A/N Sorry, sorry, I know the last update took a while, and the reason for that was that school suddenly gave me more work, and I'm also on the newspaper staff, which means my articles come before this, sadly enough. The reason this chapter took a bit was that my computer crashed, and I thought I had lost all of my work, but my computer got back online a couple of days later, and everything was recovered. All right, this chappie is short, but the next one will be longer.
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where do bad folks go when they die?
they don't go to heaven where the angels fly
they go down to the lake of fire and fry
won't see 'em again till the fourth of july
i knew a lady who came from duluth
she got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth
she went to her grave just a little too soon
and she flew away howling on the yellow moon
where do bad folks go when they die?
they don't go to heaven where the angels fly
they do down to the lake of fire and fry
won't see 'em again till the fourth of july
now the people cry and the people moan
and they look for a dry place to call their home
and try to find some place to rest their bones
while the angels and the devils
fight to claim them for their own
-Nirvana
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The Halls of Azkaban
There was no hell worse than Azkaban, as was true for all who experienced the terror-filled nights, and those who had only heard tales. The cold on the island penetrated deeper than your skin, it was said, it surrounded you, engulfed you, choked you. The sun seemed to have never reached the lonely fortress. The icy water lashed at the rocky foundation that was the prison day and night, as though an undying tempest disturbed the quiet sea. The constant roar of the waves sometimes blocked out the screams, but not all the time. Sometimes the screams were all that were heard, in uneasy sleep and lonely day.
Harry Potter had been unconscious for the time it took to reach the prison. He was unconscious when they put him in his cell. He was unconscious when they brought his first meal.
But unconsciousness was preferable to what Harry would have to face when he woke up. All of the terror stories from his godfather, or even from Hagrid, were nothing compared to actually experiencing it. Death was the thought that dwelled on every mind. The sad truth of it was, death was better than living in Azkaban, which is why many prisoners prayed for the day they would die, hoping that sometime soon, the suffering would end.
Back on the mainland, the Wizarding world was buzzing with the events that had taken place while they'd been asleep. Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, had been arrested and sent to Azkaban for murder. The same boy that had killed the Dark Lord also killed his nurse. So many questions haunted the citizens. Most prominently "Why?"
"It makes no sense!" Hermione pleaded to the Weasley family, all sitting gloomily in the lounge in the Burrow. "Why would Harry do something like that? I don't think he did it!"
"His wand did the curse, Hermione," Ron said. "You saw that woman come out of it. She even identified him. It was Harry."
"But that doesn't mean that Harry couldn't have been framed! Harry had no motive to kill his nurse!" Hermione continued.
"It doesn't matter why he did it, Hermione," Bill said. "The fact is, he did it, and now he has to suffer the consequences."
"Maybe killing You-Know-Who made him go mad," Ron offered.
"No," Hermione said, "a mad person would admit they killed someone. I saw Harry's face in that courtroom. He was framed."
It was nearly a week after being pulled from the Leaky Cauldron when Harry's eyes finally fluttered open. From his cell, he could hear the distant sound of waves crashing on the rocky shore. That was the first thing that registered in his mind. The second thing was the cold.
His head throbbed as though it had been slammed into a wall. Slowly, he sat up and looked at his surroundings. Through the bars in the cell door he could see across a hallway into another cell. There, on the bed in that cell, sat a man Harry knew only too well.
His hair was longer now, and dirtier, and he was no longer wearing expensive robes, but his eyes were just as gray and cold as they had ever been. Lucius Malfoy gazed back at Harry, an empty look in them, his lips muttering incoherent nonsense.
"Harry Potter," he said roughly, his throat obviously parched. There was a crazed look in his eye "I never thought I'd see you here."
Harry sighed and fell back on his cot, flinching as his joints groaned.
"Not Harry! Please not Harry!" Harry pushed the haunting memory from his mind.
"Don't want to talk?" Malfoy asked.
Harry rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, choosing not to respond. He pulled his knees up to his chest, trying his hardest to get some warmth. The robes he was in were paper thin, and he had no shoes or socks on. The wind howled as it ran through the bars of his window.
Malfoy didn't try to push a conversation, much to Harry's pleasure. He was too occupied with other things. One, for instance, was how he had ended up in Azkaban. How had his wand performed the Killing Curse if he, Harry, had never performed it? Why did the echo of Madam Thickey say that Harry had done it if he had no recollection of doing such a thing?
"Maybe I did do it," Harry groaned. "Maybe I've just gone mad and don't remember."
"Kill the spare."
He had no more time for logical thought. The dementors were getting closer to his cell, he could sense them. Screams echoed down the halls of Azkaban, making the hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickle. He closed his eyes, trying to block them out of his mind, but he could already hear the rattling breath. He knew what he would see if he were to look at his door, but he couldn't. Even in his mind he saw billowing black robes.
"It's not there," Harry told himself. "I'm back at Hogwarts. There's no dementor there."
He could hear Malfoy muttering to himself. "Yes, my lord. . . of course. . . ."
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl. . . stand aside, now. . . ."
"No. . ." Malfoy moaned. "No. . . please. . . not again. . . . No!" Malfoy started to scream as though his life depended on it, as though he were being tortured.
"Kill the spare."
"Is that the best you've got?"
"SIRIUS!"
The dementor finally passed, leaving Harry struggling for breath. It was eerily silent now. Harry couldn't hear the ocean, or the screams of other prisoners. He clutched the thin blanket on the cot, feeling as though if he let go, he would fall away.
"Are you going to eat that?" Lucius Malfoy's voice cut through the silence.
Harry lifted his head slowly to look across the hallway. Malfoy was sitting on the floor at the door, his arm dangling through the bars and pointing at a plate of food in Harry's cell that had not been there before. Malfoy looked almost. . . normal now.
"I'm not giving it to you," Harry said, putting his head back down. "And why are you talking to me anyway? I thought you hated me."
"I do. I'm hungry."
"Well I am too. I'm not giving you my food."
"Shh, listen," Malfoy said, holding a thin finger to his lips, the crazed look back in his eyes.
Harry lifted his head slightly from the mattress. Distantly he could hear screaming, frantic screaming, and then the sound of a door opening, and then, quite suddenly, silence. He looked at Malfoy who had a sick smile on his face.
"You can always tell when they're near the end," Malfoy said quietly. "Their screams get more frantic, the dementor closes in, the screams turn to cries, the dementor lowers it's hood, then silence. The dementor swoops down on them." Malfoy closed his eyes as though he had been listening to the best thing he had ever heard.
"You're mad," Harry said.
"Maybe I am," Malfoy said, not bothering to open his eyes. "We'll both be out of here soon enough. Then it won't matter."
"What?"
Malfoy opened his eyes and stared at Harry, his eyes narrowed. "Oh come now, Potter. We both saw that shadow enter your body, at the battle. The Dark Lord is possessing you right now, or trying to. Maybe he's encountered some difficulties, but he'll find a way around them, and then you — " Malfoy leaned forward and gripped the bars " — will get us both out."
Harry stared at Malfoy, his mouth hanging open.
"Don't tell me you didn't know that," Malfoy continued. "You really thought you'd been framed for that murder? I read about it in the papers, 'I didn't do it, I swear!' I thought that was just a desperate attempt to stay out of here!"
Malfoy turned so his back was against the bars and brought his hand up to his face.
"I knew you were dense, Potter, but this is ridiculous."
"I didn't kill her!" Harry said.
"Maybe you didn't, but your body did. Perhaps you were asleep and the Dark Lord gained control. Hell, there was even a witness."
"Who?"
"Another patient in the hospital," Malfoy said. "Saw you in the middle of the night, and thought you were going for a glass of water or something. He saw you go into the woman's office, saw the flash of light, and saw you leave."
Harry rolled over on the cot and faced the wall. "Don't you ever talk to me again, Malfoy," he said. "Leave me alone."
"The Dark Lord always knows. He always finds a way."
Malfoy stayed silent after that, and left Harry to himself, though he returned to muttering.
"Under the drawing-room, under the drawing-room," Malfoy repeated, banging his head backwards against the rusty bars of his cell.
Harry eventually rolled off of the cot onto the cold, stone floor, and crawled over to his plate of food.
"A plate of rice?" Harry asked, picking up a handful of the grain and crushing it in his fingers. "Who eats white rice with nothing else?"
Malfoy sat watching Harry with an amused look in his eye.
Harry groaned and shoved some of the food into his mouth. He had never liked rice.
His mouth felt oddly sticky after eating, and he craved a drink. They hadn't given him a drink, and he didn't think they would in the near future. So, Harry pulled the thin blanket off of his bed and ripped it easily in half. He put one half on his bed, and took the other half to the window. He carefully tied one end to the window bars, and let the rest hang out of the window, with the idea that if it rained, it would catch water which Harry could drink.
He felt a chill sweep through his body, and thought it was because of the icy wind coming through the window, but the chill went deeper than his skin, and he realized that the dementors were coming back around. He threw himself onto the cot and closed his eyes.
"If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup."
"Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"
The cell door was sliding open. . . . Harry could hear rattling breath.
"Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"
"SIRIUS! Get him! Save him! He's only just gone through!"
"It will be quick. . . it might even be painless. . . I would not know. . . I have never died. . . ."
A cold, scabby hand closed around Harry's arm. . . .
"No! Not Harry!"
"Kill the spare."
He was being lifted from the cot, and dragged from the cell. . . . He could hear Malfoy screaming.
"Please not Harry!"
"Lily! It's him! Take Harry and run!"
"He won't come back."
"Harry, Remus and Albus didn't make it out of the battle."
Harry's head was fogging up, he knew he couldn't stay conscious for long. A cold, high laugh echoed in his head, drowning out the memories.
It was over. . . all over. . . he would never see daylight again. . . .
And then, quite suddenly, his head was clear, the laughter was gone, and he was sitting upright in a chair.
He heard the closing of a door.
He opened his eyes.
There, sitting across from him, was Hermione Granger.
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A/N Hmm... do I see H/Hr on the horizon? Next chappie will be up soon.
felony melanie