Fire and Ice

A Harry potter fanfiction.

Betrayal rocks the vary foundation we stand on, and that was all Harry knew. He had been betrayed. Charged with the murder of Cedric Diggory he was thrown in Azkaban. His friends refused to stand up for him. Dumbledore personally witnessed against him. Now all he can think about is sweet revenge

Living a Nightmare

And the ultimate question remains, to live, is it a blessing or the punishment itself? -Charlyn Khater

He was nothing more than a ball of bones held together by strips of graying skin and weak muscles. His eyes were glazed over, the light of youth that once shown gone as he stared at the wall across from him. He was bloodied, scared and bruised from the repeated visits from guards, aurors, and ministry members, none were kind. His prison uniform was no longer recognizable as such, and was instead only shredded strips of cloth. His hair was long and matted looking like a nest of stringy black hair. His nails were jagged and covered in blood, and the tips of his fingers were ripped open and bleeding.

He was seated, resting against the wall as he felt his energy drain. His legs were numb and he could barely move his toes, his arms were in the same condition. Outside there was a loud explosion that shook the floor. The screams that normally filled the air silenced for a minute. He looked over to his door, giving the rest of his energy to do so, before letting it fall against the wall and his eyes fall shut. He wasn't sure how long he was out but the sound of cheering awakened him and he tried to force his eyes open. Cheering, he knew most of the prisoners here were death eaters, which meant they were escaping. For him that meant two things, they would leave him there to die, or they would do it themselves. Slowly his eyes fell shut and his body slumped to the side.

The plan was flawless. With the dementors on their side there was no doubt in their success. It was easy to get in, and even easier still, to kill the guards who refused to join him. Breaking out his followers was slightly more difficult. Loathe he was to admit it but he was grateful for his muggle roots. He knew the power of muggle explosives, and that was all that was needed. He applied light shielding and the walls exploded sending rubble through the air. His followers were free at last.

Some were crazy even after a few months, but he needed crazy. He walked down cell by cell to see who to recruit when he came to a cell in the middle of empty cells. To be so isolated was promising to him. He unlocked the cell door and stepped in. It was dark, making it hard for even him to see but he could see the frame of a thin bony body laying down against the far wall, with their face covered by the disgusting matted black hair. He moved forward his bare feet for once feeling cold as he moved across the stone floor. The closer he got to the body the more surprised he became. Yes, his followers were tortured, but none looked as bad as this. And this person, looked young, small. He reached out and turned the person. It was a boy, not even in his adult years. He could tell his bones had been broken and healed wrong. Through the threads of clothing he could clearly make out the boy's ribs. The boy's face was hollow, his cheekbones straining against his skin. Blood was slowly trickling down the boy's forehead so he reached forward and pushed his hair back to see what was bleeding. What he saw caused him to lean back with his mouth open. It looked like the boy scratched his own forehead open, but despite that he could clearly see a scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt. He ran his finger over the scar. The boy's back arched forward and his face twisted in pain, with his eyes flying wide open unseeing. He looked into the boy's eyes and dropped his hand at the sight. One light blue eye and one scarlet eye. As soon as his hand moved away the boy slumped looking completely drained. His eyes slid shut as a drop of blood fell from the red eye.

He grabbed the boy's wrist and ran his thumb in circles on the skin, slowly runes started to glow brightly. He drew the boy close to him and picked him up. The child was incredibly light, almost weightless in his arms, but the boy groaned, his face scrunching up in pain as his race leaned against the older man's shoulder.

He walked out, covering the boy up in his black robes hiding his face from his followers. He looked to them all and then to his inner-circle.

"My son," he announced.