15 & on Death Row
Prologue: Innocence
Harry Potter didn't like to reminisce.
Especially when he was slumped against the cool wall of his cell. There really wasn't much to do around here; he could reminisce, but who would want to if you were in his position?
He exercised, though. In the rare moments he had energy, he would do push ups or sit ups. He had just finished doing sit-ups, actually. How many, he did not know. A lot. It didn't seem to matter, really; he just stopped when he had no more energy left.
Then he slept. That wasn't much of a better choice either, to be honest. Sleep was almost like an enemy. There was only one thing that came to a sleeping man, and that was dreams.
Or nightmares. Usually, nightmares.
This place was dank and smelt funny. But that was hardly the worst of it. Those were actually some of the friendlier aspects. At least he wouldn't boil alive. But then, that wasn't much of a concern either. No, there was one major concern only, and a chain of smaller ones attached.
The Dementors.
The Dementors always came back. Always came back to haunt him in particular. The other prisoners weren't affected so badly, but Harry was like an attraction for the horrid fiends. Sure, the effects of the Dementors lessened slightly as Harry unwittingly built up a strong Occlumency shield around his mind, but it was still awful. So were the visions.
His wand had been mercilessly snapped (by Fudge), as had his innocence (by Dumbledore), his trust (by Hermione and Ron), his body (by Voldemort), his favoured companion (by Ginny), his mind (by Dementors) and of course, his heart (by everyone).
A Patronus was impossible without a wand, and now, his worst memories weren't just of his parents, although they came back to him also. There were other things, worse things, things that he remembered so clearly they were with him all the time. If not while conscious and musing, then as he dreamed.
Betrayal.
Faces. All the faces of the ones that stabbed him in the back. Every single face came to visit him at least once. He had been stuck in this stupid cell for… well, he didn't quite know. Time had lost meaning here, like most things. But he still wondered how long it had been; it felt like years, but in reality it was probably closer to a couple of months.
However, Harry wasn't sure whether he even wanted the Patronus to protect him. The more he suffered, the more he would get revenge for once the fools realized their biggest mistake.
They had just stabbed him in the back, like he had never meant anything to them. Fudge (though Harry hadn't really expected anything good from that incompetent idiot), Remus, Dumbledore, the Weasleys in general and of course, Ron and Hermione.
All betrayed him. Even bloody Lupin; he knew the same mistake could be made twice, Harry mused bitterly. Most of his thoughts were bitter these days. The only way he stayed sane was through one thing. The same thing that had kept a different prisoner going for twelve years.
Sirius would have stood by him. Sirius knew what it was like. Sirius would have believed him, because Sirius had done the same thing himself.
He was innocent.
That's right, everyone, Harry thought with equal bitterness as his other musing. I didn't do it after all. Must be a shock… idiots? The lot of them. Who the hell would be stupid enough to believe that Harry Potter was a killer anyway?
Everyone, it would seem.
Thinking about it logically… none of it actually made any sense. And at least one person would have figured that out.
Hermione had been his best bet; she was a genius, logical witch. She should have to see the truth. But she didn't. He assumed that she was 'overcome by grief' or something. That would be her excuse.
Firstly, Harry didn't have the magical power to accomplish the feat he was accused off. That much had been proven only days before the set up. Then something else; why would Harry go dark anyway? His own parents had been killed by the dark; the dark had ruined his life. He wasn't heartless.
The wizarding world was shambles. Filled with the stench of corruption; they believed only what they were told to believe. And who did they listen to?
The Ministry. Dumbledore. Higher sources.
Their word was golden, no matter how wrong and clearly filled with lies it was, it was believed. It was sacred to them… and it disgusted Harry.
Voldemort had a whole plan worked out. He end of Harry's fifth year, he would lure him to the Department of Mysteries… and from there, things would unravel appropriately. And unfortunately, they did.
Towards the end of June, they struck. Mere days from the end of the year for Hogwarts, Harry was lured to the Department of Mysteries.
And that's where everything went wrong.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville had all gone right off to fight at the Department of Mysteries. The outcome was one dead godfather for Harry, and a whole lot of trauma.
And the Prophecy, which Dumbledore the asshole revealed to him after they had come back. Stupid, stupid fucking dickhead, Harry thought with extreme bitterness. This was exactly the thing that could bloody well have changes his life; if Harry had known of the Prophecy in the first place, he might have actually trained in magic and not just wait around for Voldemort to Avada Kedavra him away.
Harry had been, to put it mildly, furious at the meddling old Headmaster. Once, he looked to the man with respect and awe, thinking of him to be infallible, like a God. In place of that was pure, undiluted fury, even more so than at Voldemort. At least Voldemort had always been clear about his intentions towards Harry.
Harry had been extremely depressed when he found out that the two way mirror didn't work to contact Sirius. He had spent countless hours outside, brooding. No one dared approach him in fear of Harry doing something… rash.
Enter Draco Malfoy and his goons; it was truly their moment to shine. The goal of his little project was simple; get Potter out of the way. Dead was preferred, but Voldemort was rather realistic, and didn't overestimate Draco… a wise move, as Malfoy could never kill Harry himself.
So instead, they staged the perfect set up. Voldemort had a stroke of genius.
Junior Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, his ever faithful lumps, and Hogwarts Whore number one Pansy Parkinson, all Death Eaters in training, had Harry exactly where they wanted him; brooding silently, isolated and alone, with the whole school fearing him.
Harry, who had been stupidly not been expecting more drama, had no recollection at all of what had happened. But when he woke up, Percy Weasley had shoved his Dark Mark covered left forearm at him very inconspicuously before Dumbledore started bellowing at him about the use of Crucio on said Weasley.
Voldemort knew it was pointless to try and kill Potter again, and settled on having him out of the way… for now. He placed a few useful charms on Potter and disappeared, grinning evilly in satisfaction.
Voldemort had essentially transferred more of himself into Harry. He shoved into Harry's mind a number of dark curses; none extremely powerful that they could hurt Lord Voldemort of course, but enough for suspicion, as well as adding a few dark memories into Potter's mind. He lengthened Potter's messy hair to match the style that Tom Riddle had worn, as well as paling his skin and charming Potter's eyes into accepting blood red streaks amongst the green.
Harry reeked of dark magic and his aura, which had been charmed for all to see by Voldemort, was fully flaring at a deep black.
When Harry had woken up, he was totally clueless as to the recent events and still in the 'scene of crime' as it were. However he was surrounded by Dumbledore and his posse of what Harry knew as Order members, all wands pointed directly at his heart.
From there, it was ancient history. He didn't get a trial, of course. Like hell they would spare valuable time for proving the Boy-who-lived's innocence. Nope, definitely not.
Harry had tried to get help, had stumbled down to Hogsmeade to ask for help, but all the shopkeepers shunned him. Dumbledore said quite explicitly that he didn't want Harry around him ever again, so Harry had gotten down to Diagon Alley, where he was again shunned. He had slept on a patch of ground in Diagon Alley the night before he was sent away to Azkaban.
A couple went so far as to curse him. Harry made a point of remembering their names for the future; the manager of Dervish & Banges in Hogsmeade, and in the Post Office, as well as staff members in Eeylops Owl Emporium and Flourish and Blott's.
With all the evidence pointing towards him, it was hopeless form the very beginning.
Harry being unconscious when they arrived was a sign of magical exhaustion, from over-performing curses and spells. The offending wand was in his hand with no other finger prints apart from his own. And Percy's desperate testimony to 'what Potter had done' was heartbreakingly heartfelt and convincing to everyone.
So he was charged with it all, they actually believed that he cast Crucio on Percy, leading him to near insanity. Well, that was just plain ridiculous to anyone with half a brain. However, it seemed that most people were in fact, lacking half a brain. They ate it up like a fat kid eats cake.
They threw him into Azkaban with no hesitation. They taunted him at every chance, and shoved him in the highest security cell there, in a block of cells specially reserved for prisoners in his 'situation'.
And what a fucking situation it was.
To Be Continued…
Coming soon, Chapter 1: Condemn, in which we see a brief overview of Harry's 'trial', and of course, what our favourite traitors have been getting up to.