'Wotcher Harry!' Someone enthusiastically shouted from his cell door. 'You got visitors!'
Harry blinked, and tried to shake the heavy haze that seemed to have comfortably slipped under his skin. Before he had much chance of doing so, he was engulfed under a crushing hug and a mass of bushy hairs.
'Oh Harry! How are you holding up? Oh Harry I can't believe they dared to do that ! That they would… How could they…'
'Hermione, let him breath.' Ron's voice filtered from behind.
Hermione gave him a shaky smile, and withdrew a little to sit beside him, keeping one of his hands in hers in a comforting gesture. Ron was looking at him with this slight awkward, solemn face that he pulled when he was sick worried.
'How are you doing mate?' He asked.
To see Ron, to see Hermione… Harry felt a hard knot of warmth hatch in his chest and tentatively reach out to chase the cold. He gave a shaky breath, and he felt Hemione gently squeeze his hand.
'Honestly?' He answered with a hard chuckle, 'Terrible. I feel like shit and it's not even been that long.' He pinched his eyes closed trying to rein in the crushing despair brought by this thought.
It had hardly been a couple weeks since his trial, and he already felt like a hollow husk most of the time. At first there had been a burning fire, a rage against the injustice of it all. Against his sentence, against being accused of killing Cedric. He was branded a murdered, called a liar, when Voldemort, was able to roam free. The cowardice of it all made him sick. Then, slowly, the everyday life of his imprisonment had worn him down, every passing second like a drop of water on the furnace of his rage. In less than a week he'd already felt like the cold wetness of the prison had sunk in his bones, rotting him from the inside.
More than the bodies, Azkaban had a way to keep the minds of its inmates chained.
'I don't know how Padfoot has managed,' he added with a bitter smile.
'Well, it's a dog's life,' Ron tried tentatively, before his face fell. 'I am sorry, that was lame.'
'Ronald!' Hemione snapped, her face displaying her disbelieving shock.
An uncanny fit of laughter wormed himself out of Harry's chest at the scene, with Ron's terrible attempt at humour, his embarrassed face, and Hermione shocked reaction. It was too much for Harry to handle, with how much he had missed his two best friends. It seemed to lighten the atmosphere, Ron's whole gangly frame seemed to sag in relief and a slight smile tugged the corner of Hermione's lips. It was good to have them back. He almost felt… like he was getting a piece of himself back again.
'We can't give you the details,' Hermione said in a hurried whisper, 'we really can't so please don't ask, but we've seen him. Padfoot.'
'Really?' Harry answered, his attention perking up.
'He's doing fine, comparatively to the last time you two've seen each other. He's gone bonkers at the idea you have been stuck here of course.' Ron added. Then, under Hermione weary gaze he continued, picking his words carefully so as not to let sensitive information slip. 'Active measures have been taken so that he doesn't get himself in anything bad, but he is very… concerned.' Ron finished lamely. 'Thought you would like to know.'
Of course. If someone were not holding him back, Harry was sure Sirius would have rushed with the singled-out idea to tear apart every single stone of the rotten place to take his godson back. He trusted him to have this kind of feeling, and he felt better to know that out there, they were people that were believing him. Even if said people were ex-convinced and infamous Azkaban escapee. A man got to know when to take what he is handled.
'At least, you are rather further up from the pit than he was,' Hermione added with a slight shiver, gazing out the narrow overture that passed as a window.
'Courtesy of a magnanimous court,' Harry answered sarcastically.
On behalf of Harry being a minor, the court had acted he would not be assigned a cell in the section of the fortress normally dedicated to murderers, but further up, where petty criminals were held. Somehow, he felt this was less a consequence of him being a minor than to quell protests among an admittedly confused wizard population, to whom the government had just disgraced their worshiped hero. The higher the cells, the farther from the pit. Supposedly this meant less exposure to dementors. Harry was not so sure about this theory and was mighty glad auror Tonks had taken upon herself to sneak him as many chocolate bars as she could manage. She also liked to strike conversations with him on her patrols, which presented the advantage of keeping her patronus in range of Harry. From a couple thing she'd said, Harry supposed she was on Dumbledore side, and had been asked to look after him. Thinking about Dumbledore, Harry felt his heart drop in his stomach.
'If you've seen Padfoot… You wouldn't have come across Dumbledore by any chance?' Harry inquired bitterly.
Ron and Hemione exchanged a heavy glance.
'Not much. He comes and go, always in a hurry.' Hermione muttered.
'And we are not let into anything. Apparently, we are 'too young'.' Ron added dejectedly. 'So, we have no idea what he is up to mate.'
'It's just…' Harry felt a heavy bob in his throat, 'I just would have expected to have seen him by now.' He finished, a vice like feeling of abandonment closing on him.
Hermione squeezed his shoulder.
'Harry, whatever he is doing, I am sure it is to find the proof that are necessary to bring you out of here. In the meantime, me and Ron are researching law texts to appeal your sentence,' she finished with a very Hermione-ish resolve to her voice.
'It's Buckbeak again mate, you got no idea,' Ron added with a small, comforting smile toward his friend.
The first months of his imprisonment oscillated between the cold and harsh reality of Azkaban, and the bright and comforting visits, that cut through the black mists of the fortress like powerful and warm beacons of light. It felt like night and day. Where the night would be closer to the pitch black of a bottomless hole filled with maggots and corpses than your moonless darkness.
Of course, Ron and Hemione were those that visited him the most, updating him dutifully on their research, but Mr and Mrs Weasley did too. Even Professor McGonagall. It had been an unexpected sight to have the usually solemn and uptight professor break in a terrible rage against the wizarding word at large.
'I swear Mr Potter, I will find a way to get you out of this cell if it's the last thing I do!' She had promised on her way out, hugging him in a fierce and unexpected way.
But when they were gone, the prison reclaimed him from his brief respite.
The lack of distraction was the worse. Being stationed this high up, and close to the auror quarters meant the worse of the dementors was kept at bay. He would know. It was more of a constant drain as they fed on him through the edges of the protective wards that surrounded the aurors, sapping him slowly of his magic. It was different from the direct horror of being the intimate focus of one of them, less personal. It was like losing yourself to the ticking of the clock.
He had taken to spend his waking hours in an uneasy drowse, slipping in and out of eery dreams where he could feel himself coil and crawl. It was weird, felt unnatural. The dreams always left him clammy with sweat and yearning… for something he could not quite identify. They provided a form of freedom though, an escape from the claustrophobic dread of his cell.
A rational part of him wanted to protest it was not healthy to shut himself up in a dreamscape, that he ought to fight to keep his sanity. Be strong as Sirius had been.
But he was just. So. Tired.
Harry's heart felt heavy. Today, Ron and Hermione had been oddly solemn, their conversation slightly uneasy. Like they were skirting and avoiding some issue. Harry sensed they were about to drop some kind of bad news on him, and that none wanted to deliver it. Honestly, Hermione looked like she was on the verge of tears from the moment she had come in.
'Ok, something is bothering you guys. I can tell. So why don't you get it off your chests so we can miserable together?' Harry attempted to joke lightly.
'Oh Harry,' Hermione hiccupped, her eyes welling up with tears, 'Harry…' she continued, seemingly unable to finish her sentence.
'It's just, today is the 29th of August mate.' Ron added dejectedly.
Harry took a while to process the information, and a cold dread crept up his limbs as realisation dawned.
'You are going back to Hogwarts,' he said, dazed. 'That's the last time I'll see you before… Before…'
'We'll be there for Halloween Harry,' Hermione interjected, 'for sure. Sooner if we find a way, but Dumbledore he said… He said that…'
'That students were not allowed out of campus on weekends, and that making an exception for the two of us would only disparage the cause.' Ron finished, with a grim and terrible look.
The words sank like so many knives. Dumbledore that had not defended him at the hearing. Dumbledore that had not visited him even once since he'd been thrown in this hellhole. His mentor, the man he had looked up to. The man he would have fought for… The man that would not even move out of his way to let Harry have the sole comfort that was left for him to have.
'I am so sorry Harry,' Hermione whispered.
A loud clanking sound resounded from outside the cell.
'Wotcher kids!' Tonks called out. 'I am sorry to say, but visiting time is over, I need to see you out and through the check-up…'
Hermione gave him a distraught look, and Harry shook his head in response to console her, even managing a strained smile.
'You go Ron, Hermione.' He smiled. 'I'll be fine.'
He wasn't. Fine that is. With his two friends gone, his regular anchoring touch down with reality was taken from him. His lucid moments were tortured by the realisation the world on the outside would be, was moving on, while he was stuck here. Ron and Hermione, and all his classmates, would keep on studying, passing exams, graduate while he would waste away as a Dementor feeder. The acute anxiety he derived from his lucid states made him take refuge in the drowsy half sleep that came up so naturally in Azkaban when you were not the direct concern of a passing dementor. It was a natural consequence of your mind shutting up the bleak horrors of reality.
Days, and weeks passed.
And he dreamt.
At one point, it struck him, he was a snake. And from this moment it felt like a mist was lifted from his perception. Everything felt so vibrant when he crawled about, so exhilarating. He could taste smells and hunt. Sometimes, there were words whispered to him, and a warm hand patting the smoothness of his scales.
His master.
The dreams always left him only a fuzzy memory when he woke up, drenched in sweat and twitching, his scare prickling uncomfortably.
The wheel of fate gave a last wobble before stilling for good.
Auror Fairweather rounded the last corner on her patrol, her mind firmly set on the prospect of an imminent cup of warm tea that would greet her once she was finished. The night had been calm, the weather giving a rare respite to the usually wind and rain battered fortress. She was honestly glad to be leaving the accursed place in a couple days. Azkaban was built to drive a man made.
When she heard a whimper from the only occupied cell on the level, she gave a sigh and moved toward it. That was the thing see, she had become an auror to keep the peace and help people. Not to stand guard at the door when kids were being tortured.
'All right Potter?' She called softly, walking up the length of the shadowy corridor.
The sound that answered her had her blood run cold. An inhuman hiss was coming from the child's cell. Frowning, she tightened her hand on her wand, and proceeded the last meters with caution. She peeked in the cell.
'What the bloody hell…' She murmured.
The young boy was laying on his cot and contorting his body impossibly, arching his back to the breaking point of his spin, before falling again in a hapless twitching form. The sibilant hisses were seemingly coming from him, his head thrown back with his throat feverishly exposed.
The blonde auror unlocked the door and moved to the dark-haired boy. He was covered in sweat and a hand to his forehead confirmed he was burning up. She turned to her patonus.
'Go fetch help, something's wrong with Potter.'
As the message got sent in a disappearing mist of silver, she turned to Potter. She pocketed her wand, took each of his shoulder in one hand and shook him gently.
When he would not wake up and continued trashing, she shook him harder.
Slithering through high and wet grass, following the enticing scent of his prey, he felt a wild kind of pleasure take hold of him. He relished the movements of his heavy and powerful body coiling around obstacles and moving on after the skittish thing. The air tasted like moist earth and grass and he loved it.
When something nudged him.
'Who daresss.' He spat angrily.
But suddenly, he was not coiled on a bed of smooth, wet grass but on cold hard stone. And someone was attacking him.
Fuelled by anger he sprung and struck, and twice his fangs plunged in the neck of his attacker. He gave an angry hiss as blood gushed from the wound and he could taste his victory. Satisfied, he coiled back on himself and watched as the creature twitched in agony with a pleased hiss.
He blinked.
Two vacant, dead eyes were looking into his.
Pure terror took hold of him, and he screamed like he would never stop.