So, this fic is being severely redone, it was originally one chapter of less than five-hundred words. I'm trying to make it more dark and macabre than it was originally, because I'm into that stuff. Yup.
So, R&R, please. I'm keeping the rating at T for now, but the rating is subject to change.
DISCLAIMER: Contains homages to Arkham Asylum (the Batman comic), Alice In Wonderland, Pirates of Penzance, Pretty Little Liars and Psycho, and there's a Bible reference. I don't have rights to any of these things, nor do I have rights to Harry Potter.
The emaciated form of Lucius Malfoy sat, sickly and weak, huddled in the corner of his cell. It was the farthest from the door, therefore farthest from the dementors.
His home for the past year or so was this six-by-nine-by-five cell with not even a slit in the wall for a window. It was dark, absolutely no light entry. Hell, he couldn't even stand upright.
His months of imprisonment had destroyed the immaculate appearance he'd prided himself on since he was old enough to know better.
Blond hair that had been tied and neatly kept had grown shaggy and matted, his skin had gone from aristocracy-standard pale to sickly and ashen, his chin prickly with unkempt stubble. His graying prisoner's uniform was fraying around the hems, already threadbare in some places. There were even a few holes in the tattered material.
He heard the groans, shouts, yells, and mad ramblings of his fellow prisoners. They were forced to relive terrible memories every time a dementor passed their cells, as was Malfoy himself. It was almost too much to bear.
Some were crying out against their agonized memories, others had lost their minds completely. They recited things they'd heard or read once upon a time, babbled nonsense about their childhood and adolescent tragedies, and some did a strange combination of the two.
"I am telling you the truth! I didn't do it!"
"Two can keep a secret if one of them's dead."
"God help me, I see it! It's here! It's come for me!"
"'Twas brillig/And the slithy toves/Did gyre and gimbel in the wabe-"
"No, God, Charity, I swear, I didn't mean to!"
"-All mimsy were the borogroves/And the mome raths outgrabe!"
"God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"No, please, no more, I can't take anymore! Stop it, stop it now! Stop!"
"I'm not sorry. Filthy Mudbloods deserve to be slaughtered."
"Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?"
"I shouldn't be in here at all. There's been a terrible mistake."
"Oh Heaven, make it stop!"
"-To rise and forget in the bright sunlight-"
"I woke from my trance and I saw my daughter's blood on my hands-"
"Well... a... a boy's best friend is his mother..."
"I blame Lewis Carroll."
"I don't know how many times I have to say this-"
"Faithless woman to decieve me, I who trusted so!"
"Master, Master, do not leave me!"
"-And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore!"
All of them baring their tormented souls, or the little they had left.
News of Dumbledore's death had reached the prisoners in Azkaban; the Dark Lord was in more control than ever. All of the imprisoned Death Eaters would be free any day now.
But that knowledge didn't pull Lucius Malfoy out of his personal hell.
No, he was almost as far gone as those around him. He'd managed to retain some sense of self, enough to still suffer the horrible visions whenever one of the guards drifted past his cell.
And it wasn't only when the dementor passed. It got to the point where every time he shut his eyes, he had to relive the flashes of memory.
One passed at that very moment, lingering in front of the cell. Its rotted-looking hands gripped the bars of the door as it peered in. The ragged, filthy blond man was plunged into a memory from during the First War.
August, 1980
The rain pounds against the windows, thunder crashing overhead and lighting flashing through the space between the drapes, occasionally illuminating the gathering of people all dressed in black.
The Dark Lord had been in the middle of a sentence, but his scarlet eyes widen, and his pale, thin lips curl over his teeth. He's heard a noise that has gone unheared by the congregation. He flicks his wand. There is a bang, a flash of light, and a small shriek as a body hits the floor upstairs.
"I thought your wife was sleeping, Malfoy?" the Dark Lord sneers.
Lucius bows his head, two stray locks of hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at the table. Why had his Master chosen his drawing room to host the meeting? They could've found anywhere else to get out of the rain. "She was, my Lord, I..."
"Save your breath. Come down here, woman," the palest calls.
Footsteps make their way down the stone stairs. The shaking woman stumbles into the room. She's pulled on her black robe over her nightgown, and clutches at it to keep it closed over herself.
"What were you doing?"
Her voice has deserted her. She is terrified.
"I asked you a question."
The woman's mouth works in near-silence but for a few squeaks.
"Answer me!"
She cowers slightly and squeaks. "I... I..." She can't form a sentence.
Bellatrix laughs loudly. Lucius shoots a glance at his sister-in-law, a pleading glance for her to keep silent.
Please, Bella, don't encourage him. Please, he pleads silently, as if trying to send a telepathic message to the laughing woman.
The Dark Lord's eyes narrow into snakelike slits. "Crucio!"
The woman curls inward on herself, screaming.
"No!"
Her husband jumps up, only to be restrained by the Lestrange brothers, who grab his arms. He tries to shake them off, but they are too strong for him. They'd been Beaters on the Quidditch team. They have strong arms.
A noise starts upstairs, a baby crying loudly, woken by the woman's screams.
The Dark Lord hears the noise, and smiles cruelly.
"Well, well. Long overdue congratulations to the happy couple," he mocks, flicking his wand. He looks at the woman again. "Is that what you were doing up at this hour, young lady?"
"I... was..." she stutters once the curse has been lifted. "Please... I wasn't... I wasn't listening to... to anything..."
"That's not what I asked." Another flick of the bone-like wand, and the torture is so great that the woman collapses to her knees, sobbing and screaming. Lucius struggles against the Lestranges again.
Upstairs, the baby continues to cry.
"Malfoy!" a wizard's voice called sharply. The blond man looked up wildly.
It was Severus Snape.
"Come on, hurry. We've broken the Anti-Apparation charm for a short time, but we can't keep it open forever." He opened the door to the cell and raised an eyebrow at the sight of his oldest living friend. "My God, you're filthy."
He seized the blond man's arm, and the other flinched, trying to pull away from the his touch. Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop that now, Narcissa will kill me herself if you come home Splinched."
**
They ended up in the heart of a small village. Snape looked around and swore. "I forgot, we can't Apparate directly onto the Manor. But I didn't think the charm would knock us this far off course."
Lucius coughed weakly, and the younger man sighed. "Fine, we'll rest for a minute. We need to get you food anyhow. It's clear you've probably not eaten in a week or more. "
Another weak cough as the black-haired man led his friend to a nearby bench. Snape sighed. "I knew this would happen. Look, you stay here, I'll go get you food." He wandered off.
The blond wizard looked around. They were in the heart of Middle Woodford, it was a decent hour's walk from the gates of Malfoy Manor. The clock tower in the center of the village green chimed ten times. It was ten o'clock at night.
He curled up on his side against the cold. He wasn't used to the fresh air, it was strange to be out in it. It was so... so clean. And the moonlight. God, his eyes were so accustomed to the blackness of his cell that even the moonlight hurt them now.
He shut them. A mistake.
**
It is snowing softly. The falling white flakes glimmer in the pale moonlight, standing out sharply against the blackness around me.
I see a figure, that of a woman, pale and blonde. I can't quite tell from my distance, but it could be Narcissa. She wears a plain silver dress, one that leaves her shoulders bare and hangs only to her knees. She is barefoot. Her hair waves down past her shoulders, to her waist.
She's a vision of beauty, she absolutely glows. She is walking toward me slowly, but she's becoming clearer through the snow. Yes, it's her.
I can see her clearly now, she's in my arms. I look into her sapphire blue eyes for only the briefest of moments before I need to blink. When my eyes open, I cannot believe what I see before me.
My wife, my beautiful Narcissa.
Dead.
Mutilated.
The snow is crimson, her blonde hair stained with the blood. Her throat is torn open, mostly gone. Her face is turned away from me, thank God, because I don't think I could bear to see it.
There was a time when even the slightest drip of blood would ignite a violent blaze within my mind, unleashing something terrible and filled with bloodlust, whipping me into a vicious frenzy.
No longer.
I collapse to my knees beside her and press my face into my hands. God, what had happened? Who was responsib...
I look at my hands. Her blood has coated them in ruby splatters.
Oh God. God, it's me. I've killed her.
Suddenly, her neck makes a terrible snapping sound as her face turns toward mine. Her mouth hangs slightly open, as it does when she sleeps, and the blood is dripping past her lips.
The blood is rushing down her cheeks like tears. No, like a crimson river from the spring in her eyes.
Her eyes...
God, she has no eyes...
Her hand, with slashed fingers, shoots up and grabs my wrist. Her blood-soaked lips move once, testing their ability to do so, and then I hear her voice emerge from them, even though I know she can no longer speak.
Her voice is imploring, as if this is her last attempt to plead for her life.
"Lucius..."
**
"Lucius!"
He jerked awake, breathing heavily.
Snape was shaking his shoulder. "Lucius, come on, I could only find a corner cafe open this late, so I have hot chocolate for you. It'll do you some good after dealing with the dementors for so long. And you're freezing, so it'll warm you up."
He accepted the cup gratefully, taking a sip of it. It burned his tongue and scalded a trail down his throat, but it was warm, and it tasted good, and that was all that mattered.
"Don't drink so fast, you'll make yourself sick," the Potions master chastized, as if talking to a child. He went unheeded.
Soon enough, the styrofoam cup from the Muggle cafe was discarded and they set out along the cobblestone street, one sweeping, one staggering.
**
They eventually made it to the gates of the Manor, and poor Lucius was damn near dead on his feet. Snape kept him standing, and tapped on the gate.
The metal contorted into a face. "Who goes?" the clanging voice said.
"Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy," the black-haired teacher said clearly.
"State your purpose!"
"I'm returning the master of the house to his family," Snape snapped impatiently. The gate swung open, and the two men, one nearly dragging the other, made their way toward the house.
A dark-haired woman spotted them from where she was torturing one of the Manor's resident peacocks. Quite literally too, considering it was on the ground, writhing. "Well, well, lookit this now," she cackled, lifting the Cruciatus Curse. The poor creature didn't have the strength to get up.
"Bellatrix," Snape greeted. "Where's your sister?"
"She's sleeping."
"And why aren't you?"
"I was a little too awake to sleep, you know how it is, I expect." Bellatrix scowled at the sight of her brother-in-law. "Ew, he's filthy. The house-elves'll have a fit, all of them! And when Cissa sees those rags, she'll faint!"
"You're right, Bellatrix, Azkaban robes look much better on you." Snape rolled his eyes and supported the wizard up the front steps.