AN: Here is chapter 2, hope you enjoy, as some might have noticed I split the previous chapter into two. This was mainly to improve the flow of the story. Please leave a review etc. If you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to PM me, or if not join my discord.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Many thanks to Tree Licker for beta-reading the story.
( - )
(Last Time)
"You got lucky Potter! You ambushed me! Besides if the Dark Lord hadn't arrived I still would have beaten you. I had a plan!" Bellatrix snapped back at him churlishly.
"Liar!" Harry crowed, his voice loud and mocking.
"Silence, half-blood!" Bellatrix shrieked again, only for her complaints to be drowned out by Harry's mocking laughter at her tired old insult; the other prisoners all joining in too. All of them trying to alleviate their own misery by making their fellow prisoners feel even worse.
It was just another day in 'the Pit'.
( - )
Chapter 2
( - )
(A few days later)
Shivering fitfully on the cold, hard stone floor of his cell, Harry tried to ignore the uncomfortable rocky ground below him as well as the slight whimpers he could hear coming from some of the other cells.
For all that some of the residents of 'the Pit' tried to make themselves out to be these big, ruthless, badass killers; for most of them, it was an act. One that they put up to distract themselves from the misery of their incarceration.
Harry was no different, for all of his outward confidence he was miserable and was close to breaking point.
He'd only been here six months, and already he was unhappier than he had ever been before.
He was far unhappier than he had been in the muggle orphanage his horrible muggle Uncle and Aunt, the Dursley's, had sent him to as a young boy after the death of his parents, Lily and James Potter.
He was feeling worse than when he had been placed into Ravenclaw, the House of the intelligent, witty and socially inept; back when he first arrived at Hogwarts as a lonely, social awkward orphan. Something which had been made worse when he was separated from the people he had met on the train, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Both of whom he had thought of as potential friends when they had spent the train ride to school together. Only for them to break off all ties with him when he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor like them.
Hell, he felt worse than he had when he heard that, Sirius Black, had broken out of Azkaban to protect Harry, who was his godson.
Only for Black to have been caught by Snape on the Hogwarts grounds, and then kissed by the Dementors. All because Longbottom, Weasley and Granger had stuck their noses in; all three of them so full of their own self-importance that they had thought that, Sirius had broken out to get Neville.
Their actions, no matter how accidental, had led to the death of an innocent man. A man that could have made his life so much better, and who he never even had the chance to get to known.
Honestly, looking back on it now, Harry didn't know how it had all gone so wrong.
Was his life really supposed to turn out the way it had?
He knew he was no saint. Shacklebolt, for the arsehole he was (and Harry still believed that to be the case); had not been wrong when he had called him a murderer and a traitor.
Harry had indeed once been a loyal and trustworthy member of the Order of the Phoenix. With him having joined the Order, at Dumbledore's invitation, during his last year at Hogwarts. Partly because his parents had been members before him, and partly because he had been flattered by Dumbledore's attention.
When Dumbledore had called him to his office, it had been the first time he had ever spoken to the Headmaster, let alone be the sole focus of the legendary wizard's attention.
Hell, he had even allowed them to use the heavily protected and warded house he had inherited from Sirius Black, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, as Headquarters, such was his commitment to the cause at the time. That and because the Headmaster had also offered him access to rare books he had collected over the years, which until then, he had kept in his office. The Headmaster was certainly a manipulative old goat; he had known the way to get Harry, a consummate Ravenclaw, to do his bidding.
Harry shifted about on his pile of straw at that thought.
For a time, he had genuinely been content in the Order, he had been fighting the Death Eaters, learning new and interesting magicks, and honing his skills. He had even made a few friends, of sorts.
But then as time had passed and the war had dragged on, Dumbledore's single-minded obsession with that damn prophecy, -which Harry still didn't know fully-, and his overall intransigence, as well as Longbottom's utter incompetence. It had all started to make him doubt whether the Order of the Phoenix was actually accomplishing anything.
Voldemort and his Death Eaters had continued gaining ground. They had taken over the Ministry and the papers, they had also started to monitor and control all the magical settlements and Diagon Alley. They'd even started getting their claws into Hogwarts, which in turn had forced Dumbledore and a host of other Order members and allies, Harry included, to massively increase the protections around the school. Just in case the Dark Lord got bored of subtlety and decided to outright attack.
Harry shifted again at that thought, his mind whirling as the events that had led him to where he was now, played back through his mind.
At that point in the war, most of the old families had either gone into hiding or backed the Dark Lord. The half-bloods, like Harry, all kept their heads down and got on with things, making the best of the situation. The muggle-borns all fled and went into hiding or accepted the new rules and registered themselves as muggle-borns at the Ministry.
The battle for magical Britain had been all but won, and already the Dark Lord's forces had started to worm their way into positions of power or influences in the muggle world too; controlling Members of Parliament; both in the Lords and the Commons.
It was chaos.
More than that though, events had forced Harry to begin to question why he was even fighting anymore.
He'd had always been a practical person by nature; quite mercenary in the way he chose to act. Some of course would just call him plain selfish, but he had always considered it a necessity of his upbringing. He had had to claw for everything in his life, he had never been given a leg up, or been given any help.
It was for that reason, and due to his overall discontentment with Dumbledore's leadership, that he had joined Voldemort. That and because of the power and knowledge, the Dark Lord, offered, all in return for accepting his mark. Their ideology had repulsed him, but he had been able to put aside his own disgust for his own 'greater good'.
Sure, the Dark Lord's followers; Barty Crouch Junior, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange and Rudolphas Lestrange had murdered his mother and father after Voldemort's first fall from power. But by that point three of them were dead, two of whom by Harry's own wand, and, Bellatrix, was mentally unstable and would likely end up dead sooner or later.
Staying his hand from killing the last of the four murderers was a small price to pay in order to claim what Voldemort had offered him, that and for the rewards, he had been sure he would reap once Voldemort had finished his campaign; which at the time he had been on the very cusp of doing.
Plus, he had already planned on killing Bellatrix once they had claimed their victory, after which he had planned on then his own death slipping out of Voldemort's grasps with as much as he could take.
He'd already been planning on setting himself up in Canada for a while, sure it wasn't Britain, but it was the next best thing.
On top of which he had had his own agenda. He hadn't flitted between Dumbledore and Voldemort for no reason. Nor had he joined Voldemort with the expectation that he would be allowed to live after his usefulness had come to an end, not with him being a candidate of the Prophecy too.
No, he had had a plan.
He was going to let things run their course, then when necessary, fake his own death, lulling the victor, Voldemort, into a false sense of security, after which he would strike.
In the end, it would have been him, Harry Potter, the bookish, unassuming Ravenclaw coming out on top in the end!
Or at least, that was what he had thought would happen.
In the end, he had made a gamble based on how the war was going. Voldemort had been winning, and quite easily at that, as such he had made the logical decision to jump ship and join the enemy. It was logical, as it should have given him more space to plot his next move and it would have stopped him from being wiped out or imprisoned when the Order was inevitably defeated.
It was just a shame his gamble hadn't paid off.
If he had had more faith, then he would have been sitting pretty right now. After all; Dumbledore was dead, Amelia Bones was dead, Longbottom was dead, as too were; Cornelius Fudge, Rufus Scrimgeour and Pius Thicknesse. On top of that; McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick were all dead too. As for the Death Eaters and the rest of Voldemort's supporters; they were all either dead, in hiding or incarcerated.
Positions of power in both the Ministry, the Wizengamot and Hogwarts would have all been ripe for the taking.
If he had held his nerve he would have been living the high life and building himself a magnificent legacy as he rebuilt society and the country in his image.
It was a grandiose idea sure, but it was one he very much liked the sound of. Or at least he would have done, if it had actually come to pass. Instead though, he had backed the wrong horse, and as such was rotting in this cell.
He wasn't sure how Longbottom had done it, or what he had been up to when he disappeared soon after Dumbledore's death in their seventh year. But whatever he had done, it had led to a sudden last-minute surge of rebellion which in turn had ended with Voldemort dead for good this time, most of his follower's dead, and Harry, and the few other Death Eaters that survived, and were caught, being imprisoned for the rest of their lives in Azkaban.
The wizarding world had been left in utter shambles after Voldemort's fall. With thousands dead on both sides, Hogwarts an uninhabitable ruin, Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley in ashes, and conflicts with the other magical races on the rise as Voldemort's army splintered and new factions formed, each of which fought for control and power.
Against the odds, the vaunted 'Light' had still won, and no doubt magical Britain and to a lesser extent the rest of Europe, were already slowly but surely, recovering, a new generation stepping up and taking the reins, guiding the wizarding world into a new age. Whilst the mistakes of the past, like him and the other remaining Death Eaters, were left buried and forgotten.
If only he had another chance, a chance to do things properly this time, and come out on top. If he did, he would approach things differently this time; Voldemort, Dumbledore, Longbottom; they wouldn't know what hit them. If he had the chance, then he, Harry, would be the one that won!
A sudden chill wind rushed through the bars of Harry's cell at that thought, making him pull his threadbare blanket tighter around him in the hopes of warding off the cold.
Unfortunately though, it didn't work. Instead, the wind seemed to grow heavier, ruffling his dark, matted hair and blowing through the holes in his blanket making him shiver due to the cold.
How, was there even any wind this deep underground? Harry started to grumble to himself, even as the wind intensified even more, his blanket becoming colder and wetter as dew seemed to form on it.
From all around the cavern Harry heard the other prisoners beginning to cry out now; most of them shouting in shock as the wind intensified even more, and the runes on the bars of their cells began to glow brightly.
Tearing his blanket off, Harry decided here and now that he had had enough.
They were all already miserable enough down here, the last thing they needed was more crap on top of that.
Upon sitting up and looking around though Harry's indignation quickly vanished in an instant when he saw what looked like a miniature storm cloud had formed in the air above him, dark, smoky clouds roiling in the air, even as reddish lightning crackled through it.
Noticeably the runes on the bars of his prison began to glow brighter and brighter, before a moment later they later smoke erupted from them as they were suddenly overpowered.
"What!" Harry shouted, his voice hoarse as he stood up, his eyes widening as he suddenly felt his connection to his magic being restored; the red dragon tattoo on his arm letting loose a silent roar as it twisted around his arm, its head coming to a stop on the palm of his hand, its maw opening in a roar as it did so.
Only instead of sound, fire burst forth from the tattoo, the fire forming a ball in Harry's hand as he took a step back and stared at the growing storm cloud in his cell in shock.
The storm, it seemed to be growing in power, and in noisiness too, as from out of it Harry could hear what sounded voices chanting; their words were inaudible for the moment, but they seemed to be becoming clearer every second that passed.
"What the fuck!" Harry shouted, his right hand raised and fire blazing around his bare hand now as he started backing away, or at least as far as his minute cell would allow him to.
"Potter, what the hell are you doing?!" One of the other inmates shouted.
"Do you want to bring the guards down on us!?" Another shouted nervously.
"How can you use magic?!" Bellatrix shrieked.
"Boy, you'd better get us out of here too if you're escaping!" Fenrir growled, slamming against the bars of his cell as he did so.
"I'm not doing this!" Harry retorted, a hint of fear in his voice now as the dark cloud expanded, the cloying mist rolling over Harry now, and the red lightning crackling across his skin, making his hair stand on end and his muscles spasm.
A snarl of anger spread across Harry's face at this, even as he raised his hand and let loose a jet of fire, the flames burning so hot that they gained a blue tinge as he tried to evaporate the storm cloud. "Fuck off!"
The chanting by this point was practically deafening, the voices vaguely familiar, even though the words themselves were still indistinct. The storm cloud expanding to cover the entire spell now, his flames petering out as the storm cloud seemed to absorb the magic from the fire.
"Dammit, what is this?!" Harry cursed one last time as more red lightning began to dance across his skin, his flesh blackening now and pain wracking his body as he the black cloud consumed him. It felt like he was being gradually deconstructed, already he could see his hands starting to turn to black dust; dust that was then sucked into the dark storm.
"Well shit," Harry muttered to himself as he saw his predicament, and resignedly accepted his inevitable death, even as the darkness consumed him.
It was the last any of those present would hear from Harry Potter, as moments later the dark cloud dispersed and with a dull thump his body collapsed to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. His emerald green eyes empty and unseeing, the spark of life well and truly gone as they slowly glazed over, the tattoos on his body fading away now the magic they were bound to, was no longer present.
( - )
(Tuesday 15th August 1995, Number 12 Grimmauld Place)
There was a tired expression on Albus Dumbledore's face as he looked around at the small group of people he had gathered together in the kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Each of the assembled witches and wizards were loyal and brave members of the Order of the Phoenix, men and women that had not only believed in him when he told them of Voldemort's rebirth at the end of the Triwizard Tournament only a few months ago but had also joined up to fight him.
Unfortunately however, bravery and loyalty does not always mean dependable. Mundungus Fletcher was a prime example of that fact. The man was a sneak thief and a conman at best, but despite knowing this, he had still recruited him, as even men like that had uses. That, and he liked to give people second chances to prove their worth, and fight for their redemption.
In this case however, his trust had turned out to be a mistake. Mundungus had been just one of several Order members that had been assigned to watching over Harry Potter whilst he spent his summer at his Aunt and Uncles house, safe under the Blood Wards that Dumbledore himself had set up fourteen years prior.
The job hadn't been a particularly difficult or onerous one, as Harry had thus far obeyed all of Dumbledore's instructions, and had mostly stuck to the area surrounding his Aunt and Uncles house. All the job required was a couple of hours a day standing under an invisibility cloak making sure nothing bad happened to the boy, it was a little tiresome yes, but not too much of a hardship.
Mundungus however, had dropped the ball so to speak. He had let his greed get the best of him, and thus had abandoned his post with nary a word to anyone, all so he could pick up some dodgy cauldrons from another one of his dubious associates. And because of that, Harry Potter was now lying upstairs, in a comatose state.
Fletcher had left his post for barely half an hour, and in that time two Dementors had swooped in and kissed both Harry Potter and his cousin Dudley, one of whom was upstairs in a coma, whilst the other was in a muggle hospital as good as dead and absent a soul.
Dumbledore sighed at that, for some reason or another Harry hadn't been able to defend himself properly, as although he had attempted to cast the Patronus Charm to ward off the Dementors, he had obviously not succeeded. The exact reason why was still unknown, but his wand had been found several feet from his body, and upon inspection, had been shown to have cast the spell, even if it was not a fully corporeal Patronus like Harry was definitely capable of.
On top of which, the Ministry of Magic had picked up on Harry's attempts to cast the spell too, after all, they were even now trying to use it as an excuse to expel the boy from Hogwarts.
The only bit of news from this that wasn't entirely terrible, was that Harry still retained at least a glimmer of consciousness and life in his comatose form, far more than someone who had just had their soul sucked out by a Dementor, should have.
Personally, Dumbledore had come up with a hypothesis that the soul piece that he suspected was in Harry's scar was what the Dementor had ended up consuming. Unfortunately, he had also come to the assumption that its removal in such a way had damaged Harry's soul in ways Dumbledore knew not, and perhaps irrevocably.
That, or Harry's soul had been sucked out and the fragment of Voldemort's soul was all that was left. That theory, however, was a far less palatable thought. It was also one that he very much doubted have happened.
"So then Albus, what's happening? Has there been any change in the boy's state?" Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody growled out, the retired Auror speaking up first as the rest of the assembled members just listened in, all of them staring at the venerable Headmaster expectantly.
"Alas, there has yet to be a change. He has not responded to anything I've done thus far. For now, we can only hope that this coma is temporary and that he will eventually awaken." Dumbledore replied softly.
Already he had tried everything he could think of, using his considerable knowledge of even the most complicated, esoteric and archaic of magicks to try and salvage the boy's soul. So pressing was his desire to have the boy up and about, that he had even strayed into Dark Magic to try and bring him back, delving into topics he had not touched upon in decades, not since back in his misspent youth.
Unfortunately, however, everything he had done so far had ended in failure.
"So that's it, we just wait and see?" Sirius Black asked hollowly, his pale, gaunt face devoid of emotion as he looked to Dumbledore for answers. "My godson is lying upstairs as little more than a hollow shell, and we're just meant to sit around here and wait? Whilst he's rotting away up there we just wait around and do nothing?! Are you really serious, Dumbledore!?"
"I'm afraid there is little else we can do. I have done everything I can think of to help Harry. But this case is one that has never happened before, or not that I've heard of, so I am afraid there is very little information about what can be done." Dumbledore replied calmly, he understood Sirius's grief and anger, he really did. The man had been requesting that his godson be brought to Grimmauld Place ever since summer had started, but Dumbledore had denied him. He had assured him that the boy was safer with his relatives, and then this happened.
"Albus," Kinglsey Shacklebolt spoke up in his usual deep voice. "When will we be informing the Ministry of what happened? They are already pushing to have the boy expelled for his failed attempt at the Patronus Charm."
"I think getting expelled from school is the least of the boy's worries," Moody growled before he looked over to Dumbledore.
"I am maintaining hope that something can be done for him before the hearing takes place," Dumbledore said quietly before he looked around at the rest of the table. "And if not, then I will have no choice but to tell them what has happened, and why he can't be present."
"Why not just tell them now? His condition is proof enough that he was attacked by Dementors, isn't it? Just tell them what happened, and then request help from the Department of Mysteries, or St Mungos, or something…" Nymphadora Tonks spoke up this time. A frown on her face as she looked over at Dumbledore, confused as she tried to understand why the aged wizard was dithering about like he was, in regards to making what happened to Harry known.
"The thought of doing so had crossed my mind, Tonks," Dumbledore replied calmly. "But I'm afraid Harry, although comatose, is not entirely soulless as a victim of the Dementors should be. The Ministry will see this as justifiable evidence to deny he was attacked. They could even claim that he put himself in this condition due to his own magic misfiring. They have already made a point of making out that Harry is unstable, it would not be hard for them to twist this even more to their advantage. On top of that, I am loath to advertise what has happened to Harry. I dread to think what Voldemort will do when he learns of it, or the Department of Mysteries for that matter."
"So that's it then, we just do nothing? We just wait and see?" Sirius growled impatiently. His eyes flicking upstairs for a moment before he sighed and started drumming his fingers on the table again.
Dumbledore sighed, as he heard Sirius once again complaining about being so powerless. Before he could reply to the impetuous man, however, he was interrupted by the sound of shouting coming from upstairs, which was soon followed by the thunder of people running down the stairs and the portrait in the hall of Mrs Black, waking up and shrieking her usual obscenities.
"What on earth?" Molly Weasley finally spoke up, standing as she did so, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing as she heard whoever had run down the stairs reach the door to the kitchen and then proceed to throw it open. "We're in an important Order meeting, you all know you are not allowed in here!"
The culprits, however, did not look bothered by the Weasley matriarch's admonishments. Instead, her youngest daughter, Ginny, burst into the room, followed closely by her brothers, Fred, George and Ron, all of whom began talking at the same time. Their voices overlapping to make an incoherent, unintelligible racket, a racket that was made all the worse by the still screaming portrait of Mrs Black in the background.
"Enough!" Dumbledore said loudly, as he and the rest of the assembled members at the table looked at the four teenagers irritably, including their mother and father, both of whom looked positively irate. Upon hearing his command all four of them fell silent. "Now, can someone please explain to me just what is going on?"
"Harry's woken up!" George was the first to speak.
"Yeah just now, Ginny was sitting with him when she heard him let out a groan and start moving. We left Hermione with him!" Fred tagged on quickly, the twins having been so excited by what had happened, that both of them had seemed to have forgotten that they could apparate, as they instead, sprinted down from the room Harry was being kept in, their younger brother and sister following along behind the duo.
"Well, he's not, you know, properly awake yet. But he was moving around and groaning, and he has opened his eyes a little…" Ginny began excitedly. Maybe unsurprisingly, however, she didn't have a chance to finish, because already the adults at the table were moving. Sirius bolting up immediately, ignoring his mother's screaming as he instead sprinted past the four redheads and up the stairs and into the hall.
The others were not much slower, Dumbledore quickly striding after Sirius, his robes swirling behind him, even as Moody, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Tonks, Snape, Shacklebolt and several other Order members followed along behind him.
Dumbledore barely even pausing as with a single swish of his wand he froze Mrs Black's painting and all of the other screaming portraits in the entrance hall, silencing them, as he instead quickly headed for the room Harry was in. The four teens quickly followed along with the others in his wake.
( - )
(Several minutes earlier)
Harry was alive.
That much he knew.
His body was stiff, his limbs were aching, his stomach was growling with hunger, and his head was throbbing with pain, but he was almost certainly alive.
More than that however, he was also lying on something comfortable and had something warm draped over the top of him. Warmth and comfort were two things Harry had not known for over half a year now, but that he recognised almost instantly.
Blearily forcing his eyes open, Harry was also surprised to see, not the dim stone roof of his cell like he expected, but instead, a peeling, slightly dirty, cream coloured ceiling. One that looked oddly familiar.
Blinking his eyes as they felt a little gummed up, Harry let out a groan as he tried to sit up, only for his aching, stiff muscles to burn in protest.
In response to his attempts however, he heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath from the side, which was followed by something with vibrant red hair filling his vision, even as warm soft hands started to touch his face.
Before Harry could question what on earth was happening, or properly clear his gummed-up eyes and squint so he could see what the red blur was, or rather who it was, he was distracted when he heard a female voice, obviously, the blur was a girl, shouting something unintelligible.
What followed next was a barrage of noise as more blurred shapes burst into the room, and more voices started shouting out all at the same time, a few moments later, several of them disappeared, their loud voices fading as if they were running away.
'What on earth is happening?' Harry thought to himself in confusion. Was he hallucinating? Had his mind finally snapped? And what the hell was wrong with his eyes, had the procedure he had undertaken to correct his vision somehow failed all of a sudden? Or had the continual darkness of 'the Pit' caused permanent damage?
Honestly, he didn't have a clue what the hell was happening.
What he did know, however, was that another blurred brown shape had taken the place of the red one, and was now holding his hand tightly, her voice, which was becoming more and more distinct by the second, was speaking quickly to him. Even as more voices approached, finally another larger figure burst into the room, followed by nearly a dozen more.
"Harry!" The man gasped out, his tone one of shock and affection, even if Harry couldn't quite place the voice. "You're awake, you're ok!" He then continued before he ran to Harry's side and gripped his arm tightly.
"Sirius, step aside!" Another voice, this one much more familiar, though no more confusing, as Harry knew for a fact that the man this voice belonged to was long dead, spoke up. "Harry, Harry can you hear me?"
"Dumbledore?" Harry rasped out in confusion, trying to sit up again now, only for the blurred white-haired figure to push him back down.
"Yes, it's me, Harry. Somebody pass me his glasses." Dumbledore replied calmly. His voice held a distinct note of relief as he spoke.
A few moments later, Harry felt someone carefully wiping the sleep out of his eyes with a handkerchief, before something was pushed onto his face, after which his blurred vision, cleared. Which was handy as it allowed him to look around his old bedroom in Grimmauld Place, a bedroom which was currently hosted to nearly a dozen people, most of whom, Harry knew, were dead.
Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape, Molly and Arthur Weasley and Fred and George Weasley, just being some of the more obvious examples. Others he saw, like Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, he knew were still alive, only now they looked much younger, very much like they did when they were all teenagers at school together.
"W-what's going on?!" Harry rasped out, his usually pristine mind a complete mess as he looked around at all the familiar faces, all of whom, much to his surprise, were beaming at him, even Shacklebolt, a man Harry knew for a fact hated him. Save of course for that git, Snape, who was just looking at Harry with distaste, but then again that was no surprise, they had always had a mutual hatred of each other.
"Harry, you're awake," Dumbledore said warmly, the others all quieting down to let him speak as he perched himself on the side of Harry's bed, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Now tell me, what is the last thing you remember?"
"…" Harry paused as he heard that, his green eyes flickering around all the hopeful and nervous faces around him, his mind suddenly moving a mile a minute as he tried to make sense of everything that was happening. "I… I don't know. I don't know what's happening? Why am I in bed? Why are you all here? I… I…"
"It's okay Harry, just calm down and relax. For now, you need to rest. After that, I will explain everything to you." Dumbledore replied calmly, his blue eyes still twinkling as he smiled down at Harry. The smile on his face was far warmer than Harry had ever remembered it being, even when he had been a loyal foot soldier in the Order.
Then again, the Dumbledore he had known had been distant at best, only speaking to Harry when he wanted something. With Dumbledore, unlike so many others, having never quite fully trusted Harry. He had certainly never held him in as positive a light as he seemed to right now.
"O-okay." Harry eventually replied, his voice coming out a bit thick as he looked around at all the eager faces around him.
He had no idea what in hell was going on right now. But one thing he did know was that he was no longer in Azkaban, which was something at least.
( - )
AN: So what did you think? Please leave a review, comment etc. If you have any questions or suggestions feel free to PM me.
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Thanks for reading, and I'll see you later.
Greed720.
