"Excuse me?" I was, for all intents and purposes, flabbergasted. It appeared the ruling that would expel me and destroy my wand had just passed.
"Ah, well, I'm sorry it had to be this way, Mr. Potter. Although, if you'd only listened to the notice we sent you after your last bout of accidental magic, this whole sticky situation could've been avoided. Shame, shame. Come on Weatherby, time to go." I stood still with shock as two aurors confiscated my wand and snapped it in half. Breaking slightly out of my shock induced state, I turned towards Dumbledore, who was floored, hands gripping the banister against which he stood, to stabilize himself. Any cry for help from this abysmal situation dried on my lips as I saw this.
At that moment, something inside me snapped. Maybe it was an overreaction—who knows. But, as I was saying, something in me snapped.
I acted quickly, kneeing the auror next to me in the balls. That bastard wouldn't be getting up for a while. Spinning, I turned around and punched the his partner in the face before anyone knew what had happened. Alas, my luck held out only that far, and someone gasped, revealing my actions.
I had no sooner grabbed the fallen auror's wand, when no less than a dozen curses had been fired at me. I jumped out of the way and landed gracefully on my face. The upside of this was that I dodged every single spell, and was out of sight, behind the chair, for the time being. The downside being my hurt nose, of course.
Breathing deeply, and casting the best shield I could—which wasn't too shabby—I leapt out of the chair's cover, and transfigured a particularly tall wizard's hat into a duck. This in itself caused quite a deal of commotion. My next act, however, trumped that with its pinky finger. I snapped off several low powered fire charms at the ceiling and placed a silencing charm over my head as I was hit with a powerful leg-locker.
When wizards copy muggles, they tend to overdo things. This was the principle I bet upon here. Apparently, the ministry was no exception. A muggle fire detector makes a loud noise and blinks. A magical fire detector, on the other hand, engorges to the size of a disco ball, and turns into a searchlight. Did I mention the foghorn like noises emanating from it every two seconds or so?
However, the best part by far had to be when fire-hose like torrents of water rained from the ceiling, knocking several people down and plastering many others to the floor. If I had any time, I would've cackled maniacally at the destruction I had wrought. I really was losing it, wasn't I? Anyway, due to the emergency, many paper airplanes came rushing into the room, which had opened its doors for escape purposes. I happily transformed one into a cat after I had undone the leg locker. Did I mention cats don't like water?
My plan foiled in one way, and one way alone. As I ran towards the door, I ran straight into about ten stupefying spells. I guess I had forgotten that my distraction would lure some of the other people in the building.
"Harry James Potter is hereby sentenced to three years in Azkaban," growled out a dripping wet Fudge. An added bonus of my "distraction" was that the water resisted any and all magical forms of drying off, hence, why everyone was still dripping wet. Well, maybe that was a little silly, it was just water, right? Who would want to put little old me in Azkaban? Apparently almost all of the Wizengamot.
"Oh bugger."
The handcuffs were freezing in the brisk morning air. I futilely attempted to give some warmth to my hands by rubbing them together. One of my guards snorted. I realized I was in for a long three years. People, it seemed, were eager to love and hate. They were also very 'un-eager' to provide warmth. Bastards.
"That's it?" Eight feet by eight feet. A wonderful cell. Apparently I was lucky to have one this large.
The guard shoved me forward, past the entrance, and slammed the cell door shut. This activated some magic unknown to me, and the cuffs released, levitating gracefully away to where they sat on a peg, a few feet above my cot.
Ah, yes, my cot; the shining light in my otherwise dank and hostile hostel. Wonderful thing, really. Reminded me a bit of the Dursley's—though, funnily enough, I had far more room now than I ever did in the cupboard under the stairs.
Anywho, I was rather knackered from the quick events that had taken place, and decided to rest my eyes. Eyes that were most certainly not filled with tears. No sir-ee.
But, alas, my beauty sleep was interrupted when the wonderful caretakers of Azkaban made their rounds past the low security cells. As I would later learn, I suffered nothing compared to Sirius and the 'high crimes' prisoners—the Dementors practically slept there, and only made two or three rounds a day on the lower levels. Their untimely interruption would be the first of many, as I woke up screaming.
Evidently, this was not to be tolerated, and the man across from me had no qualms telling me to shut up. Simon Bartoldus. Fascinating man.
Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-
"Will ya stop your screaming for just a minute? Holy balls, kid, you can outdo my old wife." The sheer shock of being yelled at by a scraggly looking, heavyset man past his prime immediately silenced me, and the Dementors, now uninterested with the lack of pain and anguish, moved on.
After watching them slowly drift away, my attention was once again on the man who had kindly told me to 'shut up'. He was now leaning back into the wall, pretending to be asleep.
Well, that wouldn't do.
"Who the fuck are you?" Maybe Azkaban had really turned me crazy…no…no, it was definitely the trial. The ridiculous trial over my use of magic. Illegal use of magic, my ass. I was defending myself from two Dementors who showed up on my doorstep (ruddy awful, though it was). Speaking of which, how did that even happe-Oh bother, he was talking.
"-on Bartoldus." He coughed and spit a wad of saliva onto the dusty floor. "An' yer Harry Potter."
"Really, Simon, no need to be so uncouth-you'll ruin the poor boy's manners." Another voice, but this one was smoother, youthful, and it sounded like warm chocolate. I peered through the bars, to the left, craning my head to see what kind of beautiful voice like that belonged in Azkaban.
"Hello, Harry, I've Evelyn Morris." Blast, she was in the cell directly next to mine. She waved a slender hand out the bars to greet me. Evidently I wouldn't being seeing the face for the voice any time soon. "Why are you in Azkaban, Harry?" She queried, her voice urging me to spill every secret I knew about myself, urging me to pledge myself to this goddess. I scooted over to the wall separating our cells, hating its existence furiously. "Tell me about yourself." Anything, anything to hear that voice. "How is it that the noble Harry Potter finds himself in Azkaban, that the Boy-Who-Lived is now a lion caged. Do tell, Harry."
I opened my mouth, about to tell this woman everything—my deepest, darkest secrets, my dreams, my aspirations, when I was suddenly cut off. "I-" Stop this, Evelyn.
Reality slid back into place.
What the hell was that?
"Oh, hush, Jan, I was only just playing with the boy." I could imagine the saucy grin on her face as she said this, and shivered. What had she done to me? One moment I was angry, and the next, I was all but devoting myself to an unknown woman who I'd never seen, who was an inmate in Azkaban. Then this voice slid through hers like a knife through butter. This voice was not seduction, not smooth. No; it was powerful, a roaring thunder as it passed through my mind, demanding attention, and throwing away the fetters of her charm.
'You know better than that, Evelyn. He is barely more than a child. He does not deserve your whimsical manipulations.' The voice was quieter now, tired.
Evelyn sighed. "I apologize for that, Harry. Sometimes I find it… difficult to control my urges." What? What did that even mean?
"Who the hell are you people?" I was incensed and confused, having just had my wand snapped, been sent to Azkaban, and then stuck with these weirdoes.
Bartoldus chuckled. "We, kid, are the high-low. High level security, minor misdemeanors."
"Why? What did you do?" I was genuinely curious-curious at what they had done, curious as to why I was put with them.
"Me?" He laughed, a deep chuckle. "Why, I'm an illegal animagus," and he proceeded to demonstrate just that, as a huge bear took the man's place. It was monstrous at ten feet tall on its hind legs, and its paws, with gleaming sharp claws to complete the image. I was sure my my jaw was on the ground right now. That was fucking awesome. I loved Sirius, McGonagall, hell, was amazed at any such act of transfiguration…but damn, the man just turned into a bear.
He then casually sat back down, transforming back into a person, easy as you please. "How did you get caught?" He snorted.
"I was drunk," he stated, as though it explained everything. Evelyn giggled. My stomach lurched for a second, before I managed to calm it down.
"It's a high security cell, Harry," she began, "because we—despite our appearances, are very talented. Unfortunately, some of these talents leave us a little shy on the 'wrong side' of the law." I raised an eyebrow.
"What did you do?" She laughed again.
"I am what is known as a Vocis Veneni—a voice of poison, essentially. That is my magic." I shivered. She giggled, breaking her serious facade. "But that's not why I'm in here. I'm here because of a Russian diplomat. He was simply… charmed with me."
"I'll bet he was." Her voice evoked the same feelings as the vela allure Fleur had, but it was clear to me that Evelyn had much more control and experience with her power. "Who else is here?" I was curious; surely there had to be an owner of the voice that spoke in my head. Maybe this was the 'Jan' that Evelyn had addressed?
Her elegant hand reached out and pointed to the cell next to Simon's and the cell next to mine. "Those are the only two others here. Jan, and Eddington." She scowled as she mentioned Eddington. "Jan is the voice you heard before. He's mute, so he must communicate through some sort of 'telepathy'—I believe he calls it Legilimency. Apparently it's illegal to use without consent, but of course, this only applies when important people have their feelings hurt."
I snorted. That rule of thumb seemed to be ubiquitous.
"Eddington…he's well…he-"
'Eddington is a kleptomaniac alcoholic.'
Simon burst out laughing. "To the point Jan, to the point." I frowned. Drinking and stealing? He sounded like any old lowlife. I gazed at the cell next to Simon's, which held said man. He was propped up against the wall, and drool was beginning to slide down his chin.
"What makes him so dangerous, or talented?" At this, Simon grinned.
"Why, Eddington here has a bit of a record for breaking and entering. He's broken into Gringotts three times, and he's probably stolen more useless objects and booze than any other man in history. Jonathan Eddington, that man there," Simon gestured to his left, "is probably one of the best ward-breakers alive." I peered closer at him, through the bars. He looked even more harmless, as a snot bubble formed from his nose. But, I supposed, appearances can be deceiving.
I mulled over this for a minute, before moving to my cot and lying down. I was about to drift off to sleep, tired from the day's events, when Evelyn's voice cut me off. "And now you. You're here. Who is Harry Potter? Tell us. It's not as if you've much else to do." I folded my arms behind my head and thought.
"Well, I suppose it all began on October 31st, 1981…"
I have never before, and probably never will spill all like I did to these inmates…these people…who I barely knew. I told them everything. The Dursleys. The Stone. The Chamber. My Godfather—that was a shocker. The Goblet. And they believed every bit of it. I knew they did. I finished by telling them why I was here, and how I got here. I stared at my feet. Did I really mean to have said that much? Wasn't that what I was being manipulated into saying before? No, I'd definitely done this under my own volition.
"Shit kid, did you at least get to keep the goblet?" My head snapped up. Apparently he'd been listening.
Jonathan Eddington now stood, a lean, tall man. Bloodshot eyes stared calculatingly at me and I knew that I was witnessing something rare coming from the man: effort. He leaned against the wall with a grunt and slid down it, evidently satisfied with his observations.
"You were never really asleep were you?" I queried, attempting to figure out more about the enigmatic man. He smirked. "How many years have you been here, huh?" No answer from him. Simon spoke up though.
"He's been here before any of us. I think he's been here about half a decade. I've been here for two years, and Evelyn and Jan about one, each. None of us have been given truly serious sentences, 'cept Jonathan. He'll be in for life." My eyes widened. Bartoldus shook head, his shaggy mane copying his movement. "Goblins are greedy bastards. Proud too. They didn't like having been bested, and covered it up. Load of bullshit. They've ruined a man's life over a small amount of gold. Pathetic." Jan seemed to give a mental 'nod' to this statement. Evelyn was silent too.
I gazed around me, at the granite prison walls, and the cobbled floor and its drain, and the iron bars, which would be cool to the touch, even in the summer air. The smell of salt lingered, and for the first time, I realized the reality of Azkaban. It was a prison. Dumbledore wasn't coming to rescue me. He couldn't. Ron and Hermione weren't coming to rescue me. No one was coming to rescue me. How had Sirius survived this place for over a decade? It was hopeless now, even without the Dementors.
I rolled over, facing the wall, listening to the repetitive crash of the waves against the walls of the fortress.
No one was coming to rescue me.
How wrong I was.