Harry Potter: Circumstances

"Mr. Potter, perhaps we should deal with this once we're outside Azkaban's walls?" ventured Lucius Malfoy, daring to interrupt Potter's dumbfounded staring at the newspaper.

With some surprise, Harry realized that the photograph of his parents actually stirred something inside him. He tore his gaze away from the magical photo. He still felt like Harry Potter, at least halfway. After all, for eighteen years he grew up as Harry Potter, saw himself as Harry Potter, and viewed the world as Harry Potter.

Though all that was a bit complicated by the fact that he now remembered killing the Potters with his own hands—or so he thought. Now a new question arose: did he really kill them?

"Yeah…" the Boy Who Lived answered in a still-distracted voice, but then quickly pulled himself together. "Yes, let's do that. On your feet, and let's get the hell out of this castle."

No one objected, and they all gladly started moving toward the exit, still padding barefoot over the stone floor, heading roughly in the right direction. After a couple of corridors, they were quite close to the exit. It seemed the wardens preferred their own peace of mind, keeping the exit not too far away.

But just before they reached the prison's exit, they froze in the corridor that led to the open air.

There were a hell of a lot of Dementors outside. Harry had noticed his breath fogging earlier and had thought, "What's the big deal for three adult wizards?" But judging by the way two of them had frozen like startled gophers—staring in horror at the flying hooded figures—it wasn't going to be that easy.

"So we have to go right through this swarm of Dementors?" rasped Bella, unable to hide her fear of that prospect.

Potter whipped his head around toward Bella, who was nervously shifting her weight, and Lucius, who was openly terrified. A wave of emotion crashed over him.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" he asked in a softly hissing voice. "The Inner Circle of Death Eaters afraid of some pathetic Dementors? Don't bury the name of our already well-buried organization any deeper, you bunch of sorry shits. Don't you at least know the Patronus Charm?"

"That's… a l-light spell," stammered the blond, teeth chattering so loudly you could hardly understand him. "I-it's not acc-ccessible to us."

"Why the hell not?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Some dark wizards you are, stick a flobberworm up your asses… A financier Malfoy and a foot soldier Black—a darkness so deep it's laughable," he sneered, refusing to cast any warming charms on these idiots.

"I am a Black! And if you don't know what that means, half-blood, then we have a library stuffed with—"

"Let me repeat this for the thick-skulled," Harry nearly hissed, "you're just a foot soldier, for Merlin's sake. At best you were given semi-dark combat spells. If they'd trained you as a necromancer or a maleficar, which I doubt any of your elders were capable of teaching, then sure, you might call yourself a dark witch."

"And how do you know all this, half-blood?" the witch retorted, offended, turning slightly away.

"From a camel," Potter sniped. "Now shut up. My dear allies, just think of your happiest memories and repeat after me: 'Expecto Patronum.' Got it?"

Two uncertain nods answered him. Satisfied with that, he continued.

"Expecto Patronum!" three voices cried out, pointing their wands at the Dementors.

And… zero effect from any of them.

"What's this, half-blood?" the woman jeered. "You talk big, and then you fail just like we did?"

Lucius stared at their leader questioningly. At least the panic had subsided; after a few tries, they should get it right. And at worst, the Dark Lord—if he was indeed the Dark Lord—must have other methods, judging by his calmness.

"It seems the happy memories I used to rely on aren't happy anymore," Harry said, looking surprised at his wand. "Fuuuuuck," he sighed, thinking it over.

"What memory should I choose now? Riddle has almost none. No love, no family, and after the first twenty years of life, emotions faded to almost nothing. And as Potter, I now realize all those joyful events were pretty much bullshit…"

"Alright, fuck it," the Boy Who Lived rallied himself and, seeing his two allies tense up—ready for anything if it would get them away from the cold—he continued. "I'm going to cast a warming charm on you both, and you'll stick close to me, less than half a meter away. If you stray, they'll eat you. Understood? Bella, got it? For sure? Good. Ready?"

Malfoy and the ex-Lestrange exchanged uncertain glances and nodded.

"How desperate is Lucius if he's looking to Bella for moral support?" Harry wondered with a smirk. "And the nutjob herself isn't flaunting her signature recklessness in front of the Dementors either."

"Cura InMortuae," Potter pronounced with a light flick of his wand. No visible effect followed, prompting the witch to ask a logical question:

"Well? Nothing happened again, half-blood? Think harder."

"It worked fine. Remember: step away and you die," the wizard tossed over his shoulder, taking a step forward.

The two Death Eaters stepped after him immediately. Malfoy stayed extremely close on the left, a bit too close for Harry's liking, and Bella, not overthinking, pressed herself to the right side, clutching Harry's hand tightly, causing him to be taken aback.

"Sure, we've fucked already, but this gesture, her wrapping her arm around mine and holding my hand, feels way more intimate," Harry thought. "I don't want to know what crazy gears turned in her head. She puts out, that's good enough. Though, it's probably the long time in Azkaban that's gotten to her. She tries not to show it, but she's trembling like a leaf, even though I cast a charm that'd let you walk naked in the North Pole. She's scared."

But he was no longer Lord Voldemort who took sadistic pleasure in his followers' fear, so he decided to comfort his lover.

"Bella, they're just nasty creations of some half-baked necromancer. Trust me, as long as I'm here, they won't harm us," Harry said rather softly, considering his new role, squeezing her hand a bit more firmly.

He almost gagged at how sappy that sounded, but he couldn't think of a better way to reassure her right now.

Two astonished looks bore into him: Malfoy, who thought he could no longer be surprised, was shocked at the supportive tone from what he believed was Voldemort. And ex-Lestrange, who never expected any moral support—she considered herself a strong woman whom no one dared to humiliate by showing pity—was dumbfounded.

"Half-blood, go fuck yourself with your reassurances," the former Lestrange grumbled, frowning. "I'm perfectly fine. Just make sure you don't piss yourself in fear, kid."

Despite her bravado, Harry could tell that his words had helped at least distract her from the situation.

They had about twenty meters left to go. Seeing that, the boy decided to maintain a conversation, diverting attention from the Dementors swirling above them like fish after unreachable bait.

"I'm not afraid at all. When I was thirteen, I saved Sirius from hundreds of these creatures, dispersing half of them along the way."

"Oh, please, Potter, you've already crawled under my skirt, so what's the point of telling fairy tales now?" Bella grinned with a slightly manic smile.

Malfoy remained silent. He remembered that year and the Ministry's calculations about the Azkaban guards. Back then, they decided Dumbledore must have thinned out their ranks, but the old man just stayed quiet and smiled mysteriously.

"These are not fairy tales. A full corporeal Patronus at thirteen—now that's something I was genuinely proud of," Harry continued, drifting back into memories a few years old. "At that time, Sirius was still considered a murderer and a traitor, and they placed these creatures around Hogwarts…"

Potter's story was interrupted by a Dementor that decided to dive-bomb them, only to slam headlong into an invisible shield. It looked slightly comical, but the witch needed only the sight of that undead monstrosity hurtling toward her to let go of her lover's hand and step back, hit by unpleasant flashbacks from her imprisonment. Distracted by this momentary horror, she lost track of her footing, stumbled, and fell on her backside, slipping out from under the protective dome and drawing the immediate attention of all the airborne filth.

Still keeping an eye on the Dementors, Harry noticed Bella's fall out of the corner of his eye and saw the creatures begin to move in her direction. Time was extremely short. Attempting another Patronus would be risky—failure could be fatal. He had to go all-in.

A split second of concentration, arms spread and then sharply raised upward.

"Ades-sko Faer!"

A massive basilisk woven from green fire erupted as if from the ground, dissolving the nearest necromantic horrors and then circling the trio of wizards, warding off new attackers. Both Lucius and the former Lestrange watched, shocked at this display. Their eyes were huge, filled with awe at the hellish flame only a few meters around them that did not harm them at all.

Realizing more Dementors would likely flock here to protect their kin or to get more prey, Harry decided not to mess around.

"I never did like these bastards," he remarked simply.

A snap of his fingers, and the basilisk dissolved into a slightly greenish mist that immediately began to spread over the entire island, utterly eradicating the Dementors. With the death of nearly all these floating rags, one could almost see how much brighter and warmer the castle became. Even the witch relaxed a bit. Before this, she could only afford to relax when she was sure the slimy creatures couldn't reach her.

"What the hell were the idiots who made Dementors the prison guards even thinking?" Harry mused. "If it had been some Dark Lord's decision, sure. But no, it was the regular Ministry of Magic."

"Potter, did you steal that trick from the Dark Lord too?" Bella was the first to break the silence. "That's it, from now on I'll call you 'Half-Blood Thief.' I mean, really, can't come up with something of your own? Or was that an attempt to impress me? Don't worry, baby, I'm all yours," she finished sarcastically. Everyone had their own way of coping with stress.

Malfoy cast a surprised and somewhat stupid look at Black, then glanced at Potter as if asking, "What the fuck?" Harry just pressed his lips together and shrugged, "Fuck if I know, who cares." Trying to understand the labyrinths of former Lestrange's mind was a hopeless cause.

"Shut your mouth, nutjob. Because of you and having to save your ass, I've left a very clear magical trace here, plus solid evidence of using spells that could land me right back in this shithole," the boy answered, oddly calmly. Hellish flame required emotions both to summon and control, leaving him somewhat drained now.

"Who gives a fuck?" the spinning witch muttered, fascinated by how the spell had disintegrated the Dementors in a matter of seconds.

"I do, Bella. Lucius and I, at minimum, need to be completely legally clean," Harry said.

"Why? Aren't you planning to take over Britain anyway?" Black smirked, focusing her attention on her former cellmate. Judging by Lucius's slightly ignited gaze, this was indeed an urgent question for the peacock.

"This time, politically, you nutter," Harry replied, already moving toward the exit. "Though hypothetically, without Dumbledore and given my current sanity, a forceful approach would probably work now," he added more quietly, pulling ahead a little from his stunned allies.

Both wizards hurried to catch up with their leader, just in case. Now Malfoy walked at a respectable, proper distance, while Black returned to "her" place—Harry's arm. The boy cast her a surprised look, and she lifted her chin proudly to explain:

"Don't get any ideas, half-blood. I'm just making sure that if more Dementors show up, I won't have to share my last kiss with those perverted monsters."

"Insane," the wizard thought, shaking his head in disbelief, choosing not to push her away. "Whatever, as long as she's not causing more trouble… and not killing people."

Once they stepped beyond the anti-apparition dome and stood at the edge of a steep drop, the Death Eaters considered fleeing on their own. But Harry simply called a house-elf.

"Kreacher." Seeing that Kreacher was about to burst into another fit, this time joyous, he quickly continued, "Take the three of us to Grimmauld Place Twelve. But first, if anyone's there, kick them the fuck out."

"The house is empty, most honor—"

"Perfect. Do it."

A nasty wrenching sensation of apparition, and then they stood in the middle of the drawing room of the House of Black. Dusty, dimly lit, but somehow familiar to Harry.

"Home sweet home!" exclaimed Bella, "though it's fucking filthy!" she cackled madly, twirling around the sitting room. The prison robe spoiled the image somewhat compared to her usual black dress, but even so, it all looked oddly fitting against the musty old house.