Harry Potter: Circumstances

"Fuck, it's so goddamn uncomfortable sleeping on this shitty mattress"—that was literally the first thought that crossed Potter's mind the moment he forced his eyes open. Immediately afterward, the full delight of a hangover hit him square in the skull.

Trying to sit up, he felt as if lead was pouring through his brain, and what's worse, he couldn't actually get up because some specific body was using Harry as a pillow.

"Don't even think about it," came a voice from somewhere around his chest, "real ladies sleep until noon."

"Ugh," Harry exhaled, flopping back down and giving up on standing for the moment. "Where do you see a lady around here?"

He got a blow to the gut in response. Not a playful jab, but a real hook that knocked the breath right out of him.

"Ph-aah!" the wizard jerked at the punch. "Oh, screw you, you crazy bitch," he declared decisively, shoving that body off him and standing up abruptly. Bella, having tumbled off the thin mattress onto the cold stone floor, shrieked and jumped up, swearing furiously at the boy.

That was probably his key mistake of the day. Not that he'd shoved the nutjob off himself, but that he'd stood up so sharply. The lead in his head sloshed around, and with a groan he leaned quietly against the wall near their makeshift bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Morning during a binge is probably one of the shittiest things in the world, and the Boy Who Lived was now fully immersed in these feelings. Logically, he should have another drink to take the edge off, but forming a mental image-request to access his pocket dimension took effort—effort he simply didn't have right now.

Shifting his gaze to the psycho hysteric, Harry's thoughts drifted in her direction. Black had returned to the free part of the mattress and casually thrown her legs across the cellmate sprawled sideways on the bedding. He didn't bother to push them off.

"Who the hell twisted her mind so badly anyway?" Harry wondered. "Her other two sisters are more or less normal, but this one's like an encyclopedia for a budding psychiatrist." Unlike what many, including some in his own guard, might think, Bella had joined the Death Eaters already insane and fixated on him—on Voldemort, that is. A strong, passionate Black was a hell of a lucky addition to his army back then. Heh, and after twenty years, she'd only gotten better in bed, Harry thought with a smirk, finding the strength to at least grin.

A long time ago, a twenty-year-old Bellatrix got what she wanted and finally seduced Riddle. By then, he had already lost a decent chunk of his soul, and it was probably his last real intimate encounter. He simply had no need for it afterward—his emotions had dimmed so much that almost nothing interested him.

"Hey, half-blood, what're you staring at me for, grinning like an idiot?" the witch's suspicious voice broke through his reminiscing.

"I'm not looking at you; I'm looking at a cockroach behind your head. He's more interesting. And move your damn legs off me; they're in my way," Harry responded wearily, not even bothering to add venom to his tone.

"Oh, shut up and get us some more booze. My head's killing me," the woman muttered lazily.

"Yeah, sure. How about: fuck you. The generosity sale is over, suffer as you are. Maybe you'll yap less," Harry said, psyching himself up to reach into his pocket for some wine.

"Fine, fine, I'm moving my legs," Lestrange—ex-Lestrange—grumbled, sitting up and leaning against the wall next to her cellmate. "I thought maybe after last night you'd fallen in love with me," she laughed that loud, loony laugh of hers.

"Yeah, keep dreaming, nutjob," Harry snorted, slowly perking up and gathering his strength. Which, in this context, meant he was slowly getting ready to get drunk again.

In honor of this, the wizard didn't resist too much when the mentally deranged woman snuggled closer to him and took the bottle of wine from his hand.

He wasn't a sadist, after all. Well, okay, maybe he'd cast Crucio a few times or fed someone to a snake, but denying a hangover remedy? That was just cruel.

"So what are we gonna do now?" Black asked after a while. Her hangover had subsided, and she was slightly buzzed again.

"Escape, of course. What kind of question is that? Or do you plan to sit here forever? I wasn't even given a trial: went to sleep in the tower, woke up here," Harry shrugged lifelessly. The reality of the situation was pressing down on him again.

"I actually meant right this moment. I just wanted to fuck," Bella laughed. "Kid, are you hoping your little friends will help you?" the witch cooed mockingly, though without much enthusiasm.

"Are you stupid… oh right, yeah. They're even more fucked than you are, so obviously I'm not counting on anyone but myself."

"You're the one who's fucked," she retorted without malice. "Why only yourself? You can count on me—we're in the same boat for now…"

Harry just laughed cheerfully at that. She was funny. He never trusted her even back when their… let's say "faction" was on top. Why would he trust her now that they were practically enemies? Still, lunatics could be amusing sometimes.

"…and besides, maybe you could share your 'brilliant' escape plan?" Black asked in a moment of lucidity. After all, fully rabid dogs were always put down by their own masters, whereas a slightly insane bitch was still tolerable in the Dark Lord's army.

"As soon as the bigwigs come to see us, we wait until they open the gate to gloat and revel in their 'super' plan, which they'll be sure to explain…"

"What makes you think they'll come inside at all? Or even bother explaining anything to us?" Bella interrupted, skeptical.

"Experience. Also, it's no coincidence they haven't fed us in over twelve hours, assuming your cracked mind can still track such details. They're trying to weaken us," the boy said, scratching his chin now covered in a faint stubble. "And anyway, got a better plan, crazy? I'm all ears."

"No, no, don't grumble like an old—"

"Then we'll stick to my plan," he cut her off, not wanting to listen. "But first… chew on this."

With those words, he pulled out a bunch of chocolate bars from his spatial pocket and shoved them into his cellmate's hands.

"Don't look at the fact that they're chocolate—they're still pretty nutritious."

"You want me to eat the slop made by those animals? Muggles?" Black stood up in indignation.

"Yes," answered the Boy Who Lived simply, giving her a heavy stare. Voldemort used to make his followers cower in fear with just such a look. The woman only choked a little.

"Fine, fine, chocolate bars it is."

Harry really didn't have anything else edible. He'd assumed that, well, he'd figure out how to get real food somehow. Fuck, it seemed his plans hadn't changed since his madness—one more fucked-up idea after another. He just hoped the main escape plan wouldn't fail.

Consciously avoiding looking at how the witch munched on that "mudblood-made food," Harry focused his gaze on the bars of the cell. Thick, probably enchanted steel… He himself wouldn't eat his rations. Not out of altruism. A simple calculation: he knew he could last a few days without food and still remain combat-ready, but would the ex-Lestrange, who probably still hadn't recovered fully from last time, be able to remain effective even a single day without something to eat?

No pity or self-sacrifice here, just logic.

***

"Well, here come our captors," Potter said after quite a bit of time, hearing footsteps. "Three people. You ready?"

"I was ready before you were even born," Bella whispered sarcastically. "Why today, though?"

"Are you seriously asking that now? The sooner they come, the sooner we can eat. Shut your yap and get ready, bitch," Harry snapped, genuinely irritated.

The asylum candidate might've wanted to argue, but the three captors were already near and in the torchlight. It was a very satisfied-looking Ron Weasley, a completely neutral Kingsley, and a pale Neville Longbottom.

"Here are the disgusting Death Eaters," said the redhead, tapping on the bars. "How's life in here? We made sure everyone forgot about your cell for a while."

"Since when am I a Death Eater, Ron?" the boy asked quietly, playing the exhausted card. He did a shit job of it, but no one would suspect a trick anyway.

"Don't call me by my name, you nameless beast," Weasley sneered. The others just watched silently.

"And what do you two have to say?" The wizard shifted his gaze to the other visitors.

"We're not here to say anything to anyone. We're here to carry out your sentence, prisoners number one hundred fifty-four and one hundred fifty-five," said Kingsley, staring slightly above their heads. Neville just frowned silently.

"Without trial or investigation? Nice friends you've got, Potter. Too bad they're all idiots," Black taunted, pouring more oil on the fire.

"Don't worry, you bitch, I'll fuck you personally before I kill you," Ron bared his teeth in a grin.

"R-Ron, firstly, that's unethical. Secondly, Hermione would be against it," Neville said, only stuttering once.

"Neville, she drove your parents insane, and you don't want revenge?" Ron replied with blatantly fake concern. Yeah, the time for earnest acting was long gone.

Harry and Bella exchanged glances. With his eyes, Harry pointed at Weasley, indicating who was the emotional weak link to exploit.

"Hey, don't justify your desire to stick your tiny dick into something with revenge," Bella mocked. "Probably no one prettier than a gorilla would spread their legs for such a crooked fuck! Pathetic blood traitor."

"You Death Eater whore…" Ron flew off the handle and moved to enter the cell, but Kingsley stopped him.

"Don't. Who knows what they might have planned. Let's just follow procedure and execute them properly," the seasoned Auror, apparently suspicious, thwarted all their hopes for easy access.

"You locked us behind an enchanted gate in the deepest level of Azkaban, no trial for me, and now you say you'll just kill us?" Harry feigned righteous indignation. He did a poor job, but still—worth a try.

"This isn't the deepest level, just the middle. Don't flatter yourself," Ron shot back.

"So the gate's not enchanted?" Harry's tone turned strangely suspicious, enough to make Neville tense, but not enough time to warn the others.

"Of course not. To hold someone like you, even doors—"

"Oh, fuck me… why did I sit here for three days?" With a theatrical snap of his fingers, the bars seemed to explode outward, flinging all three visitors across the corridor and knocking them out against the opposite wall. The iron rods immediately twisted around them like ropes. "What're you staring at, you nutjob? Search these assholes and let's get out of here. I'm starving."

"How… how is this possible, Potter… wandless… what?" For the first time Harry could remember, ex-Lestrange was actually at a loss for words, eyes wide.

"Move it or I'll leave you behind, you deranged bitch," the wizard growled.

"Potter, can't you let a lady have a moment to be fucking amazed?" Bella rolled her eyes, but nevertheless stepped out of the cell and started collecting the wands from the three bound wizards.

"No, we don't have time for your freak-outs. Pick out two wands that might suit you and let's get the hell out of here."

"Already snuggling up with that bitch, Harry?" came the voice of a slightly recovered Neville. "I never expected this from you. She's the one who—"

"You dare open your mouth and call me by name when you came here to execute me five minutes ago?" Potter hissed angrily.

"That's differ—"

"Go fuck yourself, Longbottom," Harry drawled slowly, leaning down so their eyes were on the same level. "Yes, we hooked up, and even fucked. Know why? Because I don't give a shit about you or your vegetable parents. I never did. No one cares about you, chubby. If anyone ever allowed anything, it was out of pity. If I had to choose between taking a dump or restoring your parents' sanity, I'd choose to take a dump, you little shit."

Seeing Neville's eyes redden—whether from rage or tears—Harry straightened up and knocked Longbottom out cold with a punch to the jaw, no spell needed.

"You know, your passionate speech actually got me a bit wet," Bella announced, having listened intently to the entire monologue. "Maybe we could—"

"Yeah, let's just stay here and fuck, that's way more important than escaping. You're insane—by God and Merlin's wand, this is fucking nuts," Harry prayed sarcastically. "Pick a damn wand, for fuck's sake. No, that's not an offer, Bella. Shit, later, everything later."

Slightly disappointed, Black laid out the three wands on the floor and started choosing one.

"Hm… this one…" she mumbled. "No, wait, maybe this one… or this one?"

"Jesus, give a nutjob something holy to do and she'll smash her own forehead," the wizard hissed. "Give me that one and that one—fuck it, we'll find our own soon. Let's go, and don't fall behind… And, Bella, no surprises, okay?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her and giving a subtle tug at the Dark Mark's link. That could end badly, for example triggering a fit of mad fanaticism, something even the former Voldemort hated despite his emotional flatness.

Ex-Lestrange's reaction was unexpected.

"You found a way to switch all the Marks to yourself, you half-blood thief!" she exclaimed, spreading into a wide grin. "Should I call you 'My Lord' now?"

"That's odd… Who better than a Black to know it's impossible to transfer Marks like that—they're bound to the soul," Harry thought. "Well, if her fucked-up brain found this loophole to avoid falling at my feet in some crazed worship, who am I to interfere?"

"No, but you can crawl on your knees," Harry smirked.

"Only if it's in doggy style, Potter…"

Still quietly bickering, the two wizards moved slowly and carefully through the dimly lit stone corridors. Neither knew the correct path, but after all, this was a prison, not a maze, so the layout was fairly straightforward and intuitive. Once they got out of their section, they reached the prison's main area: upper levels with a view of the sky and milder conditions. Although Dementors supposedly hovered around there more frequently, the lower levels were worse because those creatures—whatever the fuck they were—targeted them deliberately.

Climbing level by level toward the security ward, where their wands should still be stored, the Boy Who Lived spotted a familiar face in one of the single, relatively safe cells.

"Lucius," he called out.

"Potter?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes in surprise.

Tom (Harry) was always amused by how that man showed emotions. How can one "narrow his eyes in surprise"? Yet the blond managed it. Maybe because he tried to mask his feelings, or maybe that's just his natural expression, but it looked quite fitting.

"Close enough," the wizard smirked, tugging lightly at the Mark. "Should we take you with us, or can your situation be fixed?"

"What… where to?" Either the mage decided to play dumb or he truly didn't get it yet.

"Don't be stupid," Harry hissed, moving closer to the bars and sending a more tangible signal through the Mark. "Should we rescue you right now, or can Narcissa get you off the hook?"

"Come on, Malfoy, don't dawdle," chimed in the ex-Lestrange. "Yes or no? We don't have much time."

"No, Narcissa can't negotiate anything. Weasley's personal grudge outweighs their greed," the platinum blond admitted, still casting suspicious glances but relaxing somewhat upon seeing Bellatrix. "But Potter owes her, so—"

"Have you lost your mind, Lucius? I owe you? Your wife saved me from… myself, apparently," seeing the gears turning behind Malfoy's eyes, Harry continued: "Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, my Lo—"

"Mister Potter will do," the boy said, snapping his fingers again and blasting open the bars.

Ignoring Malfoy's stunned reaction to wandless magic, Harry moved on, tossing one of the spare wands at the aristocrat's feet.

When the security ward was just around the corner, the lunatic spoke up again.

"Hey, half-blood, so what are we going to do now?" Bella asked in a cheerfully casual tone.

Malfoy coughed again. He still didn't fully get what the hell was going on. Voldemort? Is that Voldemort? Then why isn't Lestrange groveling? So confusing.

"The same thing we do every night, Pin—Black. Try to take over Britain," Harry answered. "But first, we eat and retrieve our wands. No killing anyone—at most, stun them. We need to restore our good names… Except you, you're irredeemably fucked."

"Pff, wasn't too keen on that anyway," the witch sniffed. "Prove something to these mudbloods? They should be thankful I didn't use them in my rituals."

"Actually, in rituals it's more effective to use purebloods," Harry smirked. "So don't talk shit, or I'll use you to restore my strength."

"Fucking half-blood, know your place! I'll tear out your throat tonight!" she hissed, even in a whisper it sounded quite expressive.

"We're no longer in a cell, so I think you've lost your chance to kill me," the victor of himself quipped sarcastically.

"Somehow I have a feeling we'll still end up sharing a bed quite often," Black said with a provocative smile.

"Well, I can't argue with that," Harry thought. "She's too hot in bed not to take advantage of that."

Malfoy was too tired to be surprised anymore. He'd figure it out later. Once he got home and reached the liquor cabinet, he'd sort it all out.

***

Disabling the guards didn't take long. Just a few seconds, a couple of quick Expelliarmus spells from Potter, and that was it. The two Death Eaters didn't even get the chance to assist their temporary—maybe not so temporary—leader.

"They've gotten way too fucking relaxed," Harry growled, approaching the Aurors. "Sitting around playing cards, these fuckers… Bella, fuck, I said no killing! Don't go near them, damn it. Just grab your wand," he ordered preemptively, noticing her suspicious movements.

Though he himself was intrigued by the table around which the downed Aurors had been sitting. Or more specifically, by the pizza on it. He was starving. It was an ordinary Muggle pizza. Giving Lucius a questioning look, the blond grimaced, but Black happily grabbed a fragrant slice of pepperoni and cheese and dug in.

"Alright, I take back what I said. If there's one thing Muggles know how to do, it's make food," the psycho grinned, not embarrassed in the slightest by her stuffed mouth.

"It's called pizza—extremely popular worldwide," Harry clarified. "Everyone eats it, from the poorest to the richest, because the ingredients can vary widel—"

The Boy Who Lived fell silent as his eyes caught on something on the table. The Daily Prophet, today's issue, and a photograph on the front page. A photograph of himself grinning as widely as Gilderoy Lockhart, whom Dumbledore had once hired. Harry would never smile like that under normal circumstances.

"What the fuck am I doing smiling in a newspaper photo when I've been stuck in this shithole for four days?" he asked aloud, still staring at the paper.

"Half-blood, if I were you, I'd be more concerned with why your supposedly dead mommy and daddy are standing behind you in that picture," ex-Lestrange unexpectedly offered a sensible observation.

"INTERVIEW WITH THE BOY WHO LIVED AND HIS PARENTS" read the headline.