Chapter 2

It's the cold ground, the cold walls, and the cold bars that surrounds his body and latch onto him. Curling up on his stone bed that stuck out of the dark grey wall. Trying without success to keep his body heat. He acquire clothes but they gave no effort in heating him. He felt his hot breath warming his knees. Wishing he could feel the warmth all over and not one spot of his body. He huff in annoyance about his small blessing of his numb feet and his hands.

Fortunately, his cell located on the bottom floor, low security. Meaning no dementors. The dementors only among the high security floor with a numerous of dark wizards and witches. Reaching to the top four floors. Although Azkaban remained open, the Aurors remain constant guard. Having to watch not only their front but their backs after the war. The Ministry of Magic, mostly the work of Unspeakable, and the dementors came to a agreement of sort. With the decline of dementors, they had to agree to stay in Azkaban and only under supervision. However, Harry can still feel their effects on him, feeling the dread of life coddle him, giving him uncontrollable shivers.

He tried to use occlumency, but he had his limits. At these moments, when clearing his mind became to difficult, he took his godfather's advise to heart, 'It's really just a fact.'

He starts to mumble, "Two weeks, two weeks."

He's never been so grateful for his godfather advise. He tried not to think of the case. The emotions were to...raw. He can name a couple; rage, sadness,confusion, frustration, and betrayal. His comrades and friend have deserted him, and to his worst nightmare. Feeling of dread surrounds him, only a simple fact kept him sane.

"Two weeks."

A faint scream from the ceiling, as he cringe. His legs starting to cramp from sitting to long. Standing up and pace. Trying to get the blood flowing, and with another shriek from above made his heart pumping. Memories starting to flood through him from the war, fresh and renew. The 4 years of grieving, and mourning to moving on with his life has shattered as the memory took over him. Screams echoed around him, confusing him of where he was. Either in the dungeon under Voldemorts headquarters or the prison from the Ministry of Magic, he stood paralyze from the screams inside and out if his head.

Shaking his head violently side to side, dismissing the screams and memories.

"Two weeks, two weeks, two weeks!" As he continues to pace.

A shift in the air and light down the hall from his cell cause him to stop. Looking towards the sound of foots steps coming closer to him. Waiting as his heart lift with hope.

'Did I made it? Has it been two weeks?' He thought.

Two aurora have appeared and started to unlock him cell door.

"You got a break, Mr. Potter." The guard with the keys said, "Your hearing has been moved up to the evening."

"A little late for a hearing." The other mumbled.

"What do you excepted for having a war hero." The first guard said while opening the door wide enough for Harry to step through, "Please hold out your hands, Potter."

Harry lifted up his hand and with his wand he circle around his hand forming a silver ring that settle on his wrist transforming into cuffs and chains.

"This way," the second guard to the lead.

Following the guard, Harry's eyes narrow down to the ground.

'Has been moved up to this evening?' Words echo through his mind.

"How long have I been the cell?" He asked out of curiosity.

"Three days." The guards behind him said, "Ms. Williams has been trying to move your hearing up since you've been here. Seems being a war hero has it's benefits."

"Williams?" Harry did not remember an Williams. Her name indicate her to either being a half blood or muggle born. "Who's this Ms. Williams? What department does she work in?"

"Shame really. A pretty lass like her, working for that man." The first guard dreaming replied.

With a sigh the other looked over his shoulder, "She works for a Wizengamot."

Been so long. I'm sorry

But be a shame not to finish.