"Aunty?" The voice was small, unsure, a broken thing in a place full of broken things. So full perhaps, that one more may go unnoticed amidst the din. And some days were like that. When the howling of the dying was enough to drown out the howling of the wind, and small voices, like the frames they were attached to, simply carried too little weight.
"Aunty," she called again, and this time the woman stirred. Just a subtle shift, eyes still closed, blanket still wrapped tight around her.
"Go to sleep Autumn." She rasped in the same patient tone she used every time the girl felt the need to wake her. Truth be told she found it comforting that at least one person in here cared enough to check if the dementors had stolen her soul in the night.
"No Aunty, I think it's time."
Opening her eyes the woman found the cell across from hers open. In the doorway, shivering from the cold stood the young girl she had practically raised. She held a ratty blanket, neatly folded with a small bowl resting gently on top. Holding out the only two things of value a prisoner owned the girl couldn't meet her eyes. She looked almost guilty that she was leaving. Like her good fortune was something to be ashamed of.
Rising from her cot the older woman reached through the bars of her cell, and gently but firmly pulled the shivering child into a hug. It was the first time she'd been able to. It reminded her of when the girl was eleven and her arms had finally grown long enough for their fingertips to just barely brush as they reached between the cells. She had insisted on sleeping that way, both of them pressed right up against the bars, fingers just touching.
Clutching her tighter she whispered fervently into the young girls' hair. "I am so proud of you Autumn. Never forget that. And never forget that family is more than blood. No matter what happens out there you still have family. If you need a place to saty go to the manor."
Far too soon the girl pulled away. The blanket was forced through the bars as the girl did her best to school her features. Eyes still averted she only managed half of her 'I love you' before her throat closed around the words. Tears now flowing freely the young girl turned and ran for the stairs before the offer of freedom could be rescinded.
Dumbledore sat patiently on the small dock overlooking the roiling sea. Seven years he had worked for this. Seven years of impassioned speeches and quiet arguments, of soothing baseless fears and sidestepping legitimate ones. He was not proud of everything he had done, but as he watched the small boat drift quietly across the churning waters he was proud of the result. His plans were beginning to be set back on track. Perhaps they would win this coming war after all.
When the boat finally reached him however that pride started to dim. Dirty red curls pooled around the child, soaked from the spray. They seemed to be the only thing of substance too her. Her prison uniform hung from a skeletal frame, and Dumbledore couldn't stop thinking that Azkaban uniforms shouldn't come in child sizes. That he should have tried harder for a full pardon instead of a reduced sentence regardless of how impossible even lowering it to seven years had seemed at the time. Pushing those thoughts aside he offered a kind smile and an outstretched hand to the girl. "My name is Albus. If you would come with me, your brother is waiting."
This seemed to have caught her attention, and for the first time those pale green eyes rose to meet his own. It was unnerving the way the moment stretched under the gaze of this child as she silently weighed his worth against her options. "If you are lying to me" she finally rasped, "I will take great pleasure in repaying the slight."
The words were delivered with such confidence, such absolute assurity that for a moment Dumbledore could see past the frail shivering child to what lay beneath. There was something cold and empty staring back, the furthest thing from childhood he had ever seen. It worried him, but Dumbledore refused to look away. Regardless of what she had done or what this place had taken, she still deserved a chance. So with twinkling eyes the headmaster offered his arm. "Shall we go then?"
As soon as the girl touched the old man's arm the world started to twist and stretch. One moment they were standing on an old dock, the enormous prison looming in the background the next they stood on the well-kept front lawn of what looked like several houses stacked on top of one another. The lights were on despite the late hour, and through the large front window she could see half a dozen figures sitting around a table. There were more moving around behind them but the only one she had eyes for was a small black-haired boy excitedly chattering to the child next to him. She took one step forward, and stopped. Aunty would be livid if she saw her now, Head of House Potter and acting like common rabble. How many times had they gone through proper etiquette? Turning back to the smiling old man she fell into a graceful curtsy. "I apologize for my former behavior. Thank you for your assistance."
With that out of the way she turned and walked calmly up to the door, hearing the crack of the man's departure as she went. 'Remember Autumn the Great Names don't allow things like fear or doubt to show. Your demeanor, like your actions, reflects on all those below you. We do not get the luxury of weakness.' Knocking loudly she schooled her features, straitened her spine, and did her best to calm the race-horse in her chest. She could hear the commotion behind the door and it was doing nothing to help her nerves. What if they all hated her? What if Harry only remembered her as the girl who lit their last living relatives on fire? It was so long ago. What if he didn't remember her at all? What would she do then? What was she doing now? What made her think her brother would want her around his new family? She couldn't handle this. Maybe she should just-
"Azalea!" The door slammed open. There were half a dozen sets of eyes and one black haired eleven year old already mid-flight as he jumped into her arms. It was not until she was half way to the ground in a swirl of red curls that she realized how much bigger than her Harry had gotten. She had tried to brace but still she had put up almost no resistance as she was tackle-hugged into the yard. As they hit the ground her brother went stiff in her arms. She was sure he could feel how little there was left of her under all her hair and oversized clothes. But when he went to pull away she held him fast, her white knuckled grip on the back of his shirt preventing any movement at all. Burying her face in his shoulder she could feel her brothers arms once again tighten around her. "Don't even think about going anywhere until I'm done hugging you." She mumbled as he quietly began sobbing.
The moment was broken by the voice of a small red-haired boy. "I think you're crushing her mate."
Harry instantly pulled back, and this time there was nothing Azalea could do to hold on. Years of malnutrition had left her body so weak it was a wonder she had managed it the first time. Instead she got to her feet with as much grace as she could muster in filthy prison rags and fixed her eyes on the gathered family across from her. Schooling her face into the cool, unaffected look her aunty often wore she felt better, more like herself when she began to speak. "My name is Azalea Lilly Potter, Head of House Potter. May I inquire as to who I have the pleasure of speaking with?" Even at fourteen she could stand with the air of a noble. Her aunty would accept nothing less.
"Ummm." The man in the middle started before his wife pushed right past him on her way out the door.
Before Azalea knew what was happening the rather large woman had her wrapped in a tight hug and was all but dragging her back inside. "Oh goodness aren't you just the cutest little thing, but you're nothing but skin and bones! I'll get something cooking right away. First though a bath. You'll have such lovely hair once you're all cleaned up. Out of my way boys. Go make yourselves useful and find me something for the pour dear to where. Ginny should have something in about her size."
She didn't know what to do. It felt wrong to be doted on at all, let alone by this stranger. But she had been the one taking care of Harry, and by the looks of it she'd done a much better job than Azalea ever had. That thought hurt. Still the last thing she wanted to do was offend this woman. The only problem was Aunty had never taught her how to politely extract herself from a well-meaning kidnaping. This was not something that could be solved with a curse, or a biting insult. For this she was on her own, nothing to do but grin and bear it.
When she was finally released she found herself in a rather large, impeccably clean bathroom. Everything in it looked old and mismatched, beautiful in their own way, but uncomfortably out of place together. Azalea understood the feeling well. Azkaban was perpetually damp and grimy from the constant spray of the sea. She had gotten used to washing in the puddles it left behind, or the rain that came through her window when it stormed. It had never bothered her overly much, but standing there, in that spotless room she felt like crying.
Instead she stripped out of her prison uniform and marched toward the tub. It was only when she heard the small gasp from behind her that she remembered that the woman was still in the room with her. Her face was pale, one hand covering her mouth, the other curled back like she was scared her touch would damage the girl further. The worst though were her eyes, filled with so much pity Azalea had to look away. She realized she hated being looked at like that, like she was something less than what she could have been. "What happened dear?" The woman's voice was shaking and she knew if she looked back into those pity-filled eyes she would say something cruel. Instead she turned on the water as she began to speak.
"You know my uncle's house was a lot like this one. Well it was actually almost nothing like this, but he did also like to keep it immaculately clean. He said a man's house is his pride. The only problem was all the flies that kept getting in. It seemed like every day there were one or two buzzing around, so my uncle took to carrying a fly-swatter around with him. To protect his house you understand. Now I don't know how much you know about fly-swatters, being a witch and all, but the plastic end has a nasty habit of breaking when you use them to beat a child. It always seemed to me like something made for hitting should be a bit sturdier, but everything has a limit I suppose and when you're doing what you love it's easy to get carried away. Anyway, when the end breaks off all that's left is a bit of sharp metal, and it will do what metal dose when you swing it at flesh."
"But Harry-"
"Lacks the scars?" For the first time since she started talking Azalea turned and smiled. "My uncle didn't stop until his lessons were learned, and learned thoroughly. And the only thing he hated more than those flies was magic. It wasn't hard to take credit for whatever odd occurrences happened around the house. In comparison whatever minor offenses Harry may have caused only truly warranted the belt. "
"Why…" It sounded like she didn't want to ask, but curiosity was a powerful thing.
"Would he switch? When you hit someone and they split open like an overripe tomato it gets everywhere." The girl said, slipping into the warm water. "A man's house is his pride you know." Turning away Azalea pulled her mass of now soaked hair over one shoulder, fully revealing the web of scars. In the most innocent voice she could muster she asked, "Could you get my back?"