Little Memories

Charlotte lay on her side in her tiny, damp, and cold cell, the slick cobblestone beneath her pressing uncomfortably into her hip. Her breathing was shallow and ragged and her pallor was pale, almost yellow looking. Her lips were dry and cracked, a few splits deep enough to draw blood. Her eyes looked tired and glazed over, yet the cool, damp felt good on her fevered cheek. Suddenly, her breath hitched in her throat and she let out a loud, rattling cough that burned at her lungs and throat. The horrid noise echoed down the corridors, causing the more sympathetic of the inmates wince at the sound.

When she finished coughing, she drew in a deep breath of air, feeling like she had inhaled hot coals. Charlotte swallowed to try and wet her dry mouth and throat, but found no avail. Her cell fell completely silent after that, spare the rattling noise emanating from her throat and chest. She likened the way she felt to when her heart began to fail. She felt weak, helpless, and bound for death.

Lucius watched as the girl grew ill and was thankful that they only had a few more days left in Azkaban. He knew that she needed medical help as soon as she could possibly get it or she may not live for very much longer. When the occasional Auror would pass by, he watched them, hoping that they would see how desperately the girl needed help. Then again, he doubted they would give that help to her. She was in Azkaban for a reason and wasn’t expected to get out of the fortress alive.

She slid to the floor two days ago and hadn’t moved, but to just take a sip of the dirty water they provided. She barely moved for that, merely feeling around for the cup blindly and taking as much of it in. The water would drip from her mouth and trickle down her face, feeling much like the animal that she felt she had become. Normally, the water would taste like she had just put a mouthful of mud and soot into her mouth, but she was so sick she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she could taste anything in the first place.

On the third day, her body felt heavy and weightless, all at the same time. Her mind would lapse in time and should could never remember when she woke or when she was be sleeping. She no longer felt the aching of her joints or the cold floor beneath her cheek. The cracks in her lips no longer stung. The knots in her hair no longer bothered her. She felt herself slipping away and she wasn’t going to do anything to stop herself from slipping away. If she slept for the rest of her stay at Azkaban, she couldn’t care less.

The wind whipped against the side of the building, filtering through the rusted, iron bars that served as a window, and down to the girl that was curled up on the floor. It rustled at her hair and barely chilled her sweat-slick skin. That was when the shakes set in on Charlotte. Her body was running a fever, but her mind was telling her body that she was cold and therefore needed to produce heat. Her already shallow breathing grew even more shallow and frantic, her lips and chin beginning to shake.

Lucius watched on as the too-thin girl shivered helplessly in the too-thin fabric. He pressed closer to the bars of his cell and try to peer down the lengthy corridor, but he couldn’t see much further than four or five cells down. He grit his teeth in anger of the situation, his fatherly instinct setting in and demanding that he find help for the poor child immediately.

“H-Hello,” his voice feebly broke through the near silence in Azkaban. His once regal sounding voice nearly broke trying to make the small noise. “Hello!” He finally managed to yell and it echoed through the corridor, rousing a few of the sleeping inmates with the sound. “We need help down here! She’s going to die!”

He waited for a few moments for some sort of reply or indication that someone was coming to help. His throat felt scratchy and raw from lack of use, but he pushed aside the mere annoyance as he watched Charlotte, struggling to stay warm and breathe properly at the same time. Lucius’ face curled with disdain before he took in a cold deep breath of air.

“Damn it! Someone better get down here now!” It was then that he noticed the feeling of dread trickling down his spine as his imagination began to sourly run rampant. He imagined the girl his son loved dying in the cell in front of him. He imagined the conversation that would have to happen between him and her parents, with his own son. He imagined the Dark Lord taking out his frustration because of himself on Draco and Narcissa, his beautiful wife that he felt he didn’t deserve at times.

The air around him grew cold and the skin on his arms prickled with the tell-tale sign that something dreadful was coming toward him. He heard the sepulchral rattle of a raspy breath and the slight rush of wind that came with the being that was slowly coming toward him. He heard the disheartening cries of inmates close to him, the sounds growing closer and closer until the Dementor had perched itself directly in front of the two cells.

Lucius shrunk away and pressed himself further toward the back corner of the cell, knowing it was a mistake for him to make such a racket and attract so much attention to the area. He could only imagine what this was doing to Charlotte in her current state. The Dementor pressed as close as it could to the bars of Lucius’ cell, setting it’s eyeless, yet ever-knowing gaze in his direction, merely floating there tauntingly. The cold radiating from it was unbearable, and the sorrow that came over Lucius was far worse than the cold.

Charlotte, who had been facing the opposite direction, felt the presence of the Dementor. Instead of feeling depressed or helpless, she merely felt annoyed. The idiotic thing was causing her to become even more cold and instead of bothering her, it was bothering Lucius for trying to help her. Gathering what little strength she had, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her muscles shook with weakness as she struggled to keep herself sitting, but she ignored it. Instead, she resolutely set her eyes on the Dementor’s back.

In the opposite cell, Lucius barely noticed the sound of movement in the other cell until the Dementor turned away from him. He watched as the figure began to make it’s way fluidly to Charlotte, it’s black, gauzy robe billowing behind in. Instead of prying into her cell like the time before, it stopped in between the two cells. Lucius watched on curiously, glancing into the opposite cell to see that Charlotte had sat up and had a deathly glare focused on the Dementor.

Suddenly, the Dementor began to shriek and wail, shaking violently and uncontrollably beneath its black, gauzy robes. The spindly, bandaged fingers stretched out futilely toward Charlotte, the other hand clutching as its would-be throat. The sound of crunching and snapping bones broke through the air, inciting louder shrieks from the Dementor as the air suddenly grew heavy, yet very still. Then, in a flash, the Dementor gave a bone-chilling wheeze and crumbled to the ground, laying there motionlessly. The heavy feeling in the air lifted immediately and the dreadful feeling dissipated.

Lucius watched in horror as Charlotte stared down at the motionless body of the Dementor, no sign of remorse or pride on her face. Her eyes were blank, her mouth was slightly open, and her body still shook with the cold. She blinked once before collapsing to the floor again, her eyes remaining locked intently on the apparently dead Dementor. Her breathing sounded more labored than ever and her lips appeared to have a bright blue tint to match the color of her eyes.

“We’ll be back soon enough, Charlotte. I promise,” was all that Lucius managed to get out past all his confusion and fear for what had just occurred.