A/N
Weekly updates. Sorry. DX
Happy Thanksgiving (USA)
The wrought-iron gates of Azkaban intimidated me just as they had upon my arrival here, as a prisoner. The stale air greeted my nostrils, much in the same manner that they had that fateful day. Had I never been brought here in the first place, I would not find myself faced with this task now. Yet, it was due to my actions that I was imprisoned.
The lock on the gates seemed rusty, and I feared that by merely placing a finger on it, it would crumble away into nothingness. There was no hole on it. This lock could not be opened by any key or physical tool. I knew it would take much more than a simple unlocking charm to get them open. It might have been from a sort of subconscious knowledge, or perhaps it was just the Felix Felices, but I was feeling quite confident.
I began to look about myself, hoping for some sort of clue of how to get the gates to unlock, how to enter the wizard prison. Nothing around me seemed to reveal any sort of clue. I squinted through the bars of the gate, hoping to find something revealed upon the door.
It really shouldn't have surprised me. In fact, I should have known it all along. There was no door! There is no door! How could I have been so thoughtless? Ministry of Magic employees and the like did not enter Azkaban through a door, the used the Floo network. There was no chance I would get in through this exit, not unless I could walk through walls. Seeing as I was not a ghost, and very much alive, this would be impossible.
I looked up, hoping there might be something in the darkened clouds that would help me in this task. The only sight that greeted me were the bars on the windows of the prisoner's cells. The dismal black of the bars seemed to return to me a negative response, as if to say, 'Sorry, no. This way isn't any good.'
Something caught my eye in one particular window. There was something strange about it. Where the bars were, there was something blacker than black, a sort of impenetrable darkness. Clutching my broom tightly, I swung it under myself and rose upward toward the window.
In the wake of a failure, I had received just the break I was looking for. The dark pit in this particular window was just what I had hoped it would be, a hole. A prisoner had managed to get the bars off the window. But how? Surely this person did not possess a wand any longer. Curious, I peered into the hole. No one seemed to be occupying the cell, which was rather odd. With the tight security measures imposed at Azkaban, one would think that an unoccupied room would be inspected, then promptly filled with another prisoner.
The instant I set a careful foot into the room, a low whimper erupted from the darkened corner to my right.
Or, perhaps they had found the prisoner so pitiful, they did not pay her any mind.
In the corner, huddled into a ragged ball, was a sorry excuse for a witch, no more than a clump of skin and bones, she teetered back and forth mumbling and grumbling to herself, invincible to the coolness of the night air.
"I's innocent, I am. Innocent. Matallia is innocent. But no one believes Matallia." At first, I had feared that this decrepit little witch might create an uproar, that she might scream and yell and alert the guards of my presence. Yet, so mentally ill, delusional in her own little world, she barely noticed me. I tip-toed past her corner, past her dank, moldy mattress, and made my way to the bars of her room.
A few times, while I was at Azkaban, several wizards and witches managed to escape from their rooms. They would run shrieking down the corridors, that is, until a guard petrified them….or until they found themselves face to face with a dementor.
When I did have interactions with other wizards and witches, it seemed as though they all knew how to get out of their cells, some secret knowledge that they were unwilling to share with anyone. Clearly, it was a trend that I never caught on with.
Trapped, it seemed that my only hope was the sorry witch in this cell. Turning about quietly, I slowly made my way to her in the corner. She allowed me nearer and nearer without paying me any mind until I was crouched in front of her. Her eyes were sunken, but to a greater degree than that of Bellatrix, or that of Sirius, from the photograph I had seen. Her skin was wrinkled and gray, and in strange places it seemed almost calloused. Her hair hung limply about her face in colorless chunks.
"Matallia," I said, trying to give my voice a soothing tone. "Is that your name?"
The witch opened her toothless mouth, staring at me.
"I'm innocent!" She whispered harshly.
"Yes, Matallia, I know." She smiled at this.
"Will you release me? Will you end my sentence?"
"Well, I'll certainly try." I hated to lie, but I had no other choice. No one was ever placed in Azkaban by accident. Such processes that yielded mistakes were always rectified.
"Matallia," I continued. "In order to release you, and end your sentence, we need a small piece of information from you."
"Yes, yes! Anything." Her weary face took on a desperate glimmer. It pained my heart, but I ignored it. There were more innocent lives at stake.
"Wizards and witches often escape from their rooms, and go into the halls. The Ministry of Magic finds this to be an irksome thing, and would like to put a stop to it. Would you tell me how they are getting out of their rooms?"
"Matallia has never gone out of her room!"
"I know, Matallia, but the Ministry needs to know," I said calmly, feeling odd at my charade of being a Ministry of Magic official.
"The dementors let them out. Them, his followers…"
"That's absurd." I nearly shouted. "How can the dementors be letting them out? The dementors are typically the ones that catch them."
"The dementors work for You-Know-Who first. The Ministry second. Matallia knows this. All inmates know this. But no one would ever tell. The dementors take action only as a last resort. His followers are given a chance at escape first, a chance to rejoin him."
I took this information in, an idea in my head. So, the only ones that can escape are servants of the Dark Lord?
"So, they come to any Death Eater? At any given time?"
"You have to call them." She whispered.
"Call them? You mean summon them?"
She nodded gravely.
"How do you call them?"
"You must believe in his name, and you must fear it. This is how they have done it."
A flicker of sanity flashed across her weathered face, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come.
"I's innocent, dearie! I swear it on the tongue of Salazaar!"
Standing quickly, I gave her a curt nod. She seemed to realize I was leaving, and that I had no intention of taking her out with me. She leapt forward and grabbed on to my ankle. I tried to shake her loose, but she wouldn't release her hold.
"Take me with you! You promised!"
"The Ministry thanks you for your operation. The assessment of your case is pending, and you will be notified as soon as possible." I tried to keep my voice calm, official. If I was confident in what I was saying, she would believe it.
And she did. Slowly, she loosened her grip around my legs and retreated back to her corner, mumbling 'Thank you, thank you' over and over again.
Turning quickly, before she had another chance to make a grab at me, I crept over to the bars of the gate.
Cautiously, I peered down the darkened corridors. It seemed that the cells on this floor, for the most part, were unoccupied. In fact, this was a rather dank and ignored section of Azkaban. There didn't seem to be any guards around. Guards typically patrolled up and down the corridors, and if one were to have passed by, I would have been yanked out of this cell, to be certain.
Taking a deep breath, and bracing myself for the treachery, the loss of joy I was about to face, I focused on Voldemort's name, on believing it, on believing in it.
"Voldemort," I whispered under my breath, eyes shut tight.
I stood at the bars, grasping tightly onto them, feeling my hands going numb as they wrapped around them. After a moment, I slowly opened one eye. There was no one there. No one, and nothing.
"Voldemort." I tried again, trying to feel more confident. Yet, my voice was cracking, and my pulse was rising. What if I failed? What if I couldn't ven get out of this cell? I had my broom, and I could leave… but what about Draco? And what about me? I certainly couldn't return to the Dark Lord without Lucius. They would torture me, or kill me.
My thoughts flickered from myself, and back to Draco again. What about that poor boy? His soul would be ruined forever. I had to do this. I had to get out of here, and free his father. How could I possibly allow Voldemort and the Death Eaters to stain his soul in such a way?
Fury rose in my veins at the thought of this poor boy suffering for the ignorance of others, and for my failures. Grasping the bars tightly, I pressed my head against them and screamed. My anguish cry reverberated throughout the dank and dreary corridor, with every second I held it, words began to form within them.
"I BELIEVE IN THE DARK LORD! I BELIEVE IN THE DEATH OF ALL MUGGLES! I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR THE DARK LORD TO BETTER THE LIFE OF ONE WIZARD!"
My words did appear to have a double meaning, but sentiment was of no consequence to the dementors. No sooner had the words left my lips than I had begun to feel a terrible chilling within my heart. It traveled through my blood, running down my muscles, and then wrapping around my bones. I was frozen in place, dementors coming closer and closer. When I dared to look up, there were two of them.
Supporter of Voldemort that I was, this did not spare me from the terror they inflicted. With in an instant, I was left to the horrible memories of my past, my dead mother, and Severus. A thousand brilliant images of a younger, handsome Severus began to dance in a ray of light behind my eyelids. Severus holding me, Severus kissing me, Severus telling me that he loved me. Every memory of him felt like a dagger being wedged into my heart.
It was like a pensieve, only more vivid. There was the darkness of the corridor, so real, just like the sinking sensation in my stomach. There was Lucius, and there was the alstroemeria. I felt my body being shifted, to face behind me. And there was Severus. His hands were fisted by his side, anger, or something more plain on his face. I felt myself being flung by him, the flower thrown at his feet. I tried to reach back and grab it, yet it was too late.
In a blur of color and darkness, I was somewhere else. The astronomy tower. When the world stopped moving around me, I found that I could only face my head one direction, down. Albus Dumbledore lay crumpled at my feet, nothing more than a lifeless shell of the vibrant old man that once was. This image burned into my skull, and it was then that I found I could move my head again. A few Death Eaters surrounded Dumbledore in a circle, yet his was not the only body amongst them. Draco was on his knees, at the feet of the old man who was once his headmaster. Sobbing uncontrollably, none of the other Death Eaters stepped in to comfort him. Instead, they praised him.
Their voices amassed together in an undefined roar.
"Excellent job, Draco!"
"The Dark Lord will be most pleased, Draco!"
"All will be forgiven, Draco!"
No one took any notice to his emotion. I tried to reach down and place my hand on his shoulder, yet before I did, he withdrew his face from his hands. His eyes were now full of rage, and bloodlust. He was the picturesque version of the ideal young Death Eater. There was rage in his eyes, and it was easy to see that he would easily slay a thousand Muggles or more given the chance. He had gone mad with what he had done, and he had become what I had feared.
"Draco." I whispered, unsure if he could hear me. "Draco its alright. You had no choice."
He rose, staring directly at me, seeing me, perhaps, but not quite recognizing me.
"The Mud-Bloods will be the first to go! Then those filthy Half-Bloods! Then the Pure-Bloods will be left to rule over those filthy Muggles!"
Horrified at his words, I barely heard an anguished cry from down below.
"MALFOY!" Harry Potter emerged from below, mounting the stairs slowly, as though in pain. This crazed Draco, this unfamiliar child of Lucius turned slowly, wand at the ready. The words were prepared before he was even aware of the other boy's presence. In a flash of green light, I opened my eyes to the new world around me.
I lay on hard stone, pressing into the small of my back in rigid lumps. There was a pain, my neck stiff, and, slowly, I tried to get to my feet.
I was greeted by the familiar surroundings of Azkaban. Though, what a blessing this might be, I was not sure. Anything, it would seem, was better than the alternate reality I had just been faced with. I had to free Lucius, and fast, before this young boy was lost forever.
Lucius, I was sure, would not mind his son being so devoted to the cause of Voldemort, but I was almost certain he would mind the outrageous, almost demented change in his personality.
Everything rushed into focus around me, and I noticed that not only was I in Azkaban, but I was on the other side of the bars! Quickly, I got to my feet, and began to run down the hall. I knew exactly where he was located. Level five. Third cell on the left in the East corridor. Running, I searched the walls for any sort of plaque, any sort of thing that would allow me to know where I was.
My answer came in the form of a grubby sign, falling off the wall. Long-faded numbers revealed to me that I was on the thirteenth level. If I could find the stairs, I might have a chance. Bounding up and down the corridor like this was bound to attract attention. In all my fervor, I was making no effort at all to be quiet. In fact, it was not so much my inability to attempt silence as it was my clumsy nature. Throwing caution into the wind, I began to rush down the stairs. Little did I know that there had been a trap set. A magical barrier was placed before the stairs, how to lift it, I was unaware. I only knew that I had tripped some sort of system, for it wasn't long after I made my way past level eleven that I heard footsteps behind me.
"You, there! What do you think you're doing? Come back here this instant!"
There was a man behind me, and he was gaining on me. Of course, he was not the only one I my pursuit. The capture of a prisoner in Azkaban was not a one-man job. At least a fifth of the security staff was sent out on a mission to apprehend anyone that managed to escape. Climbing my way down to level ten, it was with horror that I realized there were people coming up the stairs. Hastily, I flung the door open and threw myself inside, running with al my might.
If they were storming this stairwell, chances were the one on the opposite corridor was occupied as well. But still, it didn't hurt to try. Quickly mounting the broom underneath myself, in a way only Liquid Luck would allow, I zoomed full speed down the corridor. A left, right, and another left, ignoring the cries and desperate wails of those prisoners still behind bars.
When I approached the stairwell, I reached out to swing the door open, shooting through the crack. I could hear footsteps making their way down the stairs, yet there did not seem to be any coming up….yet. I flew as quickly as the broom would allow, passing down levels much quicker than I had on foot.
Nine…Eight….Seven….and in one sudden, unexpected second, I collided with something. Well, in my unfortunate case, I collided with someone. I struggled to get to my feet, but the person latched on to my leg. Something pricked my ankle….a fingernail? I kicked the person off, a difficult thing to do in the darkness of the stairwell. Throwing myself back against a wall, we both struggled to our feet.
There was something familiar about the lanky stature of the person standing no more than three feet away from me. Before memory was given a chance to make a rapid identification, my attacker lunged at me once more. Jumping quickly out of the way, I managed to escape from his grasp. I had hoped that he would crash into the wall, yet even I wasn't that lucky. With animal-like reflexes, he pushed off the wall and came toward me again. Only the open stairwell behind me, I had to think quickly. Surely he would knock me backward, and unconscious….and what would I do then?
I moved quickly to the side and threw the handle of my broomstick out, stabbing him directly in the abdomen with it.
"Oof!"
There was something eerily familiar about his voice, something my mind encouraged me not to think too much on. Yet while he was on his knees, struggling to quickly catch his breath, I found myself unable to continue to sprint down the stairs, as reason would have me do. I was just two short flights away from my destination.
Instead, I found myself peering into the darkness. Familiar movements...familiar shape…familiar voice….
Only when my attacker began to get back to his feet did I begin to run once more.
"Stop! In the name of the Ministry of Magic stop, I say!"
It certainly wasn't those words that made me stop halfway to the sixth floor, but rather, the confirmation of this man's identity. His voice had filled in every doubt my mind had tried to create to prevent me from staying here, lamb to the slaughter.
I felt him gaining on me. I felt him grab me from behind, one arm around my neck, wand pointed at the small of my back. Startled, I almost let my broom fall from my hand.
"Who are you?" He asked, no kindness nor mercy in his voice. "Who are you? You don't look like any Azkaban prisoner to me. What level are you on? Where did you get that broom?"
"Remus?" Anxiety and disbelief at this turn of events penetrated my voice, cracking it and making it hoarse.
"My name is none of your concern. What level are you located on? I'm taking you back to your cell."
"Remus, is that you?" I whispered. I hoped that he would say no. That it was not him. I hoped he would do anything but confirm what I already knew.
In one fluid motion, he spun me around, facing him. I saw him struggling to see me in the dim light.
He did not recognize me, but I could see him clearly. There were scars on his face, which had once been so beautifully unmarked. His light brown hair, graying…..The vibrant luster of his eyes much dulled. His face was worn, and he looked so very tired. He could not recognize me, but I could see him clearly.
"Who are you? How do you know me?"
"I'm so sorry…"
"…Lucinda?" As fast as my body would allow, I withdrew my wand. Aiming it directly in between his eyes, he made no effort to stop me.
"Stupefy!" Stiff as a board, his arms and legs drew into him, and he could only stare at me, with those weary eyes.
I wanted to stay, to find out how he was doing, to see where his life had taken him. Alas, other guards were beginning to file into the stairwell, and too much time lingered here would get me caught. In my head, I thanked him for allowing me to go free. His one instant of hesitation might have just saved more than my own life tonight.
Turning my back to him, I ran the rest of the way down the stairs. Only when I entered level five did I bring the broom back under me.
I hoped it would all be smooth sailing from here. I knew exactly where Lucius was in relation to my own cell. I just hoped they hadn't moved him since my imprisonment.
Rushing around the complex layout of level five, I finally came across my old cell. Hopping off the broom, I jogged the rest of the way to his cell.
Relief washed over me when I saw the blonde lump in the center of the cell, weary, worn, but just as handsome as he was when he was young. Placing my hands on the bars, I brought myself as close to him as I could get.
"Lucius? Lucius. Get up. You're getting out of here."
"Who are you?" he demanded. "I realize that I might just be a prisoner here, but I do have rights, you know."
"Now isn't the time for unsolicited arrogance, Lucius." I warned. "I'm getting you out of here, as in I'm freeing you. Don't ask questions, just do as I ask."
"My, my… Miss Redbourn, is that you? So feisty in your old age, and here I'd heard you'd dropped off the face of the planet."
I fiddled with the lock on his cell, not wishing for him to free himself the same way I did. The security on this level was much greater than the one I had just been on. The instant he yelled anything, I would be caught, and this would be for naught.
"Drop the formalities, Lucius, and lend me a hand. I'm indebted to you from before, but so help me, if you get me stuck back in here, I'll kill you anyway I can."
"Fair enough." Was there a hint of a smile in his voice? Certainly he wasn't being treated badly. Narcissa was probably paying for it. Anyone would succumb to an offer from the Malfoy fortune. They'd be a fool not to.
Lucius began to get to his feet, to come to the bars of his cell and assist me. Yet, before he was even fully standing, he stopped, frozen to the spot. I felt a cold chill slowly seep from my toes, up my spine, and pierce through my heart.
I couldn't have gotten to that point already, could I have?
Turning slowly around, I found myself peering face to faceless with a dementor. Several others were convening from the darkness, and I soon found myself trapped against the bars of Lucius' cell.
The world around me began to blur, a horrible ripping sensation between my body and my mind, and it was much too late I realized the dementors were beginning to administer their kiss.
Thanks for reading!
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