Azkaban Madness
Chapter One
The Prisoner Of Azkaban
Azkaban is the worst currently existing prison in the world. Most inhabitants quickly go insane within a year of imprisonment and none had ever survived more than twelve years in Azkaban. The guards of Azkaban are Dementors, the foulest Dark creatures to exist since Bodachs mysteriously disappeared in the late 1300s. The creation of Dementors was wizard-kinds' worst mistake and yet no one has ever had the nerve to destroy them, if they can even be destroyed. Dementors can suck out a person's soul, leaving their body a living, yet ironically, lifeless, shell. The effects of being near a Dementor are an overwhelming sense of unhappiness and hopelessness as it feeds off of a person's happiest memories, forcing them to relive their worst experiences. Excessive exposure to a Dementor, such as a life sentence in Azkaban, would theoretically make the person lose those happy memories forever. This effect was what made the Ministry decide that they were perfect to torture, or guard, the prisoners with. After all, murderers and Dark wizards deserved such treatment. The Ministry even declared the act of a Dementor consuming a person's soul, termed 'Dementor's Kiss', a legal process in place of execution.
Azkaban's location is entirely secret, the coordinates are known only to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. It is speculated that the island itself was created by Unspeakables, although it is more likely that they merely discovered it. Apparation and Portkey to the island are impossible without the coordinates. The island also has wards, preventing Apparation, Portkey, and Floo travel. The only way to get there is to take a Logstone. A Logstone is a naturally occurring magical stone that remembers where its been. You only need to think of the destination and, if its been there, it can take you there. It doesn't need to be charmed with coordinates the way a Portkey does. Even though no one, not even the esteemed Minister of Magic, knows exactly where Azkaban is, a Logstone can be used to transport them there. Only one Logstone has ever been to Azkaban Island and it is this Logstone that brought me to my Hell.
Yes, I am a prisoner of this Damned stone fortress. I've been here about three years. I don't know the date exactly, but I know it's Spring. The weather here is a bit crazy. In Spring, when flowers should be blooming ( if they could bloom on Azkaban Island), there are massive hailstorms. Through my tiny window I can see hail the size of bludgers. Although they're probably smaller than I think, since I don't have glasses anymore. I know it's Summer when it's starts lightening. There is never any thunder, just violent bursts of lightening. Sometimes its accompanied by rain, sometimes not. In Autumn (when the Dementors breed), there is fog and the air seems to have less oxygen. It rains every single day, almost non-stop, during Winter. This strange cycle of the seasons is how I keep track of the year. I can hear hail pounding outside. It's my favorite time of the year because the noise the hail makes covers up the screaming of my neighbor. I'm not sure what they did to get in here and I don't really want to know. We're the only two on this floor, the highest-security level, one level above the Death Eaters (the few that were caught again). There are more Dementors here and they feed just from the two of us. My neighbor looks dead already and I think his days are numbered. He was here before I was. I wonder how I'll look when I die.
The Unforgivable curses are a misnomer. Aurors have the government's sanction to use these 'Unforgivable' curses at any point on a suspect without consequence. They say that an Unforgivable is a one-way ticket to Azkaban, but this seems to only apply to the common man and social outcasts. Ministry employees or Death Eaters who have lined someone else's pocket have gotten away with the semi-Unforgivable curses. There are worse curses than the Avada Kedavra, which kills someone painlessly. The only reason it's so unforgivable is because wizards fear death and the Avada Kedavra can not be stopped. More painful curses to die from aren't even illegal, because there's at least one shielding spell or counter-curse that is effective against them. The chances of erecting a shield in time or knowing and casting the counter-curse within the thirty second time limit are slim to none, yet these curses are still legal. Funnily enough, none of them are Dark curses.
Light wizards are naïve when it comes to Dark Magic. Death Magic is any spell that leads to instantaneous death and these spells are always Neutral and almost all are painless, yet these spells are always called Dark Magic. Light Magic is defined by spells that don't require intent or emotion to cast. Common spells, such as those taught at Hogwarts, are all Light Magic. Spells such as the Bludgeoning Hex, which almost always leads to death, is also Light Magic. Dark Magic is defined by spells that require intent to cast and sometimes strong emotion. These spells are mostly stronger shields, counter-curses, and torture spells such as the Cruciatus. Compared to Light Magic, very few Dark spells lead to death. The most useful and strongest defensive spells and shields are Dark Magic. The Patronus Charm is in fact Dark Magic, requiring the caster's happiest memory and strong emotion.
Azkaban has human guards as well, but they only patrol the lower levels, coming to this floor only once a day to bring Neighbor and myself a little food and water. The Guards like to bring my mail up too. Prisoners aren't allowed mail, normally, but they take sick pleasure from watching me open all the Howlers people send me. My former friends started the fashion of sending Howlers to the famous Prisoner-Of-Azkaban and the esteemed Auror Tonks started the tradition of 'allowing' me to read them. I don't cry anymore when I hear my friends accusations and insults. After the first week, when some stranger sent a Howler to me all the way from Paraguay I began to shout right back at the Howlers. It felt good to yell and curse, even though the person would never actually hear what I said. It's a shame, since it would've been nice to see my ex-best friends' expressions as I threw their words back at them.
Voldemort is derived from French, Vol-de-Mort (flight of death). I think Voldemort intended his name to mean bringer of death, but I think of a bird flying away, away from Death. A coward's name. Ironic, since the entire Wizarding population is afraid to speak his name, with the exception of Dumbledore. Afraid-Of-Death still hasn't taken over Hogwarts or the Ministry and I'm beginning to understand that he no longer wishes to. His new goal is to destroy everyone and leave only his Death Eaters alive to rule. Mass genocide against the entire Wizarding and Muggle worlds hasn't been going so well for Afraid-Of-Death. Of course, the entire world cowers at his name and his ugly visage, but it's rather difficult to kill off seven billion people, one by one. Even with his goons in costume, they've barely made a dent in their quota. It'll take them fifty years, maybe a hundred. Muggles are more efficient at killing. If the Muggles knew about Voldemort they could wipe him and his Death Eaters off the face of the Earth in a jiffy.
Prophecies are a load of dung. The few prophecies that come true are fulfilled when someone knows the prophecy and actively seeks to fulfill it. If they never know the prophecy or choose to ignore it, then it will never be fulfilled. Prophecy is useless and ultimately pointless. A prophecy ruined my life and I have no intention of making that prophecy ring true.
The Wizarding World is a joke. Being a wizard is supposed to be a wonderful thing, but in the end it means nothing. Being a wizard doesn't save you from the bad things in life, it just brings you different hardships and eventually more pain and disappointment.
They snapped my wand after the Trial. I wish I could have saved the pieces, but they burnt them. I know the wand creates a magical bond, but, as far as I know, I'm the only wizard to feel physical pain when my wand was destroyed. Ollivander seemed shocked when they snapped my wand. I assume it's abnormal for everything within the room to break into pieces or melt suddenly. I cackled when the spectators fell onto the floor because the benches beneath them had suddenly disintegrated. I also assume it was strange for the fire my wand was thrown into to turn green and die suddenly. It took several fires for my wand to burn completely. I miss my wand.
I'm surprised I'm still sane. I don't have an animagus form and I am extremely vulnerable to Dementors. I can still form coherent thoughts, although I sometimes jump topics. I think a lot. Retreating into my thoughts is sort of a haven. I can still feel the Dementors and I've lost most of my happy memories to them, but I'm better at ignoring them and I can usually avoid reliving my worst memories. I haven't heard my parents' deaths for quite awhile. I think I might be doing Occlumency. All I know is that when I think about my random topics, I somehow shut the world out. This shutting-out technique worked on Voldemort. I just concentrated on a random inane topic and the man thought I'd lost my mind.
"Clear your mind," they said. "Organize your memories and shield them," they said. I like my method better. I ignore the world in my head. I think a lot instead of clearing my mind, I scramble my memories and thoughts until only I can make any sense of them, and I don't even try to keep anyone out. I can project false memories, which I think is much more effective than hiding them. I stole that idea from Afraid-Of-Death, although a fake vision is probably way easier to manipulate than a fake memory in your own head.
The vast fortress known as Azkaban doesn't have a hospital wing or a single healer. I'm fairly sure I have scurvy and Neighbor has pneumonia. It would be useless to ask the guard to fetch a healer. My first month comprised of beatings courtesy of the guards. Even if they actually would be willing to get a healer in here, I would never ask.
I hear someone coming now. This is unusual, considering that I already have the day's meal (still sitting in front of the door as I don't have the strength to get to it.) I wonder if they've reconsidered having me Kissed. The suggestion was thrown out before because I was only sixteen at the time.
Ten Dementors escorted me into the courtroom. I was chained to a chair in the center. At least five hundred people were crammed into the room. I tried not to look at my friends. Rita Skeeter was there and I think some foreign Ministers were there too. Dudley Dursley testified first. Dudley was so terrified that they had to use Veritaserum. They didn't know that the Dursleys were terrified of magic and despised wizards. I could tell that people assumed Dudley was afraid of me. They didn't think he could be afraid of them too.
"What is your full name?"
"Dudley Irving Dursley."
"Who killed your parents?"
"My cousin, Harry Potter."
"Tell us the full story about how it happened."
"Harry didn't come downstairs for dinner"-Yeah, I didn't come down to cook it- "so Mum went upstairs to get him. Mum started screaming and Dad and I went up there to His room. When we got there, Mum was dead. Harry used his wand on my dad and he fell down and started screaming. I tried to stop Harry, but he pointed his wand at me and I couldn't move anymore and I fell face-down. I couldn't see what he was doing, but my dad kept screaming and I could hear ripping and popping noises. Then my dad was quiet and I knew he was dead. Harry turned me onto my side so I could see. There was blood everywhere. My dad was dismembered."
"What happened after your parents were murdered?"
"Harry blew up the house. Then he set the neighbors' houses on fire."
I zoned out at this point, recalling how Snape had shown up and given me a potion. He'd said it was a pain reliever for my visions. I trusted the bastard because he was Dumbledore's spy. The potion, as it turned out, was basically a liquid Imperius Curse. I couldn't fight it and, apparently, it's undetectable. It was still in effect, but whoever was doing the controlling, Snape or Voldemort, wasn't actively forcing me to do anything at the moment.
They gave me Veritaserum. Unfortunately, the potion already in my system was stronger. I could feel it.
"What is your name?"
"Harry James Potter."
"Did you murder Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley, and nineteen Muggles?"
"Yes." -Technically, but I was being controlled!
"Tell us how the full story about how you did it." -Shit.
"I waited for my aunt to come to my room, which she did when I didn't come down for dinner. I used the Cruciatus Curse on her, then I killed her with the Avada Kedavra Curse. My uncle and cousin came upstairs. I used the Cruciatus Curse on my uncle. My cousin tried to tackle me, but I used Petrificulus Totalus on him. Then I used several Cutting hexes, Bludgeoning hexes, and Expulso on my uncle to break his bones and dismember his body. He died when I severed his head. I continued to use Cutting hexes until his body was completely unrecognizable and his blood had gotten everywhere I wanted. I turned Dudley over so he could see my work. I used a more powerful Expulso to blow up the house, shielding myself and Dudley. I wanted him to live with the injuries I would inflict. I used Fiendfyre on nine neighboring houses. I was going to torture Dudley when Dumbledore and the aurors showed up." It was almost entirely true, except that I had been controlled and the person still controlling me embellished the story a little to make me sound evil.
Fudge spoke. "Harry James Potter, accused of three castings of Unforgivables, and twenty-one counts of murder, has admitted guilt under Veritaserum to all charges. I suggest the Dementor's Kiss for these horrendous crimes. Those in favor?"
A member of the Wizengamot spoke up, "Harry James Potter is a minor. It would be unlawful to administer the Dementor's Kiss," the man sounded regretful and I glared at him.
"Ah, yes. In that case, Harry James Potter should serve a life sentence in Azkaban. All in favor?"
I noted that every single hand went up. Even Dumbledore's.
I am ignoring the person standing over me. They think I'm insane. I hear them muttering. It's Fudge, he's worrying about bad publicity. He grasps my hand and pushes the Logstone into it. "St. Mungo's," he says. I am levitated onto a soft bed. I hear someone scream. A healer, I presume. I'm not going to look because I don't want them to know I'm aware.
"He's harmless. He was innocent, framed," Fudge explains to the Healer. "We've only just found out. The Unspeakables uncovered a potion which forces the victim to do whatever the brewer orders."
I knew it had been Snape. Voldemort wouldn't have added that bit about wanting Dudley to live with the pain. I'm surprised that someone figured out my innocence. It only took them three years. I try not to laugh. No wonder Fudge is worrying about his image. I could probably get him impeached.