New fic, new characters, new plot...on with the show! Now re - edited.
Disclaimer: Gemma is an original...I don't own any HP characters...well, I do have Sirius tied up in my bedroom, but that doesn't count...does it? ..: checks in huge leather book:.. Nope, I'm clean. Right, here we go...
"They're coming," Gemma whispered hoarsely, leaning over to a crack in the stone wall behind her.
"Surprise!" a man's voice responded from the other side of the wall.
"Oh, shut up, you," she said. "This is your chance. Go now, before they get here!" Her slender body shivered eerily, as if from some chill she was anticipating.
"Come with me. You can't stay here, they'll kill you!"
"Thank you, Dr. Black!" she gave a humorless laugh. "At least this way one of us gets out. You know I can't- they're getting closer. Go. Go now!"
"..."
"Please, Sirius! Do it for Remus, for Harry!"
"..."
"Please!"
"Fine. I'll go. Promise me one thing, though; don't die, Gem. For me?"
"I'll do my best. For you. Take care...and good luck." With that, both cells fell silent.
Gemma could faintly hear the sound of padded footsteps, a slithering sound, more footsteps, and then the clang of a door.
Just before the shadow - cloaked figures reached her barred door, she heard a splash.
For the first time in over two years, she grinned.
And as her screams of despair joined those already filling the air, something remarkable was going on.
Somewhere outside the fortress she was being held in, a mangy black dog swam weakly towards the mainland, headed home.
0o0o0o 6 Months Later 0o0o0o
"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me..." Gemma sang softly to herself, rocking back and forth in an attempt to ward off the invading cold.
The prison of Azkaban was always cold, even at the height of summer; the soul-sucking dementors made sure of that.
Gemma had awoken that morning covered in frost, with numb hands, feet, and a bright bluish-tinged face.
After warming and waking up, she had examined the rows of tally marks on the wall next to her; August 17.
Gemma honestly hadn't thought she'd make it this long in Azkaban; two whole years in hell.
The stone walls surrounding her gave no sign of birthday cheer; bleak and cold, their gray surface only furthered the air of despair inside the cell.
It was nearly pitch black; the only light coming into the cell originated from the barred window in her door, torchlight that flickered weakly because of the ever-present drafts.
Gemma herself gave off the same feeling as her surroundings: misery and desolation.
The jeans and navy polo shirt she had been thrown in with were torn and ragged. Her raven-black hair was streaked grey with grime and dust. Gemma's starved body was covered with small cuts and scratches, mostly self inflicted. The sight of scarlet blood welling up out of her skin was harmless, and it helped ease the hunger pangs.
It was one of the tricks Sirius had tought her during their lengthy discussions through the crack.
The prisoners were fed three times a week, two cups of water and a slice of bread. Gemma's inner right wrist bore a tattoo etched in silver rune shaped like a capital Y with a horizontal line through the center of the stem and a circle around the whole thing.
Her eyes, grey and piercing sharp, seemed to be the only things unaffected be her long-term confinement in Azkaban.
They were her one noticeable feature, the thing that would have made her stand out at Azkaban, if anyone had cared to look.
That, and the fact that she was now the only innocent prisoner on the whole island.
As she traced the silvery rune, which had also been branded into the hollow of her slender throat, Gemma was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of dragging robes and rattling breaths.
The dementors had come to give her birthday present.
Lucky me.
Closing her eyes in resignation, she leaned back against the wall, running a grimy hand through equally dirty hair.
Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3, in, 1, 2, 3, out...she had learned, over the past two years, that repeating this mantra helped keep her from blacking out, if the dementor was weak.
She hadn't needed it at first, but as time went by, prolonged exposure to the dementors made it necessary.
In, 1, 2, 3, out, 1...as the dementor came closer, leaning in towards the barred door, the visions began.
0o0o0o
An 11 year old Gemma sat in the center of the Wizengamot courtroom. It was a small hearing; Fudge had wanted to keep it quiet, to 'prevent any unnecessary public panic.'
What he really meant was that he didn't believe that the Dark Lord was back, and didn't want anyone to become suspicious and attempt to convince him that You-Know-Who had indeed returned.
The judge stood up from his podium near the front of the courtroom.
"Gemmaline Brighton. You have been charged with three counts of using two Unforgivable Curses, and one count of first degree murder. You have been sentenced to four life sentences, to be served out in Azkaban Fortress. Because of your youth, the Ministry has been moved to mercy, and will spare you the Kiss. Have you any last words before court is dismissed?"
Gemma looked around the room, ignoring the bite of cold steel numbing her wrists and ankles.
Her desperate gaze met only scorn and hatred; no matter what the judge said, she would find no mercy here.
"No, your Honor."
Seemingly incised by her lack of remorse, the judge practically snarled the verdict.
"See if you can keep quiet in Azkaban, Brighton! Take her away!"
As Gemma was dragged bodily from the courtroom by two guards, kicking, biting, and scratching, the scene faded to black.
PLEASE REVIEW! Flames go to feed the hamster...after being read, of course. Criticism is appreciated. New thingy (for lack of a better term): when you review, please give me one or more suggestion that I can use to improve my writing style or story. Thank you!