I have come to the conclusion that when the idea bug hits you, you just have to write 'till it goes away. Here's the result lol
Dislclaimer: I don't own hp or make money off this story
He stared at the ceiling, the rough and ragged stone of it no longer holding any interest as he'd already memorized every dip and shadow during his time here. There was a sliding noise of worm fabric against straw covered wood as his leg involuntarily jiggled in the effort to keep moving, the rest of his body was still as a statue against what passed for his bed. The atmosphere was oppressive, even now when the dementors technically shouldn't be able to get to him, as despite what he knew he could always feel them. Their presence always looming on his thoughts and his soul while he had no escape from it.
Suddenly he rose, beginning to pace back and forth in the groves that ran in the rough stone from the countless prisoners who had been in this cell before him. He tried not to think about how they left it though as the months go by he found leaving by any means more and more appealing. With each pass he faced his wall, that held the sky from his gaze, and the bars which held the dementors out but kept him in. He was never quite sure which was worse.
His emotions were calm for the moment, but he knew that wouldn't last. He was so volatile, always. Each thought bringing with it the possibility of setting him off in a rage or turning him into a sobbing child. He could feel the madness creeping in as time went by, not knowing how long he'd been in here but knowing that his mind grew weaker by the day and he lost more and more control of himself. He marveled more and more about how Sirius had seemed so sane when he saw him, and envied his ability to turn into an animegus when he could bring himself to care enough for envy.
The worst of it though was that he had no escape from his thoughts, it was the only thing he could do, think and pace. Sometimes sleep if he was lucky, but usually that too was plagued with thoughts, though these ones were Voldermorts and not his own.
He'd long ago learned that just not thinking was the worse option of the too though, as the dementors and Voldermort forced him to face the horrors of his life and that of the world today, and if he only had these things clouding his head he was afraid of how far he might fall. Afraid that he'd offer himself up to the next dementor he saw or death eater he came across, begging to have his soul removed or to pledge loyalty to the dark lord respectively, though really there wasn't much difference between the two. So, he thought. Not bright, happy thoughts you usually might conclude would be used to stave off the dark. No, those didn't work anymore; he had to replace them as normal things no longer cheered him up or brought him happiness. He instead found himself pondering how he might best off the dark lord, on the days that he felt up to killing him that was, other days he pictured the looks on those who'd betrayed him's faces if he actually joined the mad man. Some days he even found himself planning torture, doing true evil and proving all those bastards right.
In the end though, he could never be as horrible as they thought he was, he didn't have it in him to just hurt for the sake of hurt. He could kill them though, he was fairly sure now. Maybe not torture or abuse, but he thought he could make their eyes go glassy and make them meet their maker, they wouldn't be around to suffer for their wrongs but they at least wouldn't be able to mock harry with the knowledge they still existed and were happier for his suffering.
He felt the memory grip him just moments before it did, but he'd long ago learned not to fight his subconscious when it felt the need to replay his past. Possibly so he wouldn't forget, but he was more inclined to believe it was with the internal hope to experience the sensations of a very vivid dream. He'd been deprived of true touch, sight, smell, taste, hearing, and freedom for so long that these memories were beginning to seem like the true reality almost.
So, it was with that brief realization that he was brought to the events that had lead up to his current predicament.
It had been during his fourth year, Mad-Eye Moody had been hired to teach defense that year, as well as the TriWizard Tournament being held on Hogwarts grounds. It had all started during his DADA lessons, when he'd thrown off the Imperius curse. He'd learned shortly after that it was supposed to be impossible to throw off the Imperius without having trained to do so, but at the time he'd believed it was just will-power. After that he'd been watched more closely though, and the rumors of him being the heir of Slytherin had appeared again. His lack of explanation for what happened in the Chamber of Secrets had caught up to him and as such he was looked at suspiciously for these events, hated for being a champion, and at odds with all but Hermione and Sirius.
It was when Sirius didn't respond to his letters for a month that things really got bad though. His dreams had gotten worse and worse, and he'd been afraid that a spell might have been placed on him, and so he'd confided in Hermione as Sirius wasn't responding and he'd had no one else. Hermione though, had nodded and seemed sympathetic, but than gone to Dumbledore, telling him everything.
The old man had apparently been waiting for just such a thing as he'd immediately brought him in, checking and then finding a link between him and what was left of the Dark Lord's soul. He'd been basically a prisoner after that, watched at all times. it was only after he got back after the third task that everything had blown up in his face.
Before Mad-Eye could take him away as he'd been planning to do, get him out of the limelight he supposed, he'd been accused of helping Voldermort get his body back. Dumbledore had apparently gone mad, ranting about how it all made sense now, they'd probably made a deal of sorts to take advantage of the Wizarding world.
Truthfully everything after that became a blur and he only remembered two things. 1) everyone believed him to be Voldermorts best ally and 2)No one had bothered to confirm this before they'd locked him away.
Left him in this cell to think. To ponder. To contemplate his life. His relatives and their abuse, verbal and physical. The Wizarding world's ability to put him on a pedestal to be whipped or worshipped at their fancy. To see all the plots revolving around his life and how he'd been manipulated. To regret ever letting Ron and Hermione close.
At the thought of everything he felt his rage growing. In the wake of the darkness that quickly and inexplicably consumed him he had no more time for thought or other feelings. All there was was darkness of every kind as his fingers scratched stone from where he dropped to the floor. Ragged dirty nails bleeding and leaving streaks in their wake as tears of rage fell to mix with the red. Staining the floor with his blood and tears.
So, what are your thoughts? I'm a fan of this myself, but if I don't get much response I'll probably just shelve it as a one-shot untill my other fics are done. Up to you readers and reviewers! :)
