Hp:Merlin From Azkaban

"Merlin's hair."

[Merlin has no hair.]

That made sense. Living for centuries, it was only natural that he had gone bald.

"Merlin's armpit hair."

[Merlin has no armpit hair.]

…So smooth and clean?

Another day passed, and Dana resisted the urge to say Merlin's pubic hair. Instead, he called out:

"Merlin's magic!"

A small ball of light appeared in his hand. He absorbed it, but the increase in his magic was far less than what he had gained from Merlin's beard.

Still, something was better than nothing. At least he could ensure steady growth every day.

As for why he didn't try summoning things like spellbooks, wands, or clothing, the reason was simple—the cell was open. Anything inside was visible to the guards and other prisoners. If something suddenly appeared that wasn't there before, it would be difficult to explain.

After all, when Voldemort eventually freed Azkaban, Dana would be escaping with the other prisoners. If someone noticed and reported his ability, he'd never be able to keep Merlin's treasures for himself.

Despite four years of consistent growth, Dana estimated that his combat ability was only around twice that of Lucius Malfoy—nowhere near enough.

To make matters worse, the benefits from plucking Merlin's beard had been gradually diminishing. Now that the beard was gone, his only option was to extract magic directly. But the growth rate was even slower than before.

Why was it like this?

Dana had never figured out the exact mechanism.

Still, if things continued at this pace, by the time Voldemort arrived, his strength would be at least three or four times that of Lucius Malfoy. That would be enough to start making money and provide for his mother.

He just had to hope she could hold on until he was free.

One day, an owl squeezed through the tiny skylight of Dana's cell.

An owl?

Dana blinked in surprise.

Then his mind turned to a different thought—

If he could roast this owl, it would make an excellent meal.

It wasn't his fault.

If you had survived on moldy bread for four years, you'd probably consider eating a rat if it scurried past.

Even as he fought the excitement in his chest, Dana forced himself to project an aura of sadness—a survival skill he had perfected over the years.

Even when he wanted to be happy, he masked it with grief.

How tragic this owl was, he thought to himself. Perhaps she was a beautiful young girl in another life, cursed by fate… how pitiful…

While indulging in these ridiculous thoughts, his hands moved swiftly.

"Stupefy!"

A red light shot from his fingertips.

The owl collapsed.

Dana picked it up, weighing it in his hands. It was plump enough to last at least two meals. He was just about to use a Severing Charm when he noticed something tied to its leg—

A letter.

His name was written on the envelope:

Dana Avery.

He hesitated.

So… this owl had come to deliver a letter to him?

A pang of guilt ran through him.

He had a conscience, after all. If this owl had worked so hard to bring him a letter, it wouldn't be fair to kill it.

With a sigh, Dana put the owl down and took the letter. But he still smacked his lips, giving one last regretful glance at what could have been a delicious roasted Scottish chicken.

Flipping over the envelope, his breath caught.

The Hogwarts crest.

His heart pounded.

Could this be the legendary Hogwarts acceptance letter?

Wait—could criminals even enroll?

He examined the envelope again and read:

Cell 435, Azkaban, Mr. Dana Avery

Brilliant.

He was probably the first student in Hogwarts history to receive an acceptance letter in Azkaban.

…Oh no.

Why was he so happy?

His thoughts raced. If a professor was coming to investigate, they might discover he was innocent. If that happened, he could leave Azkaban.

He could see his mother again!

Damn it.

This happiness—he couldn't suppress it.

A battered sailing ship drifted through the misty sea.

Standing at the bow, Severus Snape narrowed his eyes as the looming, sinister towers of Azkaban came into view.

"Azkaban…" he murmured.

"How could a school-aged wizard be imprisoned in a place like this?"

A Ministry of Magic official at the stern chuckled.

"Professor Snape, Hogwarts must have made a mistake this time. There's no way a new student is in Azkaban. I checked the records—Dana Avery was officially declared dead four years ago."

Snape turned, his dark gaze piercing through the man.

"The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance at Hogwarts never make mistakes."

The official smiled awkwardly but grumbled internally.

They're ancient relics. Who's to say they haven't malfunctioned?

The ship reached the dock.

Snape tugged his robes tighter around himself.

This wretched place was no place for a living person.

For the first time, even he began to doubt—could an underage wizard really have survived in this hellhole?

"Strange…"

The Ministry official unhooked an oil lamp—the only thing protecting them from Dementor attacks. As long as it was lit, the Dementors would stay away.

"Normally, they'd have come swarming by now," he muttered.

Before he could process the eerie silence, a brilliant silver light burst from the upper floors of Azkaban.

A radiant silver belt of magic illuminated the otherwise dark fortress.

Snape's eyes widened.

"The Patronus Charm…"

Without another word, he ran inside.

"Professor, wait! Without the oil lamp, even you could be in danger!"

The Ministry official hurried after him, increasing the lamp's brightness.

They ascended the prison stairs.

Laughter and screams echoed from the surrounding cells. Snape ignored them.

With Azkaban's anti-Apparition wards, there was no shortcut. They had to climb.

By the time they reached the right level, Snape's legs felt like lead.

A silver raven soared through the air, diving at the Dementors. Its glowing wings flapped aggressively, forcing the wraiths away.

A voice—young but hoarse—shouted from a nearby cell:

"I've endured this for four years! Can't you let me be happy for even a second, you brainless monsters?!"

Snape's frown deepened.

With one sweeping motion, he drew his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery doe leapt from his wand, joining the raven in driving back the Dementors.

The Ministry official stood frozen, stunned by the sheer power of Snape's Patronus.

The Dementors hissed but reluctantly withdrew.

Snape strode toward Cell 435.

Inside, bathed in silver light, stood a painfully thin boy.

His wizard robes were far too large for him. His hands were empty.

As Snape approached, the boy's tense expression softened.

Relief washed over his face. He smiled—

Then collapsed.

The silver raven flickered and dissolved into tiny stars.

Snape glanced at the cell number.

Dana Avery.

A wandless Patronus Charm?

"Severus?"

A familiar, rasping voice came from behind.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

Sirius Black.

A cold fury bubbled inside him, his childhood resentment reigniting like fire meeting oil.

"Padfoot!" Snape sneered.

"You filthy mutt—why aren't you dead yet?"

End of the Chapter.