Content Harry Potter Crossovers
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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.

When he was exhausted, he didn't dream.


Dear Harry,

How are the muggles treating you mate? Not too bad I hope. Things are a bit tense at home at the moment. Fred and George are dead set on the idea of opening a joke shop, and are ignoring Mum and Dad when they try to talk them out of it. Mum tried the emotional blackmail that she is so good at, telling them that they will never be successful unless they apply themselves to a real career. They asked her if she knew how much Zonko's makes. Bad move. Dad tried a different tactic and told them they need capital to start a business and no one would lend them money for a joke shop. For some reason, they thought that was very funny.

Percy is moving out, he doesn't believe you or Dumbledore about You-know-who, and Dad does. Ginny just about exploded when he called you a liar. I’ve never seen her like that. I swear, I’d prefer to take on that Hungarian Horntail than face her in that mood.

Have you heard from Hermione? I told her I didn’t want her going to Bulgaria, she told be to mind my own business! Women are mental, all of them.

Mum has written to Dumbledore to try to get him to let you come over soon, but he is not budging. Dad thinks that because of You-know-who’s return, Dumbledore wants you to stay put and out of danger. I don’t know why your place is safer than ours; Dumbledore is a bit weird though.

Anyway, take care, and write back. I need to know you are OK.


Harry frowned at Ron’s letter. He was glad the twins were going to use his tournament winnings for their joke shop, but he didn’t want the Weasleys to have a family argument over it. He also felt a little guilty that Percy was moving out. Harry picked up a quill and started to write a response,

Dear Ron,

Sorry for not writing sooner, but the muggles have given me the job of completely changing the backyard around. I have been completely stuffed at the end of each day. I haven't even started my essays yet.

when the phone rang downstairs.

He listened to his Uncle answer the phone and then slam it down a few seconds later. Harry felt a sense of dread that would have made his divination professor proud.

The phone just rang, and my Uncle doesn't sound too happy about it. Trelawney would probably be amazed at my sudden gut feeling that it wasn't a muggle on the other end.

Over the next few minutes the phone rang again and again. Each time, his Aunt or Uncle would answer the phone, and in an increasingly angry tone, enquire who is calling, before slamming the receiver down. Harry knew what was coming.


Trembling fingers entered the phone number for the tenth time. For the tenth time, a gruff voice answered, and for the tenth time, she hung up before saying anything.

"Damn, why can’t I do this?"

Once more she entered the Dursley’s number. This time, the phone rang for almost a full minute before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello? Dursley residence."

A deep breath. "H-Harry?" she whispered.


"Hello?" Harry enquired, his Uncle standing over him, with a glare of which Snape would be proud.

"H-Harry?" came the whispered response.

Harry knew that voice. He had only heard it a couple of times, but on hearing it, he felt the memories of the last task rush back.




Harry's voice. Say something, quick!

"Harry, I - I..." Cho stammered.

Suddenly, Cho heard an argument on the other end of the line. The gruff, bear-like voice that had answered the phone before was yelling at Harry. The phone went dead.

Cho stared at the handset. She had heard rumors that the muggles that Harry stayed with over the summer didn't treat him well. He always looked OK when arriving back at school though.

But she had seen him at the Quiddich world cup last summer. She smiled at the memory of him spilling water down the front of himself when he waved at her. He was with his friends, the redheaded Weasley (though in all fairness, that described all the Weasleys), and the smart girl who should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. What was her name? Granger? Perhaps he stayed with them for a while in the summer.

Stealing herself, Cho dialed the Dursley's number again.

After one ring, Harry answered.


"Harry, are you alright? Did I get you in trouble?"

"Not really" Harry replied. "My Uncle started yelling at me, but I told them that it was my godfather." She could almost hear the smirk on his face. "My Aunt and Uncle have left to go out for a while, without their wallet, purse, or car keys I might add. I should have done that a long time ago."

"Your godfather? If you have a godfather, why are you not living with him?" Cho asked, relieved to be discussing something other than what she called about.

"Um, sorry, it's a bit of a long story." Harry paused. "Are you OK?" he asked.

Cho was surprised at the sincerity in his voice. When her housemates had asked her that exact same question at the end of term, it always came across as though they were asking for lack of anything else to say.

"In all honesty, no. I haven't slept more than a few hours a night since Cedric... since..." Cho's voice became thick.

"Cho, I, I don't know what to say. I wish I did."

"I miss him, Harry. We were friends, and I miss him." Tears started running their well-known path down her cheeks.

"I know what it is like to miss someone who meant a lot to you, Cho."

"Of course you do, I must seem silly to you to be crying over someone I hardly knew a year ago."

"That's not what I meant, Cho. I understand what you are feeling. I would do anything if it would make you feel better."

For almost a full minute, neither of them spoke. Finally, Cho broke the silence.

"Harry, how did Cedric die?"

"...I.... he.... we..."

"Please, it must be painful for you, but I need to know."

Harry took a deep breath. "I suppose it started with the Goblet of Fire..."


I'm back. You won't believe this, but that was Cho on the phone. I'm not sure how I feel. After seeing her at the table at the leaving feast I realised I don't have a crush on her anymore. Now, I'm not sure. I need to think about this.

Please don't let what happened tear your family apart. Tell Percy and your Dad that it is OK to disagree, but we need to stick together. Remember what Dumbledore said.

Take care, and write again soon,



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