Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Joe’s head pounded as he waited for death to take him. When nothing happened, however, he opened his eyes to see with astonishment that not only was he still alive, but his arms were no longer tied. Voldemort was still standing above him, wand pointed at his heart. Slowly, keeping his eyes on the Dark Lord before him, Joe flexed his arms, groaning as his cramped muscles protested. Lucius then bent down beside him and handed the youth a piece of parchment and a large quill. “Write exactly what we tell you,” he hissed. Voldemort’s wand was still pointed directly at his heart. Joe took the quill, and glaring at the two wizards, prepared to write. “Oh,” he added, “make sure you say it as you write it.” Joe didn’t understand the reason behind this, but did not argue, due to the wand pointed at him.

“Say this,” said Voldemort. “’Hi. Mom, Dad, and Frank. I am alive right now, but that can be changed in a heartbeat.’” Joe gritted his teeth and he wrote the words, then, as the wand was pressed painfully into his back, repeated them. His voice was hoarse and strained, having not had anything to drink in over twenty-four hours. Voldemort continued, “’I have been through more torture today. I am getting closer to death every day. My fate is in you hands. Voldemort can kill painfully—or with no pain at all. It is your choice which. If you refuse to join, I will die a slow and painful death, and will blame you for it. If you do, Voldemort ensures my quick and painless death. It’s your choice.’” With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, Joe repeated and wrote the message. Voldemort then ordered him to say goodbye to his family—no matter what their final decision was, he would never see them again. His voice shaking with emotion, Joe added, “I love you guys. Frank, I’m sorry. Please find me.” Voldemort snatched the letter away before he could say any more.

He began writing something and muttered, “Fenton—his time is running out. He shall be dead in three days. The sooner you join, the sooner he is put out of his misery.” Then he pulled out his wand, pointed it at the parchment, and muttered a spell. Then he put it in a bright red envelope and sealed it with wax. “A howler,” he said shortly, then conjured and owl out of thin air and went to the door that had appeared once more. He told the creature to go to the Hardy house, in Bayport, then came back to Joe.

“Really, there is no point in keeping you tied up all day. There is no possible way for you to escape,” he said thoughtfully, and Joe felt a ray of hope shoot through his body. Even if he couldn’t escape, at least could stretch his legs and walk around. “But,” Voldemort went on, “the whole point of your imprisonment is discomfort, torture, and in three days’ time, death. Who would I be to go against it?”

“Master,” said Lucius hesitantly, “if I may make a suggestion.” Voldemort fixed his gleaming eyes upon his servant, and Lucius continued. “What if we give him a wand? Just to see if he has any powers?” Joe felt a small jolt of excitement. Maybe if he did get a wand, maybe if he did have powers…maybe he could get out of there. No, he decided, Voldemort was much more powerful than he could dream to start out to be…besides, he probably wouldn’t even have powers. But Lucius wasn’t finished. “If he does, don’t you believe his death will be even more traumatic for his family, if they learned their son had powers, and if they hadn’t sheltered him, he could have possibly saved himself?”

“Lucius,” said Voldemort sternly, “just because I trust you, do you think I tell you everything? For your information, that was part of the plan. However, it will not go into effect until his death draws near—he will die trying to learn if he has powers…how to use a wand…trying to protect himself…so at least he will not die completely helpless.”

Lucius bowed slightly and said, “Of course you are right, Milord.”

Although feeling sick, Joe set himself to quietly untying the ropes around his legs while his captors discussed his death. He had just stood shakily up and was making his way slowly, silently, across the room to see if maybe the door would show up for him, when Voldemort and Lucius noticed that he had escaped and immediately whipped around. They saw their captive making a break for it. Voldemort pointed his wand at the youth, and yelled, “Crutio!” Joe dodged it, now trying to escape from further pain, not even thinking of getting away from the prison. But his attempts were, of course, futile; Voldemort was able to determine his next move, and less than ten seconds later, Joe was back in his agonizing nightmare. ‘Please,’ Joe thought wildly as his screams tore from his parched lips. ‘Please, just let me die!’

Voldemort either interpreted the screams or could read his mind, for Joe could swear that over his cries of anguish, the wizard said, “Do not worry, my dear Joseph, the time will come sooner than you think.”

Dumbledore, Frank, Fenton, Laura, Harry, Hermione, and Ron watched as the boys ran toward the scream. “That’s Joe?” Hermione whispered to Frank, seeing his wistful gaze when he saw his brother. The youth didn’t trust himself to speak, so he merely nodded.

“Shhh,” Dumbledore warned, and everyone fell silent. A sob escaped from Laura’s lips as she saw her boys attacked—then the image faded out, for that was all Frank remembered from that particular time. Next, the group saw Frank waking up in the unknown prison. As his eyes fell on Joe, lying bound and unconscious, the real Frank rushed forward and fell to his knees, forgetting momentarily that he was in a memory. But seeing himself lying bound and speaking angrily to Lucius just a few feet away, he remembered. Feeling a soft hand on his shoulder, he stood and spun around, seeing his father.

“Son,” Fenton said, “you have been through this. There is no reason for you to have to relive it.” He held up his hand as Frank began to protest. “No, I’m not asking you to leave. Just, while we watch—for we need to see what happened— you look around for any clue that might indicate where you were.”

Frank nodded, and Fenton, with sorrowful eyes, turned to watch Frank and Joe’s ordeal with the rest of the group.

Frank strode away from the sound of his voice pleading with Voldemort to spare his brother, trying to forget that he was inside the horrible memory; he only concentrated on finding a clue as to where his brother was being kept.

As the scene went on around him, he walked to where the door would have been—and saw something strange. ‘Why is there water on the floor?’ he wondered. ‘Could Joe be in a rainy place? Could the water have come from their shoes or clothes? Could he be…nah, he couldn’t…but with these guys, anything is possible. Is he underwater?’ As these thoughts swirled through his mind, he tried to block out his brother’s screams, Voldemort’s evil laugh, his mother’s cries, and his own pleas, and kept up his search.

He saw something set into one of the walls, and was leaning to see it better when he heard a shrill shriek from his mother. He spun around and nearly retched when he saw himself stab his brother. He turned away, swallowing back bile. He had barely gotten a glimpse at the symbol encrusted in the muddy wall when everything faded away and he, along with his family and newly found friends, were hurled out of the pensive.

Frank stood quietly as they landed in the present time, in his house. His eyes moved from Dumbledore’s troubled face, to Harry’s sad and distracted one, to Hermione’s horrified gaze, then settled on Ron’s appalled pale face, then moved on to his father’s angry face and his mother’s distraught one.

“So now you know what happened,” he said grimly, finally breaking the silence.

“It was just as bad as I had feared,” Fenton said dully, and Dumbledore nodded distractedly.

A moment later, his eyes landed on Frank and he said, “What did you find, Frank?”

“You didn’t recognize the place?”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched slightly as he answered, “I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be taking in the scenery. I was intent on watching what happened between you, Joe, and Voldemort.” Ron shuddered, this time, Frank, Laura, Harry, and Hermione with him. “It could be any underground place, I am sure. But what did you find?”

Frank related the discovery of the water to the rest, and Fenton frowned. “Could they be underwater, Dumbledore?”

“That’s what I thought!” Frank said excitedly. “But where?” ‘There’s even more water on the earth than land,’ he realized. ‘It will be much more strenuous of a search now…but maybe not.’

He quickly added aloud, “I also saw something encrusted in the wall. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like an ‘A’. It seemed to have some sort of skeleton hand caressing the letter.”

“A…A…A…” Harry muttered thoughtfully.

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Professor, what if he’s at—”

“Azkaban!” Dumbledore finished for her.

“Azkaban?” said Fenton in disbelief.

“Azkaban?” Frank echoed, confused.

“The wizard prison,” Fenton explained hurriedly to his son.

“But wouldn’t there be dementors?” Ron asked doubtfully.

Harry jumped in as a sudden thought took him. “They may not be in Azkaban…but under it.”

“It makes sense,” Laura put in.

“Dad, is it possible to get under there?”

Fenton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. For Voldemort, who’s got the dementors—prison guards, horrible creatures, mind you—on his side, I’m sure anything is possible. Albus…do you know if there is a chamber under the island?”

“An island?” Frank exclaimed, elated. “That must mean we’re on the right track to finding Joe!”

“Exactly,” Fenton replied.

Dumbledore cut in. “Yes, there is a chamber under the prison. It was for the victims of the kiss to await their sentence, before the dementors began administering it ‘on location’, if you will.”

Everyone except Frank shuddered. “The kiss?”

“That’s where the dementors suck out your soul,” Ron explained.

Frank paled. “You don’t think they’ll do that to Joe, do you?”

“We do not know,” Dumbledore murmured, placing a comforting hand on the youth’s shoulder. “We do not even know how long he has left…”

At that moment, a large owl banged defiantly against the window. Frank jumped. “An owl?” he said as the bird was quickly brought in. But nobody was listening. All were staring at the bright red envelope the winged creature had just given to them.

“A howler,” Laura breathed. “From…?”

“Him, no doubt,” Fenton finished.

“A what?”

Frank found out “what” as soon as Dumbledore opened the letter. Instead of a paper inside, Joe’s voice echoed from inside the envelope. Frank jumped, and the entire party paled at what they heard.

“Hi. Mom, Dad, and Frank,” came the boy’s weak and strained voice from the envelope. “I am alive right now, but that can be changed in a heartbeat. I have been through more torture today. I am getting closer to death every day. My fate is in you hands. Voldemort can kill painfully—or with no pain at all. It is your choice which. If you refuse to join, I will die a slow and painful death, and will blame you for it. If you do, Voldemort ensures my quick and painless death. It’s your choice.” Joe spoke these words with absolutely no emotion. Then, his voice changed. Sounding desperate, as if he were about to cry, he said, “I love you guys. Frank, I’m sorry. Please find me.”

Then Voldemort’s voice hissed from the envelope, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple through all the teenagers. “Fenton—his time is running out. He shall be dead in three days. The sooner you join, the sooner he is put out of his misery.” Then the envelope began to smoke and burned into ashes.

Finally, Frank broke the silence. “So, he’s going to die whether or not you join,” he confirmed in a dull voice.

“No, he’s not going to die!” Hermione spoke up and laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder. Frank looked at her, eyes filling with tears. She looked into the distraught face and said, “We’re going to Azkaban right now, aren’t we?” She failed to notice the envious look Ron was shooting at her and Frank, as did the rest of the group.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said. “But not unlike Hogwarts, you cannot apperate or disapperate on grounds of the prison. We shall appearate on the coast, then take a boat to the island.” As they prepared to depart, a small rat scurried out of the room and down the steps. His name was Peter Pettigrew, and he had to get to his master…and to tell him all he had heard.

Let the author know what you think of this story

Home Library Authors Rogue's Gallery Vehicles Chums Message Board Rap Sheet Links Contact

Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.