Strange Conversations
“Albert? Is Harry Potter really in front of us or have the hallucinations finally started?” asked Lucius Malfoy.
“I see him too,” the man in the cell beside Malfoy answered. He was in the other cell that Harry could see into. The man was older than Malfoy and he looked familiar to Harry. Unfortunately no last names were coming to mind so Harry wasn’t sure how he knew him.
Both wizards watched Harry silently for a few moments. Harry watched them in turn but his focus was mostly on Malfoy. Given their past interactions, Malfoy felt like the bigger threat to Harry. Except now Malfoy had become gaunt since his stay in Azkaban, which made him look less threatening. It some ways it reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy’s slow deterioration as of late. It wasn’t uncommon to see Draco with dark circles under his eyes. Despite not looking as pristine as he was used to, Lucius did seem in better shape than Harry would have expected. Of course, Harry was basing that off of how Sirius had looked and his godfather had spent years in Azkaban.
Harry was trying not to shiver but couldn’t stop it completely. The cell was cold and his prisoner uniform was doing little to fight against the cold. Harry was also pretty sure his shaking was partly due to fear. Harry wanted to break down but refused to do so in front of a bunch of death eaters so he fought the urge to cry and scream. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold out but he hoped he could make it until the others feel asleep.
“What did you do?” Malfoy asked, finally breaking the staring contest.
Harry hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to talk to these men, but he wasn’t sure how long he would be stuck here. It was going to be a long stay if he didn’t talk to anyone.
“They arrested me for the department of mysteries fiasco,” Harry answered. Malfoy raised his eyebrows but fortunately no one laughed. Harry suspected they probably were a little amused that he was now in Azkaban with them for incidents that occurred the same night most of them were arrested.
“Surely, not on suspected death eater charges,” Malfoy prompted.
“Unforgivable curse,” Harry admitted then launched into an account of what had happened. He was careful to avoid mentioning that he actually cast the curse and instead started his story from the moment the aurors had stepped into the great hall. He paced back in forth in his cell as he told his story. When he got to the part where they had arrived at Azkaban and he was told he’d stay here to wait his trial, Harry finally allowed himself to vent his frustrations and called the aurors a number of derogatory names.
When he finished his tale, he paused, standing in the middle of his cell and panting slightly. He watched the only two people he could see clearly. Both Malfoy and the man he called Albert looked noticeably shocked.
“Well,” Albert said, drawing out the word. “Someone really put their foot in it.”
“What?” Harry asked.
“My judicial-wizard was telling me that the ministry was taking a ‘tough on crime’ approach to show that they are not useless. I suppose spending the year denying the return of the dark lord has reflected poorly on them,” responded Albert. Harry noticed he seemed amused. He probably had a hand in encouraging that the ministry turn a blind eye to Voldemort. “However, I don’t think the public will be too keen to see you swept up with all of the other riffraff they have been collecting.”
Harry blinked. He was surprised by the first overt show of support, especially since it was coming from a Death Eater. Someone Harry assumed was a Death Eater anyway.
“The papers spent all of last year calling me a delusional attention-seeker. I’m not sure the public will care what the ministry does to me,” Harry said. He moved towards his mattress and sat down on the bed. He suddenly felt tired after finishing his rant about how he came to be here. The fact that someone was finally pointing out how stupid this whole thing was, was also allowing him to cautiously relax. If one person was able to see how unfair it was, perhaps others would too. Albert’s suggestion that the public would be on his side was raising Harry’s hopes despite the fact that he had just expressed his own doubt.
“Except the papers are now reporting that you were speaking the truth,” responded Albert.
“Whether they believe you or not,” cut in Malfoy, “you’ll still have sympathy merely due to the fact that you are still a child.”
“No I’m not,” Harry said defensively. Both Malfoy and Albert looked amused by his protests.
“A young man,” Malfoy conceded. “My point is that your youth will work in your favor. Throwing someone who hasn’t even finished their education into Azkaban without a trial will backfire on the ministry.”
“So why did they do it?” The question came from the cell next to Harry. If he remembered correctly, the man in that cell was Vincent Crabbe’s father.
“Arresting him was such a bad idea that I can’t even fathom what moron thought it would be a good move,” Malfoy answered shaking his head. “I don’t know how they thought this would work.”
“So, it’s not a Death Eater plot?” Harry asked. There was silence and Harry immediately regretted asking. He wasn’t ruling out the possibility that this was somehow Voldemort’s plan to make him miserable and get him out of the way. But the question also reminded him and the men around him that they were on different sides of this war.
“I wouldn’t know,” Malfoy said eventually and then was silent again for a few minutes as he thought about the situation. “Sending you straight to Azkaban was probably just to make it harder for Dumbledore to rescue you quickly or prevent the whole thing from happening. They probably thought that sending you here would ensure that their plan would work… but since it’s a crap plan, it will not.”
Harry wasn’t completely sure about Malfoy’s assessment. If whoever planned this was smart enough to keep him out of Dumbledore’s reach then surely they were able to plan ways to use that time to get the public on their side.
Everyone grew quiet again, but this time it seemed less tense than before. Harry glanced around his cell as he reflected on what Malfoy had said. The cell was more spacious than Harry had pictured when Sirius spoke about Azkaban. Of course, that hadn’t been too often as the man did not want reminders of his time there. Harry wondered if he was in Sirius’ old cell. Knowing his luck, he was probably in Crouch Jr.’s old cell.
At one of the back corners there was a toilet bowl and sink. The sink had a small bar of soap resting on one side and a toothbrush on the other. Fortunately, the toothbrush was still in a package, so it wasn’t a leftover from whoever has last used this cell. In the center of the back wall was a window. A cold breeze occasionally made its way into the cell. A glance at Malfloy’s cell revealed he had a similar window. If all cells had a window, then that would explain why the entire place was so cold. The window was high up, so Harry couldn’t see much. Harry guessed that he probably could reach the window, but it wouldn’t be easy. This was probably why Sirius had not thought to use it to escape until he became desperate.
The cell had enough space that Harry didn’t feel like the bed was right next to the toilet. He had been able to do a decent pacing session when he told Malfoy and Albert the story of how he got here. The bed wasn’t overly large but was made to fit a grown man. Unfortunately, sheets were about as thin as the uniform and likely wouldn’t do much against the cold. The mattress was too hard. Harry had grown used to Hogwarts’ mattresses for most of the year. However, his bed at the Dursleys was not that much different from the one in the cell. When the Dursleys had reluctantly moved Harry to Dudley’s second bedroom, they had needed to provide him a bed. Rather than buy him a new mattress, they had elected to buy Dudley a new bedroom set and gave Harry his old one, including the worn-out mattress.
“Did you really cast an unforgivable curse?” asked Albert, cutting into Harry’s internal debate on whether the mattress in the cell was better or worse than the one he was stuck using every summer.
Harry didn’t answer the question. Despite their support on how ridiculous this situation was, Harry didn’t trust them not to repeat any confessions he might make. However, his silence might have been answer enough given the raised eyebrows both Albert and Malfoy were sporting.
Harry was trying to think of a response that wouldn’t incriminate him but also let them know he was crap at that particular spell. Surely the fact that it had barely worked should cut him some slack. Before he could think of a way to phrase it, the sound of doors opening at both ends of the hallways were heard. Suddenly the already cold air turned frigid. Both Malfoy and Albert back up in their cells.
“Dementors,” Malfoy explained, not that he needed to. By now, Harry was aware of what dementors felt like. As the sound of his mother’s voice started ringing in his head, Harry tried to huddle on his bed without looking like he was huddling. It seemed unlikely that the other men would notice due to their own proximity to the dementors but he remembered all too clearly the teasing Draco Malfoy and his cronies gave him in third year. Without his wand available to cast a patronus, Harry suddenly felt like he was in third year all over again. Completely helpless against the dementors and his worst memories.
Harry saw the cloak of a dementor at the edge of his cell before he was consumed by the memory of his mother’s death. He was lost in it, reliving her futile pleas to spare him.
Suddenly it stopped. The sudden silence was jarring.
Harry panted into the rough thin sheets, eyes still pressed tightly together. He didn’t want to open them to amused Death Eaters. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry braced himself to be taunted before he sat up and opened his eyes.
Harry had expected Lucius Malfoy’s mocking face to greet him, looking much like his son had in third year. Instead an even nastier surprise was waiting for him.
Standing at the bars of his cell was a dementor. Harry couldn’t see into its hood, but he knew without a doubt that the creature was staring right at him. Harry didn’t understand why his worst memories had stopped replaying in his head if the creature was not only very close but had his full attention trained on him. Harry was suddenly very grateful for the bars separating them.
“How are you doing it?” A low and gravelly voice asked him. It was accompanied by a rattling sound. Harry shivered but realized that the usual cold he feels in the presence of dementors had also receded. It was still cold, but it was just the general cold of Azkaban. Harry wondered what could be blocking the effects of the dementor before he registered that the men in the cells around him were moaning in misery. Harry hadn’t noticed until his own laboured breathing had calmed. Although Harry could no longer feel the effects of the dementors, it seemed like everyone else in the vicinity still could.
“I can see it. You’re brighter than the rest. Tell me human, how have you managed this?” the voice questioned after a few moments of Harry sitting and staring dumbly at the dementor.
“I don’t understand… manage doing what exactly?” said Harry, his voice almost sounded as gravelly as the dementor’s.
At his response, Harry noticed movement behind the dementor. He glanced into Malfoy’s cell. A white peacock was watching him. Harry glanced towards Albert’s cell, but it looked empty. He thought he saw something shift under the cot and assumed the man was an animagus as well.
“You can tell me,” urged the voice, and brought Harry’s attention back towards the dementor.
“Er, tell you what exactly? I don’t know how I stopped the effects you have-” croaked Harry. He assumed the dementor wanted to know why Harry suddenly stopped being affected. Harry glanced down at his body in case he spontaneously shifted into an animal. He was still human, though his ability to talk should have been indication enough.
“No, no,” interrupted the dementor. It moved closer to the bars. For a second, Harry worried the creature would be able to squeeze through. Harry was relieved when it became apparent that it could not move any closer. “It’s incomplete but you’re just holding it… Useless… but intriguing…”
Harry was completely lost. He wasn’t holding anything. He watched the dementor helplessly. A particularly pitiful groan from one of the cells eventually broke Harry from his staring contest with the dementor.
“I really don’t know what you mean…” Harry whispered. The creature gave some inhuman grunt before turning away. Harry watched as it made its way slowly down the hall until he couldn’t watch it any more. The terrible feelings and memories did not return.
A few moments later, Harry heard the sound of a door opening and closing. The pitiful moans from the other inmates eventually tapered off. Despite believing that the dementor was gone, at least for the moment, Harry could not stop staring at the spot he last saw the creature. Harry did not move from his spot on his bed for a long while.
“What was that?” a low voice asked. Harry turned his attention back towards Malfoy’s cell. The man was no longer in peacock form.
“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. He really had no idea what the dementor was talking about. He hadn’t even known that the creatures could talk. They’d always been particularly interested in him, but they had never bothered to stop and talk before. Harry considered that it might be the most terrifying thing about this place yet.
