Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
'Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!'
'Stand aside, you silly girl ... stand aside, now ...'
'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –'
'This is my last warning –'
'Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ... Not Harry!
Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'
'Stand aside – stand aside, girl –'
He could have forced her away from the cot, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all ...
The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: he could stand, clutching the bars of his cot, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing –
He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: it had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones' whining in the orphanage –
'Avada Kedavra!'
And then…
Pain, pain ,pain. His body was Harry's body. A sudden clarity overcame him despite the agony. No, this is not him. I'm him. HE has forsaken me. The sliver of soul that was to be shredded to ensure the continuous growth of the venomous snake. Darkness, falling , pain, it was all his, the mirror of himself. But then, why did he feel an inexplicable wetness in his eyes and a burning sensation in his throat? No … he must fight , must find a way to conquer the over heightening of the crazy senses. This is a battle he must win.
Time is relevant in oblivion. Time had the unique way of morphing perceptions. But was good was perception without the sense of self? The mudblood philosophies… Beneath the scope of higher begins...
And then, without warning, someone yelled " Avada Kedavra!"
And power, held together by the residual of the failed Killing curse, ran through his vein.
What was power? How did he know of power? How did he understand memories? How could he see the world in magically vibrant colors that was indescribable passed before the inner eye...
Layers upon layers upon layers. Faster and faster. Wait… layers? Faster? Images, sounds, smells. Conversations. Books. At last, he understood the pinnacle of soul magic. The human mind is only a proxy. While the mental capacity remained expandable, its limits resided in unchartered territory. Souls meanwhile can be absorbed and expanded.
Places, people, objects. Thoughts half-formed that were discarded to form something grander , suspicions of theories and conjectures now seemed able to follow the train of logic much more freely. Had the transformation he has undergone taken so much from him ?
Transfiguration, potions, and charms? Fifty years worth of principles and maxims, formulae and geometries and models. The greatest knowledge base in the world rivaled perhaps only by the old fool… the next merlin… wait… the leader of light?
Arithmancy and ancient runes, bewitchment and befuddlement along with the highest levels of occlumency and legilimency, enchantments and elemental manipulation ancient magics along with modern jinxes and hexes, came to his mind. Mass destruction curses came to the forefront with thousands of his own inventions pushing the boundaries of magic beyond what were dreamed by wizards of yesteryears. Large scale shield charm that can cover an entire town and other spells were there. Ninja like abilities of stealth were also there, along with the ability of aidless flight.
Shaking his little head, Harry Potter, or rather, Harry Riddle, opened his eyes.
Before him was the wreckage of the room, with the roof blown off. The stench of dark magic was unmistakable. And in the center of the room, beside the crumpled form of Lily Evans, was Peter Pettigrew.
Huh.
Given Harry's enhanced perception of magic, it only took very little to reach out with his magic to determine that the rat was dead. That was all Harry was able to tell without a far more obvious scan. Perhaps the killing curse rebounded upon him as well? He considered the circumstances. The rat must have sneaked into the cottage to help his master to retrieve his wand, and finding that no only the boy survived, but his master defeated. Probably seeking confirmation that his master was no longer available due to the dark mark. He was sure given the dark marks nature, the mark would barely function right now. Then he must have attempted to finish the job his master started, so as to make sure that little Harry Potter will not grow up to seek revenge upon the traitor himself, but unaware that the love sacrifice was in effect, therefore destroying the Horcrux but not harming the main soul. In return, one-year-old Harry Potter was gifted with the immense stolen powers of Lord Voldemort along with the genius-level intellect.
That seemed the most plausible explanation for his predicament.
Looking down again, he was surprised that his emotional reaction to Pettigrew was surprisingly stronger than his parents. Probably because Harry could not look at the rat without the image of the rat-faced man groveling coming to mind. Harry's eyes fixed on the man and the Yew wand he was holding and grimaced.
The next few hours were going to be rough. But first, he must leave the vicinity lest Dumbledore arrived.
The Gaunt hovel has been the same since he, no, since Tom Riddle has last visited it.
The new body he had transfigured for himself was 6 feet tall and greatly resembled a 16-year-old Tom Riddle while wearing a black suit, as though he was about to confront Morfin Gaunt for the second time. Using the Yew wand, he tapped the door twice, causing it to flash dimly and open. Immediately blackness seeped out of the opening, denser than normal darkness and bent on consuming him. With Yew wand in one hand and Pettigrew's cherry wand in the other, he melded into the darkness and set to work. Disabling the trap was easy, as the real challenge was the compulsion charm. Harry pulled his magic close to his borrowed body and exhaled while waving his wand around swiftly. Hundreds of softly glowing bubbles that seemed to fill with fine mist formed around him, each representing a dream or a fantasy that was unattainable. The compulsion charm recognized the creator of the magic, then flared as it was neutralized. Then with a final jab of his wand, the withering curse was disabled in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing but death in its wake before dissipating. Then with a deep breath, he levitated the Horcrux with a charm Tom Riddle specifically invented. He would work with this one first. Now is the time to truly test the limits of magic.
Igor Karkaroff was an accomplished master of the Dark arts. Him, Dolohov, and Bellatrix were perhaps the best wands in Voldemort's gang, with Snape and Crouch Jr. only a tier lower. Seeing him baring his yellow teeth, Harry just smirked. For the first time, he felt amused by the happenings of fate. The ways things are going, he seemed to rid Voldemort of the supporters that are least likely to be faithful to him after his disappearance. Igor Karkaroff had flitted in and out of Voldemort's service, always seeking absolute advantage for himself. Voldemort had only tolerated him for the alliance for foreign affairs and dark creatures. Igor probably felt his chances were great, having beaten four Aurors on different occasions, and here harry was, facing him in what looked like a trainee's attire.
Karkaroff has fired a triple jet of dark light, which Harry had intercepted with a Protego Maxima. The two spells had collided with a resounding boom—the sound reverberating through the entire Knockturn alley. Igor had sent dark severing and bludgeoning hexes in rapid succession, choosing single syllable Russian and Greeks ones that should have smashed the shields of virtually any Auror's save for perhaps Alastor Moody's. When the spells had no effect whatsoever on his shields, Karkaoff got more furious. " Fuck you if you think you could take me down, Moody!" Karkaroff roared, spit flying from his mouth. Karkaroff then hurled one end of a dark whip towards Harry who simply burned it effortlessly, while somersaulting in the air and then hitting the ground as the dying embers flew all around him. And then came the spell Harry had anticipated.
" Avada Kedavra!"
Harry groaned slightly as he picked himself off the ground. The colossal explosion had flattened the entire section of Knockturn alley that he and Karkaroff had been standing. He saw Karkaroff's charred corpse thirty yards aways from its initial position with an entire left leg missing. The rebounding Killing curse had done its job, in ways more than one. And for Harry, it seemed that his experiment had worked, as he now had a double set of Voldemort's memory (although this one only contained memories up to the 1950s ) and a double set of Voldemort's powers. There was also a pleasant surprise. Despite anticipating that the power gained would be less than Voldemort's full power due to the fact that the soul was the replica of a 1950s Tom Riddle's and not 1981 Lord Voldemort's, he found that the killing curse seemed to further enhance the magical potential of the recipient, making him even more puissant than the combination of the Horcrux's power. Harry smiled as the Yew wand in his hand grew hot, way hotter than was normal as he casually channeled magic into it. Oh yes, and the mental capacity was accumulative also or so it seemed. The ring, meanwhile, was no longer the container of a sliver of Voldemort's soul. Harry looked down at his hands after pocketing his wand. Now it is time to think bigger.
He hissed a parseltongue command at the main doors and they opened without pause and Harry slipped inside the darkened manor. The part of Harry that was a year old could not help but gape at the lavish designs of the Malfoy ancestral house and would surely have gotten lost. However, Voldemort's memory knew of Malfoy Manor like the back of his hand. Harry glided toward the sitting-room still in the disguise of Tom Riddle, only to find it empty. It wasn't much of a surprise as he hadn't really expected to find Lucius there, instead, he made his way up to the second floor. It became relatively obvious which room he was in as only one door was open. Wand held aloft, Harry slid into the room with barely a sound. Lucius was standing in the middle of the room examining several vials of potions with his wand out, evidently thinking hard. Several trunks lay open, their interiors almost full to the brim. There were also several large maps that were laying out on the mahogany desk. The man stopped and look up at Harry in surprise as he entered. The blonde aristocrat raised his wand a split second before the strongest Legilimency probe he had ever felt knocked him unconscious.
Harry left the manor, feeling both satisfied and irritated. Floating in front of him was a trunk. Lucius and Narcissa might need to spend some more time snoring in the depths of one of the trunk's compartments. Young Draco might need some feeding before dawn broke. The majority of the valuables in the house, including strengthening solutions, Polyjuice, veritaserum , Felix felicis and pepper ups were also safely packed in another compartment.
The problem was the diary. Or rather, Tom Riddle. He had initially held out the hope that he was probably wrong, but no such luck. Seeing is believing.
The diary was enchanted to possess another person using infatuation, and the compulsion charms Tom had placed on it were some of the strongest known to wizarding history, on par with his curse on the DADA position of Hogwarts. Harry could only marvel and curse the brilliance of his counterpart. To break the enchantment, one must fuel the required sacrifice, which is the death of the reader/ writer of the diary, which is the exact purpose of the diary. The second way was to overwhelm the compulsion charm. And due to the strength of the enchantment, there is only one solution, sexual intercourse. Not just any kind of sex, the sex has to between two consenting parties without magical influences and has to be stronger than the diary's compulsion. Tom Riddle has initially designed this solution as a big fuck you to Dumbledore's famous motto pertaining to love since the compulsion on the diary will leave its readers devoid of affection for others in a short amount of time. And now, this is where Voldemort's arrogance would hurt him, or rather, Harry.
Harry quickly realized who the best man, or woman in this case, for the job is. He groaned loudly.
Bellatrix pushed her way into the room and then turned to fetch her wand holster. With Aurors now actively patrol she didn't want to let her guard down for a moment. She kept her wand loose and ready in preparation. Her alarms were as intact as ever, nothing and no one save for the Dark Lord can disable. She had checked the alarm dozens of times, still hoping her lord would walk him to prove that the rumors were ill-disguised slandering. But for the last few minutes, she could not shake off the feeling that something was off, like something alien, foreign was approaching...
Harry took a moment and with a simple pair of spells divested himself of every piece of cloth he had on him. Portkeys and several other items all ended up in a pile beside him. He then took a deep breath. Here goes nothing…. Then he apparated into Bellatrix's room.
Harry was greeted with multiple fireballs and exploding hexes sent his way before he had even fully straightened up. The attack while not particularly powerful, especially for him, stopped him from gaining his balance and standing up straight. He had to be content with rolling sideways and snapping up an azure shield. Eventually, he got his feet under him, and calmly Harry flicked his wand towards his opponent and bend the space around him as the curses seemed to veer off him in a weird angle— another single flick and he implanted memory and affection into Bellatrix's mindscape, and waited for the attack to abate. He saw the black-haired beauty's eyes dilate with lust and knew the battle had been won. The final spells Bellatrix cast came closer, closer, and just at the last moment, Harry twirled his wand in an anticlockwise arc as the half dozen spells burst into colorful ashes- Voldemort's favorite defense. Then a ringing silence fell.
"Master?"
Folding her arms across her ample chest and offering up a smug little smirk, the thin figure of Bellatrix Lestrange looked down at the newly minted body of the dark lord. A dark diary sat in one corner. There would only be about fifty spells away from the full transformation, but if the witch said was true, then there is little to worry. If the worst came to the worst, then there was no other method of getting a hold of the fragment of souls unless he tried tearing into deep magic and made bargains with a different plane of existence himself with the aid of the now untainted resurrection stone. And he already knew that was a wild gambit at best. Strength for strength, with the cost still undetermined. Dropping to the ground and sticking his erect manhood out, Harry panted. "Commence the ritual."
Harry Riddle finally emerged from Bellatrix's room at half-past six according to the clock in the hallway with Bellatrix worn out and asleep with magical exhaustion, nose buried deep in a book of the vilest material. Apart from the sex, Harry also had gained a huge advantage in the form of the Hufflepuff cup, which Bellatrix seemed to have kept at her side at all times. Saving himself a trip down to Gringotts to retrieve the godforsaken cup was something he could do without, especially if he had to deal with the nettlesome goblins. As for the diary, he was fairly sure that the compulsion was broken, but the next step was as daunting as the previous one. He looked down at the book again. He'd have to consult it a bit later; and for the umpteenth time, he cursed Dumbledore's existence. If he had broadened his own horizons at school, he would not have configured the diary in such a way. Voldemort quickly came to the realization that Hogwarts was lacking so many books that it was depressing after his OWL year only to find out that Dumbledore had personally removed the most exciting ones from the shelves into his private chambers. The rest were all focused on light magic, on the stuff that was pure and righteous. He couldn't even find a book relating to soul manipulation with regards to runic magic, never mind one that actually instructed on the magic. He shouldn't have been surprised really, he knew full well that someday he would have to breach perhaps Egyptian tombs again as Voldemort had once done in the 50s, in regards to the books that house within their sanctuary.
But for now, he would invent the magic he needed, and with no luxury of trial and error, he must succeed on the first try. Sighing, he uncorked a bottle of Felix Felicis taken from Malfoy manor.
The calculations of the dark arts ran deeper than he'd ever imagined. He knew black curses the likes of which were rarely seen in the modern world, he even understood dark ceremonies and rituals in his fourth year that would take masters months in not years to figure out, but was still unprepared for the arithmancy needed with splitting a soul within a split soul. First was the obstacle of the severed soul of Tom Riddle's diary. The external force of forcing the split of a foreign soul under normal circumstances is impossible. However, the shattered soul created a loophole that may be capitalized as the main soul would still outweigh the shredded soul. The second way would be to give the 16-year-old Tom Riddle a functioning body of his own before anchoring his soul into another proxy. It may simplify the arithmancy, but Harry was sure the diary Horcrux would resist his attempt to further split it according to Tom's memories of the diary. Neither solution seemed particularly appealing. Looking down at the piece of parchment, he absently threw some of the strongest privacy charms that would probably require Dumbledore a week to penetrate around him and set to work.
It was almost noon when the calculations were complete despite Harry's now ridiculous mental capacities. The diary was to be ripped into independent pages, and with around 400 pages, it means the dairy was to be divided into approximately 200 pieces. Each portion was to carry enough presence of the main soul to have some sense of self within them. As the diary was the first Horcrux and therefore has the greatest amount of soul in it as compared to the other Horcruxes, Harry knew it would still work if he divided it into 200 equal portions. Then came the tricky part.
It is stated that murder was necessary for the creation of Horcruxes. The diary Riddle only had memories of killing one person. To create 200 of them, the diary needed access to Voldemort's main soul in order to utilize the murders that Voldemort had personally executed. There was a small paragraph in Magick moste evile that implied how it can be done, at a cost to the main soul but does not harm the Horcrux. Possessing the resurrection stone to stable the wayward soul also didn't hurt. So it was near dusk on November 1st that found Harry smirking slightly at the thought of how the wraith of Voldemort will react to the temporary loss of his memories at the Lestrange manor.
It was with great trepidation as Harry transferred the soul of a page of the diary into himself as he had done with the Gaunt ring. However, he knew it worked perfectly an hour or two later, as the Lestrange brothers, Bellatrix and Lucius lay dead at his feet, along with Jugson and more than a hundred lower-ranked death eaters. It had been surprisingly easy, with a wide area confundus and berserker charm, the trigger happy death eaters fired off killing curses with such intensities that left afterimages upon afterimages in Harry's vision, and as the curses rebounded, dropped to the cold hard ground one by one. And with that, Harry Riddle, formerly Harry Potter gained 200 copies of Voldemort's powers, mental capabilities and memories in less than 48 hours at the edge of the black forest, along with hundreds of lightning-shaped scars across his body.
The morning sun sent golden rays grazed the top of the coniferous forest. The Scotland highlands were never desirable in winter, and even the occasional smoke that signaled human inhabitant was absent in the frigid weather. A tall figure dressed in black was pacing rather restlessly. A body bag lay some twenty yards away. After several long moments, he seemed to come to a decision and whirled around to face the body bag. The body bag zoomed toward the tall figure as though hooked with an invisible line. Then with a negligent wave of his wand, the bag revealed a person within, a man with a sallow face and long crooked nose stained with blood.
Severus Snape looked around, shaking slightly. Not from the cold, but from unfiltered depression and resentment. He had long considered fear as an emotion for lesser creatures, as even the pain of the cruciatus has never deterred him from achieving his goals. His last coherent memories were of a store after he had visited Godric's Hollow, to see for himself that she was indeed gone. Staring up from the thick carpet and dark polished wood, he remembers seeing the face that should not have been there. A face that should not have existed for at least twenty years. Long glass cases ran the length of the room and he half expected to see jewelry resting on velvet stands but instead there were skulls, necklaces, and a vanishing cabinet. The cases were full of who knows how many contrabands, and his captor's face was reflected in each and every glass surface.
He touched his face and felt dried blood there. There was also a migraine that was building around his temple. The same kind of pain during his training as an Occlumens.
Unless he was much mistaken, the teenage dark lord lookalike had just breached his defenses.
His captor was now standing a few feet from him, with his head tilted to one side. Severus thought the expression looked out of place, as though the face was only programmed to express anger and contempt. "You're calmer than what I imagined." Snape spoke.
" Hmm, I suppose so? Borrowing Tom Riddle's face was only an afterthought," his captor moved closer and was revealed to "we need all the help we can get, to make things go more smoothly."
"So what now?" After seeing Lily dead, there were no more links that tie him to this mortal plane. He simply couldn't feel. He simply couldn't care. He had wanted to go back to Dumbledore, but now with the failed promises...
"If you go back to Dumbledore now you're braver than I'd imagine. But then, you have always been brave, have you not? " His captor said as though he read his mind. Or perhaps he did read his mind. Snape let the offhand comment slide over him like water over stone.
"Brave or foolish, you Severus Snape, is fundamentally a good person. I have falsely believed, as have Voldemort, that you are the same as those outcasts that seek more power and recognition. Easy to sway, and unwise to trust. So I am giving you a chance. "
Snape didn't look back at his captor but felt a wand slide into his hand. This wasn't the dark lord, nor was he Dumbledore. And therefore he had a chance to escape.
" I will remove the dark mark for you if you allow me to summon the death eaters. One last time. And be your own man for once, to hell with Dumbledore and Voldemort. Leave England. " Snape didn't speak. "Dumbledore would try and make a martyr out of you. He will ride you until you die. Voldemort will ask even more of you. I promise you if you leave, no one will be able to seek you out, not the ministry, not anyone. I only wish to use those who are already morally compromised. Even though I seek power, power no man has the right to have."
"Final offer."
And at last, Snape accepted.
The death eaters were summoned via his mark. And true to his word, the tattoo on Snape's forearm flared for a single moment before vanishing completely.
Several days later in Germany, a disguised Severus Snape read in the papers that precisely 200 death eaters have died of killing curses in rural areas of Scotland. He never noticed the footnote under the exact same news that a certain Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban for allegiance with the dark forces.
Harry couldn't really rest.
He had absorbed the Hufflepuff Horcrux after splitting the Horcrux into 100 portions before calling an unsuspecting Dolores Umbridge and the remainder of his - no, Voldemort's death eater squad for another round of Horcrux-killing curse magical enhancement. The problem with such a level of magical power then presented himself to Harry during the night of November 4th. Through rituals, Voldemort has augmented his magical output in correspondence to his emotions. The volatile magic served well in combat situations as Harry knew only too well from Tom's memories, but now the amount of excessive output was so much that the level of Occlumency that was required to shut the flow was at the level of resisting Veritauserum and fooling a boggart, with no successful record in wizarding history as of date. After two days of mental agony and apparating himself to rural areas to disperse his magical energy, Harry Riddle made the first breakthrough in modern time magic.
It was said that Merlin, the once and future king defied the flow of time, that he was constantly saying goodbye when people have just stopped to say hello. To defy the flow of time, Harry knew, could solve his problem, or virtually every problem. He knew that muggles, such as Albert Einstein has already theorized such, and Voldemort himself had grudgingly held respect and acknowledge the muggle's exceptional finding. But for wizards, the meddling with time without a time turner was fickle at best, with the vague legend of Merlin as the only backup, and that exceptional wizards throughout the ages have failed to make the same discovery. Even Voldemort, whose power dwarfs wizards before and after him, be it Dumbledore, Grindelwald or the recently deceased Lily Potter and Bellatrix Lestrange , never showed an inkling that time could be meddled without external help.
Harry had just painstakingly sketched out the possible theorem that time can be slowed or accelerated after two wholes days of hard work and without sleep when the daily need for magical drainage caught up to him. He had never tried his luck with doing something constructive since gaining this titanic amount of power. Why not start now? He knew that the iron fists of Barty Crouch had filled the prison cells with not only wrongly accused but also blatant innocents.
Azkaban was about to receive its real test in more than three hundred years.
Despite Barty Crouch's pathological need for effectiveness and ruthlessness, the guarding of Azkaban fortress was one of the crowning achievements of the efficacy of the DMLE director. Harry could recall clearly exactly how Voldemort ground his teeth as his spies gave him the blueprints of the security of the fortress. Even if the prison was not designed to keep wizards of Voldemort's caliber of breaking out, it was even harder to break into the prison. The prison was like a big magical drain, the more powerful you were, the faster your magic drains into the four walls of the fortress. Any attacks would also drain into the base of the prison, making it even stronger over time. And that doesn't even touch on the effects of the dementors. Then there is the problem of transportation. You couldn't actually Apparate into the prison, or even designate a portkey to get there. The only apparition point was on another island and from there only a boat was accessible to the prison itself. Barty had made sure that the apparition point was changed to portkey use only, and surround the arriving point with an entire squad of Aurors under a weaker variation of the Fidelius.
And still, Harry decided to smash the security down.
As with any security, time and space and people were the things that have the utmost importance.
The Aurors preparing for the night shift never saw what hit them. Perhaps it was a consensus that no dark wizard in their right mind would just barge into Auror cubicles which were located in the heart of the ministry and take the intended portkey that was placed in a security box at all times. The fact that Harry had simply smashed through the Ministry apparition wards and the Auror standard security wards with silent apparition didn't even cross their mind. Keeping the unconscious Auror's hand firmly on the portkey and Harry himself holding onto the Auror's robes, Harry murmured " activate" as he portkey glowed blue. And with that, Harry was whisked away to the portkey deposit point.
Or was he?
As the portkey transportation reached near the middle of Northsea, judging by the whirling of space and wind that passed in a fraction of a second, Harry wrenched free from the portkey's pull and twisted in what seemed to be a void in time and space, and vanished.
He realized almost immediately that this had been stupid because he was greeted with a grizzly sight of he himself begin splinched down the middle of his chest cavity. Instantly started to cast healing spells of the parseltongue variety and then looked around, trusting his magical reserves to do the rest of the job. But before his eye could get accustomed to the darkness, he heard startled yells all around him. He also realized almost immediately that this was probably adequate proof that he was successful in breaching the Azkaban wards, the first in recorded history. He recognized Dawlish and Savage from the case files in Voldemort's memories, both of whom looked like they have been indulging in firewhiskey, as he felt his chest reconstructed itself in a few seconds. Gazing around, it actually did seem more likely to be the more heavily guarded cells when he realized that the Indigo sky was no longer visible. Further along the narrow corridor, he saw Moody and Proudfoot moving swiftly nearer.
It is time to rumble.
He shielded against three successive Stunners from Dawlish, glanced at Moody, who was by far the most dangerous in the group and made a sweeping gesture with his yew wand. Moody and Proudfoot were immediately knocked off balance and pinned to the far side of the wall some fifty yards away. " Crucio!"
Hell, Savage had used an unforgivable. He caught the spell with the tip of his wand and flung it toward the ceiling and heard the stone crack. Both Dawlish and Savage's eyes widen at the maneuver, but that didn't stop them from flinging more curses. He had to block a dozen more concussion spells in the process, half of them, Harry was vaguely impressed, are from Moody in the far corner. Meanwhile, Dawlish and Savage were flinging bone breakers and shield piercers like Halloween candy. I wonder...
Dropping his shield, Harry turned on the spot and vanished. The ancient Azkaban anti-apparition wards proved to be no more than wet tissue paper as Harry appeared on the tier above the Aurors, barely registering the broken wards, as he repaired them with a flick of his wand. He was now out of sight for the Aurors, and now...
Harry sighed and thrust his hand forward in lieu of a wandless summoning charm. A map of Azkaban with its inhabitants flew into his hands with such speed that the map shredded before Harry repaired it wandlessly. And then he noted the date above the map.
January 1st, 1976
Harry swore under his breath and was surprised to hear Mudblood amongst the curse words. So this was probably going to suck because the map was definitely out of date and he knew next to nothing about the current inhabitants of Azkaban except that it was almost invariably a complete disaster to search manually. And he had been trying to avoid them.
Even with all of the Dark Lord's power, these are the main reasons that he steered clear of the fiends of Azkaban. A broken soul could not summon Patronuses, no matter how powerful you are. The horde of dementors came at a steady pace, doing things no other creature on earth can do. Harry looked around, and found that the only way out was forward. No time like the present to try...
Harry steadied his wand as there was more power gathered at the end then he'd ever even dared to imagine. The wood grew hot, and the amount of magic was titanic, immense energies balanced within the narrow length of Yew. The next second Harry was enveloped in a bubble that is slowly pulsating, and shining brighter than any patronus. The dementor's movement slowed to nearly a halt. The only indication of time's passage was the slow flapping of the dark fabric of the dementor's hood. The time dilation had worked. And for the first time, Harry had to actively concentrate on his magic. Harry moved past the dementors that were moving no more than a few inches per minutes and cleared the landing.
Now that he was able to move somewhat freely, he then whited out the alarm transmitters and then slid sideways onto the landing below where the Aurors where also moving in a stupor, Stunned Dawlish, Proudfoot , Savage and Moody with a shower of glowing scarlet glitter, and conjured ropes wandlessly to bind them.
He was barely halfway down the steps to the bowels of the prison when Harry finally released the time dilation charm as he found his first target. After entering Sirius Black's cell, Harry took a brief but necessary moment to charm the bars and the area beyond. He then effortlessly overpowered the magical dampening jinx within the cell and disable the alarm associated with it. Sirius was looking at him with wide eyes. Without another word, a wordless stunner dropped the convict and a complex transfiguration later found Harry leaving the cell with a ring on his finger.
Now frantic voices can be heard on the upper floors. The Aurors must have had reinforcements after they lose contact with their units within the prison. But fortunately, Harry had found his next target. Unlike Sirius, Gerald Greengrass had been at Azkaban for more than a year. His sunken countenance and frail extremities all spoke of rough treatment. Being a neutral pureblood in the war against Voldemort, he was framed by Lucius for fraud and allegiances with the dark. Voldemort had then blackmailed the Greengrass family for monetary support. Harry left the Geengrass cell with another ring attached to his finger. Now for the last one.
Magnus Ruhl was a Durmstrang educated unspeakable recently framed by one Augustus Rookwood for leaking sensitive information within the department of mysteries and was arrested one day while he arrived at the ministry for work. Having worked under the German Grindelwald regime in the 40s, the ministry needed little push to send the aging man away for life. For Harry, this rescue was trickier, as the cell was located at the far end of the prison.
Harry moved swiftly, and then his destination came within sight. But-
" You've got to be shitting me." Harry cursed under his breath. The Ruhl cell was empty. Evidently Ruhl must have had connections within the prison to allow him to assist the prison affairs as an inmate. Just as Harry was about to call it a day and break the apparition wards for the second time to get home, he heard footsteps around the corner. Harry's eyes widened. Ruhl wasn't given special treatment, he was sent to be a witness at a trial. Or perhaps, the death chamber.
Harry twisted awkwardly as he rounded the corner while simultaneously silencing his footsteps and casting a disillusionment charm so powerful that hid him even from his own eyes. Ruhl was accompanied by two robed figures. Harry recognized them immediately. Barty Crouch Snr and Amelia Bones. In an instant, Harry made up his mind. After casting the time dilation spell, Harry placed his own, extremely dark and powerful version of apparition and protection wards before grabbing Crouch, Bones, Ruhl and broke through the Azkaban wards with five people, two transfigured, alongside him.