When I was girl, I dreamt of standing in a room, looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl who was and was not myself. My mother took this as a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.
Depending on the possibility something had, has, or would have to happen, one can surmise it has, is, will be happening. The nature of reality is the possible and therefore, all possible define a reality. Muggles have been investigating this conundrum in recent years under the Theory of Multiple Universe.
Archimage Quentin Addendum
** * **
The rain was rattling outside, but he'd long gone past noticing. A thick humidity was chocking his lungs, clamping his skin cold and running sick under his cloths. It stuck the grim and mud of the little cell, driving the place into his mind and bones. A tangible remainder to his withering mind he was ...
Prisoner.
All it had taken was a moment of weakness. A moment of doubt and despair. Facing the man, the monster who kept dragging himself back from the tomb to hunt him like a famished dog of nightmare, his hope had wavered. Cedric was dead. Voldemort was back into his power.
Oh, he had gathered his courage, fought in the mock duel passing as his execution that Voldemort had been so glad to stage. He had fought tooth and nail for his survival. But when their wands had connected, and he'd lost control of his magic, he had panicked. One moment of panic and despair had been enough for one of the beads of light coursing the link between their two wands to pass from Voldemort's wand to his.
One, tiny, difference.
Water had infiltrated the cell now and was dropping slowly on the stone floor. The drip was maddening, regular, but not quite. Unseeing green eyes bore on the slowly glowing puddle. He blinked once, twice, and some kind of realisation slowly wormed its way.
It was dark outside. Even his cellmate's ramble had died down by now. He ought to try and sleep.
Not that he'd succeeded in getting any real sleep since they'd taken him to Azkaban.
***
The crowd, the music, the cheers... Too much, too loud. Don't they see? Don't they realise??
Harry felt like a griffin had ripped his chest open, cradling Cedric's body and hanging on desperately to the dead boy like a drowning man to a lifeline.
'He's back! Voldemort's back.' He cried. 'Cedric, he asked me to bring his body back. I couldn't leave him, not there.' He sobbed brokenly.
'It's alright Harry. It's alright, he's home, you both are.'
Harry whimpered as the nightmare assaulted him, knowing in his unconscious the events that were about to unfold. His body twisted in a desperate attempt to wrench free.
But there was no escape.
'Let me go!' He screamed to the top of his lungs to the two aurors manhandling him. He could hear the mad laughter of the man that had passed for his defence professor echoing against the stone walls, mocking him. 'I'm innocent! It was Voldemort! He is back! He killed Cedric! Let me go!'
'Enough!' Fudge snapped. 'Silence him! We do not want to start a panic.'
One of the aurors let him go only long enough to charm a gag on his mouth, before proceeding to drag him away.
'Fudge, this is completely unacceptable.' Dumbledore stated in a dark, authoritative tone. 'Harry is a student....'
'Suspected of the murder of one of his classmates.' Fudge interrupted sharply. 'His wand has provided evidence! One of the last spells he casted was the killing curse and that's evidence enough to take him in custody.'
Dumbledore moved on to object, but for the first time in his life the Minister stood his ground to the old headmaster.
'This is me applying the wizarding law, Albus, and you will not interfere. If the boy is innocent, he will be cleared during the inquiry or the trial.'
***
The inquiry had taken three weeks. A weeklong search, which the headmaster had spent running all across Britain without a moment respite, trying to find evidence, proofs, or witnesses of Harry's innocence. But proofs had been concealed. Those who knew wouldn't talk and those who didn't wouldn't hear.
***
There was a section of Azkaban dedicated to custody. A place to keep people who had not yet been proven guilty, and therefore were not to be exposed yet to the prison's... permanent guards. But to Harry it still felt terrible. It felt like this moment when the Hogwarts Express had stopped and he had felt incoming dread, before the Dementors had showed up.
In the custody section it felt like this moment of dread was stretched to the limit of sanity.
Somehow Barty Crouch Jr. had been placed in the jail across his. Harry had caught from the aurors he needed to undergo trial to determine wherever he'd be placed in a cell deeper the pit as he had been before his escape.
The mad man kept asking him question. The litany seemed to be going on indefinitely like a never-ending stream of the man's adoration for the Dark Lord. At the beginning Harry had stubbornly ignored him. But as the hours passed and crawled on him like the rain on Azkaban's wall, he'd found himself falling into a trance like fascination for the man's world. He never answered Crouch, but now when he laid on the floor of the cold cell, the silvering litany was like a thread to the real world. To reason.
Or unreason.
He caught the guard speaking once. Apparently, they would have to ask for one more person on the patrols. The Dementors were being uncannily curious and they kept having to refresh the Patronus charm protecting the custody area.
Somehow in his dizzy brain, Harry registered this was not curious. It was because he was here. Dementors had always been attracted to him.
***
It was not until the day of the audience that Albus Dumbledore saw Harry Potter again.
He had had... worrisome reports from an auror he new that was currently posted in Azkaban. He had not met with Harry himself, but word had gone around the custody had taken a toll on the boy. Visits right had been refused due to the 'sensitive nature of the inquiry'. Azkaban was a dreadful place and the relic of an outdated and archaic judiciary system. But as bright as he was, he could not fight every battle and this one was a sore point to him, and the magical world at large even if it went largely ignored.
Because as much as people fooled themselves in pretending, they needed Azkaban, and that the criminals hosted there deserved their punishment, the real point was... they had no choice. They needed Azkaban, but not to keep the criminals there. They needed Azkaban to keep the guards away.
He hoped Harry would recover quickly from his stay in this place of dread. Because surely, they didn't intend to send him back.
He pushed the door of the courtroom and the active chatter that had been buzzing as everybody was taking their seat dimmed somehow, as part of the courtroom's attention turned to him. He gave a curt nod to Fudge, ignoring the blazing glare the man was sending his was, and took his seat as the witness for the defence.
Silence fell over the court as Potter was escorted inside by two weary looking aurors. He was shown his seat and they retreated to the back. Harry looked terrible, Albus thought grimly. He looked lost in his own head, a look he had witnessed on many Azkaban prisoned but never on such a short notice. The traumatism of the events he'd witnessed, and the absence of his friends must have sent him down spiralling faster than expected.
'Disciplinary hearing of the 12th of July into offenses committed by Harry James Potter resident at number 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging, Surrey. The charges against the accused are as follow. That he did knowingly perform the killing curse on his classmate Cedric Diggory. This charge encompasses murder of a fellow wizard British citizen and a break on the ban of one rightfully named unforgivable curses.' Fudge stopped in his tirade, casting a look down on Harry. 'Do you deny casting the unforgivable?'
There was a lull as the whole court held their breath. There had been rumours, that Potter had claimed the return of who-he-must-not-be-named as he had been dragged from Hogwarts, that he'd denied killing Diggory's son. The silence stretched on, before the question seemingly registered to Harry.
'I didn't do it.' He finally breathed.
Albus took a relieved breath. Things would have gone difficult if Harry had not been capable to defend himself.
'I see,' Fudge narrowed his eyes. 'Do you deny as well the murder of Cedric Diggory?'
A flame lit up in Harry's eyes at the mention of Cedric, and his temper flared from his catatonic state.
'I do! I didn't kill Cedric! It was Voldemort! I was there, I saw Cedric...' he swallowed, his eyes fogging up for a second, 'die. I saw him being murdered.'
'A telling tale with no proofs.'
At this statement, Fudge eyes flickered worriedly to Dumbledore, but the man kept grimly silent. He had no proof for Harry's innocence. From the few words he'd gotten from Harry that day, before he was taken in custody, he'd formed a theory about how the killing curse signature had been swallowed by Harry's wand, but even he had to admit it was too close to an academic guess to be of use in a trial. At best it would discredit them both and make things more difficult.
'The wand of Harry James Potter was proven to have cast the killing curse mere minutes before he showed up clutching the body of his adversary in the Triwizard tournament. In face with these terrible facts I advise the strongest punishment and imprisonment for life in Azkaban.'
A few people gasped in surprise, but a worrying majority of the courtroom just looked grim.
'Cornelius,' Albus chocked out of surprise and dread, 'surely not? Harry is a minor and his guilt is not established. Surely home arrest until further facts come up...'
'Dumbledore, Harry Potter's guardian are muggle not befitting house arrest mandatory requirements. Moreover, and if the gravity of his last act is not enough to disincline the jury of such measure, I will recall he is a multi-offender. In July 1992 he breached underage restriction on magic use outside the school and last year he assaulted his aunt using an engorging charm on her. Let the jury keep these facts in mind to judge Mr Potter's case.'
***
The debates had gone on for hours. Dumbledore had pleaded, pulled every string he knew and played the political game he had mastered over the year, but nothing had made it. Something had frightened the courtroom. Harry statement had brought them back fifteen years ago. And they had acted like they would have then.
The sentence had fallen.
Guilty as charged. 30 years in Azkaban.
Dumbledore couldn't believe it.
The aurors had moved back to grasps Harry and the sentence had finally registered to the disoriented boy. He pushed back the aurors, fighting tooth and nails not to be dragged out.
'I won't go back, I won't! I am telling the truth!' He shrieked, terrified. 'I am telling the truth!'
Albus tried to reach out to him, to comfort despite having no word of comfort for the young man. He touched Harry's arm, but he recoiled as if he'd burned him.
'You...' Harry's eyes snapped up to his. 'It's your fault!' He seethed in a blind rage.
'Harry, I never...'
But what he saw in Harry's eyes cut his sentence short. A flash of crimson, and a look of pure hatred. Actually, if the auror had not moved on to stun Harry, Dumbledore was quite sure he would have lunged for his throat. As he witnessed in dismay the young man he'd so fondly seen growing being taken out of the courtroom, an insidious and poisonous thought wormed its way in his brain.
Perhaps Harry being locked up would be for the greater good.