Time for another Weekly Drabble challenge, your theme this time is:
Have fun and please use the following form:
Points will be awarded to winners (15, 10, and 5 respectively) as usual.
Time for another Weekly Drabble challenge, your theme this time is:
Have fun and please use the following form:
Points will be awarded to winners (15, 10, and 5 respectively) as usual.
Name: Sly Severus
Coldness and dampness seeped through her thin and tattered robes. It didn’t matter. She had grown accustomed to the cold. After only a few months in Azkaban, she had grown accustomed to almost everything. She was used to vile treatment; it was nothing new to her.
Dementors, however, were a different story. They were the one thing in her prison that she could not bear. She knew she would never grow accustomed to them. And she could feel them coming.
Her cell became even colder. She began to tremble. Soon her thoughts were no longer coherent.
There she was on the floor, at the end of her master’s torture curse.
There she was locked in the basement of Lestrange manor.
There she was watching her sister leave Black Manor forever.
Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She cried out in pain and grief. But her cries went unanswered, they always did. Her worst memories continued to dance before her eyes as the monster outside her cell took away the tiny bit of happiness she managed to cling to.
After what seemed like a century her thoughts began to return to her. She felt as though she was in charge of her mind again. Cautiously, she opened her eyes only to see the black robed creature walking away.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She has survived another attack and she still knew who she was. The Dementors had failed to destroy her, yet again.
They can torture me forever, she thought. I won’t be destroyed. I can’t be destroyed. I am Bellatrix Black.
“Must hide, must hide. Can’t allow them to have them. They’re mine,” the blond man panted as he ran around his damp, cold, drafty, and tiny cell. He ended up in one corner of the dingy prison, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest as he rocked nervously back and forth. The young man looked wildly around the dark walls, blankly staring into space as if searching for an invisible tormentor, the frantic whispering the only sound his lips made.
His grey eyes darted quickly back and forth, chewing nervously on his fingers which had been bitten down to the nail bed. His once pale, silver hair was now matted with mud, and dull.
“Must hide, hide….Mine. Hide. Mine,” he cried agonizingly. Suddenly, he took a sharp intake of breath as he felt their presence hovering outside his door. He began to shiver nervously, silent tears streaming involuntarily down his pale face.
Almost cruelly, an image flashed before his eyes: a young girl with dirty blonde hair, and shining brown eyes running through a meadow, laughing freely with no care in the world.
“No!” he screamed in panic. “It’s mine! You can’t take it you filthy bastards!”
Desperately, he tried to pull the memory of his daughter back.
“Daddy! Mum and I have missed you,” she cried, flinging her tiny body into his open arms, peppering him with kisses all over his face.
“You have poppet?” he grinned, squeezing her extra-tight not knowing when he’d see her again or his wife: Hermione Granger-Malfoy.
Memory after memory flashed before his eyes of his mismatched family as they were slowly pulled out of his mind: Hermione giving birth to his son; their secret marriage at Grimmauld Place; the first word his daughter learned, ‘dadda.’
Draco’s anguished cries of desolation echoed through halls of Azkaban as he was unable to maintain a grasp on the significant moments that defined his life after sixth year.
“Mine…mine…,” he quietly whispered after the Dementors had moved on to the next poor soul.
A stoic silence followed as the once proud Slytherin sifted through his remaining memories. As he found the one he was looking for, a calm washed through his mind and a smile graced his lips.
“Mine,” he sighed softly, hopelessly holding on to the flickering memory of love he guarded so jealously with his slowly decaying life.
“Hermione,” he whispered, a ghost of a smile flitting through his lips.
I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!
Otherwise, so long, and thanks for all the fish!
Name: Blinded Moon
Title: After the Transformation
Once upon a time, I was as human as can be. I was a child and then I was a teenager and then I was an adult. Things for me were like things for everybody else. But then, something went wrong. I don’t remember exactly what it was, as much of my human life was shrouded in mystery. I remember the feelings of a constant hole under my feet and a persistent falling sensation that gripped me. For awhile, my heart was a bottomless pit, with nothing and nobody. But then, when I thought it would go on forever, I reached the bottom and my heart smashed. Now, instead of being empty, it just didn’t exist anymore. There was nothing left.
I woke up the morning to find that I was almost gone. My body had shriveled up, like it had sat in some polluted brine for years, and my arms and fingers had lost all of their meat. My eyes and ears were gone, so my sense of touch and taste were all that remained in me. My mouth had become some giant circle. I wasn’t a human anymore. I had nothing left. So this nothing left me and I became a Dementor.
Embarrassed of my figure, I grabbed a black cloak and wrapped myself in it, never intending to remove it. I felt like I was always surrounded in some misty day. I fled from my home and noticed that my name was in the obituaries. The cause of death wasn’t listed.
In my new form, I felt a need to go back to being human. I felt as if I needed to regain my soul, my mind, everything I lost. And that the only way of becoming human again was to steal these things from one that is still human. We are fed the souls of the criminals who don’t deserve them, but they never feels like enough. We all wonder what it’s like to take an innocent soul, and we wonder if it will make us human again.
For that’s all a Dementor really wants.
Title: Going Under
Word count: 461
“Filthy beasts… I hate you…” he whispered, his voice disappearing in the dark. “You will never have my soul… I’ll die first.”
His voice echoed in the small empty cell, and only obscurity stared back at him. Sitting in the corner, the weak famished young man held his legs in a vain attempt to feel more secure, to feel that he still owned something that no one could take away from him.
Yet, that was an illusion. Azkaban was a godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere, ruled by the foulest of creatures: Dementors. There was a reason why the wizards avoided to even think about them.
Dementors… Those things didn’t deserve to exist. How could God allow such creatures to exist? Creatures that would rob them of the only thing they had left. Joy? No, joy had left them even before than hope… It was their sanity what they slowly took away, in an agonizing wound slowly bleeding.
And his thoughts… always so confusing, always so painful. He could not even trust in his own self anymore. He didn’t own his mind anymore.
The young man brushed the dirty pale yellow hair away from his eyes, even when they were useless in the pitch-black. He could still remember why he had gotten there. It was the only thing he had left; the reason why he hadn’t lost his mind yet.
Suddenly, he felt the ominous chill running down his back and tears began pouring from his wide open eyes. They were coming.
“Leave me alone! What else you want from me?” he shouted with hoarse voice, trying to fight off the worst memories of his life.
"I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"
“GET AWAY!” the man screamed before broking down.
Two Dementors at the door of his cell stood silently, and yet, the screams inside his head were deafening. His very blood felt like ice daggers tearing him apart from the inside.
His screams began to overpower the ones inside his head but not quite.
‘Let me die. Please, God, let me die! I want to die!’
Almost miraculous, the Dementors slowly moved away, and the little heat he had left tardily returned to him as he recovered his breath. Drops of sweat crowned his forehead, and tears adorned his cheeks. And lying in the floor as he was, he cried in agony. He cried for his fate, for how things had turned out to him.
Slowly, his hand pulled out something from his pocket.
As she drank from the vial, the only happy thought left was that at least she would have her son’s name just above her… in her gravestone.
This drabble was inspired in the song "Going Under" from Evanescence. I really liked the outcome! I don't know why. I hope you enjoy it, too!
Title: Very first fanfic (first drabble, first everything!)
This was not looking good. Although the Polyjuice Potion glub-glubbing away in the deep iron cauldron seemed close to identical to the batch the Trio had surreptitiously whipped up in their second year, Ron had a distinctly uneasy feeling about this new experiment. Not full blown terror, but the sort of feeling sometimes experienced when you'd just settled onto the Knight Bus for a journey, but couldn't quite remember warding the door as you left home.
Harry, on the other hand, was so obsessed by his pursuit of the treacherous Snape that he had hurried the potion preparations as much as possible, and was even now hoping to shave a few minutes off the final additions, get their flasks filled, and be off in pursuit of Dumbledore's Downfall.
"About thirty more seconds, Harry, and then we're right to add the hair" Hermione began bracingly, glancing quickly up at his grim, drawn face. Harry reluctantly dropped his hand, which had been threatening to drop in the precious vial. "Why on earth would you want to be a Malfoy - particularly the senior one - for any longer than you have to?"
It was nothing short of miraculous when Remus Lupin had managed to procure a dirty silk cravat belonging to the incarcerated Lucius Malfoy, and then smuggle it past the continued Ministry security check-points into the Burrow. Lupin had not wanted to be let in on their secrets, preferring to be able to plead innocence to Molly at some later stage if needs be. But with hairs carefully culled from the material, Harry saw his best chance of getting close to Snape. Close enough, perhaps, to strike.
"Right-ho, Harry, bombs away." Hermione gestured at the cauldron.
"You'd have thought it'd be blonder, eh?" mused Ron, as the addition of the hairs turned the mixed tar-black, and vapid silver tendrils rose from the surface.
"Must be for his black heart." quipped Harry, downing a beaker-full, and waiting for the literal gut-churning he remembered from the last time.
"Wonder what Lupin had to do to get this out of Azkaban?" Ron turned to Hermione, "I mean, it's not like he was Malfoy's best mate, or anything, why would the let him in for a visit ... What's wrong with you?" Hermione had gone the colour of Hedwig's feathers, and the room seemed to have frozen. She raised a shaky finger, pointing over Ron's shoulder, as the horror played out in reflection in her eyes.
"Ptolemy’s Pyjamas!!! That wasn't a Malfoy hair....."
There, terrible to behold, clutching with long scaly fingers at Harry's glasses, towered a Dementor.
Title: Born Again
Another one had been buried in the yard outside of Azkaban prison. One more of the soulless dead; victim of the Dementor's kiss. As time went by, there were more and more of them. Witches and wizards sitting in their cells without their thoughts to keep them company. Not even really waiting. Merely taking up space until they died.
But this one was special. Not to the world at large. She had been just another Death Eater. The Dementors were the excited ones. For the time had come to bring another Dementor into the world.
Years ago, the kiss had been given, and her soul taken. But something had been left in it's place. A small piece of the horrible magic that was the Dementor. Left to thrive in the waste that had once been a human being, it had stayed dormant during the half-life. But in the rapid decay that took place after her death, it had awoken and thrived.
Feeding off of the decay and despair that is the aftermath of the death of such a one as her, it slowly grew stronger. Day by day, it gained in strength, shaping the corpse to fit its twisted nature. Twisting sinew and stretching bone. Wrapping the shroud around itself for a cloak. And finally the transformation was complete.
With nothing left to feed on, it soon grew hungry. But it was far from weak. The hunger drove it to seek escape from the small box that it was trapped in. Though none were there to see it, the new Dementor rose from the grave, careful to make its bed before departing, and glided off into the night to feed.
Warnings: Er, character death mentioned
Word Count: 392
Title: Someone Else
Whenever he sees a Dementor, the world seems to collapse on top of him.
He is pressed together, squeezed until he can’t breathe. He breaks out in a cold sweat, which prickles as it drips down the back of his neck slowly. And then every time, inevitably, the tremors start. They come slowly at first, but then more violently, as if he is shaking the happiness out of himself.
It is the sadness that manages to stay. The horrible memories that cling to his brain, refusing to be thrown from him. But it isn’t as though he expects anything different.
This is what Dementors do, he thinks to himself. Suck happiness away, leaving only pain.
There is one memory that is adamant about not leaving his mind, no matter how hard he shudders. It is the day he remembers everything about. The day he tries in vain to forget. It is this day that the Dementors force him to relive.
The memory is just one scene, replaying over and over again, as if a broken film is running throughout his mind. His father’s shouting, his mother’s pleading, and then, the unmistakable flash of green light, light so bright it blinds him.
And as quickly as it starts, it stops. Then, for a moment, for just one glorious moment, he will think it is over. That the memory has stopped, and the Dementors are gone, and he won’t have to remember it anymore.
But then it begins again; the Dementors aren’t quite finished stealing the happiness from him. And this time will somehow be more painful than the last.
It is for this reason he desperately hopes that they will catch Sirius Black soon. He is not sure how many more times he can stand to take the long way out of the castle, just to avoid the Dementor standing at the front entrance.
He is not sure how many more times he can stand to watch his mother die.
Once, he thinks bitterly, was more than enough.
Until they catch Black, however, he will pass the foul creatures constantly. The world will keep crushing him, killing him, and the happiness won’t return. The lights around him won’t be as brilliant, and he won’t ever feel warm.
And until then, whenever Theodore Nott sees a Dementor, he will wish he is someone else.
Title: His Worst Memory
Warnings: Character Death
Word Count: 267
and this one...His mother dead. His father, in a drunken rage, hitting him. Arguments, fights, alcohol, being bullied.
Severus Snape hated the Dementors. He had enough to dwell on in the present without the added memories the Dementors caused. If he had to watch his mothers death one more time, he though he would go mad. He nearly had the first time.
Trying everyway he could to block out the bad memories, Snape walked past the Dementors. He couldn’t block them, they came streaming back into his brain as he passed the silent sentinels at the gates.
One moment she was there, the next, she was on the floor. Snape ran to her, almost in slow motion, unable to get there quick enough. She was on the floor, pleading him to send for a Healer, bleeding all over the floor. How could one person hold so much blood?
And he was there too, behind Snape, holding a shattered whisky bottle in his hand. Laughing, drunkenly laughing at his wife dying. What kind of man could do that? His father.
Snape tried to help her, shouting all the healing spells he knew, amongst his tears. It was no use, she was gone before he could help her. The Healers arrived too late. She was dead.
Past the Dementors now, Snape was freed from his memories. That had been the wors moment of his life, hidden away in the darkest recesses of his brain, kept there by Occulmency. But that couldn’t keep the Dementors out. They would still be able to access it, forever. And every time, he would relive it.
Word Count: 175
Crouched in the corner of his cell, Sirius Black repeated the same two word over and over again.
I’m innocent. I’m innocent. I’m innocent.
It wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t take it away, like they had his happy memories. Memories he thought he would never see again, like Lily and James’ wedding, pranks at Hogwarts, just being able to walk around.
Twelve years of this. His memories leached away slowly but surely, as the Dementors outside his cell sucked them greedily from him to feed their desires. It had left him with his worst memories, his time in the Black household, a place he hoped to have left forever.
But they couldn’t take away the fact that he was innocent. It wasn’t a happy thought or a happy memory, it was hope. A hope that his innocence would be realised, not just by the Ministry but by those Peter had hurt. Harry. Remus. Dumbledore.
I’m innocent. I’m innocent.
And despite the presence of the Dementors, Sirius Black had hope. He was innocent.
Warnings: Erm... darkness?
Title: I'll get rid of you
A Black is always dark… A Black is always dark… A Black is always…
“I'm not dark! Shut up!”
The shout erupted from a small cell and echoed off the damp walls. The wind roared outside; huge waves crushed against the walls of the castle. The salty smell of the sea filled in the dungeons through the thick railings; but the residents of Azkaban were here for so long to notice it.
Inside the cell, on a thin layer of hay, sat Sirius Black. His long hair swept the floor as he rocked back and forth in an uneven rhythm, his head slowly hitting the bars.
All of a sudden, he stopped. His eyes snapped open as he stood frozen for a moment before crawling backwards, sinking to the furthest corner of the cell, and throwing his arms around his head, as if to protect himself from something.
“You’ll never get me,” he whispered into his battered robes, his muffled voice lost in the roaring of the storm. He raised his head a little and stared at the candle on the wall as the faint yellow light began to tremble.
“I’ll get rid of you,” Black whispered through the fading light, “I’ll get rid of the voices in my head; I’ll get rid of that traitor rat. I’LL GET RID OF YOU ALL!”
The candle-light died away.
Black began to tremble madly as if the little flame on the wall was what kept him warm. He took a deep, shaking breath, and then, his form began to change. Seconds later, a big, black dog was standing in his place. Trembling, it curled in the corner and put its paws on its head. The darkness was getting more and more intense with each second; the cold becoming more and more biting. Something was happening; the sound of the storm was now muffled, as though an invisible quilt was being put upon the dungeon. Images were flooding into the dog’s mind; a stag and a werewolf; a boy screaming in pain on a dusty floor, a boy shouting at it angrily, a red-haired woman shooing it out of a house… the dog had bad memories, and they were coming to surface. It whined, in cold, in sweat, in the grasp of bad memories and in despair; it raised its head as if to howl, but didn’t. An instinct told it to stay quite. Biting its tongue, the dog obeyed.
Two long, hooded figures swept past the cell. The farther they went, the easier it became to breathe. An invisible hand turned the volume back on; the roaring of the storm re-filled the dungeon. The candle flickered alive, and the little warmth the walls provided returned.
But the dog remained. It raised its head from its paws and stared at the light. And then, slowly, surely, it walked through the bars, and slipped out of the cell.
Somewhere in the dog’s mind, a voice echoed:
I’ll get rid of you all.