Harry Potter woke, the meager candle barely illuminating his cell, for the fifteen year old fledgling wizard was in prison. However this was not just any prison, this was Azkaban, the single most feared place in the wizarding world, home of the dementors, where people lost all semblance of sanity in a few short months. Harry Potter had always been a survivor, surviving the fatal Avada Kedavra curse, surviving his abusive Aunt and Uncle for years, then surviving years of traitors, werewolves, basilisks, Voldemort's resurrection, and corrupt Ministry workers. Yes, Harry was a survivor, and he was now surviving Azkaban.

A presence in his cell caused him to start, but he soon realized it was only the rats who were his only companions, something he found ironic, due to his past history with Peter Pettigrew. However, it seemed the day's excitement was not over, and he heard his meal approaching, carried by a dementor. As always, he relived the trial which had condemned him to spend life behind bars.

Flashback

Harry was sitting in his bedroom located at number four Privet Drive, sipping the tea he had managed to filch from Petunia's kettle. It was an herbal brew and he found it pleasant and soothing. Morning had just risen, and the sun shone through his window happily; it was a day to rejoice in. Setting his tea cup back on the saucer, he absently heard a knock at the front door, not really paying attention to the occurrence, but rather he started planning his day. Deciding he would don his worn trainers, he thought to make a journey to the local park so he could sit under the cool shade of the weeping willows which grew there.

He had just finished tugging them on when a loud crash was heard from behind. He jumped as his door was reduced to splinters and cloaked figures stormed through the door, taking up positions around the room, wands all trained on him. His own wand placed in his trunk which was under the stairs, he was forced to raise his hands in a submissive gesture. The seeming leader (he wore embroidered robes) then called out to him, alerting Harry he was under arrest for the murder or a Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, as well as their young son, and commanding that Harry follow him to captivity. Harry wondered if something had indeed happened to the Dursleys, the rational part of his brain screaming that someone must have let them in, as there were wards on the house, so the Dursleys must still have been intact when the aurors, as he now knew them to be, arrived.

Following them downstairs, he turned to see three flashes of green light leave the aurors' wands, instantly killing three bound Dursleys. His eyes widened in shock at the spectacle as he was hit from behind with a great force, rendering him unconscious.

When he came to he was bound to a chair in the center of an amphitheater, hundreds of people, familiar and not, littering the surrounding seating. As he looked up, dozens of camera flashes shot through his vision, instantly alerting him of the searing pain of an epic headache which he was nursing. He groggily looked up again, eyes half lidded to protect his mind as well as possible while allowing him to survey his surroundings. It appeared that this was the amphitheater from the Dumbledore's pensive, where prisoners of the Ministry were tried. A judge spoke, only bits of which Harry heard, for the ache in his head was bothering him fiercely. Questions of mental health, the Dursley's complete defenselessness, and other incriminating mutters passed Harry's throbbing ears.

When his head cleared enough for him to glance up, he would have recoiled had he not been bound. The animosity in the air was palpable, emanating from the steely gazes of the onlookers. He quickly scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, yet even though several he did find, no comfort was presented. His friends, the entire DA, and sundry other Hogwarts students were clumped towards the middle of the seating, their emotions ranging from shocked and hurt to angry and revengeful. Something snapped in Harry then, a bond he had always had with his friends, and it hurt him. His eyes found those of Albus Dumbledore, his long time mentor, and found nothing in that gaze but remorse and sorrow.

Harry was not aware of much of the rest of the trial. He was not allowed a trial under veritaserum, in fact, he was not allowed to testify at all. The next morning he was dragged from his cell the an apparation point and brought to the desolate prison which he now inhabited.

End Flashback

The dementor shuffled away and Harry was left with only his hollow memories and lukewarm gruel. He sighed and dug in, his hunger winning out over his dignity, as always. Harry Potter was, after all, a survivor.

He was just finishing up his bland meal when something out of the ordinary happened. Harry knew his schedule. He experienced his worst memories five times a day, no more, no less. It was very organized and the cycle of emotions came and went with the sun, and was nearly as constant. In other words, the dementors tortured him, but he was able to steel himself to it because he knew when it was coming. In the mornings he was tormented before breakfast, and when the guards came to collect his plates. They came only once in the afternoons, as his lunch of hard bread was not deemed worthy of a plate; it was just tossed on the ground, and the dementors also came before and after dinner. Five times each day, as routine as anything. What surprised Harry was that it looked like today there would be no more of his torture for the rest of the day.

His reasoning for this stood before him in the form of a very confused dementor. It seemed not to be able to sense him, and Harry certainly couldn't feel it. The dementor cocked its head to the side, and sniffed. A sniff like that was enough to bring a bull of a man to his knees, but Harry was not affected. He sat down on his pallet, pondering the occurrence, as the dementor rushed off to report a missing prisoner.

Five minutes later, a fat and panting doughnut munching auror guard came back with the dementor to examine the cell and stared at Harry. He then threw a tantrum at the dementor, something about damn cloak shits and their tricks. The dementor in turn got more and more menacing, eventually enough so to frighten the guard, who proceeded to talk in a much more civil tone. It seemed that the dementor was communicating telepathicly with the guard, who otherwise would have been arguing with himself and looked like a fool.

It seemed that only he was able to see Harry and he was dead set on proving to the dementor the existence of his charge. He became so impassioned that he fumbled about in his pocket and pulled out a large key loop. His shaking hands then selected the right key and put it inside of Harry's lock. the rusty iron squeaked and turned, the magical wards securing Harry dissipated.

The guard pointed at Harry and told the dementor to feel Harry, as he would certainly exist if he could be felt, which was the secondary of the dementor's two senses. This first, of course, was the ability to feel and feed off of the emotions of a human being. The dementor's outreached hand came towards Harry and...went right through. The guard was dumbfounded and the dementor was angry. It turned on the guard and lifted it up to its face.

Harry didn't see anymore of this as he was busy taking advantage of his good luck. As a survivor, he knew that in desperate circumstances, once in a million chances didn't happen twice.

He ran out of the cell and down the stairs. The prison was a blur as Harry ran so fast he could barely see, the wind whipping into his eyes. Unfortunately, (or perhaps fortunately) as he was running so fast, he was unable to stop as a prisoner threw something into the hall and Harry ran straight into it.

A jerk behind his navel, a whirl of colors, the smell of pine and the hoot of an owl and Harry knew no more.