Written for the Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing Competition - Constellations Theme
Week 3: Pyxis - Compass
He feels like he has been set adrift in the cold sea, abandoned to drown. From his cell, he can hear the unforgiving waves as they crash on the shore, like the waves of despair that are churning in his gut. Navigating either seems all but impossible. He remembers the chill from the perilous journey he took to this forsaken place. This hell where they left him.
Alone. How can he hold on to the light in his soul without her there to guide him and remind him of the righteous path he chose? In this place where darkness closes in on him, every moment of every day, the thought of her is an ember to cling to. But even those memories that help him guard his humanity could be ripped from him if he is not careful enough.
Dementors do not care if you are innocent.
Is he even innocent? She would say he is. The others may want to leave him to rot, but not her. She is all that is right in the world. She is kindness, compassion, fierce bravery and joy. He would have followed her anywhere. She was his compass. She led him through every storm, every doubt. She carried him through a war and for a brief moment, deposited him safely on the other side. Until they tore him away from her.
He can still hear the echo of her cries, her protests, her screams telling him to hold on. She said she would come for him. But day and night blend together here. He no longer knows how long he has been waiting or how much longer he will continue to wait.
Here, time is measured by each new bowl of porridge pushed through the bars in his door. The hours pass by the changing shadows on the wall, a glowing reminder of outside from the small window near the ceiling. The minutes are counted by the crashing waves.
Approaching footsteps, at the wrong time of day, send panic racing through him and he scrambles to make himself small in the shadows of the farthest corner from the door.
No words come, only hands that pull him from the floor, push him through an entryway and gruffly guide him to the end of the long stone corridor. The hands knock on the wooden door and it opens to reveal the most beautiful hallucination he has ever seen.
"Draco!" she cries out as she reaches for him.
The sound is deafening and he shrinks away. Delicate fingers carefully touch his face before reaching up to thread gently through his dirty hair. There are tears in her eyes. Her caress is intoxicating. He wonders if this moment will be torture or sustenance when he is back in his lonely cell.
Another silent pair of hands brings a box, which she shrinks and slides into her bag. Still, he dares not hope.
"Come," she says, holding her hand out to him. "It's time to go home."