A/N; Thanks to eknightess for being an awesome beta, even with her unfounded hatred for Harry Potter. This piece was written for two competitions, the 'Let's finish this the way we started it" competition, in which we had to use one word as the first and last word of the piece and in the title (mine was "horror") and the Failed Relationship challenge, which is exactly what it says.
Horror manifests itself in the prison cells of Azkaban. It is personified in those detained, who lie weak and helpless, driven half-mad by the Dementors. It cries out alongside the piteous moaning and in things seen that don't exist. And it remains behind the lids of one's eyes in sleep.
Percy would never forget the things he saw when he'd worked there.
He'd been working with an Auror called Moran at the time. The man had a plain, austere face, a closely shaven head and ears the size of plates. He was silent but deadly. His teeth were disgusting, even by British standards, the few he had being yellow, blackening at the edges, and pointy, like a shark's. Percy wondered if that was why he rarely smiled. When he tried, it looked like a beast advancing on prey.
As he and Moran walked through the corridors, the prisoners looked up them both with pleading eyes, choking back tears as they gripped their hands on the bars to rattle them. He almost found it hard to believe that they were grown men and women, wailing like upset babies. Some reached their hands out, trying to keep the two of them in the corridor. You could tell how long they had been there for by how hollow their cheeks were and how bedraggled their clothes were. The worst of them were so close to death that flies had already started to gather around them. Percy kept his head up, avoiding their gaze as much as possible and ignoring his increasing nausea. It was as much as he could do to put one foot in front of the other and resist the urge to make a getaway.
"Chin up, Weasley." he said, wearing his hungry beast grin. "You'll get used to it."
Percy had been put to the task of registering prisoners and it was Moran's job to show him the ropes. Percy suspected he got a little power trip from working there, seeing lesser people struggle.
Having once been a scribe, Percy considered working with Moran to be a demotion. He seemed to pride himself on making people suffer, unlike Percy, who exercised respect in the face of despair. Respect fosters successful inter-personal work relationships, something Moran did not seem to value.
"Here we are, the cell of Miss Clearwater, Penelope."
Hearing her name, as he had a couple of times since the war, gave Percy no pang of guilt (or at least he'd never admit to it), but when his actions were forced before him it was like his conscience had just slapped him in the face.
She hadn't been in there long, he could tell but she wasn't untouched. She looked a lot like a broken doll, sitting in the darkest corner of the room. Her head lolled, but every so often she tried to force it upright. Her curls had become dirty, her hair hung in front of her face, obscuring it from view. She was getting very thin. And when she did show her face, it wasn't the peaches and cream Percy had remembered from their sixth year. Her skin was white, almost translucent and shining with sweat. Her blood stained lips, the ones that sent shivers down his spine when they were 17, were marred with an open wound down the right side that ran all the way to the edge of her chin. And her eyes, they were a reflection of her anguish. They were blue-grey like a rough sea. Brimming with unshed tears and unharnessed mentality, they pleaded, they begged, they asked for mercy. They filled Percy with the regret he'd pushed to the back of his mind. They were looking right at him and they were etched upon his mind as he looked away.
Noticing Moran staring at him, Percy carried on professionally.
Putting his quill to paper, he asked "When was she detained and for what crime?"
"Last month, for stealing magic."
"So I'm guessing she's a muggle-born?"
Moran didn't need to know that Penelope was his ex-girlfriend, he really didn't. That was Percy's business and nobody else's.
"She's a mudblood, alright."
Percy asked various questions, scribbling various things down. He endeavoured not to look into her terror-filled eyes. He could not, however, block out the faint cries that continued to pass from her lips. They slowly turned to a plea.
"Percy, please?"
The words were barely audible. They came somewhere from behind her hair, thick with unried tears, blood and saliva.
"She was detained two months ago, am I right, Moran?"
"Indeed."
His writing had become ferocious, his tension slathered across the paper. He noticed that he'd written 'Penelope, stop looking at me' on the corner of the page. He certainly didn't remember doing it.
Through the crying, she spoke again.
"Percy, please?"
Her voice was louder, sharper and more desperate this time. She broke into racking sobs.
"Do you know her?" Moran asked.
"Of course not."
Lies, all lies. Lying had become second nature. It was integral to his continued success. How else could you succeed when your last name was Weasley? Honour had to be compromised in the name of...well, honour.
"I thought-I thought" she took a sharp inhale of breath, like a young child right before a tantrum. "I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!" she cried in distress. She collapsed, letting go of the tears that she had only barely contained. She was now a noisy, shaking heap on the floor. She didn't even try to control herself.
"Love? I call that Amortentia."
So easily they rolled of the tongue, all those untruths. They were a biproduct of the anger and regret that brewed in his stomach, and he was well aware that the things he said could not be unsaid. Sometimes it was better to choose life over love.
Moran was certainly enjoying himself. Had a free show, didn't he? It was just another reason for Percy to continue.
"You promised you'd always be there for me. You promised you'd never leave. You said you'd make sure I wasn't hurt. You said we'd be together forever, be happy together. And I-I" she looked straight at him, a fire raging in her eyes. "I WAS FOOLISH ENOUGH TO BELIEVE YOU, YOU ARROGANT, SELF-CENTRED PRAT!"
"YOU THOUGHT WE WERE IN LOVE?! You have a twisted view on love, dear. C'mon Moran, I've done what I needed to do."
"Wait. So you're just going to let me rot in here? I thought you were better than that."
"Well it seems that I'm not."
With those words, Percy turned his back. The next time he'd see her was in a coffin, and 19 years later, he'd still be haunted by the sight of those eyes, wide with disgust and horror.
Well I hope that wasn't too bad, it's probably a bit on the angsty side, but I like it, so that's that. Please review, it doesn't hurt anyone to do so.
~LadyDreadnought