I do not own Harry Potter...
This story was originally done by laer-ear and then Mellyone, but due to real life issues neither one could really finish it.
Myself taking over now, I promise you I do intend to finish this myself even if I have to slave over it the next year. I do work 5-6 days a week guys being that I am...probably a lot older then what it seems to you.
So to those who know me and those who don't and are newly coming to my style I welcome you.
PS... Things that I do realize I have trouble with and that I ask you do not harass me about.
A... Beta issues... Folks I know my grammar needs work and I have tried working with Betas before. Every single one I have tried to work with...has been quite disappointing. I am currently trying to find a reliable one that I can work with and who can handle my timelines. So don't ask and don't flame about it because all that does is make me mad and updates tend to stall longer as I rant about idiots.
B... Plot issues... This is my main pet peeve. I do not mind if you request certain things or suggest certain things to happen in the story. But if I receive one demand even a demand disguised as a request that I should put so and so with so and so or that I should do this... I will happily go ballistic on you. I am writing this with notes from both of the previous authors as well as adding my own two cents. NOT YOU!
In plain English...which I am sure 90 of you know. If you don't like it. DON'T read it.
Other then that any constructive criticism to help improve my writing such as demonstrated by reviewers of other stories in my listings like Rasengan 86, Huntsvilletiger, or Kingdark all three of which read my Naruto stories can serve as examples are welcome to review anytime.
But don't let those of you who simply want to tell me you like it stop you from reviewing after my little demands. I like those to.
Harry Potter was wrongly condemned to Azkaban, and a year later the 17 year old is Kissed and cremated. Only later does the Order discover his innocence, mere minutes too late. Is the Light's only hope now a pile of ashes or is it simply hidden?
The candles and torches floating around the solemn-looking room cast flickering shadows on every crevice of the stone walls and every facet of the occupants' grave faces.
There were a total of seven persons assembled in this grim enclosure, four of whom were sitting on one side of the room, two others who were standing on the opposing side, and a newly arrived person who was striding over to the standing figures.
Among those standing was a short man with a green bowler hat, who, despite the absurdity of his appearance, vainly attempted to take on an air of importance. Beside him stood the well-built figure of a middle-aged man who displayed nothing more than indifference. Striding over to the man in the bowler hat was a tall and redheaded young man whose expression portrayed a sense of professional eagerness. The young man quietly addressed his superior as if his concerns required a professional privacy that none of their companions should be inclined to hear. However, the other five members in the room heard the following exchange anyway.
"Mister Fudge, Dumbledore is requesting to be present at the verdict. The secretary just informed me that he and some of his vigilantes were stationed in the lobby" informed the redhead.
"In the lobby, huh? I assume that he is trying to get down here and that there are Aurors subduing them?" said the man in the bowling hat, now known to be Fudge, the British Minister of Magic at the time.
The face of Cornelius Fudge revealed an unappealing mix of nervous anxiety and childish excitement, as if he was both dreading and anticipating the events to follow.
"I don't believe he knows yet where these proceedings are being held. When I was there, the secretary hadn't informed him yet that we moved the congress down to the basement."
"Good. Thank you, Fairweather. Let's see to it that we make this event last no longer than necessary, as to avoid the intrusion of any unwanted visitors."
Fairweather, better known as the young Percival Weasely, let escape a small self-accomplished grin at his role model's praise. Then, in a show of respect, he bowed his head and stood back in the corner to watch the events unfold.
With a confirming nod from Fudge, the man beside him stood forward and addressed the four members sitting before him.
"Harry James Potter is charged on conspiracy against the British Ministry of Magic. He also has the additional charges of the following. The destruction of private property, the destruction of public property, arousal of social unrest, affiliation with a terrorist organization deemed illegal by the Ministry of Magic, and four counts of first-degree murder."
This man, in his professional garments that bore the same coldness as his demeanor, took what would be assumed to be a dramatic pause if not for the unlikeliness that his character would allow such an action, and perused his eyes over his audience. With the same disconnectedness with which he began his oration, he continued.
"On July 17, 1996, the Ministry of Magic hereby finds the accused person guilty on all accounts." The effects of this statement on the moods of the room's occupants varied between each person. Fudge's already rosy cheeks brightened in his poorly-suppressed cheeriness; Percy Weasely similarly looked delighted, even if only for his employer's satisfaction rather than for his own agreement with the verdict. The messenger of these charges, a certain Mister Robert Avery, revealed no emotion at all.
Among those seated was the respectable Amelia Bones whose eyes dulled with a muted apprehension.
She, out of all the partisans in the company, was the most disappointed. Ms. Bones did not believe the guiltiness of the accused but was in no more power to change the verdict than the accused himself was. In fact something about this was creating a feeling of immense dread within her very soul, as if it was warning her to not allow this to happen.
To her right sat two qualified Aurors hired to apprehend the criminal if he attempted to resist arrest. Although both showed almost as little emotion as the Mister Avery had shown, neither men could help but let escape a bit of their glee. Understandably, both men could not help but take pride in their direct involvement in what was sure to become one of the most famous trials in history.
Lastly, there was the reaction of Harry Potter himself. The already strained shoulders of this not even sixteen-year-old boy slumped as if a massive weight had been fastened to his back. Although his composure was nothing note-worthy to begin with, his whole stature tilted forward slightly and his shackled hands trembled in apprehension. Sweat glued his unruly black bangs onto his marred forehead and a tormented emotion tugged downward the corners of his tight-pressed lipped. Perhaps the most notable reaction of all in this young man was revealed in his eyes: the once lively green orbs that had glittered unrestrained a few mere weeks before darkened to a deep-sea-green as if an indescribable agony was prodding at the soul behind the irises. The shadows skittering across his cheeks and brow fulfilled his image of a despaired young soul.
Facing the Auror guards, Fudge commanded, "Escort him to the apparation room immediately. Avoid everyone until he is safely confined." Turning to Percy again, Fudge said, "Retrieve the dementors. They should be waiting in the corridors."
Although Harry had anticipated the verdict with a consuming pessimism, he was still taken by unpleasant surprise upon the entrance of these dementors. The flames lighting the room almost sizzled dead as darkness swallowed up the stony enclosure. An amazing sorrow flooded the room and seized Harry Potter in his very heart. His eyes further dulled and an onslaught of negative memories attacked the forefront of his mind. In fact, he was so consumed by his internal struggles that he paid no heed to the incessant, and somewhat painful, tugging on his shackles.
Memories were being triggered.
His mother pleading, high-pitched laughter, Cedric Diggory's lifeless face, Sirius Black falling through the veil, and Peter Pettigrew, knife in hand were old and nothing new to him in his nightmares.
The ones that came next though...those hurt the most...
Hermione Granger's shocked face, Ronald Weasely's cruel insults. Harry betrayed them. Harry killed the barkeeper Tom. Harry became a death eater. Harry broke Dumbledore's blind faith. Harry aimed the killing curse at a schoolmate. Harry laughed merciless above the dead bodies of the Leaky Cauldron's occupants. Harry watched the street ignite in flames.
Harry did none of these things. Yet these were the words of everyone he knew and loved that were shouted at him for days after his so called arrest.
But everyone thought he did. Even Dumbledore was tentative to doubt the accusations. Everyone hated him. Sirius would have been the only one to understand… to sympathize. Sirius was dead.
Because of Harry...
Now even Harry doubted his own innocence.
Amelia Bones sadly watched the nearly lifeless form of Harry Potter being escorted out the doors, to Azkaban, while he himself was heedless to it all.
The dread in her soul only increasing the woman begins to wonder.
Was saying nothing...right?