Setting: After the war has ended.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and supporting cast belong to J.K.R.
A/N: For Mel'ann, who made me start thinking. Thank you.
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The moon hides its face behind the clouds tonight, as the air stills, so only the sounds of the waves below can be heard. Darkness settles over the land, warm and comforting as it wraps the world in its peaceful embrace. Out there people curl up in duvets or lovers arms, calm and safe within their walls, no darkness haunting their dreams any more. Yet here, on the edge of the world, the night does not settle the darkness within high walls. Stones reach up, trying to pick the stars from the sky. Eyeless sockets glare out at anyone who dares come within their barred sight. The building is hidden from most eyes, but for those who see it is a horrifying reminder of what had been; the darkness and fear that criss-crossed the land and left no dream free of screams and nightmares.
The ocean mist climbs the cliffs on which the building stands, swirling round the edges of the fortress; another shade of black in a sombre world. Slipping inside the open empty windows and through the cracks between the stones, it sweeps the hallways, empty of all beings and forsaken by sound. No happy, bright coloured decorations line these halls, just endless ancient stones placed one after another till the tower rose from the edge. Gliding deeper, under doors and around edges the mist flows. Now it encounters rips and tears as beings ghost through it. Hooded, shrouded, they make no conscious sound as they pass.
A hand reaches out to run a scarred and burnt finger along bars, a moan comes from within the pitch black, a rattle is torn from the throat as the figure moves onwards. And now the screams begin, set free from the pressure that built as the black figure waited outside the bars, scraping from a being whose purpose has become the never ending fear and guilt. Unheard from outside the walls the sounds shatter the illusion of peace, they are like nothing the world has heard before. Wrenched from the broken beings that are kept within; the sobs and cries would make the hardest heart crack.
A door opens and a new figure steps in. This one does not radiate the pure malevolence of the others, though it is cloaked the same. Footsteps sound in the corridors as it makes its way to the heart of the stones. Soon it comes to rows of bars, on and on they go black and cold each harbouring its own evil. Noises burst forth from some cells, whines of fear, cries of pity, screams of pain and hatred, yet those are not the worst. Silence reigns from some cells, and these occupants are no longer recognisable as what they once were. Death Eaters or human beings, it didn't matter any more, they lost it all when they entered here.
The figure continues, holding a wooden stick tight within its hand, emotions pouring off it as it tries to ignore the past. The smell rises as he moves onwards, deeper into the bowels of the prison. Plain stones still surround the figure, but now the stones seem light compared to the black cloaked figures accompanying the man. The fear wafts off them, inducing the same emotion in the small man. Turning to face them he lifts his wand and with a soft incantation a glowing beast separates man from Dementor.
There is no light in the very depths of the prison so the occupants of this lowest level cringe back from the glowing beast as the man enters the room. Forcing the Dementors back he closes the door behind him. Walking forwards he passes by the cells labelled overhead 'Carrow, Alecto' and 'Carrow, Amycus'. Stopping, he glances upwards: 'Lestrange, Rodolphus', 'Lestrange, Rabastan' read the signs above these two cells. Death Eaters, both look out of their respective cells, peering through bloodshot eyes to see who dares visit them in the worst prison in the Wizarding world.
Pushing back his hood Neville Longbottom looks into the faces of the surviving men who took his parents away. He has grown since he last saw them, a set of powerful muscles hiding beneath well fitting robes. No stutter mars his speech as he tells them what he came here to say.
He turns and walks from the room, the Dementors swooping in after the glowing light has left. Neville ignores the last screams of the men behind him as he leaves the prison behind. In the room the Dementors have gone, leaving two souls where there were four. The words spoken still echo in the air: "My parents are dead. The Ministry has sentenced you to the Kiss. Justice is served."
Passing beneath the gates, mist still curling round the corners, he doesn't look back at the sign hanging over them: 'Azkaban Prison'. A woman waits for him a short distance from the prison, unwilling to look at the place that harbours so much evil she has her back turned. Gently Neville puts his arms around her, and buries his face in her brown hair.
"Is it...done?" her soft voice asks in the bitterly cold air.
"Yes." comes his muffled reply as he squeezes her a bit tighter, as if reassuring himself that the world is still here.
She attempts to turn in his arms, but can't seem to move in his grip. Slowly he relaxes enough to let her move. Lifting his head gently she looks into his eyes.
"It's over then. Time to move on."
Neville nods, the tears still running down his face despite his determination to leave the place and time behind. Softly Hannah Abbott kisses her fiancée, letting him feel the passion for life that every survivor of the Second War took away with them. With time he leans into the kiss, his hands drifting up into her hair.
Pulling apart, the pair look deep into each others eyes before an echoing crack is heard on the night air. The world settles again, the pair of lovers have vanished leaving the peninsula to its dark places and darker inhabitants.
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Reviews are always appreciated, plus they make me write more. Just so you know.
LB