Meant to Be

First Chapter

Released

*

"Get up, you bastard," a cool voice spat. "It's the time you get out of there."

The man in the small cell glared up at the form in the doorway. Then he slowly stood up. Having forever left behind the days of innocence, a dark shadow having fallen over his eyes, even with his short form he seemed to tower over the other man. His ragged robes, long, tangled hair, and harsh stubble took nothing away from his intimidating look as he glared at the intruder of his relative peace.

"You've served your sentence," the guard continued. "Six full years -- although I think that's still too little for you. Well, I assume they were gentle to you because you are a hero." The last word was hissed with such disgust and malice that it was more than clear just what was his opinion of the possible truth behind it. No, he most certainly did not think that this worn-out man was a hero.

"Give me my wand." The voice was raspy because it hadn't been used in such a long time. Still, the guard recognized it, and shivered. He had heard it a thousand times, no, a ten thousand times and more. Once, it had been one of the most beloved voices in his life -- the voice of his best friend. His former best friend.

"Not yet, bastard." The red-haired guard smirked. "Not until you're out of here. We don't want you to do anything nasty, you know." He waved his hand. "Get moving if you want to get out. If you're still here when the boat leaves, you'll stay here forever. You only get one chance at getting out of here. No dallying."

Now, the prisoner took a step forward. With grim satisfaction he watched the startled look on the guard's face as the other man drew a wand and pointed it at him. "Don't come any nearer!" hissed the guard. "If you try anything, I will kill you. I swear I will. It's not like you didn't deserve it, after all."

"Do not worry," the prisoner said dryly. "I have no desire to take one step nearer to you."

He followed the guard through the empty stone corridors. The screams and whimpers of the other prisoners caught his ears, and he smiled grimly. At least he could leave this place at last.

The guard led him out of the prison and into the light of day for the first time in years. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around, seeing a small boat obviously waiting for him. His guard noticed what he was looking at and snorted. "That's what'll take you over the sea," he said. "Then I'll take you to the Ministry, where you can get back your wand. And after that I hopefully will never have to see you again."

Ah, yes. The new laws of the Ministry. A prisoner's wand wasn't snapped, as that might slow down or even stop altogether their mental development -- like had happened to Sirius, who had never really got past his teen years. Now, he would get his wand back. Such a great consolation, that.

"Feelings mutual... Weasley," he said quietly. From the corner of his eye he saw his former friend flinching. Well, that was good. He did deserve to suffer for ever believing those suspecting him of the crime.

The travel in the boat was eventless. It was freezing, but nobody offered him even a cloak. It didn't matter; he was used to the coldness. There hardly was any warmth in the cells of Azkaban.

Six years in Azkaban, innocent. Six years that would have driven anybody else crazy -- but he had survived. Not even the Dementors could win the one who had slain Lord Voldemort.

Yes, he had done it in the end. He had fulfilled the prophecy, done everything that had been expected of him. He, Harry James Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, had been worshipped as a hero -- almost as a god, or a new Merlin -- after he defeated the Dark Lord.

And shortly after that, they had thrown him into Azkaban for a crime he did not commit.

The images were spinning in Harry's mind. He could only remember one thing, one horrible day...

**

"...And has been deemed guilty of the crime." The judge fixed him a stern glance. "However, as the defendant has also done great favours to the society, we do not demand the worst possible sentence. Therefore, we sentence one Harry James Potter for six years in Azkaban for the murder of a minor."

Harry just stared in front of him. Six years in Azkaban. Sure, Azkaban would never be the same now that the Dementors weren't there, but still, six years was a long time. Especially for a crime you haven't committed. But who would ever believe him? Nobody. Nobody believed him.

They thought he had snapped. True, a lot of power had passed through him in the Final Battle, when he had finally managed to take Voldemort down, but none of it had affected his mind, at least not permanently. Still, they thought that he had snapped and murdered that girl.

She'd been only three. A wonderful little creature, so happy and cheerful. He could have never hurt her in any way. And still, when all evidence pointed at him, when all the witnesses were claiming it had been him, when nobody believed him when he said he was innocent, sometimes... Sometimes he doubted himself, too. Maybe he truly had snapped, and then denied it?

But he knew that wasn't true. It hadn't been him; he had been framed. And he knew by whom.

His eyes now searched for one face in the crowd around him. Then he saw it: a white beard, and wise, blue eyes. Those eyes were now full of disappointment, a frown on the wrinkled face. However, what nobody but Harry could see was the triumph that the eyes were also showing. The old manipulative bastard was too clever to let that show, but it was still there, if you knew what to look for. Well, he had truly accomplished something. The Man Who Lived tossed into Azkaban. Splendid.

His eyes also met other faces, now genuinely disappointed or horrified ones. Brown eyes, blue eyes, grey eyes... A pair of eyes after another, all were staring at him with disappointment and anger. None of them believed him innocent. They all thought he was a child-murderer.

Then, however, he noticed something. A pair of amber eyes was watching him with sympathy. Ah, yes, this man. One of the only two people who had dared to defend Harry, and who would no doubt pay for it very dearly. As Harry watched him, Remus mouthed, 'I still believe you.'

And then, another face. It was set onto a careful scowl of hatred and disgust, but just like with Dumbledore, you could see the true emotions if you knew what to look for. It was surprising that Snape would be the other one of the two who believed him, but in a way, it made sense. Snape knew better than well not to judge people by their looks only. At least that was what Harry figured.

However, these two sympathetic faces were robbed from his sight as he was forcefully turned around and pushed towards a door in the corner of the courtroom. And so, he walked out of his former life, still feeling the accusing gazes of his friends on his back.

**

Remus and Snape. That was it. Those were the only ones who had believed him; those would be the ones he had to turn to if he wanted somebody to help him. But where were they?

That he could find out later. Now, he had to get his wand. As soon as they Portkeyed into the Ministry he set to get back his precious wand, the thing that made him a wizard. Ignoring Ron's hateful glare on his back, he headed to the direction that had been showed to him. Behind a thick oak door he found a room, and in the room he found a young witch behind a spotless counter.

The witch raised her head as she heard the door being opened. "Yes?" she asked, then gasped as she recognized him. Harry recognized her, too. The unruly curls were now tamed onto thick waves going down her back and the almost sickly thin body now had more curves to it, undoubtedly due to maternity. However, the deep eyes of a soul far too old for her body were the same.

"Good evening, Hermione," he said harshly, enjoying the effect his out-of-use voice was having on her as she shivered at hearing it. "I was told that I could get my wand back from here."

"You," she spat, shivering again. "So they actually let you free in the end." She pushed her chair further away to get some more distance between them. "Your wand, very well. Let's see." Her own wand was waved in the air a couple of times, her eyes all the time watching him as if she was expecting him to attack her at any moment. A moment later, a wand-shaped box flew from one of the shelves behind her back. Placing it on the table and backing down again, she watched as he opened the box.

Harry picked up his wand, running his fingertips down its smooth surface. It felt comforting and familiar, like he had got back a missing limb, or got his sight back. And, in a way, this was a similar experience.

"Say, Hermione," the wizard said harshly, "do you have kids?" There was a haunted look in his eyes.

"No, I don't," the witch replied quickly. Too quickly, Harry noticed.

"You're lying," he observed coldly. "They're Ron's, aren't they? A herd of new little Weasleys swarming around your feet. It must be so wonderful, to have children of your own. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful." Now, the haunted look was replaced by a dangerous one. "Would you like to keep it that way?"

Now, she paled, taking a step backwards. "You wouldn't," she said quietly.

"How would you know that?" asked Harry gloomily. "I said I was innocent back then, but you didn't believe me. Why don't you now believe that I might be capable of another child murder?"

Now, Hermione looked defeated, then angry and slightly fearful. "What do you want?" she hissed.

"Just some information." Harry gave her a serious glance. "At first, I want to know where Remus is. And, at second, I'd like to know where Snape is. I know that you know where they are."

Now, the curly haired woman's expression turned into a stony one. "I can't tell you where Remus is, for I do not know that," she said. "Nobody has seen him for over five years. And as for Snape, well, I don't think he's of much use to you." She laughed coolly. "He's snapped, Harry -- just like you. Crazy. Nuts. Mad as a hatter. An idiot, to put it that way. He hasn't said a sensible word for the last two years, not since Dumbledore died. He moved into a small cottage in a forest around the time Remus disappeared, and has been weird since them. The news of Dumbledore's death must have pushed him over the edge. The nearby village's people stand him, as he's never harmed anybody and occasionally buys things from their shops. He's got enough money to last for ten lifetimes, and they would never drive him elsewhere to spend it."

Harry, however, was determined to see the only men who had defended him. He had a good suspicion that Remus' disappearance had something to do with Snape moving into that cottage of his, and he also suspected Dumbledore had something to do with Snape's insanity. "I still want to know where he is," he thus said. "You obviously know where he lives. So, give me the address."

For a moment, Hermione just looked at him. Then she nodded slowly. Pulling then a piece of parchment from her pocket, she quickly wrote something onto it. Handing the parchment to him, she said, "These are the Apparation coordinates. Now, get away and never come to my sight again."

And so, Harry turned away and left, never looking back.

***