Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of my characters


MeggieBlack: I don't mind, thanks for pointing that out. I didn't mean to offend anyone, it's just that my primary lanuage is German and we use Jesu as much as Jesus, so in German it's interchangeable.

beulah2013: Yes she is less angsty than canon Harry, that has two reasons a) cuz of the story b) cuz I don't like writing angsty characters!


Previous chapter:

In a place filled with endless tortured screams, hanging on a rack with hooks through her shoulders, among the unending darkness, emerald eyes opened, and took in the world around her.

''Welcome to hell.''


Chapter 3 - Green eyes in hell


Azaela studied the figure before her, face completely blank even as she slammed wall upon wall outside her normal Occlumency shields. The art of Occlumency was normally only the magical defense of the mind against external penetration, to close one's mind off and preventing other's from influencing one's thoughts or feelings. It was s useful when controlling one's emotions, letting them fuel instead of control you.

Azaela had never truly liked Severus Snape, but the man had made her something close to a master Occlumens in a frighteningly short amount of time and what she didn't know then, she practiced during the last year with books from the Black Library. She was just glad that she looked and acted mainly like her mother, and not her father, James Potter. She didn't want to know how the private lessons would have turned out otherwise.

Another not widely known fact about Occlumency was that your mind could retreat behind your shields, wholly or just partly which was mainly used when experiencing excruciating pain or reliving memories, one of the reasons why even after so many Crucio's Snape was still so very cunning, and not a snivelling mass like many other Death Eaters.

So Azaela Grace Potter eyed the silhouette standing before her without showing the pain her body must undoubtedly feel from being impaled in the shoulders. The demon, for the completely black eyes were a dead give away, was watching her with no small amount of glee which quickly turned to confusion as she didn't do anything but blink at him in apparent boredom.

''Thank you for the overwhelming welcome.'' Azaela bit out sarcastically, a contrast to her still mainly blank expression.

The demon, probably only a lowly grunt from what she could tell due to it's apparent stupidity and ripped and dirty clothing, nodded, still staring at her, before he pulled out a sharp knife and grinned at her crookedly.

Azaela retreated a little deeper, now seeing the world through a slightly green tinted vision, a thin film separating her from the outside world, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. Separating one's spirit from one's body could be dangerous in the long run, so she would have to alternate when she was given rest. Azaela was for the first time truly and utterly glad for what the Durselys had done to her. Hunger could be unbelievably painful, and even though the abuse never turned truly physical, she had a high pain tolerance from her childhood on, which only increased in her Hogwarts years.

The demon viciously cut into her skin, over and over again, and Azaela watched dispassionately, as her blood ran down her body, soaking her clothes and falling down to the ground in ruby coloured drops. Yet she never once cried out, staying silent even as the demon became more vicious, ripping and cutting at her skin, flaying parts of her legs, all the while becoming increasingly more agitated.

''Damn human.'' the demon snarled, glaring at her, insanity lurking beneath the black depth.

Azaela stayed silent, eyes still focused on the figure before her, wishing not for the first time in the last several hours that she had access to her magic. And while she could feel that comforting and overwhelming warmth flowing through her body, she somehow couldn't project it outwards.

''Do not rejoice, Alastair himself, is scheduled to take care of you. I was merely there to pass your time productively.''

The demon snarled once more, before turning around without another glance, leaving Azaela in the crushing darkness, muting the screams that still reverberated throughout hell. Watching her clothes and skin fix themselves slowly, wounds closing cell by cell, Azaela wondered what the following time would bring.


Sometimes she wondered how many years had already passed, how many decades of pain and loneliness. Souls did not need sleep or food or anything else, but Azaela's mind was still craving a change from the monotonous days of questions and torture and pain and misery. She was sure by now that the only reason she was still completely sane and not a twitching mess was her Occlumency skills.

She was miserable, lonely, and sometimes the pain even shone through, but she hadn't broken yet. She hadn't even uttered a single scream, sometimes she talked, or sang or hummed, but never screamed. It was driving Alastair crazy, the white eyed demon who she found out years ago was Hell's Grand Torturer seemed to have made it his personal mission to make her scream and beg and cry for mercy.

Azaela wasn't very inclined to play along, she mostly retreated behind her shields, watching memories of her life, surrounding her mind with the warmth of remembrance and magic. Sometimes she had the nearly overwhelming urge to hug Severus Snape for teaching her Occlumency, and giving her the ability to let the years in hell pass by like a nightmare, frightening in it's intensity, but unable to influence her choices.

It was during that monotonous time that Azaela Grace Potter-Black first met Dean Winchester.


Her magic was humming, in excitement and anticipation, as if it knew something that Azaela didn't. It wouldn't surprise her, not anymore. She had long accepted that magic was sentient, a separate entity that was deeply intertwined with her. Azaela had always wondered why people saw their magic as merely energy to use, it was just so much more. It could be blinding or soothing, dark or light or a myriad shades of grey.

It could be instincts or knowledge or wisdom or emotions or anything in between. It was impossible to describe magic and what it knew, so Azaela allowed a small smile to cross her face as she began looking forward to whatever would disrupt the seemingly endless days and months and years of only Alaistars' grotesque laughter.

It felt like the start of a beginning.

The first thing she heard was the clinking of chains, the low grunts of pain that only an unconscious person can make and the noise of demons walking across the dusty ground of hell. It took only a few minutes more for the several figures to become visible in the darkness of where she had been for the past several decades.

Two lower level demons were dragging the figure of a bound man towards her direction, and Azaela watched with no small part of happiness and pity as they hung the man onto the racks, hooks holding up his blood covered body. The lower level grunts glared at her venomously (she was rather unpopular in hell, something about being too bright, and not screaming enough) before leaving her with her new 'rack mate'. She was torn between happiness that she finally finally had someone to talk to after so many decades and pity that this man who undoubtedly had no magic or Occlumency to protect him, would also receive Alastairs tender mercies.

There was a reason why that demon was the Grand Torturer of Hell after all, he was a master in pushing and probbing and slashing and cutting and then putting everything back together.

It took the man several hours to regain conciousness, groaning and moaning in pain. Azaela could see his eyes snapping open, green eyes taking in the darkness around him, as he started pulling and rattling his chains, pain twisting his expression as he screamed out a single name again and again.

''Sam! Sam! Sammy!''

Azaela sighed, sympathizing with the obviously distraught and hysterical young man - and wasn't that weird to think about? - only her belief that it was worth it, that everyday was completely worth it if Hermione could live a full and happy life, let her accept her due in life or rather death so calmly.

''There is no Sam here as far as I know.''

The man's head snapped towards Azaela's direction, eyes wide as he took her in. ''Who are you? Where am I?''

Azaela smiled at him, trying to put him a little more at ease, although she could see that he was only getting more and more agitated.

''We're in hell. My name is Azaela. A pleasure to meet you, although I wish it could have been under better circumstances.'' Her voice was slightly coarse from disuse, and the man regarded her more closely now, scrutinizing her.

''Yeah, Dean.''

''You must be rather important if they brought you here, or just plain unfortunate.'' Azaela mused, looking at the man - Dean - curiously. It was true, Alastair had confessed that he only tortured the special cases and that this was his domain, and that no other demon would dare to place his victims here.

''Why would you think that?'' Dean asked suspiciously, which made Azaela laugh for the first time in years, the last time being when Alastair completely lost control of his anger and started cursing in a suspicious amount of languages, pacing before her. It had been a rather amusing image.

She didn't notice how Dean unconsciously relaxed at the warm sound, but she did see that he looked slightly stunned when she turned towards him again.

''Sorry, just haven't had much to laugh about in ages. This here is the domain of Alastair Grand Torturer of Hell, which means that he has taken a special interest in you. That's why you are either important or just plain unfortunate.''

Dean grimaced in what might have been an expression of compliance, it was too dark to see properly anyway. ''Both probably. So what did you to land here?''

''Sold my soul, you?''

''Same.''

''What for?'' Azaela asked curiously, noting the feeling of sadness was now emanating from Dean.

''To save my brother's life, and what did you sell your soul for?'' His tone was a mixture of curiosity, wariness and suspicion.

''To heal my sister in all but blood.''

Dean nodded understandingly, a bit of the suspicion leaving his green eyes, yet he still seemed tense, like a war veteran seeing the hidden danger lurking in the shadows, he was also impressively impassive to the pain he must undoubtably be in.

Their impromptu meeting was disturbed by the reappearance of Alastair. Azaela could see Dean visibly tense at the appearance of the white-eyed demon, glaring at him with a nearly palpable aura of hate. There clearly was a history there.

''Dean Winchester. Welcome to Hell. Azaela, sweetie, you finally have someone to share this lovely place with. I don't want you to become too lonely.''

Azaela rolled her eyes. ''Alastair, please do make it quick. I was having a civilized conversation for the first time in decades.''

Dean looked at her like she was crazy, Alastair just glared at Azaela, while the Girl-Who-Lived or the Chosen One tightened her Occlumency shields yet again.

Having a rack mate would without a silver of doubt prove to be an interesting experience, Azaela was sure of it.


Azaela could see it coming, could see him visibly break every single time, with every single day and every single question.
Dean Winchester would say yes soon, leave the rack and start torturing other souls, inflict all his pain and bitterness and hopelessness upon those unfortunate to be placed in his way, Azaela couldn't even blame him.

He was a strong human, full of belief and strength and core morals. She knew that from the many conversations that they had during the last few decades. It had taken months, for the conversations to become more private, for them to open up to each other, and honestly just ask.

Dean had been curious why she could take the pain so well and why she was important to the demons. Azaela wanted to know the same, so she told him about natural born witches and wizards, about their Statue of Secrecy and and that she used magic to protect herself. Dean had taken the news rather well, for all his hate against everything supernatural he was a decent judge of character.

And Dean told her about his life, his job as a hunter, his brother Sam and how he had pissed off so many demons that he would be sent to Alastair to be tortured.

So it pained the green eyed witch that he could see Dean visibly faltering, weakening and breaking every year, with every torture session and every time Alastair would ask that cursed question. Dean snarled and mocked and grinned and refused and yet Azaela could see how tempted Dean was, how he lost that light and strength, how he became bitter because of the pain he had to endure.

''Do you want to exchange your place with another soul?'' Alastair's grinned mockingly up at Dean Winchester, and Azaela wasn't the least bit surprised when the answer varied from the one given for the last three decades.

''Yes.''

Azaela closed her eyes, she could imagine Alastair's gleeful expression, his victorious grin. She did not need to actually see it.

The chains rattled, and Dean Winchester was taken down from the rack.

''Sorry Azaela.''

She simply gave him a small smile, trying to let him see that she understood and didn't blame him. The small amount of relief she could see made her smile a little broader.

''I forgive you, Dean Winchester. Do not completely lose yourself.''

He nodded, and left. The darkness that surrounded her suddenly seemed so much lonelier than before.


Azaela did not talk to Dean for the following years, only seeing glimpses of the green-eyed hunter when he sometimes crossed Alastair's domain, or lurked in the darkness when Alastair tortured her.

She could see his hollow and dark expression lightening just a little, when she still smiled at him even after a decade of him torturing other souls. Azaela did not even think about stopping the only thing that seemed to return just a lining of that strength he had before.

There was something special about Dean Winchester, Azaela Grace Potter-Black could practically feel it in her blood, pulsing whenever he broke just a little further.

So she grinned, smiling in happy triumph when she could feel light entering hell for the first time, see those enormous and beautiful white wings chasing the shadows and darkness away, sense it heading towards Dean, and when he heard Alastair scream in rage and frustration, feel both the light and Dean leaving hell, she laughed joyously.

Azaela did not stop laughing for a long time, enjoying Alastair's anger and rage, the feeling of victory that seemed to pulse in her veins. Her magic singing for the first time in decades, having drawn strength from the presence of what seemed to be an Angel.

And for the first time in many years, Azaela Grace Potter-Black prayed to God.


A/N So the promised weekend chapter! Hope you like it!

So Azaela and Dean met, Dean was rescued by Castiel and Azaela remains in hell... so what's gonna happen to her now?
I hope the Occlumency idea was realistic enough... Azaela looks and acts more like her mother, so she was actually able to work properly with Snape which resulted in her becoming a proficient Occlumens since she was a natural due to her childhood. (During her fifth year Voldemort was still stronger, she kept practicing afterwards)

Great response for the second chapter as well, hope I can get another chapter out next week!

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Thank you, my lovely reviewers. You manage to motivate me!

C'ya soon

AriesOrion