[LOG] Jailbreaking Azkaban

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Who: Alison Mallory, Kahvi Sidhe, Ora Yang, and the Order of the Phoenix
When: New Years Eve, 1998
Where: The Burrow, a remote English suburb
What: The Order of the Phoenix jailbreaks Azkaban, and the girls are help out

*~*~*~*~*

Ora stuffed her sash and a spare change of clothes in her bag, and bounded down the stairs to grab her winter coat from the closet in the hallway. "Mum! Dad! I'm ready!" she shouted, stuffing her arms through the sleeves and doing a quick check through the list in her mind to make sure she had packed everything she needed, and everything that would make it seem like she was going to a legitimate sleepover at the Burrow.

"Mm hm," Ora's father said simply as he folded his copy of The Daily Prophet and set it down on the sitting room table. He shot his daughter a dubious look. Ora smiled up at him cheerfully, as if nothing was wrong. She mitigated it a little when her father's look turned more severe.

"You know if you get lost, Ora, you're breaking curfew."

Ora rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Dad, I know. But I'm eighteen! I can Apparate properly; I'm not going to get lost or end up in the middle of the woods."

Ambassador Yang's mouth twitched as if he didn't completely believe his daughter, but had to actually refrain from telling her so. "I'll leave the wards down for five minutes," he said simply, drawing his wand from the fold of his robes, "so if you get lost you can Apparate back."

"Okay, Dad," Ora said. She rolled her eyes again.

"Have you got everything?" Ora's mum asked. She rose from the couch and looked pointedly at Ora's bag.

"Yup," Ora said with a nod. "And if not, I'm sure Alison can lend me something."

"Toothbrush?"

Ora nodded. "Packed it already, Mum."

Ora's mother simply nodded and smiled, and came around the sofa to give her daughter a hug and a kiss. "Well, Happy New Year, and enjoy the night with your friends."

"Thanks!" Ora gave her mum and dad a hug and a kiss each. Her father still did not look entirely happy as he closed his eyes and hummed the chant to lift the anti-Apparition wards surrounding their house, but Ora still managed a smile as she waved and then thought very hard of the Burrow.

*~*~*~*~*

Ottery St. Catchpole was even colder than London, and even in a thick scarf and coat Ora was shivering. She had appeared about one hundred meters out from the Burrow, and was throughly cold by the time she got to the door and lifted a hand to knock politely at it. Even though the house seemed quiet from the outside, Ora wondered if anyone would hear here--after all, she could not imagine that a rescue the proportions of breaking in and out of Azkaban would take any less than a good chunk of the Order.

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Ora held the remaining Portkey in her hand, a little wooden picture frame decorated with enchanted painted flowers that floated back and forth as if being blown by an invisible wind. It had suddenly gone very quiet now that Lysienne had left, taking Rolan with her, and Ora felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she looked between the two stunned and bound Death Eaters--she thought she could still hear them breathing.

What was the Order going to do with them? Ora walked over to the one whose arm she had broken. He was lying where he had crumpled from her spell, presumably still unconscious. Ora eased closer, dropping to her knees on the ground. Something told her she simply ought to retreat to the other side of the room and make sure neither of the Death Eaters woke up, but curiosity got the better of her, and she shoved her fear down and tried to forget about it.

Who were these people? What would the Order do with them now that they were captured? Ora couldn't imagine anyone in the Order killing them--neither the Weasleys nor Professor Lupin seemed like the type of wizards who would kill another, but this was war, wasn't it? Death was supposed to be a given. A few of their own had certainly been killed on this mission. Ora tried to picture Mrs. Weasley as the vengeful executioner, but failed. Perhaps they would just be imprisoned, and that would be that.

Ora reached forward, wondering how many children of Death Eaters she knew from school. She wondered whether, if she took off the masks of the men here, if she would recognize them through their resemblance of their children. If not, did they have family of their own? Was there a family out there who would wake disappointed in the new year, that their father, brother, or son hadn't come back in the night?

"This is probably a bad idea," Ora muttered to herself quietly. She reached forward to unmask the Death Eater, but thought better of putting her own fingers on it. Trust them to be the ones to think of poisoning their own masks, or something like that. Ora pulled out her wand, and accidentally sent the mask flying into the wall in her nervousness. She dropped to the ground and stared at him. The man seemed middle-aged, his forehead and eyes wrinkled, his hair graying. If he was the father of anyone she knew, he certainly didn't look like it.

She wondered if there was anything on him that might be of interest or of use to the Order, so Ora went through the pockets of his robes--nothing. Not even a coin on him. Ora frowned, a little disappointed. Well, at least there was one thing of use. She picked up his wand, thinking that perhaps somebody would have a use for it now that Mr. Ollivander had mysteriously disappeared and wands were now rather difficult to come by in London.

To the other Death Eater, Ora repeated the same thing. She demasked him as well and searched his clothing for anything helpful, but once again turned up empty-handed except for his wand. Ora wondered if she should just break them out of spite, or hand them over to the Order. She had just decided on the latter when outside of the house she heard the crack of Apparition.

Hoping it was Lysienne, Ora raised her wand and pointed it at the doorway, shoving the two spares she had just picked up in her pocket. She heard the door open and three sets of footsteps make their way through the hallway.

"Hello? Ora?"

Ora let out a sigh of relief as Mrs. Weasley poked her head into the room, with Lysienne and Professor Lupin following closely on her heels.