Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
RATED M: Very Mature, Death, Killing, Torture, Rape, Sex, Language …you have been warned!
WELCOME BACK POTTER
Ch. 1: Azkaban
Inky black darkness …a woman screaming …your world snapping
Sickly green glow …high pitched laughter …the sound of death approaching
Seeping blood red …love and hope destroyed …my eyes matched my tormentors
Again my nightmare of a life is repeated.
Dull grey stone …freezing cold rattling …deluded visions mixed with pieces of truths served only to destroy.
Again my nightmare of a life is repeated.
Black, green, red and grey …the only colors I see or know in this hell.
Screaming, twisted laughter, and tears of anguish …the only sounds I can still hear in this hell.
Guilt, blood, bile, and dirt …the only things I can still taste in this hell.
Pain …all I can feel in this hell known as Azkaban.
Pain …is all I can see, all I can hear, all I can taste; it's all I know …only the pain …and twisted memories remain.
Again my nightmare of a life is repeated.
I know little real information of my former life. Those who once truly loved me have died. Those who once hated me have won. Those I once considered friends abandoned and betrayed me.
By them, I was left here to rot for my actions that night, and they have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. I am now rotten, beaten, broken, disturbed, deluded, angry, bitter, devastated, and agonizingly …alone.
How long have I been here? Time means nothing anymore, and especially in a place like this. How have I survived this long? Maybe if this can be called surviving. Where did the Dementors go? They should have destroyed me by now, did they destroy me? Would I even know? These are the first coherent thoughts, are these coherent, thoughts I've had since my seventeenth birthday. Have they already given me the kiss? Do they have nothing more to steal and rape from my mind and soul? Why would they leave? Why does my head now hurt?
Oh …fuck …Voldemort.
"Ah, the great Harry Potter, the boy who killed," spoke the most evil wizard spawned since Grindewald, in a disgustingly sweet voice that hissed like a snake as he stood in the doorway to the small cell and stared at the wasted and filthy lump of rags lying on the cold stone floor. "Look at what the Prophesized hope of the wizarding world has become …a cold blooded killer sentenced to life in Azkaban …only to become a useless shell of a man," he sneered as laughter broke out behind him from his accompanying Death Eaters.
Voldemort took a few steps forward into the cell, and brought a swift kick for an older wizard into the pile of rags, sending the filthy and undernourished prisoner a few feet across the floor, ending up flat on his back without so much as a squeak of noise. If it wasn't for the very faint and slow rising and falling of the man's chest, he could have easily been mistaken for dead. His skin was a sickly pale with a very waxy and stretched look to it where it could be seen, and he was disgustingly thin, worse then Voldemort remembered many prisoners during the Great War while serving under Grindewald.
The young man lying on the ground appeared in almost black and white, with varying shades of grey. His white waxy skin contrasted heavily with the overgrown ebony black hair and beard, as well as the filthy grey cloth that made up the outfit of all Azkaban prisoners. Even the caked dirt and blood was a muddy grayish-brown. The absence of any color in the room, beside the burning red slits of Lord Voldemort, was an immediate reminder of the blandness and lifelessness that permeated the wizard prison that so many of the present Death Eaters had at one point been residents of.
As more Death Eaters started filling into the cell after their leader, it was expanded so they could circle their prey as they were want to do, and leave their leader and his long time nemesis in their midst. Many were visibly uncomfortable to be in Azkaban whether from previous incarcerations, or the lingering presence of the Dementors which was still almost overpowering, and the lack of color didn't ease their concerns much either. A collective gasp shared with their Invincible Leader brought everyone back to reality, as the room was suddenly filled with an eerie and sickly green glow. There in the center of the room, sat the source of the light as he sat up and looked around his cell at the gathered audience with eyes glowing the sickly viridian color of the unforgivable killing curse that only he had ever survived.
"W-what do you w-want…Tom?" rasped out Harry with a whispered and raw voice that somehow worked after only screaming itself to oblivion for who knows how long.
"I believe I underestimated you, Potter," spoke Lord Voldemort slowly and unusually calm despite his anger at his given muggle name and after getting over the initial shock of seeing his enemy's eerie eyes. "I never expected you to survive this long. I always thought you weak and amazingly lucky, but then again I never would have believed you capable of murder either."
"The Golden Boy, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore's pet, and my favorite the boy-who-killed, and a convicted murderer. How did it feel Harry, after all this time in here? Do you still think about that day? Do you remember how you felt when you found your little blood traitor bitch raped and watched her die? Do you remember how you tortured Bellatrix and murdered her husband and his brother in front of her? It's an incredible power to take another's life, did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy causing another's suffering and torment? Do you now still enjoy it after all these years?" here the Dark Lord paused in true gloating format, while letting his questions sink in further, and seeing no motion from Harry continued to get to the crux of the matter.
"You have the potential to be great, Potter. Join me? And I will help you get revenge on those who betrayed and abandoned you. I know it hurts, Harry. To be abandoned by those who are supposed to care for you. Their hero and savior discarded without a second thought for going dark…"
"So …join me, and together they will suffer our wrath. Dumbledore, your old friends, and the Ministry have left you for dead and dismissed you as a killer and dark wizard. They don't want you back, to them you are nothing more than an evil threat, a future Dark Lord in the making, so join me and together we can destroy them? I can make you more powerful than you could ever imagine," finished Voldemort as he watched the younger wizard carefully to try and gage what he was thinking. He had tried using Legillimancy on Potter the moment he could look in his eyes to get an idea of his sanity and had only found such utter chaos, that it was rather painful to the Dark Lord.
Harry sat on the stone floor in a daze, staring up at Voldemort as his words tried to register and trigger memories long tainted by the presence of the dementors. He saw flashes of easily killing the two male Lestranges in front of an already tortured and beaten Bellatrix after they had raped and killed his beloved Ginny. That day had played more frequently in his tortured mind then did any of his others. His parents, Sirius, Cedric, none of their deaths destroyed him as thoroughly as Ginny's had. There was nothing left for Harry in this world, and at that moment when he saw her beaten body under Rudophus Lestrange when he arrived on the scene, he had known his life would mean nothing to him again. And when the green light of Rabastan's killing curse ended her life seconds later, Harry had seen absolute red.
And the man mostly responsible for his pathetic, miserable, agony filled life, now stood before him appealing to Harry to join his ranks? It hardly made any sense at all, and there was only one answer to give.
"Fuck you, Tom!" spat Harry with as much force as he could muster through his torn and raw throat as he stared defiantly at the evil, red-eyed snake-faced wizard before him.
"I will make you pay for this for the rest of your miserable life Potter. It's your fault that two of my most loyal followers have been dead now for years, and the third is now more useless than a first year student. I want to know what you did to Rudolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix that night. Don't think you have even begun to experience the punishment that is due you, Potter," spat the Dark Lord viciously as he raised his wand, " crucio."
Harry's body, already sitting on the ground immediately started the erratic contortions so familiar with the unforgivable pain curse and his eyes began glowing even brighter, but a scream never came. Instead, the most unusual and out of place sounds anyone under the cruciatus curse could make, especially one placed by the Dark Lord, began to ring out and echo around the prison cell eerily.
"HAHAHAHAHA," laughed Harry loudly as if he had just heard the greatest joke ever told. It was however, a very hollow laugh, not filled with warmth and joy, but an almost maddened, maniacal cackle that shook his emaciated frame.
Nevertheless, the stunned crowd of Death Eaters were frozen into silence as the Dark Lord's anger, the power of his curse, Harry's glowing green eyes, and his laughter continued to grow to deafening and unheard of levels. Finally, several minutes later when nobody in the cell, save the crazed prisoner, could take the growing enjoyment in Harry's laughter, the Dark Lord lifted the spell, and tried not to show the strain it had caused him. The noise immediately stopped, and a strange silence fell upon those witnessing the scene, until it was broken only seconds later by the most unlikely of people to be capable of speech at that moment.
"Is this my punishment, Tom? I would have thought you of all people could do better than a useless first year student?" mocked Harry in a surprisingly stronger mind and voice than before, fueled by hatred, as he struggled back to a sitting position with his incredibly weak body.
With a violent slashing motion, a livid Dark Lord sent a vaguely familiar deep purple cutting curse at Harry, which ripped through his filthy grey robe, and tore into his pale flesh from the top of his left shoulder across his torso and ending up below his right hip. He instantly collapsed backwards to the floor in a growing pool of his own blood, as his breathing shortened painfully between fits of coughing up blood and bile.
"Severus," bellowed the Dark Lord standing above the crumpled and barely conscious form of Harry Potter to one of the Death Eaters to his right. "Please heal our guest to keep him alive long enough for me to finish his punishment later. The rest of you, start gathering all the prisoners. Kill them if they refuse to follow me…, or better yet bring them back here and we can have some more fun with my young friend here," he spat as he watched all the Death Eaters, save Severus leave the cell. Severus set to work on trying to heal Harry enough for another bought of torture, and closed the deep wound across his chest recklessly, with no sake for the prisoner's discomfort or future scars, if he somehow managed to survive.
"Good luck getting out of this one, Saint Potter," spat Snape quietly as he finished his lackluster job of healing his former student, and waited for his Master and fellow Death Eaters to return.
AN: First Chapter Down. It gets worse for Harry before it ever gets better, just a fair warning. This story is already written out on paper so you'll just have to wait for my slow ass to keep typing. Most of the chapters are longer and will total 25 in total …enjoy the show! No spoilers here.