Betrayal of the Best Kind
Warm
By Draco664
Warm
Harry shifted his legs in an effort to avoid cramping from sitting is the same position for too long. Soon a dementor would bring him his daily meal, some old, stale bread and salty water. Compared with the meals at Hogwarts, it was a pittance, but Harry had lived on not much more at the Dursleys for years. At least here he didn't have to do all the household chores.
Less than half an hour later, the food slot in his door opened, and his meagre sustenance was passed through. He would be left alone now, for the rest of the evening.
He stuffed the break in his mouth, ignoring the hard grains of baked wheet from the badly milled flour, then washed it down the the water made salty enough that the prisoners still felt thirsty after drinking it. Once Harry had finished his pitiful meal, he brought forth a piece of parchment from the inside of his tattered robes. Reading the message on the front always made him smile, so he avoided looking at it. It would be dangerous to attract the attention of the dementors now. It wouldn't be the first time they performed the kiss when they got excited. After all, who cares what happens to the inmates of Azkaban?
Turning the parchment over, Harry placed his hand over his heart.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
A swirling of ink appeared on the page, twisting and transforming into
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S ANIMAGUS GUIDE
"Hello Mr. Prongs, I'm ready to continue." said Harry.
Mr. Padfoot would first like to present his compliments to Mr. Prongs, Jr. at reaching another year.
"It's my birthday?"
Mr. Moony is delighted to confirm that today is in fact Mr. Prongs, Jr's special day.
Mr. Prongs hopes that you are having a wonderful day and that there are plenty of friends to share it with.
Mr. Wormtail also wishes to add his birthday greetings to Mr. Prongs, Jr, and would ask that he be just as mischievous as his sire on this particular day.
Harry sighed. He knew it was not really his father and friends he was speaking to. While the guide kept track of how he was doing with his animagus training, it was not able to understand his present state of captivity. The jovial banter between the authors of the guide was most definitly out of place here. It still warmed his heart to talk to them. Their facetious attitudes made life more bearable.
Mr. Moony continually wonders from where Mr. Prongs, Jr. gets his studious nature. Certainly not from Mr. Prongs.
Mr. Prongs would like to point out that Mr. Prongs did in fact spend a lot of time in the library while at Hogwarts.
Mr. Padfoot agrees, though remembers that not a lot of studying got done.
Mr. Wormtail concurs, noting that the times Mr. Prongs' spent in the library coincided with the times that Mrs. Prongs was there.
Mr. Prongs insists that his friends shut up and get back to helping Mr. Prongs, Jr with his mischief.
Harry smiled despite himself, and went back to studying the theory behind the final step of the animagus transformation.
"Still reading your father's letter, Harry?" asked a familiar voice sarcastically.
Harry jumped. Staring at him through the door was the very unwelcome form of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.
Harry quickly shoved the parchment behind him. Affecting a high-pitched voice he shouted, "It's mine! Mine! You can't have it! Mine, all mine!"
Fudge looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. The boy squirming before him had almost cost him his position as Minister, after claiming that You-know-who had returned. A great many people had believed him, causing several to call for Fudge's resignation.
Fudge looked down at Harry, who was simply whimpering now, Azkaban having driven him just as mad as the other inmates. Good thing Harry had killed that boy, now no one believed him, he thought. The last thing Fudge wanted was for panic to settle into the Wizarding community. Well, the second last thing. The last thing he wanted was to have to resign.
Harry looked at the contemptuous glare the minister was giving him. He had never been a good actor, but being filthy as he was, dressed in torn and stained robes, with wild, long, unkempt hair, it was easy to pretend to be mad. Fudge had been ecstatic when Harry had been charged with murder. It had given him a chance to completely discredit The-boy-who-lived.
Finally the minister left to continue his tour, leaving Harry alone. Harry counted to two hundred under his breath before pulling out the animagus guide again. This was the only thing that could help him get out of here. He needed to get out of here. Before he lost what remained of his sanity.
If he was still sane that is. Harry couldn't tell anymore.
Seeing things and hearing voices that are not there is a sign of insanity. Also, in Harry's case, it was a sign that dementors were nearby.
Wondering about your sanity was not productive though. If he was insane, and was imagining the horrible things happening to him, then what he was doing would not make things worse. If he was still thinking coherently, then he may just be able to escape.
"Right Mr Prongs, lets continue."
~~~
Summer 1 year ago
It was ten minutes to midnight, the day before Harry's birthday. Harry had forced himself to stay awake this evening, after a particularly physical day. A lorry carrying large rocks arrived that morning, and his Aunt had spent the day directing where Harry should carry and place them. From the comfort of her sun chair, of course.
Despite the pitiful amounts of food, Harry was slowly gaining weight. Fortified with edible gifts from his friends, he was able to perform all his required chores, while appearing (to Dudley at least) to be on a diet of heroic proportions.
Dudley had actually been bearable this summer. He no longer chased and assaulted Harry for fun, or teased him when his parents were not around. Even when they were, the teasing was half-hearted, and accompanied with an apologizing look. Dudley had apparently started noticing girls, and had realised that most of the nice ones didn't like bullies.
Harry doubted Dudley would ever be a friend, but was grateful that he was no longer an enemy.
Harry looked at his alarm clock. Almost midnight. He got up and opened the window, smiling at the line of owls coming towards number 4, Privet Drive.
~~~
It was thirty minutes past midnight on Harry's fifteenth birthday. There was a respectable pile of unopened gifts sitting on Harry's bed, and several birds in his room, waiting for his answers to the senders.
They had been waiting a while.
Harry sat at his desk with a single piece of parchment reading it over and over.
Dear Harry,
Whatever you do, do not let your mother see this! I had to promise her when you were born that I would get rid of it, since she didn't want you finding and using it. So I did. I am sending this to you on the very day of your birth, timed to reach you on your special birthday.
I don't know how much of my past I have told you as you were growing up, or how much you have figured out (I bet you will be a natural at finding out secrets) since as I am writing this you are being fed your first meal (lucky boy). All will be made clear, just as soon as you swear that you are up to no good.
I guess writing to you like this is silly, and that when you finally read this we will probably be sitting on the couch at home laughing at Lily's attempt to make you a respectable young man. Don't let that fool you though, she will laugh and enjoy anything you do that reminds her of me.
I love you, my son. Your birth has made your mother and I the happiest people in the world. I know you will be/are a fine young man, and we are both very proud of you.
All our love,
James (and Lily)
Harry looked at the parchment again. The words blurred, as tears welled up yet again in Harry's eyes. His parents loved him. He knew that of course, but seeing it written down, in a letter, actually addressed to him made it all the more real.
Reluctantly, Harry put the precious letter down and started what now felt like a chore, opening his gifts and responding to the givers.
It was only as Harry was finally drifting off to sleep, with his father's letter clutched against his heart, that he realised that the parchment was very big for such a short letter...
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