Chilling wind blew through Azkaban, bringing unbearable cold to the inmates and jailors. It did not matter, though.
The Jailors of the Wizard prison thrived in the cold, and most of the inmates were too far gone to notice the weather.
But not all of them.
In a dank cell in one of the prisons near the basement, lay a nearly fourteen year old boy shivering as the Dementors prowled outside his cell.
This was the worst place for Harry Potter, who had nothing but misery in his life. He shivered even more, feeling an odd stinging in his eyes.
And he dreamt, of the past and his memories.
He lay in his hospital bed, triumphant after rescuing Sirius. His godfather was free! He gave Hermione an elated look, which she returned happily.
He couldn't believe that their audacity had actually borne fruit. Riding a hippogriff to rescue Sirius? He was a magnet for the strangest occurrences, not to mention trouble.
The doors of the Hospital wing suddenly slammed open, revealing Snape, Dumbledore, and the minister himself.
Cornelius Fudge.
Harry mentally cringed as he spied the utter fury on Snape's face. The greasy haired potions professor walked up to him and shook him awake, hard.
"OUT WITH IT POTTER! IT WAS YOU! I KNOW IT WAS YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO?" he roared causing Madam Pomfrey to come barrelling into the ward.
"Professor, please-"
"QUIET, WOMAN!" shouted Snape, not even looking at the matron. He stared directly at Harry and shook him hard.
"I know you helped Black escape, potter. You and your filthy friends. Now tell me. What. Did. You. Do?" he asked icily.
Dumbledore and Fudge came up to the infuriated Potions Master, the latter looking at the greasy haired man as if he were unhinged.
"Severus, calm down. Indeed we need the truth from these children. It is a matter of alarm that Black escaped once more, that too from Hogwarts containment. That implies imperfection in the wards or a presence of a traitor. The latter of which is a lot more likely.
To the eyes of the golden trio Dumbledore had fallen from the status of a white paladin to a black mage. The twinkle in his eyes was gone , the two cold blue orbs giving them a chilling stare.
Fudge spoke out his usual cheer gone, his mouth spoke words of doom;
UNDER SECTION-C OF OUR HOLY DECRETA OF MERLIN UNDER CHARTER OF CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION AND DETAINMENT, I MINISTER OF MAGIC GIVE APPROVAL OF INVESTIGATION IN HOGWARDS….
It was quick after that he had one of the professors speaking up against him so he was the first to be questioned the professor had somehow convinced them to use Veritaserum,
Professor Dumbledore, you cannot! Veritaserum cannot be administered to minors without the approval of…" she trailed off, looking at Fudge with fear. At least she was with him.
Dumbledore shot a sad look at the betrayed Hermione, before turning back to Snape, who seemed to have mixed emotions in him. The potions master showed a considerable amount of happiness and…was that regret?
Harry sat stunned through these proceedings. What was Dumbledore up to? He could hardly think! Ron was as usual, asleep.
"Cornelius, can you please get us Amelia? Severus, get the potion. I will stay here."
The two nodded, Snape staring at Dumbledore a moment longer before leaving, his cloak billowing around him.
Dumbledore dismissed Pomfrey, and turned back to the trio. He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry, who could not move. Hermione was watching with wide eyes.
"Supprimere et memoriam horum!"
Harry glowed gold, and he felt woozy. He suddenly felt something wrong with his mind. There was something in with him in his head…restraining, guarding.
"Quiesco" murmured Dumbledore, raising his wand at Hermione who promptly fell asleep. Her breathing became relaxed.
"Professor, what are you doing?" asked Harry, who could not hide his extreme anxiety.
Dumbledore looked him in the eyes, causing Harry to gasp. The Headmaster showed emotions Harry had never seen before in the man.
Fear, self-loathing, regret all mixed into something reprehensible. It was causing Harry's fear to rise.
"Harry, remember this carefully. I always endeavour to help you. I am doing this for you, to protect you. Follow my lead, and do not is for the greater good. I hope you forgive me "
Harry only stared dumbly.
The minister for Magic came with a stately-looking yet stern woman. Snape came back with a bottle of clear liquid.
"Get on with it, Dumbledore" said the woman, looking at Harry sharply.
Snape walked to Harry, and roughly tipped the liquid in his mouth. The woman came up to stand in front of him.
Harry felt as if he was floating in the clouds, felt blank and obedient and as if he, the entirety of Harry Potter was on display for the world to see. But the force, the thing Dumbledore had put in his mind was still there.
"Is your name Harry Potter?"
"Yes"
"Tell us what happened yesterday with Black."
Harry woke up, the pain in his eyes getting too much. The horrible effect of the Dementors was taking its toll on him. He could not even summon anger for what Dumbledore had done to him.
He felt nothing but pain he could not feel the anger or misery in his soul. All he felt was satisfaction and hunger. Hunger to become something greater, He could fell the repulsive urge,Dementors were truly repulsive, like flies around rotten meat's single emotion and they would be here to feast upon it.
He was cold, both in body and mind. Cold and empty.
The pain in his eyes was now becoming unbearable. It felt as if they were being gouged out, burned from the inside.
The Dementors were all gathering outside his cell door. Harry could not stand the effect of so many Dementors together and the pain of his eyes.
Inexplicably, it happened.
He felt it returning. His anger, his hatred. More than he could have ever imagined. More than the malice even his scar exuded.
His scar pulsed painfully, throbbing in beat with his eyes. His brain felt like it was on fire.
The hatred in him grew, as he remembered how Dumbledore and Fudge had just chucked him into prison, no trial. Nothing.
It was as if they had wanted him there. The magic ran through his body like magma through a volcano.
His scar felt like someone had branded him where it lay. He could dimly feel something drifting out of his scar.
They had asked no one, told no one. Not even the other Hogwarts staff or the media. They had termed it a secret incarceration, and just thrown him in. Hermione and Ron were sworn to secrecy, he did not know how.
Men in black robes and hoods had taken him, and thrown him in this cell.
Pure clear hatred. That was what filled him to the brim, and the Dementors could not consume it. It was as if someone had lit a bright fire in him, a conflagration before which the Dementors' effects just paled.
Fire exploded from the young Potter as he screamed, turning the meagre furniture in the cell into ashes. The Dementors began to screech outside, unable to stand the fire that filled the cell completely.
Harry began to lose consciousness, the world blacking out. He felt his eyes throb one last time, the pain in them receding mercifully.
He fell down hard, fully unconscious.
…
It was clear.
The world was clear. So clear. He could see the individual dust particles floating in the wind, the texture of the burnt prison cell. He could see. for the first time in life
He could see….everything.
Azkaban. That was where he was. As he remembered how he got here, he felt no raging hatred and unbalancing sadness.
No.
He felt cold and in control, like he could see himself the way he now saw the world. His hatred felt like a sharp blade, not a raging fire. His mind felt fluid and clear. Something was different.
Very different.
He could not feel the Dementors. Oh, he felt them crowding around as usual, but he did not accept the misery they forced upon him.
It was like he could cast that away. Something was different with his eyes.
And his body. He could feel the magic running through it like a torrent. It was the same feeling he had gotten when he had cast the Patronus to drive one hundred Dementors away.
But now he had the feeling without his wand. The doors of his cell banged open, and a dozen Dementors flooded in.
He stared at them and saw the black voids that they were. He could see the foreign magic that flowed through their body, and he saw through their despair to what made their very fabric. Their despair did not affect him, he could see through it.
His eyes…
"You look ridiculous", he said.
The Dementor nearest to him floated and lowered its head.
Harry felt no alarm, it was only a fact registered. He had to drive them out or get his soul sucked.
He raised his pale and thin hand, palm outwards.
"Expecto Patronum!"
White light exploded out of his palm, drenching the Dementors. They screeched in unison and fled out of the room back to the bleakness of Azkaban , shrieking in agony.
Intriguing. I do not need a wand anymore…as if my body itself embodies my magic. But I feel tired. Very much so. The Patronus, it felt different. I did not need happiness to create it anymore, only intent.
Harry sat down tiredly on the floor, considering. Too many things had happened too fast. He looked down at his body, seeing properly for the first time the abhorrent state of his body.
He was basically a stick. Pale and sickly, and dirty. But the magic was there.
He stared around the room, and removed his glasses. Perfect. His vision was perfect.
He doubted even a hawk could see better than he did now. It was as if a switch had been thrown in his brain, giving him this preternatural clarity and sense.
The way he now thought stunned him. Dumbledore and fudge were not relevant until he got out of here, and it should not be as a fugitive. He had no intention of living a life like Sirius.
His mind went back to when Dumbledore and Fudge saw him off at the gates of Azkaban.
"Harry, I know you hate me. Understand, the law is to be followed and cannot be broken for anybody. Not even you. This is your punishment."
Dumbledore had a small tear flowing down his face.
"Sirius Black was innocent, and I am doing my duty as a citizen of magical Britain ..Do you expect people to follow you when you throw minors in jail and innocents along?" Harry asked in a dead voice.
Fudge looked as if he had aged a hundred years. Then he suddenly seemed to bloat up in anger.
"I am the minister of Magic, boy! You need to be taught a little lesson. You will stay in Azkaban till the next school term. Happy summer break, Potter! Take him away!"
Dementors came and dragged away a defeated Harry Potter.
As Harry looked back, he saw Dumbledore freely shedding tears, and Fudge looked like he was about to.
Their actions against him were forced, he mused. They had chucked him into prison for a reason, and knew it was not for aiding and abetting Sirius.
Dumbledore had suppressed his own involvement in the affair by making it seem as if it was all Harry's idea. He could not utter Dumbledore's involvement even after drinking the Veritaserum.
Why was he here only for the summer? That seemed odd. Eight weeks of wrongful imprisonment? Why would they do that, even if they knew that once he was out, they would be implicated?
He laid himself on the floor, looking at the ceiling. Azkaban was a dreary place.
But it was no longer horrifying and cold. Not to him. The Dementors did not affect him anymore for some reason, and it had to do with his eyes. They felt powerful, as if the magic that his body now contained emanated from them.
Something had changed his eyes. If only he had a mirror. Too bad he did not know conjuration yet.
He sat back up, and began thinking. He had four more weeks in this place. Then…then he would take care of everything.
…..
The eyes of misery have once again emerged, what are your next orders?", asked a hooded man who had just gotten out of the floo.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk in his beautiful office, looking at the man pensively.
"We have four more weeks. Describe his eyes, now!"
The man looked at the headmaster, his face a study in wonder.
"Albus, his eyes are no longer emerald like his mother but they are black. Shining coal black. And when he channels magic to them…"
Albus beckoned the man to continue, a desperate look upon his face.
"They turn red. A blazing red with single commas in them. Why doesn't he have all three…that is how it should be!"
Dumbledore felt relieved beyond measure. Harry had done it. He had done it at last.
"In Azkaban, there is enough misery to accelerate its maturing. To awaken those legendary eyes after so many centuries…"
"Albus, you do not understand. He has magic running through his very veins, and can use it wandlessly. The Dementors have little effect on him, now. We have to do it…"
Dumbledore looked as if he had aged another hundred years, the pain was apparent in his face.
"I suppose…I suppose it cannot be helped. He is the one. Alert the Department, Bode. They have my authorization. And it is time to recall them…", he said meaningfully.
Bode nodded.
"It will be done, Albus. How do you intend to explain yourself to Potter?"
Albus Dumbledore stood and walked to the window.
"I will tell him the truth. He would never forgive me, Bode. But he won't turn out like Tom. Sometimes I wonder, if I am the monster for taking away so much from Harry and causing him such pain, if I am just another Tom Riddle…"
Bode nodded again. They were monsters indeed, Albus and the department. But if that was what they needed to be to save magical Britain, then so be it.
…..
Harry stood in his cell. Today was the day. He felt pure.
He owed Dumbledore pain. The way those hooded men had tortured him…He had gained a pain tolerance that was alarming. He had learned to look through the pain, to disregard it at will.
It was after the day he had driven out the Dementors with no wand. They had slipped a tray of food in, and he had eaten readily.
And promptly fell asleep.
When next he woke, it was in a dark cell. He had found that if he stopped channelling magic to his eyes, his extreme perception and immunity to Dementors would lessen considerably.
He was shackled, and felt a wand tip at his forehead. He could still use magic, but it was of no use. It was only a trickle.
He activated his eyes again, trying to look through the darkness. He could see a tall man open his mouth, and he could see the bright strands of magic that poured out of the wand tip at his forehead.
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed and screamed, trying to break out of his shackles. White hot knives tearing at his body, his mind pierced by a thousand poisoned needles…he felt it all.
He screamed until his throat was sore, then screamed even more. The pain was all consuming, absolute.
The pain suddenly stopped, and Harry looked up dimly from his shackled position. He was hurting…everywhere. He cursed his parents for bringing him into this world.
He saw his torturer raise his wand, and he could observe the minute changes in his body language. The man was clearly not used to this. His eyes could pick out every fluctuation in his emotions through his actions.
The wand pointed at him again.
"Crucio!"
The world went red once more, and he resumed his screaming.
They had tortured him two hours a day, until he could clearly see how the strands of magic were moulded. He could see how the curse affected him, and he tried to use his own magic to lessen its coherence.
He had managed to bring down the pain he felt by corrupting the magic of the curse with his own.
After torturing him with curses for about fifteen days, they threw him into a room where five hooded figures beat him physically.
The first five days, he was a mess of broken bones and bloodied but he was always healed by them for the next day.
He stopped caring about his situation. His mind gained only one prerogative.
React and survive. Never trust. The notion was burned in his brain. Never ever would he trust or assume again.
The eighth day of his beatings, it was different.
He could clearly see how the magic flowed through each person, and how they moved. He could copy the way they moved, and predict their moves by the minute tensions in their muscles.
They had pounced on him seeking to beat him down again, but it was in vain. Their moves were obvious.
Their punches were dodged and they attacked him swiftly. He could tell these were professionals, highly trained. They attacked with elegance and grace, and he copied their grace and movements, adapting at the speed of lightning.
Those five were paralyzed or dead. He had broken every single bone in their limbs and damaged their spines with the precision of a surgeon.
The tortures had stopped after that. It was then he knew. His eyes were more powerful than should be possible. With them, he had no need for a wand.
He had been forged into something…he did not know what. It had occurred to him that conspicuously after every torture session, his perception with his eyes had grown clearer.
Now, it was unbelievable. To see everything and understand it rapidly, to copy it.
His mind had made the connections fast, and he had long since concluded that this summer's imprisonment had to do with him awakening his eyes.
Along with his eyes came a state of mind he had felt only twice.
Once, when he had fought to death against Quirrell and once when he faced the Basilisk.
It was raging instinct and absolute control at the same time. He was the master of his emotions, not the other way around.
The doors to his cell opened.
"Harry Potter, inmate number 300. You have served your sentence diligently and are now about to be freed. Sign this paper, and accompany us to the edge of the Island. There will be someone to collect you."
Oh. It was his final day of imprisonment. Odd, he found that he did not care anymore. He was not peaceful, but cold and hard.
But most of all he felt clarity. His imprisonment had taught him one thing. He was weak. Weak beyond measure. He was disgusted by his former self, how he used to be. Lazy, procrastinating…and a slave to his own whims and desires.
Pathetic. Anyway, he signed the document stating his freedom and walked with the man, leaving his cell once and for all. He would burn the world to ashes before he returned here.
The man led him through the melancholy corridors of Azkaban, before stopping at a door. He turned to him.
"Before you go, , know that I am sorry what you have endured here. This is no place for children, no matter their crime. You have my sincerest apologies."
Harry nodded to him. Truly, he felt no malice for this place. Except for the certain knowledge that he would burn it.
It had turned him into someone unique. He saw the uselessness of unnecessary emotion. Do not feel emotion, only use it.
He opened the door and walked through it. Waiting in front of him were the two people responsible, Dumbledore and Fudge. They only looked at him, obviously unable to speak.
Harry had changed too much from his short imprisonment. The boy who was once short, had grown several inches taller. His hair had lengthened and he now sported a mane of black hair that fell down to his shoulders.
But Dumbledore was struck to the core by the boy's eyes. True, they were black naturally now, not the emerald green. But they gave away nothing, no emotions or fluctuation.
Nothing.
It was as if his mind was a void. That was all his Legilimency picked up. He could penetrate further, but he did not.
"Hello, Professor. Minister. I liked my accommodations and entertainment for this summer.I hope you have something similar in mind You have my word on that", smiled Harry.
Dumbledore grimaced, as did Fudge. They did not know what the department had done to accelerate the process, and they did not want to know.
All Dumbledore could do was explain completely, and hope that Harry would understand. Oh, he did not expect forgiveness.
He did not deserve it. None of them did. But they would save their people at any cost, even one as high as this.
"Harry. As you have no doubt deduced, you were thrown in here for a reason. It is not on record. Except for your friends and some select people, the world thinks you were in Privet Drive. Allow me to explain why this was done to you, and then you can do what you wish to me. I daresay I have earned it."
Harry was still smiling. Amusing. The old traitor obviously had some more lies to tell him.
No matter. He was hardly strong enough to take on Dumbledore and Fudge. Not yet. But he would be.
"Let's go, Professor."
Dumbledore nodded, and grasped his arm causing them to disapparate. Fudge looked on sadly.
He cursed the day he had taken this job, and he cursed the Department for concocting this plan and disapparated.
…
The headmaster's office was the same as usual.
Harry looked at Dumbledore. The old man had seated himself in his chair, and looked at Harry.
"Do you hate me?"
Harry considered the question. It may sound stupid, but it was really not. Dumbledore could glean everything important about his state of mind from this conversation.
"No. I do not hate you. I can even thank you now for these eyes, I hope you are repaid in kind."
Dumbledore flinched at the casual way in which the young boy said those words.
"Would you kill me that way right now? If I allowed you…"
Harry shook his head, and activated his eyes. Dumbledore gasped, and conjured a mirror for Harry's benefit. The boy's eyes widened. Staring back at him were eyes of blazing red, three black commas marking them at equal intervals. The pupils were the normal white.
The prophecies were being fulfilled.
"You are a traitor. The death of people like you should benefit me, not harm me. That, and I can see your magic. It is practically leaking off you, saturating the air. You are too strong for me as of now, traitor.", Harry said calmly.
Dumbledore looked sad as the boy he thought of as a grandson called him traitor. With good reason, of course.
"I will explain everything, Harry. I know the utter pain you have experienced in your life, and it is all down to me. Me and the Department, and some others who you will meet shortly."
Harry looked at the old man in interest. He might be a traitor, but he could be used. No one could fool him anymore with the eyes he possessed.
"Department?" Harry asked.
"The Department of Mysteries. The most secret department in the entire Ministry. I lead it, along with two of my friends. Those eyes you have awakened are special, and they have been awakened only once in recorded history. Their origins are lost in time. They have a name."
"What is their name?" Harry asked. Dumbledore would be useful until Harry got strong enough to kill him. He would extract every drop of knowledge about his eyes, by whatever means necessary.
"Sharingan. One of your ancestors awakened these eyes, Madra was his name Madra Pervell. He recorded that it was a dormant trait in the pervell line, and was a gift of magic itself. Before you hear more of it, I would have you meet some people… people who by all rights should have been with you since your birth."
Harry looked at Dumbledore, his Sharingan picking up minute fluctuations in the man's body language. The headmaster was tense, and anticipatory. He braced himself.
The door opened to reveal two figures, one was quite tall and the other was shorter. Both wore hooded robes.
"Did you bring them?" asked Dumbledore. The two nodded, taking off their hoods.
Harry could not believe it. He concentrated with his eyes, channelling every bit of his magic, hoping beyond hope that this was a joke.
It was not.
Standing in front of him were two people who should by all rights be dead. The male had the same dark mop of hair as him, and hazel eyes. More importantly, he looked like a carbon copy of Harry.
James Potter, his father.
Next to him stood a very beautiful woman with flowing red hair. She had the same emerald eyes he himself used to have.
Lily Potter, mother.
Harry's mind which had become cold as ice during his incarceration now froze even more. Hatred beyond hatred surged through his veins as he picked up the guilt the two figures obviously felt.
They could never hide from his eyes.
"Harry…" said Lily softly. James just watched the scene with mixed emotions along with Dumbledore. Harry could practically smell the stifling guilt in the room.
He hated them all. Oh, how he hated them. He wanted to torture them with that Cruciatus curse till they went insane. The way he nearly went insane due to Dumbledore.
"Do you hate me that much, Dumbledore? You get me abused for ten years, get me imprisoned for eight weeks and then tortured, and after all this reproduce my parents from nothing…"
Lily gasped with James, and looked at Harry with pity in her eyes. James shook his head as if he could not believe what he was hearing…
Harry too cried. Not normal tears, no. He cried tears of blood. Great fat tears of the red liquid rolled down his cheeks and his magic exploded.
"It's happening, Dumbledore! They are changing! We need to do it now!" shouted James.
"Yes, wait for it James. He is still conscious…"
They watched as Harry's Sharingan changed to a new shape. Three small circles with arcs connecting them in a triangular shape now sat in the centre of his red pupils.
Harry fell unconscious; the last thing he saw was James taking out a sealed cylindrical jar of liquid, and Lily and Dumbledore drawing their wands.
Oddly enough, the jar contained two eyeballs in them.
….
(A.N.- Here the story ends and mine start.)