A/N- If you were expecting an Azkaban story where Harry gets extremely mad at his friends and basically tells them to screw off or if you thought this was going to be a Dark! Harry story, you might want to turn back now. That being said, Ron and Hermione are not the greatest blokes in the world right now and they will not help him towards his destiny.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the following.

Chapter 1- False Accusations

August 1st, 1995

Harry Potter Convicted to Life in Azkaban!

Harry James Potter was found guilty by the Wizengamot for the murder of Cedric Diggory. Having committed an atrocity against the Ancient House of Diggory, the boy-who-killed is condemned to life in prison.

Harry looked up from the newspaper, into the eyes of the smirking minister. The one, who had been so nice and friendly just last year, the one who had taken the liberty of getting his school supplies for him, the one who had just thrown him into Azkaban with a very fair trial.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you manners, boy?" he asked cruelly.

Harry winced and tears started to gather in his eyes. Fudge had been so nice to him. Then again, they'd all been nice to him. Hermione. Ron. The Weasleys. Remus. Dumbledore. Sirius. And they'd locked him away without a second glance.

He could, to a point, understand the minister's reasons. With his boy-who-lived status, he was a powerful political enemy who was threatening Fudge's continued power.

But his friends? Who he'd selflessly sacrificed his life for over and over again? He had known Ron was incredibly selfish—he had more than proven that not only during the Goblet of Fire incident, but the trial as well—however, Hermione hadn't a reason. Had she?

The rest of the Weasley clan had been just as atrocious in condemning him. He had thought that maybe Fred and George would come to his aid; he had come to theirs after all—giving them money for their shop, but they hadn't. Mr. Weasley had stood back, watching silently, neither giving condemning words nor up lifting.

Ginny's betrayal had hurt worst of all. She had claimed that it had been he, who had given her the diary and was responsible for the entirety of the 'Chamber of Secrets' debacle.

Dumbledore sat there, with the abilities and memories to counter such falsities, but he didn't. His grandfather figure did nothing to help Harry. In fact, he attacked him outright, calling out supporting evidence against him at his trial.

Harry suspected that Remus wasn't entirely sure of his guiltiness, but he threw him into the gutter—so to say—either way.

It was when Sirius believed he was guilty, that even he—who was certain that he had not done the crime—was forced to rethink his innocence. His godfather—who was himself a wrongly convicted criminal—thought he was guilty.

All-in-all, Harry had been betrayed horribly. His trial, if it can even be called one, had been a farce, which was to be expected—considering that those who had committed the crime were influencing the outcome.

Malfoy, Nott, Avery and the lot of them had been sure to make themselves heard, and had led the charge against using Veritaserum for his trial. It didn't matter that they were former innocent death eaters, the rest of the wizarding aristocracy had eaten it up.

Of course, he was innocent. Cedric was fast becoming one of his best friends, and he could never hurt a friend. Nevermind a friend, it was horrid for him to kill an enemy as well. Quirrell's death had haunted his dreams every year since the occurrence. Yes, it would've been him or Quirrell, but he had grown up in a household where he was hurt daily.

It had been bad enough dealing with Dudley, but when he had turned six, his uncle had started to jump in. While Dudley's strength and power were appalling for his age, his father was easily ten times as powerful.

Thus, he knew how painful it was to be…well in pain. He didn't want anyone else to suffer the same as he, and he especially didn't want for him to be the cause of it. Physical or mental.

Of course, he was being condemned to a place where both would happen—probably regularly. The prison guards had already let Amos Diggory—who wasn't allowed to be in the prison in the first place—pound him into the floor quite painfully.

But he would survive; he always did in the long run. That's all he was, a survivor. He'd survived Voldemort, he'd survived 10 years at the Dursleys, and he'd survive a lifetime in Azkaban. Maybe. Either way, it didn't really matter. His friends didn't believe him anyways, so what reason was there to live?

Harry was brought back to the present by Fudge's chuckling. "Mind the walls, Potter," he said mockingly whilst looking at the bruises left by Mr. Diggory.

Harry's only reply was silence. It was his best friend after all.

Fudge trudged off with a disappointed look at Harry's unwillingness to fight back—probably to taunt some more prisoners—and leaving Harry by his lonesome.

"Kill the spare."

A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a peak that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes.

Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.

–Excerpt from the Goblet of Fire

Harry woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. The dementor had moved on, to torment another. Harry always passed out when one was in the vicinity and he was forced to dream of his worst memories. This time, he dreamt of that night again, the night that had led to his incarceration.

It had been three months since he had been placed in his cell. Ninety-two days, four hours, nine minutes, and thirty-two seconds to be exact. Or had it been nine hours, forty-two minutes and thirty seconds? He was quite bored.

He would admit that Azkaban was worse than he thought. His fare at the Dursleys had not been a five-class meal by any means—in fact, it was a piece of moldy bread and a glass of water—but that was ambrosia considering the slop they gave here. And that was before mentioning the whole 'relive your worst memories' part.

Hogwarts had started back only a month ago; were his friends alright? Then he remembered that he no longer had any friends to speak of. But still, hopefully they were all alright. It wouldn't do if Voldemort caught them.

'I wonder if this was Sirius' cell.' Harry pondered idly. Probably not. As far as he could tell, there were at least forty cells on this level alone. With all of its occupants insane.

Speaking of which, why hadn't he succumbed to insanity yet? Merlin knows he'd suffered like the rest of them, and he was already above average on the sane expectancy.

"Potter!" a voice growled from the other side of the cell bars.

Turning around, Harry saw that his weekly visitor was here. Fantastic. Last week, he'd had to spend two days in the hospital.

The guards unlocked the bar gate, allowing Diggory to stomp in menacingly with the glare in his eyes already settled on the room's only occupant.

Harry wouldn't fight back; he never did. If this is what it took to take the anger away from the man, then he'd be the punching bag. He prided himself with being rather good at it after years of practice with Dudley.

Harry struggled to stand up, weak from hunger, and awaited the punishment. He was immediately swept of his feet by a sharp kick to the shin.

Diggory picked Harry up by the collar of his decimated, foul robes. "You deserve this boy, and you know it," he spat sounding very much like Vernon Dursley. He kneed Harry in the stomach to prove his point.

Harry felt all the air shoot from his lungs, but he didn't make a sound. As was usual. He didn't deserve to make a sound; he didn't even deserve to breathe, though not for the same reason that Diggory thought.

His parents were gone; because of him. Voldemort had come after him for a reason—even if he didn't know why yet—for one does not attack a family without his loyal followers, especially, when said person is notorious for using his followers as cannon fodder. No, there was a reason. And a big one at that.

By extension, Sirius had gone to Azkaban because of him. If he hadn't endangered his parents to the point of them being forced into hiding, they wouldn't have needed a secret keeper. And Sirius would not have been suspected of being said secret keeper.

So Harry stood and took the pain with open arms—proverbially at least. Diggory was always quick to attack the arms, just in case Harry decided to fight back. He needn't have worried about that.

The only reason Harry would begrudgingly attack someone, is if a friend's life was in danger. And thus, when angry, he responded with violence. But he wasn't mad. He was…just sad.

Sirius Black sat at the table in the kitchen of his late mother's house. The fireplace set its warm blaze open him—giving him warmth—even as his thoughts turned colder.

Sirius was terribly confused. And that was putting it lightly.

Harry had declared his innocence at the trial—just like he would've done if he had been given a trial. Harry had been dragged off to prison basically begging—like he would've done if he hadn't been unconscious. Harry had watched as his two best friends tore him apart in court—which was something that he was glad that he hadn't had to go through.

The evidence against himself had actually been feasible. He had sent a blasting hex at Pettigrew, right before the rat blew up the street. Dumbledore had thought him the Potter's keeper, and they hadn't informed him of the change.

All the evidence had been against him, whereas, the evidence against Harry was rather sad—going off the words of 'imperiused' death eaters. How could Dumbledore have possibly believed that?

Of course, he couldn't say much for himself as he had believed it at first as well. He had heard Malfoy, Nott, and Avery's assault by being Dumbledore's 'pet' for the day.

Sirius hadn't known his godson for long, so it was possible that he had been dark. But murdering Diggory? With an Avada Kedavra no less? It seemed impossible that the child of James and Lily Potter was capable of such evil.

And then there was the possibility that he was in fact innocent. If he was, they had locked up a fourteen year old in hell on earth.

What was bothering him the most was how quickly Dumbledore and his friends had turned on Harry. At first, he had thought it more proof that Harry had been dark, but now it only casted doubt on the whole situation. Was something more sinister afoot here?

A woman was screaming. In his third year, he hadn't known who was screaming, but he knew now; it was his mother just before she had been killed. It was a horrid thing to hear, but Harry was getting used to it now.

The dementor moved on to the next person, and by the time Harry had regained his bearings, he could hear the pained cackles of the only partially sane person on this floor. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't say he liked her very much.

Flashback:

Harry was bored. He'd never been talkative, but considering his only company was either dementors or a person whom broke his arms every week, he was starting to believe he could talk for ages. He just needed someone to have a small chat with.

Harry crawled over to the bars, not wanting to waste any of his energy than was necessary.

"Anybody fancies a chat?" he croaked, his voice scratchy with misuse. He hadn't spoken in four months or so after all.

He hadn't exactly expected a response, but he was surprised and a bit relieved to know that there was someone else same enough to chat.

"What does my ickle blood traitor cousin want?" a voice screeched from three cells down.

Cousin? He hadn't known he'd had anybody that close in relation. Of course, he couldn't forget that person could not be all there, but they seemed genuinely sane. It gets hard to tell the difference after a while, with only the yells of the insane to measure such.

But it did make some bit of sense. He'd heard people call the Weasleys such, so that did technically make him one supposedly.

"Just a friendly chat and the like. You are still sane, right?" Harry asked conversationally. It never hurt to ask.

"Are you taunting me, Black?" the voice, now identified as a woman's, growled back menacingly.

Brilliant. She was bloody insane.

"Uhhm…no?"

She seemed to let it go, but that didn't at all mean she was done taunting him. Or somebody in her imagination.

"Still pinning after your old life, Black? Still mad at that bloody rat, perhaps?" she asked gleefully, still with that annoying cackle.

Now Harry may not've been that sharpest tool in the shed, but it was pretty obvious who she was talking about. It all made sense now; this must've been Sirius's cell before his escape.

Sometimes it was best to play along. If not for just a little fun.

There was a piece of broken glass in the corner. He had found it on his first day in. Maybe it was there to encourage suicide, or perhaps, it was for something even more sinister.

Whatever it was there for, Harry used it for his personal grooming. He hated his hair as long as it was; although, he couldn't do much about it—they didn't exactly have a salon in Azkaban.

Any road, today he noticed the few strands of grey in his hair. It was lovely…except it wasn't. He looked like an older man in his thirties—that much time hadn't passed, had it?

Surely not. It had only been a few weeks since he had first talked with Lestrange. Speaking of which…

"Oi, Lestrange!" Harry called, from the bars of his cell. He winced as he did so; it always hurt him to yell.

"Piss off, blood traitor!" she yelled, but it lacked the usual bite. It was almost gleeful.

"You don't want to enjoy a lovely chat?"

"Soon…soon, I shall be rid off you. I'll be the one to kill you!" she said, her insanity back full-fledged.

"Okay…well…you have fun with that. By the way, are you gonna eat your lunch? I could use a second helping." Even though Harry kept his whimsical side suppressed usually, he couldn't help the feeling of foreboding that crept up. Although, it might've been his immense hunger.

"Step aside, foolish girl!" said his high, cold voice from the doorway.

"No! Take me instead!" the foolish mudblood challenged fiercely, her eyes shining with rage—but also despair.

Voldemort sighed. 'I tried Severus.'

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry was awoken from his despairing dream by loud sounds coming from further within the prison. From what best he could tell, it was January. Could there be some kind of prison transfer taking place? It would be best if that happened at the beginning of the year, right?

But it couldn't be that; it was much too loud to be a simple transfer. A prison breakout perhaps? But why would the escapees make so much noise?

Harry shrugged mentally. Who cares? It was about time to wake up anyways.

He stretched as he always did in the mornings and prepared to start his exercises. He'd start by running around his ten by eight foot cell, and finish with some push-ups. What else was there to do?

After he was finished, he waited for breakfast. It usually came while he was doing his exercises; had he woken up earlier than usual? But no, the sounds were getting closer.

Harry attempted to clean his glasses—which had become foul at his current place of residence—but only succeeded in smudging them further.

He heard footsteps, slow and rhythm like, approaching his floor. It could've just been an auror transfer. Where'd he get all this silly thinking about a prison break?

"Bella," a voice called out, "Where are you?"

"Roddy! Is that you?" Lestrange cried out from her cell.

He'd never heard Lestrange use that type of voice before. It was still shrill, but it was actually kind of nice—and strangely—familiar.

"The Dark Lord, he's —"

"Right behind you," Voldemort's chilling voice cut off this 'Roddy' character's sentence.

From just the right spot, and with Harry craning his neck as far as he could, he could see the Dark tosser—his robes billowing—even though there was no breeze in the closed confined hallways of Azkaban.

"My lord!" Lestrange squeaked out and then her voice getting stronger, "I knew you would come for us, master!"

"Of course I would come for some of my most loyal followers," he said and swished his wand to the left. Lestrange's vault was ripped off its hinges and thrown roughly on the ground.

"Thank you, my lord!" Lestrange said, throwing herself to her knees and kissing the hem of his robes. Did all of his followers do that? If they did, that was horribly unsanitary.

"We mustn't be long, the order will be here soon," Voldemort said handing over a walnut wand to Lestrange.

"I have one request, my lord," Lestrange said to a now scowling Dark Lord.

"And that would be?"

"My blood traitor cousin lies in that cell over there," she said, pointing at Harry's cell who ducked backwards as soon as he saw her pointing, "And it would give me great pleasure to kill him."

"Just be quick about it!"

"Thank you, my lord!"

She approached the cell quickly and threw open the cell door, her violet eyes glowing with repressed power. "And now you shall die for…Potter?"

"Potter!" she yelled a bit more loudly, this time with glee.

It seemed as if his name had barely passed her lips that Voldemort appeared beside her. His horrific snake-like face took on a grin, which made his unnaturalness more pronounced.

"Potter," he said smirking. "Look at you, you're all grown up."

Harry's scar was reaching levels of pain not felt since the graveyard. Just another testament to Voldemort's growing power. He still found the strength to glare at his opponent—and dare say—rival.

"Always the feisty one, aren't you, Harry? You could turn that rage on your betrayers, you know? Join me, and we can rule the Wizarding world together!"

Who did this guy think he was? He murdered his parents and set up his incarceration, and he expected Harry to just walk over to his side? To kill his friends? No thank you.

"No thanks, but…I think that guy over there might take you up," Harry said cheekily, pointing at the cell across from his. Of course, that man was insane, so…

Voldemort sighed. "Bloody light," he grumbled.

An unknown death eater appeared behind at the cell, huffing and tenderly holding his bleeding left arm. "My lord…"

"What is it, Yaxley? I asked not to be disturbed," Voldemort growled.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but the order has penetrated our defenses and set up anti-apparation wards."

"WHAT!" Voldemort yelled his rage evident in his voice. "Why wasn't I notified?"

Without letting Yaxley answer, Voldemort cruelly hit him with the cruciatus, giving a faint smirk at Yaxley's writhing body.

He ended the spell and quickly barked, "Take everyone we've got and counterattack, whilst Bella and I take down the wards."

"Y—yes my l—lord," Yaxley stammered before rushing off.

"And you," Voldemort said, turning to face Harry once again, "will be coming with me."

Harry didn't even have the time to think up a witty statement before he was bound, silenced, and floating precariously through the air, hitting his head quite a few times from Tom's carelessness.

"Everbo!" Sirius roared sending a vertically spinning hammer of magical energy into the hastily erected shield charm. It broke through it, but unfortunately missed the caster who dived out of the way.

Sirius hastily pulled himself back into cover, as death eater spells blasted the space he had been only a second before.

Today had not been a good day at all. The Order had charged into Azkaban as soon as they had known of the death eater assault. A ferocious battle had erupted, and one the Order was ill prepared for.

He knew for a fact that a quarter of the two-hundred or so Order members who had been brought in were dead, and probably many more were wounded.

Of his own 'squad'—as Albus called it—he was the only one left standing. Dedalus, Emmeline, and Mundungus were dead, by killing curses, no less. Nymphadora and Hestia were gravely wounded, having already been apparated out by the medics. And Hermione, Ron, and Ginny—who had all been immediately inducted into the Order—had split as soon as the fighting got rough.

No wonder they abandoned Harry. But now was not the time to think of this…or was it? Harry was here, right now, in Azkaban. And there was a very good chance that he was innocent.

The Order had been reformed when Dumbledore had found that Voldemort had indeed been reincarnated. And Harry had claimed that it had been Voldemort who had killed Cedric. He very well may have condemned his godson to life in hell. Was he even still sane?

A partially tangible wolf bounded into sight, cutting him off from his thoughts—which was a good thing considering there were several death eaters advancing on his position. "Sirius, the death eaters and dementors are making coordinated assaults against all positions. You and your squad are to retreat to the top floor."

'Well…this oughta be interesting,' he thought, thinking of his impending fight just to be able to retreat. 'Wasn't an auror for nothing though.'

"Lumos Maxima!" he yelled, stepping out from behind his cover. His attackers were immediately blinded and forced into cover to escape his light's wrath, and he quickly took off down the hall, not giving the battleground another glance.

He was almost to the stairs leading to the top of Azkaban (his squad hadn't gotten far) when he felt pain lace his leg and he fell to the ground. A well-aimed percutio. And he had been so close.

The death eaters sneered as they stared at his fallen form. He couldn't apparate out; the death eaters had reformed their own apparation wards—no doubt the work of his cousin. He idly considered fighting back, but he wasn't feeling like much of a Gryffindor these days. He dropped his trusty ivy wand on the ground as a sign of surrender.

Sirius was on his knees with his hands on his head like the rest of the Order. They'd all been captured, or at least, what was left of them that is. About a third of them who had come were left, although, most of the wounded had already been evacuated, but still…

He could safely say that the battle of Azkaban—the first battle of the war—had been a crushing defeat for the light. Score one for the dark. The ministry could've sent reinforcements, but they hadn't, of course. If he survived this, Fudge would be receiving a personal visit from him.

Voldemort and his lovely cousin, Bellatrix came waltzing up the stairs with a bound Harry Potter in tow. Sirius gasped at the sight of him. He hadn't thought that Harry could get any skinnier.

Bellatrix glared at one of the ten surviving aurors with a look of hatred on her face. She pulled out a knife from one of the pockets on her shredded dress and threw it, hitting the defenseless woman between the eyes. She couldn't have been more than twenty—fresh out of the academy.

"Muggleborn scum," Bellatrix snarled.

Voldemort walked up to him and stared him in the eyes, smirking. Sirius growled and glared back defiantly.

"We've a feisty one here," he shouted with a mocking laugh.

Dumbledore—who was on the other side of the prisoners—let out a sigh that could be heard where Sirius was at. "Are you here to initiate Harry into your ranks?"

Sirius and most of the Order looked gobsmacked at Dumbledore. Was he thick? Sirius had never been at one, but he was quite sure that death eater initiations didn't start with one being bound and silenced.

"Dumbledore, Leader of the Light," Voldemort sneered in his direction, "or so you say. What type of leader throws their savior into prison without a fair trial?"

Good point.

"Do you really think that this," Voldemort took a second to point at Harry's feeble body causing shudders of shame to rack Sirius, "could cast an Avada Kedavra against his precious friend?"

Even with Voldemort's not so subtle admission to Harry's wrongdoings, some in the Order didn't catch on. Namely Ronald Weasley.

"Of course he would! He's dark; just like you!" Ron yelled back.

Many of the death eaters laughed. Sirius didn't hear it. He was to busy with his thoughts, how he'd just sent his innocent godson to Azkaban without so much as checking the facts. Just like they'd done to him.

"Well…are you going to kill us? Or is he?" Hermione asked, looking pointedly at Harry. Smartest witch of her age.

Voldemort scowled—something Sirius hoped to never see again—and said, "What d'ya bloody idiots need, a magical oath?"

At this moment, Voldemort was probably the sanest one here.

Voldemort gave a sigh that matched Dumbledore's. "I, Lord Voldemort, swear on my life and magic that I killed Cedric Diggory."

There were several gasps, Sirius' included. Maybe he wasn't very same at all. Voldemort was treading dangerous grounds here, using an oath like that. And what could've been his reasons?

"Lumos," he said, showing that he did in fact still have his magic. Voldemort threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh that chilled Sirius to the bone.

Sirius finally had a chance to get a good look at his obviously frightened, but determined godson and nearly retched at the sight. His messy hair was so covered in grim that the strands stuck together. His eyes were glazed and blinking like he was getting used to the light. Then again, he probably was, having been cooped up in a dark cell for the better part of six months.

"Well…now that we've had our little fun," Voldemort said, pausing for dramatics, "let's get to the best —"

"My lord!"

Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. "Can I help you, Yaxley?"

Yaxley cringed as he saw the aurors glare at him, knowing he was out of a job if they got away. "The wards have —"

The sounds of apparation filled the air, and suddenly, they were no longer alone. Several units of hit wizards, led by the lovely, but deadly Amelia Bones, had arrived.

Voldemort sneered—something that actually suited his features—and apparated away, quickly followed by his loyal death eaters. For whatever reason, though Sirius was immensely relieved by it, Harry had been left behind—untied and unsilenced.

"Dumbledore," Madam Bones called out. "What is the meaning —?"

"Not now, Madam Bones. I've just found out some terrible news —"

"Is that Sirius Black?" she shrieked, brandishing her wand at him.

"Remus," Dumbledore said sighing, "it seems as if my day is not quite yet over. Please escort young Harry back to Headquarters."

Remus quickly took hold of Harry gently and disapparated, causing Madam Bones to glare at Dumbledore. "Would you mind telling me why you seem to be fraternizing with two convicts, Dumbledore?"

Sirius was to far off in his thoughts to hear the exchange. Harry hadn't even looked, much less spoke to him. 'He must hate me now.' Sirius thought gloomily.

And how could he blame him?

A/N- If anyone is wondering why Voldemort just basically cleared Harry's name, well, it'll all become clear later. Please review, and i'll have the next chapter up ASAP.