Chapter one - Into Hell

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Chapter 1 – INTO HELL

"Parseltongue", Thoughts, "Normal speech", "telepathy"

Harry potter didn't quite know what to make of this situation. To be honest, he didn't quite know what to make of anything at the moment. He was however, pretty sure that he was supposed to be dead, unless of course this was hell. It was certainly his hell.

He was currently sat with his legs folded under him on a too familiar cot, in a too familiar cupboard under the stairs, with an all too familiar irritated uncle shouting at him. The last thing he remember was being attacked by a swarm of dementors sent my ministry to take him back to Azkaban fifteen years after he had broken out, leaving many dead people in his wake.

Deep unsatisfied anger rolled through him at the reminder of what he had been through. Not two months after he defeated Voldemort at the battle of Hogwarts, he had been summoned to the ministry, charged the murder of Arthur Weasley, a man who had taken him as a surrogate son. He had been young and naïve. He didn't know what was going on. Too busy wallowing in relief and self-pity and many other emotions that the end of the war brought that he became complacent. He didn't know where all the evidence came from and even his testimony under veritaserum fell on deaf ears.

He had turned to Dumbledore (who had miraculously, and somewhat suspiciously come back from the dead), begged him to believe him, to speak for him but the man had also turned away from him. After everything he'd been through on his suggestions and orders, the man didn't even bother to talk to him privately or ask him his side of things. He just looked at him with deep disappointment in his eyes. Even Hermione, the girl that always wanted the facts and always asked why, was too grief stricken that he had murdered her boyfriends father that she didn't even ask him why he would do such a thing.

The trial had been all over the papers, with reporters like Rita Skeeter blowing everything out of proportion, the whole of the wizarding world hated him. In the three days that it took them to complete the trial, sentence him to Azkaban and grant all the contents of the potter vault to the Weasleys as compensation, Harry really wasn't aware of anything. It was later, after having spent months in Azkaban, trying to think of a reason someone would do such a thing to him, still so naïve that a paper one of the guards left to float near his cell caught his eye. The date on the paper was just a few weeks after his trial but it was the news in that had his world crumbling around him. The headline of the paper was the wedding of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, wedding of the decade.

In that moment, his mind completely shattered. When Sirius had first escaped he had told him about the conditions of Azkaban, but it was nothing compared to living it, and he had been quite proud of having managed to keep most of his mind so far. Whenever he sensed a dementor coming towards his cell, he would hurry towards the darkest corner of his cell and wrap his magic around himself. The ministry had snapped his wand after his sentencing and the first few weeks were hell. He had learned to sense and manipulate his magic windlessly out of sheer sense of self-preservation. And it was that magic, now wrapped around his mind, that held him from blasting the whole of Azkaban to rubble like he'd done the headmasters office in his fifth year.

His own best friends had framed him for murder just to get to his money. It had hit him in that moment, the way they behaved all the way through Hogwarts, had been to stay close to him because of that money. Then, he had just been happy to have friends, people who wanted to be his friends not because of his fame that he had not bothered to ask why. To the extent he would murder his own father because in that moment, he had no doubt that Ron and Hermione had had a hand in the murder. After that day, the only thing Harry had on his mind was revenge.

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