Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. It's all JKR's. It's my first story, so be nice.
Harry Potter and the Sanctuary of Light
Chapter 1 No Hope
He lay in the dark. All around him prisoners moaned in nightmarish sleep. The stone under him was sticky with grime, dirt and the sweat from hundreds of prisoners before him. He could feel the chilling cold of dementors two floors down. A fiery emerald gaze pierced the dark, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Harry Potter, 'the boy who lived' a prisoner of Azkaban. He gave a dry chuckle at the thought, not in humor but in self-derision, then groaned as it jarred his bruised ribs. If you were in Azkaban, then you were guilty. At least, that was the attitude of the guards. Whenever they got bored, they came into the cells and 'punished' the prisoners. And I'm one of their favorite targets.
He felt the cold getting stronger. Screams sounded in his ears, then worse memories followed. He clenched his eyes shut and curled up on himself, trying to keep the sounds out. The sounds of his friends screaming at him, accusing him... of something he didn't do.
How could you Harry!!! We trusted you!
You murdering filthy blood-sucking animal!
And the worst. Sirius. Harry, I can't believe you did this. I was free. Wormtail was caught and given the kiss. I had so many things planned. Was power worth this? He had turned away, tears in his eyes. It's too late now. Goodbye Harry.Lupin had gripped Sirius's shoulder and started leading him towards the door, shooting a hateful look at the young fifteen year old.
Harry had known it would be useless to shout his innocence. If the people who knew him best believed this of him, there was no hope.
Finally the dementors moved on their way. He slowly unfolded his body, his muscles cramping up from tensing them so tightly. He lay back down in his previous position closing his eyes as he remembered the events that had brought him here.
Harry lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of the last year ran through his head. Cedric's glassy eyes, a pale figure rising from a cauldron, fighting for his life. Sorrow flashed across his face, remembering...
It was around midnight in the fifth year boys' dorms at Hogwarts. All around him were snores and an occasional babble of sleep talking from Neville. He tried closing his eyes to sleep, but after about fifteen minutes of trying to calm his speeding thoughts, he groaned softly and got out of bed. Putting on some warm socks to keep out the cold, he headed for the door. As he passed the room's mirror, he gave a small grin at the disaster that was his hair.
The fire in the common room was getting low, but the coals were burning hot and brightly, so he grabbed a blanket off the top of a couch and settled down on his stomach to stare at the flickering embers. He wasn't idiot enough to believe he was solely responsible for Cedric's death or Voldemort's resurrection. No, that was Voldemort and Wormtail's fault. But he also knew that his choices had impacted the ultimate outcome.
He was nodding off while watching the mesmerizing winking of the fire when there was a small sound off behind him and to the right. Rubbing his eyes, he started to turn when a hand darted out and clasped over his mouth. Startled out of his sleepy stupor, he tried to twist out of the hold when another pair of arms caught his wrists. Starting to panic, he kicked at the man holding his mouth. The man grunted and stuck a knee on Harry's back to pin him to the ground and make it difficult for him to move.
Another masked figure brought out some rope and started tying Harry's arms to his sides and his legs together at the ankles. A sock was stuffed in his mouth kept in place by another length of rope. Then he was picked up roughly off the floor and dragged towards one of the windows. He tried wriggling and catching his feet on passing furniture, but was just knocked on the head for his efforts.
Ears ringing, he lifted his head from its slumped position and saw out the windows about ten more masked figures riding on broomsticks. He was able to glimpse a net hanging from four riders before he was thrown out the window to land with a muffled grunt on the center of it. Then they were off. The November weather was chilly, and his body felt frozen after just a few minutes of flying.
Finally they stopped at a small town about fifteen miles from Hogsmead. Dread filled him as he saw all the deatheaters milling round the new arrivals. Finally they parted and Voldemort walked through. Harry glared up at the nightmarish figure, shivering from the cold and from hate.
"Well well, the great Harry Potter. What are you doing so far from Hogwarts? No, don't answer. I already know." He smirked and walked around the prone boy, whose eyes followed him with speechless hate. "You're here to help me with a little ritual." A snarl was heard through the gag. "No, now don't interrupt. It'll be like killing two birds with one stone. I get rid of a thorn in my side and I make the wizarding world's hero into their worst nightmare, besides me of course."
Sensing Harry's confusion, Voldemort turned and gave a chilling smile. "After all, who would believe that Dumbledore's golden boy would do something so atrocious, so unbelievably evil for the man who killed his parents? A spell to take the life-forces from every living thing in this smidgen of a town and transfer it to... me. They'll curse the day they ever met you. Your friends will turn their backs and hate you. And the wizarding world will fear me even more. For I turned their boy who lived into a weapon against them."
Disbelief covered Harry's face as he tried desperately to escape his bindings. I've got to get free... I've got to warn... someone!! All these people...
And so the ritual began. Like before, Harry's blood was used. And all he could do was watch as Voldemort used Harry's wand to kill every living thing within a five mile radius. The life-forces from the recently killed zoomed through the air like ghostly blue comets and into a medallion that hung from a chain around Voldemort's neck.
He opened his eyes again. They never even gave me the chance to explain... Harry had been found the next morning in the town square surrounded by houses full of dead people, the condemning wand in his hand, his pajamas transfigured into a deatheater's robe. Unconscious from the supposed drain of energy used to perform such a complex spell.
And then they gave me to the dementors. No veritaserum to prove my innocence, no questions except for ones to prove me guilty. Friendships years old, thrown away because of assumptions and incriminating evidence.
He turned towards the wall, his lips pressed into a thin line. No hope was left.