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Literature Text
They will not break me. They may break my wand, but I will hold strong and true. I will never bend for them.
I stare at the Auror in front of me. Even though I have no wand and my hands are bound, he looks scared. I can see the fear in his eyes. He's young, fresh out of Hogwarts. Probably a trainee. I smile. He won't last long. I hear the wheezing of the man behind me. I cannot see him now, but I know he's on his way to the grave. A child and an old man, this is what they think I'm worth. If only I had a wand, well, then they'd be no match for me.
The small boat rocks back and forth, rises and falls with each passing wave. Three other boats move along beside mine -- three other warriors in chains. Three other true followers of the Dark Lord. We risked all, and now we will wait. He will know who his true Death Eaters are.
The boats do not need to be steered. They cannot be made to go off course, only able to make a straight path to Azkaban.
They mean to lock me up. I regret nothing. I would gladly torture and kill everyone again and more if it will help our war. Everything I did, I did for the Dark Lord. There's nothing I wouldn't do to help him rise again, for he's not gone as everyone says he is. He is more than just a man, so he can never die. Those foolish men.
And how could they believe the Dark Lord is gone. Those men who pledged their loyalty and wore his Mark are no longer the men I believed they were. Cowards. They do not seek him out, but instead they deny and lie pretending that they were never with the Dark Lord. They were never really Death Eaters. They never really believed in him – if they did, they would be out there risking all to find him. Instead they cower in their manners and grovel before the Wizengamot, pleading for Dumbledore's mercy. They will be punished.
I will sit and wait, hating those who abandoned the Dark Lord. The Dementors cannot touch my rage. I will keep it close to me, wrap it around myself. With this contempt I will never forget my loyalty to the Dark Lord.
Through the fog, Azkaban looms menacingly. As the fortress grows clearer, my resolution gains strength. I do not dread or fear the wizard prison. The boats scrape up on the small sandy shore.
I do not let the Aurors help me out of the boat. I will never let them touch me – those worthless mudbloods, half-breeds and blood traitors do not deserve it.
They lead me to the Dementors. I feel them, but I do not fear them.
The chilling cold will not pierce me. I will not let terror and despair overcome me. I have too much rage to ever let go – it will strengthen me. I will survive, and I will be stronger for the Dark Lord. The Ministry misunderstands the true Death Eaters – we all will sit and wait, our determination to fight only growing.
As we enter the dark and cold prison, I hold my head high. I will wait for him. My Dark Lord will know what I have done. He will not abandon me.
I stare at the Auror in front of me. Even though I have no wand and my hands are bound, he looks scared. I can see the fear in his eyes. He's young, fresh out of Hogwarts. Probably a trainee. I smile. He won't last long. I hear the wheezing of the man behind me. I cannot see him now, but I know he's on his way to the grave. A child and an old man, this is what they think I'm worth. If only I had a wand, well, then they'd be no match for me.
The small boat rocks back and forth, rises and falls with each passing wave. Three other boats move along beside mine -- three other warriors in chains. Three other true followers of the Dark Lord. We risked all, and now we will wait. He will know who his true Death Eaters are.
The boats do not need to be steered. They cannot be made to go off course, only able to make a straight path to Azkaban.
They mean to lock me up. I regret nothing. I would gladly torture and kill everyone again and more if it will help our war. Everything I did, I did for the Dark Lord. There's nothing I wouldn't do to help him rise again, for he's not gone as everyone says he is. He is more than just a man, so he can never die. Those foolish men.
And how could they believe the Dark Lord is gone. Those men who pledged their loyalty and wore his Mark are no longer the men I believed they were. Cowards. They do not seek him out, but instead they deny and lie pretending that they were never with the Dark Lord. They were never really Death Eaters. They never really believed in him – if they did, they would be out there risking all to find him. Instead they cower in their manners and grovel before the Wizengamot, pleading for Dumbledore's mercy. They will be punished.
I will sit and wait, hating those who abandoned the Dark Lord. The Dementors cannot touch my rage. I will keep it close to me, wrap it around myself. With this contempt I will never forget my loyalty to the Dark Lord.
Through the fog, Azkaban looms menacingly. As the fortress grows clearer, my resolution gains strength. I do not dread or fear the wizard prison. The boats scrape up on the small sandy shore.
I do not let the Aurors help me out of the boat. I will never let them touch me – those worthless mudbloods, half-breeds and blood traitors do not deserve it.
They lead me to the Dementors. I feel them, but I do not fear them.
The chilling cold will not pierce me. I will not let terror and despair overcome me. I have too much rage to ever let go – it will strengthen me. I will survive, and I will be stronger for the Dark Lord. The Ministry misunderstands the true Death Eaters – we all will sit and wait, our determination to fight only growing.
As we enter the dark and cold prison, I hold my head high. I will wait for him. My Dark Lord will know what I have done. He will not abandon me.
Literature
A Child Of Our Own
I could feel Harry's palms relax as we stepped into Andromeda's house. Apparating had never been something he favoredespecially when I was around. Sometimes I wonder if it's just because he looses focus around me or because he just gets nervous for my safety. Hermione likes to say its both.
As we walk through the kitchen with me giving a half-hearted hello to Andromeda, I find old feelings bring themselves up at the mention of Hermione's name. My nails dig into my palms just so I can refrain from frowning. I love Hermione. I really, really do. She's smart, beautiful, and she's probably going to be my sister-in-law a few years from now
Literature
Photographs
Teddy held the two photos in his hands, side by side.
One had been taken at the hospital, just after his birth. His mother looked exhausted, but smiled and bounced the red, wailing baby. It was hard to believe that he had been that cranky little ball of tears. His father was standing next to the bed, leaning over, with one arm awkwardly around his mother. As Teddy watched the photo, his father turned and gave his mother a chaste peck on the lips.
One month. They had been a family for a month.
The second photo was old, a bit torn at the edges. It was of four boy
Literature
The Good Times
"Albus? What's wrong sweetie?"
"Nothing mum."
"Oh don't give me that, you get mopey the same way your father does. Now tell me what's wrong?"
"I'm bored!"
"Bored? Whatever for?"
"Well
Christmas is over, and New Years is over...and we won't get to see everyone for forever!"
"Not forever, silly. Just a little while. Just because the holidays are over doesn't mean the fun has to end though."
"Yeah huh
there's nothing exciting to do anymores."
"Anymore, sweetie. Hmm
alright, I'm about to show you something fun."
"Really?!"
"Really. Hurry up and grab your coat!"
"Where'd you put it?"
"I didn't put it anywhere, where did
Suggested Collections
I wanted to do a quick Bellatrix sketch, just because I haven't written anything from her POV recently and she's such a fun character to write.
Please leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Please leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
© 2012 - 2024 BorgiaWriter
Comments7
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Deep and chilling...You really captured Bellatrix´s demented and obssessive persona and her unflinching loyalty/passion for her master. There´s something almost heroic there, albeit in a very twisted way. It´s obvious Bellatrix had the strenght necessary to fight and die for a cause, that her frail psyche and prejudices made her choose the wrong "cause" is indeed her downfall. She´s almost tragic in a way...
(Btw...I had a bit of a self-satisfaction moment at "He is more than just a man, so he can never die." because it sorta unwillingly echoes an idea I had for my own universe...but I shall not spoil you, unless you want me to )
(Btw...I had a bit of a self-satisfaction moment at "He is more than just a man, so he can never die." because it sorta unwillingly echoes an idea I had for my own universe...but I shall not spoil you, unless you want me to )