Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter or anything else you recognise.
A/N: I've been wanting to write an Azka!Harry for ages. I've read most of the completed 'Harry in Azkaban' fics on FFN and really enjoyed them. They have somewhat blurred into each other, so if elements of other people's fics are in here, I do apologise. They are what inspired me to write this though, so you could call it a bit of an homage!
This fic is dedicated to DCoD, who has been a great help and a
supportive reviewer. Thanks!
WARNING: Contains slash in later chapters, (though not explicit) please do not read this if it offends you.
To Kill a Dream
Chapter One - Prologue
"Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends."
J. R. R. Tolkien (1892 - 1973), The Lord Of the Rings, Book Four, Chapter One
"We of the Wizengamot, do hereby unanimously find the defendant, Harry James Potter guilty of the premeditated and wilful murder of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, at their family home, on the 31st of July, 1996. Furthermore, as the defendant has shown himself to be completely without remorse, offering no explanation of his actions, we have decided to sentence him to life in Azkaban prison. Take him down!"
Harry awoke with a start, the pain in his scar jerking him from the Dementor induced memory of his farce of a trial. He'd been put in this hellhole of a prison three years ago, for supposedly murdering his relatives.
Ha! Oh, how he wished he had…
But he was not a killer, and, he had not murdered them. They were selfish, unrepentant bastards, who could use a good smack in the gob. But they didn't deserve to die, and especially not in the way they had. He shuddered to think of the things the Death Eaters had done to them, and made them do to each other, under the Imperiuscurse. Harry had been forced to watch, magically bound and held by Voldemort himself.
And boy! Was that a surprise!
Dumbledore's much revered and vaunted blood wards were a crock of shit. They didn't stop the Dark Lord from waltzing right in the front door, free as you like!
The family had been sat down eating their microwave dinners on their laps, watching 'Who wants to be a Millionaire?' It was one of Vernon's favourite programmes. He liked to yell out the answers to the questions and scoff at the television when he got them wrong, proclaiming that Chris Tarrant had no idea what he was talking about and the ponce should go out into the world and get a real education.
Harry rather enjoyed being perched on the stairs listening to the old, fat, purple-faced bastard making a fool of himself. Some summers it was his only entertainment. And that particular summer, his slightly scornful amusement at his uncle's foibles had matched his dark mood.
His beloved godfather, Sirius Black, had supposedly died at the Department of Mysteries in that doomed raid to try and save him and the prophecy sphere.
Harry had spent most of the summer grieving for the only person to show him any kind of parental love or concern, and then a week ago, his spy in the Order of the Phoenix told him Sirius was alive and had faked his own death to throw Harry, the Ministry and the Death Eaters off.
From what his spy had gleaned, most of the Order, including Sirius, was convinced that Harry's 'reckless' behaviour put them all at risk, and the less he knew, the safer it would be. None of them seemed to consider, that by explaining things to him, allowing him to understand what was at stake, would be more likely to tame his wild impulses.
Well, one of them had, and had also realised this a good year or so ago, hence his very own spy.
He had been enraged when he found out, and incredibly hurt. Sirius' betrayal of him had literally felt like a knife stabbed him in the back. Harry had wandered around in a daze, completely uncomprehending how he could have read the man so wrong.
At first, he had been convinced that Sirius was under some spell or potion, that was influencing his feelings towards his godson. Then, though he fervently wished he hadn't, he'd remembered the Marauders treatment of Severus.
It seemed one mistake was all it took for his Father's friends to turn against him.
He knew he shouldn't have hared off to the Ministry that night, but stronger men than he had been deceived by Voldemort, Dumbledore included. And though his spy had been listening in on the Order's plans, he had later explained to Harry that he was unable to tell him of the false visions, because Dumbledore had bound him to secrecy. The old man had decided to release it after Sirius's so-called death.
For his part, Harry did not and still could not understand why his godfather had given up on him, seemingly so easily. He realised he found it hard to accept it when people did things he himself would never do. And he would never just give up on someone and throw them to the dogs. It wasn't in him, to treat people that way.
When he'd found out, he had seethed in anger for a few minutes, grabbing his pillow and screaming out his frustration into it, not wanting to disturb his relatives and have them come up there to find out what was going on. Nor did he wish to lose control of his magic and level the house.
That was something new as well; he'd been working in secret for some time now, and was nowhere near the stunted dunce some people took him for. People had accused him of being withdrawn and quiet last year, and they had a point. Only, he wasn't training to become the next Dark Lord, he was training to kill the current one, so he could survive the ordeal, and forge some kind of life for himself afterwards.
Only now, given where he was, that didn't seem possible. In fact he looked like he had a snow's chance in hell of ever having the kind of life he wanted.
He wasn't like Malfoy or any of that lot, he didn't dream of a large manor full of expensive things and hundreds of minions to do his bidding. No, he'd wanted a nice home, in a smallish town, maybe in a village even, where he could take in rescue animals. He wanted to run a shelter or a sanctuary, for all animals. Whether they were horses headed to the knackers yard or kneazles who had been abandoned by their owners. Which happened all too often, in his opinion.
He had a considerable inheritance from his parents and Sirius, and was looking to put that to good use. Though thinking about all he knew, he supposed Black would want his money back now. He'd toyed with the idea of an orphanage, but honestly didn't think he was healed enough within himself, emotionally, to be able to help the children properly.
And that was before all this Azkaban business.
Voldemort was not nearly as maniacally obsessed with killing Harry as some might think he was. People seemed to overlook his cunning for the madness which glinted in his eyes at times.
The Dark Lord simply wanted Harry out of the way, and what better way than to have the people he was so desperately trying to protect, to turn on him? Voldemort was perfectly happy to set Harry up, and then sit idly by while the Wizarding World took care of the young saviour for him.
So it was, that once the Deatheaters and their Master had had quite enough 'entertainment' with Harry's family, that they removed traces of the spells cast on them, administered a couple of potions, and then had just enough time for Voldemort to take up Harry's wand and cast the killing curse on all three of them.
Harry was stunned and his wand placed in his hand, along with a backpack full of his belongings which a Voldy-Lackey had packed earlier, to make it look like Harry had been about to run away after the murders.
The last thing Harry had heard before he'd lost consciousness that night, had been Riddle's voice: "Let's see how your adoring public views you now, Harry. I think you'll find that 'innocent until proven guilty' is not a sentiment the Wizarding World subscribes to."
The same high pitched laughter which haunted his dreams from the night his parents died, had echoed in Harry's ears once again.
Harry wondered at times, sitting in his dark and cold cell, if he wasn't a little bit, or a lot, mad.
When he had arrived here, nearly three years ago, he had been so angry. He was furious at his so called friends. Only one of them had stuck up for him, and that, surprisingly, was Ron. Ronald Weasley, whom everyone thought would be the first to turn his back on him. He had stuck by him, and been thrown out of the courtroom, screaming that Harry was innocent and must be under some spell which stopped him from being able to defend himself.
His trial was a complete fake and a ridiculous waste of time. He often wondered why they had bothered. After all, Sirius had merely been thrown straight in, with no legal proceedings whatsoever.
He supposed it was because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and the people would have gone crazy if he wasn't allowed a trial. Not crazy, so that he would have a fair hearing mind you – they wanted justice to be served. And in their eyes, it seemed, that meant they should all have a fair chance at vilifying and cursing him.
Though, unfortunately for them, they'd mainly only been able to use words and not wands, such were the protections on Courtroom Ten. And how the public had loved turning on their once-saviour! He had in fact wondered if some of them were getting off on the hateful things they were saying to him, from the gleam in their eyes, many of them were finding it distinctly pleasurable.
Fudge had been positively triumphant, while Dumbledore had played the disappointed mentor masterfully.
When he had been put in chains to be taken away, his closest friends had decided that was the opportune moment to add their piece, and none of them had minced their words.
"You are a disgrace! You don't deserve to be a Potter! I am ashamed I ever thought of you as one of my own! I brought you into my house! And let you near my children! You stay away from us, you, you, FILTH!"
Harry had flinched violently away from this verbal assault from the Weasley matriarch, still unable to say anything because of a spell one of the Aurors had placed on him before the trial.
Mrs Weasley made him angry, but he wasn't all that hurt by her words, she was just looking out for her kids, and he couldn't blame her for that.
Remus though, his vicious diatribe cut Harry to the quick, and even now, all these years later, brought tears to his eyes.
"You are no son of Lily and James! I dread to think of what they would say now. I only wish I could travel back in time, and tell Lily to get an abortion. You killed them, just like you killed the Dursleys. This world would be better off if you had never been born!"
All of this was delivered in a quiet but deadly voice, and Harry had been stung by the intense hate in the werewolf's eyes.
Then, to cap it all off, the man who he knew was actually Sirius, despite the disguise, decided to join in the fun.
"You deserve everything you get, MURDERER. You had better hope you die in prison, because if you ever come near my friends again, I'll kill you myself!" He had declared, and then Harry had been dragged away, the Aurors not being at all gentle to him.
The icing on the cake for what was probably the worst day of Harry's life, except perhaps the night of the Third Task, the Aurors who held him had decided that a good beating would be a nice send off for him, before Harry was transported to Azkaban.
Despite all of this, and the fact that their words, which he'd had to relive more than a few times, still hurt him, the anger which had been so rife within him when he had first been brought here, had begun to ebb away.
The Dementors, who had feasted on him when he arrived, lost interest in him, and he barely saw them more than once or twice a month these days. He reasoned that his seeming apathy was a symptom of his insanity and that there was nothing in him for the horrible monsters to feed off of, anymore.
One thing he was sure of, though, he would not forgive his former friends.
Not openly anyway. He made himself let go of his hate, because it would be far more damaging to him, in the long run. So, he would not hate them, but if he ever got out of here and his innocence was proven... if they came to him, for absolution, he would not give it to them.
He actually thought it likely he would get out of here, some day, never mind that he had a life sentence.
Voldemort would probably come and get him, thinking that his years of imprisonment would make him an easy target for either conversion or annihilation.
His innocence might yet be discovered, for the evidence against him was sketchy at best. Sure, his wand had fired three killing curses. But Dumbledore and whole lot of other people knew that his wand was brother to the Dark Lord's. It didn't take a giant leap of faith to believe that he could have used Harry's wand to frame him. Other than his presence at the crime scene, again, no great leap considering he lived there, if you could call it living, there was only so called 'character witnesses' who spoke of Harry's withdrawal from his 'dear friends'.
Most of the members of the D.A., including Hermione and Ginny, had got up to give evidence on how they had all worried he was turning dark, and that it was only a matter of time before he went out on a Deatheater inspired killing spree. The way they described it, they were constantly in fear of their lives around him, wondering who he would off first.
No one thought to ask why they had cajoled him into running the D.A., or spent so many hours outside of lessons and the house working with him.
Two people.
Only two people believed he was innocent – Ron and his spy. He didn't hold out much hope that just two people could save him. Yet, he wouldn't give up on them.
After ruminating on the subject for a while, he decided he could add Dobby, and possibly Winky, to his list of supporters. He really didn't think that either house elf would believe he was a killer. At least, he hoped not. But he didn't dwell on that thought. His tiny list of friends was small enough as it was, and, along with the fact that he knew he was innocent, and that he was an unregistered Animagus, were the only things keeping him going.
Harry, surprisingly, or not, was a snake Animagus – a Boomslang. When he found out, he shared a laugh with Ron, the redhead declaring that he shouldn't tell Snape or Hermione about his Animagus form, as they would be forever trying to get at his skin.
He spent as much time as he dared in his snake form, curled up in the cleanest, or least dirty corner of his cell. The cold bothered him in that body, but the threadbare blanket the wardens so kindly provided, offered more warmth to him as a snake than it did as a human, especially if he warmed it up with his body heat before transforming.
It had crossed his mind that the extended time spent as a snake could be the cause of the changes in his mentality. Snakes were, on the whole, practical and indifferent creatures. They attacked if attacked, but unless they were hunting and feeding, they generally left well enough alone. From all the conversations he'd had with the reptiles, he never found one that hated with a passion like humans did.
Not exactly being in a position to research the phenomena however, Harry put it aside as something to ponder if he ever got out of here.
Another couple of years passed, and Harry's only contact with the outside world were fleeting visits from his spy. These visits were, of a necessity, short and sweet.
From what he could gather, the rest of the world was not doing too well. Voldemort was taking over slowly, but surely, and while there hadn't been that many casualties, the people who had died, were key players in the Ministry and some of the others were Order members:
Dung was gone, as was Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Fudge was dead, and so was Umbitch. Harry was not precisely grieving for her.
Percy Weasley has been killed very recently, and Harry had laughed a rare, quite chuckle when his spy told him that he'd been found with the Dark Mark burned into his arm. He bet Molly Weasley hadn't been expecting that from one of her perfect sons.
Amos Diggory and his wife had been killed, and Harry had shed tears for them. He only hoped they had been reunited with their son, and somehow, somewhere, they were happy.
Seamus Finnegan's mother was killed, as were Hermione's parents. He did feel sorry for the two of them. He knew what it was like to lose a family. But he did not cry for them, not a single tear.
What was even more amusing, was that his spy reported that the Order was considering granting him clemency, in exchange for his help in fighting Voldemort. Harry had snorted and told his visitor that he would refuse if they asked, and enjoy doing it. What was slightly worrying, was the report that the Dark Lord had decided that after five years languishing in prison on the whim of the Wizarding World, that Harry was ripe for recruitment.
He was coming to Azkaban, in one month's time.
The Order of the Phoenix, knew this too, apparently, and they were coming to get Harry as well, to prevent him falling into Voldemort's hands. They had not come immediately on hearing this information, as they were having trouble getting anyone to agree that he should be moved, and where he should be moved to.
His faithful spy didn't now know who would arrive first. Harry had told him, that Fate being what it was, they would probably come on the same day. All he had to do now, was wait. After five years staring at the same four walls, a month was practically a blink of an eye to him.
Yes, he could wait.
He was good at waiting. He wondered if anyone would recognise him, when they came. This caused him to laugh, long and loud, and made the Auror passing his cell tut and sigh at the madness of the Boy-Who-Lived.