.:: Nineteen ::.
"Nooo…nooo…please…"
Hagrid curled further in on himself, trying to block out the other person's agonized screams in the next cell. A new one, he thought dully. New one. Blue one. Yew. Too. Few…
He'd taken to rhyming words in his head when his grasp on the moment started to slip, when he was scrabbling at the ledge of consciousness by his fingernails. He was terrified of the thought of falling into the crevices of dark memories, and as the Dementors tried to push him in he braced himself on the ledge by knowing he was innocent.
He didn't do it. He didn't do it. The words fluttered in his throat, knotting until it was hard to breathe. He choked on the helpless, desperate thought, sinking his teeth into his lip. He could taste blood, but the pain was so slight, just a whisper of a foundation on which he could stand on as he waited.
But after nineteen, oh God, nineteen days, he could feel his resolve slipping. What was the point on staying sane if you were never going to get out of this place? Fudge had said he'd be released if someone else was caught—and for a few fleeting moments he had been buoyed on that hope. The Dementors had sucked him dry of any hope.
Would insanity be easier?
"DOUBLE CROSSER!" shrieked a voice, rough from overuse and barely human, echoing through the long, dark corridor.
Someone laughed, a wheezing, rasping laugh that was the furthest thing from happiness Hagrid had ever heard. The sound fizzled and became a whine so reminiscent of Fang's whimpering that Hagrid felt a spark of warmth for a moment before reality sank in.
A chilling coldness began to seep into Hagrid's bones, and he tensed, his muscles bunching, trembling as the rattling pants echoed against the stone walls.
Innocent…Innocent…
He faltered, his eyes unfocused at the bars until they blurred together. Tears dribbled down his nose as memories started to seep through the cracks in his foundation. He covered his head with his hands, his face pressed against the grimy floor, and whimpered incoherently as the darkness uncoiled in the pit of his stomach and began to strangle him.
"Nooo…" he pleaded, the tears coming faster now. "Dad…" he moaned, clutching at his hair.
"Give me your wand, Rubeus," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes very somber.
"I never…Professor Dumbledore sir—I never…" he croaked, his legs shaking so badly that he was afraid he would fall over.
"Your wand, Hagrid," said Professor Dippet. There was no pity in those eyes. He held out his hand, age spotted and pale against the dark blue of his robes.
He couldn't move—couldn't breathe. He hadn't done anything…
Dumbledore sighed and stepped forward, very slowly, and pulled the wand out of Hagrid's trembling fingers. "I'm sorry," he said softly as he stepped backwards. He handed Dippet the wand.
Hagrid's eyes followed his wand, and he couldn't look away as Dippet held either end in his hands.
CRACK!
White light flared as the wood snapped, and Hagrid lurched forward, a strangled cry shattering before it could crescendo. Something inside of him ached, and it was a raw, cutting, all consuming pain that bled through his consciousness.
He would never do magic again.
Hagrid gasped, sobbing as he ground his forehead against the stone floor. The cold was piercing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and he flinched away from the bars, cowering in the corner.
The Dementor glided away from his cell, and Hagrid dragged in great sweeps of breath, forcing it down his throat. Every hour, every day, they came. He could stave off the worst of the memories most of the time, but when they glided past his cell, sometimes pausing, wrapping their long, bone white fingers against the bars like eager spectators.
Nineteen days. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't watch his father's death once more, couldn't relive getting expelled from Hogwarts again, seeing Lily and James' dead bodies…
He hoped he'd die in his sleep that night.
He curled his knees up to his chest and tried to block out the swelling din of tortured cries and the rattling breath that echoed underneath it all.
FIN
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