On the eighth year of the official beginning of the Second Wizarding War (scholars have debated greatly on the actual date of the true resurrection of Lord Voldemort), there was a riot at Azkaban prison.

Perhaps the reader may be surprised, as the word deliberately stated was 'riot', not 'breakout', or frequently used in conjunction with that word over the years, 'mass', to create 'mass breakout'. Since the Dementors, foul creatures of the night and guards of the horrific prison, had abandoned their positions to join Lord Voldemort's reign of terror, the security at Azkaban had been a joke. Aurors assigned to Azkaban were usually considered the weakest or the most pitiful – and it was common knowledge that requesting transfer to the prison essentially meant signing your own death wish. Nevertheless, it made a good dumping ground for the useless, those who couldn't be slotted to die anywhere else. Aurors were getting killed in the bunches – Voldemort's infamy had rapidly spread, his masked Death Eaters seemed undefeatable as they rolled out in a relentless onslaught, crushing all before them. It was the wizarding world's darkest hour – Dumbledore, the unofficial leader of the light, could do nothing without compromising his position of power within the Ministry as Fudge incompetently managed the war efforts. And the chosen one, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, was soon known as the boy-who-murdered.

Yes indeed – Harry Potter was convicted of the torture and murder of one Dolores Umbridge.

But his destiny was not just to rot away the rest of his life in Azkaban. Few knew how he became what he became and many theories have been presented, from the outlandish to the reasonable. Some believe Merlin himself came through an alternate dimension, teaching the boy much of his secret arts. Others believed that the child, when he received that famous scar also received many of Voldemort's powers and knowledge and it took that complete isolation from society for him to unlock his latent talents. Still others believed that an inmate in a cell next to him, deemed insane, was in fact a radical, intelligent revolutionary who taught him a great many things.

It does not matter. All that matters is that it all started with a riot.

-------

Screams and chants echoed through the filthy, bleak corridors of Azkaban prison. The walls were stained with blood, pipes, blocks of wood and other crude blunt instruments lay strewn across the ground as the prisoners' yells could be heard. Violent tremors shook the ground.

Alone in his cell, a young man sat in a calm meditative position, his eyes closed as he centred himself. At a glance, one would call him disheveled and anorexic, dressed in horrible, torn rags. But that was merely a simple illusion. When one stepped into the cell, the illusion would be lifted as they would see that the young man was surprisingly healthy – his muscles were taut and tense, as if a strange energy coursed through them. He was slender, but extremely fit and muscular – not that bodybuilding type of muscular though. The type of muscular that was forged through hours, days, months of intensive training, not through doing a few heavy weights and drinking a couple of protein shakes. The kind of muscularity that was true strength – a unity between mental, physical and emotional states of being, a unity that few achieved in their lifetimes.

The young man's eyes snapped open to reveal startlingly green emerald eyes. Once a long time ago, so long ago it seemed like a lifetime, those eyes shined with warmth, kindness and naiveté. Now, instead those green eyes blazed like an inferno, a fiery determination and ambition, the type of which would destroy any obstacle in the way to achieve a goal.

He stood up, an aura of power surrounding him as he purposefully strode through these blood-stained corridors. His muscles were tense, they needed release, a distraction, a battle, something which required action!

No – he had waited too long for this moment. He could wait a bit longer.

The prisoners were rioting in one of the main assembly halls. Their chants were deafening as they screamed for blood, surrounding a pitiful-looking group of Aurors as they desperately fired off stunners left right and centre. Yet even then they could not hold out against them forever.

Harry stepped onto a chair even as he spoke. "Stop!"

He spoke quietly, yet his voice seemed to echo throughout the assembly hall, vibrating off every wall as the prisoners turned around in shock to stare at him.

Confusion, anger, desperation, fear, disgust, impatience. Harry looked down on them with pity, not revulsion.

"Animals. Condemned to die." It was best to keep this simple. "That is how the world views you – am I wrong?"

The prisoners were silent.

"Yet you are not all animals. Some were condemned unjustly. Others acted in the heat of the moment, where emotions overwhelm common sense. Still others believe that what they did was good and great. Tell me – do you support Lord Voldemort?"

It was only several inmates who shuddered, but there was more or less a general agreement between the prisoners.

"Why do you still serve him? What draws you to him? His power? His vision? His dominance over life? I tell you nothing but truth – it is all lies. Lord Voldemort is nothing but a farce. A cowardly, bullied half-blood who tries to assert himself through the dominance of muggles, muggleborn and half-bloods like himself. He cares nothing for you."

"That's a lie!" One brave inmate screamed. "The Dark Lord stands for the vision of the whole magical world! All will bow before him – with US at his side!"

There was a general consensus among the prisoners before Harry shook his head – not in anger, but in sadness. A feigned sadness that was acted out to perfection. "No, my friends. If what you say is true – then why did he abandon you?"

Once again, they were silent.

"Yes. Why did he risk his forces to repeatedly rescue other Death Eaters, when he left you to rot in here? What makes them different? Some of them, like Lucius Malfoy, feigned Imperious when he was defeated. Are they truly loyal to your 'cause'? Why did he abandon you? Why, my friends, did he abandon you? Again I speak the truth – he never loved you and never will love you. He will only use you – then cast you away like a piece of rubbish." Harry had clearly been growing more and more agitated, and finally his powerful voice roared throughout the hall. "IS THAT HOW YOU WANT TO BE TREATED?! ARE YOU JUST PIECES OF RUBBISH TO BE THROWN OUT?"
A powerful reply of disagreement was shouted as Harry raised his arms.

"Then JOIN ME! This island is desolate and abandoned. We'll cut it off! We'll make a new society! Then once we have done this, we'll spread out into the world and change it to OUR OWN VISION!"

The cries had escalated to a fever pitch "Potter, Potter, Potter…" – it was so loud that to Harry's sensitive ears it was deafening, yet he could not compromise his aura of power. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand now. They were all sick and tired of this place, so sick and tired that they would leave the handling of leadership to him.

"But tonight we will not," Harry spoke as he raised his arm – the crowd immediately hushed at this gesture. "Tomorrow we will forge this island into something new, something more…but tonight, we will FEAST AND DANCE! Let the blood-stained walls of this slime pit thunder with exultation and joy! For we are FREE!!"

Harry turned around and head back, but not to his own cell – there was nothing in there that could be of any use to him anymore. Instead, he head to the elevator.

The ground was indeed thundering under his feet as he walked. He had done it – he released the breath he had been holding. He had actually spoken and turned the prisoners to his side.

"Nice speech."

Quick as lightning Harry spun around, about to shift into a fighting stance before his eyes widened ever so imperceptibly before returning to a neutral gaze. "Ah, Miss Greengrass. I was unaware that you were a fellow inmate."

Her appearance was indeed ghastly. Her skin was shockingly pale, but still retained some of its delicacy from her high upbringing. Her hair was long and messy, dull and lifeless, as was her face, which was a ghost of its normal beauty – her eyes were dark and shadowed, yet still retained some life.

Daphne smiled, but it was a cold smile, devoid of any life. "You, Potter, are unaware of anything. Or should be. Eight years in here with a mind as fragile as yours – you should be insane."

"The Dementor attacks only made me stronger. Besides, they disappeared to join their master in the first year of my stay. And what of you?"

"That speech was devoid of any substance, yet you still managed to turn even some of the Dark Lord's most fervent devotees."

Harry shrugged, not unaware of her dodging his question. "I merely showed them the truth. Shall we?"

The two of them got into the elevator, as Harry pressed the button for the highest floor. There was a quiet hum as the doors closed and they moved up.

"So is it true?" Daphne asked.

"Is what true?" Harry was deep in his thoughts; he didn't turn to acknowledge her.

"You know what I mean. The whole wizarding world roared out in protest when you were sentenced. You were the chosen one – the one who had revealed the Dark Lord to the world. You were Dumbledore's golden boy, the symbol of the light, bearer of the hopes of millions. Nobody believed it, except Fudge and his cronies, who were eager to get you – you did prove him wrong after all."

"Humph. So what?"

She leaned in. "So I want to know it. You were set up, weren't you? You're innocent – that's why you were thrown into Azkaban without a trial."

The tension in the air turned extremely thick, hanging like a heavy cloud of darkness around them. Harry turned around, his face now a blank, unreadable mask, emerald eyes reverting to the glazed and cold look he reserved when pretending to be brain dead in his first years at the prison.

"You are mistaken," he told her quietly. "They threw me in without a trial because I refused Veritaserum. I did it – I'm guilty."

-------

The young woman crept quickly and rapidly across the plains, eyes alert and watchful as her silenced feet hurried carried her. She paused for a moment as she got to the top of the hill, looking up at the moonlight.

It was a quiet night, and a night perfect for her needs. The full moon hung there, in all its glory, without being obscured by clouds or smoke, to dimly illuminate the environment. But to the eyes of the young woman, accustomed even to complete darkness, it could have been as clear as day.

Below her, contrasted greatly to the darkness, were the small enchanted fires of a wizard camp. A large one – but not just any wizard camp. A Death Eater gathering point.

She had been tracking this place for months. Performing reconnaissance in know Death Eater meeting places, creeping through mud and dirt on her belly to avoid detection in extremely warded areas wearing a hastily constructed camouflage net mixed with sticks, leaves and branches, and now finally she was here.

The woman checked all her equipment – she was wearing muggle clothing as she could not afford any specialized armour, and would rather not steal any as she didn't want to risk compromising herself. She was after all a highly wanted woman. It was all in place and she was ready. Pulling a pepper-up potion from her belt, she gulped in one shot, feeling her energy replenish before she pulled her wand from its holster.

Casting the disillusionment spell silently and wordlessly, she rapidly ran in, wand up at the ready.

Several groups of Death Eaters were gathered around an enchanted fire, attempting to warm themselves. It was a cold night. She would definitely make them feel the heat.

With a deft flick of her wand, the woman overrode the safety charms on the enchanted fire and within moments had complete control of it. Another flick brought it out of its limits as the bastards gave yells of surprise.

Grimly she twisted her hand and shifted the shape into a large dragon as it overwhelmed the Death Eaters, setting their robes on fire. They tried to use their wands to extinguish it, but it was enchanted fire – a simple water charm couldn't stop it.

The woman twirled her wand, sending the fire throughout the camp, looping it around several times before making it burst in a massive magical explosion. Once this was over, she struck.

While disillusioned, the woman lunged into her first Death Eater, grabbing him by the throat to stifle off any attempts to call for help, slamming him into a tent wall. She raised him high above her head, her grip tightening before a sickening 'snap' was heard and the body tossed aside.

Unfortunately she was not completely invisible while disillusioned – she spun around as a Death Eater called for help, looking straight at her as he fumbled to grab his wand.

Sloppy. This bozo was probably a rookie, as his wand was not within easy reach.

As she reappeared, the Death Eater gave off a girlish squeal at the sight of her. "It's GINEVRA WEASLEY!" he screeched, turning around and running as fast as he could.

"Incarcerous," Ginny intoned coldly, binding the Death Eater as he stumbled and fell.

Four Death Eaters came running at her, a familiar green light already growing on their wands as they were halfway through the incantation. "Avada…"

"FIENDFYRE!" The witch roared as a powerful flaming phoenix burst forth out of her wand – it gave a hellish screech as it shot through the Death Eaters, burning them as their bodies blackened into small, smoldering crisps.

She quickly cancelled it before running through the camp, firing spells left, right and centre. An organ shredder, bone breaker, another organ shredder and a decapitation curse…

Shit! Ginny ducked down as she narrowly evaded a powerful slashing hex, but gave a small grunt as it ripped through her right shoulder. It was only a scratch, she could ignore it for now.

"Nex Fulsi!" Ginny yelled as a thin beam of concentrated magical energy fired, going straight through the bodies of several more Death Eaters and coming out, continuing on until it imploded a second later.

She fought like the seasoned veteran she was, dodging and weaving with the grace of a dancer and the brutality of a powerful warrior, spells being sent almost instinctively as opponents fell around her like dominoes.

Yet even a witch like Ginny was only human. Several curses managed to nick her in the arms, across her waist and her thigh, but she forced herself to keep going. Even so, her body could feel the strain of keeping this up – her magical reserves were being sapped as she continued the flow of magic into her wand and out as spells of powerful destructive capabilities.

Sweat adorned her face and body as Ginny ducked behind a burning tent, panting heavily; she hastily pulled another pepper-up potion from her belt and downed it, hoping it would give her enough energy to finish this and go home.

As the potion took effect, Ginny felt vitality returning to her limbs as she jumped out – this time fighting much more strategically.

A group of Death Eaters rapidly approached her from the other side. Ginny whipped out her wand, blasting the supports off one of the tents as it fell forward, crushing them. She spun around, sending several Incendios at places which had not caught fire or hadn't caught fire quickly enough – soon the whole place was in flames.

Looking around, Ginny was satisfied with her handiwork as she began to walk off.

Around her, the whole camp had been turned into a mass funeral pyre of wood, fire and bodies. Many people were screaming as they were trapped underneath burning wreckage, and others were writhing around in unbearable agony, their bodies burning ever so slowly…

-------

A week later

"The previous overseer of this fortress must have had fine taste indeed," Harry observed as he poured himself and Daphne a glass of Dom Perignon '54. "And exceedingly wealthy. These aren't cheap…" he handed her a glass, "so savor each taste."

Daphne was definitely looking much healthier. Her hair was much smoother and less messy, and some vitality and health had returned to her face. She was dressed in a plain set of witches' robes. "As should you."

"I will. Now we toast – to the future." They clinked glasses and drank, slowly, as the drink required.

Harry smiled, rolling the liquid around in his mouth. "Oh, it isn't a cheap fake after all! Only a genuine Dom Perignon could perfect that delightful sparkle. Savor it indeed. We have, after all, deserved it."

They were sitting in their temporary abode on the plains of Azkaban Prison as the prisoners outside the window were constructing places to live. It would be small, at first, but soon Harry would find them wives and more wands than the ones in the confiscated section, as well as plants, fruit and things like that. It would be a complete self-sustaining colony – above them was the looming fortress of Azkaban.

Harry had, for the past days, while everyone had been working, cleaning out the fortress with Daphne's help, who was still a capable witch even after her two years' stay. The cells were being stripped of their metal and materials, and once these were thoroughly cleaned they would be able to be used for other, more useful things. The fortress would be converted into his personal stronghold, a place of rest, defense and meditation as he planned everything out.

"Why?" Daphne asked as she sipped the drink. "Why did you kill her?"

"As to your comment a week ago – yes, indeed, a fervent devotee could not turn after a simple speech such as that. In those cases, a strong compulsion charm works – especially if the person's mind is ravaged and weak from the onslaught of Dementors and completely isolated from human contact," Harry said as he walked into the next room. "I ordered something – it's a very specialized suit which I had begun designing even before my stay in Azkaban."

"Was it all planned out? Did you deliberately kill her, knowing that you'd go to Azkaban?! Did you start the riot? Did you isolate yourself from the world to train?" Daphne demanded.

"The future is never certain, Miss Greengrass. We may make precautions, but despite all our skills, all races are too proud to admit how much they depend on luck and chance."

"Don't dodge the question – TELL ME! Why did you seek out and kill Professor Umbridge?!"

"In return for this answer, I will get to ask you a question. Is that a fair trade?" Without letting her answer, he walked out, dressed in the new suit.

Daphne gasped. It was a sleek, dark steely gray suit that was perfectly sculpted and molded to Harry's body, reminding her of many ancient Greek statues and classical Roman armour. Silver gauntlets shined in the dim light, as a decorative 'M' adorned his chest. A long cape hung out behind him.

"I killed Dolores Umbridge as an object lesson. To show the people of society what their world had become, what it would keep becoming unless we resolved it. To answer your question, Miss Greengrass, I killed Dolores Umbridge to show a solution, the only solution. The only way we can deal with scum and the dead flesh of society – by cutting it off with absolute finality."

"But Harry…"

"That name is lost, forever, in the mists of time. The person that stands before you is not Harry Potter." The warrior before her raised a sleek black domino mask to his face, putting it on as the mask automatically shifted to mold itself to the lines of his face. "I am Lord Majestic. First of the Justice Lords, future overlords of this planet. Revolutionary, radical, and bringer of eternal peace to this forsaken Earth."