"My boy, maybe you should give up on this dangerous endeavor?" Dumbledore clenched his beard in a fist. Then again, even he already knew that convincing Potter to abandon anything was best done with a sledgehammer to the head—and even that might not work.
"I don't see anything dangerous here, sir," Harry responded coldly. "I've got my godfather, four Aurors, a solicitor, Professor Snape… Would you like to join us?"
"But the Dementors—"
"I haven't met one yet," Potter said. "I'd be very interested to see one. Shall we get going? We don't have much time for this visit, sir."
Dumbledore just waved a hand and began stroking Fawkes, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in the upbringing of the magical world's supposed hope.
"Harry, are you sure about this?" Sirius muttered, shivering violently.
"I'm sure, Sirius," Harry said firmly. Snape's solid presence was at his side, while Mr. Floyd, the solicitor hired on Gringotts' recommendation, walked behind them. The Aurors flanked the procession in a box formation. "We're family, aren't we?"
"Well…"
"Stop shaking!" Harry snapped.
"I can't… You'll understand when you see them."
"Potter, do you remember what I told you about Dementors?" Snape interjected.
"Yes, sir."
"You still can't summon a Patronus, so stick close to the adults. Is that clear?"
"Of course, sir. Crystal clear."
Harry smirked to himself. Securing permission for this visit to Azkaban had been no small feat. Sirius had yelled at his portrait-ancestor, the goblins and their solicitor had applied pressure, and even certain influential figures like Malfoy—whom they had all leaned on—had been involved. It cost a fortune, but in the end, Harry was allowed to visit his distant relative. He had wanted to bring Draco Malfoy and his mother, being closer relatives, but they weren't permitted.
"This way, this block..." The prison warden jingled his keys, muttered a spell, and the heavy door opened silently. "The Dementors have been pushed back for the duration of your visit, but still, keep an eye out. Last cell down the corridor. Don't get too close to the bars—it's dangerous."
"This is where you should have ended up, Snape," Sirius whispered, shuddering. If he were a dog, his fur would have bristled, and his tail would be tucked.
"Shut up, Black," Snape shot back. "Potter, stop daydreaming!"
"I'm not daydreaming, I'm observing," Harry replied with dignity. "Pretty grim, though..."
"It's here," Snape said, ignoring him. "Go on, Potter, Black—we'll stay back."
Harry ignored the warning and stepped closer to the bars. Staring back at him with a vacant gaze was a woman who had once been beautiful but was now gaunt, emaciated, and clad in filthy prison garb. Her tangled dark hair had a streak of silver running through it.
"God, what have they done to her..." Harry whispered.
"Murder, torture, aiding You-Know-Who," Sirius replied in a low voice, holding his godson by the shoulders—perhaps to stop him from stepping closer or perhaps out of his own fear.
"Yeah, just like you," Harry snorted and called softly, "Mrs. Lestrange! Hey! Mrs. Lestrange!"
No response.
"Try her name," Snape suggested from the shadows.
"Cousin? Bella?" Sirius called hesitantly. Again, nothing.
"Bellatrix Black!" Harry said loudly, and only then did the woman blink and look at him with some semblance of awareness. Her gaze shifted to Sirius, and her face twisted.
"So, they let you out?" she rasped. "You've always been good at groveling..."
"Mrs... uh... Bellatrix," Harry said carefully. "What year is it?"
"And who are you, whelp?" she asked indifferently.
"Harold James Potter, at your service," Harry said with a bow, and the woman jerked on her cot.
"Potter?! Alive?!" She grabbed the bars, and Sirius quickly pulled Harry back.
"Well, as you can see, alive and in good health," Harry replied, shaking off his godfather. "I'm twelve, by the way. You've been here eleven years. Sirius got out recently."
"Yeah, thanks to you..." Sirius sighed.
"Not just me," Harry corrected, stepping closer to the bars again. "So, can you tell me what year it is?"
Judging by Bellatrix's expression, she could list every Unforgivable Curse but couldn't remember the year.
"Mr. Floyd, a moment?" Harry asked. A chill ran down his spine.
"Yes, young man?"
"Am I imagining things, or are there deep marks from shackles on Mrs. Lestrange's wrists?"
"You're not imagining it, Mr. Potter. Mrs. Lestrange, if you wouldn't mind, could you extend your hands through the bars? Yes, like that... turn them..."
The clicking of a magical camera filled the air, followed by a Muggle camera Harry had thoughtfully brought along.
"There are marks on her neck too," Harry said. "Could you tilt your head back and move your hair? Oh, wow... That's awful. This is Azkaban or Alcatraz?"
"I suspect it's the same with her ankles. And by the way, Mrs. Lestrange is standing barefoot on a freezing stone floor," Floyd noted. "There's a draft in the cell, insufficient light, a straw mattress, and a threadbare blanket. No amenities."
Poking his camera through the bars, Floyd took more shots.
"What are you doing?" Bellatrix snapped, shaking off her stupor.
"Could you show your foot, Mrs. Lestrange? Your ankle, please?" Floyd asked politely. "And the other one? As I thought, clear evidence of..."
He launched into a long-winded explanation no one entirely understood, though it was clear the conditions were inhumane.
"Very amusing!" Bellatrix rasped, glaring at Sirius. "You suddenly care? Get out!"
"Aunt Bellatrix," Harry interrupted before she could start swearing. "May I call you that? If you're against it..."
"And who are you?" she asked again, blinking.
"Harold James Potter," he repeated patiently. Snape shook his head in the corner. "Harry Potter. Sirius's godson."
"Sirius's...?" She looked at her cousin again. "Oh, Sirius. What do you want?"
"Here, take this," Harry said quickly, pulling off his warm cloak. "It's freezing in here!"
"What...?" Bellatrix took the garment through the bars almost mechanically. "Yes... it's cold..."
Though Harry's cloak was too small for her, she draped it over her shoulders and shuffled back to her cot, lying down and saying no more.
"This is one of her better days," the warden said, appearing suddenly. "It's worse when she throws herself at the bars, screaming her head off. She keeps calling for her husband, not remembering he's dead. But, well... she won't last much longer, mark my words!"
"Oh, she'll last," Harry muttered darkly, taping an old canvas onto the wall opposite Bellatrix's cell. "I hope hanging pictures here isn't forbidden?"
"Doesn't seem to be. What's that? Fruit? Eh, let it be—something to look at," the warden replied indifferently. "Let's go, gentlemen. Time's up."
*
«Hello, apple moth!
My God, that was a horror, such a horror! Remember that old movie we watched where they showed how prisoners were abused? That was about pre-war times, but here we are, in the 20th century! Well, it's the 20th century in the big world, and even then, things happen, but here—it's straight-up medieval! I mean, I get it—our aunt isn't exactly sane: assaults, murders, tortures… Although, our godfather was imprisoned for almost the same reasons, and he said the conditions were better. And hey, remember we read that book, I think by that one writer, where they sent him to some camp in the north to chop wood? Honestly, I think I'd rather work my ass off cutting down trees than rot in solitary like this. What they feed people there—The Advocate found out, and I nearly puked just hearing the description. And, moth, can you imagine—no showers, not even once a week, not even cold ones, like in those horrible Russian prisons. Do you know what kind of stench has built up there over the years? And yet, our aunt is still a woman, even if she's a maniac! No wonder she completely lost her mind…
Anyway, I'm planning to make a scene about this. The other aunt, Lucius's wife, fainted twice after seeing the photos, then had a full-on meltdown and slapped her husband across the face. Her! Can you believe it? (I heard it from Pavlynysh; even he was horrified. I don't think they really tried to visit the prisoner, so they probably didn't know much.) So, now everyone's on edge. The Advocate is stirring things up, and others whose relatives are locked up are joining in too.
I asked Luna what she thought about it. She just shrugged and said it's my business. Her family apparently wasn't affected by those guys, but they've seen plenty. But, again, no one needs to explain to purebloods what family means.»
*
«Hello, lemon eater!
How's it going—did you manage the grapefruit? I found a pomelo for you; it's as big as a melon…
Okay, on to serious matters. Looks like now that you've started, you're not stopping. And you're right—it's a wave. Seen surfers? Once you're on the crest, hold on tight, or you'll tumble headfirst. Though, I'm not sure what you're going to do with your crazy aunt or if she's going to accidentally kill you, but keeping someone in such conditions these days is just vile. Wizards, for Merlin's sake—would it be that hard to clean a cell with a spell? Sorry, I told my parents a bit about this, and they're both in shock. Dad's seen some things at his bank, but for Mom, this is all new. She immediately ran to Lunatic for proof, and though he looks like a weirdo, he's sharp as a tack (your girl clearly takes after him). He told her what he knew, so now Mom's yelling that we absolutely have to save you from this madhouse. She spent three hours having tea with your aunt and discussing how awful it must be to live in such a place… you get the idea. Of course, they can't pull you out of school, but just know—they're on your side!»
*
«Hey, apple moth!
It's happening—hearings about the aunt's case are starting soon. The uproar is massive; the headmaster is glaring daggers at me, you-know-who just shakes his head silently, and everyone else is looking at me weirdly. Even the Minister came to chat, but I refused to talk without relatives, my lawyer, and my magical guardian present (and as you know, our toothy friends now fill that role, and they were conveniently not invited). Funny, isn't it?
Pavlin is strutting around, clearly knows something; Pavlynsha is nervous. Let's see how it all ends…»
*
«Good luck, lemon eater! But I've got to say—your relatives are quite the bunch! Now I get where you get it from.»
*
**"Potter, Potter, wait!" Draco grabbed Harry by the sleeve. Grabbing his hands would've been risky—at least a broken nose, as everyone had learned by now.
"What do you want?" Harry asked sleepily.
"Is it true?"
"Malfoy, either phrase the question properly or get lost," Harry yawned.
"Is it true that they released your aunt?!"
"Not quite," Harry woke up a bit. "For now, she's in St. Mungo's; she's a bit unhinged, but they say she can be treated. After that, yeah, under the supervision of the Ministry, the Auror Office, and anyone else who cares, she'll be able to live somewhat normally."
"Oh…" Malfoy let out a string of expletives that no proper scion of a noble family should know. "I didn't think it was possible!"
"Neither did I," Harry shrugged. "But I hoped. Feel the difference?"
"Well… I guess. So now we owe you, is that it?" Malfoy squinted.
"Hah, that depends on whose care Aunt Bellatrix gets placed under," Harry snorted. "If it's yours, you'll be begging for mercy soon enough, so pray they give her to Sirius!"
"True enough…"
"Potter!" called Longbottom, who had been tensely eavesdropping. "What are you talking about? Did you say someone got released? Your aunt? From where?"
"Azkaban," Harry replied casually. "She's not my real aunt like she is Malfoy's, just some distant relation, but still family. And you don't just abandon family…"
"You… you mean Lestrange?" Longbottom said quietly.
"Yeah, Aunt Bellatrix. Poor thing's really not doing well," Harry said with a genuine sigh.
"And my parents are doing well?" Longbottom asked, even quieter. "So now, thanks to you, that beast is going to be in the same block as them? The ones she tortured into insanity?!"
"Unlikely," Harry blurted. "She's not completely hopeless; she has moments of clarity."
"Watch out!"
Harry ducked just in time—no one expected such agility from the usually slow and chubby Longbottom. Crabbe and Goyle grabbed him by the arms and held him back, but it wasn't easy; he was stronger than he looked.
"Well, Potter…" Longbottom panted. Harry had never seen such hatred in someone's eyes. "I hoped she'd rot in there, and now…"
"Enough, let's go," Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm. "What rumors this will start!"
"Let them," Harry waved it off. "But I'm definitely not turning my back on Longbottom anymore!"
"Smart move. He's a Gryffindor," Malfoy snorted. "When can you ever trust them?"**
*
"Sir, what's wrong with you?" Potter asked as he habitually barged into Snape's office, barely bothering to knock.
Snape did indeed look strange — he was sitting at the desk, his left sleeve rolled up above the elbow, staring at his arm while drinking. From the looks of it, he'd been drinking for a while.
"Nothing of note, Potter," he replied in a surprisingly steady voice. "I just wanted to point out that you've chosen an exceptionally opportune moment to break Bellatrix out of prison."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked cautiously, circling around the professor in a wide arc. He knew Snape might throw something, and there were several empty bottles within arm's reach.
"She's the Dark Lord's most loyal follower," Snape reminded him. "And he is... returning. See for yourself!"
He thrust his arm under Harry's nose. The Mark, which had been faint and faded like an old tattoo, was noticeably darker.
Harry instinctively touched it with his fingers — the sensation was strange but not unpleasant.
"D-d-death!" Shen hissed, appearing out of nowhere. "D-d-dirty!"
The snake coiled tightly around Snape's and Harry's arms, flicking her forked tongue against the Mark.
"F-filthy!" she confirmed with another hiss.
"Get this snake off me, Potter," the suddenly sober professor demanded. "I'm asking you nicely!"
"Shen, calm down," Harry pleaded. "I agree it's unpleasant, but don't scare people like that, alright?"
"Foolish humans..." Shen uncoiled her rings and slid onto Harry's shoulder. "They don't even know what they've done!"
"And you do?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Of course, I'm a s-s-snake," Shen replied with a hissy laugh.
"Do you know if it can be removed?" Harry asked, almost at random.
"It can," she said. "But it will be painful... or d-d-d-deadly..."
"I imagine no worse than the Cruciatus Curse," Snape said coldly, rolling down his sleeve. "If there's no other way, I may have to avail myself of your services, esteemed Shen."
"Always at your s-s-service," she whistled, curling up on her master's shoulder.
"Speaking of the Cruciatus, sir," Harry interjected. "The Killing Curse didn't work on me. But I'd like to know how the others feel!"
"Have you lost your mind, Potter?!" Snape snapped, any lingering traces of inebriation gone.
"No. If I understand how they feel, I might be able to resist them. Or at least recognize what's happening," Harry said seriously. "Cast the Imperius on me!"
"I'll get fired for this."
"I won't tell anyone! And here," Harry pulled out the illegal wand. "I never gave this back to you. It hardly works for me, but you should manage just fine..."
"Fine..." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "But get rid of the snake and ask her not to attack me."
"Shen, get in the chair and watch closely, memorize this," Harry instructed. "I'm ready, sir!"
"Very well... Imperio! Stand up and come to me, Potter."
Harry stood and approached him.
"Now... sing something."
"Are you sure you want that, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I'm completely tone-deaf..."
"Imperio! Sing, Potter!"
"You asked for it..."
Harry stood more comfortably, took a deep breath, and began belting out "Rule, Britannia!"
By the second verse, Snape clamped his hands over his ears and broke the spell.
"You truly have no ear for music," he said. "Or rather, you have a voice... but it would be better if you didn't."
"I warned you," Harry shrugged. "When I tried out for the school choir, they kicked me out immediately! So that was Imperius? I didn't really feel anything."
"Then... why did you obey, Potter?" Snape choked out.
"For fun. Standing and walking over is easy, singing too. But if you'd asked me to dance, I'd have told you to sod off!"
"Incredible."
"Yeah! We're not doing the Killing Curse again, are we? Let's try Cruciatus!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"I said no."
"Sir! At least so I know what to expect if it happens! Just go easy!"
"Sit down, Potter," Snape gritted through his teeth. "So you don't crack your head open, as you put it."
"Shen, off the chair! And don't interfere!" Harry settled comfortably into the soft seat.
"Crucio!"
Snape barely applied the spell, but Harry arched and trembled violently. He quickly stopped the curse.
"Cool!" Harry said, barely opening his eyes. "I grabbed a live wire as a kid once, felt the same, but it didn't hurt back then. Huh, if this were full strength, it'd be something else..."
"Exactly," Snape said, scowling. He met Harry's puzzled gaze and added: "The Dark Lord loved torturing people with this. And your new aunt has mastered it to an unparalleled degree. Keep that in mind. The Longbottoms are living proof."
"Did it happen to you too, sir?" Harry asked unexpectedly, with genuine sympathy.
"Less often than most. I'm a Potions Master, and good ones aren't easily replaced."
"And spies too," Harry concluded. "Sir, enough grim talk — you promised to explain why that potion can't be brewed during the day..."