“You’re too late! TOOOOO LATE!”

As obvious as they were, the cackles of the Azkaban escapees were taunts that Fletcher couldn’t resist. “Too late for what?”

“E v e r y t h i n g,” cackled the escapee with the worst teeth, breaking out into a classic villain laugh.

“You need to see a dentist, mate," Fletcher snickered back. "Right, lemme help you save your spit for the tooth fairy." He cast a nonverbal silencio toward the prisoners he had already rounded up. These escapees needed to get back to Azkaban before they egged him into doing something stupid.

What was this? Fletcher stumbled out of the forest and into a clearing, where a huge stone basin with soft wisps of grey smoke reeling off it was resting on top of a crumbling pillar. “Is this a….a…”

He leaned in toward the bowl to get a look at it. Were there figures moving in there?! He’d never seen such a thing. Fletcher was entranced, his nose getting too close to the surface of the memor, and in fact touching the liquid inside. With a loud WHOOOSH only he could hear, the cursebreaker was sucked in to someone else’s pensieve.