I shivered as I sat in my small, square cell. There were no windows, no wind, it was just cold and black; the only light came from guards passing by every now and then, shining light from their wands. The feeling of dread, the fear of my life being taken away every time a guard came near, fear for my soul being removed every time a dementor passed. The thought of losing my mind, my sanity, my memories, the only things I had left to hold on to. They were what caused me to shiver.
It was my pride that had brought me to this; took me away from my home, my family. I left behind my wife and son to sort through the mess I created, to face the humiliation and walk with the disrespect our name now held. It was my pride that got us into those terrible situations I foolishly did not regret until now. My pride brought me here. And for that I cannot forgive myself, even if my family do.
Another dementor glided passed and I shivered.
Another guard shone a light inside my cell and I squinted and turned quickly when the light hit my face.
He laughed as he walked away but I didn’t have the energy to feel anger. The old me would have been too prideful to take it but the new me no longer had any. It was lost during the second war, maybe even before then, but I had been too stubborn to notice.
I leaned back and forcibly hit my head against the stone wall, but I didn’t wince at the pain. I wanted to blame this place on my lack of ability to feel but I lost that long before I lost my pride. Childhood memories resurfaced and I forced myself back further. The wall felt cold on the back of my neck and I welcomed it. I remembered the day I had been sent here, after my trial, the first things they had done were take my wand and cut off my blond hair. Instead of long and clean, it was short, so short, and dirty.
Sometimes I hated it; another part of myself that was taken away because of pride. Other times I am glad; it reminded me of what it had been like when I had been young. I would do what my son would never do; defy my father. I would sneak away and be free. I would be back before he would notice I was gone and he would never now.
But then I grew up and responsibility was forced upon me; honour, respect…pride.
Another prisoner screamed nonsense and more followed. I listened as the guards tried to calm them but didn’t join in. I never joined in. I had a longing to leave this place and, though I knew the thought was laughable to people, I held onto that longing. People’s sentences can be reduced due to ‘good behaviour’, as they say. I wanted to be one of those people.
The prisoners were quieting now; the guards would have threatened dementors. One would come anyway; to ‘teach everyone a lesson’. Another reason why I would not join in.
I was right. I sat in the corner and stayed still as I felt that cold fear hit me again and Azkaban became deathly quiet. I dared to breathe once and could see my breath leave my cell. I longed for the creature to leave and it felt like hours before it did. When I could hear the guards’ voice’s again, I dared to walk to the bars. I grasped the frozen metal and pressed my head against it to look out. I watched as two guards opened the cell and enter, coming out seconds later with an unconscious Lestrange levitating behind them. It would be him. He had passed out and they would be taking him to the infirmary.
The infirmary. It was just as pleasant as the cells, except with a window. I had only been there once, my second day here, and had vowed to myself never to go again. They didn’t care for Death Eaters. Reason number three as to why I would not cause trouble.
A guard banged against the bars and I knew that was my cue to move away. I turned to see letters open on the small desk we could have. They were from my wife. She would tell me how she and Draco were doing. What life was like now. How she missed me and wished things had been different for me, for us. She and Draco had been acquitted for saving Potter’s life during the war; Draco had denied their identities in our home and Narcissa had claimed him dead when The Dark Lord had hit him with the killing curse. I had not known until she had written me; as I had been sentenced before her, I could not have been present at her trial.
They had known and done what was right, for their own reasons, I know, but they had done them anyway whereas I had done nothing. I joined willingly and did not regret my decision until He involved my son. Now regret is what I must live with. It drives me crazy, thinking about what could have happened. Yet keeps me sane, thinking of what I could do if I could get out of this place.
The guard brings dinner, food I can only describe as gruel, but I don’t move from the corner of my bed I had resided to. My pride is creeping back, telling me not to lower my standards and eat it. But it will disappear soon and I will. I know I will. It happens every day. But I do not ignore it. It’s a small part of me that makes me feel like myself again and I have to hold onto it. Even if it is what brought me here in the first place.
My resolve doesn’t last and I take the food, finishing quickly as they don’t give you much. I leave the plate by the bars and lay down on the hard bed. Pride. That was what all of this came down to.
Pride formed the life that I had and pride took that life away.
A/N: Edited. The inner thoughts of Lucius Malfoy. I hope you enjoyed.