Plotting Revenge

The cell is cold and dark. Water is leaking in from outside. Drip, drop, drip, drop – the sound alone is driving me mad. I hate this bloody hellhole they’ve put me in. Layer upon layer of clothing wouldn’t help with the cold in here. The stone walls are too thick and the window too small to let any warmth from the sun in. Not that I would have layers of clothing to wear. Prison-robes aren’t the exactly made from the thickest cloth after all. And besides, it doesn’t look particularly sunny outside, anyway. But then I wouldn’t know, would I? It’s always shady on this side.

They resented me, some of them, Bella more than the others, for not going here with them when the Dark Lord fell. Ha! Why would anyone be so foolish as to go voluntarily to a place like this? It stripped them of their youth, of their beauty. I hope it doesn’t strip me of mine.

Granted, they did have it worse back then. The Dementors fed on them, on their happy memories. Now there are only the guards, simple wizards with wands and wards. The Dementors aren’t here anymore. The Dark Lord saw to that when he made them join his cause. He didn’t see to getting us out though. He could have. Easily. But the fact that he hasn’t, tells me I’m probably safer in here than out there. Not that the Dark Lord couldn’t kill me in here if he wanted to. But I don’t think he cares about it. I suffer more this way. It suits him I think.

He’s angry. I can tell. I can see it in the few letters Narcissa writes to me. She never says anything, of course. She can’t. It’s too risky to write something, I know that. They’re screening all letters, trying all possible magic on them before allowing us to read them. Still I curse every time her letters contain nothing more than the basic facts about Draco’s progress in school or our financial situation. She doesn’t even tell me that she loves me anymore. That is if she still loves me. I can’t be sure after all. Not after my failure. Still, she does write to me. Her letters are never personal. They never tell me anything useful. They never say what is going on, but she still takes the time. I know she is scared. I know she worries. I can see it in the way she presses the pen hard to the paper, she never does that. And her loops are generally big and loopy, not tight and grim like now. No, she’s scared of something. Few things scare her, so I know it is more than me being in here. She’s an intelligent woman. She knows I’m safer in here than out there, even if my only joy here is pulling the legs of the spiders that crawl all over the walls. No it’s something else, which means it has to be Draco. He is the only one she would be truly worried about, the only one, save me, whose safety she would be scared for.

The Dark Lord is using him for something. Or at least that’s what I think. I don’t know of course, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The Dark Lord is angry with me. He wants me to suffer, so he leaves me here and takes my son instead. Knowing there is nothing worse he could do to me.

He hasn’t killed him though. Narcissa would have told me that. The guards would have mentioned it when they talk to each other – they talk about who’s dead and who’s not every day now. Of course they would have mentioned Draco. No, he’s still alive. And he’s at Hogwarts so he’s not hunted. My guess is that the Dark Lord is making him do something for him. A task that is dangerous enough for Narcissa to be scared. Something that the Dark Lord thinks will either kill him or train him. He wants his next servant. The one to replace me after my failure.

Neither is good news. The Dark Lord is a dangerous man to serve. Although it’s safer than not serving him. And once he wins, those that stood by him will be greatly rewarded. I hope Draco will make it. He will soothe the Dark Lord’s anger. He will be close to him, will make the Dark Lord trust us again – if he makes it. I only wish I knew what it was he is supposed to do.

***

Christmas today. The guards are celebrating outside the cell-door. They are so pitiful. Sitting there with the horrible excuse for a Christmas dinner they have arranged. They’ve charmed the room to play Christmas carols, and conjured up a tree in a corner. And these are the people that keep me in here. These bloodtraitors, so plain, so classless, so common, are the ones that stripped me of my magic! That took my wand – one of the best Ollivander ever made. The fools! They would probably not even know what to do with a wand like mine. And now I’m as useless as a muggle. I can’t even turn the lights on when I want to. Humiliating. They ought to have more respect for someone of my stature.

Narcissa wrote to me again. Nothing long, just a short merry Christmas. It was a long time since I received a letter from her. Months, as a matter of fact. I checked the date on the last one she sent. She’s still worried. Again, she mentioned nothing of it. Again, I could see it in her handwriting. I should be at home, in my mansion with my family, keeping my son safe and celebrating a real Christmas.

Instead I’m stuck here, in this ghastly place, trying to keep the spiders and the lice off of me and my bed. Watching the other spiders run to the one I just maimed on the floor, feasting on him. Disgusting, still strangely satisfying. At least I get to torment someone in here. I can always pretend it’s one of the guards. Or better yet – Potter. Wouldn’t mind tearing his limbs off one by one. Preferably slowly. But then again, it would probably be too messy. Maybe I would just settle for turning my wand on him. Torturing him until he begged for mercy. Then I would kill him, or bring him to the Dark Lord for him to kill. Then I would once more become his closest ally. Then I wouldn’t have to live in this poor excuse for a life. If – no, when - Draco succeeds I will show them all. Then I will no longer be in here. I will get my wand back and I will use it on those traitors sitting there enjoying something they don’t have the sense to understand they should loathe. Then we will go for Potter. Bringing my master what he wants the most. I already worked out the plan. There’s not too much else to do here, after all, than plot my revenge.

***

Rumours are flying right now. The guards are in quite a state. This is more than the usual killings. This is more. Something major has happened. Ministry officials were here just to make sure that we still are. They even increased the number of wards keeping us in. I wish I could hear what they are saying, but they are too far away.

Something is going on among them. I can tell. We all can. I can hear the others in their cells. They’re trying to figure it out too. But no one seems to know. They’re keeping their distance, careful so we won't hear. But I saw one of the guards actually crying. This must be good.

***

The paper arrived today. More of the guards were upset. They are in uproar now. More than one is crying. I guess I shouldn’t smile so they can see me, but if what they are saying is true, then how can I not?

Death Eaters at Hogwarts, a student letting them in. Dumbledore dead, a teacher his murderer. They may be in uproar, but I’m calm. Draco succeeded. I know it was him. It couldn’t be anyone else.

Dumbledore gone, Hogwarts possibly closed. Severus certainly did his job. He must have been helping Draco. The Dark Lord will be pleased. He will reward them. I won’t be here much longer. And as soon as I’m out, I will present the Dark Lord with my plan. With Dumbledore gone, it will be even easier. In a few weeks time it will all be over. The Dark Lord will have won, the Potter-brat will be dead. All thanks to me. I will attack where he feels safe; kill the very blood that protects him. Then he will be an easy target for my master, not even of age when he’s plucked. Soon. I will get my revenge, soon.