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To The Place Where The Saviours Go

Chapter One

By Blade Mistress

Notes: Pre-OotP.

The two figures came down the ancient corridor. The sounds of the footfalls on the cold pavement had alerted Draco long ago to the man dressed solely in a white robe, and the sudden clench in his hollow stomach told him of the approach of the Dementor whom he had named Bob. Mind you, he had named them all Bob.

Draco, who was still marvelling at a sound that wasn't a scream or insane gibberish, hadn't noticed how close they had got, and jumped slightly at the sight of the black and white figures outside his cell. A wild thought crossed his mind, 'They have come for me!' but as the figures' backs were turned he realised they had come for him.

It's a sad thing to see someone you know as a mere shadow of their former self, but it's especially sad when you know that it's not their fault, that lady luck dealt them a bad hand and now they were forced to live in a world of the darkest parts of their soul. He had heard stories of Harry, and his condition, but nothing had prepared him for the real thing.

He wore grey rags - stained with brown where he had been force-fed - his hair was long and matted. Though as shocking as all that was, it was nothing compared to his eyes. They had always had a sort of pride and life that Severus had hated; gone now along with their beautiful colour. Dumbledore was so startled when Harry had finally looked up he could hardly believe it. He turned to his Dementor companion.

"This is him? You're sure?" The Dementors didn't speak but rather made their speech felt, but however it was done there was no doubt.

This was Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world in all his glory.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was enjoying the show. It had been … a long time since anything interesting had happened. At first the place had been abuzz with activity; people coming and going, official visits, truth potions and his personal favourite - people joining the ranks of the denizens (as Draco liked to call them), with things like screams of "Noooo! It wasn't me! Please, someone, help me!" But now the whole place had quieted down.

But this, this had potential; this could make the punishment of living across from Potter worth it.

Albus Dumbledore had finally digested the fact that this was Harry and was rapidly realising he was gong to have to re-think his course of action. Of course he'd heard the stories from the people who had seen him, but in the back of his mind he'd known that Harry wouldn't slip as they called it. He would be like Sirius, he was innocent and that would keep him sane, maybe there would be losses but in the end nothing would really stick. He had been so confident he'd never even thought of a back up plan.

Albus dismissed the Dementor with a wave of his hand and conjured a chair; he sat down heavily in it and began thinking of spells that could help to find Harry - within himself.

For Draco this was beyond wonderful, not only did he have entertainment and new company (it was getting near impossible to get anything out of Potter) but the Dementor was also gone. It was turning out to be a fine day in Azkaban, well as fine as they came.

It had now been a few hours and Draco was bored, the novelty of watching the barney old backstabber staring and muttering spells at the deranged fallen angel had long since worn off. Draco was becoming determined. He would have entertainment, even if he had to participate to get it. He let this continue for a while longer until...

"He hasn't spoken for two months, you know."

"What?" Dumbledore said, clearly startled.

"He hasn't spoken for two months," Draco repeated. "He use to speak often, admittedly it was something along the lines of 'and after all I did' or 'shut up you bloody death eater', but occasionally you'd get the odd snippet of sense from amongst the crazy mutterings."

"I thought perhaps…" Draco cut him off.

"You thought perhaps that after everything else you put him through he'd prevail once again, and he would once again take his place as the golden boy."

Dumbledore sighed, "Sort of," he admitted.

Draco smiled. "You seem worried, Dumbledore, come, tell me what's wrong … after all, who am I going to tell? Other than the rats I mean?" Draco's voice had become silky and seductive, all of his body language offered friendship and someone to confine in.

Dumbledore, however, remained silent.

"Fine, fine. Don't want to talk to me? I think I'll guess." His voice had lost its silky edges now became sharp.

Dumbledore still remained silent.

"Lets see... I already know how and I already know what you ensured - which to some may explain why - but somehow I think that you wanted to do more than just guarantee that you remain the most powerful wizard alive. For you to put the golden boy in the darkest of the prisons, it would have to be a very important reason…" he trailed of with a smirk.

Things where not going well for Albus. First Harry, and now Draco was trying to play 20 questions. The worst thing was he was getting close. If only he hadn't been so bloody preoccupied with Harry - although who could Draco tell?

Draco's sing song voice interrupted him from his reverie.

"I know why you're here," he weaselled.

"Please, by all means enlighten me, master Malfoy," said Dumbledore, who had regained his composure. He put special emphasis on the word master - letting Draco know he was master of nothing.

"I've heard rumours, things that were said from the Veritaserum room, but who would trust a death eater's gibbering - like me," he added as an afterthought.

"I have also heard rumours," said Dumbledore, realising what game Draco was playing.

"I hear a great many things," Draco said in a hoarse whisper. "I can even hear things that aren't even said." The last bit was barely audible yet Albus caught it, and it worried him.

The conversation ended there. Harry had moved from the rotting bed to the floor around the bars, and was moving his lips silently, much to Draco's amazement.

Dumbledore quickly took charge. "When was the last time you saw him drink anything?"

Draco considered it, "Does being sprayed with water count?"

"No."

"Can't remember then."

Dumbledore pulled out his wand, muttering about devils in black robes and special orders. A glass of water appeared in Harry's hands which he promptly dropped.

"He needs sips and drops," said Draco as though explaining something to a particularly thick child.

Dumbledore briefly glared at Draco, made another glass appear, this time in his own hand, dipped his fingers into the liquid, and put it on Harry's lips where it became slightly brown.

It took almost an hour for Harry to be able to swallow what he could keep in his hand, and another for him to say his first hoarse words which were:

"Still alive, Draco?"

"So they tell me."

Harry tried to laugh which turned into a coughing fit. He eventually managed out, "You can never tell, can you?"

Draco beamed, "I missed this," he said. "You know if I have to be rotting in Azkaban, I'm glad you're rotting here with me."

Dumbledore would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so grave. At least there was hope, Harry had reacted well to the return spells, and once he had him out of here and away from the effects of the Dementors, his power would slowly return. It would take time but he was a patient man.

He had waited many years for the first destruction of Voldemort, and then waited until Harry came of age for the second destruction, he could easily wait a few months for the third - and final.

There was something that was troubling him though. In the whole time he'd been here Harry hadn't looked at him once - he had gazed at Dumbledore (or through him as it seemed), but hadn't even acknowledged his presence.

He knew he deserved much more for sending Harry here, but there were reasons damn it. Alright, not great reasons, but reasons nevertheless and if that which had been foreseen had come to pass it would have been worse than Voldemort ruling, and worse than life imprisonment in Azkaban. And it would have happened, not right away, of course.

No, it doesn't happen just like that. It happens slowly, it's like a sense that slowly comes over you and eventually it controls you and the worst bit is you don't want to fight it.

Harry was right to worry in his second year that he was too much like Tom Riddle; of course he was. It was the only way that he could ever have stood a chance, as Dumbledore had said many times, and not just inside his own head. It wasn't his fault, it was decided even before his birth.

They knew he was coming because of the sign. An ordinary muggle will tell you an effect comes after a cause and usually this is true, but when a mage is about to be born the effect comes before the cause - or in some cases there is no cause. Harry's was an island coming up; the muggle geologists had a hard time explaining that one, from what Dumbledore had heard they had settled on 'unexplainable phenomena most likely caused by phenomena within the Earth'. Sometimes he joked to himself that they should have suspected it was the child saviour of an unknown society, obviously. After that joke he put away the Sherbet Lemons.

Oh well, this was no time for Harry to be childish.

"Harry," he said softly.

Harry didn't even acknowledge he'd heard anything.

"Harry," he repeated.

There was still a determined silence.

"I know you can hear me, Harry."

Nothing.

"Fine, don't say anything. I know I made a mistake, but I felt I was doing it for the good of those who you saved," he tried.

Still nothing.

"He's back you know."

There was still silence but Dumbledore and his years of practice in regards to things unsaid heard the unspoken question.

"We don't know how, but he's back, and has joined with some foreign Wizards along with his old followers who managed to escape … here."

Complete silence.

"Harry," he began and then decided it was time to 'bite the bullet' as they say, "we need your help."

Draco's laughing interrupted the silence, it was a dry mirthless sound and not pleasant on the ears. It echoed down the old passage and when it was finished Draco was the first to speak.

"If you do it, Potter, this time ask for a cell with a view."

Dumbledore chose to ignore this.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but we could see too much of him in you. And if you did … follow in his footsteps, it would have been worse than if Voldemort had taken power, much worse … I did it to save you, Harry."

"I'd thank you if you never helped me," Draco interrupted.

He continued again as if nothing had happened.

"I'll be back tomorrow. I'll give orders for the Dementors not to come near here."

He stood up, banishing the chair behind him and started walking away. His footfalls nearly covered Harry's harsh voice saying, "You can come tomorrow, but there still will be nothing for me to gain but a bigger cell."

Dumbledore continued walking, but he now knew that while trying to save Harry he had almost certainly doomed the rest of the wizarding world.

And so the great Harry Potter sat in his cell, in the place where the saviours go.