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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon after HBP >> Escaping These Iron Bars by RupertsPheonix

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
A/N: There are mentions of insanity in this fic. If you are offended, please do not read. It is not meant to be offensive, but I feel I need to warn you.

Disclaimer: This is JKR's basketball court, and I'm just shooting hoops during open gym.

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Escaping These Iron Bars
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Terrible, wounded and aching screams drift across Azkaban Fortress and reach my ears. It’s that woman—I’ve no idea who she is—who was brought in the other day, or was that months ago? It must be months because it seems like she’s been crying and shrieking for a while now. It gets hard to tell time when you’ve been locked away in a place with such consistent coldness and fog for so long.

It’s a shame the woman is so weak; she was a pretty little thing when they brought her here. I’m sure she looks a mess now. Poor girl. She’s already losing her mind, and she hasn’t even been here six months.

Being locked in this cell is enough to drive a man mad, and I’ve seen many do just that, but then they’ve got these damned Dementors everywhere, too. The joy-sucking leeches never stop feasting, either.

I’m lucky I haven’t completely lost my own mind.

I wonder if the girl has many bad memories. I suspect it’d be worse if you’ve only got a few; you’d have more time to reflect on them.

I remember in the beginning I’d thought, I’ve got plenty of bad memories to keep me sustained. At first they flashed before my eyes much too quickly to let me dwell on them, but now, now that it’s been over a decade, I’ve seen them so many times I can’t help but dwell.

Mum’s finding out I’d been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin… My father’s disappointed face…

My parents’ screeches of “blood-traitor” and “disgraceful son” every summer…

The slap in the face I’d received when Regulus was sorted into Slytherin…

The shame and horror I felt when I learned of Regulus’ becoming a Death Eater…

The fight with my parents before running away from home…

The news of Regulus’ death…

Seeing Lily and James’ blank, staring faces…

Seeing Peter for that last time…

Being hauled off and thrown in this cell…


Oh, yes, I’ve got plenty of memories… Memories that like to attack me when I least expect it, when I’m most vulnerable. But even I have started to run out, and I could very easily lose all sanity any day now. I feel as though I could lose every ounce of self-control I possess. I find myself often thinking about how far apart the iron bars of my cell are and wondering if I could slip through them. Of course, these thoughts are always followed by the thoughts of the Dementors and their dreaded Kiss. If there’s one thing worse than living without your sanity, it’s living without your soul. I am reminded of that each night when the soulless prisoners near me cry out into the night, moaning and pleading for death to take its black hold over them.

I cannot—and will not—accept that fate. I will not rot in this cell, soulless and insane; I promised myself that a long time ago, and I intend on keeping my word.

It was yesterday that I saw the picture of him, the traitor, in the Daily Prophet. He was innocently sitting on the Weasley boy’s shoulder. I’d recognize Peter’s rat form anywhere—especially with that missing finger.

I wasn’t devastatingly overcome with grief like others would have been when I first saw the photograph, instead I was angry. Rage beyond belief surged through my veins, through my entire being, and I thought to myself, How dare he sit there and act like nothing happened, like he didn’t perform the worst act of heartlessness on his own friends—the people who accepted him and cared about him? I realized that I wouldn’t be satisfied or able to live in peace until Wormtail was given what he deserved, until he was dead. God, he deserved more than death for what he’d done to Lily and James—hell, for what he’d done to Harry.

Harry. Harry James Potter. My godson. The one I haven’t gotten to see grow up; the one who endures life without two loving parents.

If Peter doesn’t deserve at least death for taking away a child’s parents, I don’t know who does. A child needs his family; I know that from firsthand experience.

The thoughts of Peter’s betrayal to my friends—my family—and the terror I felt at the prospect of rotting in this cell have helped me decide to take action. Tonight I am leaving. Tonight will be my last in this cold, God-forsaken fortress.

Tonight, I will be Padfoot again and leave here to finish my own marauder journey. The guards won’t be able to detect me as a dog; animals’ emotions are much harder for them to sense than humans’. Without thinking twice or looking back, my animagus form will run off into freedom, leaving these iron bars behind forever.

Because dogs hate cages.

A/N: This is my first attempt at drama/angst. I'd love to know what you think. --RP =)

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