Betrayal of the Best Kind
By Draco664
NOTE: This is not mine and no copyright infringement is intended. -guesswhoiamppl
Cold
The biting cold wind permeated everything. The last time Harry had been warm was nothing but a distant memory. He sat dejectedly on a cold, damp sandy floor, surrounded by cold, grey, stone walls, with a view through a barred window at a desolate, drab, but above all cold, landscape. Hell must be better than this, he thought, at least you were warm there.
The screams started again. They never really stopped for long. Harry closed his once brilliant green eyes, willing the torture to stop. One despairing wail was filled with more anguish and heartbreak a person should ever have to bear. The dementors on the island made sure there was no hope for the inmates of the wizarding prison, Azkaban. Emotivores, they lived on the emotions of the prisoners, draining them of all positive thoughts and feelings.
Azkaban. The very name conjures images of suffering and torment. Only the very worst wizard criminals are sent here, Death Eaters, murderers and torturers. The final home for those deemed too dangerous to live amongst other wizards.
Most of the other prisoners housed here were insane. Few retained any semblance of humanity after a stay at the pleasure of the Ministry of Magic. The howls of anguish echoed through Harry's head, try as he might to shut them out. One of the prisoners was close to death. The dementors were getting excited. They always did.
Even now, the unholy glee exhibited by the dementors at the deathwatch of the doomed prisoner made Harry ill. He had almost experienced it first hand in the first week of his imprisonment. Having to listen over and over to his parent's murder had all but pushed him to suicide.
He hadn't been here long, compared to his godfather, but it was long enough. Sirius was the only person ever to have escaped from Azkaban. After experiencing it for himself, Harry had only admiration for his animagus guardian. How he managed to survive twelve years of this hell-on-earth was beyond him. Having remembered what Sirius told him of Azkaban, Harry was able to protect himself somewhat, but the Dementors still chilled him to his soul.
The dementors. Harry hated them. He actively forced himself to loathe them. Harry welcomed the stomach-churning bile that he deliberately felt when one came close. Feeling hatred was better than fear. Much better. The soul eaters could see hope hidden under fear (what else was fear but a desire to be elsewhere?), but couldn't see it under hatred. One of the black-robed creatures drifted past the barred door, looking in.
Harry brought to mind every accusing look, every whispered comment, every betrayal he could remember. That was almost too easy. Having those who you loved turn on you made bitterness very easy to come by. The rush of negative emotions made him feel sick, but the dementor drifted on, unable to receive sustenance from the boy. For the last eight months Harry had protected his hopes and dreams from the dementors, by dwelling on how he felt when everyone in the entire wizarding world betrayed him.
Well, bar one.
~~~
Summer, end of 4th year.
Touching his cheek where Hermione had kissed him, Harry followed his Uncle out of Kings Cross Station. He was not looking forward to staying with the Dursleys, and hoped that the Weasleys would be able to convince Dumbledore to let him stay with them soon. The sooner the better.
The trip home was a silent one, except for his Uncle's periodic mumblings about unnatural freaks. Harry knew this was not going to be a fun summer.
Two weeks later.
Harry wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, trying to get rid of the sweat that was constantly dripping into his eyes. He had little time to himself these days, with his Aunt and Uncle deciding that the back yard should be remodeled and re-sculpted. Surprisingly, Harry found he didn't mind the backbreaking labor, and each evening after a meager meal, Harry would crash into bed and into an exhausted slumber.
