DISCLAMER: I own nothing. Nothing = 93.4% of the Harry Potter fanbase. Yep, that's right. It's me. I'm the genius behind it all.
…Alright, I lied! DON'T SUE!
Yeah, I really had no idea where I was going with this. I wrote it when I really should have been doing homework. Lots and lots of homework. But I felt that after spending the past two years scamming off Harry Potter fanfictions, it was time to contribute something. First came the stage of "LET'S WRITE A VEELA STORY!" but that was (thankfully) quickly binned. This stage was followed by several one-shots with topics varying from "A day at the Malfoy's breakfast table" to "The-story-where-Harry-is-kidnapped-by-Voldie-and-slashie-things-occur". I felt none of these were an appropriate first story. But I'm not an original person; new ideas are not my forte. If I was, do you really think I would be writing fanfiction? No. I don't think so. This meant there was only one path left open to me.
Harry in Azkaban. Yep. I'm that low and I haven't even started yet. *sighs pitifully* My life in a nutshell. Anyway, enjoy, this may or may not be made into a multi-chapter fic. More likely I'll end up with a user full of oneshots. Enjoy! (Beta wanted/needed)
Azkaban was an island prison where the worst criminals of the wizarding world lived out their days in cells barely 3 meters wide. Death's servants, the Dementors, guarded the place day and night. They fed off warmth and happiness, consuming every last scrap until all that was left was a despair that hung so thick in the air you could almost taste it. Approaching the prison by boat (as was the only access), huge iron gates towered above the outer wall.. These had charms against magical devices, potions and spells. Any wizard or witch with a wand - who were not an auror - was asked to surrender it until they had exited the gate. There could be no chance of escape.
Azkaban was freezing cold the year round and the only light that the prisoners saw for years was the weak grey light that filtered through the tiny barred windows above them. The food was stale bread and thin gruel that came on an irregular basis, shoved through a small flap at the bottom of the iron door. The prisoners of Azkaban themselves may once have been feared witches and wizards but after 30 years in an inescapable prison with no warmth or light most had been reduced to wrecks. They sat in the dark corners of their cells rocking back and forth, occasionally going into a fit and screaming insanely at the world. This would sometimes set off the other prisoners and before long Azkaban prison was ringing with the sound of insane laughter and screeches that took the aurors on duty several hours to quiet down.
There were, however, the prisoners who still had their minds. Some were new to the prison, some had a will of iron and some had a reason to stay sane. A reason to keep that tiny, infinitesimal spark of hope alive inside them. A reason to keep living, to get out, to be free and to do what they wished. Sadly enough, these people were rarely the innocents, the ones sentenced on false terms by corrupted officials. They were often the first to lose their minds, the happiness and goodness inside them quickly being smothered under Azkaban's aura. No, the ones that had a reason were usually the ones with a very bad reason.
On floor Lower-5, deep, deep underground where some of the worst offenders were kept, one such person could be found. His name was Harry James Potter. The prisoner was silent and had been for the past 9 years. He was always curled up in a corner with his emerald eyes shut, only emerging to grab the weak gruel and drink it down. The aurors laughed at him, the 'great savior of the Wizarding World', taunting him as he huddled. They rarely noticed the cold glint in his eyes when they turned to walk away, laughing to themselves as they did. Oh yes, Harry James Potter had a reason to keep living, to keep hoping. His reason was called 'revenge'.
AND THAT'S THE END. Short, eh? It's like a teaser. If you want more chapters, send a review? Just ONE and I'll keep going. I'm very easy to please like that. Sorry, I know it was kinda boring. It was written in the dark, sitting in a carpark listening to stupid guys boast about how cool their new car was. It was a ford. A cheap ford. Get a life.
Not that I have one. Once again, BETA PLEASE.