Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together
Keep breaking me in
And this is how we will live
With you and me bent
--Matchbox Twenty, "Bent"
A crisp breeze ruffled the brown, dead leaves that speckled the white terrain surrounding Hogwarts. The clouds were almost dark as charcoal, as if emphasizing an ominous feeling floating in the air.
Hermione Granger shivered and hugged her arms about herself, bouncing on her legs in an attempt to stay warm. Her hair fluttered in her face as the wind moved to disarrange it. She cast a furtive glance at the woman standing beside her, and marveled her composure.
Merinah Gattes stood in a short skirt and suit jacket, while Hermione wore jeans and a thick wool jacket. Yet as Hermione shook and jumped about to stay warm, Merinah merely sat on the wooden bench, legs crossed and hands folded primly in her lap. Her hair barely shivered in the perpetual breeze and her large blue eyes stayed fixated on the railroad tracks, calmly awaiting the Hogwarts Express that would take the two of them to Azkaban. They’d had to order special tickets, as the school often swayed against taking the students on a field trip to the prison.
After a few moments of scrutinizing Merinah’s lack of certain anxiety, Hermione concluded she was really quite mad and took the seat next to Merinah.
“Are you sure this is the right plan?” asked Hermione for the thousandth time.
Merinah gave her the slightest glance before turning back to her staring. “Of course. How else would he live?” She barked out a harsh laugh. “We either prove him somewhat sane…or he’ll die in three days.”
“How are you planning on proving him innocent?” Hermione wondered nervously. “I’m not much of a witness, as I’m ‘legally insane,’ myself.”
“See, Herm, that’s you’re problem.” Merinah withdrew her gaze from the tracks to deliberate Hermione with her cool, calculating eyes. “There’s no way we’re gonna save Harry when you’re spouting your legal papers of insanity. You have to act cool, calm…collected.” She raised her fingers to the air to emphasize. “You have to act like you know what you’re talkin’ about. Just follow my lead, and Harry’s as good as saved already.” A high-pitched whistle ended her speech as Merinah stood and grabbed her small briefcase. “Here’s the train. Right on time.”
Hermione stared silently at Merinah’s peaceful face and wished so very much she could believe her words.
You’re paranoid, a voice told her.
She shook her head and reached out to grasp the handle of her luggage with a gloved hand.
Merinah grinned at her as the train pulled into the station. “Don’t worry your little head off, Herm. We’ll do fine.”
Hermione slowly pushed herself to her feet and replied to the voice repeating the same line over and over in her mind.
Yes, I truly am.
A foot reached out and caught the chains binding his legs together and he tripped and fell into the mud. A huge roar of cheers escaped the crowd of prisoners.
They were allowed outside for a few hours a day. The fences surrounding the muddy fields were magical, and all the magic within the prisoners seemed to die as soon as they stepped outside.
Even his fellow inmates hated him. They mocked him and spat at him. Was he truly that far below everyone?
The mud felt somewhat soothing on his burning face. His hands clenched in a mixture of anger and self-pity, and the mud slid through his fingers.
He thought of her a lot while he lay on his deathbed. He thought of those final moment with her, while she cried and tried to grab him away from the hit teams clinging hands.
He loved her. It was too late now, though.
“Is he dead?” a raspy voice asked.
“I dunno.” A kick in the stomach. Harry groaned.
“Nah, he’s still alive. Aw, wee Potter’s not so tough now, eh?”
Splat. A wetness on the back of Harry’s neck.
“Get up.”
Another kick.
“Didja hear me? Are yeh deaf? Gettup.”
Harry didn’t budge.
I want to die. I want to die. Kill me and get it over with.
The collar tightened around his neck as someone grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him to his feet. He met the steely eyes of a fellow prisoner.
“I do enjoy beating up on the infamous Harry Potter,” hissed the man. “But methinks it’s better when he fights back.” The man threw him to the ground. “They callin’ fer yeh, Potter. Yeh really are deaf. Yeh don’t wanna make them dementors mad.” He flashed him a menacing grin before sludging through the mud to join in a brawl with the friendly inhabitants of Azkaban.
Harry stared stupidly after him. The dementors were calling for him? Was it time already? It couldn’t be…
He glanced to his right, to the entrance back into Azkaban, and saw one of the black-cloaked figures heading towards him.
He reached up and wiped the mud out of his eyes. He’d lost his glasses as soon as he’d gotten into Azkaban. He could barely see anything.
Squinting, he could see no other dementors following behind the first. Could that mean this one wasn’t coming to get him for his execution?
He could only pray.
God, this place is cold, thought Hermione, pulling her jacket closer to her body. She let out a breath she’d been holding in and it billowed up about her, a huge, white cloud.This is where they’ve put Harry? I think I could kill…
Merinah seemed unfazed by the chill, as she always did, and stood idly in the doorway, tapping her nails against the damp stone. They’d allowed them into Azkaban and were even permitting them to meet with Harry. It was shocking, really.
Hermione nervously pushed her hair back. She knew she probably looked horrible. Her hair was a huge static mess, her lips were pale, and she had circles under her eyes. Not to mention the old bulky brown jacket and muddy shoes.
She shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, her boots clanking against the stone and echoing through the chilly old fortress.
“Stop jumping,” Merinah snapped. “You really do want people to think you’re unstable, don’t you?”
Hermione stopped moving and folded her arms in front of her. “I am unstable. Right now, at least,” she answered meekly.
“Then hide it,” Merinah advised coolly.
“I’m not good at hiding emotions.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Unable to think of a reply to this, Hermione resumed her wary study of the antechamber. It was just a circular room of gray granite and a doorway leading out. No furniture, no windows, no front desk. It was so plain, so dead, so…demeaning
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Harry didn’t deserve this. Or did he?
He’d killed her parents. But that was when he’d been tainted by Voldemort. She truly believed the old Harry, the Harry she’d loved and adored, was alive and evident again.
The trouble was, she had to prove this if she ever wanted to have him back. And she couldn’t even prove her own sanity in the state she was in.
Her troubling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Underneath the muffled sound of boots walking wearily towards them was the clanking of chains.
Hermione’s heart beat a little faster as thoughts of the grim keeper rolled into her mind.
My God, I really am going crazy.
She forced her gaze back to the doorway.
A cold, slimy feeling washed over her as the black-cloaked figure of a dementor stepped through. Her stomach heaved and she felt as if she might throw up her suddenly liquid insides. She clutched her mouth as someone followed, grimly, behind it.
His face was smeared with mud and the whole front side of his gray prison robe was stained to the same color. His hair was crazier than usual and covered with a coat of grease. His glasses were gone.
But when he lifted his head, slowly and sadly, and met her eyes with that emerald green gaze…she almost started crying.
Here was Harry. Harry was still alive. She could reach out and touched him. He was real.
But not for long, not for long at all if they didn’t do anything.
A few random tears trickled down her cheeks and she forgot all about her vanity.
Her thoughts were on Harry’s imminent fate. A fate that seemed impossible, especially now, to fight.
Merinah glanced up as soon as the footsteps ceased and regarded Harry with the cool intensity only she was capable of. “Not feeling too well, I presume?” she asked softly. She pushed herself off the wall and took a few steps towards Harry and the dementor, her heels clicking in a business-like way.
Was she affected at all by the dementor? Hermione wondered. Was she unaffected by Harry’s dreary state?
A meticulous doubt that had been with Hermione from the beginning was becoming more evident in her mind. She was beginning to wonder if it was all truly paranoia.
Merinah turned to the dementor. “Leave us,” she said crisply.
Hermione almost laughed. She expected the dementor to listen to her? That was the funniest thing Hermione had seen in a long time.
The dementor shuddered, took a step forward, toward Merinah, as if to teach her a lesson…but, shockingly, stopped, turned around, and wandered calmly out the room.
Hermione jerked her head about to stare at Merinah in shock. How had she done that?
Merinah didn’t look at all bothered. “Can you speak, Potter? Or are you suddenly mute?”
Hermione swallowed hard. Something wasn’t right. There was something odd about Merinah. Something she didn’t like…
She cast a glance at Harry. He stood stock-still in the doorway, face clouded in confusion. “What—how did you—?”
Merinah clucked her tongue. “You didn’t expect us to come and save you, Potter? I’m hurt. We’ve come to get you outta here. We came, we saw, we conquered. Just like that.”
Now Hermione was bewildered too. “What about the trial?” she asked stupidly. “Merinah, what’s—?”
“Herm, honey, do you really think I’d waste my time on some petty little trial when I’m so good I can trick dementors? We can just break Harry out right now!”
“He’ll still be a convicted criminal!” Hermione argued.
“Yeah, yeah, but he’ll be a living convicted criminal!”
“Wait a second,” interrupted Harry. His voice had a croaky quality to it that ground against Hermione’s control in a bothersome way. “You’re going to bust me out of here?”
“Yes!” Merinah replied loudly.
“But—” Hermione started, then stopped. Why was she arguing? She didn’t even have a point to her argument, only that annoying little voice…
“What are you waiting for?” Harry demanded. “Get these chains off me, and then we’re out, right?”
“That simple,” Merinah agreed, reaching into her purse and bringing out her slender wand. She gave it a little wave and muttered something inaudibly. The chains binding Harry’s legs vanished.
“We have to act like we know what we’re doing,” Merinah told them. “My powers only go so far. Otherwise, they’ll suspect something and we’ll all be in Azkaban and on death roll.”
Hermione swallowed hard and bowed her head to the floor, wishing away that awful feeling she was already on death roll…
To be continued…
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