Myths of Azkaban: Legend of the Lord
Chapter One: The Prisoner
Harry Potter sat in the courtroom staring up at the Wizengamot before him. He couldn't believe it. Here he was, being sent to Azkaban for breaching the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the International Statute of Secrecy, and using magic to harm an upstanding citizen and member of the Ministry. The irony was evident. He turned seventeen today. Two days ago, he had been fighting for his life and the lives of Dudley's Gang.
Harry was standing in front of twelve year old Mark Evans, protecting him from the abuses of Dudley Dursley and his gang of miscreants. Dudley kept telling his friends that it wasn't worth it, but he refused to tell them why. They would never understand that 'Big D' was scared of his scrawny cousin because of something that doesn't exist. Of course, they never knew that magic was real, and never would. But suddenly, Harry heard a series of 'pops' all around him, and wizards in black robes and hooded faces appeared. Now Harry was defending the bullies from the bigger bullies. Harry fired off curse after curse at the Death Eaters, hitting some and missing others. But there were far too many of them for Harry to take on by himself. Dudley and his gang were standing there with slack jaws as Harry fought the wizards and fought well. Only Dudley realized the extent of what this meant. The bad guys were on his street, in the evening true, but it was still light out. Harry was using magic in the presence of Muggles, something even Dudders knew was illegal unless absolutely necessary. And he had a feeling this constituted 'necessary.' And Harry was using magic before his seventeenth birthday, also illegal. This was bad. The Death Eaters disappeared as more 'pops' sounded and many wizards and witches wearing scarlet robes appeared. Aurors. But one had been there before the rest, and had seen to it that the Muggles were obliviated before the others arrived. He was Auror Dawlish, and Harry had no clue how the man got there without a resulting 'pop' to indicate his apparation. But he had his suspicions, which were confirmed when he arrested Harry for assaulting an Auror and using magic both underage and in front of Muggles. The Muggles agreed to Dawlish's story, thus resulting in Harry being hauled into the Ministry to sit in a cell and await his trial. He was only thankful that they hadn't snapped his wand right away, opting instead to wait for the end of his trial. That gave him some small measure of hope that he would be able to receive a fair trial. He should have known it was not to be.
Harry shook his head, glad that he had some people still on his side. But the defense's side was weak, and out-numbered. Dumbledore wasn't there, but from what Harry understood from McGonagall, the Headmaster believed in him, but Fudge had done something to detain both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress. Snape had stealthily slipped Harry a message from her. Nobody would believe that Snape was on Harry's side after all, he hated Harry Potter, right? But Severus Snape couldn't testify. No matter that he was a spy; he was still a known Death Eater. The Wizengamot would never believe him. And Fudge had them all in the palm of his hand. Ron and his mum believed every word of what they were told. It had even got to the point where Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore had gone a few rounds verbally during Order meetings. Dumbledore had finally banned any talk of Harry during meetings simply to keep the peace. Hermione was torn between the 'evidence' the Ministry had, and what she knew of Harry. She didn't go to his trial, not wanting to be pulled to one side or the other. What hit Harry the hardest was Ron's betrayal versus Draco Malfoy's belief in his innocence. His enemy for the previous six years had stood up for him when his best mate of those same six years testified against him, saying Harry had gone 'Dark.' The Wizarding World was shocked. A Malfoy defending a Potter, while a Weasley stood against that same Potter. And not just any Potter, but the Savior of the Wizarding World. The whole of the magical community was torn in half, some believing in Harry's guilt, the others his innocence.
Ron Weasley fumed over his ex-best mate turning to the side of the Dark. He had testified that Harry experienced violent mood swings ever since his fifth year, when Voldemort first started entering his mind. That bit of information was damning enough. The Dark Lord Voldemort could enter into the Boy-Who-Lived's mind. There was a danger there that had not been present before, and many condemned Albus Dumbledore for hiding it from the world. Ron snickered to himself when he thought back to Potter's hope that he would be able to testify in his own defense. Fudge vetoed that idea before it got off the ground. There would be "no use of the Dark Arts" in his courtroom!
Harry sat in the boat that ferried prisoners and others to and from Azkaban Island. He stared straight ahead, his once-vivid green eyes dull and frightened. He wasn't fearful of staying in the prison itself, because he thought of that as merely an extended stay at the Dursley's. What he feared were the Dementors. They affected him terribly. He was sure he'd be insane in no time. A life stay in Azkaban for assaulting an Auror. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. One thing he knew for sure was that Dawlish was there before the other Aurors, and he hadn't apparated in after the disapparation of the Death Eaters. Which meant he had to be one of them. He was working for Voldemort, and Dawlish had seized his chance to take care of his Master's nemesis once and for all.
As Harry stepped out of the boat and onto the Island, he felt a tingle. Assuming it was the wards, he continued on with his guards into the prison, and prepared himself to face the Dementors. But they were not there. All the way down to his cell, there were no Dementors. No cold, no screams in his head, nothing. He figured that it was always this way when new prisoners were brought in, to save the Aurors from being affected. Two days later, he sat in his cell wondering why there had been no Dementors around at all. Then he remembered. They sided with Voldemort. Like Dawlish. Like so many others. Like the world thought he had done.
He paced his cell, not even bothering to notice when the Aurors made their hourly pass down his corridor. Likewise, the Aurors barely paid him any mind either, excepting his first week there where many familiar faces—including Dawlish—taunted him. Since then, however, they mostly ignored him, except for when he was processed. Apparently, he had become an anomaly, and they had to process him a few times before they had gotten it right. He was fed on a routine, and if he'd had a watch, he would've been able to set it by that routine. He'd been here for two months now, and had almost no hope for ever leaving. Harry paced around his cell, slowing as he felt eyes on him. This was new. An Auror was standing outside, watching him. But he wasn't dressed in the scarlet robes of the Ministry Auror force. He was wearing what looked like battle-robes to Harry, who had only ever seen them in catalogues for duelers. They were sleeveless, and a very deep purple with a very dark green trim and lining. They were obviously made of the very best dragon-hide one could buy, and apparently tailored to their wearer. The robes were form fitting down the torso until they reached the waist, where they split both the front and back of the robes down to the ankles, allowing for ease of movement. There were fitting—not tight, but very closely fitting—under robe garments: long-sleeved top made with a hide that was unfamiliar to Harry, and trousers of the same hide, in a very dark charcoal grey, almost kohl black. Black boots completed the outfit. But what threw Harry off was the crest over the left breast of the outer robes. It was a shield with a background in the same deep purple of the robes, but this was different. It was iridescent, shimmering almost like purple flames against the man's chest. The foreground was a horse in the same green as the trim, rearing on its hind legs with its wings unfurled, as if for flight, or it was very angry.
"Come with me, Mr. Potter," the man spoke in a deep voice. Harry started from his inspection of the man, and nodded wearily. He didn't know why they wanted him this time, but he was definitely glad to get out of his cell. He followed the man down a corridor he'd never been down before. Away from where the Aurors usually took him, so he understood this was not another processing mishap. If only he knew what it was.
Harry was led into a large, circular room that housed one long table, and three individuals. Two men and one woman. The woman stood and nodded briskly, all business.
"Welcome, Mr. Potter. I am Alexi Bastille, Head of the Political Liason office. This is Roger Quentin," here she pointed to a man in his forties, sandy blond hair and brown eyes, "he is Head of the Prison Azkaban Guards." Roger stood and nodded his head before taking his seat. The other man, a grizzled old man with definite military bearing, was introduced next. "And this is Terrence Riker, Head of the Azkaban Military Force." He, too, stood and nodded before sitting again. "Together, we are the Triumvirate of Azkaban. We hold this nation under independent status as the governing body of Azkaban, in lieu of our Lord Azkaban returning to us."
Harry nodded, quite thoroughly confused now. "Err… nice to meet you all, but… pardon me, but what does this all have to do with me?" he asked.
Alexi smiled, a tight smile that was nevertheless genuine, and re-took her own seat. "Please have a seat, Mr. Potter, and all will be explained."
AN: So, what do you think? Am I going too fast for you? I mean, the two months that Harry was in his cell was a lot of boring, repetitive nonsense that I decided to skip over. Anyhow, let me know what you think.
