Chapter 1 : Dolores
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Twenty- three years. That's how long I've been here. In Akaban. Because of him.
Not he who must not be named.
Though he may have been a part of it.
No, I am in Azkaban because of the Potter boy. He and his friends threw me into this prison just weeks after You-Know-Who was defeated. Why? For the torture of Muggleborns and Hogwarts students.
I was given a trial, which was no more than a public humiliation. I knew I would be found guilty. I was guilty. I went to the trial, listened to the jeers of children in the stands as their peers told the Auror Shacklebolt how I tortured them during detentions. I felt the angry stares of Muggleborns and their families as my crimes against them were listed. But I was silent throughout. I did not protest the verdict, when Shacklebolt gave me a life sentence for crimes against Muggleborns, and for torture. I made no noise as I was pushed into one of the newly built cells of Azkaban by two burly wizards. I comitted every crime they listed, and more. I deserve to be in Azkaban.
At first I was angry. I hated the world, how it moved on without me. How the ministry did not fall into disrepair because of my absence. How there were no visitors for me. How even some of the prisoners gave me dirty looks. I wanted to scream out. To tell them that it was not my fault. I was only doing my job. I was just following orders. The minister told me to register the Muggleborns, throw them away if they couldn't prove their magical lineage. I knew that he was being controlled by dark forces, but I wasn't going to complain. I wasn't going to disappear like so many of my colleagues. So I did my job, and I did it well.
However, at the school it was another story. I did my job as high inquisitor. I did what the minister told me to do; I was to thwart any rebellion of Dumbledore's making before it began. So when I was at Hogwarts, I did hurt them. The students who rebelled. The ones who were a threat. I might make some of them do lesser things... but still jobs that would make them hurt. I forced them to clean on their hands and knees until they bled, or made them go into the forest where the half-breeds lived. I allowed Filch to bring out his old whips and torturing devices. I tried to hurt them; I enjoyed it. I would go to any measure to wipe the insolence off of their faces, use any means to make them see my way. There was one punishment in particular that I enjoyed, one I used only for those who were my real foes. Those who could spread dangerous ideas and rebellion throughout the students and staff. I was afraid of those people, because they had something I could never obtain. They were able to make allies through painless means, friends that would not leave for an advancement in their lifestyle, or a promotion at work. These enemies of mine had people they trusted and who trusted them, while I, I was alone. So I tried to break them. I forced them to write in their own blood, thousands of times, until their hands were scarred for life. Yet, in the end, they won. The people I tried to beat down rose against me, and their bonds were so strong that there was no way that I could compete. So I failed.
I never apologized. I never told the Muggleborns that I regretted the pain and terror that I instilled in them. I never said I was sorry for the suffering and unhappiness that my presence in Hogwarts caused the students and teachers. There is a simple reason for that. I am not sorry. I do not regret a single thing that I did. I would not do it again, perhaps, but I do not have that choice. I refuse to believe that I was wrong. Because I had reason to do everything that I did.
I am not a stupid woman. I am ambitious, yes. I put myself ahead of others. I would not sacrifice myself for another. So I did what I had to during the war. I put my own life ahead of the lives of my fellow witches and wizards. I survived because of it. I hurt people, yes, but it was necessary. I was never a brave person. I never wanted to die. So I went out of my way to ensure that I did not.
But there are still things that I will always remember. Ones that made me question myself. The time a young girl, just going into her first year, looked up at me as I questioned her and asked why it was so cold as the Dementors approached her. Or the time when Pius Thicknesse looked at me and I saw the dull, glassy stare of the imperiused. There were little moments throughout the yearmomentss leading up to the final battle which made me think that, perhaps, I was in the wrong.
The final battle. A battle of legends. Over fifty people lost. Nobody who fought escaped injury. Everyone who was involved came out a changed person. Children fought, some as young as twelve or thirteen. The elderly fought, weak but wise. People who were wronged, hurt, those who had their families ripped apart or taken away. They all fought. And I, I sat at home, with a cup of tea and long reports on Muggleborns. I was safe while others fought and died. I knew about the battle. I did not fight. I had chosen sides long ago. I would rather the Dark Lord won. I had erred to greatly to hope for a good life if Potter won.
But Potter did win.
I woke the morning after the battle to cheering coming from the wireless. Two hours before, Potter had killed he-who-must-not-be-named.
It was the first day in my entire life that I did not go in to work. An owl came to my house the day after, telling me I had been let go, by order of the temporary Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. I knew then that my time in the Ministry was done. When the Aurors came for me, I was ready. They put me in Azkaban, a place liberated from the Dementors. They let me have a lawyer, but the idiot who came to defend me was hopeless. I refused to beg for mercy, though he said it was my best plan.
They brought me to the same courtroom that Potter's trial was held three years before. The benches were full of people. But I told you that already. Still, the only people I saw were the five people in front.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister sat at a pedestal. He wore the robes of the Wizenagamot. I had always been jealous of the man, knowing that he would have been a much better Minister than I, and hating it. I had always felt that he disliked me as well.
Cornelius Fudge sat to the side, shunned by the rest of the row. He was a witness for my defence, the only one who consented to come help me. He was embarrassed, not looking at anyone in the room, certainly not me.
On the other side of the Minister sat the three most famous people in the wizarding world. The Golden Trio they had been dubbed by the press. The three who were among the most daring of the Rebellion against You-Know-Who.
The youngest Weasley boy sat at the end, his red hair cut raggedly, black burns marring the red. He looked almost the same as he had when I left Hogwarts. Almost. I stared, just like half the people in the courtroom did. There was something in his face that showed that he was not a normal teenage boy, just out of school. His arm was around the Granger girl's shoulders.
The Granger girl. How I hate her. She was changed too, the burns in her hair much more evident as it was so much longer. She was less of a girl from the last time I had seen her. She was thinner, sat straighter, her face holding both grief and happiness that was not there before. She sat next to him.
The Potter boy.
The boy I hate.
He was attracting the most stares, which was reasonable. He looked so different, so much older, it was hard to believe it had only been a few years since we last saw one another. He was looking at me, glaring at me with such hatred that it made me shift in my seat like a child caught stealing sweets. I stared at three, once my students, now my prosecutors. They were not children, now that I examined them closely. There were marks of war, barely healed after two weeks. There were lines on their faces, making them seen much older than seventeen and eighteen. The worst thing about them however were their eyes. There was so much pain and unhappiness in those eyes, telling of so much loss and heartbreak, that even I felt a little sorrow creep into my heart.
I have told you the outcome of my trial. I was sent to prison, a better place now with wizards instead of Dementors, but still lonely, cold, heartless. I did not plead innocent. I am silent to this day about my past. I speak only when asked direct questions.
I am told that they are happy now. The Granger girl married the youngest Weasley. She is the Head of some important ministry department, he is Deputy Head Auror. Potter married the Weasley girl, and became Head Auror. They all have children, probably in Hogwarts now. I do not pass through their minds. They forgot me, the woman who made their life hell.
I would say that I do not care that nobody has made an effort to talk to me. To ask me why I hurt those people, to wonder why I would laugh at their pain as the Dementors pulled them away from their families. I would say that I feel something for those children that never saw Hogwarts, for all of the lives that I helped destroy. I would say that I do not feel sorry for myself.
But I must not tell lies.
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If I was JK Rowling I would be selling this for millions of dollars and going on a long vacation. Unfortunatley I am not, so I'm stuck right here. Sigh...