Azkaban was a nasty place.
Cold, dark, wet, and disgusting. The beach was covered with slimy mold and seaweed. The air was both humid and stagnant at the same time. None of the walls had ever been cleaned. At least not as the sea salt stains on all of the stone walls showed.
And then there was the case of the newly returned Dementors. Beings that could chill the soul from the inside out. And the dullest, dimmest of grays for sunlight. It was the only lighting, if you could even call it that.
It was a dirty, nasty, horrible place. But that was where Harry was being kept. For now, at least. In a gray cell with a black tank and an overly large pair of black pants to cover him. The room was a bit bigger then most, but it was just as bad. Little or nothing lay inside it besides the man himself. He was seated with his legs folded in front of him, his arms wrapped around his knees, his intense green eyes staring at the rusted door.
He was alone, covered in sea mist and dirt, chilled to the bone. Left with nothing but his thoughts. Harry would have traded the tiny, over-stuffed cupboard under the stairs for this cell any day. As least it was dry and he had the spiders for company.
He had been locked away after the Final Battle. The Light side had won, but evil still had its hand to play. Not to mention, people from almost every level of the government wanted him out of their way. So he was jailed for being a traitor and deserting England in times of war, after being dragged right out of bed from Gryffindor tower where he was sleeping after the Battle of Hogwarts.
That part had been the cruelest. For just those few hours, he had been free. Free of Voldemort. Free from the weight of the prophecy, free of pain and fate itself. He had a chance to heal at last. Those few hours after the war were bliss. Bliss that was quickly ripped away from him when he was ripped out of bed.
He was now awaiting trail. Even though he met no lawyers, or had yet to see any official papers. He had never gotten a chance to review his rights or come up with a defense for himself. That was how he knew he was done for. The Ministry wouldn't be holding a real trail, of course. They would be holding a performance. Then they would lock him up and toss away the keys.
Harry continued staring at the rusted door, lost in thoughts as he sat there. Waiting for the men to come, waiting for the mock trail to happen. Waiting for his life to end. Waiting to be punished by the very people he saved. Waiting. Silently. Still wet. Still cold. Still alone. Holding no hope for himself or for wizarding England. Nope, none at all. Azkaban had sucked every last bit of it out of him.
He would only have to wait for two more weeks. And now he was beginning to lose his mind. He had been clinging to fact that he was innocent like a lifeline, but it was being stretched way too thin. He may not have been the most adjusted person on the planet, but he knew what was sane and what wasn't, and he knew he was fatally close to crossing that line. Thank God, the piece of Voldemort's soul had already been removed, or he was sure he would be far gone by now.
Then, it happened. A group of Aurors had arrived and walked into his cell. All carrying heavy chains. Some seem shocked that he still had a grip on reality. Others just glared at him.
"Harry Potter - We are here to inform you that you have been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. It is to be administered immediately, and then you will spend the rest of your time in a ward at St. Mungos…"
Harry just stared at the man and slowly gave him the coldest and cruelest of glares. Snape, bless his brave, parted soul, would have been proud of it.
"What? No mock trail? Straight to the gallows, eh?" Harry said, realising that he knew none of the men in front of him. It was obvious that was why they were sent. These men didn't care about Harry when he lived, so they wouldn't give a damn about him when he died. The guard standing in front only snickered at him.
"A trial? No, no, no. You've got too many fans and too many supporters." The man explained. And it was then that Harry looked down at his outfit and realized he wasn't really a guard at all. His robes were of the same make, but of a higher quality and more decorated. A Ministry official, at least.
"On what charges am I being sentenced? You can tell me that at least, can't you?"
"For surviving." The man spat, his eyes burning into Harry's. It was obvious he wanted to see him suffer.
Harry just looked at him and glared. Another array of dots connected.
"One of Voldemort's bitches then, I assume?" Harry said, and the man froze.
"How DARE you…" The man started, with a pureblood haughtiness that proved Harry right.
"Tell me, how did you manage to escape getting caught? Bribes? Hide-and-go-cower?"
"Says the walking dead-man…" The official growled, as he motioned to the guards. All of them stepped forward and started locking the restraints on his arms, legs, waist and ankles. They even wrapped the links around him a few times.
"You should have known better, Potter. Even after killing the Dark Lord, you should have known that his loyal followers would see to your death." The man said.
"You'll be found out, you know." Harry said.
"Some of us, yes. But not all. But don't fret over that. You'll be a souless vegetable by then. And none of your little friends will even know about it. Until it's too late." The man then stepped off to the side, as a Dementor glided into the room.
Harry then realized the chains weren't there to help transport him. They were there to keep him still. He didn't think that he would be kissed by a Dementor. Not after he'd killed Voldemort, at least... When Voldemort was alive, yes. One of the top ways he thought he'd go, actually. Harry looked at the Dementor silently. If he was going, he was going out with his head up.
"Any last words, Potter? I'll make sure it makes the front page."
"Yes" Harry said, turning back to the man, a look of pure hate on his face. "I never betrayed the Wizarding World. It betrayed me."
"How heroic" The man spat coldly, then turned stiffly to the Dementor. "Do it."
It immediately swooped down, right in front of Harry and opened it's horrible mouth. He heard it take a large breath.
He had expected it to be over in a second. It wasn't.
The Dementor's mouth wasn't like a mouth at all. It was more like am ice-cold black hole. The small intake of breath soon became a bone-chilling suction of air that encompassed Harry's entire body. Harry's body instinctively tried to fight it off. He tried turning away, shaking, pulling, tugging, struggling. It was fruitless. But he still fought.
It was then that he felt it… The pulling on his soul. It started in his toes, tingling like mad. Next his legs, and his arms, and other limbs. Like someone was pulling out all of the veins inside his body out through his mouth. It was odd - he could feel all of the "threads" or connections of his soul, though his whole body, being detected and yanked away, being sucked into the Dementor, being drawn out faster - leaving behind nothing but a cold and hollow feeling.
Then came a more horrifying feeling. Like being in two places at once. He could feel his physical body, the tingling, the cold… And then he could feel anther part of himself. A non-solid form of his thoughts and consciousness, an odd form of energy or life… The horrifying part? The parts were no longer together. His body stayed where it was, while his other self, his soul, was being taken away.
He panicked, or tried to, as he realized what it was, but it was far too late. His mind went fuzzy, then foggy, and then he almost like he was falling asleep. But somehow, it felt deeper and more definite. And then, as the last string detached itself from the back of his throat… Everything went black.
And his body, chains and all, fell to the ground.
Listless. Lifeless. Souless.
Ron sighed as he looked back at his older brother, running a hand through his hair.
"So, no one knows where he is being kept. No one knows when his trial is. No one knows if he's even FIT for trial. And everyone that is pushing for his return or release is being ignored, or punished?"
"You forgot 'And everyone that does know is lying,' but yes, that's about it." George said, inching closer to Charlie. Bill, who had one arm around his wife, sighed as well.
"So... WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DO WE DO!" Ron yelled and his brothers all looked around at him. They were all thinking the same thing. It was high time that they got Harry the Hell out of wherever was. But the obvious issue was, they couldn't find him. Every Weasley, Order member, and D.A graduate had been working endlessly on finding the Boy-Who-Lived. But no one could find a trace of him. Not even his wand. It was beginning to look hopeless.
Charlie patted a stressed-looking George on the back. Ginny just sat alone at the breakfast table - a glass of pumpkin juice in her arms, as silent and solemn as she had ever been.
"Well, we need to do something useful, and we need to do it quick…" George said, looking over at the others with a determined look. "The longer he stays missing, the longer he stays in danger. We need to stop going through the open channels and start digging for dirt."
The morning owl flew in through the window and landed in front of Mrs. Weasley. It carried the newspaper and a few other letters. Mrs. Weasley stirred the scrambled eggs a few more times as she smiled weakly at the old owl.
"We've got tons on Umbridge. We should start with her." Ron offered, trying to get the ball rolling.
"Dawlish and Moody managed to get some contacts with Aurors' Office, as well as a few Ministry guys and Unspeakables. They'd be more then happy to help."
"McGonagall loves Harry. She'd be glad to help out. And she's Headmistress now, too." Ginny said with a hopeful look in her eyes.
It was then that Mrs. Weasley put down her wooden spoon, and took the eggs of the burner. She turned to the owl and took the paper from its claws.
Two seconds later, a horrified scream filled the kitchen, and the owl scrambled out of the window in panic.
The headline of the paper simply said: "Boy-Who-Lived; Kissed by Dementors."
Many years later:
The long-term treatment room of St. Mungos was quiet. Deathly quiet. More than likely because most of its inhabitants never moved. They were all laid, one by one in rows, against the wall. All with monitoring spells and healers buzzing around them from time to time. But none of them moved, unless they were moved intentionally by someone.
So when a flutter of wings was heard, and a black haired, blue-eyed man wearing a trenchcoat appeared in the middle of the room, it was no surprise that there was no reaction from any of the inhabitants. Blue, soul-piercing eyes looked around the room curiously. Searching and looking for something in particular. It was then that he started to walk. His tan coat swaying behind him. He walked past bed after bed, slowly glancing from side to side.
He stopped in the middle of the ward. His eyes fell on the form of a young man; deathly pale and unbelievably thin. He had high cheekbones, smooth skin, and behind a mess of unruly black hair, a lightning bolt scar. The man froze as he looked over the form. His eyes turning from searching to unbelievably sad in a moment of seconds.
"Harry James Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived and the Master of Death." The man said in a rough, grave voice.
"I am sorry for your… forced punishment. I am even more sorry that I have been forced to the position that I must now awaken you." The man said, as he moved forward. He gently took the hand of the bed-ridden man and held it in his own two hands. He continued to speak, both softly and kindly.
"But Lucifer has just been freed. And I cannot trust my brothers and sisters anymore. I need help. A companion. A great force of good to help me stop this plague of evil."
He placed Harry's hand back down, and brushed the unruly locks away from the scar that adorned his forehead.
"My name is Castiel. I'm an Angel of the Lord. I have come to restore you, and to set you free."
Seconds later, the sound of fluttering wings was heard again. And the Angel and the young man were gone.