I wrote this for a creative writing class.
We're focusing on Gothic Descriptions of things, and I asked her if I could write a fanfiction and she said yes ^^
It's not complete, I'll go back and fix it up when I get a chance.
I wake up suddenly, as if jerked awake by a horrific nightmare. Where am I? What am I doing here?
Oh...I remember the trial at the ministry of magic. I snigger to myself as I recall the day. I'm imprisoned here for life. I did something unspeakable – well, not so unspeakable here, more like an unspeakable fate. I tortured a boy's parents to insanity for information about the stupid Order of the Phoenix, and their plans to bring My Dark Lord down from his current stance of power.
Being in here for him was worth it. I love my master. He is merciful.
I look down at the black tattoo covering my naked arm, the design of it snakes up just below my elbow. I smile. But my heart lurched as I realised – how many times will it burn without me being able to join my master?
The unhappy thoughts are starting to sink in...It's just like it was described to me by Augustus Rookwood. I feel...cold. There's no other word for it. All I can think of is how cold it is here. The guards didn't bother giving me any clothing. I was just trapped in nothingness, a dark room with no windows, or even a door by the looks of it. It was almost like not existing.
I must be going mad...all I can hear is bad, bad thoughts...
I see something flash before my eyes. It's my life.
There's my mum. Oh, hi, mum. What have I done now? No, I swear I didn't steal your wand. No mum, I didn't steal the bezoar and force feed it to the cat. STOP it; don't come any closer with that knife. PLEASE I'm telling you the truth! Please stop carving that word into my arm, it hurts. Please heal me, mother, I promise I won't do it again. I'll be a good girl, I promise.
I get pulled out of the memory and I'm taking deep breaths, as if I was holding my breath underwater and I'd just rose to the surface. What's wrong with me? Why am I shaking all over? My throat truly hurts...was I screaming? Was I screaming like the little girl I saw in the memory? This isn't me...the kind of people that twitch and scream are pathetic Muggles put under the Cruciatus Curse.
Or Alice and Frank Longbottom – they boy's parents I mentioned earlier. They're mad now. They can't feel a thing – they might as well be a fudging tomato for all they're useful for. I suppose it's a blessing compared to where I am; with nothing but bad thoughts, haunting memories and hungry dementors for company.
I wish I had clothing. I wish I had my wand. This was humiliating. No clothing, no wand?
What was I? Nothing. I had truly fallen into darkness.