No Tears Left
by Tigerlily
Violet stumbled across the broken gray rocks on the island of Azakaban as the salty, ocean wind whipped about her. What was once a feared and powerful prison was now a pile of ruble, slowly being eroded and washed away by the sea. Violet found it fascinating.
She was on summer holiday now, but when she was in school, they had learned from Professor Binns about Azakaban. It was the most feared prison, where the most dark and deadly criminals went. Magical people had once actually allied themselves with dementors. Violet could not imagine how anyone could survive living with dementor guards day in and day out.
But most of them didn't, she reminded herself. She looked around the island. The actual building was now a pile of stones on the ground, but the island itself was how it had forever been. Cold, harsh, and brown.
Violet wasn't interested in the terrain; she was interested in the prison. She walked over to the heap of stones, and started exploring. She had to cover her nose to block out the awful smell. Even after more than two centuries the place reeked of human filth.
She found some interesting items that day. A comb, an old newspaper, a tattered shirt, and some old money (what was it called again? A knut?) were among the most worthy of note.
She was just about to pack up and leave for the day when a flash of silver caught her eye. Violet, ever the explorer, went to have a look. Wedged between two stones was an old, leather book. The flash of silver had been from the lock on the cover. It looked like a diary of some sort.
A diary of an Azakaban prisoner? Wow, this was the best sort of prize imaginable. After about ten minutes of struggling, Violet finally got the book out. It was obviously old, but had been enchanted by some age-proof charm, so the paper looked brand new.
She cracked it open to the first page. Neat, tiny writing filled the pages. Violet began to read:
****
My name is Hermione Granger. I am barely eighteen. But I am not a child. Voldemort destroyed that innocence. Because of him, I was thrust into this world of hatred, blood, and loneliness.
At this very moment, I am sitting in a prison cell in Azakaban. I can hear the shrieks of my fellow prisoners around me. They scream non-stop, tormenting me, reminding me that it is not long before I become one of them. I have always been the logical one, and I continue to be. So I know it will not be long before I lose my sanity as well.
That is why I am writing this. When the true me is gone (and my body left to suffer in agony), it will be a comfort to know that there is a bit of me out there, somewhere.
The sad thing is, compared to what I've been through, Azakaban is a blessing.
But I am getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning. Maybe even with "once upon a time". That seems fitting. After all, my life used to be almost a fairy tale.
So. Here is my story…
Once upon a time I lived in a big castle with lots of friends and teachers. It was my last year at that castle, my seventh. Everything was wonderful. Until a girl named Lavender Brown, a classmate of mine, was murdered.
The whole school was in uproar. Apparently, she was walking back from the greenhouses when she had been killed. The only clue to her murderer was a mark on her neck. A skull with a snake. The Dark Lords sign.
Of course, if there was any chance of Voldemort attacking the school, it had to be vacated. So, that evening, everyone gathered in the great hall. We were so stupid. We should have realized that getting everyone in the same location would only make it easier for him. But no one had any idea, so gather we did.
Our wonderful headmaster was charged with the responsibility of announcing to the students that they were to go home. The Hogwarts express would pick them up tomorrow morning. He made the announcement, and the predicable response proceeded.
Everyone was talking and whispering to each other. There was confusion everywhere. And it only got worse when the lights went out. A icy wind swept through the Great Hall. Then a figure in a black cloak appeared. It was at that moment, I think, that I first fully realized that Voldemort had gained control.
I will not go into the exact means Voldemort used to take over Hogwarts. And I am not going to reveal the details of how he killed our teachers. Some memories are still too fresh… too painful…
Suffice to say it was done. Now only the students were left. And under the control of Voldemort. I believe his plan was to use us as a bargaining chip, but the Death Eaters got to us first.
You have to understand, when a man is propelled into a circle of secrets and hate, he has to let it out on somebody. So, since Voldemort certainly didn't want a rebellion, he let the Death Eaters do whatever they liked with us.
That was the true nightmare. Every day, the girls were horribly raped and the boys were disgustingly beaten. Every night, half were tortured, and half were forced to watch. This went on, but for how long I cannot say. After a while, the days blur into one long, brutal lifetime.
Many did not survive. Eventually, there were only a handful of us left. So most of the Death Eaters went on to do more of the Dark Lords work. Five stayed, to continue the torment.
Then came my chance.
Harry Potter had found a forgotten knife tucked away under the floor one evening. It was not perfect, but it was sharp enough to do the job. I convinced him to let me have it.
The next morning, when the five remaining Death Eaters came to get us, I pulled out the knife, and slashed ones arm. I guess I should have waited, maybe planned it more carefully. But I didn't. And I have to pay for my mistake.
Immediately after the slashing, another Death Eater who was standing close behind tried to murder me. On instinct, I ducked. The curse hit Ron, instead. I had helped murder one of my very best friends. Words cannot describe the vast array of emotions I experienced in that single moment.
Again, unknown reader, I must ask your forgiveness. That battle I another memory I must relieve over and over again at Azakaban, but I simply cannot put it on paper. Be it sufficient to say, when the battle between the students and the Death Eaters was done, I was left alone standing with a bloody knife in my hands.
Then my mind cast aside any feeling whatsoever but one. Rage. Pure and simple Rage. I took that already-bloodied knife, and I stabbed those cursed oppressors who called themselves Death Eaters. And when I couldn't stab them anymore, I stabbed the bodies of my friends. Harry, Ron, Hannah, Susan, Justin, anyone whose body was lying on the ground.
And that was where the Ministry officials found me. Pounding that knife in and out of bodies, crying silent tears. And as they took me away, I laughed. Just as Sirius Black had a generation before. Ever heard of "I know why the caged bird sings"? Well, I know why the captured man laughs.
You can figure out the rest. I didn't receive a trial, but only because I refused to defend myself. What was the point? And thus I went to Azakaban. Compared to life with the Death Eaters, this is heaven.
Many here wish they were dead. Many more do not, but only because they can't think. You know, I've almost learned how to ignore the constant screams. After all, they say a human can adjust to anything. I've certainly proven that.
I will die like that. Dirty and beaten. Hollow. Insane. It's only a matter of time.
So, if by some miracle this diary is found, remember me. That's all I ask. I just want someone to remember me as a decent person. Please.
Its odd. A lifetime ago, I would have wept. I would have cried my heart out, and this book's pages would have been wrinkled by salty drops. But not now.
For I have been to hell and back, and there are no tears left.
*****
Violet closed the diary. Voldemort. She remembered that name from history class. He was a dark wizard that lived about two hundred or so years ago. He was eventually defeated, but not before killing about one third of the magical community.
Hermione Granger. That was the name of the stranger who lived about two hundred years ago. When Voldemort reigned. When Azakaban was feared.
Violet put the diary in the bag with her other stuff. She never dared to open it again, but she made sure to always remember Hermione Granger.
The last line of the diary haunted Violet the rest of her life:
"For I have been to hell and back, and there are no more tears."
A/N Um… Not much to say. I was depressed. Tell me what you think. I think it could have been longer, maybe more detail. I doubt many people will read this anyway. All the authors seem to be doing series. So maybe I'll get, like, two hits. AHH! Now I'm even more depressed! I'm going to go read Dilbert…