Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.
House: Hufflepuff
Category: Short story (The fourth allowed entry for prefects.)
Prompt: "Dementors [Creature]"
Word Count: 2215
Title: Dear Miss Jugson
Well, this was kind of depressing to write, but that's my specialty. Diana Jugson and John Penrose are original characters. This is written in Diana's perspective. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Happy reading!
When I first saw the Dementors, I was seventeen years old. I was visiting my father in Azkaban for the first time since his arrest. I remember being taken onto a boat that rocked dangerously on the dark ocean waves. I could see the outline of the Wizarding Prison in the distance, and I repressed a shudder. The sight was horrifyingly real; the stories I'd heard and pictures I had seen did not do the structure justice: It was far worse than I ever knew.
I looked down at the waters below, seeing my own reflection on the black surface. My waist-long blonde hair was falling out of it's elegantly braided bun. My blue eyes were large, and I knew even then they were more haunted than they should've been. I knew I looked like my father, with my pointy nose and pinched face. I scowled and shook my head.
I was surrounded with Aurors, including the famous Harry Potter. His eyes reminded me of my own, not in color, but the emotions that swam through them. We were both forced to grow up too fast, I concluded. The others in the boat had their wands out, their breath rising in puffs as we neared Azkaban.
The boat landed on the rocky shore with a thump, and, so far, we had not spoken a word to each other. Everyone was silent as Auror Potter cast his Patronus. The others murmured the same charm, animals bounding merrily from the tips of their wands. I was taken aback by the beauty of each, though none were as stunning as Auror Potter's. I felt bitter and angry inside; How could he have such a happy memory when I couldn't recall one moment of pure joy in my life? The air around me warmed considerably and I sighed in relief.
"Stay close to us, Miss Jugson," Auror Potter turned to me, his eyes soft. I nodded stiffly. As if I would run off to the clutches of the Dementors.
As we neared the doors of the prison, and I heard someone scream from inside. I looked at the others, alarmed. The red-headed Aurors shared a look with Harry Potter. I believe they were Ronald Weasley and his sister, Ginevra Potter.
"Is that normal?" I asked, hearing how cold and detached I sounded. Ginevra Potter lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I flinched; I wasn't used to being touched. She dropped her hand, looking saddened.
"It's not unexpected," Harry said, his handsome face twisted into a bitter frown. I gritted my teeth at his response, straightening by back and setting my shoulders.
"Take me to my father," I said, and I saw his eyebrow raise in surprise and…. respect? He nodded to the others, and they pushed the large black doors open. I followed the Aurors down the dark, cold halls. They led me through a maze of moss-covered stone walls and slippery floors.
I felt myself shiver despite the heat from the Patronus charms when I saw the shadows move. I knew without having to think that those were the Dementors, that they were the ones who preyed on fear and hate. It was like staring into the darkness, trying to see movement, only to realize that something was looking back. I drew a shaky breath and focused instead on the stag Patronus ahead of me.
The Aurors came to a stop outside of a cell, the silvery animals illuminating a shivering figure inside. Ronald Weasley put his hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me towards my father. Harry opened the door of the cell with his wand, holding it open for me, allowing me to pass through. I stepped inside and heard the gentle click of the door closing behind me.
I slid to the floor beside my father, remembering when he used to pick me up and swing me around the room. I was fully aware the Aurors could see me through the bars, but I didn't care.
I hesitantly put my hand over my father's.
"Daddy," I whispered, and my father jumped into a sitting position, disbelief and horror written on his face.
"You're not real!" His voice was hoarse. From screaming or lack of use I couldn't tell. I took a shuddering breath, and scooted closer to the broken man in front of me.
"Daddy, I'm here," I said, putting my hands on either side of his face. He froze and I took the opportunity to kiss his forehead. "It's okay. I'm here," I whispered to him, a small smile graced my lips. My father leapt forward, pulling me into a tight hug. I gasped at the sharp feeling of his bones.
"My baby girl," he said, his voice thick with tears. I felt his body shaking, and I pulled away from him. He sighed. I shook off my royal blue cloak and wrapped it around him. I took this moment to observe him.
His hair was long, much longer than he ever liked, and it was greasy and tangled. It hung around his shoulders, framing his sunken, hollow face. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was pale. His clothes were ragged, hanging off of his body. I choked back a sob and pulled out my wand. I heard the Aurors hiss a warning, and knew they were pointing their wands at my father.
I performed a cleaning spell on my father's hair, and cut it to his ears as he stared at me with glossy eyes. He didn't move until I was finished, and I looked back at Harry Potter, handing him my wand. His eyes were steely and focused, as if expecting my father to attack at a moment's notice. I slipped my wand through the bars of the cell, and Harry pocketed it.
I looked back at my dad and launched myself into his arms, feeling tears fall from my eyes.
"Daddy, I'm so sorry. I missed you so much," I said, closing my eyes.
"Please don't let me wake up," I heard him whisper. A sob escaped my throat.
"Daddy, you're not dreaming!" I wailed, holding him tighter. He kissed my forehead and rocked me back and forth.
"I love you so much, darling. I never told you enough," he said, his chin resting on my head.
"Dad, you're a great man. I know you love me," I told him, trying to catch my breath.
"Please don't leave me. Don't let me wake up," he begged. It felt like someone had shattered my heart, taken a bit of my soul. My father thought I wasn't real. He thought I wasn't there, that I wasn't seeing him for the first time in five years.
"Never," I said quietly. I remembered then that he used to throw me into the lake, and I would laugh with glee. He would jump in after me and hoist me onto his shoulders, and I would splash his face while he walked to the shallow part of the lake.
He used to pick me up from the Hogwarts Express at Christmas, making me sit in a trolley as he pushed me through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-quarters. I would laugh and scream in delight while clutching my cat to my chest. He did that every time, even when I insisted I was too old. I realized then that he'd only done that twice.
"I love you," I told him, pulling away from him to hold him by the shoulders at arm's-length. He had tear-stains on his face, as I knew I did, too.
"Are you happy? Have you found someone in your life to make you happy?" He asked suddenly. I closed my eyes and used all my courage to smile at him. I nodded.
"I'm happy," I lied.
"How's your mother?" He asked. I swallowed the lump in my throat, thinking of the woman who died when I was five. I didn't feel the need to remind him of that, though.
"She's sorry she couldn't come," I said, noting how his eyes lit up. I felt a sharp pain run through my heart at the sight. I knew then that my father was not the same man he was when he first entered this cell. I knew that he was insane, driven there by the guards of Azkaban.
"I have to go, daddy." I stood abruptly, brushing off my dress. He looked up at me, a warm smile on his face, and my heart melted.
"Come back soon?" He asked hopefully, his eyes wide.
"Of course," I said, taking in one last look at my sickly father, wearing my cloak and his own torn clothing. I cleared my throat and stood in front of the door, not glancing back as I stepped through.
"Get me out of here," I said roughly to Harry. He nodded in understanding, then started down the hallway. I heard my father calling out to me as Harry gave my wand back.
"Diana! Diana, come back!" He sobbed. I tried to ignore the screams and shrieks he made as I left him behind. We turned through many corridors, and I grew dizzy with it all. I was sick of this place, already wishing I could run away and never look back.
We passed many more cells, each one occupied by a hunched figure, murmuring darkly or praying. I glanced around, eyeing the dark areas that seemed too dark. Areas that seemed to suck the energy from me and absorbed the light instead of allowing it to pass. I gulped for air, feeling confined.
I couldn't say how long it was until we were back in the boat, but I would've jumped over the side right then and there if it would get my father out of that place.
"You know, a lot of them are worse," Ronald Weasley told me softly. I turned sharply to him, looking away from the white foam that blanketed the ocean near Azkaban. "A lot of them are worse," he repeated. I thought of my father, smiling and then crying, ragged and cold.
"What do you mean?" I asked, and drew the attention of Ginevra Potter. She nudged her brother, but he shrugged her off.
"The Dementors. They turn people crazy. Most of the people there can't even have a conversation. Some of them die," Ronald explained, and I closed my eyes. I breathed in the cool, salty air. I felt it whip around my body, taking comfort in it. It felt sharp and steady against my pale skin.
"The Dementors," I said, and opened my eyes to see Ronald staring at me intently, his blue eyes unreadable.
"Yes," he said simply, turning away to look at the self-moving oars. I studied my hands, noticing that my royal blue gloves were dirty. I took them off and threw them overboard. I saw Harry glance at me, but ignored him and watched the silk gloves sink beneath the water. The ocean was like ink, swallowing my favorite pair of mittens, never to be seen again.
I never went back to him. I never went back to my father. As I looked down at the letter in my hands three years later, I was reminded of that.
Dear Miss Jugson,
We are sorry to inform you that your father passed away at three-thirty yesterday afternoon. We would like to arrange a meeting to discuss his last will and testament, as well as funeral arrangements. Would Friday at two o'clock work well for you? If this time is not convenient, please owl us with a time and date by Thursday afternoon. Please inform me of your preferred meeting place by Wednesday morning.
With regards,
John Penrose
I scoffed and scrawled "The Leaky Cauldron" onto the back of the envelope, signed my name, and re-attached the letter to the ministry owl. I sighed and swirled a glass of Firewhiskey in my hand, debating whether or not I should drink it. I snarled and dumped it into a half-dead pot of marigolds. I already mourned for my father, three years ago, when I learned of his madness. I wasn't going to do that again.
I couldn't help but think of the Dementors as I sat on my leather couch in front of a large fire. The way they moved, the way they looked when they sucked out the souls of man and creature alike. I was never prepared to see their dark hoods, or to feel their presence.
I wondered what I would see if they got close. Surely I would see something, I was old enough to remember the war. Maybe I would see the blood spattered onto the doors of people's houses. Maybe the Dark Mark, floating above a burning building.
Or perhaps, I thought bitterly, I would hear the screams of my father as I left him to rot in Azkaban. I sighed, threw my empty glass at the wall and watched it shatter into a hundred shining pieces. I put my face in my hands.
I regret never returning to him. I couldn't bare the thought of letting him go, so I never gave him the opportunity to say goodbye. How foolish of me.