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At Last
By Gaerdir
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"When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself." - Jodi Picoult
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A warning chill crept over the hunched prisoner as he crouched in the corner of his dirty, grey cell. He slammed his mental barriers up high as he struggled to hide any sliver of positive emotion from the abomination of a creature gliding past his cell.
Today was his chance, he'd be damned if he let those beasts take away his hope, and his determination.
The sound of voices began to drift pass his cell, just as some silvery light from the apparitions following the monster did. The man huddled in his worn cloak, and stared with haunted, empty, wild eyes.
"Jesus, it's so boring here, Cooks, I mean, how did you work here for 20 years? There's nothing to do! It's so drab and… gray!"
"Well serves you right… I warned you! Youngsters jumping the gun without thinking it through… y'all ought to be penalized for stupidity!"
"Hey! I didn't say you were right…!" The younger man grumbled.
The two men strode in front of the prisoner's cell. The still-complaining man slowly rumbled to a stop, staring with a slack jaw inside.
"John, get a move on! We need to keep behind the Dementor on the rounds, or we'll lose control of it!"
"But that's… that's… Cooks! That's–"
" – just another prisoner. Let's go!"
The prisoner waited until the two men had left, following after the creature from Hell, and keeping it in check, before rummaging around underneath the thin cot given to him to sleep on. He pulled out a worn paper, barely glancing at the name, instead focusing on the picture occupying the page. A grubby finger pointed at the rat on a younger boy's shoulder.
"He'll be at Hogwarts. Soon, he'll be at Hogwarts." The man muttered to himself.
He closed his eyes and adopted a look of extreme concentration, trying to find his inner self through the haze of self-hatred, vengeful anger, and potent misery. Slowly, steadily, the man began to shrink, his skin growing fur, and his changing bone structure forcing him onto his hands and knees. His nose began to extend in front of his face, and slowly grew to encompass his mouth as well. Minutes later, after a very careful and slow transformation, a panting dog stood where the prisoner had been, slowly wagging his tail. He felt happier, that was for certain, because the Animagus form reduced the effects of Dementors.
The dog quickly slipped his malnourished body through the gap, formerly too narrow, between the bars. He left the used paper, fluttering in the cell that had held him for twelve years. He followed the two guards silently, his skeletal body providing him great assistance. Eventually he got near enough to hear the conversation.
"I don't think I can come this way again, man. Jeez, do you know what the legends are about that man? He killed thirteen people with a single spell…!" The younger guard half-sobbed.
"Yeah, John. But we only have to pass through here once a week. This place doesn't get as much protection from the Dementors. It's the heavy punishment block." The older man soothed. "C'mon, let's get going, the first time is always the worst… we're almost outta here."
The dog continued to follow the two men, until they reached the exit.
As they headed left, towards the main office, the dog headed right, towards the shore, where the choppy sea crashed and churned violently.
The dog looked back at his prison, and then padded into the unforgiving sea.
At last, I'll have my revenge… Pettigrew.
FIN