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Azkaban was inarguably the loneliest place on earth. Out in the middle of the ocean, there was no escape once one was locked inside. Cells kept prisoners far away from all the others, save for the endless screams that still erupted from the fresher meat. Dementors prowled the walls to sap the will to live from every damned soul within them. It was a perfect storm of isolation…but none of that was what made Azkaban hell on earth for you.
For just under fourteen years you rotted there. Your greatest mistakes in life paraded again and again through your head. Of them all, of course, you regretted most not being present. It should have been his greatest moment of triumph. Instead, it had twisted into his downfall, and you had not been present. He died so far from your embrace.
Bellatrix spent a lot of time shrieking that he wasn’t dead at first. She was there because she believed. She would one day receive the honor accorded to her faith. She would be valued above all.
You comforted yourself in knowing you did not suffer because of delusions. Azakaban held you because you had no regrets.
You should have listened to her. Now you felt some regret.
Freedom felt strange after so long with no one to speak to—not that there had been much talking done during or after the breakout either. Even the air felt different back on the mainland, and the lights just a little too bright. Hours had passed and still you did not quite understand why things had changed. The dementors had revolted, that much you knew, but why and how you’d arrived at Malfoy Manor afterward, you did not.
Alone you stood outside the ballroom. One of your old guards floated nearby, but appeared to desire your emotions no longer. Or maybe it simply did not desire what you felt just then. Whatever it was, you could not name it. The rest of the Death Eaters locked up with you had long since disappeared inside that same room. Narcissa had not wasted any breath explaining why only you must wait outside. That gave you the first flash of hope you’d experienced in years, and more fear than you’d felt during those years as well.
The doors beside you opened. Your heart launched itself into your throat.
“Enter,” hissed a high-pitched voice.
That you did. The room beyond was dim, lit only by candlelight flickering in snake-shaped brackets down the walls. All along your path stood motionless figures in familiar hoods and masks. You probably could have named them all, but you spared them no further attention. A man sat on a high-backed chair against the opposite wall, and you had eyes for none but him.
You threw yourself onto the floor when you were only a few away. “M-My lord,” you croaked. It had not taken long for you to stop your screaming in Azkaban, and your voice was rusted from lack of use. Hopefully this would not anger him, nor the tattered rags that had passed for your clothing since his disappearance.
“Rise, [Name].”
Despite your trembling, you did as you were commanded. Slowly, you lifted your head until you could fill your eyes with him. Him. Your lord. Back from the dead. He raised one pale hand without a word, and you approached to take it. The long, beautiful fingers were just as you remembered them. Tears dropped onto his flesh as you kissed the back of his hand repeatedly. You wept. He lived, and he had rescued you from an eternity without him.
When he pulled away from you, you could not help the noise of protest that came from your mouth. You wanted nothing more than to cling to him, to explore every inch of his resurrected body. Undoubtedly Bellatrix had already tried. But though what remained of your soul cried out to be close to him, you said nothing more and remained exactly where he had left you.
“I see that you did not believe that my return was possible,” he said.
A sensation like that of brushing past a stunning spell ran all the way up your spine. You knew that you could not lie. He would know. He always knew.
“I was foolish,” you answered.
He did not argue the point. “And when you felt your Mark burn last June?”
“I—I thought it a dream. It’s happened before. The dementors, they get inside your head, they give you what you want only to tear it away from you again. If—If I had known—!”
“You would have come to my side at once?”
“Yes,” you breathed.
“You would have left Azkaban? You? With no wand and no reason to believe it was truly me?”
“Yes. Anything. Anything, my lord, to repent of my lack of belief.”
“Then you will have your chance now.”
“My lord!”
One of the watching Death Eaters broke rank. They pulled their mask away, and you were not surprised to see that it was Bellatrix striding up to you. Azakaban would not have improved her behavior. Her husband, however, remained in his place.
“My lord,” she said again. “Surely you do not mean to forgive this woman!”
Both of you glared at each other. Bellatrix had never liked nor respected you. She was right, though. Forgiveness was the last thing you deserved. Your master regarded her in silence for nearly a minute as he twirled his wand idly in one hand.
“You dare to instruct me on what I may or may not do with my followers?” he asked.
Most of those watching would know better than to argue when he used that tone. Bellatrix did not. “She did not believe! Your loyal followers went to Azkaban because we tried to find you. We alone desired your return. She went quietly when the Ministry came calling. Why should you forgive weakness such as that?”
The weight of her accusations bore down upon you so that keeping your head up became nearly impossible. His beautiful red eyes slid to your face, causing you to hold your breath. There was nothing left now but to throw yourself upon his mercy. At least if there was none, you would die by his hand and not that of the filthy Ministry or Order—or, worse, Bellatrix’s.
“She does not lie,” he told you. It was not a question.
“No, my lord.”
“Why would you allow yourself to be led away like some mudblood to the slaughter?”
You swallowed. “I am not proud of what I’ve done. I only thought that it did not matter if you were gone. Alive or dead, I remained loyal to you. I would not denounce your name, nor the acts I did at your command. To spend the rest of my life in prison would be infinitely better than to spend it among those that celebrated your demise.”
Silence rang in the ballroom. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bellatrix’s mouth twist into a sneer. And why should she not smile? Your excuses sounded weak to your own ears; you could not imagine what they sounded like to him. Still you stood straight as you waited for that final flash of green, or the pain that you so rightly deserved.
“I trust you will not doubt me again,” was all he said.
You fell to the floor for a second time. “No, my lord. Never, my lord. I only wish to serve you from now on, to make reparations—”
He rose, cutting you off. You sat up to see him looking down at you. Though he did not speak, you knew what he wanted, and climbed to your feet once more.
“You will come with me. We have much to discuss. Lucius,” another cloaked figure stepped out of line, “show us to my quarters. And Bella…”
She said nothing.
“Do not think to question my actions ever again. Next time I will not be so merciful.”
Her stark white, angry expression would not leave your memory. You could hardly avoid smirking at her in your turn. Luckily, there was not much time for your expression to linger, as Lucius left to lead the way and you had to scurry after him to keep pace with your master. You’d been away from him for far too long, and that you would always regret. Now that you were back, you intended to stay right where he wanted you as long as he wanted you there. If ever you returned to Azkaban’s lonely vigil, you would not have to watch the same mistake as before replay every night in your dreams.