Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, he wouldn't have become the little pussy he is now.
Chapter 1 – First some blood, then I escape.
I felt a rush of excitement and eagerness as I left my cell. It's true I could've left earlier than this, but that would've been counter-productive. I'm leaving now, because now I'm certain I can wipe the floor with them if... when they decide to confront me. Oh, they'll have to find me first, but I won't shy away from a good fight; that was the old me, the weak, naive me. I suppose I've become slightly bloodthirsty (not literally, at least I don't think drinking blood will hold much appeal to me), but I honestly believe nothing would please me more greatly right now than stain these grounds red.
I walked the dark corridors, completely lost of course, since I was never given a tour of the place. They usually just chuck us into a cell and that's the end of it, at least it was for me. Maybe they could stand to learn a thing or two about muggles, especially when it comes to running a prison. Like, I don't know, letting us bathe once in a while, yearly at least, if they're that concerned about spending too much water.
As I said before, I walked through the damp, dark corridors, perfectly able to see in the shadowy environment, although I think others would have trouble seeing much ahead of their noses; it seemed as if the light of the scarce torches that lined the corridors was also trying to get out at all costs, so the sickly yellow glow didn't illuminate much. As I tried to find the exit, I quickly became annoyed. The dank atmosphere of the place, combined with the cries and gibbering of the prisoners (I never heard it in my cell, since the dementors never approached; the few prisoners placed in cells near mine were the most fortunate in the island) were starting to get on my nerves.
I started considering blasting the building to outer space (Not that I could do it – yet – but that's how pissed I was getting.), when suddenly I turned a corner and came to a halt.
The massive, rusty iron gates of Azkaban stood before me. Over 50 feet tall, at least 4 feet thick, built and held by magic, they were truly a sight to behold. If they weren't so thoroughly disgusting, that is. As I approached the entry hall of the prison, I heard some voices. Human voices, though they weren't crying or moaning. Hence, they aren't prisoners.
"Who the hell are those?" I mumbled to myself. "It's not as if this is a very popular destination." I vowed to stop talking to myself, after all, that's one of the first signs of insanity, and I was not insane. Maybe slightly unbalanced, but not insane, honest!
There were two wooden doors on each side of the hall that seemed to lead to some small, quaint and as shitty as the rest of this place, rooms. I crept closer, trying to hear better, to find out who they were. It wouldn't have mattered, I suppose, if I had been loud and approached carelessly. Whoever they were, they were too relaxed for their own good, and they could do nothing to harm me anyway, but I felt a sudden urge to play with my preys before I struck.
"First thing I'll do is get drunk off my arse. And I swears I'll never set foot in this damn place again, no matter how much gold they pay! 'S only good fer dementors and the loonies locked up here, says I!"
'Man's voice, rough and slightly slurred. Heh, you didn't wait to get out of here to get pissed, did you?' thought Harry.
"Not me! I think I'll head to Knockturn Alley. There's a gentleman's club there I can't wait to visit!" said a second voice.
"A titty bar, you mean?" asked the drunkard "Thought you was married."
"Yeah, and your point is?" a great bout of laughter erupted from both men following this statement. Harry's lips curled into a sneer.
'What wonderful examples these two are. When I remember McGonnagal telling me that aurors only take the best, I feel like laughing. Or puking, either suits me.' thought Harry. I remember that guy, the sober one, Peter something, Order member, auror, gave me a beating as a special welcome when I arrived. And he will suffer before I'm through with him.
"You're the pride of the Ministry, gentlemen! Drinking alcohol while on duty, prostitution, probably corruption, abuse of power, and who knows what else. What do you two little fucks think your punishment should be?" said Harry, loudly but softly, while leaning against the doorframe of the small guardhouse. It was a disgusting division, low ceiling, no windows, just like the rest of the building, illuminated by a couple of wax candles that gave out a sickly yellow glow and accentuated the dinginess of the place, a desk falling apart, leaning against the far wall, with some yellowish papers and assorted filth on it, and a table in slightly better condition with two chairs near the door, where the two aurors were sitting.
As soon as the drunkard spotted Harry, his eyes grew wide, and he started fumbling with his robes, trying (and failing) to get his wand out. The other man leapt up with a cry of "Potter!" and bolted for the desk, where he started fumbling through the papers.
"For shame, gentlemen! Isn't it a basic lesson of auror training to keep your wands on yourselves at all times while on duty? And I'm sure you're not allowed to drink, too, you naughty, naughty boys!" said Harry, as if he was admonishing little kids.
The drunken auror finally found his wand and shakily levelled it at Harry, whose smile turned feral as he raised his hand at the man. Out of nowhere, there was a gust of wind and sand surrounding the auror, obscuring him from sight and muffling his cries. His co-worker, having at last retrieved his wand from the desk, turned around to see a cloud of sand around his friend, and blocking Potter from his sight. The sand and dust finally settled, and Peter let out a cry of horror at seeing the other man's condition; the only thing remaining was a bloody skeleton, with small bits of flesh still hanging to the bones, as if he had been sandpapered to death!
Shaking in fear, he saw Potter looking straight at him, and waving his hand casually in the skeleton's direction, promptly turning it into dust. He wet himself as he saw Potter slowly advancing towards him, looking like a demon out of Hell, and shakily raised his wand.
"S-s-stupefy!"
Potter, however, didn't move, and Peter thought the spell would hit its intended target, but his relief was short lived, as he watched the stunner impact with no effect against Potter's outstretched hand.
"A-avadaAAAAARGH!" An excruciating pain in his wand hand interrupted his casting. He looked in shocked terror at his hand, or what was left of it, tears of pain and fear beginning to stream down his face. He had three deep gashes cutting through the back of his right hand that severed skin, muscles, bone and fingers. He fell to the floor and started to crawl back, desperately trying to get away from the advancing demon-eyed convict, only to collide with something soft.
The ensuing cry of terror was ear splitting, as the auror came face-to-face with a lioness, whose bloody claws still held some remains of his hand stuck to it. He started to crawl to the nearest wall, in a last, desperate, pathetic attempt to escape both his tormentors. He was clearly going into shock, and was starting to foam at the mouth. Harry kneeled beside him and softly said, "I'm going to cauterise your wound. We wouldn't want you to die, would we?" Peter, helpless, felt Potter touch his arm, and then passed out from the most intense pain he had ever experienced.
He woke up after a couple of minutes, feeling Potter violently slap his face, in more pain than he thought he could stand. "Finally awake? I was about to get you a fucking blanket, you little pansy! Take the pain and suck it up, are you a man or what?" said Harry, letting out a bark of laughter. He dropped the auror to the floor.
Peter glanced at his arm, and saw that his hand and wrist were now blackened stumps, beyond any hope of healing. He stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving at what had once been his hand. Potter, kneeling once again next to him, reached out and held his blackened appendage.
"See, the bleeding has stopped!" stated Harry in a happy tone. "And now," gently exerting some pressure, Potter snapped his hand off as if it was a dry twig "we won't be needing this any longer!" said Potter cheerily, throwing the hand away over his shoulder. The auror fainted again.
This time, he was taken out of unconsciousness by Harry holding him up and repeatedly shoving his face into the wall, which caused him to loose teeth, break his nose, and split his lips. 'It wasn't a nightmare!' thought Peter in desperation. He was now out of the guardhouse, in the entry hall of the fortress being held above the ground by Potter, who was holding his collar with one hand, and holding a necklace with the other.
"Interesting piece of magic, this. While it doesn't necessarily replicate the effects of a Patronus, it seems to make you largely immune to dementors, right? Probably given to every auror who has to undertake Azkaban duty." With a tug, Harry ripped the necklace off the auror's neck.
"Tell me", said Harry, once again focusing on the terrified man "are you married?"
"Y-yes!"
"Yet, you were talking about visiting a brothel, you naughty boy! That's not very nice, is it? What would your dear wife think if she knew?"
"I think your dear wife, whoever she is, would be heartbroken to know you were visiting those ladies, don't you think? And that wouldn't be very nice, would it?"
"Please! Please, I beg you! Let m-me go and, and... and I'll never do it again. Never, I swear! I won't beat prisoners ever again, I swear! Please!" cried the broken man.
Harry smiled sweetly and said, "I believe you. Call me crazy, but I believe you won't be making any of those things you mentioned again. Ever." Harry dropped the man to the floor, turned around and walked to the gates. Chuckling, he whispered to himself "I believe you won't be doing much of anything from now on. I guarantee it."
As Potter approached the gates, Peter saw them swinging open to grant him passage. When he passed the threshold, they closed with a deafening, thunderous sound that jolted the auror back to reality. Peter was on his knees, shaking uncontrollably, not believing he had survived a meeting with the Harry Potter. He got up unsteadily, and thought of calling for help when he felt them. A chill wind extinguished the frail flames burning in the torches.
Turning around, he saw them, moving in the dark, gliding soundlessly, the feelings of dread they evocated the only thing that heralded their coming. He wondered what was happening, why were the dementors behaving like this, and why he was feeling their presence so strongly, when he remembered Potter taking away his necklace! Looking horrified at the advancing swarm of soul-sucking fiends, he got up and made for the gates. Placing his remaining hand on the rusty metal, he cried, "Open!" Nothing happened.
"Open, goddamit! Open!" The gates lurched, as if they were going to obey the command, but otherwise remained closed. Looking up, he saw, to his absolute astonishment, that the gates wouldn't open because the iron had been melted and cooled, sealing the doors together, and thus sealing him inside of Azkaban. With the dementors.
He looked at the ever-advancing darkness, and knew he had to get to his wand, but that meant returning to the guardhouse, and that meant running towards the dementors.
Gritting his teeth, fighting the growing desperation he felt, he ran towards the guardhouse, and spotted his wand on the floor –lying in a pool of his own blood. Fighting the sickness that threatened to overwhelm him, he grabbed the wand, but realised half of it remained on the floor! Broken! His wand was broken! He turned around, intent on making his way to the gates again, but after a couple of steps he came to a halt.
There, at the door, were the dementors, who started pouring into the room silently, and with tortuous slowness. The man fell to the floor once more, and started crawling to the back of the room. The dementors didn't interrupt their advance. The candle went out. Peter's last shriek echoed throughout the corridors of the ancient fortress, as maniacal laughter could be heard outside.