CHAPTER 54: Year's End (Part 3)

Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom

March 27th, 1994

3:45 p.m.

When he had been a student, he remembered spending his Sundays with his friends. Roaming around the castle before they settled into the Gryffindor Common Room for the long grind that awaited them after two days of being lazy and putting off all their weekend homework. And now that he was on the other side, it was a comfort to know that some things don't change.

While there isn't a lot to do at Hogwarts, he still managed to busy himself with anything other than work. Whether that be reminiscing as he walked around the castle, visiting Hogsmeade whenever he had long periods of spare time, or having his lessons with Neville, he made sure to do anything but grade the assignments. There was always the easy option, no one would know he had just skimmed through most of the works and given out quick notes.

Unfortunately for him, his morals wouldn't allow it of him. And worse, if he got caught, it might mean the end of what is looking to be a very short career as a Hogwarts teacher. Of course, he knew of the dreaded Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher curse, it had been one he'd witnessed during his very years in the castle. But his short tenure had nothing to do with some mystical curse. It was all through the machinations of one boy.

Harry Potter.

How he could have ever felt regard for the boy, he couldn't know. He was vengeful and spiteful, uncaring as he blackmailed him with the possibility of death, all for a stupid piece of paper and a room. Even after he apologised, after he spent a week of begging and pleading, the boy didn't care for his words. Quite the opposite, for the boy got a twisted sense of joy as he watched him on his knees, imploring to listen to reason.

But that had only been the beginning. He'd proceeded to thoroughly embarrass him with his peers and even Dumbledore himself. Hiding the map somewhere he could never figure out right before he rained heaven and hell on his trunk and drawers. Worse of all was how, in a quick manner of days, somehow managed to make it impossible for him or anyone else who tried to access the Room of Requirement. So, the moment he began to sprout about magical rooms inside the castle, ones that opened with a thought and no one but him knew about, and then said room proceeded to not open for him - he turned into the laughingstock of the staff.

Severus had taken such glee from it, and even Filch joined in on the fun, claiming he'd found the secret room in an elaborate prank to make him look like a bigger idiot with the other professors.

Potter was also enjoying it. He should have known, the boy was a Slytherin - cunning and tricky - to tackle the issue so head-on had been idiotic. But by now it was too late, he had cried wolf on Potter so many times that he'd managed to completely ostracise himself from his peers. If it hadn't been for Neville Longbottom looking to him for help with the dementors, he feared he might have had a lonely year ahead of them.

Albus' disappearance from the castle couldn't have happened at a worse moment. With the dementors so far from Azkaban and for such a long period of time, the hold the Ministry had on them had begun to weaken enough for them to begin attacking students. There were a couple of other cases with students where dementors attacked them once, but Neville had had no such luck. With consistent attacks in a weekly basis, it was clear that the dementors had a fascination with the boy.

And so, even knowing the gruelling and arduous task that would be to teach the Patronus to a thirteen-year-old. He couldn't turn his back on him. And now he was grateful he didn't, for Neville turned out to be just what he needed. Slightly moody and stubborn, Neville, at his core, was a nice, sweet person. One who looked for the good in people, one willing to help anyone even after they've turned their back on them.

Two months he'd been training the young boy, and he'd grown so fond of him in such a short amount of time. So much that he couldn't explain the surging pride he felt whenever the boy managed to push the boundaries and do something most wizards couldn't be able to do. What began as purely tutoring sessions quickly turned to just being able to sit around, have tea and talk. And after the sour turn his relationship with Harry had, it was a welcome change.

Unfortunately, he should have known better it would not last.

The door slammed open and he stepped in. He had wild eyes, his face seemed almost sunken, and his hands were trembling erratically. "I need your help," he demanded, his tone harsh and overbearing.

"Teaching hours aren't until tomorrow morning, Mister Potter," Remus said coldly. "I suggest you return to your dormitory until then."

"This isn't about class. Just, I need your help. Please."

"My help?" Placing his quill down on the desk, he stood up and gazed down at Potter. "You blackmailed me, took advantage of me, made me look like a fool with everyone I worked with - for months - and you have the gall to come here, unbidden, and ask for my help."

"Look. I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry, is that what you want to hear? Just, please fucking help me."

"You're not sorry. Not even close. You're just desperate."

"It's the dementors. I need them to stop. I need to stop them."

"The dementors… they're affecting you too."

"Yes!" He screamed. "They are! Every fucking day!"

"Good." He said coldly.

"Good? You can't possibly mean that!"

"I do. Did you think that, after what you did, you could just come here and make things right? You threatened my life, laughed as you detail how you would sell me out to the Aurors, and mocked me for my illness. As far as I'm concerned, your hell is of your own making."

"Please!" Potter shouted, a sob tearing at his throat as he did. "I see them every night. I can't stop seeing them. I just want it to stop."

"Them?"

"My parents. I see as those- those- monsters tear them apart. Torture them for days. I can hear their screams as they're being tortured, all the things… everything they do to them. I can't take it anymore. I just want it to stop. Please, help me make it stop."

Remus paused, his cold exterior shaken by the sudden admission. Images flooded his mind, pictures and sounds of two of his closest friends being tortured and murdered by another of his closest friends. To see that, to remember that, deep in his subconscious. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like, what he would do to make it stop.

And for a second, for a small, but slow second, he considered helping him.

But once he did, everything would go back to the way it was. Once he helped him, Potter would go back to hating him. He'd betray him, just like he did last time. Because that's who he was, deep in his core, he was not a good person. Which is why it would never work.

"No."

"Please!"

"I can't. Someone like you, someone so… callous and lacking empathy, you can't possibly learn the spell necessary."

"I can-"

"No you can't. The Patronus charm is powered by the essence of a person, by their very soul. Yours is filthy and tainted, filled with nothing but hatred and sorrow. For any normal person, to master the Patronus charm is nearly impossible. For you… it's more likely everyone else in this castle learns it before you do."

"Please, just give me a chance."

"I won't." Remus said firmly. "Not just because it would be useless, but because I can't trust you. Ask any other teacher for help because I won't help you. The last thing I will ever do is to bring you back into my life. Not after what you did to me."

Grimmauld Place

10:30 p.m.

The house was quiet. It was a constant silence, one that was unbearable and yet, only interrupted whenever someone decided to pay him a visit or Regulus popped in for a chat - something that was happening more and more as the days went by. A ward in the door, most likely, one placed there, so he wouldn't be able to listen to anything happening upstairs. Whatever it was, it was consuming. For as long as he could remember, he had kept his mind busy, whether it was through his duels in the Room of Requirement or the essays he started doing for others. He never let his mind wander, never allowed himself to bask in any silence lest the intrusive thoughts began to creep in.

But when you're locked in a cell inside a room that has been spelled to remain quiet most of the time, you don't really have a choice in the matter.

He tried his best to avert it. Talking to himself, trying to gain Regulus' attention, and - just like he was doing right now - practising his aim. One of the primordial aspects of duelling, and one that took him years of training inside the Room of Requirement to truly master. What used to be tedious exercises were now soothing. Even if he would never be able to use them again.

The piece of rock was small, even thinking of it as a pebble was too grand for it. The weight and feel of it was foreign, but his aim was true. It took him a couple of days of non-stop throwing for him to grasp its mass with consistency. At first, it was bouncing it against the opposite wall and then back to his hand. Once he had mastered it, doing it almost unconsciously while drinking more of Regulus' bottles and trading war stories with him, he moved on to bouncing it on two walls.

A much more challenging task, but one that kept him sane as he spent most of his time alone. But even that wasn't enough to keep himself out from his own mind. The alcohol helped at first, each time tasting better and making everything fuzzy and calmer. It was a gift, one Regulus had taken away after Longbottom and his merry band of tantrum-prone wankers had sneaked inside and interrogated him.

Daft fucking twats.

It had been almost three months without an episode and two months since he gutted the bastard. Two months without his filthy presence contaminating the air around him, but Granger just had to open her mouth, and it was like nothing had happened. Like he was still a threat, like he was still alive. And the fact that he was wasted only amplified the effect of the episode.

He hadn't complained when Regulus told Kreacher that he was not to bring any alcohol downstairs again.

Ever since that day he saw him from the corner of his eye, felt his presence in the very room as he began whispering in his head. Montague's voice. So clear and so very real. But it was a lie, a manipulation of his mind, another trick played on him by the Order. He was not here, he was not real, he killed the bastard months ago. Maybe if he kept repeating it, he'd actually believe it.

The stone bounced on the second wall, only for it to swerve a few inches left of his hand and fly in between the bars of the cell. It bounced on the floor a couple of times before stopping just out of his reach. Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes as his stomach roared in complaint. Only twice had he accepted the food Moody or the woman from the Wizengamot session had offered him. And while dealing with hunger had been a constant across his youth, it was not a fun experience. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to cave to either of them, or to even asking Kreacher for it only to have Regulus gloat.

A gentle creak of the door brought him out of his musings. His stomach churned and wondered who would come down next. Hosting Lupin, Black, Moody, and the Gryffindors had not been preferable to the silence of the room. Each came with their own need to berate him for anything, and while annoying and sickening, it was also disquieting. When did he start making so many enemies?

"Harry, dear," a soft voice said hesitantly as a chubby woman with wild red hair and a round face came down the stairs carrying a tray that was filled with food fit for a king's feast. "I brought a bit of dinner for you in case you get hungry."

She walked slowly and stared at him with big brown eyes. It wasn't fear or pity behind them, at least not of what he could tell. But for the life of him, he couldn't read what it was. It wasn't threatening, he was as sure of that as of who she was. "I'm not hungry," he snapped.

"I'm sure that's not true. From what Mister Moody tells me, you haven't eaten in four days. How the man is so careless about leaving you without food for so long, I have no idea. But I'll be certainly informing Dumbledore of that barbarity."

"He brings it down, but he leaves every time I throw it on the ground." Harry said coolly. "That food looks good, like it took a long time to make. Save it for your brats, they'll appreciate it more than the floor will."

The woman gave him a sad smile before conjuring a stand to place the tray and a chair in which she sat down. "I'm going to leave the tray here in case you change your mind, and when Dumbledore returns I'll ask him to at least create a way for you to communicate with us in case you need something. And permission to shower, even if it has to be supervised. It's clear you want to be alone, so I'll go in just a second. But I wanted to thank you before I do."

Harry blinked, the words disarming him. "Thank me?"

"Last month, you saved my Ron and Ginny when those savages attacked you children at the Three Broomsticks. To quantify the love a mother can have for her children is impossible, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there to make sure they were safe."

"You would've had another five to help you mourn," Harry said coldly. "Truly, I didn't know why I bothered. All I got from your children after that day was nothing more than sneers and accusations."

"They are scared," she said softly. "They might not say it, but what you did that day scared them. For you to have such power, such ability, and always picking fights with them and their friends… they're just afraid one day you might just snap and do to them what you did to those attackers."

"They're not afraid." Harry scoffed. "And I may have been picking fights with them recently, but they've hated me ever since I got sorted into Slytherin. Even after spending the whole train ride together, they didn't think twice before leaving me to the wolves and insult me at any chance they got."

Her face twisted with grief and for once, she looked down. "On that, I'll have to apologize. I always warned them off any relationships with any Slytherins, to avoid them as much as they could. Those teaching turned into hatred towards the house itself before I realised."

"So what? Because a barmy old hat didn't put me in red and yellow, you think we Slytherins should be avoided?"

"It's not the house that matters," she said, her voice gaining just a slight tinge of forcefulness. "It's their values. The snake and green are superficial aspects, things that don't matter outside the house rivalries we all get so invested in during our time at Hogwarts. But when someone is sorted to a House that values self-preservation, ruthlessness, ambition, and determination, that's a dangerous mix. And when they spend all their time with people with the same values for seven years, the years most crucial to a person's development… most will turn out the same."

"And how would you know?" Harry snarled. "You. A Gryffindor. How would you presume to know anything about us Slytherins?"

"Hufflepuff, actually," she tried to smile, but couldn't. "But you're right, I was not a Slytherin. But my brother was."

"Your brother?"

"Hartley Prewett." Her voice was strangled, he could tell every word was hurting her, but she pushed forward. "He was the kindest young man you would ever meet. Sweet and brave… out of my three brothers, I used to spend most of my time with him. But he… he was ambitious. Always so competitive, so driven. Sneaky little thing too. To be honest, none of us were surprised when he was sorted into Slytherin."

"And you hated him ever since."

"No," she gave out a dry laugh. "Just the opposite, actually. We couldn't have cared less. Mum even used to brag about his Slytherin boy, the over-achiever who was a bit of a trickster. It was all innocent back then, houses didn't matter besides the Quidditch matches. But as we began to grow older, his ambition grew, and his sneakiness turned to cunning and ruthlessness. He wanted to be Minister one day, would've done anything to do that. So, he began befriending people that my mother and father disagreed on. People whose family had extremist and conservative views on the muggle and wizards affair. He always claimed they weren't his true friends, that he was just making connections for his job. But the more he began spending time with them, we could see him slowly change, slowly adopt more of their views on the war that was brewing with the Death Eater rebellion. He never joined them or publicly supported them or anything, but he began speaking against the people in charge at the Ministry, began saying our family's views were wrong, and distanced himself from my two brothers when they joined the Order."

Another tear fell out of her eye as she sniffed. "But he was our brother, you know? He was family. And we loved him and cherished him to the end. Even knowing about Hartley's mounting distaste with the Order and what they were doing, Fabian and Gideon let them know where they were hiding out after the Death Eaters began to personally hunt them down. They wanted to use a Fidelius charm, but those require a large amount of power - one most wizards don't have - and could only be performed once a year. Both Albus and Aberforth had already placed the charm during that year, and after the Regulus affair… my brothers decide to hide out on their own. They didn't tell anyone on the Order where they were, not even Albus, only me, my mum… and Hartley. Two weeks later, their cottage was ambushed… and my brothers were taken hostage before they were tortured and then murdered after six days."

"I…" Harry gulped. Flashes of red and orange assaulted his eyes as he heard those anguished screams. "I'm sorry."

"Three days later my brother came to us, crying and apologising, begging us for forgiveness. But after what he did… I couldn't forgive him. My mother wasn't the same after that, depressed and drowned by sorrow, she passed away before their funeral. Her heart gave out on her, the healers told us it was natural causes… but there was nothing natural about it. In less than three weeks, my brother's actions took away my entire family from me. And after that, I haven't had it in me to interact with another person like him. Being in that house changed him, twisted him so much that the nice, sweet, happy kid he used to be was a wholly different person. My oldest three were old enough to remember… my youngest… we never let them forget it."

Harry didn't say anything, his mind couldn't even manage to come up with something fit to say to that. A revelation so deep and vulnerable, and she didn't think twice to give it away. He couldn't look her in the eye, couldn't say she was wrong after everything that happened to him in his time as a Slytherin, everything that was done to him by Slytherins. With how much pleasure he'd taken in humiliating Weasley and Longbottom just because he was bored, because he was jealous, could he even say she was wrong?

"If that's the case, then why are you here? Thanking me, of all people?"

"Because you saved the lives of my children. And Slytherin or not, that speaks louder than words to me. You did it in a situation when any true Slytherin, one whose solely focus is himself, would not have done that. Because it gives me hope that… perhaps… I was wrong. Perhaps not everyone has to become their House."

She stood up, giving him a small smile before she turned around and began heading upwards.

"Mrs Weasley," he finally said, not wanting her to leave with his silence. "Could you please pass me the tray?"

The Weasley matriarch turned and gave him a soft smile. "Of course"

Azkaban Prison

10:35 p.m.

Screams rang across the hall as the floor below him shook. The prison was theirs, there was no doubt about that any longer. Most of the guards had been killed, their bodies scattered over the floors. Witches and wizards, all of them, even the few Mudbloods in their ranks. The right hand of the Dark Lord, it was still a shame to spill magical blood so uselessly. But as his father had always told him, it's only through unshakable devotion and sacrifice that we can change the world. And in the end, the good of the many would always outweigh the good of the few.

It had been a decade and a half since he'd set foot in Azkaban, but he would never forget the overwhelming feeling of despair the very prison had. And while the dementors had turned against their masters and the effect had worn off from the tower, he could see it all around him. The cells, each filled with a tortured soul whose life would never be the same. Their gaunt face. That wild, balding hair. The demented look of desperation in their eyes as their grimy, starved bodies crawled on the ground.

Less than a week he spent inside his cell in the prison, a mere five days before his mother came to his rescue. He'd been completely against her plan at first, while a quiet supporter of their cause, she had never done something to betray his father. She had called it saving his life, but he had done nothing more than doomed her own. Even if she had less than a fortnight to leave either way.

He could not imagine the anguish, the sheer hopelessness of being locked up in this place for more than a week, much less various years. Even with just five days, it took him about a week and a half for his magic to recover from the dementor's effects. And his mind, while not heavily affected by his experience, left him with various nightmares. Some of which he still had even after all this time.

Most of the men here, he didn't know. Azkaban is a heavy deterrent for brewing criminals, regardless of the crime the punishment remains the same. It's only the period of time that's affected. Very few had earnt the hell they now called home, but the rest… it was a fate he would not wish upon even his worst enemies.

He went to every cell in the hallway, making sure there were no more guards hiding, as he was trying to find if any of his brothers and sisters were imprisoned within these cells. A long and tedious search, one that had been fruitless, as all the people he'd encountered had been petty criminals and a handful more whose crimes hadn't been so benign.

He'd always abhorred pointless violence against his own kind. It was a trait he shared with the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, not all the Death Eaters joined the movement for the mission behind it. Others, even some within the Inner Circle, used it as an excuse to run rampant and wreak chaos. He'd always hated it, avoided them as much as he could, and even the one time he employed those individuals and their methods, he hadn't lasted much before vomiting. And even though the Dark Lord didn't share the views of this select few, he allowed them to do as they please for their loyalty.

One by one, he unchained the prisoners and helped them to their feet. "Follow the others, the Dark Lord will address you shortly."

"The Dark Lord?" The man, short and barely managing to stand, said in a haze. His hair was greasy, his clothes torn out, and his magic fully depleted. He looked just like the other men, torn down from the very core, depleted in both their body and soul.

"Just go," he said forcefully, pushing him out as gently as he could before he kept walking forward.

"Ohhhh, yoooohoooooo!" A voice cackled madly in the distance before there was a loud blow and a set of hushed murmurs.

Barty halted, charming himself to move quietly, he rushed across the corridor as the voices begun turning clearer.

"Q-quiet, freak!" A man hissed before another punch, louder than the one before, reverberated across the hall, followed by a mad laugh.

"The biiig baaad wolf has come to huff and puff and tear your insides apart! Ohhh Dark Loooord! The coward's hiding hereee! HAHAHAH- oof!"

"One m-more word-"

Suddenly, the guard was cut off before he began panting for air. Barty rushed the rest of the way through, the laughs echoing across the hall, before he turned on the appropriate cell. There he stood, a red-haired man with his wrists chained to the ceiling and his two legs chocking the guard who was trying to free himself. Before he could do anything, there was a loud crack and the guard fell on the floor, lifeless.

"No one calls me freak," the man said before he gave out a low, almost threatening chuckle. Barty stood still, shocked by the man's appearance. He was as fit as any man could be, his face looked lively and almost careless. And while his clothes were slightly grimy and his hair was greasy, his eyes held no sign of trauma or even the slightest bit of gloom. Instead, they danced with mirth as he looked straight into his eyes.

"What are you?" He asked, aiming his wand at the man.

"Antonin Dolohov, at your service. I would bow but," he shook his chains and shrugged. "I must say, I love the mask. Remarkable detail, very fancy. How long do I have to wait to get mine after I pledge myself to the Dark Lord, huh?"

"Masks aren't handed out like they're chocolate frogs," Barty snapped. "They're earned through skill or talent, something you most undoubtedly lack."

"I'm a quick study," Dolohov smiled.

"How long have you been here?" Barty looked him up and down, keeping his distance as he struggled to keep the distaste off his voice.

"Just over a month. Terribly dreadful place, this is, but I knew you lot would come around soon. It was only a matter of time."

"That's impossible."

"It's just common sense with a tinge of deduction. Though I can see why you'd struggle with it," he chuckled.

"You can't have been here longer than a day. You're… sane."

Dolohov snorted. "Sane? Now that's a first time for everything, I guess. But yeah, I've noticed my fellow peers have… not taken Azkaban well. I don't get the deal with the place, honestly, it's mostly dull. But everyone's constantly screaming and whining, it's annoying, actually."

"This is impossible…"

"Look, buddy, I don't have all day to waste around sharing stories and answering stupid questions. So, if you'd please point me towards the Dark Lord's direction, then I'll be on my merry way."

"You're not getting anywhere near the Dark Lord," he said coldly.

"And since when did that become your choice?" A cold, high voice asked from behind him, and Barty immediately tensed.

"My Lord, I-"

"Why isn't he with the others?"

"I was just-"

"My Lord," Dolohov smiled eagerly, pushing past him and getting on his knees in front of the Dark Lord. "I'm but a humble servant, one who's only wish since I heard of your return is to aid you. Let me be your weapon, your loyal follower, allow me to serve you in any way that you need, and I'll wreak true havoc on your enemies. I will make them beg for death."

The Dark Lord stared straight into Dolohov's eyes, and the man didn't flinch. His smile didn't falter in the slightest. Barty looked away, and as the silence ran its course, he began growing nervous.

"I'll send for you once we've settled into the tower," the Dark Lord finally said. "I'll have an answer for you then."

"Thank you," Dolohov grinned, completely bowing to the ground. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Take him with the others, Ares." The Dark Lord commanded. "And return to me at once, I believe I've found where they're holding the rest of our associates."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter you'll see Regulus and Harry talking and Scrimgeour will make his return. Be excited! :)

By the time I'm posting this, I'm SIX chapters ahead, and I'm finished with the next arc titled What We Leave Behind, which... the last chapter was actually pretty hard to write, though not for the reasons you'd expect. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)