Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books, that all belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Summary: After the death of his school mate, Cedric Diggory, Harry Potter returns to the Dursleys home in Surrey, England to suffer another summer under their guardianship. Returning to the Dursleys home after a late night out, he discovers that they have been brutally murdered and that he is being accused of murder. With no trial, he is sentenced to life in Azkaban. After being released from Azkaban after two and a quarter years in prison after being found innocent, he discovers that, as he has come of age, he is able to inherit his full inheritance and is the richest man in the wizarding world while also gaining the knowledge that he is of noble birth and has multiple titles. After forming an alliance with the Goblins, he discovers that Dumbledore is controlling the government and has been attempting to control him his entire life. Harry decides to return to school under the disguise of Harry Potter, the orphan, normal citizen, and slightly rebellious teen, while secretly working towards ending the dictatorship that Dumbledore is running.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my brother, who inspired this story.
Previously:
The trial was not fair, it was not even close. The trial lasted an hour. Enough time for the Aurors to present the evidence, enough time to say what I am charged with and my sentence. I am charged with three counts of first degree murder, three counts of use of an Unforgiveable Curse, three counts of torture, one count of rape, and one count of underage wizardry.
My sentence? Life in Azkaban Prison, in seclusion, no visitors allowed unless cleared by the Ministry. And it begins today.
There is Only Power: Chapter Three
I never understood by Sirius never talked about Azkaban. It would be logical to think that talking about it would help him recover from the constant aura of gloom that hung over him. This misunderstanding did not last long, however, once I arrived at Azkaban.
The entire island seemed to be covered in a cloud of darkness and depression. Thick dark clouds prevented any light from the sun creeping through, as if it was symbolic of how there was no hope for the prisoners of the most notorious prison.
I am not quite sure how long the boat ride lasted. I was too busy concentrating on the cold iron shackles that dug into my skin and the icy spray of the murky water on my face. For all I know, we could have been on the hazardous body of water that surrounded the island for ten minutes or five hours, it made no difference to me. I knew what a waited me when the boat ride ended and I was in no hurry to get there.
From where the boat docked, my guards and I walked a long flight of crumbling and slippery stairs to the main gate where we were then admitted inside the prison walls. After which, I was transferred from the custody of the Ministry to the custody of Azkaban Prison.
I was ordered to change out of the clothes which the Ministry had graciously provided me with, which were then replaced by the Azkaban prisoner uniforms which were worse than my previously miserable clothing. They were a set of thin cotton pants and button up striped shirt with a number where my right breast pocket would have be. I recalled the picture which I saw of Sirius when he was a wanted escapee convict. He wore the exact same uniform but with a different number. I would soon learn that we would no longer be referred to by our names, but by our numbers, which consequently corresponded with our jail cell number. From that point on, I would no longer be referred to by Harry Potter or by my hated nickname "The Boy Who Lived", "The Chosen One", but as V or 5*.
After going through the process of being admitted to the prison, I proceeded to slowly descend into the lower levels of the prison, where the isolated prisoners were held under even more tighter security then the other prisoners.
Surrounded by guards on all sides, we moved down steps through corridors, down more steps, then up, then down, and then I stopped paying attention. I think the purpose of the confusing trip to was either bewilder the prisoner enough that in case of an escape they would not know the most direct route out and also as a way to show the power the guards had over us condemned souls.
As I stopped paying attention to where we were going, I stopped paying attention to everything else. I faintly recall finally arriving at my cell, which had my number posted on the outside, the guards removing my shackles, throwing me into my cell roughly, and slamming the magically warded bars closed after me leaving me standing in a small cell with only a spoon, which was issued to me before, in my hand.
I recall my original reaction to my cell. It was probably the first emotion that I experienced since the trial, if even that. It had a thin, beaten down mattress that was not much thicker than a small pile of blankets or straw and a thin wool blanket which both bared evidence of previous use. In addition, there was a bucket to go to the bathroom in which I later learned was collected once a day. The cell could not have been bigger than eighty inches by eighty inches which I later confirmed after pacing off the perimeter using my foot size as my measuring tool. I cannot confirm how many times I would do this over the following weeks, months, and years. I stopped keeping track of a lot of things over that time span.
One thing I did not stop keeping track of, however, was how many days I had been kept in the dirt covered, stone cobblestone prison cell. I had a running tally on the walls, one tally for each day. I kept track by the meals that we were brought as we were never told what day it was. The prisoners had two meals a day, which in real life serving sizes added up to one serving at most and a half a serving more often than not. It was always some form of porridge of broth, a stale piece of bread which after soaked was barely edible, and a glass of water which was by means clean.
At first, I almost felt like using a line from Charles Dickens's Oliver Twist when Oliver says "Please sir, can I have some more?" but thought better of it as it was highly unlikely that anyone would get the reference and it would probably result in less compared to more in addition to a beating. I later discovered that the guards were not above beatings and was secretly thankful I kept my comments to myself.
Keeping silent became a new practice. The less you talked, the less attention was directed at you, the less beatings you got, and the less taunting was directed at you. I soon learned to deal with the sound of silence,* the lack of food, the cold and damp, and the sameness of the days. I attempted to find comfort in the singleness of my life instead of focusing in on the betrayal of my friends and mentors as I knew that, that would only drive me into insanity. I attempted to comfort myself in dedicating myself to plans of vengeance, in case I ever got out of this damn prison.
Originally, that's what I did. I thought of plans, reenacted them in my mind step by step and figured out the best curses to use in order to cause the most damage but I soon found myself muttering to myself at night and the dementors started to affect me more and more, as my hatred increased. I became like the other prisoners who were talking without knowing that they were speaking, and hearing without truly listening.* I knew I could not become like them, because deep inside there was still a part of myself that believed that Hermione and Sirius could save me from the hell hole that I inhabited and that unlike the other prisoners, I was not guilty of the crimes that enslaved me here.
In a way, that small part of me that hoped probably saved my life. It saved me because I no longer contemplated my hatred, my failings, my lack of feeling anything anymore even my own magic. I focused in on that hope and attempted to forget everything else. During my time in prison, I had lost connection with what made me a wizard. I had lost connection with the feeling that went through my body when I did a spell, the feeling I got when I was one with my magical core. I had effectively lost everything in my thoughts of revenge, even what made me the human I am. I had to make a decision, either lose everything or gain everything back in my quest for revenge against everyone.
My decision was to have my revenge by being even more powerful than I was before this fiasco and in the unlikely case that I was released, I would not have lost my sanity where everyone else had. I would not turn into Bellatrix Lestrange, who lost her humanity along with her sanity. I would try to be better than the others, as that is all that I had left. Is the hope of a better life after all of this.
I learned to meditate. It was a gradual process but it helped eventually. Meditation helped me block out everything that was happening, the "drip-drip" of water, the screams of the other prisoners, the Dementors, my own thoughts, and be able to focus in on nothing and everything at the same time. I no longer counted the 72,519 stones of my walls or attempted to name the stones* instead I concentrated on my feelings and interworking of my heart.
I remember the day that I first became one with soul and my magical core. I heard about Buddhist monks who had been able to go where no drug could take them, I think I truly felt what they felt that day. It was over a year into my sentence, I knew this as the guards had started a tradition of beating the prisoner on the anniversary of their imprisonment. I also knew from my daily tally of days spent in prison. The beating just served as a double check to see if my count was correct. I was sitting on my cot with my eyes closed, attempting to block out everything and for once, it truly worked. I felt everything. The pain of the prisoner next to my cell, the emotions that I had previously experienced, and my magic as it seemed to recognize me and come to life for the first time in over a year. After experiencing that sensation, that euphoria, I had to experience it as much as much as a possibly could.
It became an obsession. I became obsessed with attempting to gain that peace that I felt. It was the only thing I did, not like there was much else to do, other than sleeping and eating. It became my form of escape, as actually escaping was an impossibility. The extra bonus was that it helped time go by faster. While before the days dragged on, it almost felt like there was not enough time in the day. The days flew by, then the weeks, then the months. The only reason I noticed the changes was because the weather changed and also my anniversary beating occurred.
My two year anniversary of my imprisonment was not as a momentous occasion as my first one. If anything, I had almost stopped counting. Though I had not completely given up on Hermione and Sirius, I was beginning to slowly lose hope till it was just a faint wish that would never be granted.
Wizarding World: Hermione's Point of View
Society was my enemy now. While before, if any of the Golden Trio asked for something, we could get as much publicity as if it was a momentous event. Now, I could barely get any understanding press for Harry's case. Sirius and I worked tirelessly to prevent him from going to prison and after he did, now barely stopped working. The Ministry was dead set on his sentence and thought that the evidence was unquestionable; I thought part of their opinion was based on the opinion of Albus Dumbledore. He was reason I almost left Hogwarts but stayed because the last time I saw Harry, he told me to stay at Hogwarts and keep an eye on the manipulative bastard, just in case.
Sirius and I, after months of petitioning, finally gained access to the Aurors archives and were able to look through Harry's file. That was only after Sirius, under the name of John Jay, legal bound himself with Harry as his lawyer.
We looked through the evidence but everything that was documented was highly biased against Harry. I presumed they did not record everything they found.
It occurred to me about a year and a half after Harry was sentenced that since the Dursley's her Muggle and the crime scene was investigated by the Muggle authorities, that we should look through their records.
After going through a lot of steps, counterfeit certificates, and obliviations, we were able to gain access to the Dursley file and discovered that the Muggles were a little more thorough than the Aurors and that the case was in fact solved. The police came to the conclusion that the people responsible for the Durlsey's death was a gang group called The Sons, who were under the leadership of David Berkowitz.* After further inspection and weeks of research, I discovered that the members had a connection with the wizarding world and were known for "doing the dirty work" for people who paid well. Which left one question, who hired them to set up Harry?
After discovering this piece of evidence, Sirius and I petitioned the courts to open Harry's case and for the first time in two years, the press responded in our favor. Maybe this was because there was little exciting news now days or that they were actually beginning to fear the ever looming presence of Voldemort.
It took a quarter of a year to convince the courts, using the evidence from the Muggle file, that Harry was innocent. Neither Sirius nor I got any support. Ron and the rest of Hogwarts students had long ago turned away from us. But once we were able to prove that the Muggle police's evidence was not counterfeit or inadequate, we gained ground and favor with the people which were half the battle. Everyone wanted to see the Golden Boy reinstated in order to save them from Voldemort, now that they realized that they could not do it without him. And for once in my life, I was almost glad that Voldemort's attacks were increasing. Almost being the key word. The attack on the University of St. Andrews, which was secretly partially a wizarding institution, on the day of the final vote solidified Harry's release. Perfect timing indeed.
It had been two and a quarter years since his imprisonment and I was slightly nervous to see him again but regardless, extremely happy. I did not know how much he would have changed over the years or if his sanity was even intact. At the very least, I prayed that he was sane. I did not dare hope that he was unchanged though.
As his representatives, Sirius and I went to retrieve him from Azkaban. Sirius was not too thrilled about the idea of going back but that was to be expected. He was to be released on August 5th.*
Harry's Point of View
When the guards opened my jail cell door and informed me that I was to be released, I thought that I had finally succumbed to insanity. They did not give me enough time to process this information or maybe they knew that I would be in shock for the next few minutes and took advantage of it.
The route to the discharge area was significantly more direct than what I remember the route to my cell was. The process was simple. Sign here, take a picture, sign here, get possessions back if you had any which I did not, and hear the explanation for meeting the person who would pick you up, and sign for the last time. Then walk out to the boats, which would take me to the dock where I would meet who ever I was meeting. They never let me know who it was. I just hoped there was someone there.
When the boat pulled up to the dock, I could see Hermione with a black dog at her side, who I knew to be Sirius. She was shocked, I could tell. I had not actually looked at myself yet, but it was apparently extremely different than how I looked before.
Walking up the short flight of stair and finally coming face to face with Hermione and Sirius, there was a pause before Hermione enveloped me in a bone crushing hug and Sirius did his best to bath me in licks. No words were exchanged; there was no need for them. I knew these were the people who I could trust. That these were the only people I could ever trust.
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Hello everyone, sorry about the wait but hopefully it was worth it. Here are the references, in order that I made:
*1) V for Vendetta
*2) Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
*3) "People talking without speaking; People hearing without listening" Sound of Silence
*4) "Edmond: There are 72,519 stones in my walls. I've counted them many times. Abbe Faria: But have you named them yet?" –The Count of Monte Cristo
*5) David Berkowitz was a serial killer in the 1970s that was also known as the "Son of Sam"
*6) August 5th: International Forgiveness day. Harry's jail cell number is also V (or 5).
So that you can image the size of Harry's cell, 76 by 80 inches is the size of a king size bed, I just rounded it off to 80 by 80. A normal jail size in the United States is 8 feet by 12 feet. So there is the comparison and it is obviously pretty significant.
Anyways, thank you all for reading and hopefully you enjoyed it. Please review. Thanks! Love you all!