Birth of a Nightmare Man

Chapter Two

A year and four months had passed since Harry was locked up without trial due to Dumbledore's belief he was still a Horcrux and Voldemort was going to take over his brain or whatever, and Harry was evolving. Into what? He didn't know yet, but he wasn't afraid of himself anymore.

A formal complaint from George to the Ministry made the conditions at Azkaban better, as half of the guards were found guilty of torturing the prisoners. They were fired from their positions and the remaining guards made the showers regular again. This time the prisoners showered alone, and were allowed a few minutes of complete privacy. Harry loved it, showers every three days with no one looking at him. He had gotten taller by several inches despite the lack of nutrient food, but that also meant he gained no weight and was so thin one of the guards had taken the habit to get him a nutrient potion every other meal. That same guard was the only one who had never done him any harm.

He had new robes too, since autumn was coming and his old ones were falling to pieces. George had to take a guess to the measurements and apparently everyone tried to talk him out of getting them for Harry in the first place. Something about 'not wasting money on criminals', to which George laughed in their faces and got two pairs of robes instead of one.

The cell door opened and Harry looked over to see a Dementor come inside. The face that once had frightened him so was now a precious sight and he set aside the tiny Muggle chess set George gave him a month ago.

The Dementors came every day, and now they were doing something else than just comforting him; they taught him their words, their speech. He also learnt what they called him.

They didn't call him Harry. George suggested 'evil, dark lord' but it wasn't that either. Not even simple Potter or child or something like that, no, they called him 'Maker'.

Harry had tried to ask why but the Dementors weren't big on explaining that and just kept on calling him 'Maker' while petting his hair or touching his face. They were fond of him, that much was clear. If someone had told Harry before he went to Azkaban that a Dementor could be cuddly, he'd note those people down as insane and stay clear off them.

Now maybe he was the insane one but he didn't mind. He liked the Dementors, and they obviously liked him if the nuzzling was anything to go by.

He let the Dementor speak, listening to the words and recognizing a few of them. It was hard to learn them, difficult to speak and impossible to write down, but he trained.

"Um mate, you two need a minute alone?"

"I'm not going to kiss a Dementor," Harry told George. "You're early."

"I can't be early now?" the redhead said. "Get over here, and tell your Dementor to not breathe down my neck again."

"Sure."

George settled down and handed over some sweets and food, still hot. Harry took the food and tore into it.

"Water too," George said. "You're like a stick, and not in a good way. You're not getting the potions anymore?"

"Someone made a fuss about it, I told him not to risk his job. Did you know that guard has four kids at home?"

"Maybe that's why he's so nice to you," George said.

"Hasn't stopped your mother from hating me."

"Alright, so she's mental and he's a good parent. I'll see if I get my hands on some nutrient potions, I know mine weren't that good in school."