The Alpha Dynasty (Sequel to MARKED FOR DESTINY) (Book 2 of 2)

16. A Simple Request

It was public knowledge that the Alpha and his Omega were going to have twin babies, because it had been plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet.  Everyone in the wizarding world knew of it, even the people that had been sent to the new prison - Hallz of Redemption - and of course those very bad prisoners in Azkaban.

Waking up every day to do the chores that had been given to them by the Alpha himself was not only a deserved punishment, but had become a way of life for them.  

Pius Thicknesse waking up to clean the disgusting toilets in all the cells.  His clothes had become rags, and the only thing that kept him going was the promise that the Alpha had promised that he would review his work from time to time.  And he had, but he had been told that his work was not up to standard, he needed to remain where he was until he could prove the Alpha wrong.  And so he did.  The mop and bucket becoming his new companions.

Dolores Umbridge having to write with a blood quill - I must not defy the Alpha - so that the marks showed up all over her skin.  Once a prim and proper lady with a penchant for anything pink, she had become a shell of her former self.  With eyes that were sunken in, showing almost no life, and hollow cheeks as if she hadn't eaten for days.  Teeth that were starting to rot, because hygiene was never on the cards for her anymore.  Wake up, write with the quill, eat if she could stomach it, and pass out from exhaustion.  That was her daily routine for the evil that she had tried to get away with.

Peter Pettigrew, shuffling around in his small cage, knowing that something was missing in his pathetic life, and he couldn't fathom what it was.  He knew he used to be different, not a rat all the time, but he couldn't quite place what it was.  And every time his long filthy tail would touch the bars, he would get a shock from the contact.  He was suspended in the air, on a hook that was hanging down from the ceiling.  And his cage was filthy.  He would shit and piss in it to relieve himself, because where else could he?  He would try and gnaw at the bars of the cage, only to be flung backwards from the magic that was binding him.

Gergory Goyle, his once very strong hands were broken and bleeding, and the worst part was, he didn't know why.  He remembered being in a house, and then a terrible fever.  A vial of a potion was shoved into his face and he had been ordered to drink it, so he had.  Then out of nowhere, he had a sudden urge to hit the walls every day until his hands bled.  Not knowing if it was from anger or hate, or just mere stupidity.  There was a fire inside him, and if he really dwelled on it, he knew that it was the fever that would never leave his body.  Fever from some sort of venom, he thought.  Day in and day out, he would bandage his hands, and start over.  There wasn't a place in his cell that hadn't been smashed by his fists.

Cornelius Fudge lived in fear.  And it was not because he was in Azkaban, although he knew that was part of the reason that he was there.  It was also not because he had fucked up on a royal scale, because let's face it, he had.  It was because he was living his worst nightmare on a daily basis.  Whether he was awake or fast asleep, which was weird anyway, because no one could ever be 'fast asleep' in Azkaban, he lived it.  Every single minute of every single day, he would succumb to the screams that would wake even the dead.   And all he wanted was forgiveness.

He was living it now actually. 

In it he saw his wife and child being burnt in a house fire, and the minute that he reached them to try and save them, they would slip away.  Just a fraction of a second too late, and he hated himself for it.  That had been the turning point in his life, when he had vowed to become Minister for Magic and see that ALL evil was dealt with.  But he himself had become exactly what he was trying to avoid.  Losing your family was a heartbreak that wasn't easy to deal with.  Hearing his wife's screams only made him scream and shout louder, and then when it was too late, he would crumble into a heap, anger and hate cursing through his veins.

Which is why he never believed it when the Potter boy had said that Voldemort was back.  He refused to give in to such pathetic lies, because what no one knew, is that Voldemort had started the fire that had consumed his family.  He wondered if the Potter boy knew what his worst day was.  He would have to ask for a new form of punishment, this was too much.  It was driving him insane.

All the prisoners came together one morning, before their usual routine of slamming fists, and writing on walls, and screaming into the universe, to have a conversation of sorts.  They knew they had been bad and had to bear the brunt of their evil deeds.  They knew that they would do better, moving forward, because that was the way of the new world.  And they also knew that the Potter boy was forgiving, if not for him, then at least for his Omega.  

Finding a torn piece of parchment and a forgotten nib of a quill, they managed to send out a message.  But being without magic made it so that they could not summon an owl to do their bidding, so they did the next best thing.  They put the request in a bottle, corked it tightly shut, and threw it into the ocean, hoping that it would reach the person that it was intended for.

The words were pleading, if not a bit cold.

Dear Alpha

He who forgives, will himself, be forgiven.

FROM POA - Prisoners of Azkaban