The Fall

By

Acta Est Fabula

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

I, at my tender age of thirteen, was sat in front of the Wizengamot, chained to a slab of marble fashioned as an arm-chair. The situation was grim, indeed. I forced the panic down in order to be able to speak; "You've no right to do this to me! I did nothing wrong!" Well, it wasn't exactly panic-free, but at least I wasn't croaking.

Why was I there? Well, there were a few reasons, actually. But the most important would be the murder of one Peter Pettigrew, the one who had betrayed my parents. Sweet, sweet revenge. I would do it again in a heart-beat.

Then there was 'aiding and abetting a known criminal'- and 'You-Know-Who's right-hand man,' at that. The infamous mass-murderer, Azkaban escapee, Marauder extraordinairé, one Sirius Black. The guy sure was cool if you didn't see his latest fashion: 'just out of Azkaban looks.'

By the way, was sarcasm a defence mechanism that one use to not deal with the problems rationally? I was doing that, exactly.

Because the soulless body of the man I was praising was twitching in front of me, having just been condemned to the Kiss by a Dementor.

Black was the last Marauder to be killed, though. At least he had the honor of that, and he did indeed continue the tradition of getting killed, not dying of old age... Lupin's sentence was dealt out and read post-mortem. He was caught at dawn, and executed almost on spot possibly before he could properly wake up after his transformation.

One thing was asked of me, that if I repented my actions by the Headmaster. I was never a good liar, though, so I was in front of the Wizengamot which was in its full glory and unjustness. The Headmaster might have had reservations about all this, but I thought it was gone when I could do nothing but laugh when I was asked if I would repent. Would he repent having killed Grindelwald, I had wondered.

Shit! I should be focusing on getting myself out of here- far, far away from the possibility of going to Azkaban. Dementors would do wonders on me, otherwise.

Fudge was reading out my offences: Other than the aforementioned two, there were (a)associating with a dark creature, (b)attacking a Hogwarts professor, (c)resisting arrest, (d)attacking an Auror, (e)attempted murder of the said Auror, (f)use and/or practice of the Dark Arts, (g)using an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow Witch or Wizard, (h)going against the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic Resolution, -is the last one for real?- 'Shit!' indeed... And I was deep in that.

So it ultimately came to this: a life time in Azkaban or the Kiss. Which one would be worse, I wasn't sure at the time. I had no say in this matter, though; it was for the 'venerable' collection of Wizengamot body –all of them bastards- to decide. As I was underage, the Kiss was decided to be extreme –no shitting, right? Then I was thrown into a small, dark cell quite unceremoniously. I thought I would see the most 'sunny' countenance on the Dementors' faces when they passed my cell by the first few weeks if one could discern Dementors' expressions at all. There was so much to feed on by the fucking parasites!

I could feel myself falling down and down the slope that was my now fully formed insanity. Would an insane person know he was so? I thought some would. I knew I wasn't thinking normal even when the word was used very loosely.

Dementors had left me an empty shell of my former self; I looked similar to whom I was, but that was that, and no more- no more was I the hero I used to be. I was a maniac, and my intent was to cause as much pain and suffering and chaos and destruction possible... for rage was all that remained.

The first few years, I had tried to die. I did everything I could within my very limited options. I failed. A depression the likes of which I hadn't witnessed took over my conscious time. I would sit on the floor and stare at the wall, reliving every Dementor induced memory without so much as a twitch. Such simple things, like I would never fly a broom again, or I would never taste Butterbeer would bring me to my knees. If a Hell did exist, it would be in the likeness of Azkaban, surely.

As was mentioned, a few years passed like that. I didn't know I would be glad to survive those years, because a miracle happened! I was past grieving all the things I had lost. For years, my mind was a jumbled mess that I had forgotten what clarity was. At that moment, I was seeing everything the first time in my life; what life meant... And I had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I was craving for more.

There were two kinds of anger, I thought. One was how I used to feel; a flaring anger, one moment it was blazing hot, the other, gone. The other was the cold anger I was feeling now; calculating, plotting, decieving and devising.

When I found the clarity again, the first thing I noticed was the place of my cell; in order to keep my cell close to where they could keep an eye on, they had made a most fatal mistake that just might cost them their lives. I wasn't sure about the exact layout of the prison, but my cell was on the ground floor, and as it seemed, any owl en route to the Guards' quarters would first have to pass over my cell. Again, the details of aerodynamics escape my understanding, but the owls would be flying low, just over the sea, then ascend to the top, and dive towards their destination. This presented me an opportunity that nothing else but a miracle could.

For years I put portions of my meagre meals at my window to lure the owls that just might be carrying something useful. For years... But, oh, wasn't it a magnificant feeling to see a sapling grow and bear the fruits of my sacrifice! A wand, a fucking wand! What kind of fool would send a wand via owl? Or what kind of a fool would need to be sent one thusly? But as it stood, I wasn't inclined to interrupt my enemy when they were making a mistake. I took the wand and wrung the owl's neck; it wouldn't do to raise any suspicion by sending a post-owl carrying no post.

Another foolish mistake that was probably being done out of necessity: no patrols were being conducted by wizards. Dementors' aura was far too intense even at the first floor.

Azkaban's infamy came from one thing, and one thing alone: Dementors. Once they were out of the equation, all that remained from that mighty castle was a fence that's just there, a decorative armor. And I had no happy or tragic memory unmarred by a sinister intend overlapping. This corruption was what saved me during my escape.

Opening the cell door was easy, a simle Alohomora was sufficient. The 'click' I heard, an unearthly song to my ears. The sound of freedom, of breath after a long dive. Did I enjoy it? Could I? No, that ability was stripped from me! And that tempered my resolve more than anything. I wasn't able to feel the passion I had told myself over and over again that I would feel; the depiction was just that, my fantasy. I felt empty still, even while running by the occasional Dementor that tried to grab me.

I didn't dare cast the Patronus charm; even if I could –which, after long years of imprisonment in a Dementor infested place, would've been no mean task,- a fleeing Dementor would certainly raise an eyebrow or two as the most probable escape for a Dementor I met would be the direction I was taking: the Guards' quarters that was the checkpoint of all entry and exit. That caution was unnecessary though, as it turned out, by chance or vigilance, I was detected. I don't know when, or how, but that didn't change the fact that two guards were running towards me through the long corridor.

There were no branches I could take, only one way forwards, one backwards with only cells' entances to take cover in. I whispered an Alohomora, and the cell to my left clicked open. Two red lights of beam passed by me as I dove in.

I had to have hit my head, because one moment I was sailing inside the air with the grace of a cow, the next, my blackened vision was coming into focus to see a man with rotten and crooked teeth standing over me with a smirk. With prayers that Black and Lupin's impromptu lesson on the Unforgivables wasn't a total failure, I cast an Imperius curse on the man. He was under my absolute command in no time. It was the first time I had felt gratitude for Dementors' ability to seriously fuck up minds.

A neat trick, the Imperius curse; I didn't even need to convey my orders verbally! I wanted him to run just in front of me to shelter my own movements, and I had a living, breathing shield to take the hit. The hit, he took. When the guards saw that the 'red light spell' wasn't working as it was far too easy to side step from that distance, they changed to other curses. Each spell made the shield stagger. It persevered, however, and pressed on as I willed it to. It was practically stepping on his own guts by the time we closed the distance enough to cast the few spells I knew effectively. I had already cast an Unforgivable recently, so casting one again was out of the question. That left either pulling a Hermione and distracting them with an Incendio, or...

I chose the better alternative, and much more power-efficient one. I aimed quickly over the shield's shoulder as we stopped and shouted, 'Diffindo!' and Arval's throat was slit open. The blood and suffering was the bonus of my choice. I turned to the other one, someone I was more... 'intimate' with.

"Ah, Justus... Irony is your name!" I had recovered just enough to try out another fucker-curse, "Crucio!" The man writhed in so much phanthom agony that every muscle in his body was flexed to their limits, some, maybe, even more in a second. When I was young, the man would come to my cell to 'have some fun.' Some atrocities were supposed to be crossing a line even in this shit hole, and this one would pay for crossing one... dearly...

I sized up the man lying in his own piss. When one of the hands went for the wand on the floor, I stepped on it and pressed with all my weight and might. It wasn't enough to break any bones, but his twisted face betrayed the pain it was causing. I rose on one foot that had the hand trapped underneath, and jumped. Then I heard the sound... That hand wouldn't be holding a wand anytime soon.

"So... What am I to do with you...? What to do...?" I pocketed the wand as I circled the whimpering man like a vulture. "How about... Crucio!" I incanted when I felt I could. The man's screams and obvious agony made me actually feel something: satisfaction. My forbidden fruit... Sweet revenge... But only pain wasn't enough, wasn't just. "Then what is 'just,' Justus...?" I asked.

"Wh-what the f-fuck... t-talkin' 'bout?"

I kneeled and raised the man's face with my free hand to look him in the eye. "I think I know..." I fingered the wand I was holding to the man's throat. The man's eyes flicked at his comrade's corpse for a moment before settling on me again. But I traced the wand down the man's body, pointedly looking at my former shield when it reached the man's stomach. I returned my gaze at the man with a smile, lowered my wand just a little more and incanted very softly, "Diffindo."

I walked away all the while listening to the man's screams and cries. Now you've lived up to your name, Justus.

From there on, it was just walking with no obstacle. I just had to make a detour to see who was hiding in the cupboard –the fucking cupboard! The poor fucker was probably new as I myself would probably recognize a senior guard. The man didn't even have his wand! I twirled the one in my hand in the man's line of sight.

He made a grab for it, but before he could cover the distance, the green light produced by the most feared spell reached him. His death was a pathetic one, ultimately borne out of his very own stupidity.

As I was sure no living thing was left to oppose me in the prison, my gait slowed to a trot. Exhaution was kicking in, but I probably had some time before the day shift guards would come to take over. I could reach the gates in half an hour though the walk should normally have taken no more than five minutes. I smiled bitterly at my own weakness- the weakness I had created personally in order to find a way to escape. If the very same weakness were to get me caught... now that would be some irony! I quickened my pace when I passed the gates leading outside.

It was dark... And dark was good... So was dawn when nobody was awake... But come morning, all hell would brake loose...

I reached the pier thinking these, but my thoughts took another turn when I could see no boat anchored: Fuck! I can't swim!


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