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tamingthemuse2006-09-01 01:40 am
dedra.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2006-09-01 01:40 am
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My entry this week is also the beginning of a long fic that I'm writing--it just happened to fit the prompt. The other parts will be posted at my journal, so if you want to continue it, just click on my name or friend my journal!
Title: Savin' Me--Chapter One--Prison Walls
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: None yet
Prompt: Pitch
Rating: PG (so far)
Warnings: HBP compatible--works along with the story written for the 'arcade' prompt, "Never Friends"--no other warnings that I can think of, really
Will be cross-posted at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dramione and dracoxhermione
Savin’ Me
Chapter One—Prison Gates
Of all the seasons, he hated winter the most. This was the second winter he would be spending in Azkaban and he didn’t know if he would be able to tolerate the cold and damp again. It had nearly killed him last year and he’d been strong then; he had weakened with the passage of time and the hopelessness that still permeated every stone of the infamous prison walls, although Dementors no longer dwelt there.
Darkness fell quickly now and the light faded before he had the chance to think twice about it. Soon the room was pitch black, the complete absence of light pressing hard against his eyes. At first he had hallucinated colors and sounds in the dark, but that had been long, long ago. Now he only saw the darkness of the night as it warred viciously with the darkness of his soul. There was never a clear winner between the two, only a minor truce when the gray daylight began to seep through the high barred window.
Once he’d thought he heard her voice but it was only memory and mind playing their tricks. Too many instances she had surprised him, appearing at his side at the most inopportune times to urge him to turn to his victim for assistance.
He didn’t. He never could, no matter how sincere her tone, the pleading in her voice, or ultimately her sobs as she begged him. She didn’t understand family or responsibility or fear. She couldn’t see that all three had been inextricably poured together into a desperate act and a futile attempt to save the only thing he valued more than his own life—his mother.
At his capture, he’d surrendered everything, including all hope. It was then that he’d discovered the truth about his mother’s fate. She was already months cold, her flesh given to Voldemort freely and eagerly by his father, her bones crushed and used for fidelity potions to weed out unworthy Death Eaters.
He knew he should stop dwelling on his past, but it was the nature of the building’s magic to make the interred criminals rethink their mistakes and crimes. He felt something scuttle across the top of his bare foot and drew his legs up on top of the cot, hugging his knees to his chest. It threw him off balance and his bony shoulder blades hit the weeping stone wall with a painful thunk. Closing his eyes and wincing, he realized there was no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. There was still pitch black.
He must have dozed off as he huddled against the wall in the fetal position because voices awoke him and he found himself stiff and sore. He carefully stretched each limb until he was able to stand in the unending gray day as his meal was pushed through the slit at the bottom of the door. He shivered when his feet touched the cold rocky floor and he prayed that today his meal would be warm to try and leech some of the chill away from his body.
He stumbled as he reached for the tray, however, and his clumsiness knocked the tray about, spilling half the contents of the bowl onto the clammy flint beneath his icy feet. He watched as a curl of steam wafted in the air above it and fell to the ground on his stomach, all semblance of pride forgotten as he lapped the hot gruel off the ground. His hands shook as they dragged the remnants of his meal to his mouth, ignoring the dirt and droppings that contaminated it, his only thought to fill the empty hole gnawing at his gut.
His teeth chattered so hard that they clicked painfully on the sides of the clay cup holding his water. Cold, so cold. When he had drained the cup and licked the bowl and tray to spotless he finally pushed it back beneath the door to wait for the next offering, whenever it might come.
He relieved himself in the hole in the corner before turning back to the cot to think once again on the hollow life he was living and the vanities that he no longer cared for. The Aurors found him there, curled in a ball and mouthing words unheard since all prisoners had a silencing charm cast on them from the moment they entered the cells.
The Aurors looked at one another; when they had been assigned this task, they had grimaced at the thought of what the ferret might say to them. With groans and rolling eyes they headed off to the prison to collect their charge, shiny new badges on their chests. For a first task, it was an easy one—collect the prisoner from Azkaban, take him to the parole hearing, return him if he was remanded to custody. Their prior relationship, or lack thereof, was the only thing that made it unpleasant.
The redhead cleared his throat nervously. “Draco Malfoy?” When the prisoner made no response, he repeated, “Draco Malfoy?”
Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he looked up to see his worst nightmare come to life. Potter and Weasley here, staring down at him with a curious look on their faces. Moaning soundlessly, he rolled over to face the wall as he raked his clawed hands through his thinning shaggy hair.
Harry Potter stepped forward and said sternly, “Draco, look at us!”
He threw a terrified look over his shoulder at the imposing figures in black cloaks. Harry stepped back, never having seen that look from those eyes or any other when faced with his presence. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that a person feared him that much. “Draco Malfoy, having served your sentence of one year, one month, and one day in the prison of Azkaban, you are hereby remanded to the court of the Wizengamot for a hearing concerning parole. Please stand.”
Still shaking, he climbed to his feet. Was that still his name? Draco. It didn’t seem right. He wasn’t that person anymore. Was he?
Ron stepped forward to grasp his upper arm and his mouth o’ed in surprise at the bony limb that he wrapped his fingers around. He cast Harry a horrified look before turning to Malfoy and saying softly, “We’re going to take all the spells off of you now, Malfoy, but you’re smarter to not try and escape. Understand?”
Ron received a sharp nod and he lifted his wand to wave it over the prisoner’s head. “Finite Incantatum,” he intoned, and the words that Malfoy had been mouthing the entire time were finally audible to those present in the room.
“…Hermione. I should have listened to Hermione. I should have listened to Hermione.”
Hiding their shock, they led him through the door and to the apparition point, hoping to rid themselves of the disturbing thoughts that crowded their minds as Malfoy's litany continued unabated.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For such a notorious prisoner, the entire Wizengamot was present for the first time since the fall of Voldemort and the trials of the Death Eaters. Still shivering despite several warming charms, Malfoy stood in the iron-spiked cage as it rose to the clamor of the courtroom from the hole in the floor.
He cringed at all the sounds; they pressed against his head and twisted his mind with the pain of it all, the sheer weight of stimulus overload after complete silence for so long. The gavel banging, the susurrus of whispers around him, the booming voice over his head—it was all too much, it made him want to curl into a ball and let the spikes around him pierce his ears to stop the noise. He heard his name and tried to concentrate on the sound alone, finally able to make some type of sense of all this madness.
“Draco Malfoy, having served your sentence of one year, one month, and one day in the prison at Azkaban and lacking the mark of the Death Eater, we will allow you to be paroled if there is one person here that will take responsibility for you and provide you with room and board as you begin your rehabilitation.”
Total silence descended over the crowded room. Wizards and witches craned their necks to see if there was anyone insane enough to take on the highly touted ‘vilest pureblood since Voldemort’. The judge raised his gavel to pronounce Malfoy unredeemable and remand him to the prison when a singular alto voice rang out, carrying clearly through the room and stunning all present.
“I will accept the responsibility.” All heads swiveled to see the petite witch standing proudly alone, her friends to either side of her grabbing at her arms and hissing at her.
“Hermione, sit down and forget this. Remember, we’re talking about the ferret—” came from Harry.
“Have you lost your mind? Bloody hell, Hermione, you can’t trust that prat!” Ron said.
The judge leaned forward to peer at her over his glasses. “Miss Granger, are you certain that you want to assume this task? You have done much for the wizarding world already; there is no reason to submit yourself to the prejudicial bigotry of a pureblood with Mr. Malfoy's history of muggle violence.”
Hermione looked at the pitiable creature in the spiked cage. “I have no qualms about taking Malfoy to hand, Your Honor.”
Malfoy turned carefully in his cage and stared at the woman who was standing almost directly behind him. Amber eyes gazed back at him with more than a hint of compassion in their depths. He saw her chin lift imperceptibly and her eyes flash as she glared down at the Aurors flanking her. Shaking them off her elbows, she said firmly, “I have no doubt in my mind that Malfoy and I will do well together. If you have read the Aurors’ reports on his transport as I have, I’m sure that you will come to the same conclusion.”
The judge sighed and sat back in his chair. “Very well, Miss Granger. It seems, Mr. Malfoy, that there is one who would take you in and assist you to your former position.” The judge leaned forward and his voice became very tight and grave, as did his facial expression. “I would have you know that any difficulties from you will be frowned upon by the entirety of this court. Miss Granger was instrumental in Voldemort’s downfall and is a hero to our society—the fact that she is willing to assist you is…surprising, to say the least. Your history with Miss Granger is well known to this court after the previous cases that we’ve heard. Misconduct will not be tolerated. You will be given instructions and copies of the new laws that have been enacted since your incarceration.”
Banging the gavel once on the high desk, the judge intoned, “I hereby remand custody of Draco Malfoy to Hermione Granger on this, the fifth day of January 1998.”
The door to his cage opened and he fell to his knees, freedom heavier than the shackles that surrounded his ankles. A small hand swerved into his vision and he looked up to see her standing above him, a tiny smile curving her cupids bow mouth. “Come on, Malfoy, let’s go home.”
ETA: Edited to add a link to the next chapter, on my personal LJ--Chapter Two--Open Up For Me...all further chapters will be posted there...thanks!
Title: Savin' Me--Chapter One--Prison Walls
Author:
spikespetslayerFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: None yet
Prompt: Pitch
Rating: PG (so far)
Warnings: HBP compatible--works along with the story written for the 'arcade' prompt, "Never Friends"--no other warnings that I can think of, really
Will be cross-posted at
dramione and dracoxhermioneSavin’ Me
Chapter One—Prison Gates
Of all the seasons, he hated winter the most. This was the second winter he would be spending in Azkaban and he didn’t know if he would be able to tolerate the cold and damp again. It had nearly killed him last year and he’d been strong then; he had weakened with the passage of time and the hopelessness that still permeated every stone of the infamous prison walls, although Dementors no longer dwelt there.
Darkness fell quickly now and the light faded before he had the chance to think twice about it. Soon the room was pitch black, the complete absence of light pressing hard against his eyes. At first he had hallucinated colors and sounds in the dark, but that had been long, long ago. Now he only saw the darkness of the night as it warred viciously with the darkness of his soul. There was never a clear winner between the two, only a minor truce when the gray daylight began to seep through the high barred window.
Once he’d thought he heard her voice but it was only memory and mind playing their tricks. Too many instances she had surprised him, appearing at his side at the most inopportune times to urge him to turn to his victim for assistance.
He didn’t. He never could, no matter how sincere her tone, the pleading in her voice, or ultimately her sobs as she begged him. She didn’t understand family or responsibility or fear. She couldn’t see that all three had been inextricably poured together into a desperate act and a futile attempt to save the only thing he valued more than his own life—his mother.
At his capture, he’d surrendered everything, including all hope. It was then that he’d discovered the truth about his mother’s fate. She was already months cold, her flesh given to Voldemort freely and eagerly by his father, her bones crushed and used for fidelity potions to weed out unworthy Death Eaters.
He knew he should stop dwelling on his past, but it was the nature of the building’s magic to make the interred criminals rethink their mistakes and crimes. He felt something scuttle across the top of his bare foot and drew his legs up on top of the cot, hugging his knees to his chest. It threw him off balance and his bony shoulder blades hit the weeping stone wall with a painful thunk. Closing his eyes and wincing, he realized there was no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. There was still pitch black.
He must have dozed off as he huddled against the wall in the fetal position because voices awoke him and he found himself stiff and sore. He carefully stretched each limb until he was able to stand in the unending gray day as his meal was pushed through the slit at the bottom of the door. He shivered when his feet touched the cold rocky floor and he prayed that today his meal would be warm to try and leech some of the chill away from his body.
He stumbled as he reached for the tray, however, and his clumsiness knocked the tray about, spilling half the contents of the bowl onto the clammy flint beneath his icy feet. He watched as a curl of steam wafted in the air above it and fell to the ground on his stomach, all semblance of pride forgotten as he lapped the hot gruel off the ground. His hands shook as they dragged the remnants of his meal to his mouth, ignoring the dirt and droppings that contaminated it, his only thought to fill the empty hole gnawing at his gut.
His teeth chattered so hard that they clicked painfully on the sides of the clay cup holding his water. Cold, so cold. When he had drained the cup and licked the bowl and tray to spotless he finally pushed it back beneath the door to wait for the next offering, whenever it might come.
He relieved himself in the hole in the corner before turning back to the cot to think once again on the hollow life he was living and the vanities that he no longer cared for. The Aurors found him there, curled in a ball and mouthing words unheard since all prisoners had a silencing charm cast on them from the moment they entered the cells.
The Aurors looked at one another; when they had been assigned this task, they had grimaced at the thought of what the ferret might say to them. With groans and rolling eyes they headed off to the prison to collect their charge, shiny new badges on their chests. For a first task, it was an easy one—collect the prisoner from Azkaban, take him to the parole hearing, return him if he was remanded to custody. Their prior relationship, or lack thereof, was the only thing that made it unpleasant.
The redhead cleared his throat nervously. “Draco Malfoy?” When the prisoner made no response, he repeated, “Draco Malfoy?”
Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he looked up to see his worst nightmare come to life. Potter and Weasley here, staring down at him with a curious look on their faces. Moaning soundlessly, he rolled over to face the wall as he raked his clawed hands through his thinning shaggy hair.
Harry Potter stepped forward and said sternly, “Draco, look at us!”
He threw a terrified look over his shoulder at the imposing figures in black cloaks. Harry stepped back, never having seen that look from those eyes or any other when faced with his presence. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that a person feared him that much. “Draco Malfoy, having served your sentence of one year, one month, and one day in the prison of Azkaban, you are hereby remanded to the court of the Wizengamot for a hearing concerning parole. Please stand.”
Still shaking, he climbed to his feet. Was that still his name? Draco. It didn’t seem right. He wasn’t that person anymore. Was he?
Ron stepped forward to grasp his upper arm and his mouth o’ed in surprise at the bony limb that he wrapped his fingers around. He cast Harry a horrified look before turning to Malfoy and saying softly, “We’re going to take all the spells off of you now, Malfoy, but you’re smarter to not try and escape. Understand?”
Ron received a sharp nod and he lifted his wand to wave it over the prisoner’s head. “Finite Incantatum,” he intoned, and the words that Malfoy had been mouthing the entire time were finally audible to those present in the room.
“…Hermione. I should have listened to Hermione. I should have listened to Hermione.”
Hiding their shock, they led him through the door and to the apparition point, hoping to rid themselves of the disturbing thoughts that crowded their minds as Malfoy's litany continued unabated.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For such a notorious prisoner, the entire Wizengamot was present for the first time since the fall of Voldemort and the trials of the Death Eaters. Still shivering despite several warming charms, Malfoy stood in the iron-spiked cage as it rose to the clamor of the courtroom from the hole in the floor.
He cringed at all the sounds; they pressed against his head and twisted his mind with the pain of it all, the sheer weight of stimulus overload after complete silence for so long. The gavel banging, the susurrus of whispers around him, the booming voice over his head—it was all too much, it made him want to curl into a ball and let the spikes around him pierce his ears to stop the noise. He heard his name and tried to concentrate on the sound alone, finally able to make some type of sense of all this madness.
“Draco Malfoy, having served your sentence of one year, one month, and one day in the prison at Azkaban and lacking the mark of the Death Eater, we will allow you to be paroled if there is one person here that will take responsibility for you and provide you with room and board as you begin your rehabilitation.”
Total silence descended over the crowded room. Wizards and witches craned their necks to see if there was anyone insane enough to take on the highly touted ‘vilest pureblood since Voldemort’. The judge raised his gavel to pronounce Malfoy unredeemable and remand him to the prison when a singular alto voice rang out, carrying clearly through the room and stunning all present.
“I will accept the responsibility.” All heads swiveled to see the petite witch standing proudly alone, her friends to either side of her grabbing at her arms and hissing at her.
“Hermione, sit down and forget this. Remember, we’re talking about the ferret—” came from Harry.
“Have you lost your mind? Bloody hell, Hermione, you can’t trust that prat!” Ron said.
The judge leaned forward to peer at her over his glasses. “Miss Granger, are you certain that you want to assume this task? You have done much for the wizarding world already; there is no reason to submit yourself to the prejudicial bigotry of a pureblood with Mr. Malfoy's history of muggle violence.”
Hermione looked at the pitiable creature in the spiked cage. “I have no qualms about taking Malfoy to hand, Your Honor.”
Malfoy turned carefully in his cage and stared at the woman who was standing almost directly behind him. Amber eyes gazed back at him with more than a hint of compassion in their depths. He saw her chin lift imperceptibly and her eyes flash as she glared down at the Aurors flanking her. Shaking them off her elbows, she said firmly, “I have no doubt in my mind that Malfoy and I will do well together. If you have read the Aurors’ reports on his transport as I have, I’m sure that you will come to the same conclusion.”
The judge sighed and sat back in his chair. “Very well, Miss Granger. It seems, Mr. Malfoy, that there is one who would take you in and assist you to your former position.” The judge leaned forward and his voice became very tight and grave, as did his facial expression. “I would have you know that any difficulties from you will be frowned upon by the entirety of this court. Miss Granger was instrumental in Voldemort’s downfall and is a hero to our society—the fact that she is willing to assist you is…surprising, to say the least. Your history with Miss Granger is well known to this court after the previous cases that we’ve heard. Misconduct will not be tolerated. You will be given instructions and copies of the new laws that have been enacted since your incarceration.”
Banging the gavel once on the high desk, the judge intoned, “I hereby remand custody of Draco Malfoy to Hermione Granger on this, the fifth day of January 1998.”
The door to his cage opened and he fell to his knees, freedom heavier than the shackles that surrounded his ankles. A small hand swerved into his vision and he looked up to see her standing above him, a tiny smile curving her cupids bow mouth. “Come on, Malfoy, let’s go home.”
ETA: Edited to add a link to the next chapter, on my personal LJ--Chapter Two--Open Up For Me...all further chapters will be posted there...thanks!