Ok. here goes. *starts dramatic music**cd player's batteries die*
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The Hours of Darkness By Sputnik2006 Author's Note: Ok, this is my first Harry Potter fic, please be reasonable if/when you review. Constructive criticism is nice. Flames light the candles of my shrine to Sirius so they are of no use to you. Banish any thoughts of their use. Please. See? I'm such a considerate human being. I asked nicely. Let's see, more notes on the fic. There is no slash, sorry to disappoint you pro-slash types. I have nothing against people who go that way but J.K.R. didn't write the characters that way and to that I hold true. Okays? Second, the title sucks. I'll agree with you there if that's what you are currently thinking. If you're not.Are you in league with the thesaurus from Microsoft Word? 'Cause that's where the title came from. Stupid thing says it's a synonym for night. I suppose it makes sense but honestly. Would YOU walk around calling night the hours of darkness? Ok, enough notes. But before we get on with the fic.
Disclaimer: Ain't mine. Nope. Not one bit of it. I ain't getting payed. I ain't getting any fame from writing this.well, no more than the average beginning fanfic writer. And I ain't going to say that ain't ain't a word 'cause it IS. It's in the dictionary so NYAH!
Prologue: Nighttime Sights
Privet Drive at night was a fairly different experience for passerby than it would be during the day, for many reasons. One of the most obvious was that it was dark, meaning most of the street's inhabitants were cozy in bed, on the sofa, and in the case of some, on cots in tents out of doors. This however was a rare occurrence, for the people of Privet Drive were a rather dull lot who thought it scandalous to sleep outside unless forced to by some quarreling spouse. And then they were thankful that a certain Petunia Dursley was not sharing in their humiliation seeing as how she also would be asleep and therefor unawares to it all. This was another large difference between night and day. Those who passed by could do so without coming under the glare of the long-necked hawk.
Lastly, if one decided to stroll past 4 Privet Drive on a midnight journey they would be able to find a solitary light on, a square of white amidst a sea of black and glowing orange. That person would never know how remarkable the room's occupant was. They might feel some sympathy to the poor person who shared in the inability to sleep but would pass by with no thought more. They would never know how important the boy by the window was, never know that he was in many ways their one hope should a certain Dark Lord decide to destroy them and their families.
Harry could not help but envy their ignorance.
Harry lay propped up on his elbow in bed, watching Hedwig eat her night's catch, a small mouse, or perhaps a vole. He was not sure. Nor did he very much care. There were some things that were better left unknown. In his opinion if Hedwig felt she could eat it it was fine with him. He had nothing better to do though so watch her finish her meal he did.
Nights were a large pain in Harry's life, and sometimes, though he hated to admit to it, his scar, which prickled at the slightest change in Voldemort's temper lately. Those few dreams that were not nightmares often brought about horrible visions of some plot or another of the Dark Lord's weaving, whether false or not Harry was unsure. He didn't like to dwell on it.
Hedwig hooted softly and glided soundlessly from the room. Harry sighed. He could always find something else to hold his attention. At least it would be less bloody....With another sigh he rolled out of bed to shut off the light. Something he had learned last summer when Voldemort had first returned: you can't run from dreams forever.
Sooner or later you have to go to sleep.
~*~*~*~
Chapter One: Dreams
His first dream was not unfamiliar to him. He was walking the halls of the Ministry of Magic, filled with a dread that made him scream at his sleeping self to wake up. But it never worked. Down he went in the elevator he had seen those few times before in real life, twisted in the dream world to be cold and dim, getting more unpleasant and faintly smelling of rot and mildew as the floors passed by. Through the doors into the Department of Mysteries. The smell grew stronger, making Harry's stomach heave. He wished it would end, the smell, the dread, the knowledge of what would come next but he knew it was hopeless. Dreams had never ended when he wished them to.
Through doors and corridors, always pushing on, always wanting to go back. The smell grew. The scent of rotten flesh permiated the whole of the underground labyrinth 'til Harry felt he would retch if he had been there in real life. Through one last door, down into a pit and there it was, the object that fouled the whole place. An arch. A plain, old arch with a scrap of cloth in front. One of Harry's greatest fears.
No, he did not really fear it, he knew. What he really felt was guilt.
In the dim dream-light Harry saw the veil shiver, as though touched by a summer's breeze. Voices drew him onward toward the platform upon which the arch rested. They whispered to him while speaking no intelligible words, beckoning him forward, wishing he would come and join them. As if under a spell he raised his hand to brush aside the ratty cloth. He saw something he wished to and yet never wanted ever to see in the waking world.
He saw his godfather. But he was nothing like he wished to remember him. Sirius was suspended in the air through the arch, eyes dulled and unseeing. He bore wounds all over his body like he had been torn and ravaged by some angry beast with claws that had wished to cause as much pain as possible before causing death. His face twisted in frozen pain and fixed on Harry as if accusing. His godfather's corpse called out to him, as if some memory still remained, as if he didn't know he was dead, while being perfectly aware that he could not be living. 'Why' it asked. 'Why did you not come to get me? We could have been happy' Harry watched in horror as the body fell away in rot and dust of bone, skin peeling away and falling off. 'You left me. I was always there for you? Why did you leave me?' But the face remained until the end, always with the hurt and pain crying out the silent 'Why'. But then the veil shivered again and the unseen, unfelt breeze moved Sirius away from Harry. He knew he did not want this memory of his godfather, mangled and decaying but he wanted so much to simply see him again. He walked forward through the arch...
~*~*~*~
He knew immediately that the dream had changed. Harry had a sudden awareness that only came when watching Voldemort's plots or moods. He was not at first sure what was happening. He was in the dark, but it was not the dark beyond the arch. That dream was long gone, far away for the time, though a part of it nagged at him. His dreams had carried him to Sirius' death room many times and he had lifted the veil every time. Never once was he compelled to follow the dead. This new development scared him.
As his eyes became used to the light, or lack thereof to be honest, he found that he was in a small room. While not as unpleasant as the Ministry had been it was rank with mildew and other foul smells. There was a drip in the corner that turned out to be a window; it was raining outside. A slight rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.
And everywhere there were sounds of voices. Like the voices of the death room they rang throughout, disembodied and strange. Unlike those previous whispers, these he could pinpoint, to some degree. Distant muttering, sometimes fitfull, sometimes sleepy and sudden came from every direction but muffled wailing came up from the stony floor. Frenzied shrieks and sobbing burst out occasionally as well, as the minutes passed.
Harry was confused. Every time he had had a dream like this Voldemort had been there right away, calling his attention away from such things. He had never had so much time to take in his surroundings. He almost wanted Voldemort to be there so he could stop observing such horrible things.
A flash of lightning illumined a sleeping figure on a low bed by the wall. Harry jumped, tripping on the hem of his pajamas and falling with a small thump onto the cool wet stones of the floor. He had thought he was alone. In the relative quiet of this room to the rest of the area it had not occurred to him that someone could be right there, feet away.
The figure shifted, he assumed to roll over and face him. A sleepy voice, female, called out to him "What do you want, boy? Go away, back to your own cell before the guards get here." She rolled back onto her side so her back was facing him. "Your staring is plenty rude enough and I'd rather not have them coming in to join in as well."
Harry was speechless. What was going on? Was this a normal dream or was it really happening? He found his tongue again. "You can see me?!"
The woman smacked a hand on the wall in annoyance and sat up in the bed. "Of course I can see you, you fool boy. It's not dark enough in here for you to be hiding, now is it?"
Not quite agreeing with that last statement Harry ignored it and moved on to more important details. "But this is a dream. Isn't it? I was dreaming and now I'm here. I didn't wake up-"
"Hold on, you...." A brief flash of lightning showed the woman's face. Painfully thin and sunken she was still young, no doubt less than 10 years older than himself. She looked at him as if he were an amazing creature she had never seen before. "You were...sleeping?"
Harry nodded, wondering if she knew something. He certainly did not. "Yes, I was. I was having another dream entirely and then I was here."
The woman on the bed got up and walked nervously over to him. His eyes, more acclimated to the gloom now, told him she was too thin to be healthy, and her robes were ragged besides. She did not seem to notice his staring. She circled him, disbelieving for some time. Then, tentatively she stuck out a hand to touch his forehead.
Her hand went through his head.
Harry gaped as the astonished woman leapt backwards and hit a stone wall with a crash, sliding to the floor as her legs collapsed beneath her. He hadn't expected that....
"B-but it can't be...i-it-it makes no sense...h-how...?" She trailed off, still staring at him, now more with confusion than amazement. After a moment she continued muttering under her breath. Harry couldn't hear any of it save 'calling' and 'not possible' more than once. That last one seemed to be a favorite.
As he knelt beside her her voice grew loud enough to include him in the conversation. "It's just not possible! I was sleeping. Normal. I didn't...I couldn't..."
"Didn't what?"
She jumped and brought him into focus. She apparently had not noticed his movement. "I didn't call you. Otherwise this would not be such a surprise, at least to me." At his blank look she continued, voice growing steadier all the while. "You don't know what calling is? I'm a dreamwalker. I can enter the world of dreams at will and make dream touch reality, among other things."
"So...."
"So if I wanted to I could call to me any sleeping person in the world, whether I had met them or not, and have a chat with them. Even if I was awake."
This new idea was confusing. So dreams were real but they weren't? How could a dreaming person talk to a person who was awake? What in the world was going on here? Where WAS here?
The last seemed to be the easiest question to answer so Harry asked the woman. She shuddered, taking a moment to glance around the cell as if she suspected someone was listening. "You have not yet figured that out?" She snorted. "I'd heard Harry Potter was more intelligent than most his age. The lot of them must be great dolts if that is true.. Azkaban, deary. This wonderful place with all the great scenery and excellent music is the wizarding world's version of prison."
"Th-this is Azkaban? But then...you...?"
She glared at him, not something he had expected. "Yes, I'm an inmate. One of the filthy so-called convicts that walk this place because we or someone else did some horrendous crime and got us landed with the consequences."
Unbidden, Harry was reminded of Sirius and the hell he had spent for so long in Azkaban when he had done nothing more terrible than choose the wrong person to protect his friends. "There are still innocents in Azkaban? How can that be?"
There was silence for a few moments as the moon came out from behind a cloud, bathing the cell in silvery light. The woman sat across from him with a pained look on her face, gazing about at the cell walls and seeming to look right through him. Finally her eyes came back to him and she slumped back onto the wall.
"There're not many prisons in the world who can brag that they have no innocent souls inside their barred doors. Do you really think that a wizarding prison could be any different from the Muggle version? With all our truth potions and dark detectors we still fall short of perfect. Now. This 'still' you mentioned. You knew someone else from Azkaban?"
Harry's mind immediately shied away from the first that came to mind. Sirius. That was too hard to dwell upon. The memories might become less painful with time but now was too recent to pull those memories out into the open again. So he chose the other. "Yes. Hagrid. A few years ago. He was framed."
She snorted. "Aren't we all?" She looked deep in thought for a moment, then something like triumph shone across her face. "Yes, I remember Hagrid. Large fellow, kind enough. I remember him from my Hogwarts days." Her tone spoke what relish she had in this idea, like it was a revelation that she could pull up a memory of the half-giant.
"Was that really so long ago? You don't look very old." Harry couldn't believe he had just complimented a convict, sitting feet away from him in the most feared prison in the world.
But then he remembered that he was dreaming and the world made sense again.
"Let me think now. I've been in here since the summer after I graduated which was.I don't know anymore. The time doesn't pass like usual in here. You were there my last year. Your first. How long?"
Harry did the math as best he could in his head. "Four years? You've been in here for four years?" He hesitated a moment before asking a question that had been nagging him since he found out where he was. A whiny little voice in the back of his head screamed it's thoughts but he had to be sure. "For what crime?"
"Merely being at the wrong place at the wrong time." Seeing that this was not going to satisfy him she sighed and continued in a hard voice. "Use of the Cruciatus curse on my father, mother, and brother. Use of the Killing curse on my father, mother, and brother. Use of the Cruciatus curse to better use the Imperius curse on my boyfriend. Attempted murder of one Minister of Magic. Evidence of Death Eater activity. And a nice confession from myself to seal it all and send me here to serve four life sentences. The Ministry didn't count the dog and cat in the charges but you get the idea."
If summed up in a very vague manner the voice had been right. She was in for murder. But the others.. All the Unforgivables. No less than four people. And three of them her own kin.
Faced with the terrible list just thrown out at him Harry thought he might have preferred she be a plain old murderer.
Harry didn't realize right away that he had backed away from the woman in the corner. In fact the only reason he became aware of the movement was that the room was too small for him to get very far; he thumped his head on the damp stone wall before he managed to suppress that fool whiner in his head.
The woman turned her glare on him again. Harry wondered idly if she knew how effective that look was. It was almost as wicked as the ones Snape used on him, though hers seemed less likely to explode with loathing.
"Why do you edge away from me now? You know why I was put in here, sure. That is by no means what really happened. If you must know I am not the one responsible for any of those crimes." She paused for a moment. "At least not of my own free will. I cannot deny that my hand was the one holding the wand. But mine was not the mind behind the actions."
That was easy enough for Harry to translate. "I didn't do it. Some slimy git put me under the Imperius and forced me to kill a bunch of people after torturing them. Then they made me say I did it since they didn't want to take the blame." It was somewhat more difficult to believe it, especially from an Azkaban inmate who had spent most of her 4 years with the Dementors and might not be completely alright upstairs.
"What happened then, if this is true?"
Her gaze softened somewhat. "That I will not tell you. However much I have enjoyed carrying on a conversation with you there is nothing you can do to get me out of here so any story I tell would just open healing wounds for me. Not to mention give you some unpleasant visuals. Let us just leave it at that." Suddenly flinching she stared at her hand in amazement. "It seems I did call you."
"Your hand told you that?"
She laughed; Harry was surprised to hear that it sounded genuine. He doubted Azkaban's walls had ever heard anything of the sort before. Then he wondered if he were going insane and turned his attention back to what made sense. Or would when it was explained.
"No, my hand told me nothing of the sort, not directly anyway. You see, when a dreamwalker Calls someone they share a link with that person. Since your mind was brought here it becomes necessary for someone to monitor your body, something you are now unable to do. That's where I come in. Should someone try to wake you-or murder you for that matter-I'd know right away and let you go back to your body. It is a simple matter."
"And your hand is telling you...?"
She smiled. "You have a very impatient owl pecking at your hand right now and I'd do best to release you before reducing your skin to bloody shreds. Which means our time is up. Goodbye Harry Potter. Been nice talking with you."
And with that Harry felt as though a slight breeze was pushing him backwards and away. Everything went dark for a moment before Harry realized he was back in his room, in his bed.
And his hand hurt like hell.
~*~*~*~
Otay. I hope I held up my part of the bargain. I know, 'twas a terrible place to end but I can't help it. I deliberated for several days where it would be best to end the first chappy. This isn't a great place but it was the best I could do. Sorry 'bout that one. Reviews are nice. Note: Flames do not count as reviews. They are simply what keeps me warm in bed at night and have no ill effects on me whatsoever. Don't bother with them. Please?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The Hours of Darkness By Sputnik2006 Author's Note: Ok, this is my first Harry Potter fic, please be reasonable if/when you review. Constructive criticism is nice. Flames light the candles of my shrine to Sirius so they are of no use to you. Banish any thoughts of their use. Please. See? I'm such a considerate human being. I asked nicely. Let's see, more notes on the fic. There is no slash, sorry to disappoint you pro-slash types. I have nothing against people who go that way but J.K.R. didn't write the characters that way and to that I hold true. Okays? Second, the title sucks. I'll agree with you there if that's what you are currently thinking. If you're not.Are you in league with the thesaurus from Microsoft Word? 'Cause that's where the title came from. Stupid thing says it's a synonym for night. I suppose it makes sense but honestly. Would YOU walk around calling night the hours of darkness? Ok, enough notes. But before we get on with the fic.
Disclaimer: Ain't mine. Nope. Not one bit of it. I ain't getting payed. I ain't getting any fame from writing this.well, no more than the average beginning fanfic writer. And I ain't going to say that ain't ain't a word 'cause it IS. It's in the dictionary so NYAH!
Prologue: Nighttime Sights
Privet Drive at night was a fairly different experience for passerby than it would be during the day, for many reasons. One of the most obvious was that it was dark, meaning most of the street's inhabitants were cozy in bed, on the sofa, and in the case of some, on cots in tents out of doors. This however was a rare occurrence, for the people of Privet Drive were a rather dull lot who thought it scandalous to sleep outside unless forced to by some quarreling spouse. And then they were thankful that a certain Petunia Dursley was not sharing in their humiliation seeing as how she also would be asleep and therefor unawares to it all. This was another large difference between night and day. Those who passed by could do so without coming under the glare of the long-necked hawk.
Lastly, if one decided to stroll past 4 Privet Drive on a midnight journey they would be able to find a solitary light on, a square of white amidst a sea of black and glowing orange. That person would never know how remarkable the room's occupant was. They might feel some sympathy to the poor person who shared in the inability to sleep but would pass by with no thought more. They would never know how important the boy by the window was, never know that he was in many ways their one hope should a certain Dark Lord decide to destroy them and their families.
Harry could not help but envy their ignorance.
Harry lay propped up on his elbow in bed, watching Hedwig eat her night's catch, a small mouse, or perhaps a vole. He was not sure. Nor did he very much care. There were some things that were better left unknown. In his opinion if Hedwig felt she could eat it it was fine with him. He had nothing better to do though so watch her finish her meal he did.
Nights were a large pain in Harry's life, and sometimes, though he hated to admit to it, his scar, which prickled at the slightest change in Voldemort's temper lately. Those few dreams that were not nightmares often brought about horrible visions of some plot or another of the Dark Lord's weaving, whether false or not Harry was unsure. He didn't like to dwell on it.
Hedwig hooted softly and glided soundlessly from the room. Harry sighed. He could always find something else to hold his attention. At least it would be less bloody....With another sigh he rolled out of bed to shut off the light. Something he had learned last summer when Voldemort had first returned: you can't run from dreams forever.
Sooner or later you have to go to sleep.
~*~*~*~
Chapter One: Dreams
His first dream was not unfamiliar to him. He was walking the halls of the Ministry of Magic, filled with a dread that made him scream at his sleeping self to wake up. But it never worked. Down he went in the elevator he had seen those few times before in real life, twisted in the dream world to be cold and dim, getting more unpleasant and faintly smelling of rot and mildew as the floors passed by. Through the doors into the Department of Mysteries. The smell grew stronger, making Harry's stomach heave. He wished it would end, the smell, the dread, the knowledge of what would come next but he knew it was hopeless. Dreams had never ended when he wished them to.
Through doors and corridors, always pushing on, always wanting to go back. The smell grew. The scent of rotten flesh permiated the whole of the underground labyrinth 'til Harry felt he would retch if he had been there in real life. Through one last door, down into a pit and there it was, the object that fouled the whole place. An arch. A plain, old arch with a scrap of cloth in front. One of Harry's greatest fears.
No, he did not really fear it, he knew. What he really felt was guilt.
In the dim dream-light Harry saw the veil shiver, as though touched by a summer's breeze. Voices drew him onward toward the platform upon which the arch rested. They whispered to him while speaking no intelligible words, beckoning him forward, wishing he would come and join them. As if under a spell he raised his hand to brush aside the ratty cloth. He saw something he wished to and yet never wanted ever to see in the waking world.
He saw his godfather. But he was nothing like he wished to remember him. Sirius was suspended in the air through the arch, eyes dulled and unseeing. He bore wounds all over his body like he had been torn and ravaged by some angry beast with claws that had wished to cause as much pain as possible before causing death. His face twisted in frozen pain and fixed on Harry as if accusing. His godfather's corpse called out to him, as if some memory still remained, as if he didn't know he was dead, while being perfectly aware that he could not be living. 'Why' it asked. 'Why did you not come to get me? We could have been happy' Harry watched in horror as the body fell away in rot and dust of bone, skin peeling away and falling off. 'You left me. I was always there for you? Why did you leave me?' But the face remained until the end, always with the hurt and pain crying out the silent 'Why'. But then the veil shivered again and the unseen, unfelt breeze moved Sirius away from Harry. He knew he did not want this memory of his godfather, mangled and decaying but he wanted so much to simply see him again. He walked forward through the arch...
~*~*~*~
He knew immediately that the dream had changed. Harry had a sudden awareness that only came when watching Voldemort's plots or moods. He was not at first sure what was happening. He was in the dark, but it was not the dark beyond the arch. That dream was long gone, far away for the time, though a part of it nagged at him. His dreams had carried him to Sirius' death room many times and he had lifted the veil every time. Never once was he compelled to follow the dead. This new development scared him.
As his eyes became used to the light, or lack thereof to be honest, he found that he was in a small room. While not as unpleasant as the Ministry had been it was rank with mildew and other foul smells. There was a drip in the corner that turned out to be a window; it was raining outside. A slight rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.
And everywhere there were sounds of voices. Like the voices of the death room they rang throughout, disembodied and strange. Unlike those previous whispers, these he could pinpoint, to some degree. Distant muttering, sometimes fitfull, sometimes sleepy and sudden came from every direction but muffled wailing came up from the stony floor. Frenzied shrieks and sobbing burst out occasionally as well, as the minutes passed.
Harry was confused. Every time he had had a dream like this Voldemort had been there right away, calling his attention away from such things. He had never had so much time to take in his surroundings. He almost wanted Voldemort to be there so he could stop observing such horrible things.
A flash of lightning illumined a sleeping figure on a low bed by the wall. Harry jumped, tripping on the hem of his pajamas and falling with a small thump onto the cool wet stones of the floor. He had thought he was alone. In the relative quiet of this room to the rest of the area it had not occurred to him that someone could be right there, feet away.
The figure shifted, he assumed to roll over and face him. A sleepy voice, female, called out to him "What do you want, boy? Go away, back to your own cell before the guards get here." She rolled back onto her side so her back was facing him. "Your staring is plenty rude enough and I'd rather not have them coming in to join in as well."
Harry was speechless. What was going on? Was this a normal dream or was it really happening? He found his tongue again. "You can see me?!"
The woman smacked a hand on the wall in annoyance and sat up in the bed. "Of course I can see you, you fool boy. It's not dark enough in here for you to be hiding, now is it?"
Not quite agreeing with that last statement Harry ignored it and moved on to more important details. "But this is a dream. Isn't it? I was dreaming and now I'm here. I didn't wake up-"
"Hold on, you...." A brief flash of lightning showed the woman's face. Painfully thin and sunken she was still young, no doubt less than 10 years older than himself. She looked at him as if he were an amazing creature she had never seen before. "You were...sleeping?"
Harry nodded, wondering if she knew something. He certainly did not. "Yes, I was. I was having another dream entirely and then I was here."
The woman on the bed got up and walked nervously over to him. His eyes, more acclimated to the gloom now, told him she was too thin to be healthy, and her robes were ragged besides. She did not seem to notice his staring. She circled him, disbelieving for some time. Then, tentatively she stuck out a hand to touch his forehead.
Her hand went through his head.
Harry gaped as the astonished woman leapt backwards and hit a stone wall with a crash, sliding to the floor as her legs collapsed beneath her. He hadn't expected that....
"B-but it can't be...i-it-it makes no sense...h-how...?" She trailed off, still staring at him, now more with confusion than amazement. After a moment she continued muttering under her breath. Harry couldn't hear any of it save 'calling' and 'not possible' more than once. That last one seemed to be a favorite.
As he knelt beside her her voice grew loud enough to include him in the conversation. "It's just not possible! I was sleeping. Normal. I didn't...I couldn't..."
"Didn't what?"
She jumped and brought him into focus. She apparently had not noticed his movement. "I didn't call you. Otherwise this would not be such a surprise, at least to me." At his blank look she continued, voice growing steadier all the while. "You don't know what calling is? I'm a dreamwalker. I can enter the world of dreams at will and make dream touch reality, among other things."
"So...."
"So if I wanted to I could call to me any sleeping person in the world, whether I had met them or not, and have a chat with them. Even if I was awake."
This new idea was confusing. So dreams were real but they weren't? How could a dreaming person talk to a person who was awake? What in the world was going on here? Where WAS here?
The last seemed to be the easiest question to answer so Harry asked the woman. She shuddered, taking a moment to glance around the cell as if she suspected someone was listening. "You have not yet figured that out?" She snorted. "I'd heard Harry Potter was more intelligent than most his age. The lot of them must be great dolts if that is true.. Azkaban, deary. This wonderful place with all the great scenery and excellent music is the wizarding world's version of prison."
"Th-this is Azkaban? But then...you...?"
She glared at him, not something he had expected. "Yes, I'm an inmate. One of the filthy so-called convicts that walk this place because we or someone else did some horrendous crime and got us landed with the consequences."
Unbidden, Harry was reminded of Sirius and the hell he had spent for so long in Azkaban when he had done nothing more terrible than choose the wrong person to protect his friends. "There are still innocents in Azkaban? How can that be?"
There was silence for a few moments as the moon came out from behind a cloud, bathing the cell in silvery light. The woman sat across from him with a pained look on her face, gazing about at the cell walls and seeming to look right through him. Finally her eyes came back to him and she slumped back onto the wall.
"There're not many prisons in the world who can brag that they have no innocent souls inside their barred doors. Do you really think that a wizarding prison could be any different from the Muggle version? With all our truth potions and dark detectors we still fall short of perfect. Now. This 'still' you mentioned. You knew someone else from Azkaban?"
Harry's mind immediately shied away from the first that came to mind. Sirius. That was too hard to dwell upon. The memories might become less painful with time but now was too recent to pull those memories out into the open again. So he chose the other. "Yes. Hagrid. A few years ago. He was framed."
She snorted. "Aren't we all?" She looked deep in thought for a moment, then something like triumph shone across her face. "Yes, I remember Hagrid. Large fellow, kind enough. I remember him from my Hogwarts days." Her tone spoke what relish she had in this idea, like it was a revelation that she could pull up a memory of the half-giant.
"Was that really so long ago? You don't look very old." Harry couldn't believe he had just complimented a convict, sitting feet away from him in the most feared prison in the world.
But then he remembered that he was dreaming and the world made sense again.
"Let me think now. I've been in here since the summer after I graduated which was.I don't know anymore. The time doesn't pass like usual in here. You were there my last year. Your first. How long?"
Harry did the math as best he could in his head. "Four years? You've been in here for four years?" He hesitated a moment before asking a question that had been nagging him since he found out where he was. A whiny little voice in the back of his head screamed it's thoughts but he had to be sure. "For what crime?"
"Merely being at the wrong place at the wrong time." Seeing that this was not going to satisfy him she sighed and continued in a hard voice. "Use of the Cruciatus curse on my father, mother, and brother. Use of the Killing curse on my father, mother, and brother. Use of the Cruciatus curse to better use the Imperius curse on my boyfriend. Attempted murder of one Minister of Magic. Evidence of Death Eater activity. And a nice confession from myself to seal it all and send me here to serve four life sentences. The Ministry didn't count the dog and cat in the charges but you get the idea."
If summed up in a very vague manner the voice had been right. She was in for murder. But the others.. All the Unforgivables. No less than four people. And three of them her own kin.
Faced with the terrible list just thrown out at him Harry thought he might have preferred she be a plain old murderer.
Harry didn't realize right away that he had backed away from the woman in the corner. In fact the only reason he became aware of the movement was that the room was too small for him to get very far; he thumped his head on the damp stone wall before he managed to suppress that fool whiner in his head.
The woman turned her glare on him again. Harry wondered idly if she knew how effective that look was. It was almost as wicked as the ones Snape used on him, though hers seemed less likely to explode with loathing.
"Why do you edge away from me now? You know why I was put in here, sure. That is by no means what really happened. If you must know I am not the one responsible for any of those crimes." She paused for a moment. "At least not of my own free will. I cannot deny that my hand was the one holding the wand. But mine was not the mind behind the actions."
That was easy enough for Harry to translate. "I didn't do it. Some slimy git put me under the Imperius and forced me to kill a bunch of people after torturing them. Then they made me say I did it since they didn't want to take the blame." It was somewhat more difficult to believe it, especially from an Azkaban inmate who had spent most of her 4 years with the Dementors and might not be completely alright upstairs.
"What happened then, if this is true?"
Her gaze softened somewhat. "That I will not tell you. However much I have enjoyed carrying on a conversation with you there is nothing you can do to get me out of here so any story I tell would just open healing wounds for me. Not to mention give you some unpleasant visuals. Let us just leave it at that." Suddenly flinching she stared at her hand in amazement. "It seems I did call you."
"Your hand told you that?"
She laughed; Harry was surprised to hear that it sounded genuine. He doubted Azkaban's walls had ever heard anything of the sort before. Then he wondered if he were going insane and turned his attention back to what made sense. Or would when it was explained.
"No, my hand told me nothing of the sort, not directly anyway. You see, when a dreamwalker Calls someone they share a link with that person. Since your mind was brought here it becomes necessary for someone to monitor your body, something you are now unable to do. That's where I come in. Should someone try to wake you-or murder you for that matter-I'd know right away and let you go back to your body. It is a simple matter."
"And your hand is telling you...?"
She smiled. "You have a very impatient owl pecking at your hand right now and I'd do best to release you before reducing your skin to bloody shreds. Which means our time is up. Goodbye Harry Potter. Been nice talking with you."
And with that Harry felt as though a slight breeze was pushing him backwards and away. Everything went dark for a moment before Harry realized he was back in his room, in his bed.
And his hand hurt like hell.
~*~*~*~
Otay. I hope I held up my part of the bargain. I know, 'twas a terrible place to end but I can't help it. I deliberated for several days where it would be best to end the first chappy. This isn't a great place but it was the best I could do. Sorry 'bout that one. Reviews are nice. Note: Flames do not count as reviews. They are simply what keeps me warm in bed at night and have no ill effects on me whatsoever. Don't bother with them. Please?
