Hp:Merlin From Azkaban

"Goyle Avery, you've finally been caught!"

Dana Avery walked past the cold iron bars, his gaze falling on the cell opposite him. Leaning casually against the bars, a familiar face greeted him—

Sirius Black.

A pitiful soul, a man who had lost his best friend to betrayal, now choosing to imprison himself as self-punishment.

Dana ignored him and retreated to the corner, trying to empty his mind. He knew better than to allow emotions to surface in this place. Dementors thrived on happiness, sucking it away until nothing but despair remained. If he wanted to make it out of here with his sanity intact, he had to hide what little hope he had left.

"Goyle Avery, what's wrong? You weren't so quiet when you were chasing James and Lily!"

Dana shook his head slightly, refusing to engage. It was too cold. He needed to conserve his strength.

"Wait… you're not Goyle Avery! Who are you?"

The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off. The ship to Azkaban had been delayed today, nearly causing his disguise to fail before he even set foot in the prison.

Dana's body shrank, his figure rapidly reverting to that of a small, frail seven-year-old boy.

Yes, he was only seven years old. And he was a transmigrator.

Sirius stared, momentarily speechless.

It was 1987. He had been in Azkaban for six years. Today had been shaping up to be a good day—another Death Eater was caught, and for once, he felt something akin to satisfaction.

But he hadn't expected this.

Goyle Avery had been arrested, but his father, Ollivander Avery, had used Galleons to strike a deal with high-ranking officials at the Ministry of Magic. Instead of his son serving the sentence, they had arranged for a scapegoat to take his place.

Dana Avery—an unfortunate child from a lesser branch of the Avery family, fatherless, with no uncles to turn to. His only family was his sickly mother, who desperately needed Galleons for medical treatment.

Sirius wanted to ask something, but his face suddenly contorted. His body shivered, and in an instant, he transformed into a large black dog.

His Animagus form allowed him to evade Dementors' detection, something he had perfected over the years.

The air grew colder.

Dana's teeth chattered uncontrollably. He pulled Goyle Avery's oversized wizard robes tightly around himself, using them as a makeshift blanket. The Dementor was drawing near.

A shadow loomed outside the bars. The flickering, ghost-like figure glided past, its tattered cloak billowing in the icy mist that seemed to swallow all warmth from the air.

Dementors.

The very embodiment of despair. The infamous prison guards of Azkaban, feeding off happiness, leaving only emptiness behind.

Dana curled into himself, his trembling worsening. The stench of the cell, the damp and slippery floor—all of it faded into insignificance compared to the suffocating dread sinking into his bones.

This was far worse than he had imagined.

Azkaban was supposed to be a waiting game—ten years, and he would escape when Voldemort orchestrated the mass breakout.

But he had underestimated the horror of Dementors.

No wonder Hagrid had nearly lost his mind after just a few months in here.

The Dementor finally drifted away, unable to pinpoint the source of the brief happiness it had sensed moments ago.

Dana exhaled shakily. He felt like he had just returned from the brink of death.

Sirius shifted back into human form. His gray eyes studied the boy with a rare trace of concern.

"Kid, who are you? Why did you replace Goyle Avery?"

Dana met his gaze.

Sirius Black—emaciated, wild-eyed, a shadow of the man he had once been. But Dana knew, from books and movies, that this was a good man.

"Because they promised to pay for my mother's treatment."

Sirius scoffed. "You actually believed that? The Pure-blood families don't keep promises. Now that they've gotten what they wanted, why would they bother?"

Dana rolled his eyes.

"Of course, I know that. But what choice did I have? A green wand was aimed at my mother's forehead. Either she went in, or I did. What's the difference?"

Sirius froze.

He had been in Azkaban so long that he had nearly forgotten—Pure-blood families didn't just use bribes. They used force.

"Why not have her take your place, then? Polyjuice works on anyone."

Dana clenched his fists.

"My mother didn't want me to come. She fought it. But I knocked her out. How could I let my ill mother take my place?"

He had no regrets. If his mother had been here instead, she wouldn't have lasted a day. She was too kind. Too fragile. A woman who smiled just from watching him grow.

She had raised him alone in this cruel magical world, taught him to read, to write.

If this was the only way to save her, then so be it.

Sirius had no words. He had never known that kind of love. His own mother had only ever looked at him with disgust, calling him a traitor to the family.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Sirius sighed. "Kid, have you had a magical surge yet?"

"Yes."

"I'll teach you a warming charm. You don't have a wand, but if you practice, you might cast it wandlessly. It'll help keep you from freezing."

Dana knew Sirius didn't actually expect him to succeed. But even false hope was better than no hope at all.

And so, he tried.

Over and over, he pointed at himself, whispering, "Caliens corporis."

Nothing happened.

The surrounding prisoners jeered.

"A Squib, is he?"

"Maybe he's a Muggle!"

"Muggles don't end up in Azkaban, idiot!"

"Hah! Look at him. He's no wizard!"

Sirius snarled at them. "Shut up, you scum! None of you can cast wandlessly either, so what right do you have to mock a child?"

The prisoners grumbled but backed away. Sirius Black was dangerous. No one wanted to provoke a madman.

Time passed.

At mealtime, Dana glanced toward the cell door.

Maybe—just maybe—the guards would realize something was wrong. Maybe they'd report it to the Ministry. Maybe this nightmare would end before it even began.

But when a moldy black loaf of bread and a cup of icy water magically appeared in his cell, Dana's heart sank.

Right.

This was a magical prison.

"Merlin's beard," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I forgot about that."

It was the first time he had ever said those words. His life had been too mundane before. Too protected. No great dangers, no desperate situations.

And yet—

A strange sensation tingled in his palm.

He opened his hand.

A long, silvery-white, slightly curled human beard lay across his fingers.

It glowed faintly, brimming with magical energy.

Dana's breath hitched.

So, he did have a golden finger after all.

And it… summoned Merlin's beard?

End of the Chapter.