AN: Hello all, I bet this is a surprise, it was a surprise for me too. Honestly, I had thought I had given up on this story, and on the entire Harry Potter fandom in general. It just didn't hold the same interest to me that it once had.

Still that was then, since discontinuing the original version of this story, my minds been toying around with new ideas, and well, I couldn't resist playing around with this story once again. Seems I am not as through with the fandom as I thought I was. That, and I've been reading some pretty interesting stories recently, and I thought, why not.

That said I have tinkered around with some major things in the story, at least compared to the original. After all the original I will admit, didn't have much of a plan behind it, I was kind of making it up as I went along and I think that showed. It was not as well thought out as it probably could have been, and I think it suffered because of that, that and a lack of inspiration and interest.

So with that in mind I hope you enjoy. Though I will put a fair warning in now, the Harry in this story is not one that can be easily related with or sympathised with, unless you too are petty and spiteful at times, and can be a bit of a twat. So yes, I warn you now he won't be all that likeable at times, especially at the beginning, and won't be a generic Harry Potter hero type. He will be contradictory, inconsistent, erratic and at times an absolute wanker. You have been warned!

I say this now as I don't want to mislead people. OR for people to go into this story thinking that Harry is the generic golden boy that the fandom likes to portray him as. Nor will he be a godlike wizard who can snap his fingers and raze entire cities with a thought. He will however be a bit of a selfish dick at times, but not utterly evil.

On top of that I will endeavour not to try and deliberately bash characters for no reason, and will try not to fall into the classic Harry Potter fandom tropes and clichés. Though if I do well, then ah well, they become tropes for a reason. Not much more I can say on that front.

Pairings I will keep to myself, though I will admit they will happen, as I am a sucker for romances.

Think that should clear everything up, and get things out of the way. If you've not yet been put off then please do enjoy!

Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own Harry Potter.

Many thanks to Tree Licker for beta-reading the story.

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Chapter 1

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(With Harry)

Deep beneath the earth, on the cold, windswept, barren prison island of Azkaban, Harry James Potter lolled lazily against the bars of his cell. His raven black hair was long, tangled and matted with dirt and filth, his tall and painfully thin, pale-skinned body was clad in a ragged, grey prison uniform.

Letting out a bored sigh, Harry continued to drum his long, pale fingers on the bars of his cell, absentmindedly tracing the faint runic inscriptions that had been engraved into them with his other hand, even as he looked around at his surroundings in boredom.

Currently, he was just one of the lucky few residents of 'the Pit', collectively known to all those in the know, as the shitty arsehole of Azkaban.

It also happened to be the most highly secure part, of the already maximum-security prison. The 'Pit' itself having been buried nearly a mile below the surface of the earth, far away from sunlight, fresh air and anything that might bring its prisoner's joy. This section of the prison had been carved into the planet's bedrock by magic, and then had been subsequently reinforced by magic.

It was a place where the worst of the worst were sent. It was where they were sentenced to life, sent to rot, hidden away from the sun, tucked away within the bowels of the earth, out of sight and out of mind.

All those who resided here, as far as the rest of the magical world was concerned, were for all intents and purposes dead.

Fortunately though, the place was not as bad as it had once been, after all 'the Pit' also used to be the spawning ground for the Dementors, the island's former prison guards.

The dark dank hole that Harry now lived in, was where they had once been the most concentrated. It was also where they spawned new Dementors.

Though not in the traditional way that most beings reproduced. No, these were Dementors, and the way they spawn was much more sinister and considerably less pleasurable.

Instead of reproducing physically, Dementors instead had, over many decades, corrupted the prisoners that had been kept down in their lair with their foul aura. They drained people of their happiness and joy, drove them insane, and then finally, they mutated them into Dementors themselves.

Such a fate was truly worse than death, after all at least death would be quick, clean and final. Living as a Dementor though, that was an eternity of pain and misery.

A grisly fate for sure, Harry mused darkly to himself. Then again, the prisoners that resided down here, weren't sent here to have fun. No, they were sent here for the rest of their lives as a punishment for their heinous crimes.

Still, Harry comforted himself, 'the Pit' wasn't as bad as it used to be. After all, with the Dark Lord Voldemort well and truly dead now, and a new, far more competent Ministry of Magic in charge of the country, the Dementors had all been exterminated.

Every last one of them had been destroyed.

Harry chuckled darkly to himself, the reason for this wasn't entirely moralistic. The main reason behind their extermination had been because the Dementors; like many other 'dark' creatures, wizards and magical beings, aided the Dark Lord Voldermort in his most recent reign of terror when he was reborn just a few years previously.

A reign of terror that had only ended when the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One had finally fulfilled his prophesied task and killed the Dark Lord Voldemort, once and for all.

Harry sighed again at that, his head lolling for a moment, before he rested it against the cold bars of his cell, ignoring the now familiar feeling of the magic coursing through the metal.

These bars, they had been specifically enchanted to stop whichever wizard, or witch, inside the cell from using their magic, either with a wand or without one.

It was a relatively new addition which had been brought about partly due to the absence of the Dementors, and partly because it had become known that Sirius Black, a falsely accused and currently dead mass murderer, had escaped Azkaban a few years ago now by transforming himself into a dog and then slipping through the bars and passed the Dementors completely unnoticed.

Lucky bastard, Harry thought to himself, raising his arm as he did so and inspecting his now bare forearm, his eyes then flicking up to where a static red dragon was tattooed further up his arm. Once upon a time that dragon had been fluidly moving over his skin like a living creature, now however, with the bars in place, it was stationary and dormant, the magic that had been woven into it defunct for the moment.

It was a shame really, as Harry had not just gotten the tattoo because it looked cool. There had been a specific purpose behind it. It had been an experiment, something he had wanted to try out, and which had succeeded.

Prodding at the motionless dragon's head, Harry grumbled to himself again. If it wasn't for bloody Sirius Black then he wouldn't be completely impotent. Hell, he could have even used his own Animagus form to escape.

Then again being able to turn into a moderately sized bird would not be all that useful a skill to have when underground, especially now that the sightless Dementors had been replaced with a platoon of, at least moderately, competent Aurors; wizards and witches specifically trained in hunting Dark Wizards. The Ministry's elite forces, and the true power behind the Department of Magical Law and Enforcement.

Yes, Harry thought morosely, the chances of him getting out of this place alive were practically non-existent. The only way he would be leaving here would be in a coffin and wasn't that a cheerful thought for him to brood about.

Harry let out a dry chuckle at the thought.

The Dementors and the never-ending aura of despair that had once ground the prisoners down may no longer be around, but that didn't mean being down here was pleasant.

No, Harry thought to himself, it was dark; dank, cold and above all; boring. There was nothing to do down here except sit in your cell and ponder on your life, and on all the things you missed, the things that you had once taken for granted when you were free.

Basically, Harry mused to himself, the Dementors may no longer be driving you mad, but the solace and the amount of introspection you're forced to do still does.

Still, Harry sigh, in his opinion it was better to be barking mad than the alternative, after all, you always try and talk to the other prisoners down here.

"I swear Potter! If you sigh one more fucking time I'm going to reach through those fucking bars and throttle you, you little shit!" A hoarse, croaky voice suddenly snarled out. The anger and intensity of the voice attracting Harry's attention as he looked over to one of the other two-metre by two-metre cells

The cell in question being just as barren and desolate as his own cell. With the cells down here in 'the Pit', having no luxuries like beds or furniture. Instead they just a hole in the ground for piss and shit, and a pile of filthy straw and a threadbare blanket as a bed.

Yep, Harry chuckled to himself, wizarding prisons were practically medieval, and there was little to no regulations or guidance on how they should be treated, save for them not being physically harmed without reason nor killed, either by their own choice or by the guards. Those rules at least were heavily enforced, but otherwise, it was pretty miserable down here, purposefully so.

Looking up at the speaker, Harry found himself looking at the ugly, heavily scarred face of Antonin Dolohov glaring at him. The other man currently pressing his hideous face against the bars, his single remaining eye gleaming brightly through the gloom as he glared hatefully at Harry.

"Go fuck yourself Dolohov you miserable, ugly old turd." Harry replied blandly, sticking two fingers up and sending the former Death Eater and duelling champion, the internationally recognised hand sign for 'fuck off'.

"You want to have a go, Potter? I'll rip your fucking throat out with my teeth before you've jumped up, you little shit!" Antonin snarled as he strained against his bars, his anger increasing by the second as he saw how unconcerned his antagonist looked.

"Wow graphic," Harry replied dryly, a mocking smirk quickly spreading across his face as he tilted his head to the side and gazed at the furious Dark Wizard across from him. He could sense an opportunity for a bit of entertainment. "You can try it I suppose. Then again you didn't come off so well the last time we faced off, did you…? Those scars of yours, they didn't really heal that well, did they?"

Antonin's single remaining eye bulged at that reminder, even as he brought a mangled hand up to his partially melted face, tracing his scarred fingers along his deformed features.

The man was so ugly that it actually hurt to look at him sometimes, or at least that was what Harry thought.

"Shut up down there!" Another loud voice shouted out, only this time it came from above. The new voice noticeably attracting the attention of all eleven of 'the Pits', as all of them came to the bars of their cell and looked up. Their gazes locking on a wide metal platform that was slowly descending through the air from the large metal rooftop overhead. This was the only way in and out of 'the Pit'. "You've got yourself another permanent neighbour."

"Oh, another dead man walking!" A grating, high pitched female voice cackled from another one of the cells, Bellatrix Lestrange now getting involved as she pressed her pale, gaunt and haggard face against the bars, a gleeful look twisting across her face as she tried to see who the new inmate was.

"Of course you'd be happy about that, you psychotic bitch." Harry grumbled, pushing away his own curiosity about who the new lifer was, as he instead took this as an opportunity to needle the unstable bitch. "You probably just want another person around that you can torment, all so you can feel better about your own sad; useless, pointless existence..."

"Drown yourself in your shit bucket, Half-blood." Bella spat back brusquely, without a second glance at him, she once again looked up at the still descending platform chanting giddily as she did so. "New fish, new fish, new fish."

All around the circular cavern, the rest of the inmates joined in chanting.

All of them, Harry knew, were the worst of the worst; they were mass murderers, torturers, necromancers, dark wizards. Each and every one of them had committed terrible crimes and horrific atrocities, of which they were all proven, irrefutably, guilty.

Harry, unfortunately, knew that he himself was included in that number.

"How long do you think this one will take to crack?" Fenrir Greyback growled from his own cell, his already ugly face, twisting into a somehow even uglier expression as he gazed hungrily up at the descending platform.

"I'd give him an hour," Harry replied from his own cell, once again leaning against the bars as the platform finished its descent, with him only looking away to share a grin with Fenrir.

"I'll take you up on that Hazza, if I can make him crack in under that then you have to sing us a little ditty," Fenrir grinned.

It was a pretty piss poor bet, Harry knew that. But really, they all had nothing else to bet with. Not even food as they were sustained by a particularly nasty ward, one that did nothing for their gnawing hunger and thirst, but kept them alive with magic all the same. For this reason, humiliation was the only thing they had to gamble with really. Plus revelling in someone else's misery and embarrassment was pretty useful as a distraction too.

"Fine and if you can't then I expect one in return, I want to be serenaded." Harry retorted, not at all perturbed by how stupid this sounded, after all when you were trapped down here in the cold; damp, darkness you clung onto anything you could to entertain you.

"You're on!" Fenrir returned with a chuckle, several of the other inmates groaning and grumbling as he did so.

Chuckling dryly at this, Harry turned his attention back to the newcomers, watching curiously as the platform touched down, and the pair of red-robed Aurors forcing the new inmate off of it. Both of the robed men held the prisoner tightly by either arm as he struggled and screamed. The new lifer screaming and begging for mercy, claiming innocence.

Harry shook his head in dark amusement at the performance. If he had been sentenced down here, the newcomer was already fucked, there was no talking your way out of this place.

With twin looks of disgust on their faces, the two men cast the new lifer onto the floor. One of the Aurors taking their wands out to immobilise him, and then force him to stand up, whilst the other held a long, rune engraved metal baton, magical lightning coming to life and crackling menacingly at the end of the baton.

"We're to put him in the cell next to Potter." The Auror with the baton said, gesturing over to the empty cell next to Harry.

"Oh, I'm honoured." Harry drawled out sarcastically in response, even as the other Auror forced the prisoner over to where Harry was, the new prisoner eventually coming into clearer focus, his pale face now clearly visible through the perpetual gloom down in 'the Pit'.

"Shove it scum." The Auror with the wand growled in response, spitting on the floor near to his cell as he did so, the robed man's face twisting into an expression of disgust as he looked at Harry.

Harry ignored him for the moment though, instead, he focused his gaze on the new inmate.

"Well look here, if it isn't Drakey Poos." Harry called out mockingly, his emerald eyes glittering with malicious glee as he saw the scared, pointed features, and white-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy, even as he was forced into the cell next to, Harry. "They finally track you down Malfoy, and drag you out of that little hole you were hiding in?"

Malfoy sent, Harry a fearful look as he said this, but didn't respond as he was instead thrust into the cell by the Aurors, with the bars closing behind him with a loud clang and melding together, never to open again, or at least not until his body needed removing.

The Auror however did respond to him.

"Quiet traitor!" The Auror with the baton snarled, slamming the light metal pole against the bars of Harry's cells as he did so. Which in turn made Harry leap backwards to avoid being shocked as magical lightning crackled across the metal bars, only for it to be suppressed moments later as the runes on the bars flared to life.

"It's Dean, isn't it? Dean Thomas?" Harry spoke up coyly, his emerald eyes gleaming with momentary anger at the attack before a wicked smile spread across his lips. "I remember you, you were in my year at Hogwart's weren't you, a muggle-born Gryffindor from memory."

"I said shut up, scum!" Dean snarled, his eyes flashing with anger as he once again struck the metal bars with his baton, magical lightning running across the bars of the cells again for a moment before dispersing.

It was an action which just got him a mocking smirk from Harry, even as he stepped back and out of the danger zone, his lips curling upwards as the cell's bars once again muted the magic.

Around the pit, all of the other prisoners began chuckling cruelly, Bella's high-pitched cackle standing out the most.

A lot of the people down here might hate Harry, or at least not like him that much, but all of them hated their jailors far more.

"You seem angry, excessively so," Harry said softly, keeping his distance as he saw the dark-skinned man's face contort in anger again. Dean must be what, around twenty-one or twenty-two years old by now, Harry thought, the same age as him. He was too young to be a proper field Auror; investigator or detective, but a trainee that was possible, as too was him being relegated to just a prison guard. "I'm guessing you lost someone in the war, didn't you? Tell me, who was it? Was it your mother; or your father, maybe a sibling, or tell me, was it a friend?"

Dean twitched as Harry, said friend, something which he quickly locked onto, even as he crept closer to the bars, his green eyes still glittering cruelly through the darkness.

"So, a friend then was it? It wasn't that loud, obnoxious Irish boy, was it? What was his name again? Was it Shaun, or maybe Simon?" Harry mused, his lips quirking upwards as he saw Dean gripping his baton tighter, he was getting to him. "Was it me who killed him I wonder?"

Dean didn't have to say anything to answer the question; his actions spoke for him as his face twisted into a snarl and his hand dived into his red robes as he went for his wand.

"That's enough, Thomas!" The other, older, Auror said loudly, the tall, dark-skinned man walking forwards as he gripped Dean's shoulder tightly and stopped him from lashing out at Harry in rage. "Keep your temper, don't let the inmate get to you. It's what he wants. Remember he was defeated, caught and sentenced, and now he is down here paying for his crimes. He is just baiting you Thomas, he wants you to lash out and end up as a prisoner too."

Dean noticeably stiffened as he heard this, but reluctantly nodded all the same.

"Aww, you're no fun Kingsley." Harry sighed creeping closer to the bars; his lips twitching upwards in amusement as the older Auror looked over at him; a flash of revulsion and hatred appearing in the stoic man's eyes for a moment. "Tell me though, Kings. You're not still angry with me, are you?"

"You're a traitor, Potter. You turned your back on everything you and your family ever stood for! Your parents must be rolling in their graves." Kingsley Shacklebolt replied with forced calm, his gaze both angry, yet also, annoyingly enough, disappointed. "You had so much potential, and could have done so much good, but now look at you!"

"I was merely being practical." Harry shrugged easily. "Little Neville, the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived was inept, and your Order and the Ministry were losing. Despite that though I still joined you for a while, and even helped you. I fought alongside you, but none of you ever really approved of me, or my methods, did you? You didn't like it when I used lethal force, 'as bad as the Death Eaters', that's what you used to say, wasn't it? So come on, can you really blame me for leaving and deciding to join the winning side?"

That, Harry knew was a massive oversimplification. His reasons for leaving were not that petty, selfish yes, but petty, not so much. Not that he was about to edify Shacklebolt about his true reasoning. No, that was known only to Riddle, Dumbledore and Harry; two of whom were now dead.

"And how did that work out for you?" Shacklebolt snapped, his grip on Dean's shoulder tightening to the point at which the younger wizard flinched and cried out in pain. "You were doing good work! You were fighting the good fight! You were a trusted member of the Order and then you just turned on us. You murdered those who trusted you and joined the man that sanctioned your parent's death! You're a disgrace to their memory, Potter!"

"It was a misjudgement, I'll admit." Harry shrugged, his head tilting to the side curiously as he eyed the two angry men up and down. "I will also admit that I was maybe a little too impulsive. I mean come on Kings, how was I to know that old Dumbledore had a plan? That he had accounted for Longbottom's uselessness and already plotted out the Dark Lord's demise. It's his own fault really if you think about it. If he didn't always keep his cards so close to his chest, I would never have defected! If he had been more willing to share what he knew, and not keep people in the dark then the war would have been over much sooner, and far fewer people would have died. It's as simple as that and you know it!"

Again, Harry knew he was simplifying things and missing out on certain elements, but at the moment he didn't care. What would he gain by being truthful at this point? Plus, it wasn't like they could do anything more to him if they realised he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"You cannot justify your actions or shift the blame Potter. You are a murderer, a torturer, a practitioner of the darkest of magicks; you and you alone are responsible for your crimes, no one else! You, Harry Potter, are a fucking traitor, and you will burn in whatever hell awaits you when the time comes!" Shacklebolt growled, his voice getting louder and louder, his face contorted in fury, even as his mind was probably recalling all that had been lost during the war; along with all the pain, death and destruction that he, Harry, had caused.

"Bit melodramatic don't you think, Kings…?" Harry replied easily, his smile tightening.

Shacklebolt pushed Dean Thomas out of his way as he heard this, his face set in a look of pure anger as he raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's face. He was still more than a foot away from the bars. Too far away for Harry to reach out and grab his wand. But even so, the anger on his face, and the intention behind his actions was clear enough.

Harry knew that he had pushed all the right buttons.

"Careful Shack, you're letting your anger get the best of you," Harry called out softly, his smile gone now, and his emerald eyes instead burning with anger, practically glowing in the darkness of his cell as he locked gazes with the furious Auror.

He had to be careful now, he might hate living down here in the dark, but that didn't mean that he was quite ready to die, not yet at least.

Shacklebolt glared at Harry as he said this, after which, he seemingly mastered his anger and then turned and strode back to the platform, Dean following meekly after him, but only after the younger man had sent one last glare at all those in the cells.

The few remaining Death Eaters that still lived. The ones that had been taken alive. Those few that would spend the rest of their lives paying for their sins, and the sins of their fallen 'Master'.

Harry looked back down at his forearm again at that thought, once again inspecting the smooth patch of pale skin. Just months ago, a black skull with a snake twisting through it had been branded there. A mark that the Dark Lord had given him, at the same time that he had been anointed as one of his Lieutenants, a member of his inner circle.

A look of disgust spread across Harry's face at the thought of it. He had not liked Riddle, nor any of his Death Eaters. To Harry, the Dark Lord had merely been a means to an end. A tool that he could use to broaden his knowledge of magic and increase his power. It had disgusted him to bear the snakes' mark, almost as much as it had disgusted him to pay homage to the 'great' Albus Dumbledore when he had been in the Order of the Phoenix.

He was his own man, he wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed serving others. Yet despite that, he had ended up caught between two 'masters'; and hadn't that turned out well? Harry mused to himself sarcastically.

"Wow they sure hate you, don't they, ickle baby Potter!" Bellatrix cooed from the cell next to Harry, even as the Aurors ascended to the next level, leading the rest of the inmates to their misery.

"Shove it up your arse, Lestrange." Harry snapped back, a flash of irritation passing across his face, before without another look at the haggard witch, he instead turned his attention to Malfoy's cell, his lip curling upwards as he heard Draco Malfoy's whimpering.

"So anyway Malfoy, what happened? I thought you and your parents left the country, fleeing like the craven scum you are?" Fenrir spoke up suddenly, the rest of the prisoners quieting down as he directed his words to the new lifer.

Malfoy didn't reply to Fenrir's jeering though, instead, he buried his head in his arms and continued to whimper and cry.

The pussy, Harry thought.

"I am surprised though, I would have thought they would drag your slimy daddy down here as well, oh and your shrew faced mother too..." Fenrir spoke up cruelly, going for the low blows now. "Unless of course, they're both dead…!"

Malfoy's sobbing intensified, before without warning it turned into full-blown wailing, which in turn made, Fenrir crow in delight. "And the new fish has already broken! I think that's some kind of record!"

"For fucks sake Malfoy, you didn't even last a minute!" Harry groaned, even as the other prisoners started laughing and jeering, all of them cruelly mocking the crying blonde, save of course for the boy's mad auntie, Bellatrix.

"Ha! Time for a singsong Potter!" Fenrir shouted, only to be ignored when Bella's sharp voice cut through the jeering.

"What happened to Cissy, Draco?!" Bellatrix demanded. She was unable to see her nephew from her own cell, but that didn't stop her from trying to see him as she pressed herself against the bars of her cell. "What happened to my sister, Draco? Is she dead!?"

"So what if she is, just another member of your foul family gone." Harry chuckled from his cell. "Personally, I'm hoping for a clean sweep."

"Silence Potter, or are you still angry that I killed your mummy and daddy!" Bellatrix snapped, her tone suddenly hateful as she turned shrieked at him.

"I would say I was still pretty angry, yes. Are you still annoyed that I killed your husband, and brother in law; oh and burned down your family's old manor house too?" Harry replied mockingly. "Or are you more annoyed that I would have killed you too, if the Dark Lord hadn't shown up and driven me away, saving your worthless life?"

"You got lucky Potter! You ambushed me! Besides if the Dark Lord hadn't arrived I still would have beaten you. I had a plan!" Bellatrix snapped back at him churlishly.

"Liar!" Harry crowed, his voice loud and mocking.

"Silence, half-blood!" Bellatrix shrieked again, only for her complaints to be drowned out by Harry's mocking laughter at her tired old insult; the other prisoners all joining in too. All of them trying to alleviate their own misery by making their fellow prisoners feel even worse.

It was just another day in 'the Pit'.

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AN: So what did you think? Please leave a review, comment etc. If you have any questions or suggestions feel free to PM me.

Also I am on a discord with a load of other writers, so if you fancy popping over to ask questions or offer suggestions about this story, or any of my other ones, or to find new authors you might not have come across yet, please feel free to use the link in my bio.

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you later.

Greed720.