Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the Harry Potter universe created by J.K. Rowling Not mine.

Rating: PG13 mild language

Spoilers: First five books (SS/PS; CoS; PoA; GoF; OotP)

A/N: Okay, this is this my third chapter of devils due, I'm sorry for the wait. It ends with what might constitute as a cliffhanger. However i will endeavor to update a little sooner this time.

Ruminations
The stars are shining and night has fallen, as I painfully and disoriented regained conciousness with what seemed like the mother of all migrane attacks.

One moment I was unconcious the next I'm wide awake. Where am I? Why am I laying next to a heap of what looked like a mixture of old rotten things of which might have been food once or broken furniture.

While I couldn't make out my immeadeate surroundings I could surly smell it. The stench is unbelievable. Predomnating were rotten meat and oddly enough old socks. Suddenly a crash and screeching startled me as Alleycats squabble over leftovers noisily. I realized that these furry demons were probably the reason for my rude awakening as every high pitched screech send waves of pain through my brain. I can hardly move without aggravting my head more. Slowly I sit up looking around and promptly fell back down as my head kept spinning.

Slowly after hours or minutes my perception returns to almost normal and the hammering pain in my skull subsides to a dull throbbing, bearable but irritating. I carefully start takeing note of my surroundings.

Nothing much to look at actually just your run of the mill dark alley. A sliver of light brightens the end of the alley and those few lit windos above me were barely sufficiant to see more than odd shapes and forms which I didn't dare to look at to closely. Slowly slightly deeper thoughts return to my mind with a vengeance.

On the forefront questions like; What the hell am I doing here? Everything is blurry. I feel my heart speed up as a suddenly a much more disturbing question gripped my heart. WHO AM I? A word floats through my head as I start haltingly towards the end of the alley; Amnesia.

Tentatively I touch my head trying to find the wound which might have caused it. However, my hands came up clean. As I desperately try to remeber the events which had landed me in this miserable situation.

Heck, I would have been glad to just remember my name and maybe that of people I must have known. Even if I was one of these people who cultivate enemys, which I dearly doubted. Malfoy! Echoes ominously through my head and I shudder in fear shortly followed by a raging storm of hate.

Hate for what this name represents. Though I was rather clueless of what this might mean there was just this raging burnng hate. As if this Malfoy person had grieveously wronged me or someone close to me.

What kind of name is Malfoy anyway?As I walk through awfully semifamilliar streets another name appeares in my mind. London. I am walking the streets of London. Without realizing it I silently whistle a tune under my breath. I suddenly remember the song "Streets of London" written by Ralph Mc Tell came unbidden to my mind. How trivial! But the memorys which also arise from the big dark abyss called my mind are hurtfull. It was my fathers favourite tune. Was ... the past of to be...similar to gone... both discribing actions which can't be reclaimed. Sadness grips my heart as I drop to the pavement and start to cry for no apparent reason. My usually so remarkable memory failed me phenominally. I do not understand why I feel so sad all of a sudden as the night air is chilling me to the bone adding to my emotional discomfort. No matter I can't move.

Suddenly I am startled out of my dark reference by an angry growling from what seemed like the thoughest cat I've ever seen (well as far as I can remember anyway). He is absolutely gorgeous in the light of a nearby streetlamp I can see his coat red tigerstriped a bottle brush for a tail. His face is scrunched up permanently as if he had been punched one time to many. I feel like I have seen this cat before. He rubs his head against my leg as cats are prone to do. Smiling brittily I start carding a hand through his coat, which he seemed to enjoy as it starts to purr. It also soothed me a little. As I scratched him behind his ears my fingers came into contact with a piece of paper stuck behind the cats collar. Something tells me that I should read it. Curiously I turn it slightly so I can make out the words written on it in the dim lamp light:

Look for the CAT of the green eyed one.

She will be found in the house of the rising sun.

A Midsummernights dream

PS: Follow the cat

Damn now I'm even more confused. What should I do, what should I do. Suddenly my new (old?) friend the cat is getting agitated. Abruptly I stand up.

The message had almost opened the door behind which my memorys were slumbering. But now it was firmly closed again. I sigh in frustation, crumbling the note in a fit of rage. The cat sprints a few steps ahead, stopping once in while to make sure that I was still following.

For hours and hours we walked through London or though it seemed and my mind was still on overdrive. While I walked I sometimes spot strange people in fancy dresses, man and woman alike, talking animatedly in twos or threes. They all have something in common. Names are whispered two of which they speak of in utter contempt. But the other person they seem to fear beyond reason.

But honestly what kind of name is You know who anyway. I'm almost tempted to sneak up on them and ask "Who?" just to see their faces. Somehow I feel that would be a bad Idea. There gazes unseeingly travel over me but do not touch me its like I'm invisible to them.

A new feeling adresses itself to me joy and pride. As if something I have done had worked out as it should. Once I placed myself in their middle but their gazes still wouldn't acknowledge my presence in any way. They can't see me even though I walk by close enough to touch them easily if I had a mind to. Well I tweaked in the arm once a red haired gangly boy, I don't know why he made me feel so utterly betrayed. He yelps and looks wieldly around. But he and his friend's still cannot see me. I hear them whisper about that impossible lying and murdering Potter brat his poor family ...why didn't anyone see it sooner? Murdering scum and now he will be rotting in Azkaban until his last dying day. A shame really that there were no Dementors anymore. At this point there was a muted whisper of „But what about You-Know-Who? Who will defeat him this time around"

Why defeat him mocked one, look what you get if you introduce scum like that mudblood Granger to our society. See how she still fawns over that mad potter boy. And to top it all the stupid cow went of and obliviated herself. Which just seems to show that dirty blood like that halfblood Potter and his tart of a mudblood lover have no buisness in our vaulted society.

This makes me angry though his companion did react faster whipping out a slender whippy stick and after a gutteral uttered word electric blue sparks seemed to jump from said piece of wood stricking No 1 square in his overly large chest. The effects were immedeate. The dress no 1 wore folded in on itself falling to the ground in a heap.

Squealing hystericall he hops around in circles trying to cover himself up with his hand to the entertainment of his acquaintances. Taking pitty on him number two reversed whatever he had done.

A disgruntled meow reminded me of my impatient, egotistical guide and with a start I began following him again. He stays closer to me now almost as if he wants to protect me from something. The brief almost encounters with these strange people had rattled me more than I wanted to admit to myself.

Names started to swirl in my mind. Voldemort... Harry Potter ... Hermione Granger the first one made me shudder in fear though something deep inside me told me that man can't reach you anymore.

Those other names filled me with rage a desire to hurt anyone who slandered them. It seemed as if I couldn't get a grip on my emotions and my mind resembles a white wall with some nonsensical graffitti someone had spread over it with phrases and slogans which if I could only align correctly would make perfect sense but alas that hypothetical dunderhead of a would-be artist in my brain apparently didn't know logic if it bit him in his nose.

I stumble further through the city following that cat, pardon tomcat. I checked you know and got scratched for my trouble combined with one of those reproachfull, indignant stares only cats seem to manage.

Making me feel like the fool I aparently am. Why else would I follow a strange cat through the seedier parts of London. I instinctively knew whatever protected me from these weird strangers in ...dare I say it robes... wouldn't protect me from your run of the mill criminal. However it seemed as if I was in luck for once.

After hours of walking the bloody cat finally stops infront of a rundown building, a bright green neon signs revealing it as 't e hou of the ri ing sun' or presumably the house of the rising sun.

The street is equally unlikely to invoke feelings of ...safety. I suppose one could call that street rundown.

Every second lamppost has been vandalized and in the sparse illumination one could see grotesquely warped shapes; rats overturning trash cans. Well they weren't that much smaller than that bloody cat who sat on the top of a short staircase leading to my destination, looking smug and quiet pleased with himself. The wind turns and I catch the pungent mell of sewage.

I shiver suddenly the setting reminding me terribly of some some trashy muggle horror movie (muggle what to hell is a muggle). Absentmindly I ring the bell, a electronic buzz could be heard somewhere inside the house.

Uneasilly I turn around glancing up and down the street not that it would exactly matter if some unsavory thugs had attacked me, I was defencless. Waiting for the landlord or lady to open the door I feel hopless. But before the hoplessness of my situation could really hit home, the door behind me opens. However, as I turned around I suddenly feel a white hot pain in the back of my neck whithout the time to feel panic I sank into unconsciousness...again.

Island in the middle of the ocean

Azkaban Prison

Cell Block E High security ward

Cell Block E. I was told the capital E stood for eternity. Once in no one ever leaves. Alive that is. Which unfortunately would be true if one considered that "The High Lord of Hell" otherwise known as Potions Master Cerberus and his two leering henchman, supposedly aurors, were doing such a fine job in restraining the inmates.

Gilbert „cracking" Grubbs and Eddard „laughing Eddie" Shrub were two masterpieces of guards, as nasty as they come. They thrive on pain. Other people's pain that is. In my humble opinion they really have missed out on a very rewarding career as Death Eaters. Well maybe they are smarter than I give them credit for. For while its true that one gets to wiedly spread pain around, Voldemort too likes to visit other people with pain and he doesn't seem to care if his victims are followeres or not. I should know afterall I happened to see him quiet often in my vision. He didn't seem to care if I saw anything of use or not. He didn't even send me false visions anymore figuering the truth would hurt me more afterall I didn't have anyone to tell anymore. I tried, believe me I did, however my warnings were as wind to my guards. I earned myself a trough cursing several times. After the third or fourth I never told again. It didn't help anyway.

There really wasn't anything funny about laughing Eddie as I found out on my first night in my cell, he told me or rather demonstrated exactly how he got his name. Lets just say Eddie loves causing pain; lots of it. Preferably with his hands which slightly resembled the paws of a big grizzley or a trolls. Causing pain in others is the only way to make him laugh. Though he was rather careful not to kill or maim. Afterall only the living and moderately healthy had the cababillity to suffer and such becoming fascinating playthings. Sometimes I wonder who is more perverse Voldemort or Laughing Eddie. I can't tell you how often I wanted to just fall asleep never to wake in the very first week of my stay in Azkaban prison. As time passed it became increasingly harder not to get pushed down that abyss called madness…insanity…. Slowly everything became slightly blurry, as the magic suppression potion I was forced to take, was taking hold. However, when everything started to become to much I remembered Katherine my sweet Katherine, muggle though she was. Katherine laughing as she playfully snatches my wand running away starting a game of catch. Katherine sleeping in my arms trusting that nothing bad could ever happen to her. Sometimes I remember my true friend Hermione what would have befallen her as she was struggling through muggle London, without memory. She was alone out there now. Her parents having been killed by Voldemorts henchmen. It still throws me how they could have found out the Grangers hiding place.

When I feel particularly down I remember my archnemesis and rage grips my heart giving me strength to withstand madness a little longer as I think of what would happen if Voldemort actually wins. Don't get me wrong I don't give a rats arse of what happens to most of those I once called friends. They can do without me. I was just a weapon to them. The moment they perceived me as flawed they cast their little weapon aside like trash, killing my love for them and the wizarding world in general. Moreover they killed my will to fight for them and so a conviction blossoms in my heart, saying „I will survive. One day I will get out of this hellhole maybe not tomorrow but maybe the day after or the week after that." Then there came a time when Azkabans security measures were refined.

Almost six months after I had been imprisoned they found a way of how to mirror the effects of dementors. At least they hadn't quiet found a way to bring the inmates permanently under its spell. They weren't powerful enough for that. However the few odd hours a day here and there they managed were sufficient enough in our weakened states. All I could do then was grasp for the fleeting moments of sanity, though Snapes Occlumency exercises helped slightly. I even could cancel Voldemorts vision out.

However this little victory last long.Well I think I have mentioned before that Cerberus, Commander of Azkaban also was infamous for his experimaental potions and so many guinea pigs on a silver platter and no one to supervise him. And as a special treat in dumb and dumber two devoted henchmen. This triumvirate actually managed what years of dementors weren't able to do. They broke everyone. First they as good took our magic, not a very pleasant feeling I can tell you. The magic is not really lost you see, just locked away inside your body. If one could only find the keys. And the hope or should I say the delusion of someday finding the key and breaking those chains that bound us, in the end bound us tighter than any chain wrought of steel. Aproximately a year after my imprisonment everything changed.

One day Cerberus and a potion master unknown to me strode into my cell as if they owned the place. Well after a fashion Cerberus did but you know...I've been vegetating in this cell for about a year now... it was MY cell. He gestured his two henchman to restrain me which they did. The stranger faded into the background. For a second I mistook him for a dementor. He was cloaked in black robes and the cowl of his cloak was drawn deep into his face. After a brief upraisal I dismissed him as unimportant especialy because Grinning Eddie was in the process of wrestling me down. By now I've learned its best to stay as impasive as one could; it annoyed dumb and dumber the most. The more one struggled the more pleaure they got out from restrainig you. In the end they would win anyway while you ended up with brocken bones.

„You see this...," Cerberus cackled maliciously „This little beauty here..." He waved a small vial gleefully infront of my face while Grubbs and Shrubs his two hulking henchmen had me kneeling infront of their master, arms painfully distorted on my back so I couldn't twitch a muscle without being in severe pain. „it will make sure that you won't be able to do magic ever again." If possible his cackle became more evil while I broke out in a cold sweat. I tried to glare outraged at his assumption though I lacked the strength. "we prepared a special batch, spawn of a mudblood...didn't we, Master Sinister?." Surely, surely the ministry wouldn't stand for that. Surely ..."Oh you think those fools at the ministry know what I give my little guinea pigs. They think its just a little piece of medcine to curb your agressions. Well in theory they are correct though it's only a side effect. ," he wheezed spittle landing on my face ...yuck...though I couldn't care less at the moment „but you see..the real beauty of this little potion my friend and I developed is even when you are ...released..." his cackling grew more manical and gleefull if that was even possible „You wouldn't ever be able to use a thread of magic again. It destroys your ability to use magic. You even won't be able to feel it anymore. In essence you will become a muggle." Peering in these fathomless empty ...evil eyes I tried a last time to defy them but in my malnourished state I was quickly restrained, my chin almost broken as they forcefully poured the burning brew down my throat. They let me slump to the ground were curled up in white hot pain, screaming my throat hoarse, as I felt the infernal potion doing its job until mercyfully everything went black as unconsciousness claimed me. One thought fleetingly flashed through my brain now Voldemort really has won. Even if those Order fools would finally manage to get their heads out from were the sun didn't shine and started to notice what has been so obviously before their eyes all along I would be no use to their cause anymore…Kat…

AN/ I guess you have figuered out who charcter Number one is. In the next chapter you will find out more of what happened to Hermione and why none of those strange people could see her. You also will find out what that potion did to Harry.