Goyle Avery, you've finally been caught!"
Dana Avery passed the cold iron bars, glancing at the cell opposite his own. Leaning against the bars was someone he recognized—Sirius Black. A pitiful soul who'd lost his best friend to betrayal, Sirius had since imprisoned himself in guilt.
Dana ignored him and curled into a corner, trying to empty his mind of all emotions. He knew Dementors would feed on joyful feelings, so he had to hide any trace of them if he hoped to emerge with even a sliver of happiness intact.
"Goyle Avery, why so quiet? You were so loud chasing James and Lily!"
Dana merely shook his head. It was unbearably cold, and he needed to conserve his strength.
"Hold on… you're not Goyle Avery! Who are you?"
The Polyjuice Potion he'd taken was wearing off. The ship bringing prisoners to Azkaban had been delayed—nearly exposing his true identity before he even arrived. Dana's figure began to shrink, quickly reverting to his seven-year-old form.
Indeed, he was just a child—and a transmigrator from another world.
Faced with his childish appearance, Sirius froze. It was now 1987; Sirius had been in Azkaban for six years. Today would've been a happy day—it marked the capture of another Death Eater. But instead… a child in Goyle Avery's robes sat across from him.
Dana was a scapegoat, offered in exchange for a massive sum of Galleons. The head of the Avery family, Ollivander Avery, had used his wealth and influence to persuade a Ministry official to substitute Dana for the true culprit. Dana's mother was ill and their only savior was money to pay for her treatment.
Sirius opened his mouth to ask, but to his horror, he suddenly shifted into a great black dog. His Animagus transformation, he thought, could help him hide from the Dementors. The sudden movement, fueled by unexpected hope, drew a Dementor's attention.
Dana felt the temperature plummet. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The robes he wore were far too big now that he'd shrunk—yet he pulled them tighter around himself, shivering in the corner.
The Dementor glided past the bars—an eerie, ghostlike specter cloaked in darkness, its chilly mist consuming all warmth. Dementors, the most feared guards of Azkaban, thrived on despair.
Dana's whole body shook. He felt as if he were dying—even though he'd mentally prepared for this, reality struck harder than he'd imagined. It was clear why Hagrid had nearly collapsed after only a few months in this place.
Finally, the Dementor drifted away. It paused before him, puzzled by the sudden burst of warmth he'd tried to hide—but that warmth had vanished as quickly as it came.
Dana gasped for air. He felt as though he'd returned from the brink of death.
"That's Goyle Avery's kid… who are you?" Sirius said, shifting back to his human form and focusing on Dana.
Dana gazed up at him. Despite Sirius's gaunt, wild appearance, Dana—who'd seen the books and movies—recognized Sirius as someone good.
"I'm replacing Goyle Avery," Dana said simply. "They promised to treat my mother's illness in exchange."
Sirius scoffed. "Foolish kid. Pure-blood families lie for a price. They've already gotten what they wanted—how could they possibly help your mother now?"
"I know that," Dana replied, rolling his eyes. "But what choice did I have? A green wand was pointed at her. Either she or I would end up here. Isn't it better that it happened to me?"
Sirius hesitated. Six years in Azkaban had nearly stripped him of hope. But now… this child had made a desperate choice out of love.
"Why not your mother? With Polyjuice, it doesn't matter if she's a woman or not."
Dana's voice cracked. "She wouldn't do it. I knocked her out. A son couldn't stand by and watch his sick mother locked away."
He was thankful it was him and not her. His mother, though kind and timid, had raised him alone in a world governed by pure-blood cruelty, teaching him to read, write, and dream. Dana didn't regret his choice. He couldn't bear to think of what would've happened to her in this place.
He knew the Avery family might abandon them—but at least there was some hope.
Sirius watched helplessly as Dana curled tighter, shivering, and felt a trace of pity. This was a good child.
"Have you ever tried wandless magic?" Sirius asked.
"Yes," came Dana's quiet reply.
"Let me teach you a warming charm. No wand necessary—if you practice, it might save your life in here."
Sirius didn't really believe a seven-year-old could manage it, but hope was hope. Dana nodded.
Pointing his finger at himself, Dana whispered, "Caliens corporis!"
Nothing happened. But the effort warmed him slightly—not much, but enough to invite whispers from other inmates:
"Squib, is he?"
"Muggle boy, thrown in with Polyjuice?"
"Don't be silly—cell's full of Death Eaters."
They laughed.
Sirius roared, "Shut up, all of you! You can't even do wandless magic—you think you have the right to mock someone trying?"
They recoiled. Rumor had it that Sirius Black had blasted a crowd to bits with a spell. Better not mess with him.
Time passed, and soon a guard slid in a piece of moldy black bread and a cup of cold water. Dana inspected them with disbelief.
"Merlin's beard," he muttered. "I forgot this is a magical prison."
That was the first time he'd uttered the phrase since arriving in this world. He'd always lived comfortably under his mother's care—safe, sheltered—dwelling in an ordinary but unremarkable existence.
But was he really so ordinary? Dana wondered. Perhaps there was something special about him.
He murmured "Merlin's beard" again—and immediately felt a pulse of energy in his palm. He opened his hand.
A long, silvery-white, dry, curly beard lay coiled there, glowing faintly with magical aura. He recognized that soft luminescence—it was the color of enchanted alchemical implements.
"So I do have a golden finger," Dana thought. "And it summoned Merlin's beard."
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