I do not own Harry Potter or Supernatural
Yup, it's a new fic, please don't stone me to death. All my fics will be finished...eventually.
Not sure where I'm going with this or the timeline, but I'm going to be mixing things up. For one, John is not dead...nope! I loved John and he's very much alive in my head. Cas will also be in this. Not sure what season of SN this will be in, think it will just be a smorgasbord of them all.
Haven't decided on pairing for Harry yet, but happily taking suggestion.
WARNING: Harry will not be in his right mind in the beginning, but he will heal with the help John, Sam and Dean. Please, no boo hooing that Harry is ooc.
Hope you enjoy this, this is part of my Christmas gift to you my lovely readers. Look out for three more of my fics to be updated in the next few hours.
If you love me...PLEASE REVIEW!
Shivering and feeling the cold dampness deep into his bones, Harry crawled across the dingy stone floor following a tiny ray of sunshine that had found it's way through a crack in the old dilapidated stone wall. He had been following that same small beam of light as it made it's way across the cold floor all day, desperate for just a tiny hint of warmth. He had done the same thing everyday for the last four months, and despite that little piece of sun never bestowing any warmth onto him, he still followed it around like a moth to a flame hoping that today would be the day that he would feel warmth on his pale, cold face.
Cold, he was so painfully cold. His fingernails were blue, his long, damp raven hair had a thin coating of ice over it, his frozen lips were cracked, blue and had lost all feeling moths ago, he could no longer stand on his frozen dead feet, and he was pretty sure that his teeth were chipped from all the chattering he had been doing. Cold didn't even come close to properly describing how he felt. There wasn't even a word invented yet that could describe accurately how cold he was.
Cell number 7, in the lowest part of Azkaban Prison, where the vilest criminals were housed, had been his home for the past four months. The only reason he knew that it had been four months was because one of the rare human guards that made rounds daily checking for dead prisoners loved taunting him with how long he had been locked up here. It was hard to believe that it had only been four months, it felt more like forty years.
Seeing that his little sun ray was fading, Harry curled up into a small ball and started crying. He knew that once the sun went down, the Dementors would start making their rounds. He was the newest prisoner, and as such, a favorite of the soul sucking monsters. They would gather around his cell, sometimes a dozen at a time, happily feeding off of him. Honestly, he didn't know what there was left for them to eat, he could no longer call up a single happy memory. He wished that he could summon enough magic to open the cell and let them in. He would much rather have his soul sucked out than continue on like this.
Summing up what little energy he had left, Harry crawled, more like slithered, his way on his stomach and elbows to the thin, filthy mattress of his that was hidden in the far corner of his cell. The Ministry, not wanting to waste any galleons on prisoners by buying them beds, had given him a thin mattress that sat on the frozen floor along with a single scratchy, smelly blanket that was riddled with holes. Other than the piece of shit mattress and blanket, his only other possession was the threadbare sleeveless robe he was given to put on right before being brought to this hell.
Hearing a scream coming from down the hall, Harry quickly pulled his blanket over his head and tried to burrow himself between his mattress and the damp, musty wall. He knew that it wouldn't help when the Dementors came, but he still couldn't help but to try to hide from them. He knew that in seconds he would be reliving all his worst memories, and for a just turned fifteen year old boy, he had a hell of a lot of them.
The sequence of memories were always the same. First it was the death of his parents and Voldemort's evil cackling, followed by his nine years living with his abusive relatives before finding out that he was a wizard, then he had to relive all the dangerous adventures he was manipulated in going on at Hogwarts then the summers back with his awful relatives again, and then finally the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric's death, the battle in the cemetery, and his friends and Dumbledore's turning on him and sending him to Azkaban. These series events would run on a continuous loop for the next ten hours as the Dementors haunted his cell block and fed freely.
Feeling the frigid cold and blackness creeping in on him, Harry painfully dug his long fingernails into arms in an attempt to keep himself grounded as the Dementors started feeding from him. It never worked, all it did was leave him with bloody wounds from elbowed to wrist. If only he had learned how to be an animagus like his godfather, the Dementors didn't affect animals like they did people.
Harry was laying in an inch of frigid saltwater trying to will his friendly little ray of sunshine to come out. For the past five days it had been raining, flooding his cell since part of it was below ground level and keeping his only friend from visiting him. He missed the little light that never gave him any physical warmth, but did warm him in a way on the inside. It was completely insane to think of a beam of sunshine as a friend, but it was the only visitor he had had in over five months and the only light he had seen since getting tossed in here. Not even the spiders or rats were stupid enough to brave this level of Azkaban. As far as he knew, the guard didn't even come down here anymore for a head count. Then again, his mind had totally snapped a few weeks ago, so for all he knew the man was still taunting him and he no longer noticed.
The good thing about losing your mind in here, you became numb to almost everything. The cold no longer bothered him, the rotten food no longer made him gag, his blanket was no longer scratching his sensitive skin, and the Dementors no longer caused him to scream, cry, and beg for hours as they fed from him. The only thing that was bothering him was the absence of his best friend. It had been days since he last seen his plucky little light.
With nothing better to do, he thought back to how he ended up in this hell hole. Not only was he The-Boy-Who-Lived and the youngest seeker in a century, but he was now officially the youngest person ever to get sentenced to Azkaban. Before him the youngest had been a twenty year old wizard who had been caught doing unspeakable things with his dog, but he had gone and smashed that poor bloke's record by six years. He was fourteen, a little under a month shy of his fifteenth birthday when Dumbledore bold face lied at his trial and had him sent to Azkaban for murder and for being a dark wizard. He told the Wizengamot that he was on track to becoming the next Dark Lord, greater and more powerful than Voldemort. Without any more proof then the old fucker's words, they had sentenced him to life in Azkaban.
It all started with the fucking Triwizard Tournament. He knew as soon as that fucking cup spat his name out that his fourth year at Hogwarts was going to be a living hell. Almost the entire school, including his so called best friends, hadn't believed him when he said that he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire. The only ones who had remained friendly with him and believed him were Fred, George and Neville. Even Hermione Granger, the self proclaimed smartest witch of the age hadn't believed him when he said he was innocent.
Without his friends help, he managed to prepare for the first task on his own. When he cornered Cedric Diggory to warn him about the dragons, the kind Hufflepuff had offered to help him. After that the two of them had become good friends. Cedric would have given the shirt off his back if someone needed it, he didn't deserve to be killed just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
At first he had blamed himself for Cedric's death. If he would have just taken the cup and not offered to share the victory with Cedric, the handsome Hufflepuff would still be alive and following his dream of becoming a healer. Now he knew who to blame though, and surprisingly it wasn't Wormtail or Voldemort. Dumbledore...everything was Dumbledore's fault.
Dumbledore was a Chess Master and everyone else was just his pathetic little pawns. He had been playing his game since before Tom Riddle entered the Wizarding World and he finally made his last move when he had him sent to Azkaban. Everything! Everything was Dumbledore's fault.
He hadn't known until right before the last task, but Mr. Diggoy, Cedric's father, had told him that Dumbledore could have gotten him out of the tournament. Not only was he underage so any contracts, magical or not, would not hold up, but he was also the last living Potter and heir to a very old and powerful pureblood family. He was also the Black heir thanks to his godfather Sirius Black. Being the last heir to two powerful families would have gotten him out of the contract without losing his magic. Dumbledore had never told him though because he wanted him to compete. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore if he had also rigged the age line around the cup to allow anyone putting the name Harry Potter in and accept the entry.
Like the gullible little shit he had been, he had fallen for all of Dumbledore's manipulations. Come on, what were the chances that the man would be away from the castle the exact same night that Voldemort was going after the stone? Why the hell would Hagrid tell him to follow the spiders if he hadn't already known that there was a basilisk in the castle? Ok, maybe he didn't know about the basilisk, but obviously Dumbledore had told him what to say. The old bastard knew that Ron and him were hiding under the cloak. Also, who would give a thirteen year old girl something as dangerous as a Time Turner? Time Turners were heavily guarded powerful magical objects, they wouldn't just hand one over to a know it all little minor so she could take some extra classes?
He should have listened the Sorting Hat and let it to sort him into Slytherin. They would have made him see what an evil, conniving bastard the headmaster was. That was another of the old goats manipulations he had blindly fallen for. He had sent his loyal lap dog of a giant to introduce him to the Wizarding World and plant the seed that anyone who went to Slytherin was evil. He was a scared, abused little boy who wanted nothing more than to make friends and be well liked. How could he do that if he was in the house that churned out nothing but dark wizards?
He had been so starved for acceptance and friendship, that it never dawned on him that he had been set up from the very beginning to be Ron's friend. I mean, how the hell does a woman with seven kids, two of them already graduated, not know where the hell Platform 9 and 3/4 was? Why the hell was she walking through a crowded muggle train station screeching about muggles anyway? And on that note, why the hell were they even going to the station the muggle way in the first place? The platform had multiple floo's for those in the wizarding world to use, along with a dozen or so apparition points. It would have been damn near impossible to hide the fact that magic existed if hundreds of students, most with owls, were traipsing about Kings Cross station and then just disappearing between platforms 9 and 10. No, it had been a setup from the very beginning. That's why Hagrid had never told him how to get on the platform.
It was amazing what one could figure out when they had nothing better to do for five months but look back and reflect on the past. He really had been a blind, stupid little dumb ass. He stood patiently with a smile on his face while Dumbledore attached the strings then he danced merrily for the old man like a good little puppet. It also helped him see the light when the mighty Dumbledore stood on the stand in front of the entire Wizengamot, and a full to bursting courtroom, and told everyone that it was he himself that had killed the newly resurrected Dark Lord Voldemort after Harry had killed Cedric Diggory and willingly given Wormtail his blood so his new master could be reborn. Of course Dumbledore was once again hailed the hero, defender of the Wizarding World, and he was tossed into Azkaban without even given a chance to defend himself.
Cedric did die in the cemetery that night, but not at his hands. Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew, had killed his Hufflepuff friend as soon as the cup dropped them into the cemetery. He hadn't even gotten the chance to get his bearings straight when he heard the coward yell the killing curse. If he could have, he would have willingly stepped in front of that curse and died for his friend, but everything had happened too damn fast. After that he had been tied to a headstone and had his arm cut open so his blood could be used in a ritual to bring Voldemort back.
After his rebirth, Voldemort had called his followers to him where he then had fun taunting and torturing him in front of them. He had lost count of how many crucios he had been subjected to, but he was still suffering from severe nerve spasms five months later. Maybe if he would have have been given medical attention after he destroyed Voldemort he wouldn't be suffering spasms, but he was tossed into a holding cell at the ministry then subjected to a farce of a trial where he wasn't permitted to speak to defend himself. Immediately after the sentencing he had taken directly to Azkaban where he was literally tossed into this cell. Everything had happened so fast that it had left his head spinning.
It happened while he was dueling Voldemort. Their wands had connected somehow and the ghosts of Cedric, that muggle man, and his parents had come out of Voldemort's wand. He would have broken the connection in his shock if his father hadn't screamed at him not to. As he was concentrating on the connection, he felt another wand slip into his other hand and Lucius Malfoy's voice instructing him to cast the killing curse. Knowing he couldn't hold on any longer, he did as the man said. The blast from his powerful curse, and the backlash of whatever was keeping their wands connected, had sent him flying into a marble headstone where right before falling unconscious, he saw Voldemort fall down dead. When he woke, he was in a Ministry holding cell being informed that he was going to trial for killing Cedric Diggory and aiding in the resurrection of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
He had thought for sure that Dumbledore would defend him, tell the Wizengamot that it was all just a big misunderstanding, but the man had done the complete opposite. He stood up in front of the Wizengamot and over a hundred spectators in the courtroom and told them that he had suspected for two years that Harry Potter was going dark. He brought up incidents in his past that made him look bad, like when he accidentally blew up his Aunt Marge. He went into great detail how he was a parselmouth, and not only released a dangerous python at the zoo where it attacked his loving muggle cousin, but he also set a cobra on a fellow student who was a muggleborn. He stressed that only dark wizards were parselmouths. He told everyone gathered that he was the one who had opened the Chamber of Secrets and released the basilisk inside that was responsible for petrifying a handful of muggleborns.
When Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, he explained how he feared that something bad was going to happen and so he had placed a tracking charm on him. On the night he disappeared during the final task, he tracked him to a muggle cemetery where he was standing in front of a couple dozen Death Eaters, shoulder to shoulder with Lord Voldemort. Then in all his greatness, he knocked Harry out then defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time for good. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had escaped during the battle, but at least both their masters had been taken care of.
Believing that the great Albus Dumbledore would never lie to them, everyone had happily sent him to Azkaban without him getting to defend himself. He had been magically silenced during the entire trial and the spell wasn't removed until his cell door was slammed in his face. To add insult to injury, Ron and Hermione had spat at him as he was being drug out of the courtroom. He had desperately looked around for his godfathers, but he couldn't find them anywhere in the sea of people. They too probably believed Dumbledore's story and had abandoned him.
So now here he sat in his lovely cozy cell. He had sworn to himself that he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break, but had he only managed to last five months before completely shattering. It was much nicer this way though, at least nothing bothered him anymore. Well, except for the absence of his little sun ray. He prayed that he would be back soon, it was incredibly lonely without his cheerful, bright buddy.
With a pained look on his face, Remus pulled his mate to his chest and placed a soft kiss on his temple. "Are you sure about this, Sirius?"
"No," Sirius sniffed, "but I don't see any other way to help him. We have tried for over five months to get him out legally and nothing has worked. Dumb fuck Dumbledore isn't going to let our cub out of Azkaban until it's time to bury him. He's just a kid, Moony, he won't last much longer in there."
"But you have already spent twelve years in Azkaban, Siri. You'll die if you go back."
Sirius took a big shaky breath. "That's just it, I have already done it so I know I can do it again. I'm innocent, and I can shift into Padfoot so the Dementors won't bother me too much. With any luck, I'll be able to escape again. I have to do this for our little cub."
"I know," Remus said, tears falling from his eyes. He had just gotten his mate back after twelve long and lonely years and now he was going to lose him again. He understood why his mate was doing it, but it didn't make the pain of losing him again hurt any less. He honestly didn't think he could survive being on his own again.
Sirius clung to his mate, inhaling his earthy scent. He was going to miss this, but Harry deserved a chance to experience life. His cub was only fifteen years old and innocent, he shouldn't be rotting away in Azkaban prison. It was going to kill him, but he was going to switch places with his godson.
Dumbledore didn't have everyone fooled despite what the old fucker thought. He was riding high on being crowned the hero once again, but a lot of people saw right through him. He knew that there was no way in hell Harry was dark, and he also knew that his cub was the one who defeated Voldemort with Lucius Malfoy's help.
Lucius hadn't even recovered from the punishment that Voldemort had dished out after his resurrection before apparating to Severus to fill him in on what went down. He explained how it was Harry who had defeated the Dark Lord with his wand and how Dumbledore had swept in, bound an unconscious Harry, then disappeared with him. He couldn't go to the DMLE with the truth because he then would be tried as a Death Eater. True, he had been a Death Eater who had been forced into it by his father, but he had become a spy before the end of the first war. Of course there was no way in hell that Dumbledore would back him up with the truth.
"Just give me tonight," Remus pleaded, caressing his mate's side and tracing the exposed skin at the top of his pants.
Smiling through his tears, Sirius captured Remus' lips and kissed him with everything he had. He had been head over heals in love with Remus since he was thirteen years old. He had kept his feelings to himself because werewolves had destined mates and he didn't want to get hurt when he found his true mate after his sixteenth birthday. When he woke up on the morning of Remus' sixteenth birthday to find his crush in bed with him sniffing his neck and growling, he had been the happiest boy on the planet. That was also the day he had lost his virginity, despite what rumors there were about him sleeping with half of Hogwarts. Remus had been his first and only.
"I love you so much," Remus whispered into his mate's ear as he lovingly entered him.
Gripping Remus' muscular biceps, Sirius looked up at his mate through his tears. "I love you too."
Sirius wrapped a thick dark cloak around his shoulders then slowly turned to his mate. "Do you have all the paperwork?"
"For the hundredth time, yes," Remus said fondly, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
Sirius looked deeply into Remus' beautiful amber eyes. He was trying to memorize every little detail, this would be the last time he would ever lay eyes on them if he couldn't escape again. "Get him to John, he will be able to keep him safe."
"I will, Sirius. Though, I doubt he will believe me." Remus grimaced, remembering what a hard ass John Winchester was.
"Yeah," Sirius chuckled. "I don't envy you. I'm almost glad I will be locked up in Azkaban. At least I'll be safe from him."
Rapidly blinking his eyes, Remus looked up at the ceiling. "I don't want you to do this," he said brokenly.
"Believe me," Sirius snorted, "I don't want to do this either, but it's for our cub. There's nothing I won't do for that boy, even rot in Azkaban. Just get him to America and to John as fast as you can. I don't plan on being discovered, but you never know."
"I'll get you out," Remus said fiercely, grabbing his mate's arm in a bruising grip and pulling him flush against him. "Stay strong and don't you fucking break."
"They couldn't break me last time," Sirius said into Remus' neck. "I'll be fine, Moony, I'm too stubborn and bullheaded to break."
"Truer words have never been said," Severus sneered, stepping into the kitchen. "Though I would add stupid to that."
Stepping out of his mate's arms, but still clinging to his hand, Sirius rolled his eyes at the man dressed all in black. "Finally we agree on something," he snarked back.
"You're also brave," Severus ground out, looking like he was in physical pain for admitting that. "Your wolf won't be alone in getting you out." He meant what he said, Sirius was brave for going through with this. There wasn't another witch or wizard alive who would willingly trade places with someone in Azkaban. That prison made Hell look like a day at Disney World.
"Hell must have frozen over," Sirius chuckled weakly. "Severus Snape not only complimenting me, but also offering to help me. At least I'll have this moment to keep me warm while freezing my ass off in Azkaban. Do you have the potions?"
Glaring at Black, Severus reached into his robes and pulled out box no bigger than a snitch. "There's enough Polyjuice Potion in here to last you a year. If for some reason you're in there longer, I will find a way to get you some more. Tap it once with your finger here to get it to full size, tap it twice to shrink it."
Nodding his head, Sirius took the box with a trembling hand and shoved it into his pocket. He wasn't looking forward to chugging that nasty shit for the rest of his life. "Thanks, at least I'll have something to drink while in there. I'm sure after a while it will start to taste better than the dirty water they serve twice a day."
"There's one more potion in there," Severus said somewhat reluctantly. "It's small, red, and there is no way you can mistake it for Polyjuice."
Sirius looked curiously up at Severus. The two of them had never gotten along in the past, but over the last few months while trying to help Harry they had formed a tentative relationship. They still insulted each other when the opportunity presented itself, but there was never any heat or anger behind their words. "What is it?"
"It's for if things get too bad," Severus answered cryptically.
"Severus!" Remus growled, eyes faintly glowing.
Pursing his lips, Sirius reached out and placed a comforting hand on Remus' back. "How do I take it?"
"Just drink the entire vial and within five minutes it will be all over. There will be no pain, it will feel just like you're going to sleep."
"Sirius!" Remus whined, desperately pleading with his mate. "Please."
"Don't worry, love," Sirius whispered, caressing his mate's tear stained cheek. "I won't take it, but it's good to have just incase. I know if I take it, it will kill you also, so don't worry about it."
Remus closed his eyes inhaling his mate's intoxicating scent. "If it gets to be too much don't worry about me. I would rather be dead than have you suffer." When a werewolves' mate died, the majority of the time the werewolf died too. They would slip into depression so deep that they lost the will to live. Remus knew for a fact that he would die if Sirius died, there would be nothing for him to live for without his mate.
Swallowing down the sob that threatened to overwhelm him, Sirius kissed his mate one last time.
Clunking into the room, Moody awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's time, lad. The portkey leaves in five minute."
Taking a couple deep breaths, Sirius quickly stepped away from Remus and rushed to Moody. All he wanted to do was break down and cry, but he didn't want to in front of Remus. He would have plenty of time to cry in Azkaban. "Alright, let's go."
Lunging forward, Severus just managed to catch the wolf as he collapsed to the ground sobbing. "I got him," he barked to Moody and Sirius. "Go now! You won't be able to get another portkey to the prison if you miss this one."
Sirius had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying as he followed Moody out into the street. This was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Since reuniting with his mate almost two years ago, they had been practically inseparable.
"Quickly," Moody grunted thrusting a flask with Polyjuice Potion in it into Sirius' hand. "You're Mr. Grouse, a rich eccentric muggleborn who's dying wish is to visit The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Betray-Us and spit in his face. You're willing to donate a half a million galleons to the Ministry if they grant you your dying wish. Fudge was so damn excited when I told him about the donation that I thought he was going to orgasm right there in front of me."
"Gross," Sirius grumbled. "I didn't need to hear that. Did you get the promised galleons out of my account?"
"Just got back from Gringotts and will see the Minister when our mission is completed. You sure about this, lad?"
"Don't ask, please," Sirius whimpered. "It's what's right, Harry doesn't belong in Azkaban."
"Neither do you, lad," Moody sighed. "But you're a good man for doing this." He was one of a handful of people that believed in Potter's innocence. He had known Albus for far too long and he knew all about his lies and manipulations. He may not like or trust Lucius Malfoy, but he believed the memories that the man had showed him.
Sirius stepped back when Moody conjured a chair with wheels. "What's that thing for?"
"It's a wheelchair, Black," Moody grumbled. "Not only are you supposed to be on your deathbed, but do you honestly think that Potter will be able to walk out of there on his own? They have that boy in the bowels of the prison for five months."
Paling, Sirius gulped the potion down then collapsed into the chair. The bowels were the worst and reserved for the darkest and most evil prisoners. Even he hadn't been sentenced there last time.
Moody watched as Sirius shifted into a decrepit, frail, old muggle man that he had stumbled across and stolen some hairs from. He couldn't just waltz right into Azkaban Prison with Sirius Black, even if the man had been found innocent. Prisoners in Azkaban weren't allowed visitors, unless it was something major...or in this case, greased the palm of a very corrupt Minister. Not a knut of that half a million was going to go to the Ministry. Minister Fudge was going to be grinning all the way to Gringotts to happily make a deposit into his personal account later that evening.
"Let's go, laddie," Moody grunted holding out a sock.
With one last longing look back at the house that his mate was in, Sirius reached out and grabbed the sock with a thin and wrinkly hand.
Harry was laying on his back looking up at the ceiling with tears in his eyes. It had stopped raining two days ago and yet his sunlight had yet to return. He had spent hours crawling around on the wet, cold stone ground looking for it, but now he was finally admitting defeat.
It no longer liked him, that's why the light stopped visiting him. He didn't know what he did to upset it, but he was sorry. If only it would come back so he could apologize. He was so sad and lonely.
He had tried to be a good friend. He never yelled or cried when the light didn't warm him up. He had just been happy to see it everyday, it was so dark and cold in here. There were no lights, no candles, no heat...no nothing. All he had was that small ray of sunshine. Why did everything good get taken away from him?
All his life he had tried to be a good boy. He had always done what his relatives demanded of him without complaint, and yet they still beat him. He tried to make them proud by doing good in school, and they still beat him. He begged the hat to put him in Gryffindor, and yet most of the school still hated him. It didn't matter how good he was, everyone still hated him.
Ron, who was supposed to be his friend, was always jealous of him. He couldn't even sneeze without Ron looking at him in jealousy. Why couldn't he see that he would readily give up all his fame and fortune to have a family like his? Ron had parents and siblings, everything he had ever dreamt of. He never fantasized about having name brand clothes or state of the art electronics. He had fantasized about sitting at the dinner table enjoying dinner with his family, his mother reading him bedtime stories, playing catch with his dad, wrestling with an older brother, just doing things that a normal family did together.
Ron was always ashamed of his family. Acted like having older brothers was the worst thing ever. He was embarrassed of his father's job and despised the wonderfully crooked home they lived in. He hated the handmade knitted sweaters that his mother always sent him for Christmas and hid them in the bottom of his trunk so he wouldn't have to look at them. Why couldn't he see that family was everything? He had always proudly worn the sweaters that Mrs, Weasley had made him. She had made them out of love for him with her own two hands...and with the help of her magic.
Well, he had thought that she loved him...Mr. Weasley too. Now it seemed that they had been working for Dumbledore. If they were they had been a really good actors. They had genuinely seemed to have liked him.
Harry gasped when he saw a light dance across his face. Slowly rolling onto his stomach, he giggled excitedly when he saw that his friend was back. It was different this time, bigger than before, but it was back and that was all that mattered. Dragging himself forward, he laid his head in the light and closed his eyes. It hurt a bit since all he had seen for days was darkness, but it was wonderful.
"Oh, Harry," Sirius cried softly at the sight of his precious cub. Harry was laying flat out on the cold, wet ground with his filthy and matted hair spread out around him. The robe they had given him hardly covered his body and his exposed skin was blue from the cold and black from what looked like patches of frostbite. It was the blank eyes though that terrified him.
"He's broken," Moody mumbled. "Maybe it would be kinder just to leave..."
"We're not leaving him here," Sirius snarled angrily. "He'll be fine, Severus will know what to do.
"His mind has snapped, laddie," Moody growled. "There's no coming back from that. Look at him, he doesn't even know that we're here.
Sirius went to stand up but fell weakly back in the wheelchair. "Fuck, how the hell much longer until this shit wears off?" he snarled, cursing the old man's body that he was stuck in.
"About ten minutes," Moody barked. "And we only have thirty until a guard comes looking for us."
Harry was happy, his light was back and it was brighter than before. He wanted to apologize for making it mad, but his voice wouldn't work. He had probably torn his throat beyond repair from all the screaming he had done when the Dementors were feeding.
Sirius waited impatiently for the Polyjuice Potion to wear off. All he wanted to do was to rush to his godson and hold him tight. Moody was right, Harry's mind had snapped. His cub didn't know he was there. Hell, he didn't even know that he way lying on a floor that was covered in an inch of frigid seawater.
Moody held his wand up higher, the tip of it glowing brightly. The cell the boy was in was absolutely horrifying. He wouldn't lock old snake face in here let alone a child. Even Crouch JR had seen that he was comfortable and well fed while locked away in his magical trunk. This side of the cell block was supposed to be condemned because it flooded all the time. There were only four other prisoners in this cell block, and the boy was the only one on the flooded side.
Whimpering, Harry struggled to sit up so he could look for his little light. One minute it was on his face, and the next it was gone.
Sirius was out of the chair the second the change was complete. "Harry!" he cried, splashing through the water as he rushed to his side. "Harry, can you here me?" he asked, gently taking his bony face into his hands. Harry was so frail that he looked like he could easily snap in half. Weren't they feeding him?
Warmth! He didn't know where it was coming from or why, but all of a sudden his face felt nice and warm. Sighing, he leaned in closer, hoping that the warmth would seep through and into the rest of his frozen body.
"Harry, come on, cub, come back for me," Sirius desperately pleaded, running his fingers through his dirty, matted hair.
Feeling warmth for the first time in months made him realize just exactly how the hell cold he truly was. Shivering, he crawled even closer to warmth.
Sirius leaned back with tears in his eyes as Harry crawled into his lap. "It's alright, cub, I got you," he whispered softly. "I'm going to make it all better for you." Working quickly, he slipped off the horrible robe Harry was wearing and replaced it with the thick cloak that he wearing.
"Ten minutes," Moody warned. "Get some of his hair."
Standing up, Sirius choked on his tears when he felt how light his cub was. Sloshing through the water, he gently placed Harry in the wheelchair, wrapped a heavy blanket around him and then brought the hood up to hide his face. "I don't think it will be safe to Polyjuice him in his condition. The guard is going to have to see you leave and me as Harry so he won't suspect anything."
Harry wondered if he was finally dying. Not only was he warmer, but he was also floating. This was nice. If this was death than he was more than ready to accept it.
Moody inclined his head. "Hurry and get changed and take the blasted potion," he barked. "They will be looking for us any minute."
Sirius hurried and slipped Harry's robe on, gasping when the cold hit him like a ton of bricks. He was a hell of a lot bigger than Harry and the robe barely covered his bits. "Give him the Dreamless Sleep," he frantically whispered when he heard a noise coming from the end of the hall.
As Moody was forcing the sleeping potion down Harry's throat, Sirius was gagging down Polyjuice Potion with his godson's hair in it. Rushing back to his godson, Sirius took his small frozen hands into his identical warmer ones. "You have to go now, cub, but remember that I love you. Remus is going to take you far away and find you a family, but I will find you. Please, just fight and come back to us." He wished that he could hear his godson's voice one last time, but the potion already had him out like a light.
"Times up!" A guard bellowed, pounding on the door. "Get the fuck going!"
"Watch yourself, boy," Moody snarled. "Remember who you are talking to."
Opening the door, the guard looked sheepish. "S-Sorry, Auror Moody." The scarred ex-auror scared the shit out of him.
Moody gave a last glance at Black who had take Harry's spot on the ground. "This section of the prison is supposed to be condemned. Why the hell is Potter drowning in it? Also, those are not Azkaban issued robes. Where the hell are his proper, warmer robes?"
"Oh," The guard said, scratching nervously at his head. "Well, this is where Minister Fudge requested him to be kept and those are the robes he came wearing."
"And where the hell did Madam Bones want the boy to be kept?" Moody roared.
"L-L-Level four, Sir," The guard stuttered. "But the Minister..."
"Fuck the Minister," Moody snapped, pointing his wand at the guard, tip glowing dangerously. "Last I checked Madam Bones was your boss. The Minister has no say over the running of this prison. I suggest you get that boy in his proper cell with proper clothes immediately. I will be back later tonight, and so help me Merlin if he's still here, I will have your job and your ass."
"Yes, Sir," the guard cried, rushing into the cell and lifting the boy up. "I'm moving him right now."
Sirius wanted to laugh at the guard's fear, but he couldn't risk blowing the mission. He was extremely relieved that he wouldn't be stuck in this cell, he didn't know how Harry had survived for so long in these conditions. Level four wasn't too bad, a hell of a lot better than level three where his old cell was. Dementors only fed from Level four twice a week, unlike here where the feedings were nightly.
Moody hated leaving Black, but at least he gave him a better chance at escaping. The guard was also too busy now relocating him to notice that the real Potter was with him. After everything was settled he was going to see Amelia about how her guards were ignoring her direct orders. If the guard was scared of him, he was going to piss himself when he saw a pissed off Amelia storming Azkaban Prison looking for him. That woman even frightened the hell out of him.