The Broken Hearted
The broken hearted lie alone tonight. Can this be real?
Ch 1. Who We are
Between the future and the past tense lies the present and the distant.
There was a howling of the wind though the damp and dark corridors of the Azkaban Prison that gave the prison a most unwelcoming feeling. The air hung around something dreadful, and screams of the inmates filled the night, at least that is what Harry Potter was hearing at the moment. He was shivering, it was cold, and he could see white wisps of his breath. A grave knowing feeling settled in his stomach. The place reeked of death, and all that was death, if ever that made sense. It was like there was a non existent clock, ticking down the hours, minutes, and seconds of each day.
Tonight was going to be the same as last night, and the night before that. It was always going to be the same, there was no way around that.
The prison had been the same unwelcoming place that he had always imagined it would have been when he was younger, back when he first hear of the place. A horrid place that changed a man forever. A place where one forgets about the outside world, and is left to dwell on the horrid memories of the past in a nightmarish hell. Azkaban became sort of a final resting place for the pleasant memories, draining them from people, and leaving them with nothing but the bad, nothing but the things that they had wished to forget. A place that reminded them of the things that they had once forgotten.
"It's okay. Forget it."
"No, I shouldn't've"
"There's nothing to cry about!"
"You two are so stupid!"
"Barking mad. Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores…"
Harry let his head rest against the wall and shut his eyes tightly. He clutched his prison robes tightly to his body as he could. Another cold breeze picked up, and ran through the damp corridors, sending shivers down the mans back. Another cold night, horrible night, and he couldn't push away the voices. They were still coming. He wished they wouldn't. He didn't want these memories when there was no one left to share them with. They were gone. All of them, and they were never coming back and the ones that were still here weren't worth sharing memories with.
He could see them all, Katie Bell broken always sat with her knees drawn up, swaying to music only she could hear. She didn't even scream any more only swayed, haunted. Neville Longbottom was the most terrified of them all, his screams along with Terry Boot's screams filled the corridors. There were thirteen of them total, but it was hardest to look at Terry, it was almost cruel.
In the last year before the war they were going out, and it was almost like nothing could have touched them but then the war happened. Death Eaters over took the Ministry of Magic and when Voldemort was defeated at last, sought out to capture and imprison those whom had opposed them. As personal punishment they placed Terry in the cell in front of Harry's. Terry didn't talk now, he clawed at his ears and sides of his face when a Dementor would come and he stared off into space from one corner of his cell, he screamed in the darkest hours of night where the torches went out. He would scream for hours and in those hours Harry would try to sleep.
Kingsley Shacklebot was also in one of the cells, but Harry couldn't see him. Day in and day out he was shouting off orders to dead Aurors who had died during the war. He would try to talk of a plan to Harry, but Harry didn't see the point, and few times he would laugh.
There were no real conversations held in Azkaban among the inmates anymore. Most had lost their voices in screams and some had lost all sanity and spoke of nonsense.
Even now Harry watched Terry in his cell. His hands were at his sides, and he stared tightlipped straight ahead of him into Harry's cell, not looking at anything. He emitted a sort of a gargled sound from the back of his throat as he tilted his head back and brought his hands to the side of his face, his fingers tearing, scratching, and slowly ebbing away at the raw skin there.
"Terry, stop," croaked Harry, leaning his head on the side of his cot. "Stop, Terry. Terry!" His eyes widened and his vision blurred. "Stop, stop, stop, stop. Please, stop," he added meekly, letting his head loll to the other side before curling up and laying on the floor.
Katie swayed faster, but he paid her no mind. He shut his eyes, blocking out the image of Terry clawing at himself, and the wreck of a world around him. He made himself forget in that moment everything that he had been with Terry, he made himself forgot what he and Terry were. The man across from him was nothing more than a shell now.
"Aren't the flowers pretty?" Cooed Angelina Johnson, not able to hear herself properly. She was to Harry's far left. She was delusional. "They're pink and purple now. Whatever happened to the lilies, I wonder?" She screamed at all hours of the day.
If this was life after the war then Harry didn't see what he had been complaining about before the war, all those years at Hogwarts. Those years, those six years spent there were nothing compared to this. Those years were spent with best friends, and normal teenager troubles, saving the school troubles set aside. In those past years his friends were still alive, and they were still able to fight with each other. Now they were buried six feet under.
It wouldn't be until two days did they get their meal, and it was anything but a meal. It was mush and it was always served by the same person. By the end of his first year, Harry had stopped fighting with the Azkaban guards, he had begun to take their insults. Throwing them aside, seemingly unaffected. But he was, in more ways than one could possibly imagine, and only of the guards noticed, and only one took advantage of it now that the Boy Who Lived was no longer such.
That one guard was Azkaban Supervisor and Hit Wizard Draco Malfoy. Harry thought he had such a job because of what a horrible Death Eater he was. He gave Harry his mush last, always, and had words with him. But they weren't words, really.
Malfoy came to a halt in front of Harry's cell and slid the tray under the bars, expecting the man to jump at it, as the others had. He would sneer ever time it didn't happen, and cross his arms. "You're a dead man, Potter," he sneered, leaning against the pillar behind him
Harry licked his chapped lips, cocking his head to the side. "Not yet," he said, his voice barely a whisper, dry and raspy. "I've still got a pulse."
The two locked eyes and Malfoy thought that Harry would pass out at any moment. His lips curled into a sneer. Oh, how he hoped he would. He was the only one of them that made any sense now, and he loathed it. There was nothing for the scarred man now. There was nothing that he could run back to, if he ever managed to get out.
"When, Potter, are you going to die?" Snarled Malfoy, trying to get a flicker of emotion in the other man. It was no use. Harry just let his head fall back against the ball.
He smiled weakly and croaked, "When the screams stop."
Malfoy sneered and turned to walk away, leaving Harry to himself and the company of the other inmates.
"PULL BACK!" Boomed Kingsley from near the entrance, shaking the bars. "Where are the reinforcements? Damnit, we need those reinforcements!"
As he eyed his mush warily he bent over himself to rest his head on his knees, strands of dirty hair falling over his face. He retreated back into himself, allowing the cold to wash over him, and all sound became murmurs. All feeling became numb and he smiled a crooked smile despite himself, allowing himself to realize at last that he was insane as the rest of them. This was the hell that Sirius Black had escaped from, but it was the hell that he would not escape from.
"We don't have any, sir," Harry said faintly, his mouth hardly moving. "They're already out there."
A small house in Wales is also the sight of an imprisonment of sorts. Two years under house arrest can seem very much like prison, mad only worse when the one watching over you is your own older brother. Ginny Weasley couldn't remember the last time she was able to go out on her own before she had been arrest in Ireland and brought back to England. She would fight with her brother like she had never fought with him before. But she remember when she was a teenager, she remembered telling the air around her like she was talking with Harry Potter, she remember saying she wasn't ready to grow up. Not then.
Ginny Weasley, now twenty-one, was very much alone in the world, and had only herself to keep company. Percy Weasley did little for company, and she took every opportunity she could to have a spat with him. All their family was dead, and George was on the run and wanted. To this day, she was still mad at Harry for sending her away days after she had come back from hiding because the war was days away. She had been ready to fight, but silly Harry had pushed her away to keep her safe, why couldn't he have done that for Ron, Fred, Bill, and Hermione, too? They had died in the war, so should she have!
She screamed and she cried for three days straight after being put under house arrest. She cried for all those who were lost in the war, and she scream at her brother and Harry. She screamed out of anger and frustration and sadness and in pain. In Ireland she had watched from the outside as her homeland crumbled, and the death toll kept going up. Brought back she was witness to her world crumbling around her, and reality shattered when she was given all of her remaining things. She tore up her old school robes, set fire to her old books, hid her pictures and her diaries so that only she knew their location. Private things such as those, filled with happy memories of happy times, should be kept private and secret.
There was a resistance out there, somewhere, against the current Ministry, and she was apart of it. They were small in number, but to them that wasn't what matter. They're goal, they're common goal was to get Harry out of Azkaban, and anyone else that they could. She had met with them one day in Diagon Alley when Percy had her come with him on business. She told him that she would be at the ice cream parlor catching up with an old friend.
That old friend was Luna Lovegood who had veiled herself in pretty robes of blue and gray. As part of the Resistance it was Luna's job to fill Ginny in with any updates. They talked seriously for most of the time, over melting ice cream, and laughed away the old days at Hogwarts with their remaining time before Percy had come to collect her. Ginny a waved farewell to her friend and begrudgingly trudged off with her brother.
Back home Ginny watched as her brother fretted over work. Perched atop the stairs brown eyes surveyed the scene. He wasn't old, not any older than she wasn't, a few years. Hell, she had forgotten how old the twins would have been now, how was she to remember his birthday? They only celebrated her birthday, and only because Percy wanted to make his baby sister feel at home. But this wasn't home, and it could never be.
"You said this never hurt you, Ginny," Percy said, looking up from his work. He pushed up his glasses with his index finger. "I've always said that you were a liar."
Ginny clenched her jaw. "You're the liar, Percy Weasley," she spat at him from where she sat. "You chose this, I didn't. You're the one working with them! They killed Mum and Dad, remember? They killed our brothers. My brothers, your brothers, or did you forget that, too? And the one person who tried to make everything right, the one person who tried to put an end to it all is in Azkaban."
Percy, by this time, had turned back to his work, back to Ginny. She was fuming and her eyes were burning, but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. Not in front of him, not anymore. "This is who we are, then, is it? Or is this how they want you to be?" He wouldn't answer her, and when he did it only made her loathe him more.
Tightlipped, and peering over his shoulder Percy asked, "What do you want then, Gin?"
But Ginny couldn't answer him. To answer to Percy now, would to be answering to the Death Eaters and Ginny, not a million years, would never do that.
"I wish you lot would stop moping. It makes me feel like I'm around a bunch of old people," Commented Luna loftily, flopping down on an old, beat up sofa. When Lupin and McGonagall glared at her she simply stared at them a moment before laughing. Of course, she had forgotten, some of them were older.
They were the base for the Resistance, a small house on the outskirts of Wiltshire, but home to more than sixteen at a time it seemed. It was Lupin's home, actually, but for safety reasons, used it for their base. The Ministry knew of them, they were aware of the Resistance building, and growing, but thought nothing of them. They were a small group, after all. Looks, the Resistance found, were very deceiving. They had managed to fool the Ministry quite a few times. After all, it pays to have two former professors and one former Auror on their side.
"Have you heard from Oliver, Cho?" Asked a sleepy Tonks who found herself laying on the floor, using old issues of the Daily Prophet for a pillow. In these times, and ever since the war, her hair was left in brown ringlets, the color and form of her hair that she claimed was her natural hair. She still changed everything about her, however.
Cho Change shook her head before folding her legs Indian style on the her chair. "Not since last week, I'm afraid. He claimed that findings of any other survivors in Ireland were little to none and he was coming home soon. I am hopeful, however."
Seamus Finnigan snorted into his coffee. "The likely chances he'll find anyone there is nothing. They found Ginny in Limerick, didn't they? And that was two years ago. I say they've already cleared of them out, and shoved them in Azkaban with the others."
Having heard this information Tonks stood and went to sit beside Lupin, looking gave. "I've heard from a reliable source that conditions in Azkaban aren't as well as they had been last month. They've all broke and gone mad. Most of them don't talk now. Some only scream and the rest don't do anything."
All the rest looked down into their hands or anywhere but each other. "And what of, Potter?" Ask a weary McGonagall.
Tonks bowed her head. "My source tells me that Harry's - well, he's stopped trying to interact with the others. He wont even have a go at the guards anymore, like he's shutting down."
"Then it's settled," Lupin said firmly, placing a hand atop Tonks'. "We've got to do something."
Luna sighed exasperatedly. "Well, of course we do, silly! We can't just sit here every day like this, can we? Honestly, can you all really be that lazy?"
A/N: Okay, so if you've read my story Serpents Song, this is the squeal. Even though I haven't finished that. This will be probably the only update in a LONG time because I was lucky that I had posted this on my livejournal, but the rest is at home on my computer, alas, I have no internet. So, until I'm either a) able to get internet or b) copy all the chapters on paper, this will have to do. And the same goes for the last chapter of Serpents Song. Oh, and, don't mind any typo's you see, I write without a beta and during the AM.