Authoress' Note: Yes, I do realize that it says that his name is Harry and not Harrold. But Harry is short for Harrold, and that's how I want it to be. Anyways, the story has now finally starting to roll. I'm not going to post again for a little bit because I have a lot going on right now and I don't have that much time. So... I hope you enjoy this chapter and reviews are welcome!
Disclaimer: This is only my third time writing this 'disclaimer' crap and I'm already tired of it. You all know I don't own any of it except the stuff you don't recognize, so what's the point? Oh well... if it means I won't get sued then whatever. I DON'T OWN ANY OF THIS EXCEPT THE STUFF YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE. There... I said it.
Chapter Two: Visitors
He didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was. He had lost all knowledge of such petty things like that. It was sad, that he'd think that such things were petty. But they were compared to what really mattered in his mind. And what mattered was his innocence and the fact that there was nothing he could do to prove it.
Harry Potter was a broken boy of only nineteen years old. He had only spent a few months in that dreaded and horrific place, but to him it felt like centuries. And he looked it, too. Each and every second passed painfully slow, and squeezed his emotions dry and turned him bitter. He had nothing left, no friends, no family, no life. There was nothing left for him to live for. He would have gladly killed himself and put an end to his never ending misery, but they wouldn't allow it. He might come back like Lord Voldemort and reek havoc on their precious world when they had just started to rebuild it. They also didn't want him dead because there was still the unsolved mystery. The story that only Harry Potter knew and that everyone else wanted to know.
They should have asked him in the beginning. He would have gladly told them, but when he had realized that he had nothing left it was like he had sold his tongue to the Devil and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Though many tried.
The first time a reporter had come to Azkaban to get him to talk would be forever imprinted in his mind. He had long given up speaking what had happened by then which had made the whole situation even worse.
It had been a young woman who had walked those Hellish halls down to his cell, just coming out of Hogwarts and out on her first article for the Daily Prophet.
He remembered how she'd had dark hair pulled in a lose pony tail that swung over her right shoulder and dark inquisitive eyes and a hungry smile that spread over her features when she first saw him. The bright pastel blue robes she wore stood out in the darkness, making him blink in surprise.
"Are you Harry Potter?" She had asked, a coy smile playing on her lips. Had there been any emotion left in his system he would've had to fight to keep a smirk from forming. She was trying to play on his non-existent feelings to get him to speak up. She would be the first of many to try it.
"Do you see any other boy in this Hell Hole with a scar on his forehead?" He rasped out. Maybe it was the way he showed no feeling when he spoke that her facade broke and she grew impatient. Which was the wrong thing to do with anyone, especially Harry James Potter.
"Well I do see a boy who's probably told so many lies that he doesn't even know the difference between the truth and the lie." She said snobbily, crossing her arms across her chest.
Harry cocked an eyebrow. It was the first sign that he was an actual person. "Don't worry, in a few months people will have the same thoughts about you," he sighed, rubbing his temples and turning away from the bright light.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked hotly.
"You work for the Daily Prophet, don't you?" Before she could comply he cut her off sharply. "Well, then. You have your answer as to what my previous statement meant. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me alone."
"I'm not leaving until I get my story!" She spat, putting her hands on her hips cattily.
"Then you should have listened to me in the beginning when I wanted to tell you what happened instead of being ignorant hypocrites!" Harry had been so stationary in the shadows, but her demand had set him off the edge, and he turned quickly to face her. His emerald eyes were hard and dancing with fire and anger. The girl took a few steps back in fear.
The dark haired girl never came back after that incident.
Many had come after her. Many reporters, that is. Not once did any of his old friends come to seek the truth. Not once did anyone just come to see him and offer comfort. He was truly alone in this world.
Harry Potter sat with his back against the cold and moldy stones of the wall and leaned his shaggy head back against it and closed his eyes. In doing this he transported himself back to a time when he was happy. He knew that it was risky, doing this. The Dementors would be back any minute to suck all the happiness and peacefulness away, leaving him nothing but pain. But he'd risk it every night for only a few moments of that pleasure.
"So how is our local murderer this evening?"
The waxy voice shook Harry through his core and he jumped, startled and ended up hitting his head on the wall before him.
Swearing under his breath he looked up to give the shadow a piece of his mind, but stopped when the figure stepped into the light.
"Damn..."