In a distant castle, perched high in the cold, snowy Scottish highlands, a 15-year-old boy named Harry Potter slumbered in his canopied bed. However it was blindingly obvious, that he had not rested well. In the dead of night, bathed in sweat, he was jolted awake from a nightmare that had haunted him repeatedly, ever since he can remember. Green light. Laughter. His mother, begging Voldemort to spare him. His father trying to fight Voldemort.
Drowsy and out of breath he put on his glasses and looked to his left, to his nightstand, for his watch. But Although he could see many things, like his school bag, the snowy landscape of hogwarts, his half finished assay for his strict teacher professor McGonagall or his glasses, he just couldn't find his watch. Irritated, Harry surveyed the dark, the circular dormitory of the fifth-year students. Moonlight, filtering through the window, cast a dim glow a few meters into the room, leaving the rest in utter darkness. None of his classmates seemed to be stirring, not even his best friend Ron Weasley, whose loud snores filled the quiet, although that wasn't really a suprise.
Feeling sleepy but knowing he wouldn't be able to and having the excuse to search for his watch, he threw off his blanket, put on his slippers and a jacket over his blue pajamas and tiptoed silently out of the dormitory. The gryffindor common room was even darker than the dormitory, only a spark of ash remained, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Direcly in front of fireplace, were the three seats that Harry, Ron, and Hermione Granger, a girl with bushy hair, top grades, and Harry's best friend, always occupied.
Harry shuffled towards the fireplace with a troubled and thoughtful expression, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the fragments of his vision. That very evening, right there in the common room, Harry had experienced another vision, or rather, a possession. Something had made Voldemort so happy, so ecstatic that he had let out a wild, cackling laugh that had also escaped Harry's mouth.
Harry ran his hand through his unruly, black hair, which seemed even more disheveled than usual, and let out a sigh as he slumped into his armchair. He drew his wand from his jacket, pointed it at the fireplace, muttered "Incendio," and the fire roared to life as if it had been burning all along.
Harry let out a second sigh, this time out of annoyance, as he slipped his wand back into his pocket and his gaze fell on the empty seats of his friends. The firelight cast a warm glow on the gemütlichen, identischen, leather chairs, highlighting their emptiness. Why are they, particularly Hermione, so hard on his back? They don't even understand how it feels like. They would never...
Harry's grip on his armrest began to tighten, the scar that Umbridge, his horrible, toad-like Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had given him in "detentions" started to ache."I must not tell lies".
He needed to know what was going on, what Voldemort's plans were, and what he wanted from the Department of Mysteries. That was also the main reason why he hadn't practiced Occlumency until now. Harry's anger was growing like a plant in Hagrid's vegetable patch. Snape wasn't being helpful either. This unfair hatred, that was mutual, really really made it hard for Harry to even listen to him.
Harry sighed for the third time, his anger now focused entirely on Dumbledore. All year, Dumbledore hadn't even looked at him let alone spoke to him. But still... he wondered what Dumbledore and the Order were planning. Furthermore he really hoped that they knew...
KABOOOM
Harry leapt, nearly fell from his chair. The sudden, deafening roar had nearly sent his glasses flying off his face. He fumbled for them, muttering curses under his breath. How could a thunderstorm possibly be that loud? It sounded like someone was trying to batter down the castle walls.
Wait. Thunderstorm?
Harry's anger was instantly replaced by a bewildered confusion. Hadn't he just been looking out the window, watching the snow gently fall on the grounds? As he made his unsteady way to the windowsill and briefly wiped his fogged-up glasses on his jacket to be absolutely certain that what he saw outside was real, Harry's confusion deepened. The castle had been shrouded in a peaceful blanket of white just around 30 minutes ago. Now... now there was no snow at all.
Instead, it was raining cats and dogs. Even more, it appeared as though the Hogwarts grounds had never been snow-covered.
Harry moved slowly from the window still towards the noticeboard, his confusion deepening with each step. He wiped the condensation from his glasses again, just to be sure. The calendar, usually a vibrant splash of color against the dark wood, displayed the date in stark black letters: January 15th. If professor Trelawney, had asked Harry to make a prediction he would have bet everything on snow, and he could talk with five years of experience. At least, he had never experienced anything different, at this time, in Hogwarts.
Harry walked slowly back to the fireplace, his right hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. It was strange, he mused, in a place brimming with magic, to encounter such an inexplicable anomaly. Hogwarts, with its hidden passages, talking portraits, and mischievous ghosts, was supposed to be a place of constant wonder. Yet, here he was, baffled by the inexplicable absence of snow in the dead of winter. It was as if the very fabric of the castle itself was unraveling. But ho-
This was the second time Harry had been startled out of his skin, but this time it wasn't the sudden crack of thunder. It was a different sound, a slow, insidious creak that seemed to slither through the air. Harry's heart started to pound, as crept he cautiously towards the the portrait hole, the source of the noise. The Fat Lady's portrait, usually a jovial sight, swung open with agonizing slowness, revealing only the empty and dark corridor beyond.
Harry's heart started to hammer ever faster against his ribs as he cautiously approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. His brow furrowed, his eyes darting around the darkened floor beyond the portrait hole. Normally when the Fat Lady opens there is a person who told her the password.
But there was nothing.
"Peeves?" He called out, his voice a hushed whisper, hoping that is was just the poltergeist, only to be me with deafening silence. With a mix of curiosity and uncertainty churning in his gut, Harry climbed through the portrait hole, moving with the same caution he used to sneak around the Dursleys' house at night to use the loo. "Lumos," Harry murmured, raising his wand, which started to glow. The light weight in Harry's stomach tightened into a knot of unease. Normally, even in the dead of night, he could always rely on the moonlight showing him the way, or the crackle of burning torches. Now he could only hear his own fast heartbeat, trying to see something in the pitch black only slightly elumenated by his wand. The floor was almost completly covered with pools of water, that seem to be endlessly deep. Harry turned around. Even the sometimes annoyning presence of the Fat Lady was missing
"I am sorry Harry my dear Boy"
Whipping around, terror-stricken, Harry looked around for source of the voice. The voice… it couldn't be. It simply wasn't possible. Yet, there it was, unmistakable, a chilling echo of the past. His eyes now confirmed what he had just heard. There, standing before him in a puddle of water, was his father.
...No
This couldn't be real. His father was gone, vanished from this earth fourteen years ago in a desperate attempt to protect him. But the who was standing infront of him, smiling at him, couldn't be denied. The same rumpled hair as his own, the same slightly crooked glasses. Only his brown eyes were different from Harry's grenn ones. It was him. James Potter. His father. Standing there, looking at him with a sad expression, a ghost from the past.
"D-Dad how-?"
"I am so sorry Harry" whispered James Potter. "That i couldn't be there for you"
Harry's lungs seemed no longer able to take in air. He also seemed unable to control his limbs, which were shaking uncontrollably
"I'm not angry at you," he croaked, tears starting to form in his eyes.
"Look at how you have grown... I wished i could have raised you. You and your three friends remind me so much of the Marauders... but i had to go." said Harry's father with a dreamy wistfulness that reminded him of Luna Lovegood.
"I know" Harry croaked out. "It's not your fault. It wasn't mom's fault. It all was Voldemort. He killed mom and you."
"But i am not dead my son."
Harry's heart now finally seemed to stop.
"Wha-What?"
"Your mom and me, well we were never dead."
"B-But h-h-how? You were killed by.. by Voldemort." Harry stammered.
"No my son. I wasn't killed. The light saved us." James said with a dreamy voice.
"'What light?' Harry asked, now confused. His father's smile was both comforting and unsettling, as if he were a ghost haunting a dream. James stepped forward, his foot sinking slightly deeper into the puddle, and extended his hand, his fingers seeming translucent and shimmering as if made of moonlight.
"Come with me, and i will show you."
"Going where?"
"To the Light. C'mon Harry your mom is waiting."
Harry's heart leaped into his throat. The yearning to be with his parents, to finally belong to a family, was almost unbearable. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, desperate to touch his father's hand. But something, the smallest detail, held him back.
"How do you know" Harry whispered
"What"
"How... How do you know about Ron and Hermione"
"Well-"
"I haven't mentioned them yet..."
"I've watched you for quite some time Harry." James whispered "You will come with me. You will come with me. And you will fly forever."
Suddenly, the scene before Harry's eyes changed as abruptly as if someone had flipped the page of a comic book. James's smile froze, a chilling mask replacing the warmth. His eyes, once filled with love, narrowed, the brown pupils now having a terrifying dead gray, as if he was a corpse. Nausea rose in Harry's throat as he stared at his father's festering wounds that marred James's sickly pallor skin. A sickly, greenish-yellow, diggustingly smelling, pus oozed from them, dripping onto the puddle James was standing in, just like a disgusting waterfall. Harry flinched in horror as a gurgling, croaking voice came through James's foul, parted lips, revealing a mouth from which dripped the same foul liquid.
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"WHAT ARE YOU?" Screamed Harry trying to keep his panic and digust from his voice from his voice but failing miserably. And Just in that moment something seems to steer in the now greenish-yellow but mostly still water filled puddle. A top hat bobbed up from the murky depths, followed by a tangle of long, fiery, soked, red hair. The forehead and nose that emerged seconds later was pale and gaunt, with eyes that glowed an unnatural, horrifying yellow.
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
Harry gasped as the man's mouth was now visible. It was sliced open up to his ears, just conected by a thin layer of skin. Blood spilled out of it as he silently imitated the screams of the creature, which could now only be described as a grotesque imitation of his father. At the same moment, Harry noticed an arm, most likely clothed in a suit, sticking out from the water going into James's cloak. It was like watching a twisted puppet show.
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT TOO"
"YOU'LL FLOAT T- SPLASH-"
Harry almost suffered a heart attack as the creature's body suddenly shuddered violently without warining before it plopped violently beneath the surface, leaving ripples that distorted the reflection of the moon on the water, leaving the other two remaining people in a sudden silence.
Harry locked eyes with the creature, a cold dread gripping him. The creature's eyes, burning with an unnatural yellow light, seemed to bore into his very soul. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to maintain eye contact, the creature's gaze heavy and suffocating. YOUR WAND. GET YOUR WAND. His hand trembled as Harry forcred it into his pocket, without breaking letting the man out of his sight, reaching for his wand, his heart pounding ever faster in his chest. But to his horror just when he thought that his fingers touched the familiar wood with phoenix feather core, it was gone like it was never there originally.
Seemingly knowing what what Harry was searching for in his pocket, this man or rather creature grinned in mockery, showing of his yellow buck teeth, that made Hermione's old teeth look normal. It waited, did nothing, somehow gliding in the puddle only his head peaking out, reminding Harry of a crocodile waiting for his pray.
And then after what felt like agonising hours but were most likely only seconds, a blood-curdling scream tore from the creature's throat, making Harry stumble backwards in shock, as it lunged at inhuman speed out of the water, towards Harry. And now it was Harry's turn to scream in agony, as he felt sharp teeth dig into his skull. He tried to fight back swinging his arms wildly around him. But he only heard and feel brathers of laughter against his face.
"Harry. WAKE UP HARRY"
A harsh shake jolted Harry awake with Ron almost on top of him. Harry blinked rapidly, his vision blurry and his scar hurting. "What... what happened?" he mumbled. "You were screaming your head off, mate" Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper. The room was dark, save for the dim glow of the moon filtering through the window. Harry looked around. Neville, Dean and Seamus stood around his bed. Dean's and Neville's faces were etched with concern and curiosity. Seamus just looked disturbed. Harry quickly glanced to his nightstand and he couldn't say, that he was not relieved seeing his watch on it.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Ron's questions about Harry's dream were cut short, when Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived. Hermione gave out a yelp while reading the headline that caused everyone to stare at her.
"What" said Harry and Ron together and without another word she slammed the newspaper on the table.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN!
ROBERT GRAY ON THE LOOSE!
MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS AND OTHER DARK WIZARDS!
"Black?" said Harry loudly "Not-?"
"Shhh!" whispered Hermione desperately. "Not so loud - just read- or look at it..."
Directly under this headline, there was a picture that, that made Harry's blood freeze.
The black and white image showed a quite young man in a tuxedo, with white gloves and a purple bow tie, standing in what seemed to be an interrogation room. Furthermore he had shoulder-length curly red hair and a top hat that matched his tuxedo perfectly. One wouldn't have thought the man looked particularly strange, if you wouldn't focus on his face. On either side from the corners of his mouth to his ears, were gaping wounds, as if the photographer had slashed his cheeks.
However, it was the yellow eyes, each looking off to the sides rather than directly at the camera, that Harry found the most unsettling. Apart from the blood and saliva trickling from the grotesque grin, one couldn't have told whether it was a normal photo or a wizarding one.
The pictrue was captured with a name and the crime for witch he was send to Azkaban.
ROBERT GRAY
Convicted for the brutal and cannibalistic actions on over 161 confirmed victims.
"161?" Harry whispered with disgust and shock "How- wha-"
"Robert Gray was one of Voldemort- shut up Ron" shouted Hermione when Ron winced "most dangerous and brutal followers..." said Hermione with the same disgust Harry was feeling.
"How did they catch him?" Harry asked
"Moody and Wells," Ron replied grimly.
"My dad told me all about it. It was a savage battle where Moody lost his eye... but where they finally managed to send Gray to Azkaban."
"And – by Merlin's beard..." Ron said, paling as he focused on the rest of the article.
Below Robert Gray's image were ten smaller black and white stills that dominated the bottom half of the front page. Nine featured wizards, and the final image was of a witch. All 10 pictures had similar headlines like Gray's, with a name and their crimes.
Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.
Algernon Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secTels to He Who Must Not Be Named.
Harry's attention was drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment he head his eyes on her. Bellatrix Lestrange, She glared up at him through long messy dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth, convicted of the torture and permanent inca-pacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
With a quick glance at Neville, Harry continued reading.
The Ministry of Magic announced that there had been a mass breakout from Azkaban last night. Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge announced late last night that 11 high-security prisoners had escaped and that the Muggle Prime Minister had been informed
"We are in an even more difficult situation than we were over two years ago when Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban," Fudge said last night. "We believe the two incidents are connected. A breakout of this scale suggests that Black probably helped the 11 prisoners. We think that these individuals, like Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, and especially Robert Gray, have formed an underground cult with former Death Eaters. If you notice any strange activities, if anyone you know fits the description, and if you see unexplained activities like hundreds of flying balloons, children singing from the drain, strange behaving well-dressed Muggles, or any other strange activities, leave the area immediately and contact the Ministry."
"There you are Harry" said Ron looking awestruck. "That's why he was so happy last night"
"I dont belive this" snarled Harry, "Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?"
"What other options does he have?" said Hermione bitterly. "He can hardly say "Sorry everyone Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort" -stop whimpering Ron- "and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out too..."
"And that Robert Gray... ugh, how can someone like that exist? If you ask me, he makes my hair stand on end even more than Voldemort," Hermione said, disgusted.
"How can you say that?" Ron asked angrily. "And can you stop saying his cursed name!"
"Because, Ron, firstly, Voldemort is obviously more frightening if you aren't even allowed to say his name, and secondly, have you ever looked at him?" Hermione replied irritably. "He's like a- a beast."
Harry couldn't be bothered listening to Ron and Hermione's argument. Instead he fixated his gaze on the picture of "the man of his dreams". Who was he? Or better what was he?