Hell found me. It was a bitter punishment, and I didn't deserve it, but still here I am, in a cell at Azkaban prison. You would think that, after being here once, that the terror that shakes my heart would subside. I ask you only to look into the haunted eyes of the wretched criminals here, shuddering as dark creatures float past their cells and tell me that it isn't worth being afraid. My cellmate is nearly dead, and lies curled on a pile of mouldy straw in the darkest corner of the cell. I hate having a dying man in here with me. The Dementors get excited and linger outside of the cell like dogs being taunted by fresh meat. Lucius, the man in the cell next to mine, is gone; he escaped. But, of course, he didn't make it like I did once. He's drowned, body rotting beyond all else, down on the ocean floor. I couldn't honestly say that I held any blame for the man. Everyone here knows that it is futile to try to escape, and that a death sentence holds us here and a death sentence awaits outside these walls. There's no choice but to die. I suppose you should like to know how I got here in the first place, and why I would even care why a scumbag like Malfoy killed himself.
For the beginnings of my life, I lived with my grandmother. At least, I believed she was my grandmother. Her name was Arabella Figg, and she loved cats. This is where I think I adopted my love for animals. These little creatures were wild, tame, loving, and violent all at the same time. My first ten years of existence seemed perfectly normal. I was a normal kid, and lived on an unnaturally normal street; Privet Drive. There were few children on this little lane, though. Two children who lived just down the street from me were the only ones nearby who were my age. One seemed nice enough, but refused to make friends with anyone. We were friends, at one point, talking and eating together at school. But his fat cousin was less than pleased to see me talking to a 'twiggy annoyance' like him. Dudley never took well to competition, despite being the most admired and followed boy in the school, even when the competition was his "lowly" cousin. I never took well to being told whom to associate with, and the fat pig broke several bones on both Harry's and my own body. Needless to say, I was not popular.
On my eleventh birthday, I realized that my life was less than normal. Grandmother fixed me my favourite chocolate cake, I opened two or three presents, and everything went rather normally at first. That day was my first showing. The birthday candles were lit, and the cake sparkled almost like magic. I was happy, and so was my Grandmother. We had no fears and no worries, because it was just a birthday, a tradition, and nothing could wreck something so ordinary. I should have accepted the warnings. My head began to swim, and I went limp. My muscles felt weary, as if I had hiked all day, and all I could see were flames. My body was drenched in sweat as if I were feverish, and my eyes could not leave those little drops of fire, hanging onto the sculpted wax. Each drip brought the fire one step closer to the cake. They would burn out, and die; but, that could not happen. I so distinctly remember the burn. It hurt, I suppose, but not in the way you'd imagine. When that fire consumed me, I was free. It was as if I had been frozen, for eleven years, and was now being forced to run a long distance. My body was screaming, out of the recognition of its true purpose, out of need, and out of the excruciating pain of being released from its chains of childhood. My Grandmother, I so desperately remember, was sobbing, tears streaming down her face. I still don't know if the tears were really for her, or if they were for me. She screamed, and tried to pull me to the ground, to smother the flames with her own flesh, her own body. I didn't understand what was going on. All of my memories of what happened next are blurs, black, and red slurring together. It was later, in the hospital, that I heard the whisper of speech above me. A man.
"…control of her powers. She's obviously spent her energy for now." Here he brushed the hair out of my face. "You'll gain control soon enough."
Gain control. Over whatever seemed to have possessed me, mere hours before.
A/N: I actually wrote this in 2005 as part of a fanfiction contest, but never entered it. I edited it a bit for content and for structure, but it is essentially a story from when I was much younger and less experienced of a writer. I might continue this (it depends on the response, and I have to think about it a little longer—I only found it on my computer an hour ago!). If I do, it could take a very different approach. It would probably end up being Sirius/OFC, though. C: