Before anything, I posted this story before a couple of years ago under a different username 'Intrigue19' unedited and unfinished and totally forgot about it. I re read my work and was absolutely mortified I posted it as the chapters were everywhere, so I removed it. My little cousin begged me to repost it so here I am now keeping my promise but I have done some minor (and in some chapters' cases 'major') changes and edits. I have no idea if I will ever finish this story as this is mostly done in my spare time which I have very little now so pls be understanding as well if my writing, punctuation and grammar isn't perfect.
Also there is no money made from this, it is written in good fun borrowing brilliant characters off JK Rowling's books.
Chapter 1
Huddled in the corner of the cell, hands tucked under their armpits, head buried in their knees the prisoner tries to contain as much body heat as possible. The cell had no warmth and the thin threadbare prison uniform that was given provided no insulation. His hair hung limply pass his shoulders reaching his hips, greasy and brittle. His pale skin was decorated black, blue and green, where the bruises were forming and healing. Curtesy of the prison guards. Skin pulled tight around his emancipated frame. He had always been a thin man, but never to such an extent that he could count each individual rib and hear his joints creak when he made small movements.
They do not call him by his name anymore, only vile insults. But he was prominently known as 'Traitor'. He had stopped hoping of ever leaving his prison. His Occlumency shields held the Dementors at bay, keeping him sane. He had provided his memories to Potter that night in the Shrieking Shack a year ago, memories that showed the intentions behind his actions but that had not been enough. As soon as the war had ended Aurors had bound him up and taken him to Azkaban awaiting trial. Potter hated him too much to absolve him from the crimes he committed in Voldemort's name, despite him explaining why he had to do it. He was a spy, and the only way to remain within Voldemort's inner circle was to play his part well. It was the only way to gather information that had enabled the Order to succeed in winning the war. The reason Potter and his friends were able to locate the Horcruxes and destroying Voldemort's soul pieces. Even with these evidence only a few believed his innocence whilst the majority had fervently cried out for his incarceration. No one wanted Dumbledore's murderer to walk free.
He begged for them to listen that not all was as it had seemed but could not utter those words, 'Dumbledore is still alive'. For that information was under a Fidelius, with the Headmaster acting as Secret Keeper. It was required so that the Dark Lord would never find out that the headmaster was kept in an enchanted healing sleep in a hidden location. He would awaken once the curse in his hand had fully deteriorated.
He regrets taking the antivenom that saved his life that night. It would have been better if he had just died, he would not be suffering like this. The beatings and whips had hurt him, but the worse had been looking straight into the eyes of his closest friends and colleagues as they hurled their insults and curses. Minerva, Filius and even Pomona, looking at him with such disdain and anger he felt his heart and soul crumble. No one believed and no one cared. It hurt to know that all his sacrifices were not enough. Dumbledore's plan had worked too well, he had played his part too well. He would die here, a criminal in the eyes of the Wizarding World.
He holds no more hope of ever leaving Azkaban. He would spend the rest of his life here. He had been given a sentence worse than his fellow Death eaters, who had been executed via the Veil. He would be taken out his cell once a week by his guards for his punishment. Beaten till his bones broke and whipped till his skin bled he would be thrown back in his cell, until next week. This would go on till his last breath. Severus Snape could only pray that his heart gave out soon.