Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and with the way the story's going I'm not sure I'd want to.
A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to review for their encouraging comments. To the two or three people that invited me to Dark Lord Potter forums, I thank you for the invitation and I think it's a great site. I may join in the future, but not right now, I can barely write a couple of lines everyday before falling asleep. To the people who asked about Harry's powers, let me say that he has more limitations than you think. He has been in prison, and what he gained has absolutely nothing to do with what they teach at Hogwarts. So, he doesn't know how to apparate, he still can't transfigure something properly if his life depends on it, and he actually needs a wand to perform spells; he just doesn't need it to use whatever abilities he's gained in Azkaban. As for the pairings, I'm not sure how I could add Tonks, but since you guys asked, I'll give it a try; just don't expect anything soon, and don't expect me to write mushy stuff, it's not my style. I'm recovering from surgery, and fortunately I was able to keep my right hand attached to the rest of my body. I should have more time to write now, unfortunately, my wounds were infected and I have high fevers, so I'm not that inclined to writing for long periods.
P.S. Glad y'all approve of the Hedwig scene!
P.P.S. shadowcub, you criticizing the story is fine; you flaming the story, if you so choose, also fine; you proclaiming Snape's innocence, not fine. If you want to praise Snape while you bash Harry, do it away from me, as it seems you're another Alan Rickman fangirl; either that, or you didn't read the books. Only a moron could consider Snape innocent, or a good guy. And Harry's not an asshole in canon, much to my displeasure; I think he should be more of an asshole, and less of a pussy.
Chapter 3 – Indecision; the Ministry's best.
I was genuinely happy to see Hedwig again. She was the first creature I could honestly call a friend, human or not. The fact that she's not only more intelligent, but also shows more common sense than most humans I've met thus far, are a welcome bonus. Anyway, I've suddenly noticed how fucking starved I am, and what a shame it'd be to have those guys' stew go to waste, so I sat down and wolfed it down in about five minutes; I was about to apologise for not remembering to give some to Hedwig, when I noticed she was helping herself to some eyeballs. I'm officially freaked out now. It's one thing to go ape-shit and start slaughtering those fucks, slit their throats and rip their hearts out, but seeing my lovely, innocent (so I thought) beautiful owl feeding on those filthy flesh-bags, I got really scared.
The connection we both shared with one another was always deeper than most, however. At times I could tell what she was feeling or what she was trying to say to me if she so much as looked at me. Others, like Ron, simply weren't capable of understanding their animal companions; now that I think about it, Hermione (who I shall henceforth fondly refer to as Whore-On-My-Knee, as it fits my opinion of her much better, and it even sounds like her name) managed to choose the smartest fucking cat in the whole damn pet store, but could never understand him. For someone supposed to be smart, not being able to communicate with a cat, when even that stinking, rotting, rag wearing squib Filch could, should be a major blow to her over-inflated ego.
I had plenty of time to think while I was locked up, and I even went mad in there. In the beginning, the dementors affected me as much or even worse than the other prisoners, just like they did before. I felt so hopeless, so depressed, and most of all so helpless, that I turned into a vegetable within a week. Sirius once told me he could retain his sanity inside Azkaban because he knew he was innocent; I, on the other hand, could not cling to that thought, as I was not exactly innocent, and the dementors affected me too much anyway. I hated those creatures (still do), but that was the only way I would ever hear the voice of my parents again, even if I heard them being murdered, I wanted to hear them.
It wasn't psychologically healthy, not at all, but I challenge anyone that has lived a life like mine (not that I call this a life, more of an existence, really) to fare better than me, and to not be a complete lunatic. And to someone abandoned by almost everyone he knew, locked up in a place that could be described as hell on Earth, the idea of a connection, no matter how faint, to people you knew would love you and treasure you no matter what you did was a comforting one, even if ultimately it caused you to lose your sanity and your will to live.
But I'm digressing too much; I was about to recall something about my best female friend. No one would guess at first, but Whore-On-My-Knee Granger is an egomaniacal girl. She actually believes she's better than anyone, that her intelligence makes her better than others, and that due to her brains, she should make decisions in other's place. I was a lot meeker when I was in school, I let everybody walk over me and push me around, just because I was too scared to say what I really thought, too scared that my friends would walk away from me if I was anything other than compliant with their wishes and opinions, and that led me to be subjected to the rule of that insufferable buck-toothed hypocrite. I couldn't break rules, because I would lose Gryffindor the points she worked so hard to get; obviously, when she broke the rules, it was for the best. That self-righteous bitch felt she had some fucking divine mandate to rule over us simple mortals, she actually thought she could order me around from the heights of her illuminated condition.
Actually, now that I think of it, she acts exactly like Dumbledore; only difference is that she doesn't have a beard or the twinkly eyes. And it's a damn good thing too, that she won't live long enough to become another Dumbledore. A stuck up bitch with McGonnagal's attitude and Dumbledore's 'I know what's best because I'm smarter than you' personality would be a scourge on the world. But I digress again, and I've wasted too much time thinking about those fucks anyway.
On the subject of my owl, I wonder if our connection made her slightly more violent. Not just the eating-someone's-eyeballs part, but also because she seems intent on shredding the guy's face to pieces while she's at it. I wonder if she's done something like this before; if she has, I just hope my now-psychopathic avian companion did it to one (or several) of my former friends.
Anyway, putting aside my bloodthirsty owl's feeding habits, I start thinking about what to do next. I could not, in good conscience, let Voldemort, Dumbledore and the Ministry fight it out without intervening. I should go back, fight Voldemort and his servants, make everyone sorry they dumped me in prison, and then make them realise the wrongness in their actions, yeah, that's definitely the right thing to do. And then, I'd forgive them, we'd have a happy, teary reunion and we'd be happy forever, with me and Ginny breeding like rabbits to increase the already large Weasley family; after all, I'd become an honorary Weasley again, and we'd all be a big happy fucking family, right?
OR, I could go back, fight them all, slaughter everyone who ever pissed me off, and bathe in their blood. Yeah, second option's more to my liking. I cannot, in good conscience, let them fight each other without intervening because that would mean less blood for me.
I decided to sleep in the cabin, and hoped the following morning would bring me some ideas as to what to do in the immediate future; and if someone showed up to check on those auror's, too bad for them and more stress relief for me.
I manage, somehow, to get a relaxing night's sleep even with the howling windstorm and the never-ending thunders; it's really amazing the wonders a clean conscience can do to your sleeping habits.
Morning comes, the day not sunny and the birds not singing. The storm's gone for the time being, but there's a freezing wind sweeping these shores, and this piece of flotsam can't keep the chill out. Actually, I don't think it'll remain standing much longer either, if the creaking and snapping of the wooden boards that make up this shit-hole is any indication. I look outside through windows incrusted with mould, and ponder my next actions. Ridiculous as it may seem, I have no fucking idea about what I should do next, apart from killing those bastard friends of mine. I really needed to learn how to apparate, I didn't relish the thought of stepping out into the cold; every person is allowed to be a pansy once in a while, and this is my pansiness: I can't fucking stand the cold.
It's also ridiculous that a guy who just broke out of Azkaban bare-handed can't even magically get himself out of this place, but even one such as I has limitations; and no-one is more aware of said limitations than I. No doubt the ministry fucks will wonder how I blew out my door, and most will wonder how I got a wand to perform magic; then, some lunatic will bring up wandless magic, and they'll spin a story about how much of a dark wizard I am, and how many hidden powers I've got, that I'm even able to do wandless magic. Wandless magic is, unfortunately, a myth. I became aware of that, painfully aware, that is, during my tenure in Azkaban. Humans, no matter how powerful, aren't meant, aren't built to channel magic without a focus. The powers I've obtained, while magical, don't require a focus for me to use, because they're so closely tied to me, or rather, my family.
I find it ironic that someone like me, who spent so much time fighting a so-called Dark Lord due to said Dark Lord's purist ideology, would come to view his ancestry and blood as his salvation, but hey, I'm Harry Potter. And I'm not normal. And my life's fucked up, so why wouldn't irony be a part of it?
All of a sudden, I hear a voice behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. I went to investigate whom the voice belonged to, vowing to give its owner a painful end for nearly giving me a heart attack. There was some sort of sink among all the garbage lining the interior of the hut, and the voice came from there. Creeping closer, I looked inside. It was full of some sort of liquid, not sure if it was water, don't give a damn either. There she was, looking like a reflex on the water. I gazed upon the form of one Nymphadora Tonks, who was calling for someone; I don't recognize the names, maybe the guys I put to rest (sort of) last night. I wondered why she continued to call for them, and why she didn't seem to notice me. She has her wand in her hand and his touching the liquid, so maybe I need a wand to establish communication. I consider it for a while, letting her see me.
Then I start imagining her showing up alone, trying to capture me. She would fail, I would bind her, and then introduce her to the Trouser Titan, who would be extremely happy to meet her as well. Damn, that woman has the curviest, firmest butt I've ever seen! I'll assume it's a natural feature of hers, since it's the only part of her anatomy she never changes. Heh, these thoughts are inevitable when you're a horny teenager who hasn't even seen a girl in three years. When I think that even that joke of human evolution called Ronald Weasley might've got some, even if it was from Whore-On-My-Knee, while I'm still a fucking virgin (No, not really, come to think of it; if I was a fucking virgin then I would be fucking and therefore, not a virgin, and this particular sore topic would be inexistent.) I feel like crying, or making others cry. Cry tears of blood, preferably.
Guess she got tired, she's gone now. Probably won't come alone either, if she comes at all. Well, I'm not waiting any longer. The storm's abated some; so I get dressed, take these guys' wands with me and the broom, and walk away from my humble dwelling. I was right, and the lights I saw yesterday were indeed a small village. I improvise a hiding place for the broom, after all how many normal tourists carry their brooms with them? Of course, no normal tourist would have a reason to visit this shit-hole of a place either, but that's beside the point; I just want to stick around for a while, find out what the brainiacs of the wizarding world think of the situation, what they plan to do to find me, maybe kill a couple of them. It's unlikely they'll bother the muggles; they probably think they didn't notice a thing. Actually, they didn't, but if they interrogated some of them, they would find out a lone tourist arrived the day after the menacing Harry Potter escaped from Azkaban, and even with the Ministry's previous shows of intelligence and competence (lack thereof, that is) it wouldn't take them long to make a connection between both events; I'd give them a week, two at most, to come up with the crazy theory that the lone tourist and Harry Potter were the same person.
Hedwig was following me, but went away as soon as I got to the village proper. I saw her flying inside the bell tower of the village's church, and assumed she was going to nap for a while. I thought about going to some pub, get something to eat, hear the latest gossip (for some reason, I always enjoyed hearing people talk about the pathetic problems of their pathetic lives; I don't know why, but it calms me down hearing someone talk about completely unimportant shit), when I remembered the crucial fact that my pockets are emptier than a Weasley's.
I kept walking around, trying not to attract too much attention, and wondering how to get my hands on some money for food and shit. I could just take what I want, yes, no one could stop me, but the fact is, these muggles did nothing to slight me; and though I know that they're the same kind of sheep that inhabit the wizarding world (only slightly less stupid, I hope), killing them and harming them, even financially, when they've done nothing to me feels somewhat... wrong, you could say. Of course, there are exceptions, and I just spotted one.
Lady Luck must've heard my silent plea, for a golden opportunity presented itself, not only to line my pockets with some much-needed currency, but also to satiate my growing need for violence. A man, talking to an elderly fisherman, certainly not the typical fishing village dweller. He was dressed in a suit that reminded me of Crouch, who dressed up as a banker for the World Cup, had an unpleasant smile on his lips, and a look on his face that practically screamed 'I'm so much better than you because I've got money!'. Kind of like a muggle Malfoy. I got closer to them, and heard the guy in the penguin suit threaten the old man, saying he'd seize his property if he weren't paid by the end of the week. That definitely sealed Penguin's fate, as I decided the old fisherman's payment deadline would enjoy a lengthy extension.
Pulling him to a stinky alley and breaking his neck was simplicity itself, although the guy's pig-like squeals were loud and shrill enough to wake the dead. If anyone noticed us, they either didn't want to make a fuss about it, or they simply didn't care. The world, or at least this sleepy little village, would clearly be a better place without this rich fuck. And I got what I wanted, the guy was loaded! It's a small miracle no one did this before, what with the amount he had on his wallet combined with his lovely personality.
If I burn him, the smoke will probably be noticed. So, instead, I call my lioness. I made it seven feet tall this time, enough to gobble down muggle-Malfoy in one swallow. Nice, clean, no evidence whatsoever, big fat money lining my pockets. Life is sweet. Now, finally, to the fucking pub I go.
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"Kingsley, got a minute?" asked a pink haired woman, entering her boss's office without knocking.
"Sure, Tonks. Something wrong?" replied the imposing auror.
"It's probably nothing, but yesterday the guys at Azkaban didn't report. We let it pass since they're all so fond of booze, after all it wouldn't be the first time this sort of thing happened and all, but they still haven't called today either." said Tonks.
"Did you contact the garrison on the mainland?" asked the dark-skinned man.
"King, it's two blokes, as drunk as the rest of them, sitting in a rundown hut. Don't call it a garrison, ok? And yes, we tried, but they didn't answer." replied Tonks.
"It's probably a communication malfunction in the area. It's not the first time storms and such cause such problems. And since the village nearby is entirely muggle, they either don't know how to reach us by using muggle means, or they don't want to attract the locals' attention. Just send someone from the Magi-Comm. department to fix it." Kingsley then signed some form. "Here's the clearance to allow floo transport to the cabin, make sure they sort it out as soon as possible."
"Right, I'm on it!" said Tonks, tripping on the way out.
About fifteen minutes later, a man Kingsley saw several times at the Ministry, but whose name he never learned, stumbled into his office, followed by two other, younger men. He saw their identification cards, though, that labelled them employees of the Magi-Comm. The three of them were panting and gasping for breath, and as pale as ghosts. One of them bent over and kindly deposited his breakfast on Kingsley's office floor.
"What's the meaning...?" started Kingsley, only to be immediately interrupted.
"Awful, 't'was awful! They...d-dead! Blood... everywhere!" whatever the man was trying to say was cut short when he rolled his eyes and fainted, but Kingsley understood enough.
"Tonks! Dawlish! Jones! McMurdo! We're leaving for Azkaban now!" Said Kingsley loudly. He always transmitted an image of serenity, and that in turn calmed down people around him, and even though he appeared calm, his thoughts were anything but. The thought of Voldemort raiding Azkaban again immediately occurred to him, but why would Voldemort or his servants bother with the mainland garrison? And why would they bother with a raid in the first place? The war was not going that well, only four rookie death-eaters were in Azkaban; and those were the result of nearly three years of ministry work. He was jolted out of these thoughts when the aurors he called approached.
"Something wrong, boss?" asked a bald man with the physique of a body builder.
"Obviously, McMurdo. We're leaving, something's wrong in Azkaban."
"Tonks and Jones, a brown-haired, mousy youth, bit their own tongues so they wouldn't whimper at the thought of going there. Both of them were the youngest aurors in the department and had only been in Azkaban once (it was part of auror training and mandatory to become familiar with prison duties), and weren't particularly eager to repeat the experience.
The four aurors walked out of Kingsley's office, and headed to the magical transportation dep. to request a portkey that would take them near the cabin; Kingsley didn't fancy walking into a trap, and someone might be expecting them inside the cabin. Unfortunately, the three workers of Magi-Comm. hadn't bothered to be even remotely discreet, so by the time they arrived at Magical Transportation, they had already been accosted and interrogated by half of the bloody ministry, and rumours were running wild.
"Clear the way! Calm down, all of you, and let us check things out before you all start babbling nonsense!" shouted a red-faced Dawlish.
'Real smooth, Dawlish.' thought Kingsley irritably. 'Maybe if next time you don't shout, and if you don't let everybody know there's actually something to check out, that tactic works.'
Finally, they left the Ministry when they felt the tug of the portkey. They arrived in the middle of the wood, in sight of the cabin. It was around midday so they had good visibility, even if it was cloudy. Not a sound was heard. Bad sign. The cabin door was wide open. Very bad sign. Kingsley took the lead, and communicating with the others by hand signs, told them to cover him. He sneaked towards the cabin as well as he could, and got near enough to spot some kind of dark stain in the soil. Kneeling, he tried to figure out what it was, although he already had a pretty good guess. With the heavy rain, it was almost gone, but still perceptible. There was a trail of blood, as if something that was bleeding heavily was dragged towards the cabin. Kingsley crawled to the door, and when he was near, rolled into a standing position in front of the doorstep, wand out and at the ready.
Just as he feared, the others were dead. The sight wasn't pretty too, and only his great self-control stopped him from gagging or cursing at the sight and smell that greeted him.
"Kingsley! What do you see? What is it?" asked Tonks, as the rest of the group got closer. Kingsley didn't answer and just stepped inside, the others following promptly. Jones took a leaf off the Magi-Comm. workers' book and puked on the floor, while Tonks turned into a shade of green that had nothing to do with her metamorphmagus powers. There was a loud "FUCKIN' HELL!" from McMurdo, and Dawlish looked ready to bolt at a moments' notice. There was a man with three deep cuts on his throat; he was also stuck to the cabin's wall by what looked like a soup ladle. The other one was sprawled on the floor, lying in a pool of his own dried blood, with a hole the size of a plate on his chest; his heart was in the middle of a plate of stew, and someone had scribbled a message in blood on the table, that read 'Bon appétit!'
"What kinda sicko would do this?" asked McMurdo, not really expecting an answer. "It's like Fenrir Greyback decided to throw a party!"
Kingsley thought it was quite possible Greyback was involved, if the level of savagery was anything to go by. "Jones! Pull yourself together and contact St. Mungo's! I want these bodies removed. Tonks, you call a forensics team of Unspeakables and backup from MLE. Move, people!" ordered Kingsley.
Kingsley secretly hoped it were a couple of sick Death Eaters who killed the aurors; however, he didn't really believe it. It was just a gut feeling, but he thought something was terribly wrong with the whole situation.
"McMurdo, Dawlish. Call the boat. We're going to the island."
McMurdo headed to a shelf, and retrieved a little sphere that looked like a marble. "Boss, this thing's green! The boat's here already."
"What? How could that be? There were no scheduled transportations, in or out of the island." Someone, or something, came in the boat, of that he was sure. There was no use speculating however, all he was doing was getting himself nervous. It was probably a Death Eater raid; Kingsley kept replaying that thought during their trip to the island.
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While Kingsley was feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Harry Potter sat in a barstool, drinking mead. The people were cheerful despite the weather, after downing a few mugs of their own, and nobody bothered him with questions. Some old men were playing cards, there was a group playing darts, and the others were just talking. It was somewhat crowded and filled with the fumes of tobacco, but Harry didn't mind. He was currently staring a blonde barmaid that was probably related to Madam Rosmerta; they didn't look much alike, not really, but the size of their assets, however... 'Yep! Harry, old boy, things are definitely looking up!' thought Harry, entranced with the bouncing.