Author's Note: So, yes, it has indeed been a disgusting amount of time since I last wrote. My excuse is writers' block and finals. In fact, I really should be studying now, but my muse finally returned to me after two and a half months. Anyways, this is a story where Harry is sent to Azkaban after his 5th Year fiasco. Some important changes to canon are: the Dursleys' abuse was physical as well as emotional, Harry was affected by the abuse (unlike in canon where he had no side effects at all), and Ron was damaged by the brains in the tank. I've read a lot of Harry in Azkaban stories and most of them have the fault of Harry somehow resisting the effects of the Dementors. So, without further ado, I present the first chapter of a (hopefully) epic tale of torment, betrayal, intrigue, and, most importantly, revenge. I give you Chapter 1 of At Any Cost: Existence
"Please, no! Not Harry! Take me instead!"
"Stand aside, foolish girl."
"NO!" A flash of green light.
"Freak! How dare you? We take you in, feed you, clothe you, and you repay us like THIS?!" A massive fist hit the side of his head, and red light flashed behind his eyes.
"Liar!" A fire-headed teen shouted at him.
"Murderer!" A fat man in a lime-green bowler hat shouted from a podium.
"Attention-seeking spoiled prince!" A dark-haired, sallow man snarled at him every time he saw him.
These scenes, and countless others, replayed themselves over and over, day after day, week after week, until time itself became irrelevant. Light was a memory, no, a memory of a dream. After all, light didn't actually exist, right? There was only darkness. Darkness in the six-by-four-by four foot cell that was the world. Darkness behind his eyelids. Darkness in his soul. Darkness in the figures that haunted his every hour, waking or not. Darkness in the souls that had put him here. If they existed at all. After all, time did not exist. The people who put him here might not exist. This could just be all that exists, right?
To an outsider, the air in the cell would be so cold that it would hurt the lungs with every inhalation, rub the throat raw with every exhalation. To its occupant, it simply Was. There was no such thing as heat. The occupant's breath was shallow and ragged, to shallow for any fog to appear in the frigid air, if his body had enough moisture to spare, that is. His body was restrained on the stone floor, held down by metal shackles at the joints. The restraints were a joke, as if someone that was more stick than human could resist a puff of wind, much less any other force.
Not that there was any other force. The prisoner was alone in his memories. Every so often, a small tremor would pass through him. The tremors could be disregarded as a twitch, as he had no strength for anything else. Sure, the prison staff fed him, if it could be called that. The process involved a number of kicks, sometimes punches; sometimes… his throat would be more sore than usual for a while and a bitter taste would be in his mouth. After the staff did what they would do, a muttered phrase would put a tiny bit of contentment into the prisoner's world. Indeed, it was the only comfort he had. His shrunken stomach would feel ever so slightly less shrunken, and he would have a little bit more strength in his tremors.
Food. It always seemed like food was the only mercy he had been given his entire life. Of course, he often had to work to earn it, but he always took comfort in knowing that he would have the strength to go on working, go on living. Except, now, life didn't exist, right? Existence itself was just that. He existed.
A living shadow glided by the cell. It paused for a moment that turned into minutes, then hours. The occupant just had so much misery to feed off of. He could feed the entire population for years and not run dry. Of course, he already had. And if they were allowed to embrace him, to Kiss him, the utter torment in the prisoner's soul could allow them to spawn hundreds more of their kind. If it were allowed, of course. It seemed like their favorite had known nothing but misery with a few bright moments of happiness in his like. But, those happy moments had been like drops of white paint in a bucket of black. The shadow resumed its gliding, its mind eager to taste more potent pain from those who had known happiness.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Miles southward, in a bright, warm, happy castle full of bright, warm, happy children and brighter, warmer, slightly less happy teachers, the least happy one of all was once again in a rage. "How do these imbeciles manage to walk and breathe at the same time?" One of his clumsier students, a certain Giles Coriandey, had managed to melt a cauldron full of moderately expensive ingredients. Moreover, the potion within had managed to coat half of the panicked boy's body and was slowly compressing.
"Evanesco" The potion evaporated, and with a modified Bubblehead Charm, the vapor was contained in a bubble that was promptly vanished. Snarling, the dour man turned on the wheezing Giles. "Mister Coriandey, how in Merlin's name did you manage to melt a cauldron full of non-reactive ingredients?"
The boy gasped a few more times, then regained control of his vocal cords. "Sir, I don't know. I put the Rubber Spider's fangs in when the potion turned puce."
"Well, that would explain it, then. The spider fangs were not supposed to be Rubber Spiders'! They were explicitly stated to be Blubber Spider fangs." Coriandey blanched. "Are you not able to see the board?"
"N-no sir. The fumes melted my glasses the first day of class."
"Well, get it taken care of. I will have all students capable of reading the instructions at least." The end the class period came soon enough and the first-years filed out. Snape felt odd, not making any of them cry during the first term. But, then again, his aggressive campaign to insult everyone not a member of Slytherin House had driven a Ravenclaw to jump off the Astronomy tower. Nobody had been there to catch her either. He had escaped prosecution due to his previously good record, but the Headmaster had insisted he tone down his abuse. Surprisingly to him, he acquiesced with little argument.
A stream of sliver light flowed into his now empty classroom. Dumbledore had stopped fire-calling him in the middle of classes, fortunately. The message spell transformed into a square of parchment with silver ink. He read it, eyes widening in shock.
Severus,
I require your presence immediately.
We have been wrong. Very wrong.
Wrong for ten years. New evidence
has come to light and You-Know-Who
might be innocent after all. I have
changed the wards to allow you
to Apparate within the castle walls.
Come to my office IMMEDIATLEY.
Albus Dumbledore.
"This is serious. But- You-Know-Who? He's been in Azkaban for ten years. The trial was- wait, the trial was a farce, wasn't it?" He ceased his musings and turned sharply on his heel, reappearing in his friend's office. "Albus, what's come to light?"
Albus turned to him, looking older, weaker, and more upset than Snape, or anyone, had ever seen him. His face was a mask of tears and deep, soul-searing agony. "Severus, thank you." He stepped forward and embraced his long-time friend. Snape was not formerly a physically affectionate person, but ten years had changed him. He was still intense and intimidating, but his students all knew he cared about them. And anyways, Albus was his protector and mentor.
Eventually, Albus calmed down enough to start explaining. "One of Tom's old followers, Lucius Malfoy actually, was caught trying to carve the Dark Mark into a muggle woman's face. The Aurors interrogated him and he eventually admitted to taking part in what was Tom's last great plot."
"And what would that be, Albus?"
"The Death Eaters overpowered the wards and Tom broke in, stole You-Know-Who's wand and, well, you know what happened next."
"And so this leads to what conclusion?"
"That You-Know-Who might be innocent. Not just that, but a victim."
"Possibly. Didn't that incompetent fool get sacked the week after his trial?"
"Yes, but before that he keyed the commands on the Dementors to unleash all their power on You-Know-Who. The only thing that they cannot do is kill him."
Severus collapsed into a chair at the implications. True, he had hated the boy from the first time he walked into his classroom. True, his hatred was justified when the boy went and tortured and murdered two hundred and seventeen muggles, but to suffer the full power of three thousand Dementors for ten years? No one could ever, possible deserve that. "And so what has been made of this news?"
"Well, Minister Bones is reviewing the trial memory and files. She has put forth a motion to re-open the trial if indeed she is unsatisfied with the trial."
"Albus, the trial was a farce. They didn't even give You-Know-Who Veritaserum or even a chance to testify."
"WHAT?"
"I was there, in disguise of course. Fudge proved his incompetency by accepting bribes from Lucius Malfoy and half the Wizengamot at the time. He essentially said there was too much damning evidence to allow the accused the chance to use his fame to worm his way out of justice."
"And how in Merlin's seventh wand did nobody question the decision?"
"Mostly due to the smear campaign against him. And the fact that he had been declared the next Dark Lord, Grindelwald's successor, and had his name made Taboo. In more recent years, the sheer corruption of the ministry bogged everything down, and he was eventually forgotten about."
Albus stared blankly at Severus for a long while. Eventually, Fawkes came and perched on Dumbledore's shoulder crooning softly and rubbing his head against his cheek. The song was simply a song of encouragement, Fawkes' way of lifting his familiar's spirit from an all-time low.
"Severus… if You-Know-Who is innocent… I'm not sure he can be saved. The Dementors are usually able to only exert a quarter of their power on inmates. The runes on the cells determine how much each prisoner is exposed. Death Eaters were given half power, and most of them went insane."
"So you-Know-Who is insane like Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"No, Severus. On half power, Dementors will only drive their victim insane. Full power has never, ever been used. It distorts the victim's senses, like time is no longer relevant. Also, the victim's worst memories will begin to have effects on their current body. So, any wounds they suffered will reappear and their mind will be open to any emotional abuse. Not only that, but any negative emotion related to him in the outside world will be funneled into him. In short, You-Know-Who knows nothing of the world but a six-by-four foot cell, darkness, fear, cold, and pain."
Snape looked in his mentor's eyes, comprehending the sheer amount of hatred aimed at that one man. Then he calmly conjured up a basin and vomited violently into it.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He woke up again, or became as awake as he could. Another routine awaited. The staff would come in, some shouting, some pain, some humiliation, then, finally, some relief. The cell door screeched open, but the shouting did not come. Instead, he felt the restraints come off of his body, and he vaguely heard talking. He did not comprehend anything, and instead got into the familiar position. This was a very rare occasion, but it happened nonetheless. He got onto his hands and knees, barely able to move, but somehow he did. He waited for the burning pain and utter, complete humiliation that always came. But, strangely, it didn't.
Instead, a uniform appeared around him. Strange. He hadn't seen clothing in… however long he'd existed. But wait… how did he know what it was called? A rough voice ordered something, but he did not understand. Soon, he felt the ground fall away from him, and he was carried out of his world and into… something. There was a place that was made of many smaller worlds of his, but it was big. Some more floating, bumping into corners along the way.
He heard some more talking, and then he was compressed into a tiny ball before decompressing in… somewhere else. He was put down in a chair (how did he know what it was called?) that restrained him again. A hand forced his head back and poured three drops of something into his mouth. A voice asked a question. He felt his body try to answer, but his throat was so dry all that came out was a scratching noise. The same voice called for… something. A hand forced his head back again and his throat was no longer so dry. What was that miraculous thing called again? W- something. Wet? No, water!
The voice asked a question and he felt his body answer. A sound of shock rand throughout the… courtroom it was called. The voice asked another question and his body answered again. This time, there were shouts of disbelief. A third time he was questioned and a third time he answered. This time he could understand the word he spoke: Innocent.
Suddenly, a very minor bit of lucidity returned to him, and he could comprehend what the voice was saying. "I, Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic, do hereby declare that today, on the Twentieth of December, 2007, the innocent man wrongly convicted of killing two hundred and seventeen muggles on the Twelfth of June, 1996, is cleared of all charges against him. He is to receive his rightful property, inheritance, and fifty million galleons in compensation for his wrongful imprisonment, torture, and rape at the hands of the guards. He is to re-learn his magical education and be a full member of society. As such, I hereby repeal the Taboo on his name. On this day, Harry James Potter is to go as a free man. SO MOTE IT BE!"