The Prisoner of Azkaban
A/N: This is the second fanfiction I have ever made. Thought it might have been better to finish the first one before I started on this – oh well, can't change it now, can I?
I would also like to say that this is a complete AU, with no bashing and no dark MC. And like the previous fanfic I've made, I have not planned ahead for this one either. So, expect a very slow update schedule.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Entertainment; this is just a piece of fictional work made in an author's carefully created world. This is a fanfiction of said work. No money is gained from this fan's fiction of said work.
Chapter 1: Atrocious consequences
Imagine a world – a world so different from our own, yet so alike all the same. A world where there are creatures that feed upon the feelings of others, creatures that are so pure as they are holy, creatures that can alter reality itself to their wishes and whims.
This is a world where mystical and legendary creatures roam, where beings of power tame the very laws of reality that we are so used to following.
But even this world with sprawling forests, majestic castles, and supernatural elements – a world so different to our norm – is, if one observes it for what it truly is, so similar to our own.
Like our own, this world is a modern one; it has trains that connect cities, cars that move like ants on asphalt laid roads, cities made of concrete, and histories of both war and peace.
While this world is different, this difference is concealed from the masses. Unseen from the discriminating eyes of the holy, hidden from the working men and women of our majestic cities – shrouded from the light of millions. And, as a consequence, is locked in the past of old – a contrast to the modern world. The unseen follows the lords and ladies, money changes hands, and standing prevails supreme.
In this hidden place, a war is fought. A war so insignificant in the whole, yet so enormous for the unseen. Some might call this a civil war – after all, the people of power, the lords and ladies, the ones with status – they are the ones who follow. Bowing and kneeling before a being of power – once a man, now little more than a creature – a creature which drinks the blood of the pure, leads that which feed upon the feelings of others, a creature whose name shall not be named.
Let's take a look at the righteous; the ones who follow their hearts.
They live in the unseen but fight a war few understand. They are beings of power, some are lords and ladies, the common and the poor. Others are the newer kind; the ones that walked into the unseen – people that were told they are beings of power, hidden in the throng of the masses. They are the trigger, the ones who this war is fought for and against. Coming into the unseen, blending blood and ideals with the hidden; changing which is stuck in the past.
These men and women, these beings of power, they too want to live their lives as the masses of the modern. In times of war and crisis, they find the one they chose to follow, a being of power hailed as the light which prevailed. A being from the former era who defeated the one who instigated the previous war. This being of power follow the righteous path; never led astray by the dark, the blood of the pure.
But even the righteous can't fight forever, and they try to live their lives as they dream of so dearly. Finding the one they love and going down the path of so many others. They laugh and cry, they play and fight, and in the end, a new life is born once again in this hidden world.
These people, these families – they are the ones that need to hide, more than what they already do. For they are against the one that shall not be named, the lord of lords, the practitioner of the dark arts. Discretion and secrecy are theirs to follow, for they partook in a war against the frightful lord of lords, they followed the light, the one who leads the righteous.
Their child is the one who is prophesied to end this war, the one who shall slay that which has fallen astray from the light. Therefore, privacy is their right to use – they take the precautions to avoid the dark, the lord of lords.
Alas, they who hide in the unseen, they that know the prophesy – they can also make mistakes. In a place of war, even the one once called a friend can be your enemy. A pause from the new norm. Mistakes in the heat of battle. A misunderstanding of a child's will to follow. A fabled item, one which the unseen knows from their childhood.
Atrocities are made from consequences one can only dream of.
"Food is in the fridge – and Daniel is sleeping upstairs in the cot – and –" The young red-haired woman was interrupted in her worrying spiral by her black-haired husband.
"Lily! Sirius knows – a third repetition won't be needed," the exasperated but fond voice of her bespectacled husband beside her said. Taking his wife's hand and opening the door out of the cottage where they stood gathered in the entrance hallway, he said to Sirius, the handsome, black-haired young man before him, "We'll be back before midnight."
Pausing, he gazed down at his oldest son, who had tears running down his fair face whilst grabbing the hem of the black flowing robe of his best friend. Smiling lightly, whilst steering his protesting wife away from the house, he shouted to his son, "Don't cry Harry, it's only for one day! We'll be back before you know it!"
"James, maybe we should wait until next week?" Lily pleaded to the man which practically drags her from her three-year-old son.
"Don't be like that. You have talked about this for months." James quietly tugged his wife along the garden path. "Harry and Daniel will be safe with Sirius, you know that. And Mipsy is there to help, both will be fine. Come on, it's Hallowe'en, we're allowed to stretch our legs out after all this time in that prison."
"Huff, I know, it's just …" sighing, Lily gave one more glance back to the smug Sirius and her brawling son.
"Take care! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Shouted a smiling Sirius, holding Harry gently back from sprinting out barefoot to the garden path.
"I know Lily," murmured James fondly to his wife. Then shouted back to his small home where his child and his best friend stood at the doorway, "Bye! We'll be back before you know it!"
Sighing, Lily sadly looked back to her son, then cried out, "Harry!"
With crocodile tears running down his cheeks, little Harry gazed from his father to his mother.
"Listen to Sirius while we're away!"
And could only slowly bob his head between the tears as his response; taking his mother's words to heart.
…
"We'll better go in," said Sirius softly to Harry, who still had tears running down his young face and a tight grip on Sirius's robe with his small hands. "It'll be darker soon."
"I-I know …" stuttered Harry among his worrying lips.
Gently pushing Harry into the house and down the hallway to the living room, Sirius said, "They'll be back soon, it's only for the night …"
Harry loosened his death grip on Sirius's robe and clambered up to the couch, only giving a slight nod as an answer.
Of course, Harry knows that mum and dad would be back later tonight, but this is the first time. The first time they've not been near him. He remembers quite clearly how it was when he was little (he was told by his mother and father) that he was born in their last year of school ("In a castle!") and that he spent almost every time in the presence of one of them. At least when he wasn't in the care of the school's healer, but that doesn't count.
Harry was born on the 31st of October 1977, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the first bed to the right in the school's Hospital Wing – or so he's been told. Mum and dad said that it was quite unexpected ("but no regrets, we're incredibly happy you are here, Harry!") and Sirius mentioned that it was the talk of the whole school for the rest of their school year – while laughing, mind you.
Mum and dad said that Harry was mostly with Madam Poppy Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, gnawing on a pacifier in his cot – the bed had been transfigured by the Head of House Gryffindor, was he told, but a cot is a bed, so … it still counts.
Anyhow, Harry was always with his mum or dad after his first year in this world, always in their warm presence – but not today. Today is his fourth birthday, and mum and dad went out – yes, they celebrated his birthday earlier in the day, and it was fantastic, with mum, dad, Sirius, and Remus there, although Peter couldn't come – said he would come later though.
But still, this is not right, sure he got marvellous presents ("A real broomstick!", "No Harry, it's a toy …") and a fantastic cake at the end. But now mum and dad weren't here. Sure, Sirius is here, but he's Sirius, he isn't mum and dad. And Mipsy, a house-elf from Hogwarts, is here too, but she's mostly with Daniel, not Harry ("Mipsy watch after the little ones. Great Dumbledore's order!"). Mum said Mipsy is here to lessen the burden in these trying times – whatever that means. It's been great, mum and dad have always been here, but not now, on the night of his birthday.
"Here Harry," said Sirius, having just come from the kitchen. "Have some hot chocolate, it helps."
"Uh-hmm …" Harry robotically grabbed the warm cup, his watery eyes gazing blankly at the crimson flames in the fireplace before him.
Sirius ruffled Harry's hair, smiling, "Don't be sad Harry, they'll be back soon, I promise."
"Why don't you finish the chocolate, I need to check how your brother is doing upstairs." Sirius continued, trying to be the mature one here. "We can find something fun to do when I come down."
Nodding slightly and taking a sip of the hot chocolate, Harry heard the fading footsteps of Sirius. The stairs up to the second floor were in the hallway beside the door.
The crimson flames blistered and lit up Harry's sad, tear-streaked face as he slowly drank his chocolate alone. Accompanied only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of the cold October wind upon the windows.
…
Sniffing, and trying to calm down, he let his watery and weary eyes wander the room. Having seared the image of the fireplace in his mind already. His empty cup was placed on the table to the side of him.
His tired eyes roamed the room, trying to find something that could cheer him up. A loud noise upstairs made him look up to the ceiling – the footfalls of a frantic Sirius followed by a loud burping sound. Then he heard Sirius yelling: "Mipsy! Help, fix it!", and Mipsy, the Hogwarts house-elf, shooing him away for disturbing the peace. Shaking his head, Harry slowly moved his gaze lower to a tall bookshelf, past the box of old candles, and some books on potions, over a box with a piece of flowing, silvery fabric, and onto two medals.
A little curious, Harry climbed down from the couch and scampered his way to the lower section of the shelf, where the two medals were placed. On a closer inspection, both were badges of a dark red colour, surrounded with a shining, golden, metal frame.
Harry is not the best one when it comes to reading ("mum is still teaching it, started last year!"), but if he squishes his eyes a little, Harry thinks that it reads: "Head Boy" and "Head Girl", respectively on the two badges. Although that is probably wrong. Why would you want the heads of a boy and girl?
Still squinting his eyes to read it better, he flips both around and over, trying to find why heads are needed to get them.
"What're you doing …" came the quiet voice of Sirius beside his ear.
Jumping in fright, Harry spins around on his toes, accidentally throwing the two badges into the box on the shelf above.
"Bahahaha," Sirius slams his hands on his knees, roaring with laughter all the while. "Y-you should have seen your face, ha-ha …"
"That's not funny!" Harry retaliates appropriately, tightening his tiny hands into fists all the while staring straight at Sirius with his teeth clenched shut.
"Alright," Sirius wheezes out, straightening to his full height whilst he's at it. "Right, I won't laugh. But admit, it was funny nonetheless."
Pouting, Harry turns back to the shelf, trying to find the two badges, and spotting them sticking out of the box with the flowing cloth.
"Humph," grunted Harry and reaching for the box to get the two badges back. "´Thought you were upstairs with Daniel."
"Don't be like that Harry," said Sirius poutily with a grin on his smug face.
Glancing at the box Harry drags out of the shelf, he sees a familiar flowing, silvery cloth.
"Hmm … Harry," said Sirius, eyes glinting in memory of past mischiefs, "grab that cloak. We might have some fun yet."
"This?" Harry, balancing the two badges in one hand, points to the odd, graceful fabric with the other.
"Uh-huh," confirmed Sirius. "That is a very special cloak, it belongs to you father. He and –"
The doorbell rang loudly, interrupting Sirius in his little tale.
"That should be Peter …" muttered Sirius. Glancing at Harry, he said, "That cloak is very unique, Harry, do be careful with it."
Turning around, Sirius went to invite his long-time friend into the house. Humming a happy tune on the way there.
Harry turned his curious gaze back to the flowy fabric – cloak, as Sirius said. Forgetting the two badges involving the heads of boys and girls. He places them back in the box and grabs the cloak instead. Inspecting it close with squinting eyes, trying to see what was so special about it.
"Peter! Good to see you again, I –"
A high-pitched shriek of, "Confringo!", stopped Sirius from his greeting.
Harry heard a loud bang, followed by an explosion from the front of the hallway, throwing shrapnel and bits of stone into the living room. The very floor was upturned, and a pressure of wind forced upon the place where he stood, pushing Harry to the floor, and extinguishing the flames from the fireplace.
"Peter!" Sirius was heard screaming in disbelief.
Harry heard Sirius as he rushed out to the garden path, probably helping Peter from the close explosion.
Groaning from his fall, Harry slowly rose to his feet, feeling dizzy all the while. His head is spinning, a high-pitched hum is heard from both his ears, and his vision is blurry from new tears that streams down his face.
Down the hallway, from where the doorway was, Harry hears footsteps, confident in their stride up the staircase to the second floor. Thinking it is Sirius, he tries to call for help, but no sound is made.
Deciding that moving is a better option, he takes a step towards the destroyed hallway instead.
But stops his wobbly self. Harry clearly remembers the voice of Sirius in his head telling him to be careful with the cloak. Not wanting to leave it here without Sirius, Harry drags the cloak with him to the hallway, squinting his eyes for better sight.
His new tears have evolved into waterworks of pain, and he feels the beginning of bruises on his rear from the fall.
With a ringing in his ears, bruises on his body, and tears from his eyes, the way to the doorway is a treacherous one. And dragging the cloak that's as big as a grown man doesn't make it easier – but Harry doesn't plan to leave it, he needs to be careful with it after all.
A condescending, charismatic voice came from upstairs when he reached the crumbling remains of the front door. Harry heard it clearly and knew he wouldn't forget it for a long time. It froze him where he stood, feeling like an apex predator, as the one he heard from his dad's tales, was closing in on him. The presence of the voice itself was maddening. Not knowing if the trembling of his body was from it or the fall from the explosion, either way, it said, "Move aside, elf."
Harry held his breath, his eyes fixed on the top of the staircase, where he could see the open door to the nursery.
"Mipsy shall safeguard the little one! The great Dumbledore gave Mipsy this task, and Mipsy will protect!" proclaimed the Hogwarts house-elf from above, rattling Harry's very being with her sheer conviction alone.
Not even a word was said. A green flash, then silence.
Harry shivered where he stood rooted to the broken floorboards below the stairs. New tears he didn't realize traced down his cold cheeks.
The October wind from outside flowed through the hole where the door once stood and a distant shrill scream of, "Sirius, how could you!" was heard, followed by another explosion. The new explosion ruffled Harry's hair, but he didn't notice. The following action from above took his full attention.
A sibilant, shrill scream of, "Avada Kedavra!" come from the nursery, followed by a blinding green flash, lighting up the staircase to the broken entranceway. Harry's shadow stretched out to the garden path for a split second, but to the birthday boy, it felt like a lifetime.
Freezing in fright, his fixed stare remained, watering his eyes further. Shuddering as he heard the laughter and then, subsequently shriek and massive explosion from above.
It was nothing compared to the previous one. Harry was forced down to the floor, flat on his back, and staring up to the ceiling. Large shrapnel from the walls above was hurled over him, nearly hitting his prone form, although, that could not be said for the smaller fragments littering his prone form. The lamps around the house flickered and the sobbing of little Daniel was heard loud and clearly from the ruined nursery above.
Harry could only gaze to the once open door to the nursery – now little more than twigs on the floor. He heard Sirius from outside scream, "NOT NOW!" followed by frantic footsteps. Harry's back seared with newfound pain; traces of blood rested around him from lesser wounds from sharp bits of wood.
The cloak was held in a vice-grip in his hands, his ears hummed with high-pitched sounds. Distant echoes of the events today unfolded in his mind. Spinning around his thoughts and making him dizzy – more than he already was.
"Harry!" screamed Sirius from the garden path. His voice was traced with a tingle of regret and betrayal, but mostly relief. "Are you alright – can you stand!"
Nodding as an answer, throat and mouth still not responding to his command, he slowly climbed to his feet. Harry clutched the cloak to his chest and took slow, big breaths of air. His watery eyes stared at the frizzled and bangled form of Sirius, then pointed shakily to the nursery above.
Sirius surveyed the scene before him. His godson was miserable, with small cuts and bruises all over himself. The floor was upturned, and he could see what remained of the door to the nursery. Fortunately, Sirius heard Daniel's cries from above. Knowing he is safe for now, he let his tired gaze take in the aftermath of the attack.
Having just been in a battle with Peter, Sirius knew that someone else would have been responsible for the damage on the second floor. Therefore, he couldn't just leave little Harry here alone, Peter could have led more than one to the cottage, after all.
Taking notice of James' cloak clutched in Harry's trembling hands. Sirius placed his hands on the shoulders of Harry, and whispered softly to him, "Hide under the cloak, Harry, and be quiet. Follow after me from a distance, there might be more of them in the cottage."
Little Harry bobbed his head and with shaking hands, he tried to follow the instructions. With help from Sirius, the oversized cloak covered the birthday boy. From silvery, the fabric of the cloak shifted. Blending in, and disappearing, with only crunched twigs and stone visible where the boy once stood.
Straightening up and bracing himself for the destruction in the nursery, Sirius walked slowly and carefully to the staircase, following the sound of little Daniel's cries that stretches out into the night.
As Sirius took his first step onto the staircase, loud pops and cracks rang out in the garden outside. Followed by rushed and frantic footfalls.
Looking out of the decimated door and to the newly arrived Aurors, Sirius released some tension in his posture. His bangled form was practically unhinged from its previous straight posture.
Smiling – which looked more condescending than happy on his exhausted and betrayed face. Sirius gasped out, "We'll need to hurry, the attacker –"
"Sirius Black, hands away from your wand! You are under arrest!" A stout wizard in straight, black robes shouted.
"W-What …" grunted Sirius. The absurd notion of the events striking him unprepared for the coming charm which ripped his wand from his right hand.
Harry panted and huffed (quietly) from under the cloak. His eyes followed the procedure before him: Sirius is handed over to wizards and witches in the back of the large assemble, while others carefully made their way into the cottage.
Harry stealthy and quietly hovered around the edge of the crowd, wondering what to do whilst he's at it. He'd promised Sirius to be quiet and hide while following him and mum had said to listen to Sirius while they were gone, so …
Harry tip-toed behind Sirius, being as quiet as he could. His wounds still hurt, and tears were even now flowing down his face. But he had promised, and a promise needs to be kept.
The strangers surrounded Sirius, but Harry is little. And while most eyes of the strangers were on Sirius, he slipped between the legs of a tall witch and was able to stand beside him – but never touching Sirius. Sirius said to follow him from a distance, after all.
A wizened wizard in bright, blue robes and a larger pointed hat than the others took out an old, dusty notebook from his robes.
"Black, you know the drill," the wrinkly elder commanded solemnly, "take it."
Sirius sighed and touched the offered notebook, that the wizard still held firmly in his hands. All the while the wands of the surrounding strangers followed Sirius's cautious movements.
Feeling the importance of the moment, Harry imitated Sirius. Tiptoeing to the side, he carefully touched the ancient notebook. A pause … then, the world spun around him.
Sights and sounds were muffled, the pressure was building and forcing him into a small space. Cuts on his body opened again, and blood flung out into spaces unknown.
With thoughts on things that have happened today; the sibilant voice and its laughter, the green flashes, the silence of death – Harry's little brain couldn't take it anymore and darkness overcome his tiered mind in the middle of a swirling mess of colours.
…
When the feeling subsided, Harry was lying flat on a cold, stone floor. Sirius was an arm's reach away, looking resigned, devastated, and empty.
The wizened, old wizard from before stood before them, gazing disgustingly at Sirius. Before, abruptly, the man swept out of the barred metal door behind him, which closed with a loud bang.
The square grey room was silent except for the sound of Sirius's laboured breathing.
A young wizard outside the barred door stood quietly – observing Sirius with a cold expression through the bars.
Not liking the expression directed at Sirius, Harry, still hidden under the cloak, pushed himself flat to the wall to the right, wanting to conceal himself better. After all, a cloak is a good hiding spot, but hiding behind walls are better, everyone knows that.
The seconds stretched by; seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, until …
"Wake up!" yelled the young wizard, who stood guard before the door. "The Wizengamot has made a decision."
Sirius sprung up from the corner he rested against, listening intensely for the verdict. Even if his face already pictured the imminent ruling.
Harry, hidden under the cloak, stirred from his curled-up form – he had succumbed to his boredom and fallen asleep under his dad's cloak.
"For the death of Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles, and the kidnapping and subsequent disappearance of Harry Potter, you're sentenced to life in Azkaban."
An unquestioned surprise was the only word that could describe the face of Sirius at that moment, Harry thought. Not that Harry doesn't question the sanity of the guard or his words for that matter – Harry is right here after all, and Peter was with Sirius outside the cottage – he's not dead. But the promise needs to be kept. Mum said to do as Sirius says, and Sirius said to be quiet. So … that's what Harry shall continue to do.
"B-But, Peter did … and I said Harry –" exclaimed Sirius desperately, even as the confirmation of his swirling, haunting thoughts seemed to have come true.
"On your feet!" – a squad of Aurors was marching to the cell – "You'll be transferred immediately."
Unmistakeable shock still prevalent on his face, Sirius could only mumble incoherently as the Aurors opened the barred door and forcefully shoved Sirius out of it.
With his promise still prevalent in his mind and trusting Sirius to fix the challenges ahead – like he always does. All Harry thought he could do to not disappoint mum and Sirius was to follow in silence.
Chapter End
What do you think? Any thoughts and feedback would be greatly appreciated.
