A/N: Bad! Very bad! I got a review this morning saying that I hadn't updated in months, and they were right. Thanks for telling me! Here's the next chapter!

Someone Beside Me

Chapter 4: Dave Flamura and Will Smith

Fudge had mixed feelings as he prepared for his annual trip to Azkaban. On the one hand, that dratted Potter wasn't spreading ridiculous rumors anymore, claiming that You-Know-Who had returned. Even Dumbledore had stopped making public statements.

On the downside, if a reporter caught a glimpse of the boy, the press would have a field day. It might be good publicity, lending proof to Fudge's insistence that Harry Potter's stories were pure fabrication. but he couldn't risk having parents become upset over a fourteen-year-old (fifteen, soon; wasn't his birthday next week?) being held in Azkaban.

A knock on the door disturbed Fudge's ruminating. "Come in," he called, slightly irritated. He was, after all, Minister. People shouldn't just drop by when they felt like it.

The office door opened and in walked a tall, blonde man. "Lucius," Fudge exclaimed with surprise, dropping the carefully prepared scowl. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"I thought I might accompany you on your trip to Azkaban, Minister, if you would be willing," replied Lucius sleekly. "I wish to have a few - ah - words with a certain prisoner."

Fudge's smile widened. If anyone could teach the boy not to tell lies, it would be Lucius Malfoy. "Of course, my dear man." He checked his watch. "Our escort should be here any minute now. I have Dawlish coming, as well as Madam Umbridge, my Senior Undersecretary."

"And… a reporter?"

The smile diminished slightly. "Unfortunately, yes. Someone is coming from the Daily Prophet. Still, it could be worse. Perhaps we can keep away from the boy's cell, or bribe the reporter. If necessary, there's always a nice old-fashioned memory charm."

"True," Lucius agreed amiably. "Oh, here they come."

Dolores Umbridge, the Auror Dawlish, and a young man with a Prophet badge were walking into the office. Fudge noticd with slight distain that Dolores was wearing her fluffiest pink cardigan. Really, she made an excellent Senior Undersecretary, but the woman had no taste.

"All here then? Right, let's head out. The sooner we get there the sooner we can come back," Fudge said nervously.

But before he could touch the portkey to take them there the young man spoke up.

"Excuse me for asking, Minister, but I actually had a question regarding our return."

Fudge turned slowly to face him. The speaker looked to be about twenty-six, with curly brown hair and innocent blue eyes. "Yes?" Fudge made no effort to conceal his annoyance this time.

The reporter quailed slightly under the Minister's stare, but didn't budge. "My name is Dave Flamura. I was hoping to stay at Azkaban overnight, to give an accurate account of what it's like."

Fudge locked gaze with Lucius and Dolores in turn. The former had his guard up, revealing nothing. Dolores, however, had a malicious glint in her eyes, though Fudge couldn't tell quite what that meant he was supposed to do.

If he said no, it could spark some awkward question such as why. But if he said yes, there was more of a chance that this meddlesome reporter might catch sight of Potter. Or the wizarding public might be mad about "inhumane treatment". Not likely, Fudge snorted inwardly, when all I have to do is remind them that these people are hardened criminals.

He chose the lesser of two evils. "Under the circumstances, I suppose it could be allowed."

A small smile crossed Dave's face. "Thank you very much, Minister. You're too kind."

All five members of the party crowded around the medallion that would serve as their portkey. Dawlish whispered, "Portus," and the room swirled out of sight.

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Harry soon lost track of the days and nights he spent locked up in his cell. A dementor brought a new food tray and took away the old twice a day, but Harry never ate. Once a day he would drink a sip of water, just to dull the emptiness. He could still think at night, though he almost wished he couldn't. The conclusions he'd drawn the first night at Azkaban stuck with him, making him wonder if he wouldn't be happier if it all ended.

He didn't move much, and when he did he nearly always slipped and fell on the floor. He didn't mind, not even when the sharp edges of stone scraped up his arms. It was a welcome relief from the emotional and mental torment that filled the rest of his waking hours. Physical pain took his mind off thinking.

Harry's nightmares had changed as well. Back at the Dursley's, he'd visited the graveyard almost every night. Now he woke screaming from dreams in which he watched his friends and family die and knew that it was his fault. He would be standing there while Voldemort advanced, and Ron, or Hermione or Sirius, or occasionally someone else entirely would run up to him and try to save him. But the Dark Lord always won, and Harry was left with a body in his arms as Voldemort disappeared with a shriek of laughter.

Life was killing Harry. And he was glad.

Sometime in his second - or was it the twenty-second? He no longer knew or cared - week in prison, Harry was startled to feel the cold plaguing him diminish. He knew it must be daytime, since the dementor had arrived at his cell not too long ago, but when he looked up he just barely saw a hooded figure glide out of sight. And voices were drifting down the hall.

" - not very pleasant creatures, dementors," someone was saying. Harry nearly snorted. He could have told them that back in his third year. "I always send them away when I visit."

Dimly Harry registered the speaker: Fudge. He wasn't alone, judging by the number of footsteps. Harry didn't bother to move from where he lay curled up on the floor. He rarely moved for himself, and he certainly wasn't about to so that the man who put him here could have a better image.

"Oh, you don't want to go that way," came Dawlish's hurried voice. "That's where the life sentences are held. It's not often pretty."

"Actually, I would like to see them." Harry didn't know this light male voice. "It would be good to have notes on the effects of dementors over a long period of time."

"Very well," Fudge said. It sounded like he was clenching his teeth.

The footsteps came closer, and Harry pulled himself into a smaller ball. Maybe they wouldn't notice him.

"Who is that?" The unknown man asked curiously.

Harry recognized the next speaker instantly: Lucius Malfoy. "Bellatrix Lestrange. Convicted for using the Cruciatus curse." His quiet voice betrayed no emotion except slight contempt. A pen scribbled furiously.

The footsteps stopped again, outside the cell across from his. "This is her husband." Fudge said with an undercurrent of triumph. Harry supposed that he was proud for having both of them in Azkaban. He acts like a collector, he thought bitterly.

"And this man? Merlin, he looks young."

Harry raised his head, catching the reporter's gaze. Something like shock flickered over his face, and the young man looked at Fudge incredulously.

"That's, um, Will Smith. He was convicted for murdering - a muggle." Fudge lied.

"But he looks so much like Harry Potter!"

All four of the other members of the group looked at him. "He is not Harry Potter. You would do well not to say that he is here, Dave," Lucius said softly. His voice did not bode well if the reporter disobeyed.

Dave stared into Fudge's face defiantly for a moment, then appeared to think better of it. But Harry frantically met his gaze again before the party left, and Harry could have sworn that he saw pity in those wide blue eyes before he, too, moved on.

"I need to speak to someone. I will catch up in a bit," Lucius's voice drifted back. Footsteps again, doubling back.

"So," Lucius stopped outside Harry's cell, taking the key and letting himself in. "Dumbledore's golden boy, who escaped the Dark Lord yet again just a month ago, has been locked in Azkaban by his own people."

Harry didn't say anything. Don't say I brought him back, he begged in his mind. I can't handle that.

Evidently nobody listened to his feeble prayer. "My Lord is alive again, thanks to you. He was worried, of course, when you escaped. What if you alerted the whole of the wizarding world to his return? You tried. But fortunately, our dear Minister isn't too eager to believe you, especially after the whole Sirius Black affair." Lucius sighed exaggeratedly. "And to think he isn't even a death eater."

Harry didn't move, didn't even bother to look at the man. Lucius changed tactics.

"I have an offer for you."

Silence.

"Don't you want to hear it? I can get you out of here, you know. Back into the real world. You could stop hearing your parents die."

More silence.

"Very well, then. I'll tell you anyway. My Lord wishes you to join him. To be his right-hand man. You could be great, greater even than Dumbledore. You wouldn't have to die. My Lord is truly merciful."

"I will never join Voldemort!" Harry croaked out, ashamed at the way his voice sounded.

Lucius smiled nastily. "Are you sure? You could get revenge on those who have done this to you. Those who have left you here, not caring. It wouldn't hurt you, you know."

"Killing someone would hurt me. Torturing someone. I won't do it," Harry said determinedly.

The smile turned to a sneer. "Pain is beautiful, you stupid boy. Let me show you."

Before Harry could move, a foot had come out of nowhere and connected hard with his side. Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. He wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction…

But the foot came again, this time spraying blood from his face onto the floor. Harry couldn't stop the rain of blows, couldn't keep from whimpering when he felt his ribs snap. So he tried to clear his mind and think of nothing at all.

Lucius kept kicking him with his metal-toed boots until Harry was on the verge of unconsciousness. "Remember this, boy." He whispered maliciously. "The Dark Lord always knows." He pushed his foot one last time into Harry's chest before turning and exiting the cell.

Harry couldn't move. Even breathing caused him pain. I'm sorry, Sirius, he thought. I should have fought back, I should have tried harder… Part of him knew that in this state, there was nothing he could have done to defend himself, but the pain was clouding his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dementor glide back into position in front of his cell. Then the screaming came back full force, and Harry's head hit the floor as he blacked out.

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Dave was perplexed. Who was Will Smith? He thought he'd gotten himself up-to-date on all of the life prisoners of Azkaban, but this one was new. And he looked like he couldn't be much older than thirteen. Plus there was his resemblance to Harry Potter. Dave hadn't met the Boy Who Lived personally, but he'd seen plenty of pictures and the likeness was uncanny. But why would Fudge lock Harry Potter in Azkaban? Surely it would have been in the paper.

The rest of the tour had been uneventful, aside from Mr. Malfoy's return to the party with the toes of his boots slightly bloody. Malfoy had caught Dave staring, wide-eyed, and quickly swished his cloak to cover the stains.

Dave had chosen to stay in one of the short-term cells, which weren't as heavily guarded. He needed to keep his wits about him in order to take accurate notes. Fudge had definitely been understating when he said that the dementors weren't pleasant. Several times he'd had to shake himself out of memories, including the one where his dad had informed him of his mother's death at Voldemort's hands.

Nobody deserves a lifetime of this, Dave had found himself thinking. But some of these people had probably helped to kill innocents like his mother… between the Will Smith mystery and the ethics of trapping someone in the worst moments of their life, Dave definitely had food for thought.

A/N: I promise not to take months with the next one! Um, I think that's all I have to say right now. Bye, and don't forget to review!

Lunaterra