Title: Shattered Glass and Broken Hearts
Author: charredsunshine
Warning: M/M, angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: The Wizarding World has finally performed their last betrayal. Labelled a traitor, the-boy-who-lived is thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Can the dark lord fix what's lost, or will his efforts be entirely too late?
Chapter 1: Tears, Pain, and Silver Linings
Harry stared helplessly at the prison that stood before him large and looming. His eyes roved up the blackened walls and pointed towers. His mind tried to close off the sound of every wave that lapped innocently against the shores. His body tried to stand tall when all he wanted was to cower. Where was the saviour of the wizarding world now? What use was being the-boy-who-lived?
None. It was his fame that brought him such misfortune. Here he stands, hell and mistakes merged into one symbol: Azkaban.
Harry doesn't delude himself for one second that he can escape this. No trial...No jury...Just Dumbledore and the fucking Minister of Magic doing what the bloody hell they wish.
What use is love?
What use is trust?
After all, didn't he trust Dumbledore not to betray him? Didn't he trust Ron and Hermione to keep their promises as friends? Didn't he trust the wizarding world to provide companionship and family? The irony is that they screamed at him as he walked down the streets. They called him all manner of things, but mostly, they labelled him a traitor. He was a traitor for having undesireable thoughts he never acted upon. He was a traitor for misleading them to consider him what he never wanted to be. No, he's not a traitor. He's a ifool/i for placing trust where it doesn't belong.
Harry's eyes once again stared hopelessly at the black stone fortress.
A wizard once wrote that pain is the fortress that shelters blindness, and desperation is what feeds it.
Fix what's broken
for shards lay shattered on the floor at my feet
Fix what's broken
for eyes shed water and salty rivers run deep
Fix what's broken
For in my heart jagged lines create two halves:
Love and trust are broken by hate
------------------------0000000000000000000-----------------------------
The boy-who-lived sat motionless in a corner and stared at the wall. His bare feet were cold, his bladder was full, and his rear end had gone numb centuries ago, but he resolutely stared at the wall. He admired the cobwebs and the spiders that created them. When he was asleep, on the cold stone floor, they would sometimes come to keep him company, crawl over his body and stare him in the face while sitting on the tip of his nose. Of course, he screamed the first time. Spiders are meant to be frightening things, so of course he screamed. But it's a wonder what a month can do to a relationship. He wasn't going anywhere, and the spiders weren't going anywhere, so Harry soon grew to appreciate their companionship.
People say that after three months in Azkaban, prisoners start to lose their mind. Well, Harry's not sure if this is another boy-who-lived thing, but he started losing his mind a while ago. He doesn't know how long ago, since something so trivial as time becomes inconsequential in the scheme of things at Azkaban, but he's started hearing voices in his head. They too, like the spiders, frightened him at first. He thought it was Voldemort, but it couldn't be. The voice was deep, but feminine; commanding, yet soft. She whispered words of comfort in his ears when he awoke, and sung him lullabies when he slept. It wasn't particularly a nuisance. It just liked to make all these crazy promises.
It told him that it liked him, and it would free him as soon as she gathered enough strength. It would always whisper that word in his ear. "Soon" was its mantra.
Harry never believed the voice, but it was nice to imagine that there truly was someone out there ready to bust him out of jail. Sometimes when he's laying on the floor, waiting for sleep to claim his starving body, Harry likes to imagine that there honestly is someone out there willing to save him. The person is always tall, a person of power and darkness. The person is also always a man. He doesn't know why he can't imagine it being a girl, but it's a man nonetheless. He comes in with an aire of confidence, blasts open his cell door, and grabs his arms. He is lifted up into the arms of this stranger, and carried away into the future. Sappy, cliche phrases like "they live happily ever after" flash into his mind, and that's when he squashes the idea. He can never "live happily ever after." Not when he's been so betrayed. How can he even dare to hope for something so ludicrous. Who does he think he is, Cinderella? Does he expect himself to be saved by Prince Charming any time soon? Why must he constantly venture to hurt himself? When will he ever learn?
Harry's eyes narrow at the wall, and he hugs his knees tighter to his chest. Yes, he must quickly learn that there is no happiness in the world. The sooner he learns that, the better it will be for him. It's harder to be hurt when you know the truth of your fate. After all, destiny's been ruling his life for so long. The Dursleys, the stupid prophecy, Sirius's death, his parent's death, THIS...It's just one long stream of bad luck, and there's no hope for him to escape it. His mind often circles around thoughts of suicide, but he's never really considered it an option. Something would probably come out and ruin that too.
His sharp ears combined with the eerie silence allow him to hear the sound of footsteps. Like a song, the steps come to him in a soft crescendo, and leave to haunt another prisoner in very much the same way. The guards are obviously on patrol today, but feel uninterested in playing with him. They grew bored when he stopped responding with tears and screams to their taunts. Why shouldn't they? After all, they came for a show, but they couldn't get their money back, so they simply stopped darkening his jail step.
He likes to think that as the days go by, it becomes harder and harder to live like this, but it's far from true. In fact, it becomes easier and easier. Hopelessness becomes easier to bear. Fear becomes easier to ignore. Memories become easier to suppress. Life becomes easier to give up on. For once, Harry can comfortably say that he's actually adjusted to his surroundings. Maybe he'll die here and move on to somewhere better. Maybe there is an afterlife. Or maybe there isn't an afterlife and his soul will be trapped here for always and eternity.
Either way, he doesn't care. He's never getting out of here, so what's the point. As depressing as it is, this is his new home. Harry shifts out of the corner and stretches his legs. He faces the door of his own personal hell with a quiet resoluteness.
He will not cry.
He will not suffer.
He will not hope.
-
------------------------0000000000000000000-----------------------------
Tom Riddle drummed his fingers against the armrest of his throne as he was presented with negative results. For the past 2 weeks, all his death eaters have been able to present him is bad news. They haven't been able to do this. They can't manage to intercept that. They haven't received anything new on the topic of...blah blah blah. It's all so repetitive, and Lord Voldemort, the darkest lord in history, is unwilling to take anymore of it.
He stood up on his feet, pulled out his wand, and started throwing hexes left and right. He didn't really focus on where he was aiming. His shorts were random and indiscriminate. He shot for the sake of proving a lesson. He is the dark lord, not their parents. He won't be continuously disappointed like this. A few people were shot down by a cruciatus, but most were hit by sectumsempra. One unfortunate person pleaded for his life, and was given special attention.
Lord Voldemort gazed at his death eater coldly as he levitated the man into the air. The meeting room was rather tall, and so when Lord Voldemort cut off the wingardium leviosa, the death eater fell with a sickening crunch. Everyone was fairly sure he died in that fall.
"Take him as an example. I shall tolerate incompetence from absolutely ino one/i. This man begged for his life after disappointing me time and time again. Think of this the next time you decide to report to me with bad news: the next person will get a ticket to the torture chambers. In case none of you are aware, it's a one way ticket."
The death eaters suitably shivered before the chilling gaze, and picked themselves up to bow at his feet in apology.
"Now, Lucius. I sincerely hope you have something pleasing to inform me. This is one of my most important missions."
"Yes, my lord. Unlike the others, Severus and I come bearing good news."
"Yes, our lord. We have been able to discover a flaw within the Azkaban wards. There is a rather obvious hole on the left side of the fortress, and through it we can easily enter the basement where we are sure Potter is being held. The problem is that lighting in the basement is nonexistent, and we will be entering blind. Our timing and alertness will have to be impeccable."
"As for Potter? Have you heard any news from him? Most likely not. How long do you need to prepare?"
"You are correct, my lord. I have heard nothing about him from Dumbledore. We will need A mere week, my lord. I am working on a potion that will allow night-vision. The potion is currently in progress."
"And you didn't care to ask me before you began this potion?"
"I did not wish to waste time, my lord. It is of the essence. My apologies if I have offended you."
Lucius and Severus both bowed low before their lord and hoped they hadn't made a mistake.
"Rise. You have no need to bow. I am very pleased with the both of you. Severus, I want you to focus solely on that potion for the rest of this week. If it is successful, I will reward you handsomely for making this mission much easier. Lucius, I want you to choose two others to join you on this mission and serve as back-up. Alongside of this, I want you to obtain a report from your son on the situation at Hogwarts. I don't want to be forced to lie to Potter when he arrives. I want him to join us on his own terms."
"Immediately, my lord."
"Good. This meeting is dismissed."
Tom rose on his feet, feeling significantly happier now than when the meeting started. At least he has two competent death eaters. Now, he only has to work on his 80 others. Only when he'd exited the room, did the death eaters begin to disappear. Some of them glared with jealousy at Lucius and Severus, but the two ignored the envious few. The incompetence of others is far from their business.
The Dark Lord sat comfortably in his office, and contemplated the benefits of an alliance with the imprisoned teenager. He's waited and waited for years, and this is finally his chance. Now that the wizarding world has made the mistake of forsaking their weapon, he can swoop in and pick up the pieces. He's been waiting too long.
It's time for his little snake to come home.
------------------------0000000000000000000-----------------------------
Fix what's broken
for shards lay shattered on the floor at my feet
waiting to be melded back together
A/N:
That's definitely the end of this chapter. I hope everyone who read it liked it. I'd definitely feel disappointed if at least SOMEONE didn't like it. Please tell me what you think in reviews.