By: Devilita
Betareader: Sarah
Rating: R for swearing etc.
Genre: angst, romance
Disclaimer: Don't own them, J.K. Rowling does.
Summary: Harry is convicted of murder and sentenced to Azkaban. But while there…
A/N: This is my first fic, which contains a Harry like this… But I love this fic to bits, even if it was better in Finnish
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"Harry James Potter; we have found you guilty of the 1st degree murder of Ronald Arthur Weasley, and you will be sentenced to receive a Dementor's kiss. The execution will be held on the 15th November 2003 at 22.00 in Azkaban's prison."
There was a stir in the courtroom. People were squirming nervously in their seats, whispering in more or less loud voices. Reporters flashed their cameras and quills scratched heated words on parchments violently.
The dark-haired man squirmed restlessly on his bench in front of the judge. The convict's hair pointed in every direction; he clearly hadn't slept well for a long time. A lightning-shaped scar was almost completely covered with black locks. Trying greedily to inhale, the guilty's gaze shot up to look at the judge desperately, and standing up, he cried, "No! I didn't kill Ron! I swear I didn't!" Vivid green eyes sparkled with honesty and fear.
The crowd murmured even louder at the comment.
Aurors grabbed Harry by his shoulders, forcing him to sit down again. His lawyer kept hissing something incoherent to his client, but Harry was too shocked to hear anything.
His heart was thumping inside his chest at full force, and blood made his ears buzz, as the pressure was so high… His breathing felt heavy, as if he had dove into ten meters of water, and his chest began to ache and sting viciously. Sweaty palms squeezed the unbending iron handcuffs.
"Silence!" the judge roared, hitting his table with a wooden hammer. The uproar died down slightly. "Silence, or I'll empty the courtroom!" commanded an old man with a long, white beard who observed the crowd from the heights through his half-moon spectacles. Gradually the room fell silent and one could even hear a quill dropping on the floor. How cold the man seemed to be nowadays… He looked so big and almighty, sitting high above all others on his podium. A few suffocated sniffs echoed from the back of the room.
The judge, who once had been Harry's school's respected Headmaster, was clarifying the details of the execution, and reporters' quills mercilessly scratched down every single word. Harry closed his ears and eyes, he could not stomach hearing these words. This could not be true, he was going to survive this…
Suddenly during the judge's speech, a black-haired man stood up from the middle of the stands. "Harry could not have done that! How could he, when he's seen and experienced all that evil himself! Use your brains, dammit! If anyone knows how unjust and cruel it is to use the killing curse, it's Harry!"
"Mister Black, please calm yourself and sit down."
"I know what this judicial system of yours is like! I was forced to spend years in Azkaban, even though I was innocent! Can't you see, that you're doing the same thing to Harry??"
"Sirius, I am not going to ask you to sit down twice!"
"Sit down? Sit down??" Sirius screamed, glaring daggers at the judge, seeming to be ready to kick the man's head off any second. Remus noticed this and pulled him back down to his seat. Sirius was very upset and fell down heavily beside Remus. "How can they do this, Remus??"
"Shush, darling. Calm down", Remus whispered into Sirius' ear, smoothing the other man's cheek striped by tears. The darker man sobbed heart-breakingly and clung to his lover, hidden from the world and protected by Remus' strong arms.
Harry was completely paralyzed. He just stared into emptiness without focusing on anything. Even the one person, whom he loved deeply, could not have come here, could not help him to breathe again. He was absolutely alone, even though dozens of pairs of eyes were staring at him intently. The Aurors pulled him up and escorted him through the crowd, protected by several guards. While walking along the brown carpet that lead to the main door of the courtroom, a red-headed woman charged from the crowd, crying frantically. The guards grabbed her by the arms, but Harry heard her shout: "How could you kill Ron, you fucking bastard! He's never done anything to you! You're a completely heartless, cold murderer, and you should experience the same fate as Ron did! Burn in hell, Harry 'Saint' Potter!"
An elder woman forced her daughter back down to sit next to her. At first she tried to protest, but she sat down, still glaring aggressively at Harry.
So Ginny also thought that Harry had killed her brother. For a few seconds his knees gave way under him, but Aurors quickly grabbed him from the armpits. How ironic, even the Aurors reminded him of his old schoolmates.
"Seamus? Justin?" Harry croaked disbelievingly.
The hold on his arms became tighter immediately. A low, cold voice whispered, "I don't know you, Harry Potter."
Flashes of light blinded him from every direction, even the guards tried to protect him from questions and angry wizards and witches.
Ron's relatives were being interviewed.
"I've always known that there was something wrong with that boy. No good wizard can have such powers as he does."
Was that really Molly Weasley? Even though he could not hear the questions of the fierce crossfire of reporters', he still could still hear the voices of those who had been important to him.
Under the stares of all of those eyes Harry's gaze locked with a pair of familiar brown, tearful ones. That brown-haired woman was sitting on the last row, clutching her fists in her lap and watching everything silently. Hermione must also agree with all those accusations that she had heard in the courtroom… He tried to make Hermione look at him, but didn't succeed.
"Hermione…" The Aurors pulled the exhausted heap Harry was into a dark, chilly room. Harry lost his consciousness immediately and collapsed onto the cold, concrete floor.
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Spiky ropes rubbed against Harry's wrists. The air was dusty and dry, the floor was cold and hard as stone under his feet. Harry powerlessly lifted his face and noticed that he was sitting under a dim, bluish beam of light. Everywhere around him was pitch-dark, only he was sitting in a wooden chair which he supposed was in the middle of the 'room'.
"Where am I?"
Another light was directed straight towards his eyes. For a few minutes he had to blink the throbbing off, but finally managing to see a dark figure standing in front of the source of light.
"You don't need to know that." The man continued walking towards Harry, steps echoing in the corners of the empty room.
Harry's head was buzzing. He had obviously hit it when he'd fell to the ground.
"You're on your way to Azkaban's prison to await your execution. We'll soon be there and you'll get your own, private and extremely luxurious cell all to yourself. Isn't that nice? Hopefully you'll enjoy yourself while being there, until you're handed over to the Dementors."
"Who're –"
"Shut up!"
The lights went off. They had apparently reached their destination. But how could Harry have known that for sure… He had no idea of how and how long they had traveled. The place, where Harry was sitting in his chair, seemed to be a room, but because it was so dark outside the shaft of light, he couldn't be absolutely sure if there were any walls surrounding the room in the first place. Surrounding the chair there was total darkness and oppressive silence. The faceless man could not be seen anywhere.
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He awoke to the steady, regular sound of little water drops falling into a small puddle. He was lying on a cold, bumpy floor. Harry opened his eyes a little and noticed that he was lying in some kind of cell. His eyes widened, but not in surprise.
Azkaban.
His limbs felt sore and obviously his nose had bled at some point, since his chin, neck and the collar of his robe were covered with dried blood. Most of the blood was already completely black and hard, but he could feel something sticky and wet gluing the fabric of his undershirt onto his skin and he smelled the coppery scent of fresh blood in his nostrils. Coldness from the floor crept little by little through his clothes and into his body. He had to get up. Had to. The pale glow of the moon seeped silently into the cell through the only window, which had strong, thick barriers, and the soft shine threw long beams of light across the cell's floor. There were lots of all kind of rubbish in the corners, like cobwebs and dried leaves.
Ironically Harry thought, as he lied on the floor on his stomach: "Absolutely wonderful, they've made sure to protect me by adding barriers into my window. Hmm… I wonder if I have a sea view."
Harry dragged himself onto the bed that was located in the darkest corner of the small room. It wasn't as cold anymore when he lied there searching for coziness. Harry positioned his arms under his head. Other prisoners had drawn pictures or written things with a piece of charcoal on the stony walls and roof of the cell. They must have been still sane while doing that, but Harry couldn't be sure. There were short phrases such as 'They don't know what misery is before they have been here' or 'Five-star hotel'. The walls were covered with Roman numbers that stood for days, weeks, months or years. There had been hundreds, even thousands other prisoners in this cell before Harry.
Icy dagger pierced his chest. Or at least it felt like it. "AARGHH!" Harry rolled off the wooden bed as he felt a cold, biting breeze pass through his veins like a storm of icy particles. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, consciousness kept tossing between reality and dream world. Something made Harry's stomach turn upside down and he vomited onto the floor. Harry saw a figure blocking the light under the door, and he could feel how his thoughts flowed away through his mouth and disappeared into nothingness. While exhaling, his mind dug even further into the depths of oblivion, and every time when he gasped some air into his lungs, he only got cold, mind-binding dusty air. The thoughts, memories of Draco dripped away from his head and it felt impossible to get up. He didn't even have his wand anymore, so he couldn't use his Protego, either.
And then it was gone. The Dementor had moved further the corridor. The frost that had crawled into his chest melted away little by little, and supporting himself by leaning against the wall, he stumbled back onto his bed.
"What am I going to do? I have to get out of here. Why didn't I study to become an Animagi like Sirius??" Harry let his gaze wander around the dungeon. There was no way out. Rock from roof to floor. Many other desperate convicts had surely tried to find a way out, examining every single square centimeter of the room, so there was no sense in Harry doing the same thing. He walked to the window, dragging his feet. The wind blew mercilessly through the window into the cell. There was no glass covering it and Harry clenched the metallic barriers in his palms. It was already November and soon there would be snow on the ground. The moon now glowed faintly as foggy clouds slowly slid past it. The night was freezing and it felt even more numbing in the dungeon… Harry's cell was located on the lowermost floor of the dungeon, and he could see the hays waving in the wind right outside the window. The sea was glittering and also waving as the sea winds blew from the north.
The metal felt dead and unpleasant against his palms. Harry's glasses were scratched and dirty. His black robe had become grayish as he had laid on the floor for so long.
"Please, come and get me out of here." Did the moon hear his prayer?
Someone was walking down the corridor. Harry pressed himself against his bed, so that he wouldn't fall onto the floor again. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to protect his happy memories from the Dementors.
Someone was trying to open the lock of Harry's door. As it wasn't oiled, it creaked as the door opened. A tall, hooded figure was standing in the doorframe. The silhouette of the body that was in front of the weak light stayed completely still, holding the door handle. Harry stared at the hooded figure in utter horror, but also fascination.
Harry rose up.
That wasn't a Dementor. It didn't bring the coldness they usually did.
The figure lowered the hood slowly from its face. "Harry, come on. We don't have much time." A blonde, handsome man stretched out his arm and offered it to Harry, who was sitting on his bed. The rain had soaked his hair wet and now those white locks were glued against his forehead.
"Draco…" Harry sighed, immobilized and relieved.
The other grinned charmingly and pulled Harry into his arms. The hot kiss he soon received warmed Harry from the inside like alcohol. It burned for a while, but brought an unbelievable good feeling, too. Heaven.
"How did you get here? And this soon?" Harry asked amazed, as he pulled away from the kiss. It felt comforting, safe, being in Draco's arms. The other one's arms had sneaked possessively around Harry's waist, as they always did. And it felt good. Harry buried his face in the curve of Draco's neck and inhaled the other's scent.
"There's nothing that can keep me away from you." A tender kiss was placed on Harry's forehead. "When I heard about the events of the trial from our spy, I immediately hurried to come here. The Dementor let me in, of course, without any resistance."
"So they're still loyal to us? Even though I got caught? They don't support Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters anymore?" Harry frowned and searched for any signs of dishonesty from the other's gray, captivating pools of molten silver.
Draco smiled as he played with Harry's dusty raven-black lock. "I convinced them of my intentions of giving those Muggle children to them to have fun with. And of course they'd rather support you than Ole Voldie. They have noticed, how much more powerful you are, love."
"Good", Harry stated. "Well, shall we go?" Harry headed for the door, obviously in much more strength than a while ago. The same persistent glint was once again glowing in his eyes and ready to stab all who had betrayed him.
Draco followed him, snatched Harry's hand into his own and entwined their fingers. Softly, he asked: "Where do you want to go?"
Something dangerous flashed in Harry's emerald eyes. Temptingly Harry leaned forward to whisper into Draco's ear, "Somewhere where we can be alone…" A small, tentative lick next to Draco's jaw made Draco shudder and moan.
The men exited the dungeon hand in hand. The corridors were long and Dementors bowed as they passed. The ugly creatures escorted them to the gates of Azkaban. The air outside felt refreshing in Harry's lungs, as they journeyed towards the shore. Stunted, leafless trees waved from side to side as the breeze treated them roughly. The hems of their robes fluttered and the wind made the sea throw its massive waves against the bare cliffs. At the jetties, there were dozens of men and women dressed in black-red robes, covering their faces with hoods. They were waiting for something.
Their Master.
The wizards that had been guarding the jetty were dead and shoved into the sea.
"Are those the new followers, that you marked while I was gone?" Harry was examining the silent line with his gaze critically.
A thrilled grin rose onto Draco's lips. "Yes, they are. Are you pleased? I didn't actually have to do anything. They came to me when they had heard that you were gathering followers."
"And they can be trusted? They won't fuck up our plans?"
"Definitely not." Draco's voice was certain, hard as steel. Even his eyes told the same story. "When are you going to carry out our plan to attack the Ministry?"
There was a moment of silence. The cold wind was becoming more biting. It numbed their stony faces and sky was pouring water quite generously at this point. Harry Potter just stood there, in the middle of the rough, gray seashore. Finally, after ages, he retorted: "Very soon."
Draco winced at the manic expression on Harry's face. "But tell the Light Exorcists to visit Dumbledore first." Oh, the sweet revenge…
"I love you, when you're like that…" Draco raised his hand to smooth his beloved one's hair.
Harry took Draco's hand into his and kissed the fingertips tenderly. Observing his lover from under his eyebrows, he stated: "No one can stop us."
Harry squeezed Draco's hand as he led him towards the yacht that was attached to the jetty. "Come on, we have lots to do."
~The End~
A/N: Firstly I have to thank Sarah, my beta-reader who did a marvellous job! If I had put this here the way it was in the beginning, you would have been able to read pure, absolute shit. I had made SO many mistakes that I would have died in embarrassment. You were very hard-working as you had to correct such an inhumane amount of simple article-mistakes.
I should also thank Michael Serpent for giving a few hints of how to say some of the things I intended to write there…
A/N2: Feedback would be appreciated.