Little Memories

The pressure in the air from the thunderstorm that was brewing in the nighttime sky caused Charlotte’s head to throb with pain. She hadn’t been punished for the treatment she gave the Dementor, but she would be sure it’d be punished enough by having to explain how she did it. While she knew all the while what she was doing with the Dementor, she wasn’t exactly sure how she had killed it. Furthermore, she didn’t feel like talking much anymore, but she was sure Lord Voldemort would find a way to make her talk and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

She was still sick and she felt extremely weak. Charlotte knew what was going to happen very soon, but didn’t know if she had the strength to leave completely on her own. She knew that others would be apt to help her, because she had been the Dark Lord’s doll at one time and had been in Azkaban for so long they didn’t know of her “falling from his good graces”. Even if they didn’t, she knew Lucius would because his friendship with her parents. She cleared her throat and drew in as much of a breath as she could, staring ahead at the wall in front of her. Charlotte heard Lucius moving around in his cell and knew that he was getting anxious. She had made him aware of when they’d be regaining as much freedom as Death Eaters could have.

No Dementors had dared to pass in front of Lucius and Charlotte’s cell, causing a slight spark of pride to form in Charlotte’s chest. She caused fear in those who should be feared. People and creatures alike should fear her, she believed. She was a monster, a killer with a charming smile. She felt like she had too much power for her age and that if she got angry or emotionally perturbed, she would use that power for horrible uses. It already had been used before to kill all those nameless Muggles and even a few Death Eaters.

Lucius noticed the sickly girl relying on the wall behind her to keep her sitting. Her eyes were glazed over with deep thought, something he previously hadn’t seen in her. They were still as dead as they could be, but there was something deeper within them and he wondered if it was because they were escaping today. He let out a deep sigh as he shifted around in his stall, aching to get back home to his lovely wife, son, and home. It had been far too long since he had seen them and he felt terribly guilty for missing a whole year of their life.

A loud crack suddenly resonated through the whole of Azkaban, catching Charlotte’s attention. Slowly, she crept to the bars of her cell and peered as far as she could both ways down the corridor. Her eyes briefly met Lucius’ in understanding before darting away again. Voices began to murmur from the cells, wondering just what was happening. Charlotte then realized that she and Lucius must be the only ones to know of the Azkaban-wide escape. She let out a dry cough as yells began to erupt from one end of Azkaban. Leaning against the bars of her cell, pressing her forehead to the cool relief of one of them, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she would be out of this God-forsaken place.

Excited yells and whoops of joy suddenly echoed down the long stretches of cells and she heard rusty hinges screech open, having not been open for years. Then she heard the rush of frantic footsteps, eager to be rid of the place, just like she was. They thundered in every direction; toward her, from her, to any logical exit of the fortress. Charlotte felt the bars of her cell give a shudder and give way to her weight; she was free and would soon be back in normal society. Using the vertical bars, she wrapped her fingers around it and used it to pull herself to her feet. Her hips, knees, and ankles ached in disagreement, throbbing to let Charlotte know that she hadn’t stood in days, weeks even. She gave a sharp hiss as she finally righted herself, keeping as much of a grip on the bars to keep her from falling over.

Lucius watched as the girl struggled to keep on her feet, blinking furiously as what little color she had drained from her features. A few inmates ran past them, but Charlotte didn’t budge. She merely stood with her eyes fixed on the floor, as if she were having some sort of internal battle between her mind and her body. She took in a deep breath and pulled back the cell door, stepping into the corridor after making sure no one would carelessly knock her over; not after she had wasted so much of her dwindling energy standing. She brought her eyes to Lucius, who took her by the back of her arm, gently beginning to lead her away from the only place they had seen for days. He made sure to dodge the more insane escapees and would slightly tighten his grip on her when some idiotic person would try to pass then and knock into her.

Charlotte could barely keep up with Lucius as they began to walk. She hadn’t a clue where they were going, or how they would leave Azkaban, but she would leave that for Lucius. Her world was spinning, figuratively and literally, and she wanted to just lay down in a nice comfortable bed and sleep for days. However, she knew with what the Dark Lord had planned, she wouldn’t be getting rest at all. They turned a corner and ducked into a dark alcove as a whole flood of inmates passed, chatting excitedly with one another about the prospects of being freed.

“Charlotte, you need to grip my arm as tight as you possibly can manage until we land back on the ground, okay?” Lucius called over the full out pandemonium that had ensued, glancing warily over at a group of inmates who were pulling the lifeless body of a nameless Auror behind them. Charlotte merely nodded and gripped onto his arm with as much strength she could muster and closed her eyes, wanting it all to stop. She could feel them turn on the spot, then the sickly sensation of being pulled through a tube. In a few moments, her feet landed on solid, damp ground. The air around them was still, yet her head was still reeling.

She opened her eyes and saw that they were standing on the grounds in front of the Malfoy Manor. She blinked once or twice, letting it register that she wasn’t going to be going back home anytime soon, before her knees tried to buckle out from underneath her. Lucius let out a hiss before lifting her back to her feet and guiding her inside as quickly as possible.

Draco lay staring up at the ceiling of his canopied bed, one on his hands resting comfortably on his stomach, the other resting just behind his head as he let his thoughts swamp him and keep him from sleeping. The house was completely still and quiet and his room was nearly pitch black. Thunderclouds rolled ominously in the distances, resonating in the silence before dying off again. The pain hit his chest again and his winced, yet it didn’t feel as stinging or burning as it had previously.

He heard a door in the distance open and slam shut, then muffled yells. He jumped up suddenly, his heart in his throat, and grabbed his wand, bursting from his bedroom door and racing down the stairs in his foyer. The chandeliers above him flickered to life, lighting the corridor as he moved as quietly as possibly. He heard Bellatrix and her dreadful husband behind him, but he paid them no attention. All he knew was that someone was in his house, without permission, and they needed to be dealt with.

“Narcissa,” he heard the weak, drastically aged voice of his father floating up the stairs and froze in his footsteps, “there’s no time to fawn over me being back, we need to get her washed up and well immediately. Take her to the guest room across from Draco’s room.” He heard Bellatrix give a dramatic huff of air and whine about being woken for nothing before two sets of footsteps faded away behind him and two more sets slowly began to walk toward him. He still stood completely still, in complete shock, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage.

As she slowly turned the corner, beings assisted and held up by both his mother and father as a bout of rough coughing consumed her weak frame, his heart nearly stopped beating. He had expected her to not look quite as glamorous or well-kempt the last time he had seen her at Hogwarts, but he was in no way prepared to see the girl that he loved in such a bad condition. The ends of her dirty hair was in knots and her face was ghostly pale. Her face and any other part of her body was speckled with black soot and dirt. Her collarbones stuck out from the top of the rough, grey gown she wore and her hands and feet looked positively skeletal. She looked as ill as she sounded, like she had come inches from death yet again in her young life.

“Draco,” Narcissa spoke in a soft, slightly shaking voice, tears steadily tumbling down her cheeks at the pure emotion that had rushed through her when she had realized her husband had come home, “open the door to the guest room.” Charlotte slowly looked up from the floor when she heard his name, feeling the only bit of emotion she felt since she had shut herself down in Azkaban. When their eyes connected, she noticed the tears tumbling down his cheeks as he stood in front of her, dumb-struck and mouth open, staring at her. She looked away quickly, embarrassed at how wretched she must look, and clenched her teeth against another cough that threatened to tear at her throat.

Draco, as if struck by lightning, spun on heel and quickly walked to the guest room. He tried to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, not wanting Charlotte or his father to see him in such a state of disarray. He heard a dry cough coming from Charlotte as he pulled open the door and took a step back, keeping his eyes to the ground for fear of seeing her in such a state. He didn’t want their eyes to meet again either, because the hollow, emotionless color of them scared him more than anything he could imagine.

Narcissa slowly led Charlotte into the room and shut the door behind the two of them, leaving Lucius and Draco outside of the door. Draco merely stared at the wood that separated him from the person he cared about most in the world before daring a look at his father. He looked sickly, like he had aged a few years in the course of one. His skin was a horrid yellow color and his silvery blonde hair had streaks of black dirt in it. Draco was thankful that he didn’t look as bad as Charlotte, and glad that he was back home, but he also knew what this meant. It meant that the war that he inevitably found himself in was fast approaching, and it’d only be a matter of time before things got much worse.