let them see how childish the supposed adult was acting. He didn’t feel safe without his wand but he knew it was for the best. The guards and these bloody dementors had everything under control, at least they were supposed to. Once his body had finished being patted down, the other member of the group had theirs and clearance was soon given to every member of the group entering the prison. They were then led down a walkway towards the entrance of the prison. Moswen was beginning to make appalling noises. Tristan could have sworn he saw the fingers on both hands move. She would probably be awake by the time they entered Azkaban. A sadistic smile formed on his face as they got closer to the still closed steel doors. He hoped that she freaked out the moment she awoke and saw where she was. He hoped she’d instantly start begging for her life and sanity by promising to tell them everything they wanted to here. Moswen’s behavior had never indicated the possibility of such weakness, but it didn’t hurt to wish. One thing was for sure, it’d be interesting to see the dementor’s effects on a werewolf first hand. He was curious to see how much different it would be from a human, the effects he had read about anyway. With each step forward, those feelings of regret and uncertainty began to wash over Tristan again. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he may not have been cut out for this. How he wasn’t ready to leave the department that had been his life for so long. Thank Merlin that prick couldn’t see inside of his thoughts. If he could he’d be humiliated.

The steel doors suddenly opened with even more guards behind them. Tristan and the other members of the group picked up their pace and entered the prison. As the doors closed instantaneously behind them, the Healers left and wandered down the hall. Wentworth went over to the check-in desk off to the side. His eyes went back to Isis momentarily. Even more movement was coming from her body and the noises she was making were getting more audible. He forced himself to look away and join Ashton at the desk. As much as he hated it, the man would be the only way he could be there when she woke up. Being there when that time came was slowly becoming a sick obsession. He knew he couldn’t do anything to her, but he needed to see her when she first opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. The scene would be nothing compared to the damage she had inflicted on him both at the Masquerade and Gringotts, but Tristan would get the satisfaction he needed seeing her trying to free herself from her straps. “You can only come in if I give you permission.” was the first thing the prat said to him as he approached. He said nothing and did his best not to have to taste copper in his mouth again. The restraint didn’t last much longer. Once the man had pushed the clipboard he had been filling out over to him, he made yet another comment to make sure Tristan knew of his superiority in the prison. Angrily grabbing the clipboard, he quickly signed his name to the designated line and slammed the pen down, sliding the board to the desk attendant who was looking strangely at the two. “Get it out of your system,” he warned in a low whisper. “Once we’re back in Austria you’re gonna wish you were still here.” He had lowered himself to Wentworth’s standards, but couldn’t help it. The man knew how to get under his skin.

Before Ashton got the chance to respond, the pair’s attention was grabbed by the guards at Isis’ stretcher. “She’s moving.” Tristan knew she had been before, but joined Wentworth in quickly approaching her side. She was struggling to catch her breath. Her chest was moving in and out quickly and the limbs of her body were wiggling as if trying to break free of her restraints. “You… better hope… my eyes stay… closed. Because…if they open..you’re all dead.” It was hard to take her threat seriously when her voice was so weak and her body was tightly constrained to the stretcher. He chuckled. “I wish you could see us all shaking then,” he sarcastically responded, causing a few of the guards to laugh in response. He turned to Wentworth. “Can you go ahead and use your high and mighty powers to get us moving?”

[Ashton Wentworth]

If Stavros thought that Ashton wasn't going to milk this for all that it was worth and then some, he was seriously mistaken. Looking over at the clip board to the man, he was almost shaking with smugness. He had to force himself to not laugh as the man almost broke through the paper with his heavy handed signature. Sure, it was a serious situation, grave in fact but he had no idea whenever he would be able to command Stavros like he was doing right now. With a grateful smile Ashton picked up the clipboard that had been slammed back in his direction and handed it to the portly man despite the strange looks he was giving them. “Get it out of your system,” With a snort, Ashton nodded “Oh, I plan to” “Once we’re back in Austria you’re gonna wish you were still here.” To this, he couldn't not laugh, it was as a threat as empty as Stavros' head. Hastily, he masked the laugh with a cough as the guards were starting to stare at them a little more than Ashton was comfortable with. Turning around once all of the paperwork had been completed, he came face to face with the healer from before...the one with the inappropriate hands. Scowling, he was forced to wait. “She’s moving.” A strange excitement washed over him, this woman had caused him so much pain, so much greif over the many years that he had been in her acquaintance, even if he hadn't known that it was her. He wanted nothing more than to make her suffer, to make her pay. He deserved it, he deserved to have her hurt the same way that she had made him hurt.

He crossed to her quickly, wanting to see it for himself. The serum that he had given her had lasted so much longer than he had been expecting. Of course, they hadn't told him in any certain terms exactly what effect it would have had on the woman. But, from the way that she had reacted, he knew that he had to have more of it. Soon as he hit land preferably. Despite his injuries, he had felt so powerful, having been the one to force her back into her human form. She was gasping for air, no doubt her body was burning off the last of the foreign chemicals within her system. How easy it would be, to just lift his hand and pinch her nose shut. To hold her head in place while covering her mouth with his other hand, to let her really know what it felt like to almost die. It was a far kinder death than she had tried to bestow upon him and the idiot standing next to him. She deserved something violent, more brutal but for now, with the light pains he was still feeling over various parts of his own body from her today, he would settle for her dead. In any way possible. He could feel his hands grow heavy at his sides, as he was dwelling in the thought, visualizing it in his mind. He could feel his face growing hot, it had been a long time since he had wanted something so bad...but he had a job to do. “You… better hope… my eyes stay… closed. Because…if they open..you’re all dead.” He smiled, but it was darker than his normal expression. She had to be joking.

Her voice was so small, so fragile he felt the air might just break it. He could see her body writhing, but the bonds that secured her didn't budge. She was really going to keep making her idle threats? He had won, for all her beastly powers, she was helpless. Her fate was in their hands, how awful that must be for her. “I wish you could see us all shaking then,” For once, he agreed with the man, and found himself darkly chuckling along with Stavros at her expense. “Can you go ahead and use your high and mighty powers to get us moving?” And then it was gone. His expression soured and he felt his eyes roll in his head. In the process of turning around he paused to face Tristan “Watch your tone or you'll miss all the fun”. Lifting his hands to motion the healers to bring her forward he could hear the Prison workers rushing to gather the appropriate shackles for the room. It wasn't far from here and he knew that, It was going to be the second room on the right. There were only three rooms, two on the right and one on the left. Yet, the second on the right was the only one capable of holding an animal like her. The others, one for visitation and one for incarceration yet only sized to hold humans. If she attempted to wolf out there would be no place for her to go. It wasn't like the questioning rooms at the Ministry, there was only one real chair, with a full back and a full body harness, and one stool. There was no double paned window to see from, if you wanted in, you had to stand around the room. The whole place smelled like mildew and...other bodily fluids. The only lighting was from the hole in the ceiling, covered by bars so that the dementors would always be able to view what was happening in their home.

While Ashton might have been new to the Austrian Ministry, he was no new hat to the Auror business. He had been hand selected almost right out of training to be an Auror, and had gone straight from basic training, to his more advanced courses. It was why he had been traveling so much, and he had loved it, not being anchored to a single home office. That and...his own more personal reasons. Things like this were routine for him. Hate it all he liked, Stavros had to recognize that Ashton had far more experience in this sort of matter. It was a common misconception that since he had only been back in Austria for a matter of months, that he wasn't qualified or that he had been given his position prematurely. He had worked his ass off for this job, he deserved it, and he would be damned if some sports nut came in and jeopardized it for him. This was his time to shine. He stopped the group for a moment, “You might as well do her photo before we get started, her eyes are open aren't they? It's safest for you” He was of course, referring to the picture that they took to keep track of the inmates, he knew that somebody had the little board with numbers to hold in front of her to get her face and profile. They could wait, but she certainly wasn't going to hold it herself, in her hands that small piece of board might just be a weapon. He couldn't see how, but then again he wasn't the type to leave a person holding their own innards. He shot her another glance, even knowing that he was going to be forced to stare into her face for the next countless hours. He needed to get his remorse out of his system. Remorse that he hadn't killed her, that the potion hadn't rendered her a vegetable, that he hadn't ruined her whenever he had had her in his office, surrounded by Auror's.

Her face was pale, almost green looking which was strange given her darker Egyptian skin. She almost seemed sunken in, gaunt since she was no doubt dehydrated from all of the sweating she had done on the way over here, not to mention the adrenaline that had to of worn off by now. Smirking to himself he waited as they started to gather the thing needed, and braced himself for the brighter than normal flash of the enchanted camera, sure enough, they took her face, it had to of been a wonderful thing as soon as she opened her eyes, to have the flash set off and blinding her again, then they rotated the stretcher and snapped her photo again. Smiling to himself as he watched her eyes blink and water. It was so minor, but it was a discomfort and that was all that he could really ask for. Collecting himself he turned and motioned with his head for Stavros to follow him into the room. He pushed the door open with his foot and head another person follow him in, he presumed that it was Stavros. Just like he had been expecting, the smell was fowl, and he had to cover his nose from the second that he went into the room. With her heightened sense, she was in for a real treat. He could only hope that he got used to it sooner rather than later. There were three syringes on the table. Nothing like his special potion, but animal tranquilizers and veriteserum. Moving over to them, he picked up the one with the golden liquid, letting the cold loops covering his fingers to calm his nerves. With regret, he turned to face Stavros, and extended the needle to him without a word. It was the tranquilizer that they were going to need to use to transfer her from the stretcher to the chair and get the bonds on her. Stavros needed to hurt her too, he could see it in his eyes. He might loath the man, but for a very, very short window they had a common enemy. He could have this one, since Ashton was going to have the others. “Right into her spine”

[Isis Moswen]

The laughter that resulted from Isis’ comment was enough to make her struggle against the binds constraining her. She hated being laughed at. It stemmed from back when she was in the awkward stages of puberty. Back when she was only starting to take on the characteristics of a werewolf. Laughter never failed to remind her of the brats she had gone to school with. They had always made fun of her because she was different. Then, when her looks and curves started to develop and she had taken on another five inches in height, it had gotten even worse. It was jealousy, that’s what her mother had tried to convince her. Still, it was nearly impossible to accept her appearance when the teasing only continued getting worse and worse. Finally, it had all come to ahead after the first time she had turned. Against the wishes of Osiris, Isis had sought the girls out. The need for blood, human blood, was overwhelming. It hadn’t taken very long as she knew where one of the girls lived. Ever so conveniently, the girl had been outside returning from a walk. Once she was only a few feet from her house, Isis attacked. She landed on the girl, hearing bones break from the moment of impact. Her mouth opened to began screaming and she swiped at the girl, leaving four deep cuts from the girl’s left cheek to her right jaw. Her snout then went to the girl’s jugular, smelling the pulsating vein above all others. Her teeth sunk deep into the girl’s flesh and Isis’ bloodlust became insatiable. When she was finished, the girl lay dying in the street outside of her home and she ran off as the door to the house opened and screams filled the night air.

That was the type of predator she had always been. What she always would be. For people to still not take Isis seriously was mind-blowing. The two rats that had dragged her here had firsthand knowledge of that. If only she could open her eyes and break through these restraints. If only. “I wish you could see us all shaking then.” A deep growl left her throat. Despite the situation completely not being in her favor, she was still convinced that it would only take one moment of weakness from one of these bastards that she could take advantage of. A dim light suddenly showed from the middle of her eyes. Her lids still couldn’t fully open, but this had to mean that they were in the process of working towards that goal. Isis could feel her face scrunching up as she tried to help speed it up but it was useless. This was beyond her control. She hated feeling so damn weak. It was new to her. Even in the early years of her transformation she had never felt so defenseless. Merlin she was glad that Osi couldn’t see her like this. Although her brother would never judge her for circumstances beyond her control, she would still be ashamed for him to see her bound to a table, unable to control a single limb. How had she gotten here? If only she had the ability to play back that very moment she had been taken advantage of. Isis could only remember bits and pieces of the incident that had brought her here, but they were enough to know that if hadn’t been for the intrusion of an unknown attacker then both Wentworth and his pretty boy friend would be dead and she would be reveling in her victory without a single care in the world. That was how things should have gone.

Instead, she was here. In Azkaban prison like some…criminal. People like her didn’t belong here. Prison was for the idiots who didn’t know how to do their jobs properly. Society’s rejects. The people Darren found to be completely incompetent. “Can you go ahead and use your high and mighty powers to get us moving?” Isis was finally able to see the blurry bulb of a flickering ceiling light. Then the cart she was laying on began to move. “You might as well do her photo before we get started, her eyes are open aren't they? It's safest for you.” Another growl. If a prison photo was to be taken, she would have preferred it to be when she was in a state unlike the one she was in now. This picture would likely be released to the papers around the country once the media caught wind of her capture. Theleast they could have done was make her look intimidating. She had a family name to uphold after all. The stretcher stopped and two blurry faces came into sight. She began to blink, doing her best to make her vision clearer. Before she could though, the bright light of the flashbulb of a camera hit her square in her eyes. Isis moaned. She was never going to be able to see again. The camera then clicked again. This time, her eyes began to water from the added stress. They were probably going to think she was crying. That they were winning. Her heart began to race faster, fueled by a fire that was burning ferociously within her chest. One opportunity was all she needed. The fates had to start working in her favor sooner rather than later. She had sustained enough torture to last her a lifetime. Surely some relief had to be coming at any moment.

But it never did. Isis’ body continued to be rotated every which way on the stupid stretcher. The only happiness she found was that her vision was getting better. Now, only things surrounding certain objects were blurry. That did nothing to conceal the stench radiating from the room. At this point, she wasn’t sure if her eyes were watering from adjusting to the light or because foul odors in the air. She silently curses her heightened sense of smell. She didn’t know what this room was used for but she was secretly glad she had regained full sight. It was possible that seeing the causes of the stenches would actually be worse than smelling them. Two new figures approached the table. Even with her limited range of view, she knew that it was the two idiots that had brought her here. Wentworth was slowly extending his arm in the direction of the other one. “Right into her spine.” Isis didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean but the fear in her heart increased. She had to remain calm. Whatever they wanted to inject into her body wasn’t likely to work. Right? She had no clue. But she had to make them think that she wasn’t afraid. “Not every…poison works boys. Unless you’re getting ready to pump…me full of what…you used earlier, I doubt…it’ll have it’s desired…effect.”

[Deleted]

Tristan’s hand was beginning to hurt again. Though the fact that he kept flexing it and causing his fingers to move every time he thought about punching her in the face wasn’t helping. That damned woman infuriated him. Despite her empty threats, it still angered him that she had the audacity to vocalize them. They were in control of this situation now, not her. Not for a very long time. That was how all of Morgan’s little puppets were. Even in desperate times, they still thought they were invincible. He could only pray that this would not be his last time seeing Isis Moswen. He knew that her species made her Ashton’s focus, but if he could talk Rutherford into letting him come back up to Azkaban once or twice during her stay, just to see how she deteriorated, was all that Tristan wanted. He had never wanted pain and suffering to befall any woman before, but Isis wasn’t a woman. She was a beast. And she deserved to be treated like one. He hoped she spent every waking moment for the rest of her life in the miserable confines of Azkaban prison. It was more than she deserved, but if she was forced to keep living and breathing the same air as him, he wanted her to stay in agony. It truly did bother him to have such negative thoughts towards another. It wasn’t the way he conducted himself nor how he had been taught to treat others. However, every single time Tristan was reminded of all the weeks he had spent at St. Everdines waiting for his back to heal and the worry about possibly turning into something like her consuming him, even after being healed, he stayed in that dark place.

Looking back to Wentworth, Tristan chuckled at the man’s eye rolling. “Watch your tone or you'll miss all the fun.” As soon as that comment left his mouth though, he frowned. Merlin was he going to enjoy breaking every bone in Ashton’s face when they were back in Austria. The more he had to be reminded of his lower status, the more ammunition he was going to have when they were back home. In fact, at this point, he had every intention of tackling the prick off the boat once it docked. Grudgingly, he followed the man and the other Azkaban healers and guards as they walked down the hall. Tristan could hear the muffled yells and screams of the prisoners on the floors above as they got further. It gave him an uneasy feeling being here. Yet it also provoked a morbid fascination. He was curious to go up another level and see the horrifying conditions the inmates had to reside in. He wanted to see how the misery affected them. How many years their faces had aged early. Even worse, the vegetable state that Dementor’s kisses had put them in. Tristan hoped it would be a sentence Isis was given. This was where all the hardened criminals deserved to go. Every single one of them deserved to be held accountable for their actions. They needed to know that they had to pay the price for betraying their country or maiming the life of an innocent civilian. Azkaban was a better punishment then death. Nothing was more appropriate then forcing the guilty to feel a fraction of the pain they had caused others for the rest of their lives. This was exactly where Isis Moswen needed to be, among swine’s like her.

Once the group finally reached the door where the wolf would be questioned, Tristan waited as the guards unlocked the door, stepped in and turned on the light switch. A foul odor entered his nostrils as they waited for the okay to enter. Making a face, he brought his hand over his nose. He looked down to Isis and smiled as she rolled by, seeing her acute senses unable to be relieved from the nauseating smell. He wanted things to keep going from bad to worse for her. Standing off to the side, he watched as they begin to prep her for her mugshots. It was all he could do to keep from laughing. Tomorrow, if not tonight, the Timestopper would have her humiliating pictures all over the covers of their newspaper. He hoped they would catch her as the worst possible anger. If Tristan knew anything about women, it was that they all cared about their appearances with a camera pointed at them. Isis was vain. The horrible mugshot would only add to her misery here. When they were permittied to enter, he followed Ashton. He could see Isis better. Her eyes were blinking at a rapid pace, failing desperately to regain the sight she had once had. It was only a matter of time before she would be able to see again, but just as one thing began to look up for her, he and Ashton were going to be right there to knock her back down another notch. When he stopped, he noticed the tray off to the side with various syringes resting on the cold silver. He watched as Ashton picked up one with a gold liquid, envious of not being able to have a part in directly aiding to her forced compliance. Then he turned around. Tristan’s eyes narrowed as Wentworth extended the needle to him. The look on the man’s face was solemn, like he didn’t enjoy having him partake in this, but Tristan understood. They had both been tortured at the hands of Isis. They both deserved to inflict the same back to her. Together.

“Right into her spine.” Tristan nodded, gingerly grabbing the syringe as not to drop it or stab himself with it. He stared at it for a few seconds, every dark memory of the Masquerade, the following weeks and Gringotts passing before his eyes. This was only a bit of the revenge he wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Not every…poison works boys. Unless you’re getting ready to pump…me full of what…you used earlier, I doubt…it’ll have it’s desired…effect.” He was tired of hearing her talk now. He knew that she didn’t know keeping her mouth shut was better for her. He was going to get such satisfaction from this. “With pleasure.” Closing the space between the two of them and Isis, he stopped at her stretcher. As the guards pulled her to the side, Tristan leaned in, found his target and took a deep breath. Then, without another word, he pierced her skin right at the base of her spine.