Look Alive, Sunshine

Emma’s mother, Lisa Harker, heard last about the recent events in her daughter’s life. She was only told Emma had gone missing for no apparent reason months ago. As Emma’s mother, of course, that simple answer just didn’t do. She went for months knocking on the Ministry’s door, trying to gather whatever else she could about her daughter’s disappearance. She persisted as a only mother can, yet no one answered her pleads. The Ministry, after all, is no place to ask questions, specially if you’re a muggle. Though not openly, prejudice against muggles and muggle borns still runs deep in some areas of the British Ministry of Magic. Wizards looking for answers rarely get them, muggles never do.

She received the news the morning after Emma’s sentence. A large owl flew in through an open window of Lisa’s small cottage, dropping a white envelope just as she ate breakfast. The old, fragile woman reached over her plate and grabbed the piece of paper. Her eyes immediately went to the golden ‘M’ stamped on the seal.

The note was simple.

To Whom It May Concern:

This is a note from the British Ministry of Magic. The witch known as Emma Harker has been detained and sentenced to serve her time in Azkaban. If you have any further questions regarding Ms. Harker’s case, please feel free to write to the Department of Law Enforcement, or visit them during regular hours.

Thank you for your time.

After reading the owl she didn’t know who to go to first, her daughter or Albus Dumbledore. If anyone could help get Emma out, it was Albus. He aided Lisa in the past. After she regained her freedom, Albus helped her find a place to stay, accommodate to her new life in the strange wizarding world, and once Emma was old enough, stepped in to make sure the girl was accepted into Beauxbatons Academy. He was her guardian angel.

She didn’t want to abuse of Dumbledore’s kindness, but Lisa was in a very desperate position.

Lisa walked to the only bed room in the small house, and opened the drawer in her nightstand to look for pen and paper. Just then another owl flew in, dropping an envelope with the Hogwarts crest on it.

Lisa opened it and read.

Mrs. Harker,

I write you upon receiving word of Emma’s recent arrest.

I expect you planned on contacting me upon being informed. I am unable to leave Hogwarts due to the Triwizarding Tournament taking place. However, I have already taken action, and written to the head of the Auror Office and to the Minister of Magic, and an acquaintance of mine, Cornelious Fudge. If there is any insight gained from either effort, I will surely let you know.

Lastly, it pains me to inform you that within ours of Emma’s arrival to Azkaban, she was placed under solitary confinement, and will not be recievig visitors for the time being. You will receive another owl from the Ministry as telling you when you’ll be allowed to see her.

No matter how dark times seem to be, remember that you’ve raised a strong woman. She will get through this, as will you my friend. If there is anything else I can do for you, do not hesitate.

Best regards,

Albus Dumbledore.

Lisa broke down crying. Albus’ encouraging words did little to reassure her. After months of worrying over her daughter’s condition, she’d just lost the little hope that was left of ever being with her again.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Great Britain, Emma rocked back and forth, trying to remain conscious. She spent the last six hours shackled to a dementor, in the confinement room. Unlike the other cells in Azkaban, this one was heavily guarded, and covered with all sorts of hexes and curses. There was always to be a dementor inside it to keep the prisoner company, which in her opinion made solitary confinement false advertising.

The room was reserved for the trouble makers of Azkaban, those who would still find it within themselves to cause noticeable ruckus in the middle of hell. Those like Emma.

After going through the first few stages of grief, Emma reached anger. If they were going to lock her up, for Merlyn’s beard, they were going to be aware of it every second. Using the little energy left in her, Emma cursed weak, wandless jinxes, which did little other than cause some shacking or loud cracking.

The guards weren’t too with her. “Ey, shut in there!” One of the caretakers yelled, kicking the wooden door of her cell. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret!”

In retrospect, she should’ve listened. Prisoners don’t get many chances in Azkaban, and Emma was not the exception. She begged for forgiveness the whole time she was conscious, even trying to bargain her way out. Her old cell seemed like a day at the spa compared to this. Slipping out of consciousness from the constant exhaustion was the closest she got to a break.

As the dementor towered over Emma slender, cold, dirty body, she held on to the memory of warm breeze blowing through her, as she spend easy summer days in her mother’s home. That type of freedom she missed the most.

Little did she know, it would be a year before she could feel fresh air again.