When Angels Die

By: Riley Cat

Ch: 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. Instead they belong to the goddess J.K.R Rowling herself.

Italics indicate flashbacks. '..' indicates thoughts "." indicates speech

The pale light from the full moon seeped through the bars in pale strips, glittering off the bars and illuminating the gray stonewalls. A tiny figure sat huddled by the window, watching in silence as the cold moon made her rounds. The night laid still, no one moved and for once the screaming stopped. All was silent.

The dark figured sat hunched in on himself and contemplated his existence. The walls around him were cold and shown scratches on their surface. Tally marks to keep track of how long he had been living in this hell. Ten long years, cried the walls. Long enough for one to lose their minds.

Harry Potter gazed out of the window, lost in his thoughts and all alone in his tiny cell in Azkaban, the prison in which he was wrongly left to die. The memory of how this pitiful excuse of an existence came about haunted him day and night, replaying the betrayal of his friends, haunting him and never leaving him alone.

It started out as a simple day. Warm and sunny with a forget-me-not blue sky and not a cloud in sight. A small breeze wafted in through the open windows as Harry followed his two best friends down the corridor, drifting off into thoughts of Quidditch practice while he ignored the couple as they quietly fought. Ever since Ron and Hermione had become a couple, Harry had been left with this feeling of being alone. He knew he wasn't, of course, but there were times when he was overcome by a deep since of lose.

That same feeling was threatening to overcome him now. Harry knew that he had to leave, get out of sight, before his friends noticed anything was wrong with him. Harry didn't want to worry them with his own troubles so, making an excuse, he fled to take refuge in the nearest bathroom. Pulling a thin dagger from his robe pocket, Harry let the cool blade flow like water over his wrist. The feel of the blade digging into his skin and the release of hot blood making its way in tiny rivulets down his wrist made Harry catch his breath. This was a feeling Harry could handle, the pain being a friend to him. The sharp throbbing from his wound helped to chase away that cold feeling of fear, of the feeling that he might actually be truly alone.

Harry must not have cleaned the wound up very well, for when he left the bathroom and tried to make his way to the Great Hall he was stopped by a mob of people standing at the entrance. "There he is!" some one cried. The whole mob turned on him and restrained him from moving. Shouts of "He did it!" and "Harry's a killer!" wormed their way into his ears. He tried to ask what everyone was talking about until he saw it- the dead bodies of the Weasley twins lying there with blood seeping around their limp forms.

"How could you Harry!? I thought of you as family!" Ron Weasley shouted, his pale face streaked with tears. Hermione stood beside him, staring at Harry like she wanted to curse him. Suddenly, Ron launched himself at Harry, hitting any part of his body that he could reach. No one tried to stop him and by the time a professor had managed to pull Ron of Harry, he was bleeding heavily and had his arm broken almost in half. Harry never tried to defend himself; he knew no one was listening, especially since his own blood coated his wrist. Everyone took in the blood and said it was the twin's blood on Harry's hand.

The worst part came when Dumbledore himself said Harry was to be sent in for a trial. Even the Headmaster thought he could kill someone. The trial past swiftly and Harry was convicted for a crime he did not committed. Pansy Parkinson told the jury she had seen Harry stab the two and hurried off so he wouldn't be seen. The girl was a great actress and put on the performance of a lifetime. By the time she had given her account of what happened, the whole place was in tears. The only people who had even tried to defend Harry were Severus Snape and, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy.

Nothing helped, however, as Harry was sent off to Azkaban at the age of 15 with the whole wizarding world believing that he was a killer.

"Ten years" croaked Harry Potter as he swept his long dirty hair off his shoulders. "Ten long years and now they regret their actions. Yet a price is always paid to those who falsely accuse someone. Let it be paid in full." Tomorrow Harry would be free and everyone else would pay.

AN: I know I'm not finished with my other story but this just popped into my head and I started to write. I also know that it is way longer than my other story and has already been done but I just couldn't help myself! Please review and criticism is welcome. Enjoy!