Massive trigger warnings: The fic is dark. Very dark. Don't proceed further if you are faint of heart. Seriously don't! Violence, assault, and graphic NSFW themes.

Chapter 2

The air was perpetually cold, a biting chill that gnawed at the bones, and the silence was intermittently broken by the unsettling sounds of prisoners murmuring to themselves or the distant cries of those who had long since lost their sanity.

The absence of most Dementors, who had been deployed alongside Aurors to fight the resurgent Dark Lord, brought a small, bitter relief to the prisoners. Due to the war with the returned Dark Lord, newly elected Minister James Potter had declared conscription. As such most guards had left to fight the returned dark lord. A few of the older and larger Dementors remained in the most secure wing where the worst of the worst were kept. Thankfully they only had to suffer the mildest of their effects. As such, most low-level prisoners were free to mull around in the general areas provided they didn't cause trouble.

Prisoners were milling about in Azkaban. Some were just staring out into the distance without anything substantial in their eyes. Some are babbling to themselves. The 24/7 presence of dementors had wrecked their minds and soul. Few that had their sanities intact were either gambling, working out, or bullying others for their rations.

In this God's forsaken existence, Jessica moved through the shadows like a ghost. At sixty-four, she had lived a life marked by misfortune and poor choices. Once a member of a proud pureblood African nobility, she had turned to the trade of dark artifacts when her family fell into destitution. It was a decision that led her to this forsaken place, serving a life sentence in Azkaban. She had paid her dues to the reigning powers inside the prison and was allowed a brief retirement now. People mostly left old-timers like her alone.

She glanced towards her cellmate, Felix. Felix had been kept in solitary in the maximum-security prison before Jessica had even arrived in Azkaban. He was only let out once the man had completely lost his mind and was too feeble to even feed himself. Jessica had heard rumors that someone who had a grudge against the man had bribed the warden to move the man to the general population. He didn't want Felix's suffering to end so quickly.

Initially, Jessica had feared the WORST when she knew her cellie would be a man. The incompetent morons who ran the prison didn't care about segregating by gender. Felix was very feeble but a gentleman through and through. During the early days of her incarceration with him, Jessica had liked hearing stories from him. He was erudite and had a talent for tales of war and intrigue.

Felix was a relic from a time that felt like ancient history. A once formidable soldier in Grindelwald's army, he had been relegated to solitary confinement for decades, his mind ravaged by isolation and the relentless torment of Dementors. However, his moments of lucidity were now few. His age was too advanced to bear this torment anymore. His ramblings had gotten far too incoherent, and he went into fits where he was beside himself and spat poetic nonsense that made sense to her. A few people had made fun of her by saying how lucky she was to be sharing a cell with a seer.

"Frau Jessica," Felix whispered, his voice thin and wavering. "The darkness... it's coming again. I can see it."

"Give it a rest, Felix." Jessica sighed, "Please not today."

"A sun shrouded by an eclipse. A man digging too deep where mortal souls shouldn't dwell. A horror unleashed that devours all. Tyranny under leather boots by the new man." Felix gasped out without pause, "The man will kill us all."

Jessica merely sighed and turned the page to her magazine. She had thought about bashing his brains to death every now and then. That would bring her much-needed silent bliss. But her gang, the Piranhas, might take that as a sign she was leaving retirement for active duty again. She went through her occlumency exercises again as she controlled her rage. Her meditations were broken as she heard the habitual sobbing again. It came from the outside. She pulled a pillow on her face and screamed in annoyance.

Last chance to turn away.

Azkaban Orientation

It was remarkable how few guards were there. A magic light ball led and Harry followed while still tied up with thick chains that really dragged down his puny physique. A roar of jeers greeted him alongside a draft of ice-cold air that hit him in the face. His mere prison rags of dull grey didn't do much to protect him from the cold. Harry looked around in wonderment. Every pair of beady eyes from their jail cell glared at him like he was a slab of fresh meat tantalizingly hung before bloodthirsty piranhas. As bad as this was, Harry thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't run into any of the dreaded wardens of Azkaban, the dementors.

The light ball ark and an electric shock jolted Harry out of his reverie. A harsh voice shouted from the ball, "Keep moving, Potter!"

Harry kept up since he didn't want to be shocked again. He was led in front of a grimy cell that was intensely dark. He couldn't even peer inside it despite straining against his eyes to do so. His chains slipped off by their own and the voice yelled again, "Get inside, Potter."

Harry jumped as another electric shock jolted him forward and he involuntarily stepped inside the jail cell as muscles spasm and then unspasm. The jeering of the prisoners died down as he was no longer in plain view. Harry turned to face the bars and glanced outside; many cells were illuminated with what he made out to be lamp lights. Row upon rows of floors contained cells and continued up in the darkness to a roof that had no end.

From the outside, the building was a small cube. No bigger than low-tier muggle banks. But on the inside, it was a fortress. No doubt centuries of spatial manipulation charms had accumulated over centuries to create this abomination.

"So, you are the kid." A deep, disgustingly wet voice sounded from the back and Harry whirled around to face him.

"What of it?" Harry demanded. Or at least it seemed like a demand because Harry's words died in as the man shifted and a sliver of light fell on him. The man was massive. He could've easily passed for Marcus Flint's older meaner brother if he ever wanted to. The man sat up straight on his bunk and Harry just knew he was staring directly at him.

"Did you really kill the Potter girl?" The man asked, "Word is she was quite smitten with you. Always chatty, pretty, and all smiles. And you turned her down, Casanova."

"What's it to you?" Harry demanded again.

"Just chatting." The man shrugged his shoulders, "It's good manners to chat up your new wife before getting down to the fun stuff."

Harry glared at him, hard. The stare that had broken down Malfoys, the Potter girl, and several other of his peers in the past had no effect on him. The man merely snorted, flexed his shoulders, and stood up. Harry gulped as he looked at the man.

"The name Big John by the way. You can be Mrs. John I suppose." The man grinned lecherously as he trailed circles over his cheek. Harry instinctively slapped the man's hand away and John let out cooing noises in response. In fact, his grin got even larger, and Harry felt fear in his soul in ways not even Aragog had incited.

"My my, if Mrs. Potter had told me, you were this feisty, I wouldn't have even taken payment," John said.

That conniving bitch. Harry angrily though took a step back and swung at the man. He didn't even attempt to dodge and let the feeble blow land against his chest.

"Tut tut." The man admonished him and suddenly punched him in the gut. Harry kneeled over and spat droplets of blood out. The man then grabbed him by the back of his neck and slammed him down on the ground. His glasses cracked and his vision became hazy. Harry had trouble maintaining consciousness. The last thought he had was the feeling of his clothes being removed.

1 week later

The blaring sound of morning alarms went off. But there was no need for them. He rarely slept these days. He couldn't even if he tried to. He couldn't even breathe. Every time he inhaled all he could feel was the man's repugnant stench on him. John slapped him on the back as he roared, "Morning time, wifey."

If looks alone could kill, the man would have been incinerated. Hell, accidental magic alone would've incinerated him. But the complex wards of the prison quickly shut down such notions.

Various prisoners mocked him as he walked out of his cell to the general population. He was the bitch. The lowest of the low. He had no respect or perks within the prison. The prison was an abyss with all the prisoners who were predators worse than sharks. Still, even they followed basic norms such as respect, machoism, and power. A prisoner marched straight up to him snatched his ration pack and ran off.

He sat in the corner with his back to the cold unyielding wall. Hot tears threatened to escape from him, but he roughly wiped his eyes. If anyone saw him crying, things would get a lot worse. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he furiously wiped his eyes, trying to prevent the tears from falling. The prison was hell on earth.

He had come here with a purpose, driven by a burning desire for revenge. The memory of the Potters' smug faces had fueled his rage, propelling him to do things he never thought himself capable of. But now, sitting in this frozen carcass filled to the brim with predators, he couldn't help but question if it had been worth it. The Potters still lived a life of immeasurable luxury, while he rotted away, his life reduced to this bleak existence. The Potters woke up in the ministerial mansion with the finest elf chefs cooking for them. Warm beds and rejuvenating charms at every measure. He hadn't eaten since yesterday.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, when the prison was shrouded in the heavy silence of the night and the sound of crashing waves lulled him into a trance, he allowed himself to wonder. Was it worth it? The question gnawed at him, relentless and unanswerable. His mind drifted to memories of a happier time when he had been free and surrounded by love. He remembered a red-headed family matron, her arms warm and welcoming, hugging him in bone-crushing embraces and feeding him the most delicious meals he had ever tasted.

A few treacherous tears escaped him, sliding down his cheeks as he remembered the feeling of a broomstick racing through the air, the wind whipping against his face. He could almost feel the weight of the Quidditch cup in his hands, the roar of the crowd echoing in his ears. And the smile of his best friend, a smile that promised they would always stand by each other, no matter what.

He had promised never to leave him like she did. That promise had been his anchor, his guiding light in the darkness. But now, in the solitude of his cell, he felt that light flickering, threatening to go out. The reality of his situation pressed down on him, heavy and unyielding, and the weight of his regret was almost too much to bear.

The young man wiped at his eyes again, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He tried to hold onto the memories, to draw strength from them. He wondered if he would ever feel the warmth of those hugs again, the thrill of the Quidditch pitch, the comfort of his best friend's smile.

In the darkness, he whispered a silent apology to the Weasleys and other Gryffindors. He prayed they would survive the coming war against Voldemort without him.

"Pathetic." A cold voice from above said. Harry looked up to see that it was Jessica. The elderly woman was frowning down hard at him. Her face turned into an expression of disgust as she saw his wet face, "You are a man now. Men don't cry. Men find solutions no matter what."

She then smiled cruelly at him, "But you are no man, are you? You are a bitch. It has almost been a week since you have done anything. Perhaps you like being a bitch, bitch?"

Harry's eyes must have spelled, what should I do? The woman rubbed her eyes and made a come-hither motion. Harry followed immediately. She led him to her cell and sat down and motioned for Harry to do the same. He moved to sit on the chair before she hissed and angrily glared at him.

"Men & women sit on chairs." She barked harshly, "Bitches sit on floors like good canines."

Harry sat down, not wanting to provoke her further. She discreetly reached behind her back while her face was turned to the wall. Harry could hear the brief shuffling of the tile and felt come loose. Jessica smiled briefly for a moment before turning to him. She tossed him an object that glinted. Harry awkwardly caught it and recognized it as a tile. He stared at her dumbfoundedly.

"What? You were expecting me to give you a whole shiv?" She snorted, "You have 30 minutes before it's jail time again, boy. Use it to sharpen against that stone."

Jessica gestured behind him.

"W-what should I do with it?" Harry stammered and Jessica raised an eyebrow at him.

"Femoral nerves, start with femoral nerves." A voice from above said and Harry nearly jolted from his skin as he turned up to see an old man owlishly staring at him from the top bunk. He pointed towards Harry's thighs near his bits, "Stab on both. Many blood. Then Peroneal, he falls."

He then pointed to the neck, "Finish off with jugular."

"Oh." Harry said, "What if the guards find out?"

"You are serving life, no?" Jessica asked, "What's the worst that could happen? Besides, hiding the body should be a greater problem for you. Most guards don't care what happens inside as long as THEY don't get to see the bodies. That's a lot of paperwork for them."

Harry tightly gripped the stone piece and got to sharpening it. He felt something poke at him on the head and the old man threw a leather bundle at him. He grinned as Harry wrapped it around the makeshift hilt.

"Gott mit uns" The man grinned nastily at Harry and then waved at him as the alarm rang once again. First, it would be the showers and then bedtime.

The steam from the communal shower enveloped the boy, creating a hazy veil that did little to obscure the other inmates moving about. The sound of water hitting tiles and the low murmur of conversations echoed around him, but all he could hear was the rapid pounding of his heart. His breaths came in short, desperate gasps as he fought to steady himself, clutching the slick wall for support. The impending task he had to complete later that night gnawed at his gut, threatening to make him vomit.

He turned his gaze to the fogged-up plastic mirror, hoping to ground himself. Wiping away the condensation, he stared at his reflection. His own eyes, dark and wide with fear, stared back at him. But as he blinked, the eyes in the mirror transformed, becoming completely black, and the face took on a twisted, almost malevolent expression. He stumbled backward, gasping, "YOU?!"

"Me!" The reflection cheerfully replies.

The reflection smiled nastily, a chilling, predatory grin. "Why are you nervous now?" it asked, its voice a distorted echo in his mind.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the terror. "I'm not sure I can do the job," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rush of water.

The reflection's grin widened, becoming even more menacing. "You have nothing to worry about," it sneered. "It will be like chopping meat. Nothing will happen to you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

His knees buckled slightly, and he clung to the wall for support. The reflection's words were both a mockery and a cruel reassurance. He had been through so much, and now, in this moment of truth, he felt more vulnerable than ever.

"My dear," the reflection purred, its tone dripping with a twisted sort of affection, "remember all the times I carried you through the trouble? You never doubted me then. Trust in me now, and you will succeed. Remember Piers? The basilisk?"

Harry nodded slightly.

"My love, trust in me." The reflection leaned forward and so did Harry. The reflection giggled and Harry giggled in turn. He then laughed silently. A few curious eyes turned his way.

"Oi, you ok?" A man asked near him, "What's so funny?"

"Ehhh….. you wouldn't get it." Harry calmed himself and turned with a manic look to the man. The man took a nervous step back.

"That's life." Harry jumped and adopted a cowboy twin shooter shooting pose.

"Whatever you joker." The man muttered and walked away.

Bed Time

Big John grinned lecherously at him again, "Boy that workout caused a big ol appetite in me."

He stood in front of Harry trying to shove his bits in his face, "What say dear wife we have some fun?"

If John had been a little bit more wary, he would have noticed a glint in the dark racing towards him. He didn't see it. But he most definitely felt it as it hit him straight in his manhood. He howled as a fountain of blood erupted but Harry merely grinned in insanity. He didn't wait for John to recover as John tried to use his hands to stop the bleeding. Just as the old German taught him, he stabbed in the thighs to ensure maximum flow.

"You little fu-" John howled as he lunged at him, but Harry was nimble and easily dodged him in the small space. For good measure, he sliced the tendon behind his knee.

"Oh god oh god oh Mama" John howled in agony.

"Oh little Johnny…." Harry mocked, "Why don't you call for your precious mistress again."

"Harry oh god Harry…" John moaned as Harry stabbed him in the shoulder, "It was just business, Harry… Nothing personal."

"Sure, as fuck was personal to me." Harry whispered angrily, "Now now, where's the smiling John now, eh?"

Harry stabbed him in the throat once.

"Why so serious, John?" Harry said as he placed the shiv near his cheek, "Turn that frown upside down!"

John merely gurgled blood.

"Oh no!" Harry mock gasped, "Let me help!" He placed the blade inside of his mouth.

"Let's put a smile on that face!" Harry sneered. He could vaguely hear the jeering of other prisoners in the background as they witnessed the spectacle. Someone in the background shouted about a patrol orb coming back and the cells immediately quieted.

By the time the patrol orb returned to their cell floor, Harry had already placed the body on the bed and covered it with blankets. He eagerly gripped his knives as wave after wave of pure euphoria washed over him. It was good to be back in business again.

1 week later

"Now remember, be on your best behavior. None of that joker stuff got it?" Jessica pointed her finger at his face, "None of that cutesy shit with guys like this? They will not hesitate to flay you alive if you annoy them too much."

"The man holds the quote, quote the keys to the yard here. He can make your life heaven or hell in this place with a snap of his fingers." Jessica said.

"Uh huh," Harry replied.

"I am serious boy, focus," Jessica said and then pointed towards an isolated alleyway where the VIP waited.

"Go now," Jessica said and then left without a word.

Harry walked and was challenged by a mean-looking wizard who suddenly blocked his path.

"Whoa their big boy," Harry said as he stared at the man stared down at him, "Jessica sent for me. Jacob is expecting me."

The man motioned for Harry to spread his arms and patted him down. He pulled an object from the back of his trousers and held it up in his face.

"Well, you can't blame a lad for being too careful in this place, can you?" Harry said and the guard snorted and motioned for him to proceed.

Game face on Harry. Harry said to himself and came face to face with a man sitting on the bench. Compared to the rest of the freakshows in this circus, the man seemed quite normal. Like a potioneer you would see in a Hogsmeade. This immediately set Harry's alarm bells off. If a nonchalant guy like him ran this freakshow, there must be truly something dangerous about him.

"So, you are Jessica's latest charity case." Jacob said, "It's not often that we someone rise from your particular station to your current one."

Harry didn't know what to say so he remained quiet for now.

"Big John was no easy feat. However, that does put you in a peculiar position." Jacob said.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"You are indebted to the piranhas. We run this yard, and nothing goes in here without our say-so. The shiv you used? That was our property and we loaned it to you." Jacob said, "Big John? He was a member of the Kabal. Our rivals from the south wing. They will certainly want revenge."

Harry remained silent.

"The only reason you stand before me right now, kid, is we have our umbrella over you. But that umbrella has rent." Jacob said.

"I understand," Harry said.

"You better. You like the rest of us will be putting in work and I'm not talking about turning in our assignments to fucking Dumbledore." Jacob said, "You kill when we say you do. You bring stuff in when we say you do. We say jump, you say how high."

"Right," Harry said.

"Alternatively, you can go do your lone wolf shit and see how you fare against five Big Johns without a wand." Jacob said, "Rest assured, within 5 hours you will have runes carved into your skull and your body used for a ritual. If you're lucky they might toss you to the sharks later."

"No. No. I understand. I will pay my dues." Harry said.

"Good. Good. No time like today to start." Jacob said and got up from his spot, "We are all here without our wands. Our magical abilities are extremely limited. It's a fitting punishment by the gods, no?"

"Punishment for what?" Harry asked and Jacob chuckled.

"For taking things for granted and stagnating. As such, like muggles in mud, we too must toil till we earn our privileges. We used magic as a crutch for everything to the point our minds and flesh decayed to muck." Jacob said.

"Your situation is much the same." Jacob looked Harry over, "If you are going to be an asset to the gang you need to shape up. In here an asset is only as good as his mind. Hook up with Mike outside. He will put you on a routine. It will be in your best interest to follow."

"Sure," Harry said.

"And kid, whatever you do, don't get caught," Jacob said. He turned Harry's chin up to the limitless sky containing rows upon rows of jail cells.

"Look at the red light up at the very top?" Jacob asked. Harry responded affirmatively.

"That's the maximum-security cell guarded by dementors 24/7." Jacob said, "Know who's in there?"

"Death eaters," Harry whispered.

"Correct." Jacob responded, "And your likely destination if you get caught. There is no relief or escape from there. Some of us even tried literally climbing there only to get incinerated at once."

A Few Months Later

The sun, though weak and pitiful, was shrouded in clouds. It shone through the literally stained-glass windows and cast ominous shadows over the two men who had been at it for hours. At least with the lack of dementors, they could see the sun every Sunday.

"Again!" Mike barked, his voice gruff and unyielding. Harry, panting and drenched in sweat, dropped to the ground to begin another set of push-ups. His muscles burned from the exertion, but he pushed through the pain, knowing that any sign of weakness would only invite more of Mike's wrath.

After finishing the push-ups, Harry moved to the pull-up bar, hoisting himself up with effort. His once scrawny frame had filled out over the months, muscles now rippling under his skin, but Mike's relentless training had pushed him to his limits and beyond. When Harry completed his set, he dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

"On your feet," Mike ordered, already in a fighting stance. "It's time for rounds."

Harry barely had time to steady himself before Mike lunged at him. The older man was a brute force, all muscle, and aggression, and he held nothing back in their encounters. Each punch, each kick, was delivered with the ferocity of a man who understood that survival in this place depended on one's ability to inflict and endure pain.

"Remember," Mike growled between blows, "this ain't no sport. This is survival. You hit the weak points. Groin, eyes, fleshy bits. Anything to take them down."

Harry nodded, trying to focus through the pain and exhaustion. He swung at Mike, aiming for the older man's midsection, but Mike deftly dodged and countered with a brutal jab to Harry's ribs. The young man staggered but didn't fall.

"Focus!" Mike roared as Harry failed to duck in time and took a solid punch to the face. He went down hard, the world spinning around him as he hit the ground like a pile of bricks. Stars danced in his vision, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out.

Mike crouched down, checking to make sure Harry was still breathing. Satisfied that the younger man was merely stunned, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Pack it up for the day," he said, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Lockup time's coming soon. We need to get back to our cells."

Mike tossed a dry rag towards his face and left without saying a word. It was a few minutes before Harry came to and dragged himself back to his cell. The old German was sitting on John's abandoned bed.

"What is it now Herr Felix?" Harry asked, "You had another bad dream and Mommy Jessica gave you the boot?"

"You are bad comedy," Felix said.

"Well yeah, you're German," Harry said and sighed as Felix looked at him unblinkingly, oblivious to the joke.

"You are unfocused. That's why you lose to Mike." Felix said.

"I no lose to Mike, old man," Harry replied.

"Why you black and blue instead of white then?" Felix shot back.

"If there's a point to all of this, old man. Get to it." Harry said.

"You ever hear of Occulumency, Herr Potter?" Felix said and that got Harry's attention.

End.

Author Notes: Don't forget to drop a review! :)