Indelible

* * *

Wow, this was a rather quick update.

I was at the Zoo this morning, so I had to wake up at 8am this morning and walk around all day! And now my little cousins are here, and they all insist I chase them around the house with a gun, TRYING to shoot them, because apparently I always miss.

* * *

Words: 4,796
Chapter 2
Black Sunday
Ginny Weasley died on a Friday.

Harry Potter was taken to Azkaban on a Friday, but no body knew where either child went until the Sunday: except the Weasley family. There was no way Dumbledore could put off telling them. Even Rita Skeeter had foregone her usual kiss-and-tell articles. Instead, so far, she had only written ‘no comment’ for every question owled in to her department. Minister Fudge was, briefly, having second thoughts. After all, Harry Potter was a child. He was a Second Year; he wasn’t dangerous, he couldn’t cast the Killing Curse, children were weak.

Even Lucius Malfoy agreed. And Lucius had absolutely no reason to take Potter’s side unless it was the utmost truth. But, Dumbledore did say Potter was a Parselmouth. Voldemort could speak Parseltongue too, couldn’t he? Then Fudge began to worry that You-Know-Who had taken possession of Potter at fifteen-months-old, when the Killing Curse backfired, and the darkest Dark Lord of all time had been hiding for eleven years as the son of Lily and James Potter. Good guys, kind people, Aurors.

The Daily Prophet had printed a minor article, on page 15 in the very bottom left corner, briefly outlining the absence of both Potter and the youngest Weasley for the rest of the school year. It was the shortest article ever written about famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James, and Genevra Weasley, daughter of Molly and Arthur, will be absent for the rest of the school year for personal reasons. An accident occurred at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but the specifics are not yet known. It is thought to be Quidditch related.

Regardless of the fact that Ginny was yet to join a Quidditch team. But, what ever helped people sleep at night. Although, it is highly likely that the general public would find some way to make themselves believe that Harry Potter was, and always had been, a Death Eater. Isn’t that what they accused Sirius Black of, as well?

That Sunday following, Dumbledore made it compulsory for everyone to attend midday lunch. I suppose he thought the middle of the day was the best time to tell them. After all, if he told them in the morning, it would ruin their whole day, but if he told them before bed they might suffer nightmares and insomnia.

When all of the students were seated – minus, of course, the absent two – Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood up. Ron Weasley, who already knew the fates of his little sister and best friend, put his head in his hands and glared at the Head Table, especially at Professor Snape (because he just plain didn’t like the man). Hermione Granger, the last of the Golden Trio, looked very worried and confused. Not only had Harry disappeared for the last two days, but also Ron knew and wouldn’t tell her what was going on.

She had, obviously, been un-petrified by this time. Lucky for some.

“Students,” Dumbledore began with his hands clasped in front of his stomach. “I regret to inform you that a serious travesty has occurred within the walls of Hogwarts, last Friday night. As you have probably noticed two of our students are missing. Young Ginny Weasley, a First Year Gryffindor, was killed in the infamous Chamber of Secrets.” The entire student body, minus the Weasleys who knew, gasped out loud. The Hufflepuffs began to cry, the Ravenclaws tried to guess whodunit, the Gryffindors threw Ron and his brothers pitying looks while blaming it on the Slytherins and the Slytherins… well, they whispered to themselves, rolled their eyes and went back to eating. What was one more dead enemy anyway?

“Due to the unfortunate circumstances, Harry Potter has been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the use of an Unforgivable. He has been sentenced to Azkaban for life.” Dumbledore opened his mouth to say more, but the entire student body was already protesting – even the Slytherins.

“Bollocks!” Fred and George Weasley spat. They knew their sister was dead, but no one had told them that Harry was being blamed.

“That’s shite!” Seamus Finnegan, another Gryffindor, screamed while flicking Dumbledore the bird.

A group of Slytherins were laughing at the thought of Potter casting an Unforgivable. “Rubbish,” one of them hissed to another.

“Scapegoat,” another hissed back, “was probably one of those doggy creatures that oaf Hagrid hides under his bed.” The group laughed again.

The Hufflepuffs just plain refused to believe it. As a group they all covered their ears with their hands, and kept glancing at each other warily. The Ravenclaws began to shout over one another, each trying to work out the convoluted plotline that was sure to be hidden in Dumbledore’s short speech. But as usual, Ravenclaws were making things more complicated than they were.

The fact was, Harry was in Azkaban, and Ginny was dead.

And apart from Fudge and Dumbledore, there was one other person who seemed to agree Harry deserved to be sent there. Ron Weasley snarled at his brothers, first, and then at his other friend, Hermione. “I can’t believe you. He killed Ginny! Why are you defending him?” His face was an unattractive shade of red, and he was practically spitting in anger.

“Harry would never do that.” Hermione hissed back, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah,” Fred glared at his younger brother.

Fred’s twin, George, glared at Ron as well. “Anyway, the Heir of Slytherin doesn’t kill Purebloods, does he?”

“So it couldn’t have been Harry.” Fred grinned at George.

George grinned back. “Even if he is a seriously evil Wizard.”

“Oh boys,” Hermione huffed, “be serious. We have to find a way to prove Harry is innocent. He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Except kill my sister!” Ron snarled, “but oh, wait, the Boy-Who-Live can get away with things like that!” Ron slammed his hand down on the table, knocking over two glasses of pumpkin juice. Seamus jumped out of his seat to avoid being covered with juice, and ended up knocking Dean Thomas over as well. The two of them glared at Ron.

“Now, now, Weasel, do you really believe the Golden Boy is capable of producing a working Avada Kedavra?” Draco Malfoy’s amused drawl sounded from just behind them. Ron and Hermione turned to glare at the blond haired boy. He smirked back at them. “Personally I think the Mudblood is right, but don’t tell Potter I said that. It’s not like I mind that he’s in Azkaban. He can be anywhere he likes as long as it’s away from me.”

“Then why are you defending him?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious.

“Defending Potter?” He laughed, and Crabbe and Goyle who walked over behind him laughed as well. “I’m defending the name of Slytherin. Wouldn’t do to have a Potter considered one of us, now would it?” He laughed once more and turned away, leaving Hermione glaring after him.

Ron snarled at his retreating back. “Malfoy, I hate Malfoy! He probably had something to do with the diary!”

“What diary?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Nothing.” Ron said with his hand over his mouth. “Can’t tell you. Headmaster said not to.”

Fred and George looked at each other before they stood, and simultaneously grabbed one of Hermione’s arms each and began to drag her out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore watched them go, and the ceiling which was grey and cloudy, turned a deep, dark black and began to pour rain. When the trio were out of the Great Hall, and hidden down a corridor where there were no portraits, Fred swallowed and turned to face the bushy haired Muggleborn.

“Ginny had this diary. The one Harry found in Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“I remember,” Hermione said.

“Well, apparently it used to belong to You-Know-Who, and it was possessing her all year. She was the one who opened the Chamber and killed Hagrid’s roosters. You were right about the Basilisk, as well by the way.”

“Yeah,” George added, “Ron told us you guessed that part. Anyway, the diary looked like it had been stabbed a few times. Dumbledore thinks it was probably a fang or a bone from something the Basilisk ate. But, um, he found some of Harry’s blood on the page.”

“We don’t know what it means,” Fred rubbed his shoulder nervously. “He found it before he told the Aurors. It must have been important enough for him to call them. You don’t think Harry did it, do you?”

“NO!” She shouted, “of course not. Not Harry!”

“No, I didn’t think so either. And mum was so angry, she just kept crying, and crying. But dad just shook his head and said it wasn’t possible. He said Harry was a hero, and he is you know. Why would Fudge arrest our hero? We need him.”

“Unhappy the land that needs heroes.” Hermione muttered, “maybe he wants to pretend that Volde-” They both shuddered. “It’s just a name, boys, honestly,” she huffed. “As I was saying, maybe he wants to pretend that Voldemort can’t come back? That maybe we don’t need Harry anymore?”

“Why is that a reason to send him to Azkaban?” Fred asked confused. “Plenty of people have been expelled for using those kind of spells in school, but because they were underage they weren’t sent to Azkaban.”

“Maybe Dumbledore told Fudge about the blood on the diary?” Hermione mused. “But what does it mean?” Both red heads shrugged.

It might seem strange that they were helping the person who was accused of killing their baby sister. But neither boy believed that lie. And until there was indisputable proof, they wouldn’t believe it. And if Harry really was innocent, then they refused to loose a friend as well as a sibling – a friend and a pseudo-sibling. Because his parents were planning to all but adopt Harry, if Dumbledore would ever let them.

“I think I’ve read something about that before…” George trailed off. “We were planning a prank,” he added after some time had elapsed. “To bind two people together temporarily.”

“It seemed more original than swapping bodies around.” Fred shrugged when Hermione glared at them in turn.

“I kind of remember. It worked best with saliva. If you spat on anyone or thing with a soul in it, you’d be taken from your body and into the other organism, unless the organism was damaged.”

“What if Harry cut himself while destroying the diary, and bled on it afterwards?”

George’s eyes widened. “The soul, if there was one, would leave the diary and enter Harry.”

“That’s perfect!” Hermione said shrilly. “Now we just tell Dumbledore you know how to reverse it, and we get Harry freed from Azkaban.” She frowned. “You can reverse it, can’t you?”

“Of course!”

“What do you take us for?”

“But- I sense a but.”

“If you use blood the effects are permanent.” Fred said hesitantly. George was rather relieved he let his brother answer the girl, because Hermione turned on Fred, not him.

“What do you mean PERMANENT?” She shrieked. “How will we help Harry?”

“He could be taught this thing, called Occlumency. It builds shields in your mind, and he can use them to stop whatever was in the diary from controlling him.” She calmed down immediately.

“Great, now all we need to do is free him.” The three of them frowned. They all took a seat on the dusty floor and began to desperately try and think of a way to help their friend.

XXX

As someone once said, brilliant minds think alike. And there was no mind more brilliant than that of Tom Riddle. The teenager smirked at Harry, watching the younger brunette wake up slowly. They were both in the large bed floating over the lake of water, in their imaginary Chamber of Secrets. It had been almost two days, and that Unspeakable hadn’t come back yet. It was almost eight in the afternoon on the same Sunday and the Dementors were finally all outside.

When the last one had flown off down the corridor, Tom happily woke Harry up. Harry stretched and yawned and rolled onto his back to look up at Tom. “You’re far too happy.” He mumbled.

“I am, and do you know why?” The Heir of Slytherin grinned.

“Dare I ask?” Apparently, they had grown closer in the last two days. One couldn’t blame them, of course; they were stuck together forever. Maybe it was a little like being a Siamese twin? Or a split personality, even?

“I am happy, Harry dear, because we are doing magic today.” Tom jumped off the bed as Harry practically flew into an upright sitting position. If Tom had stayed where he had been, he probably would have been head butted.

“Really? Are we? But how, I haven’t got a wand! You haven’t got a wand!” Harry looked suddenly so crestfallen that Tom couldn’t help himself. He lent forward, capturing Harry’s chin with one hand, and pressed his lips quickly to the boy’s check.

“Haven’t we?” He asked with a teasing grin, letting go of Harry’s chin. Between his long, pale fingers, he was twirling Harry’s wand. “My dear Harry, today I am going to teach you the basics of a most vital form of magic. Occlumency. It will help you protect your mind. I, myself, and as Lord Voldemort in later life can use the art, along with Severus Snape. And of course, Dumbledore knows this as well.”

“You’re only sixteen. You don’t even know Snape yet, how do you know he can use Occlumency?” Harry asked, frowning. He hesitantly reached out and took the wand from Tom’s hand. The teenager handed it over willingly.

Tom laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair. “That, my dear, is the benefits of splitting your soul. As you know, Lord Voldemort is still alive. I believe you had a run in with him last year? Well, as we are both a small piece of the same person, we are able to share information. Not consciously, however, although the longer I am ‘alive’ in a sense, the more control I have. When I sleep, his memories infect my mind. I wake and I can remember wandering through a forest, cold and hungry, but remember how it feels to not be alive enough to eat or feel warmth. I am both Tom and Voldemort at once, and the feelings confuse me. In time, I will be able to communicate with him, to find out only what I wish to know, to find him. In time, he will rise again, and Lord Voldemort will free us.”

“Why would he free me?” Harry asked. He didn’t particularly want to go with the madman that was trying to kill him, and had killed his parents. But then again he didn’t want to stay in Azkaban; and he and Tom couldn’t be separated. So if Tom wanted to go, and they didn’t go, Harry doubted Tom would let him hear the end of it.

“Because my dear, I am him, and you… are me, and therefore him as well.” Tom grinned and Harry’s face went red with anger.

“I’m nothing like Voldemort!” The boy shouted, while Tom merely rolled his eyes.

“Let us ignore this for the time. Now, clear your mind. Think of something that makes you feel safe, secluded. Somewhere you feel no one will find you. A forest perhaps, or a cave or a-”

“Cupboard?” Harry interrupted.

“Right. Anyway. Think of that place. Hide all your thoughts and memories behind trees or rocks, make sure they’re all out of sight. When that’s done, tell me and I’ll attack your mind. You may use the wand; I can do this wandless.” Tom boasted, a broad grin on his face.

Harry closed his eyes, and sat back on the bed. He swallowed slowly and he remembered his cupboard under the stairs. That small cupboard had been his home for ten years, before he was moved to Dudley’s second bedroom, and it was the only place that had ever felt like home because it was the only place he remembered living in, sleeping in, that was addressed as ‘his’. He thought long and hard about his cupboard. And when he could picture it clearly in his mind, so clear it was almost like he was standing in it, or crouching because he had gotten rather tall lately. He nodded when the picture was as clear as it was going to get.

Then, one by one he began to find hiding places for his memories.

He hid all thoughts of his parents and Sirius behind huge big spider webs. He remembered the spiders in his cupboard, they had been his only friends and he always was so careful when he was peeling them off his socks and out of his hair in case he hurt them. The spiders made their way into the middle of their webs and stood guard of his parents’ memories.

His memories of Hermione and Ron, and his other friends at Hogwarts, were stuffed down some dirty socks he always left lying on the floor of his cupboard. He picked his blanket up – the one that was wrapped around him when he had been left on the front steps of Number 4 – and he tucked it around his memories of Tom and the Chamber and the diary.

The last few memories he had, the ones he thought were important, the rage and the betrayal, the anger and hurt he felt at those responsible for his being in Azkaban – they were folded up real small and Harry thought really hard as he folded them into the shape of a toy horse, and left them sitting on his shelf, beside the real horse. The only toy he ever had as a child, except for a few broken toy soldiers.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Tom. He nodded once and Tom smirked. “Legilimens!” He cried.

Memories rushed through his mind, and Tom’s both. Memories that Harry didn’t think were important enough to hide. Tom caught a glimpse of Harry staring enviously at a shinny red bicycle, and then another memory of Harry wheeling that same bike home three days later. But this time the bicycle was crushed and mangled. “Harry pushed me and I fell in the road! Look what the freak did to my bike!” A fat, blond boy cried in the memory. Then the scene changed. This time, Tom was watching Harry run away from the fat boy, and then he watched as Harry seemingly apparated onto the roof, of what he assumed to be a school building. And the scene changed again.

Professor Snape putting him down in Potions.

Draco Malfoy challenging him to a duel.

And they changed, and changed but none of them were particularly important.

“Not bad. Not bad at all for your first time. But next time Harry, you need to show me images you think I want to see, not because they’re unimportant to you, but because you think they’re the opposite of what I want. For example, if I want to know who killed the Basilisk, and you knew it had been you. You could show me a made-up memory of Severus killing the snake instead. Understand?”

Tom was pacing as he spoke, his arms behind his back with his hands clasped. His eyes never left Harry’s face. The boy was sweaty and exhausted looking, and truly he had done well for a beginner.

“Go, talk with your Godfather. You did well, and I am pleased.” Tom sat on the bed when Harry stood up. He stretched himself out and held his hand out to the younger boy.

“Tom, you will teach me spells too right? Third Year and beyond, since I won’t be there? It can’t have changed so much since you were at school right?” Harry unwillingly handed his wand back to Tom Riddle. Tom twirled it between his fingers once and when Harry blinked, his wand was gone. He really wished he knew how Tom did that.

“I will teach you all I know, and all I will know once I make contact with my other self. Now go, I wish to rest.” He closed his eyes, and tried not to smile when he felt Harry press his lips against his own cold cheek.

“Hello Sirius, are you awake?” Harry sat up. He could never get used to feeling so comfortable one second in his warm bed in the Chamber, to suddenly feeling cold and stiff from sleeping on the floor all night. They hadn’t any Prison robes his size so he wasn’t able to sleep on the robes he had been arrested in, like Sirius and the other prisoners were.

“Hey, Pup,” a hoarse voice called from the cell opposite Harry’s. Poor Sirius hadn’t been joking when he said the Dementors liked to visit him. A whole flock of them had hovered outside of his cell, completely ignoring Tom who sat stiffly on the other side of the corridor, while Harry slept. Tom had looked on impassively while Sirius screamed for forgiveness, begging Lily and James and Remus to take pity on him, to believe him. And Tom had flinched when he apologized for not being around to rescue Harry from Voldemort – and he had said that while staring right at Tom. But when Sirius began to cry, Tom had to, finally, look away.

“How are you?” Harry asked quietly, as he pushed his hand through the bars of his cell door. Sirius reached out and took hold of the small hand and squeezed it tightly.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor, but no one came towards them so they continued to hold onto each other. A little while up from them, about four cells or so, a door opened and someone was shoved inside with a scuffle and a groan of pain.

Someone laughed, a woman, and the laugh sent chills down Harry’s spine. He wondered how long she had been here; she must be a prisoner, only someone who was locked up in Azkaban forever could sound so insane. A man laughed as well, but he just sounded cruel. “You’re new home Bella,” he said and Harry could guess he was sneering, “for good behaviour.”

Harry turned to stare at Sirius when he gasped. “Do you know her?” He whispered when he couldn’t hear the Unspeakables footsteps anymore.

“She’s my cousin. She married a Lestrange and got sent here a year after me for torturing some friends of mine into insanity.”

“Who?” Harry asked with a frown. No one at Hogwarts had mentioned it; but then again it wasn’t really a teatime conversation topic of choice. But if anyone deserved to know something like that it was Harry, who everyone knew everything about when it came to Voldemort and his followers.

“Frank and Alice Longbottom.” Sirius said quietly, staring in Bella’s general direction.

“Neville’s parents?” Harry asked in shook. Sirius just nodded.

“Bellatrix, Rudolphus and Rabastian Lestrange were sentenced for two life times into the deepest, darkest part of Azkaban Prison. Where there are no windows, or doors, no food, water or fresh air. You’re placed into a cylindrical hole in the ground and the cement tile is replaced back over your head so all you can see, hear and feel is darkness. It’s enough to drive the sanest man, mad.” Tom whispered waking up. Lord Voldemort – where ever he was skulking – had heard them talking about Bellatrix, and had informed Tom of what he knew.

“Is that the much, much worse place you were telling me about?” Harry asked nervously, unconsciously running his hands up and down his arms.

“One of them,” Tom said, before rolling over in the bed and going back to sleep.

“Lazy,” Harry muttered. When he was back in his body, rather than in his mind, hiding in his Chamber, he noticed that Sirius had his face pressed against his bars and he was listening for something.

“Cousin, is that you?” Asked a woman, she had a slight drawl and she seemed to drag out her words as if she was planning to singsong sometime soon. “Sirius, Si-ri-us Bla-aack!” She giggled. “And itty, bitty, baby Potter. You’re here too?”

“What did you say to her?” Harry hissed, stepping back into his cell nervously again. As if he were afraid that she would suddenly appear outside of his cell and grab him.

“I only said I wanted to talk to her. We wanted to talk to her.” Sirius looked apologetic.

“Did you tell her about Tom?” He whispered.

“What? I didn’t hear.”

“Did you tell her about Tom?” He shouted, and then clamped his hand over his mouth. Sirius shook his head ‘no’.

Bellatrix giggled again. “Who is Tom, bitty Potter?” She scoffed loudly, “your Mudblood friend?” She cackled, and Harry and Sirius, both, flinched.

“Actually,” said Tom Riddle, growing rather annoyed of one of his followers interrupting his sleep. “I’m a half-blood.” Sirius refused to meet his red eyes, instead choosing to crane his neck as if trying to see the look on Bellatrix’s face.

She gasped, and Sirius thought that maybe she was staring wide-eyed at the bars of her cell, or craning her own neck to look at Tom. “My Lord?” She whispered, but Tom refused to answer her.

XXX

Four days later and Hermione finally had everything sorted out. As they had expected, people tried to make themselves believe that Harry had been evil all along, but there were those who protested. Surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy as one of the ones adamant that Harry be removed from Azkaban. In four days, Hermione had contacted Rita Skeeter, found all the proof she needed that Harry wasn’t at fault and written out what she wanted published.

And four days later, Harry Potter once again made the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Ladies and Gentle-Wizards, I am appalled at the lack of outrage shown on behalf of our dear Saviour, twelve-year-old, Harry Potter. Mr. Potter almost died to defeat You-Know-Who; as a result he had to live a loveless life, devoid of his parents and a family. Forced to live with Muggles.

And how do we repay him for protecting us?

We send him to Azkaban. We allowed him to be sent to Azkaban, a place no child had ever been sent before. And why? There was no proof that he killed Miss. Weasley, no proof, even, that he cast an Unforgivable. But there was proof that if either occurred, he was not at fault.

During the year, Miss. Weasley somehow procured a cursed diary, which contained a piece of a soul – whose is not yet known – and was possessed by it. It was this piece of a soul, which opened the Chamber of Secrets, and caused the end of Miss. Weasley’s life. When Mr. Potter killed the Basilisk and saved Miss. Weasley’s life, he, instead, became the host for the possessing spirit. The spirit which then cast the Unforgivable.

If Dumbledore was half the man they say he is, he might have suggested Occlumency. An art form used among the Pureblood elite to protect their minds against enemies and jealous peasants. This would have protected Mr. Potter from the spirits influence and allowed him to live a normal life.

I, among many others, believe that Harry Potter should be freed from Azkaban and allowed back into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If, like myself, you are outraged at this travesty, sign the dotted line at the bottom of this article. Your name will be magically added to our ‘Harry Is Innocent Petition’ or HIIP for short.

Thank you dear readers, Rita Skeeter.

When they checked the petition an hour later, there were over 3000 signatures. At the very top of the list were the names Arthur and Molly Weasley: the parents of the dead girl.

XXX

Another day passed and there were many important changes. Not only had they now 8000 signatures for HIIP: but Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge had just passed a new sub-regulation through the Wizengamot.

Under Article B, of the Free Press and Speech Declaration, code 56429, Sub-section 6632, bullet point 1-4, anyone could use the press to publish their thoughts, opinions, petitions, and surveys. Now, under the same Article, there was a bullet point 5 – which made bullet point 3 (publishing petitions) illegal.

The Department for the Regulation of Fines and Taxes sent an owl everyone who signed their name on HIIP demanding they pay 3 Galleons compensation for crimes against the Ministry.

Dumbledore thought it was a rather clever idea.

Hermione Granger decided she’d just have to be cleverer!

XXX

* * *

The older Lord Voldemort will be appearing in the next chapter… and Wormtail, and maybe Lucius. And possibly Severus.

Anyway, there was the chapter and I hope you enjoy it. Please review and let me know what you think? I realize that there aren’t many slash Azkaban fics going around, so if there is anything you’d like to see let me know and I’ll see what I can do (bare in mind I already have a plot, so it can’t be too far gone). I might possibly do outtakes if there are enough suggestions.