Betrayal and Azkaban

Harry flopped down on the damp grass and felt the stiff blades of grass digging into his face. He didn't move, couldn't even move. All the air seemed to have been sucked out of him: his head was so dizzy that coloured flies bounced in front of his eyes and he was ready to split in two. He also felt nauseous and his body shook like a ship in a violent storm. The hand Pettigrew had cut to resurrect his master ached badly. Potter clung even tighter to the ill-fated cup with one hand and wrapped the other around Cedric's body to calm himself.

In shock and exhaustion, the boy was neither willing nor able to get up. He lay there, still hoping that someone would come and help him with the dull, aching pain of the scar...

Suddenly, someone rolled him over and shook him to his feet.

Harry opened his eyes: Albus Dumbledore.

And a whole crowd of people surrounded them, squeezing closer and closer together. The goblet carried him directly to the podium where the tournament guests were seated.

- He has risen," Potter whispered weakly. - Voldemort has risen.

There was a hysterical shout:

- "What's happened? What on earth is going on?

Harry shifted his gaze from the headmaster to the others. There was no way the boy could concentrate, he couldn't understand who was standing next to him. All the words came out muffled, as if through a thick layer of water, and flickered in his eyes from everyone trying to get to the 'hero'.

Cornelius Fudge examined Cedric's body in disbelief.

- He's dead! You killed him!

Potter felt someone trying to untie his fingers.

- Let him go, you murderer! Let go of my son!

Ammos Diggory sobbed as he hugged Cedric. The students stopped their festive shouting and the bravura sounds of the Victory March were silenced for a moment.

- He wanted me to take the body back," Potter whispered. - He wanted his parents...

- All right, Harry, my boy, let him go.

And that's Dumbledore now.

Harry shook again: his head was a mess from what had happened, his legs were unresponsive and seemed completely wobbly.

Was he being blamed for Cedric's death? He could not be!

The crowd came closer and closer, pushing the boy to the front of the podium, all the shouts merging into one continuous, unrelenting noise. Suddenly, someone grabbed Potter by the shoulder and pulled him off to the left.

- I'll take him to Pomfrey," Grum said, not letting go of the boy as he stubbornly made his way to the main entrance of the castle.

- I'll stay here," Potter's incoherent babbling went unnoticed, and the Auror continued on his way, not slowing down.

- You need to be patched up... Come on, let's go!

The wooden foot clanked softly down the stairs, echoing the cannon shots in Harry's head. His only thought was to tell Dumbledore about Voldemort. Potter tried with all his strength to pull away, but the ex-Auror's grip was like a bulldog's. Then Harry began to speak:

- The cup is a portal... We landed in a deserted place, and Voldemort was there...

The Auror interrupted the boy:

- Who else was in the graveyard?

By this time, they had entered Professor Grum's office. Potter was sitting in a chair like a weak-willed puppet, and he obeyed, not even trying to resist the pressure. The man shook his shoulders again. Harry, though in deep shock, managed to make sense of the fact that he hadn't said a word about where he'd gone.

- How do you know about the graveyard? I didn't say that!

As he swung his wand to bind the boy to a chair, Groom grinned:

- Tell me, boy, who else was there?

- Th-There was Pettigrew, brewing some sort of potion... And then he rose from the cauldron!

- Why did you kill Cedric?

- I-I... I don't remember anything!

Harry heard the key turn in the lock.

- Drink this and you'll feel better. I need to know exactly what happened!

The scalding liquid flowed to Potter's lips and he choked on it. Suddenly his thoughts were clear and a wave of warmth ran through his body. The Firewiskey brought back his usual ability to think, though his body was still unresponsive, drained of its usual reserve of energy.

Just then, the door burst open and exploded into small shards. Dumbledore, Snape and Fudge stood on the threshold, the students and members of the Order of the Phoenix behind them.

- Groom, what do you think you're doing? Dragging a boy to your house, locking yourself in...

Alastor Groom, holding his usual flask, quickly reached for his wand, only to find himself bound and collapsing senseless on the floor at Potter's feet.

- It wasn't Grumpy," the Headmaster was right again, and Snape took the flask, sniffed the air through his nose and snorted indignantly:

- A reverse potion. That's who's been sneaking the ingredients out of me.

False Grum's body shrank back to its true form. A magic eye fell from his socket and rolled back into the corner of the room. Albus Dumbledore took a step towards the prisoner without lowering his wand.

- I still couldn't understand why Alastor didn't respond to the old stabs. Now it finally made sense. Well, hello, Bartemius Crouch!

He wriggled on the floor like a snake, trying to free himself from the ropes that bound his body.

- You will all die! The Dark Lord has returned, and you will all die like the last of your creatures! And you, Snape, you venal bastard, will pay for your treachery!

With these words, Barty Junior lunged so hard that the ropes snapped and he was at the window in two leaps. But before he could jump out, the wicked sorcerer's instant avada kedavra knocked him down.

- Untie me! - Potter whispered exhaustedly. - I'll go to Madam Pomfrey myself.

Harry tried to get up from the chair Crouch had tied him to, ignoring the scraps of rope he was tangled in.

- Quiet, Potter! You're not going anywhere! - Snape's deep voice went straight to his head. - You are charged with the death of Diggory the Younger, so you will remain where you are for the time being. Ferula!

The bandage tightened around Harry's wounded arm and the pain began to ease. Snape glanced over at the Headmaster. It was enough to make a decision. The door rebuilt itself from the splinters and slammed shut, shoving everyone out. The key turned in the lock again. The headmaster gave the potter a barely perceptible nod. He blinked and raised his wand:

- Legiliments!

Memories flashed.

The blue haze lifted, and then Potter and Cedric grabbed the Goblet at the same time. With a jerk, they were transported straight to the abandoned graveyard in Little Hallton. Just as Cedric unhooked himself from the portal, Harry raised his wand.

- I'm sorry, but you have to! Avada Kedavra!

The green beam flies straight into the boy's back. Eyes wide with surprise, he falls to the black grass. Peter Pettigrew appears from behind the nearest tombstone. With a flick of his wrist, Potter is disarmed and bound to the angel statue...

Severus didn't look any further.

At that moment, somewhere far away, Voldemort opened his eyes and relaxed. Strong as Snape's Legilimus was, he couldn't tell the fake memories from the real ones.

Three days later, the trial began. In the middle of the room, chained to a chair, sat a thin teenager. His face expressed nothing but weariness and a certain detachment. He listened to the verdict in utter silence, seeing it all as a long, terrible dream from which he would one day wake.

Harry Potter, Britain's hero and Chosen One, the boy who survived, was sentenced to twenty-five years in Azkaban. Thanks to Snape's testimony, all friends and members of the Order hated Potter.

As the boy was led to the DMP cell, he practically walked down the corridor of hatred and fierce stares. Through the crowd he could hear Ron and Hermione shouting that he was a murderer, Molly muttering something. Neville, Luna and the Weasley twins kept saying that this was all a big mistake, but no one listened to them, and several Aurors were pushing them away. Harry paced tiredly down the corridor and didn't care. Something inside him had broken forever. Somewhere in his chest an emptiness settled, and the realisation that his friends were always ready to turn their backs on him. Like that time in November, in the first round... That he was really always alone. In the crowd, but alone...

The shore shrank to a narrow, jagged strip that disappeared below the horizon a second later. Black water splashed against the side of the boat, breaking into a thousand splashes and hitting everyone in the boat in the face. The Aurors held Potter tightly by his wizard bracelets, afraid that he would capsize the flimsy craft and try to escape. The boat, obeying the will of magic, glided towards the huge black castle, whose silhouette commanded respect even from a distance. The multi-storey structure, in the form of a triangular tower, grew rapidly in size, overwhelming any will or positive emotion in anyone who dared to look at it or be near it.

Azkaban.

A magical prison from which there had only been one escape. And which was preparing to welcome a teenager into its lap. A boy whose undiscovered magical potential was now being tamed by thick bracelets and chains.

Stepping onto the stones of Castle Black, Harry lowered his head and walked slowly towards the entrance, showing no emotion. After everything that had happened in the last few days, he was indifferent to his own fate.

Dementors were circling, eager to pounce on the newcomer. The Aurors were visibly on edge. Never before had they encountered such indifference in either look or action. The boy reminded them of a soulless corpse executed by a Dementor's kiss. The Aurors, seasoned warriors who had seen many battles, became frightened. Fear crawled under their skin and curled up in a tight ball around their hearts, making them think that this was all a mistake. And that one day I would have to answer for this mistake...

All the days and nights that followed blurred into one terrible moment. Because of the Dementors' vigil, Harry heard nothing but his mother's screams and vividly remembered the bright green ray that flew at him. And then the eerie, evil laughter.

Again and again.

Every time the Keeper of Azkaban passed near the camera, Potter had to fight those memories. Day after day. Night after night. More and more details of a mother who had thrown herself in front of the Dark Lord and sacrificed herself for her son. Harry no longer knew what day or night it was. The boy was drowning in his memories, losing the last crumbs of human consciousness, each time slipping into a lifeless unconsciousness after the Dementors left.

At one point, the memories changed.

Now with the Dementors, Harry remembered his life with the Dursleys. The punishments for magical outbursts, the starvation, the constant reprimands and beatings...

Potter stood by the pile of broken glass, picking up the larger pieces with a dustpan.

- Go to your own place, you disgusting boy! - Aunt Petunia was angrier than usual, as it was her favourite vase. - And you won't see any food for a week!

- But I didn't mean to...

A hard slap on the back of the head. The boy fell, caught his big, oversized shoe on the threshold and crawled out into the corridor. A huge, crimson lump formed on his forehead. Potter picked up his bent glasses, put them on his nose and went into the cupboard. His aunt, after watching the boy close the door behind him, hissed and slammed the latch shut:

- You'll go to the bathroom tomorrow!

It's Dudley's birthday. Harry stood in the kitchen, stirring the soup and slipping a piece of potato into his mouth. Aunt Petunia, watching his manoeuvre, remained silent, but blinked her eyes and continued to watch.

- Dadlichek, son, where are you? Come on, Mummy's going to give you some whipped cream from the cake, just the way you like it!

The fat cousin ran into the kitchen, shouldered Harry onto the stove and let out a piquant squeal as the ladle fell from the boy's skinny hands and plunged into the soup, then onto the floor.

Aunt Petunia's screams could be heard across the street and Harry was once again without supper, which, given the smells wafting through the living room, was tantamount to medieval torture.

The Dementor drifted off down the corridor and Harry, conscious for the first time after such a patrol, thought hard.

Why had he put up with this for ten years? Did he, a wizard, really have to live with Muggles who hated him?

The nightmare of the next memory was Hagrid.

Dumbledore had sent him, actually a Muggle-born, a giant woodcutter who broke into the flimsy structure and terrified everyone. Why had the headmaster chosen Hagrid? Couldn't he at least have sent McGonagall? What did the old wizard have in mind? There were more questions and no answers.

The fever did not go away when the Dementors appeared. Harry now saw everyone who had influenced his fate from a completely different perspective.

McGonagall. She constantly dismissed the needs of her students, citing administrative work. And she never dealt with all the incidents in the Faculty, scattering training sessions with Filch left and right. And Potter had learned his lesson, and after a few times had forbidden himself to go to the Dean for advice.

- Professor McGonagall, could you explain the second paragraph of the textbook?

- Mr Potter, you're in your third year at Hogwarts, and you haven't even bothered to read the literature on my subject! It's not just disrespect for me. It's disrespect for the magical world in which you have to prove yourself and get a job! Ask Miss Granger. I'm sure she'll point out your shortcomings. And don't forget the essay!

Snape. This professor was on Harry's special radar. He hated the boy from the first minute he entered the Great Hall and did nothing but harass and humiliate him in public. All because, you see, Harry looked like his father.

- Mr Potter, our new celebrity! Would you like to tell me what ingredients go into the Potion of the Living Dead? What's the difference between wolfsbane and gentian? And where do you look for the bezoar stone?

Potter lowered his eyes to the floor, unable to find the strength to answer. Hermione beside him was ready to explode with tension, reaching up as high as she could.

If Potter had spent at least half of his life around his father, then perhaps all these insinuations were valid. As it was, it just seemed to be prejudice against the new student.

As Harry considered the behaviour of each professor, he came to the most disappointing conclusion: no one wanted him. He was disliked, despised and not considered a worthy member of the wizarding community.

Then his friends began to appear in his nightmares.

Hermione, the nerdy girl who did nothing but chastise him with her low grades, without helping to improve them. And this girl called him a friend? There was no such thing as friendship here, nor had there ever been.

- Harry, remember what Madam Hooch said! We can't go up in the air.

Potter didn't listen, he soared up and went after Malfoy.

- What a fool!

...

- Harry, you can't go through the castle at night! The headmaster has forbidden it, you heard him!

...

- Professor McGonagall gave me a flywheel so I could visit all the subjects.

How could Harry not see the fanatical gleam in her eyes when Hermione picked up new books? A student like that didn't need friends...

And Ron was always jealous. Only now did Harry remember the look in his eyes when he bought himself something, even a lollipop. A look of envy and greed. And not a friendly one at all.

- No thanks, I've got everything I need. - Sandwich demonstration. - Mum knows I don't like beef jerky.

- We'll have everything.

Then Potter didn't know about Ron's love of gold circles.

...

- Harry, what's that? It's just a great costume! Not like my rags... They were Aunt Muriel's... It even smells like Aunt Muriel!

...

- Wow, Harry! It's a Lightning... The latest and greatest from the Nimbus Brothers!

Neville, Luna and the Weasley twins did not give Potter any cause for concern. They seemed to be the only ones who treated him honestly and openly. It was Neville who had introduced him to Luna. They studied together after school. The girl proved to be intelligent and unobtrusive, and Harry became friends with her. Fred and George, although they were bullies, were patronising and always helped Harry. Take, for example, the episode with the Marauder's Map. The other Weasleys didn't count. Molly, for example: a grown woman who had raised five sons and sent them to Hogwarts every year, screaming at the whole station, asking for the platform number? Hadn't they ever done it?

Then the stream of thoughts was interrupted again by the most disgusting memories... Dementors, Mordred be damned!

Time passed slowly...

Potter awoke again to drown in memories...

Once, the Dementors overdid it. At that hour they passed three in a row, gliding down the corridor and lingering at each cell for only a moment...

The remnants of the memory block collapsed and Harry remembered everything.

He remembered how Voldemort had ordered Cedric's death, how Pettigrew had cut off his right hand, how the master had forced Harry to fight an unequal duel...

It was doubly painful because everyone else believed Potter was guilty. Years of friendship and good relations were overturned.

Days gave way to nights, and the cell grew noticeably colder. Harry was no longer living, he was existing. Mechanically eating the crap brewed by the guards and keepers of Azkaban, he sank deeper and deeper into darkness, pondering, analysing and scrutinising everything that had happened to him since he had known about the wizarding world.

Slowly he began to realise the role Dumbledore had intended for him, how masterfully he had manipulated his emotions and his mind. Resentment swept over his soul and settled permanently in his heart. With the resentment came anger and the feeling that revenge was necessary. All those who had dared to wipe their feet on him. Potter curled up into a ball and found hope that one day he would get out of here. And take his revenge.

But suddenly a thought crossed his mind. What if revenge made him the second Dark Lord? If the anger had taken root, it wouldn't be long before he changed. What would he do?

Harry lay on his side, shrinking even more, and covered his head with a shabby blanket.

Six months later

Snape burst into the Headmaster's office.

- My boy, you're forgetting yourself! What if I'm not dressed? Is it difficult to announce a visit?

- Albus, this is no time for a lecture! I have just heard that Potter is innocent!

The old man's voice wavered:

- How so? You've seen his mind yourself, haven't you? Show me!

Summoning the Maelstrom of Memory with a single wave of his hand, Albus pointed Snape to the mercurial sleekness. The potter touched his temple and a thin, shimmering thread rested on the edge of the bowl, plunging into the centre of the Abyss.

An urgent summons brought Snape into the dark room. The Dark Lord sat on a large throne in the middle of the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, lit by a hundred candles. Around him stood the Deathly Hallows in hooded robes and masks.

Voldemort smiled at something, spread his arms at his sides and began to speak in a pompous voice:

- My friends, what I've been waiting for for nearly six months has finally come to pass! You already know that, through our combined efforts, we have succeeded in imprisoning the Potter boy in Azkaban. But the time has come for Harry Potter to no longer interfere with my plans! Now that I can no longer feel our bond, we will quickly reach our great goal and begin to act! The old fool Dumbledore has destroyed the last hope of the Light with his own hands. But he will never know the full truth!

The Upiwans applauded loudly, expressing their utmost joy.

Dumbledore ducked out of the Abyss, mentally praying to Merlin that none of this was true. Severus quickly pushed the memory back.

- What are you going to do? Potter won't mind being dead once the Dementors have sucked out his soul. We cannot win this battle against the Lord!

- Don't panic, Severus! Better take a slice of lemon. I'm off to the Ministry. We have to get the Chosen One out.

- The Chosen One?! Have you decided to toy with someone's fate again, Headmaster? Haven't you had enough of what's already happened?

Albus didn't answer, picking up a handful of flying powder and stepping into the fireplace.

A cold wind blew through Azkaban, as if trying to suck the last bits of warmth from the many bodies of the prisoners. On the floor of one of the cells, a teenager lay bent over. His eyes, without the usual bicycle goggles, looked like green embers about to go out. Another Dementor swam down the corridor, pausing at the bars of the cell.

That's it, there's nothing to catch.

The prisoner was in a deep blackout, a magical coma. The Dementor picked up no echoes of emotion, sipped the air indifferently and moved on to the next cell, where a faint groan from the exhausted man was heard.

Hours later, a mage hurried down the same corridor, slicing through the air with the hem of his cloak. The bright purple and silver robe and grey beard fluttered like wings, not hindering his swift stride. The mage swore softly, cursing Mordred and his mother in the most unnatural of poses, then prayed to Merlin that whoever he was going to was still alive. Behind him, barely managing to scramble up his short legs, was the local caretaker, wiping his sweaty bald head with a handkerchief as he went.

Dumbledore, who was Dumbledore, pulled his wand from his sleeve and began to wave it over the lumpy body under the tattered blanket as he burst into the cell without even slowing down. The grey-haired mage exhaled in relief when he received a barely perceptible response to his actions and turned to the caretaker standing in the doorway:

- I'll take the boy!

The man muttered that the paperwork was incomplete and that Dumbledore had no right to take the culprit away. A strong 'Imperio' followed, and as a result Potter was immediately transported to the room with the portcullis. Another spell, Obliviate, and the Caretaker forgot the whole scene, confident that the tenth level prisoner had served his time and would be released this morning.

Seven days later.

Harry breathed in the fresh air, so different from Azkaban, and the scent of some flowers, and opened his eyes carefully. The last six months raced through his mind, merging into one, bringing back memories that Harry wished he could forget. Then Potter concentrated on his body, which was flooded with new sensations.

The boy didn't understand why Azkaban smelled so good and why he couldn't feel the cold. Harry felt the soft mattress beneath him and was surprised again. There was no energy left for logic or analysis of the situation - the only thing that seemed to occur to him was that Potter had gone to heaven. Smiling faintly, he slipped back into the darkness.

***

Consciousness didn't return immediately. At least, Harry noticed, there was more strength than usual. Just enough to pull back his sleepy eyelids and look around.

The familiar white ceiling was lit only by a pair of candles. The flowers had changed, as had the number on the bedside table. Next to the bulky vase were the painfully familiar vials he had seen so many times in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be in one of the thousands of cells in Azkaban right now? The last conscious memory was the endless chill of the Dementors' presence.

Potter decided not to think too much, but rather to gather his strength and then figure out how he got here. After a while he fell asleep, feeling his body warm.

Awakening for the third time, Harry felt full of energy, but was in no hurry to show it to those whose voices echoed from the Witch's room.

- This is my fault, Poppy. I was too late to unravel the Dark Lord's plans, too late to see that the boy was not to blame for Cedric's death. I hope Harry can forgive all of us for the pain we caused him by believing and betraying him.

- Don't blame yourself, Albus. None of us knew that You-Know-Who would be able to penetrate Mr Potter's mind so deeply. No one could have predicted such an outcome. I'm very sorry to see the boy in this state. I will do everything in my power to restore his strength and, if possible, his senses.

- Thank you, Poppy. I'd better be going. If Harry wakes up, please call for me.

The Headmaster's cloak rustled near the boy's bed. Then the front door creaked open and it was quiet again.

Harry grinned bitterly. It sickened his soul to know that he had been used. And then thrown away like a broken toy. Tears of resentment choked him, but he pushed them to the back of his subconscious and decided to deal with them later.

How similar this whole situation is to when the Godfather was imprisoned without trial. After the events of the third year, Sirius is still not exonerated and is forced into hiding. Pettigrew escaped, Potter ended up in Azkaban for twenty-five years. And the headmaster he trusted did nothing to save his pupil... And yet Harry trusted him. Believed every word...

- There will come a time when I can tell you more...

- You're not ready for the truth yet.

- My boy, it's for your own good, for your mother gave her life for you.

- You can't stay at Hogwarts for the summer. You must stay with relatives. The protection of your mother's blood is on this house...

Dumbledore... The wizard of light who had once again done his best 'for the good of all'. Only now Potter wasn't a naive boy. Azkaban quickly stripped the wizard of all naivety, simplicity and kindness. The pink veil fell from his eyes. Harry realised what the Headmaster had done to his life: a 'happy' childhood in a Muggle family, the constant dissatisfaction of the Dursleys leading to beatings and starvation, the constant lies and innuendo, the withholding and dosing of information, the threat to life and safety almost everywhere. And he didn't want to be cannon fodder. He, a defenceless teenager, thrown out when he was no longer needed, and now they want to make him a hero again...

Potter had had many days to think about what had happened, and the headmaster had not been very kind. So the boy vowed that if he ever got out of Azkaban, he would find out what had happened and take revenge. And yes, there would be no forgiveness for any of the traitors.

And now the boy decided that as soon as he was back on his feet, he would run away. As far away from these "well-wishers" as possible.

***

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey came to the bedside. Adjusting the covers, tucking him in on all sides, she murmured softly:

- Poor boy, he's been through so much. Where was that senile old man when Harry was taken to Azkaban? And now they need the Chosen One again. He's so thin and pale, we should get more strength and blood-forming potions. I'll get him back on his feet, believe me. And when he begins to open his eyes to the events of his life, no one will escape vengeance. Merlin, help him!

Poppy didn't doubt the young man's innocence for a moment, and her hands automatically pushed Harry's round glasses to the edge of the bedside table and nervously rearranged the vials on the tray. Then the boy's eyelids fluttered open.

- Harry, are you awake?

There was no reply.

- If you can hear me, blink.

Potter slowly closed his eyes. The wizard sighed heavily and began to cast a diagnostic spell before pouring a restorative and sedative potion into the young man on the bedside table. Potter swallowed obediently and stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

Surely Pomfrey would inform the Headmaster that he was awake, and he would burst in with a song about being Chosen and the need to defeat the Darkness.

"I'd rather be unconscious, maybe then everyone would leave me alone."

Thinking about what he would say to Albus Dumbledore, Harry fell asleep again.

***

A few hours later, as a ray of sunlight reached his pillow, Potter opened his eyes.

Facing him in the comfortable purple chair was the person Harry least wanted to see at the moment. Dumbledore put the Daily Prophet aside and looked at Harry questioningly from under his half-moon glasses.

- You must have a lot of questions, my boy?

The boy remained stubbornly silent.

"How I hate being treated like this. How I never noticed it before. He is a powerful wizard, but there was an air of pretence about him. He didn't seem the least bit sorry for my situation. Just don't make eye contact, don't make a blank face.

Harry stared at the white ceiling again, studying the tiny crack in the plaster.

- Are you really offended that we didn't get you out of Azkaban? But all the facts were against you! Harry, I apologise for everything.

"I don't need your excuses, Headmaster. I just wish I had a normal childhood and trustworthy friends," Harry grinned mentally and clenched his teeth even tighter. Without getting anything out of Potter, Dumbledore left. Madam Pomfrey came out of her room, carefully straightened the covers and began to put out the candles. Harry turned to her:

- Please leave some candles.

- All right, if you need them," Pomfrey adjusted the pillows. - But you'd better get some sleep, you're still very weak.

- I don't want to sleep yet, Madam Pomfrey. Would you mind telling me how I got here?

- The servants of Azkaban, who patrolled the level where your cell was, heard screams when the Dementors got too close. They felt sorry for you and wrote a petition to the Ministry, asking for your case to be reviewed. You fell into a coma before they took you away. You were then transferred to the DMP cells, under the care of Amelia Bones, and while you were unconscious, you were examined by her staff. It turned out that they had firmly blocked your memory of what happened in the third round. And that you weren't really responsible for Cedric's death. As soon as the headmaster found out, he decided to move you here to keep the reporters away from Mungo. Look at this.

With that, Pomfrey held the paper Dumbledore had left behind in front of Harry. On the front page was a photograph from the Tournament, with huge captions like 'The Boy Who Survived Innocent', 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Is Back', and a scathing article by Rita Skeeter. Potter didn't read it because he knew what was in it.

- Give me a sleeping pill, please.

Poppy handed him a vial of the potion.

- By the way, here's your wand. It hadn't been broken yet: you were important to the Ministry. You don't need to use magic yet, you're not strong enough.

He closed the doors and the wizard went out.

***

Another two weeks passed.

All Harry did was sleep and eat a lot. After the munchies of Azkaban, any change was manna from heaven. So Potter took advantage of his position to regain some of his energy, devouring everything the housekeepers brought him.

Many visitors came to see him during this time, including so-called friends who had easily betrayed him, believed him guilty and now tried to show sincere remorse. But thanks to Madam Pomfrey's harsh nature, they failed. Harry made it clear that he did not want to see anyone. In the evening, however, he discovered an uninvited guest. The cloak of invisibility slipped easily from Neville's shoulders.

Harry frowned:

- Hello, Nev.

- Hello, Harry. How are you feeling?

- Not bad for the past six months.

- Luna and I couldn't believe you did it, considering everything that's happened to us over the years. Gran helped me get a date with you. It was the only thing that worked," Neville began in an apologetic tone.

- Stop it. You're the only ones who came to see me in Azkaban. The rest of you don't care. The rest of you, puppets of the Headmaster!

The memory of his friends' visit to Azkaban came flooding back...

...the cell doors suddenly creaked open. Instead of the expected cold and endless fear, two classmates burst in on the prisoner. Neville and Luna. Harry couldn't believe his eyes, thinking it was another hallucination.

- Harry, Harry, are you all right? - Luna rushed over to him, dropping the things she had brought with her.

- Leave me alone! I didn't kill anyone!

- Neville, we've got to help him!

- I brought a potion for the Dementors' colds and some chocolate.

Suddenly Harry could taste the disgusting taste of the potion on his lips and then the chocolate that Neville put in his mouth. It became much easier, his head cleared. Luna cried softly and Neville wrapped Harry in the blanket he had brought...

***

Neville's eyes dropped guiltily.

- You can't blame them, Harry, they believe him.

- Then why don't you and Lovegood?

- None of us is the best student in our department. Nobody's betting on us, Harry.

- Yeah, well," Potter stretched wearily. - All in good time. I swear it'll be my way now.

- I think I'll go now. I've got all your things, by the way. Ron shredded the broomstick into twigs when you were sentenced, and I managed to hide the rest.

- Good. You can keep the robes for now. What about Booklet?

- The Belly Button ate it. Hermione did. She and Ron were shouting at each other, so I did the best I could...

- I got it. Thanks, Nev.

- They're very sorry about what happened, Harry. Is there anything you'd like to give them?

- No. And don't speak for them, Neville. Let them find the strength to face me.

- Well, I'll be off then. It'll be dawn soon.

Neville disappeared under the cloak, closing the door behind him quietly. Potter sighed. The people, the friends, who had been closest to him for four years had betrayed him so easily, and had undone everything in a matter of days. The Weasley twins came to mind, the only ones besides Neville and Luna who had supported him after the third round. True, he'd managed to give them his winnings, punishing them hastily so they'd only use them to develop 'business'. But Harry hoped that wasn't the reason for their support, which was basically true.

Fred and George Weasley, though bullies as good as the Marauders, were on Harry's side in this situation.

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, another surprise awaited him - another visit from Dumbledore. His purple robes, embroidered with silver stars, swayed as he summoned a chair as garish as his clothes.

"And what was I hoping for? That he'd be off my back so soon? Well then, Grandfather, I'll pretend to be a vegetable. I don't like all this. The Chosen One, the murderer, the Chosen One again. What am I, the Chosen One?"

- Hello, my boy! I see you've got some friends over!

There were lots of sweets and cards on the bedside table. Harry didn't even want to know who they were from. The feeling of resentment completely overwhelmed all other emotions.

- Mm... Bertie Botts sweets! I remember the first time I got one, it tasted like vomit, I haven't had one since.

When I put one in my mouth, it's a wonder the headmaster didn't squirm.

- Ahem, phestral snot. It's not my day. Harry, I think we should talk. You must have many questions? I'd like to explain what happened.

"Which I don't need any answers to, I can see what's what. Do you need my help again, headmaster? This isn't going to work," Harry thought, staring intently at the ceiling.

After sitting for another ten minutes, trying in vain to probe the boy's mind, the Headmaster left. After a few moments, the door opened and closed again.

- Ooh, there's a lot of brainiacs in here! Harry, how can you stand their presence? I should get you some radishes to bait the Nargles with.

Potter looked at the next visitor. Lovegood was wearing a green dress with red stripes in spirals, black socks that did not match the white trainers and a cork necklace.

- Hi, Luna.

- Hello, Harry Potter. I've brought you some books so you won't be so bored getting better. Really, I didn't want to come in while the headmaster was here.

Two weighty volumes fell onto the covers. Harry was glad he'd had time to get his feet under him, otherwise he'd have had a fracture.

- The Great Book of High Charms and Spells, The Legend of the Last Dragonlord... Hmm, thanks.

- I thought you could use some light reading. If you like, I'll come and read you a chapter at a time.

- Luna, I hope I won't be here too long, but thank you again.

- Well, I'll be off then. I've got to find the Furrowed Kizliacs. Hagrid promised to get some from the Dark Forest. Maybe they'll be there.

- Goodbye, Luna.

After drinking all the potions Madam Pomfrey had brought, Harry pecked his nose. Then the doors swung open again, revealing to the world, or rather the chamber, Draco Malfoy with his usual entourage.

- Who have we here? The hero chosen by the Light? More like a vegetable!

- Ah, Draco, bringing news of the Master's rebirth? Or have you not licked his arse enough and he's angry again?

- My father will cut you to ribbons! No, I can do it myself!

Draco drew his wand and was about to cast a few spells, but Madam Pomfrey thwarted the vain attempt with a single wave of her wand, sending the troublemakers out of the door and slamming it firmly shut in the face of the 'honest' company.

- What a childish prank!

With a stern look at Harry, Poppy handed him a sleeping pill.

- Drink it all. I'll examine you in the morning and if it's anything like today, you'll be out of here by then. If you want to, of course.

He took a few swigs and fell asleep. But it wasn't a quiet night. After a few hours, Potter opened his eyes and felt as if someone was crawling on the bed. He fumbled with his glasses and saw Dobby.

- Master Harry Potter was awake!

His ears perked up and he began to look around for a place to beat himself up.

- Dobby! Don't you dare punish yourself! - Potter hissed. - How did you get in here?

- Harry Potter, sir, called for Dobby! Dobby came to his master's call, sir.

Harry was surprised, he was not in the habit of talking in his sleep. But then it occurred to him that it would be easier to escape Dumbledore's clutches with the housekeeper.

- Dobby, can you Apparate in the castle?

- Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby can.

- Can you help me?

- Yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will help the great hero. Dobby will do anything.

- Then I'll come to you when the time comes. Of course, if you don't mind. - Harry was playing on the little housekeeper's emotions, and he was right.

- Dobby won't mind, sir, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will be fine. - The elf jumped excitedly to the side of the bed.

- Now go, before Madam Pomfrey sees you.

And the housekeeper vanished into thin air.

Harry woke up around midday. Pomfrey made him drink a number of potions and examined him thoroughly.

"That's what doesn't change, this attitude towards the sick," Harry mentally chuckled.

- Can I go now?

- Are you so anxious to see your friends? I wish I could make you stay in bed another week. Go on then!

- Thank you for everything, Madam Pomfrey! - With that, the boy gave her a hug.

Poppy froze in surprise. But she pulled herself together and hugged Harry back.

Slipping out of the hospital wing, Harry made his way to the Great Hall. It was about lunch time, but the boy didn't care about food, and having students in the hall was even better.

As Harry walked down the corridor between the tables towards the Headmaster, everyone behind him whispered cautiously.

- Look, Dean, Harry's back!

- There's the hero again, with a hole in his head that the Dementors haven't sucked out yet!

- Ron, I think we owe him an apology, we couldn't get into the hospital wing and this is a good moment!

- Hermie, I'm not apologising to him, he's crying for Azkaban, you murdering bastard! And I don't care what Snape found out!

But Potter wasn't listening. He was seething with pure, unadulterated rage at the realisation that they were all living peacefully while he was rotting in Azkaban. Harry didn't take his eyes off the teacher's desk. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Hagrid... Everyone he trusted, respected...

He walked up to the table, turned halfway to face the audience and began his speech. The students fell silent.

- A few minutes of your attention, please. I've decided to leave the safest place in the world, Hogwarts, because everything about it disgusts me.

I have thought long and hard, and I have come to the conclusion that the only reason I have been dragged from my cell is because you need another Hero of Light, someone who will plunge into battle without hesitation. It won't be me. I've had enough of your games.

You want to know what it's like to be the Chosen One? Spend your entire childhood in a cupboard under the stairs, doing chores like house elves. None of you have any idea what it's like to be beaten for magical emissions, locked up and left without food for weeks on end.

When the first letter addressed to me in eleven years arrived at the clerk's address under the stairs, my aunt and uncle were beaten with a belt for magical emissions. Dumbledore was well aware of the conditions and the Muggles he was sending me to. Why couldn't he find me a guardian from the wizarding world? At least he could have sent me to an orphanage! At least I'd eat better there than in the place I couldn't call 'home'. Not as tasty, but regular... Not once a week. Or even less.

And the trip to Hogwarts, which was supposed to be my greatest event? Now it reeked of betrayal and had long since ceased to be a happy memory.

You, my friends - Ron, Hermione... Where were you when I needed support and care - six months in Azkaban, and only four people could support me when I was completely discouraged. Yes, I blame you for so easily destroying our friendship and everything we've been through together. Can you even call that relationship 'friendship'?

Harry glanced at the Headmaster, who showed no sign of surprise or anger. Dumbledore stared at Potter, trying to figure out what the boy was up to, and stroked his beard calmly, assuming that everything was under control and that the hero's indulgence would be to the advantage of the Light. Harry looked around the room and then continued with a sigh:

- "In my first year, Dumbledore deliberately brought in the Philosopher's Stone and invented the 'obstacle course' to shake up the Hero in me. I thought long and hard, for there was time for that. Who needed it - to raise a hero? Three first years went to the Cerberus to protect the stone from the evil mage. Surely he would fall asleep with the song, the rest could be easily overcome by the little ones... Devil's traps, poisons, maddening keys. Living chess sets as tall as two people. And that's in the school, on the third floor. Security, of course, was out of the question.

Potter fell silent and looked wearily around the silent hall. Dumbledore averted his eyes, Snape clenched his teeth so tightly that his cheeks protruded. McGonnagall sobbed, realising the extent of the general idiocy of agreeing with the Headmaster to set up an 'obstacle course' to guard the Philosopher's Stone. Hermione cried softly, resting her head on Ginny's shoulder. She too was shedding tears, occasionally wiping her cheeks with her palms. There was shock and horror in the eyes of the other students at Harry's words. But he didn't care. He spoke again and no one dared interrupt him:

- The second year is a basilisk. I'll never believe the professors didn't know what kind of creature was crawling around the castle. With all your experience, you should have eliminated it yourself. But someone wanted me to do it. And at a very high price.

Potter spilled his guts:

- Third year, a werewolf at school and a mob of Dementors rescuing me from my godfather. And it never occurred to anyone that Sirius's animagic form was a dog. It's a clear sign of loyalty, unlike a rat. But no one cares - the hero survived, managed to adapt. And don't look away, Headmaster, you can't be unaware that the Marauders are animagi. The castle is directly connected to you, I can see the threads of power.

In my fourth year, I was kicked out of a tournament. Did I ask for it?

He caught a glimpse of the 'best friends':

- You, Ron, instead of being supportive, were very jealous of me at the time. How come you're the sixth son and can't keep up with your brothers? What kind of friendship is that? Being jealous of someone who has virtually no chance of winning...

You didn't believe, Hermione, that I hadn't put my name in the cup either, did you? Even after I passed the dragons and mermaids, the support never came... That's the kind of friends you are. I'm sorry to have met you.

Turning to the potter, Potter lifted his head higher, squinted and stared directly into his eyes:

- Professor Snape. You, with your childish grudges, have always seen me only as James Potter and never once tried to mend fences, even though I am not my father and should not be responsible for his shenanigans at school. Especially since I don't remember my parents, only your memories of them. You always single out Draco, even though he's not very bright and always hides behind his father's back. You will never outgrow your resentment, but will burn from within, being a servant to two masters - Dumbledore and the Dark Lord.

Ah, yes - Draco. - Harry sniggered at the Slytherin table with a light-headed expression. - You're a man of no opinion at all, a mummy's boy, capable only of devious actions. You've bullied me all these years, and if you were in this position, you'd never get anything done, would you? If you'd been a little smarter, we could have been rivals, but not enemies.

The great hall was silent. The students dared not even whisper to discuss what they had heard. Those who knew Harry best bit their lips together, realising how wrong they had been to condemn Potter on his way out of the courtroom. And the boy stood proudly in the middle, continuing his accusatory speech:

- Now you sort it out for yourselves. I am not and will not be a pawn in your great game, Headmaster. Everything you have is your fault, including my 'bad upbringing'. I don't want to be in the line of fire. It's hard for me to realise that I had no one to deserve my good treatment. No friends, no acquaintances who would selflessly be there for me, supporting, encouraging, guiding. You are all indifferent. How are you better than the Dark Lord, then?

Potter broke his wand and threw the shards to the floor in front of the teacher's desk. The phoenix, sitting by Dumbledore's chair, gave a short, regretful chirp and hid its head under its wing. Dumbledore stood up, intending to approach Potter, but he stepped back a little:

- This world is yours, Voldemort. By the looks of it, the two of you belong together. To the rest of you, I say goodbye and good riddance. Road to Hell. For you no longer have the Chosen One.

Before anyone knew it, Harry summoned Dobby and vanished into the unknown.