His Mark
[Knowledge is Power]

10th June 2016
Friday

Since I was three, I've decided that boats and grey were high on my Things I Hate List.

It was growing by the minute as the gray, foamy waves battered us to our destination, grudgingly taking us to our destination.My clothes and hair were plastered to my skin, sticking to it like a second membrane.

I hate the cold I thought bitterly to myself, hugging myself to preserve the little warmth I had.

I spat out sea water with a little vomit into the colorless sea, my eyes watering from the sea spray. I closed my eyes- there was nothing to see but various shades of gray and dullness. Oh how I would like to be by the fire and to be warm and dry, away from this terrible abyss.

I hate seawater I added.

As if God heard my thoughts, the weight of cold and water lifted from my clothes. I slowly unfurled my eyelids and gave my Mother a weak thankful smile that she ignored; all her attention was diverted on the weathered tower, guarded like a swarm of sharks by a circle of cropped, jagged rocks and the foaming, angry sea.

I watched my mother as she gazed at the triangular fortress, her brown eyes holding the same hard glint that she always had, though this time it was for sorrow, not for pride. Her short raven hair stayed stubbornly dry, her mouth was pursed in a hard line.

I was my mother in miniature, down to the long, slim finger that we shared to the sheet of raven hair that was as dark as night. But if I was the sun, she was the moon, pale and cold, and if I was a warm, crackling fire, she was a freshly calved iceberg.

"Madame Yaxley, we will be landing shortly. I trust that you know the proceedings and rules of Azkaban?"
"I do, Mister Haros. Please continue",Mother replied cooly.

Our ferryman, an old and bald man shrouded in black robes tapped a spot in front of the boat with his wand. Years of experience taught me to grab on tightly to the sides as the boat floated in the air and carried us safely above the crashing waves. I shuddered as I saw an unidentifiable carcass, catching a glimpse of a flash of bone could be seen in a clump of gray flesh.

We landed with a soft thud on the uneven ground.
We were a few feet from the prison, the mix of sand and jutting rocks weathered to a path to the domineering building. There was no name on the building, it was a cursed name, and those who came did not a plaque to know the name of their prison.

Azkaban

The arched doorway held a sheet of a silver material instead of a customary door, seeming impenetrable. Haros placed his hand on the sheet of silver and it melted away, sliding to oblivion.
He bowed us in, my mother giving not one gesture of acknowledgement.
As our footsteps moved away, the silver substance glided upwards like a waterfall moving up and solidifying to it's original solid form.

Our wands were confiscated, tests, questions to determine our identity were given.
Since the Second Wizarding War, Azkaban was guarded by wizards instead of Dementors, which gave rise to higher security practises to prevent a prison outbreak.
The Aurors did surprisingly well- since Harry Potter came to be Head Auror there was only one prisoner escape.

After the proceedings, we were lead through dry and draughty corridors stationed with Aurors at various intervals.
I retreated into my cloak as the cold attacked me with icy fingers, feeling a twinge of sympathy for my father. To an outsider, my mother's demeanor would have shown as much change as the Antarctic lands-only I could see the subtle quickening of her pace and the slight widening of her eyes.
In this place of death and where the carriers of death once stood, she was more alive than ever.

I averted my eyes from the prisoners- there were some that just lay there, bored or stared sullenly at the gray walls, some who abruptly fill the air with unearthly shrieks and others who sat pitifully crying their souls out- both groups were old prisoners, back when they were imprisoned with not a single shred happiness or hope. I shuddered with revulsion as I caught one eying me hungrily, his colourless lips curving in a suggestive smirk.

Of course, this wasn't the first time.

Thankfully we arrived at our destinated cell- 05AY. The cells were arranged in the year that the criminals were convicted, and then in alphabetical order of their names-so in my father's case, Anthony Yaxley was convicted and trialed in 2005.

Yes, my father evaded capture for that long.
Seven years in fact.
I really should add that to the list of Father's achievements that I'm proud of-that includes conducting unfair and inhumane trials on muggle-borns and being one of the Dark Lord's trusted advisors.
A really great person to take after.

"Mister Yaxley, you have visitors."

The gray clad man turned around. His graying hair was thinning at a considerable rate, his face was lined with deeper and more numerous wrinkles, his hands more so.
A stark contrast to my mother, who was only forty five but Azkaban, even without it's dementors left it's mark on it's inhabitants life span.

"We'll give you so space. Madame Yaxley," Our escorter nodded respectfully to my mother,"and Miss Yaxley"

By space he means he'll be waiting at the end of the corridor, watching everyone's move.

We sat on the ledge that was screwed to the bars of the cells, my father gracefully striding towards us and landing in a wooden chair that looks more uncomfortable then the ledge we were sitting on. Since my mother was still staring at him like she couldn't believe her perfect eyesight, and him her, I decided to make my presence clear.

" Good evening Father."
My tone was polite and affirmative, like talking to a business associate.

He pulled out of his staring match and focused his gray-blue eyes on me.

"Ah, Cordelia. Starting Hogwarts soon?" His voice was dry, but still held the imagined authority after all those years.
"Yes, we have already brought my things"
"Very good. I expect you'll be sorted into Slytherin"
"Yes, I suppose so" I was lying through my teeth- I did not want my connections to the Death Eaters to be more defined by being in Slytherin.
"Very good. Could you please give your mother and I some space?"
"Of course" I was already preparing myself to move to the closest staircase, well aware of the routine.
Three or four sentences each then I would go to the staircase.
It happened so often that I couldn't be bothered feeling hurt.

I would stare out at the gray, churning sea, lost in my thoughts, occasionally trying out my underage magic, but it would never work in these cells, only Aurors could do magic here. Today I brought one of my school books to read- One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
I have always had some affinity with plants and it's uses-my first signs of magic was coaxing a stubborn Shrivelfig to fruition, much to my mother's rare delight. It got to the point where I could control the vines to fetch me a glass of water when I was out gardening for mother.

I was snickering at a picture of a Venomous Tentacula thrashing a stupid looking gardner when snatches of my parent's conversation drifted towards me.

"... an old bloodline..."
"His son?"
" yes, or...heir, he was wearing his..."
''...it wasn't a fake?''
''No..it...the child's hand...''
"...the Malfoys..."

I frowned in concentration as their whispers started to lower down to inaudible tones.
What boy could get my high class parents attention?
He must have an impressive lineage for them to speak in such awe.
And why the secrecy? Wouldn't they want me to befriend him to gain more 'connections'-not that I would want to befriend a person just because my parents told me to.

I crept forwards, eager for more puzzle pieces to fit in the picture.
What was the picture that my parents didn't want me to see?

Immediately, my mother's voice cut through the air like a whiplash.
"Cordelia! Come out at once!"

I winced before painfully shuffling out sheepishly, waiting for a scolding. I wasn't that obvious, was I?
I dared a peek at my mother's face.
She didn't look as half as scary as I expected her to, actually she didn't look half as anything at all, her face was blank as a marble slate.

"Cordelia.You did not hear anything."
"Well-", I changed my track as soon as I saw my mother's hard look- that was not a question.
"No. Absolutely not a word."
"Let us go now", My mother murmured a few uncaught words to my father, who nodded solemnly back.

I sent my customary goodbyes to Father, who nodded briefly before we turned to our separate ways. I trudged behind my mother, already preparing for the stares and creeper laughs that rang through Azkaban.

After all, it's just another visit to Azkaban.

A/N
Hi guys, I'm the co-writer for His Mark.
I hope the first glimpses of Cordelia was to your liking and up to JamzlsMe's standard.

I appreciate any constructive feedback!

Lady Nyx