prologue

The Nightmare Man

Summary: In the depths of the Ministry, there is a cell for the world's most dangerous man… and he wants out.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Time travel, OOC-characters, Light!bashing, Twisted!Harry, Evil!Harry, violence, mention of gore. Yeah, stuff like that.

Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this.

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Edited 2020

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Prologue

It was nearing midnight in England, and at the British Ministry of Magic the corridors were pretty much empty of people. The silence in the atrium was only interrupted by a few messages that zipped through the air. Most people had gone home for the day, and the few still there were at their desks, rarely venturing out of their rooms. If one listened closely, there would be the rustling of parchment papers, and whispers of book pages being turned.

Most people at the Ministry, working or visiting, had no idea what they had under their feet because over time, knowledge often fell to the wayside and people forgot. Sometimes they forgot with purpose. Out of sight, out of mind. But that didn't change the fact there was something that existed deep beneath the Ministry.

The elevators at the Ministry worked oddly at the best of times, but the known ones would never reach below the deepest levels. As far as most workers knew, the lowest level was the last one. They didn't know about the special elevator that had been installed, that would bring you down to what had become known as the pit. Those who had access to that elevator didn't speak of what was down there. They were forbidden to do so without special permission from the Minister of Magic. Former Ministers were strictly forbidden to ever mention it to anyone for as long as they lived.

No one was too concerned about it, since no Minister ever had to speak up about what was hidden beneath the Ministry. Out of sight, out of mind, and those who knew believed that would be forever.

Let's have a look; let's take that elevator down and see what's down there.

The elevator moved like it simply dropped, with no brakes engaged. A fall to the pit, with a rather abrupt landing. Once down, one would get escorted by a guard, to a great hallway carved out of stone; it was once a prison, before Azkaban came to be. Several cells were there, but only one was sealed shut. The other rooms appeared empty, but still had reminders of long gone prisoners; claw marks on the doors and walls, dried blood now flaked and brown. There were several water stains upon the stone walls, and somewhere water was dripping. The air was cold and damp.

Near the short hall leading to the elevator, the air magically turned dry and warm around them. A table was placed there, with chairs, and usually some sort of game was played between the two guards who were there at all times. A group of ten people worked in shifts to always be guarding the sealed room. None of the current ten people had ever opened the door. They had their orders to send through food and water, but had no idea how it was received on the other end, in that sealed room.

The two on duty this night was playing a game of chess. To them, their job was boring and monotone, yet forbidden to speak about. The forgotten prison beneath the Ministry, with only one prisoner left.

The sealed door made sure no sounds escaped or entered the room. The room lay in darkness. There was a dripping sound, somewhere, and always. Always there. Joining in on the dripping was the whisper of someone breathing.

"I wonder…"

A man's raspy voice in the dark of that room. Breathing again, in and out, controlled and calm.

"Is it day or night?" the man asked.

The walls didn't answer. The dripping sound continued.

"Well, it would be nice with an answer, but I suppose that's too much to ask from stone."

Now, the room was dark. But if one were to see, the room would be bare. Stone walls and a stone floor. Just a chair in the middle of the room, and the man seated on that chair. Chains kept him locked up, unable to move, and also preventing him from using magic. The current prison guards had no idea this was how he lived. They didn't even know what he looked like.

Faint laughter, and a gentle thus against a hard surface.

"Sweet, sweet rock," the man sang to himself. "How many times I have bashed my head in against you, my dear. Still won't break for this idiot's skull."

The more he talked, the more one might realize his voice wasn't always that pleasant to listen to. Like he knew how to make one's skin crawl, and then utilize it for his own pleasure. To watch people shudder and cringe away from him.

"Are my children well? Do they weep in my absence, and believe I have abandoned them?"

The voice faded out. The room wasn't large enough to make it echo. Silence took over, to the point not even breathing could be heard. Then it was broken by loud laughter, bouncing around the darkness. It was not a gentle laughter. It was the sound of a madman.

The guards on duty heard none of that, and it was probably a good thing too for them. That they didn't hear that laughter. That they weren't forced to endure the screams coming from inside that room. It was a good thing they didn't know a monster was locked up just yards away from them.

To be continued…