To the reader,

For those of you who've seen my previous work, I apologize for disappearing. I admit that the spark that brought me to Fanfiction in the first place somewhat dimmed in the past months. That is not to say that I have given up altogether on my other projects. I simply need to recapture that same love of writing; then, what better place to reinvigorate myself than under a section adored for being a cornerstone of popular, modern literature?

As for you who've just stumbled upon my humble little section: welcome. Make yourselves at home. I hope you will enjoy what I have to write. If not, feedback of any kind is always appreciated; it gives me insight into what you prefer with regards to story development.

Now, to say a few words about the story. This little work of imagination is something I've thought and put to paper in the past. I was treading on unfamiliar territory and decided to scrap it before I wrote myself into a stump. In retrospect, I admit that was a bad idea. Writing is meant to put you in these uncomfortable positions that wind up challenging your storytelling. The ability to adapt in those circumstances is what separates able writers from the less competent when grammar is not taken into account.

It will consist of a study with the following premise: how far can a defeated Harry Potter fall down the rabbit hole? Don't get me wrong, it still fits within the books' canon perfectly, except for the closing epilogue.

I hope you shall enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it; and without further ado, let's jump in to a darker, more sinister future in store for the Wizarding World.

Wishing you all the best,

AGhostlyWriter.

Chapter 0: Prologue

The interrogator's hammer came down quite harshly, signaling an end to the mock trial. In the ruling chair sat Cornelius Fudge, newly reinstated Minister of Magic. Behind him, further up on the glistening marble stands sat the rest of the panel of judges. Not a single one of them not handpicked by Fudge for this very occasion. There was too much at stake to allow any slip-ups in his plan, the very fabric of society required this small sacrifice. In the far corner of the courtroom stood the goblin who nudged the Ministry in the proper direction. His disdainful smirk said it all: the wizards kept their end of the bargain by condemning the accused to a harsh sentence. As a reward, Gringotts would reopen its doors to the community.

But now was not the time for Fudge to rest, he still had to pronounce the final sentence that awaited the defense. The lobby had been quite clear on the matter, stating they would accept the harshest of fates for the Boy-Who-Lived. 'Harry James Potter,' said the chief interrogator with an even tone that in no way betrayed the large amount of vindication he felt at seeing the one who caused his fall from grace a few years ago being arrested. 'You are hereby found guilty of conspiracy against the Ministry, aiding and abetting You-Know-Who's return to power, and disruption of civil order within magical society. For these crimes, you are to be sent to Azkaban where you will serve out a perpetual sentence. Unless, of course, you should show signs of rehabilitation, you will be offered the possibility of parole at the Ministry's discretion. Court is adjourned.'

Harry grimaced as he was escorted out of the room under the gaze of the cheering public. The crowd had gone jubilant, so convinced were they that he was truly responsible for said crimes. The only who didn't join the crowd, other than the Dementors that escorted him out and the judging panel that maintained a false air of impartiality, was the surviving Order of the Phoenix who watched in horror as their champion was dragged off to the cell he was to call home.

It was unfair. They'd lobbied tirelessly, trying desperately to soothe the goblins and the Ministry into relenting. Unfortunately, nothing came of it. Suspicious of Kingsley's bid for Minister, Fudge had effectively locked what remained of the order out of politics. They carried no weight to the reinstated wizards and witches whose careers almost went down the tubes when Voldemort was revealed to have risen back up, Death Eaters at his beck and call. It was curious, though - some of them noted - that the Ministry was willing to give him parole. Kingsley and Tonks both considered with no small amount of dread what was implied. For the rest, with Hermione and Ron at their forefront, the only thing that their mind was preoccupied with was freeing their best friend.

There had to be some way to make it happen. Some way to free Harry. Alas, a breakout was out of the question. Fudge had foreseen the zeal the Order had for freeing their comrade and made sure to issue a warning to the members before being ushered into court. If any of them was found responsible for helping Potter escape, family and friends would be among those who'd pay dearly for the treasonous act. The Muggle Prime Minister even gave his accord – or so Fudge hinted when he threatened them – to have any Muggle closely related to the offenders be punished according to the Minister's wishes. Their communal hands were tied in the matter, and they could only whisper how sorry they were as Harry past them by and left the room. The chill that accompanied the Dementors subsided from the room. The fool presence of the fiends hadn't been enough to calm the joyous raucous the public gave itself over to. They were practically delirious, beside themselves with glee; so much so that the Dementors hesitated, torn between their allegiance to the Ministry and the prospect of a bountiful feast mere meters away from them. In the end, they reluctantly obeyed.

Ginny watched the crowd with contempt. They had been won over so easily it was disgusting. They had had all but forgotten what Harry sacrificed for them. The confrontation, the exile, it meant nothing to them. After a few moments, Hermione joined her friend in staring down the mass of filth that masqueraded as respectful members of society. For one brief moment, she allowed her mind to mull over the prospect of torturing each and every one of them. It was something she rarely permitted herself to fantasize about. Yet ever since the trial was proven to be rigged - and her faith in justice was shown to be wasted – she felt a cruel streak develop within her. A streak she saw mirrored in the hardened faces of all those who studied with Harry back at Hogwarts. Even Luna lost the twinkle in her eye that made her a carefree spirit.

A few seconds later Harry and his tormentors appeared out of nowhere inside the halls of the infamous prison. Dark, dank, and dirty: there was nothing pleasant about this forsaken place. Every so often, an inmate would scream as the little bit of happiness he mustered up was forcefully drained from him. Enough to make him complacent, but never so much that the Dementor claimed his soul.

They learned well in the past few weeks. Their victims continually created some measure of hope of release whilst being locked up in Azkaban. Whether or not hope was well-founded was irrelevant. So long as they possessed their souls, they could be harvested. Since the guards realized this, they were much more careful, diligently ensuring that none of the prisoners succumbed to their kiss. It was a crueler to keep them fully conscious anyhow, which made the cloaked shadows adhere to their new unspoken creed all the more faithfully.

Pretty soon, as the boy was shoved forward into the labyrinth of tight corridors and closed off cells of all sizes, he came into earshot of one inmate who, instead of screaming in agony and despair, laughed. It was a voice he was all too familiar with, a voice he thought he would never have to hear again.

The timber was feminine, and enveloped within the mad laughter was a cutting hatred. Bellatrix Lestrange felt no fear in the face of the Dementors. In this evil place, Harry wasn't even certain they could feed on her wretched soul. The sound became louder and louder as time went on. To his horror, when the Dementor escort threw him into his designated hole-in-the-wall - barely fit to be called a cell - he could tell the laugh came from the cell facing his own.

It didn't take long for Bellatrix to come out of the shadows the lack of lighting cast allowed into her stoned room and grip the bars with delight as she watched the sworn enemy of her dead master end up where she felt he rightfully belonged. 'Well, well. Look who it is.'

Harry looked away, unwilling to humor her in the slightest. He could hear her cackling as her cold eyes gawked at the Griffindor graduate beneath the dirty mess of hair. She wore the same outfit he was forced into prior to the hearing. A black and grey stripped robe, apparently supposed to symbolize the devoid and hopeless nature of the prison itself.

Other than that, the split second he spent looking at her didn't allow him the luxury of noting any other differences. Thankfully, he did not receive another chance to get a better look at her. Satisfied with her discovery, she slithered back into the dark recesses of her cells and left the boy be. Perhaps the reprieve was only so that she could brainstorm ways to torture him while he was locked away. Nevertheless, Harry was thankful. Of all the days she would undoubtedly spend making him suffer, he was glad today was not the day she would start.

Exhausted, those were the last conscious thoughts that past his mind before he slumped off into unconsciousness, tormented by the persistent sensation that the Dementors were watching him still. They preyed upon his happiness as he slept, barring the chance of dreaming of anything other than the most horrifying nightmares his mind could conjure up.

One nightmare, in particular, was far more dreadful than the rest. Unbeknownst to him, however, was that it would prove to be more than a simple repetitive dream: it was a dreadful reality he would soon be forced to face.