Chapter One: The Unnamed Prisoner

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In July 1991, raging waves battered the fortress of Azkaban. An owl, taking flight from the Scottish Highlands, arrived bearing a letter inscribed with a quill of acceptance.

“Others go from the gate to the prison, a process of being shaped by incarceration. But I—born purely for prison.” Rogue swept the corridor, broom in hand, clearing away rubbish.

He had grown up here since childhood, without any official status, and not listed among the registered inmates. From the moment he awoke, he found himself in the fifth college of Hogwarts, the advanced academy for wizards: Azkaban.

Outside the castle, a weary little creature flapped its wings, terrified, avoiding the Dementors drifting and swirling in midair. Trembling, it alighted on the window sill, its wide orange eyes peering inside. It didn’t understand why there would be a student wizard here. As a Dementor approached, it panicked, dropped the letter, and fled.

Paul, the caretaker, was inside, stirring a cauldron. The battered vessel was filled with a blue-green paste that periodically bubbled up with heat.

“Damn the Ministry of Magic! Damn Millicent! Damn the Wizengamot!” He waved his wand vigorously, muttering spells under his breath.

The officials in London never cared about this place, only dumping their refuse here. They never increased the staff, nor allowed transfers. Damn Azkaban—it was left to him alone, the sole wizard caretaker. Poor Paul was unaware that the current Minister was now Fudge.

“My transfer letter?” Paul caught sight of the letter dropped by the owl and jumped up excitedly. Grabbing it, he realized it was the damned Hogwarts acceptance letter.

“Why is it this!” He turned and glanced at Rogue, who was outside sweeping with his broom.

“Rogue, go find Jessica.”

“Master Paul, are you serious?” Rogue looked up at the clock, puzzled by Paul’s latest fit.

“Of course.” Paul hid the letter behind his back, urging the boy to leave quickly.

Eleven years ago, Jessica and her husband Theodore, as Death Eaters, were pursued by Barty Crouch. To protect his wife and child’s escape, Theodore was killed by Barty, and the baby in Jessica’s arms was struck by the Soul-Draining Curse.

Barty Crouch believed the baby dead and threw Jessica and her child into Azkaban together. Rogue’s transmigration let the child open his eyes again, giving the poor woman the will to live.

At Jessica’s desperate pleading, Paul took him out of the cell. At first, he even wrote to London, asking them to take the child away. Damn those pigs—they accused him of insanity and delusions.

Helpless, Paul continued to raise him. Fortunately, Rogue never cried or fussed, or else he would have tossed the child into the sea to feed the fish. He treated him like a stray cat or dog, keeping him around for company.

Rogue carefully put down his broom and tiptoed downstairs. At the end of the passage was a cramped room where his mother, Jessica, resided.

“Lumos.” Rogue whispered the spell, and the cell was instantly lit with a faint glow.

The glow severed the darkness, shining through the small window and revealing terrifying scratch marks on the walls. These were left by inmates driven mad over the years, the work of the Dementors.

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“Rogue, you’re here?” A weary, hoarse voice emerged from the dark corner. Jessica struggled to stand, leaning against the wall.

“Mom, Paul seems to be in a good mood today, so he let me come down early.” Rogue and Jessica grasped hands through the small window in the cell door.

“Really!” Jessica exclaimed joyfully, then quickly shook her head. “No, the Dementors are everywhere—you can’t stay long. What happened to your hand?”

Jessica saw, by the glow, that the back of her son’s hand was bruised.

“It’s nothing.” Rogue extinguished the lumos, peering through the darkness at the glimmers outside the window.

Jessica’s tears flowed uncontrollably. If only she hadn’t brought her son in here—it was all her fault!

“Mom, don’t cry. If not for you, I might already be dead.” Rogue held Jessica’s gaunt hand, unable to imagine how thin she must be behind the cell door.

“Rogue, it’s your mother who’s sorry.” Jessica wiped her tears, wishing she could embrace her son without the barrier.

“Mom, I’m eleven now, and can use magic. Shouldn’t I receive a Hogwarts acceptance letter?” Rogue was grateful to Paul for raising him, but he never considered leaving Azkaban.

Whenever wizards escorted prisoners in, he would lock himself in a dark room, only coming out after they left. He was familiar enough with Harry Potter’s story, remembering that the professors would ensure every young wizard received an acceptance letter—even visiting Muggle families.

“Mom?”

“Hogwarts professors won’t come here. They only go to Muggle homes.” Jessica’s words were like cold water in winter, waking him from his dream.

“Maybe the regulation has changed now.”

“Hmm.” Rogue nodded. Who did he think he was? Just an unknown existence, a dead young Death Eater.

Despair and coldness filled Rogue’s heart. He was imprisoned in forgotten Azkaban, just another nameless inmate.

Jessica’s fit of coughing startled Rogue.

The damp environment, the Dementors’ terror, and scarce food had weakened Jessica to the point she could barely stand. Holding her hand, Rogue made a silent vow: If there’s no acceptance letter, then he must escape—at any cost!

Rogue closed his eyes, his awareness sinking into the data panel.

Rogue Travis

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Magic Power: 1.2/2.3
Mental Strength: 12
Talents: Affinity for Darkness, Strong Will, Night Vision
Skills: Wandless Casting
Spells: Lumos lv3 (36/50), Patronus Charm lv1 (0/1)

At the bottom of the panel was an orange, rounded button labeled: Life Simulation. Rogue took a deep breath, invested 1 point of magic power, and began simulating future scenarios.

[1] You search your room for a wand and discover your Hogwarts acceptance letter.
[2] Paul tears up the letter, and you are thrown into a cell.
...(Insufficient magic power. Please invest more magic power to continue the simulation.)

With only 0.2 magic power left, Rogue’s head throbbed. He rubbed his temples and reviewed the simulation’s content. So the acceptance letter had arrived—Paul had simply hidden it. But judging by the simulation, Paul would never let him leave Azkaban.

It made sense. The British Ministry of Magic, following its principle of using people to the point of exhaustion, had kept Paul stationed here indefinitely. If Rogue left, Paul would be left alone with the Dementors.

“The recipient must be someone Paul is willing to send a letter to.” Rogue looked at Jessica, asleep from exhaustion, and desperately recalled the plot of Harry Potter.

“This person must be famous and influential in the wizarding world, able to get Paul and us out of here.” Rogue calculated, crossing off most figures from memory.

“They must have an unblemished reputation, not be a Death Eater, and have a strong motive to do this.” Rogue excluded the Malfoys and other pure-blood families—those parasites wouldn’t care about anyone’s life or death.

Rogue pondered carefully, gradually narrowing in on a brilliant figure.