Famished: Forsaken

I did not think they would let me stave to death in that cell 
block, and I was right.

They decided to kill me instead.

I don't remember much of what Fudge said to me then. I was so weak and 
so hungry, not as bad as now but still bad. They had to, he said. To 
put a stop to the evil abomination that were vampires, and to prove to 
the public that we weren’t some cute gag for haunted houses. Something 
about lawsuits, and jokes going too far, and I think about those blood 
lollipops and wish I had one. 

Dumbledore was there, too. He looked sad, and mad. I think at Fudge. 
It made me feel bad. I never wanted to cause so much trouble for him. 

I don't know what happened after that, but the guards gave me blood 
mixed with something, and then I woke up in different place. 

I barely had time to look around before they shoved me through a door, and 
lights flashed everywhere, and I cried out in pain as they blinded me. 

Ron was there too.

He was crying, crying so hard his shoulders shook. "Harry, 
I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It was an accident! I got the letter and tried 
to owl dad, but they were doing mail checks that day and I didn't know, 
and God, I'm so sorry!" I try to reach out to him, but the aurors push 
him away. I blink my eyes cautiously, and I freeze all up. 

There is a table, and shackles. And a guy in black, like a hooded 
death eater.

He has a mallet and a stake.

I suddenly feel very aware, and my mind clears. This...this is 
where they're going to kill me? In front of all these people? 

"Harry Potter." Fudge's voice rings clear. "You have been sentenced to 
death by a jury for your crimes against humanity. Do you have any last words?" 

I find my voice. "Yes." 

Fudge looks startled. I think that it was just formality for him 
to ask that, but he recovered and said, "Proceed." 

I decide that I will not pretend to be the bloodsucking Jesus, 
but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. "He who 
has no sin may cast the first stone."

"Yes, well," Fudge sneers at me, and I feel rage course through me. 
"Is that all, Potter?" 

"No." I say thickly, and the crowd gasps as they see my fangs. But I 
don't care. I can think now, and it's a blessed change from my muddled 
thoughts before. "You and your politics! Go ahead and kill me! See what 
difference it'll make! You all might as well be vampires, with 
your cameras and your goddamn public execution! I might suck blood, 
but at least I was humble about it, at least I hated every second of it. 
Look at you, reveling in my death! Watching it like a show! You make me sick, 
you monsters! I'm not hell-bound, no more than you! 

The crowd bellows in rage, but then someone stands. I do a double take, 
and see Dumbledore's face, and I feel relieved. 

"No. Vampires are not necessarily hell-bound." His voice cuts through 
the crowd. 

"Albus Dumbledore! Sit down!" Fudge yells, but Dumbledore doesn't listen.

"Cornelius Fudge, do you realize what you're doing?!" Dumbledore explodes, 
and the crowd is stunned to silence. "He has not killed anyone! We 
could help him, we could save him! But you hold a grudge, so the boy 
will die. Look at him, Cornelius! He grew up with the muggle ghost stories, 
glorifying vampirism! He's seen those novelty blood pops every trip he 
takes to Hogsmeade! He's seen the T.V. shows and the books and the 
propaganda of fascination with the vampire at least a thousand times! Even 
given all that, he still can't succumb to bloodlust with a guilt-free 
conscience. He is innocent, Fudge, and you know it! And you will have 
his blood on your hands, and I hope that you can't sleep at night 
because of it. No Cornelius, he is not hell-bound, but you most certainly are!"

"Enough!" Shouts Fudge, his cheeks blotched pink with rage. "Albus 
Dumbledore, you are out of order! Remove him!" Aurors jostle him out the 
door, and I feel my heart sink. Fudge turns towards me. "Harry Potter, 
is that all?!" 

I nod slowly. Fudge takes deep breaths to calm himself.

"Commence with the execution!" The crowd cheers at those words. 
After all, it's what they came here to see. The reporters ready 
their cameras for some gory shots to put in their papers. I hate 
them all. I hate them I hate them I hate them!

The aurors grasp my arms and shove me on a table, shackling down my 
hands without hesitation. My fangs are sliding in and out, and I'm trying 
to keep a grip on reality. Panic and insanity are all around me. Inside 
of me. The masked executioner steps forward with a mallet and a stake, 
and I remember what Madeline said when we met. 

'There is nothing like a stake being pounded between your ribs, straight 
into your heart.'

I am going to die here. 

Oh God oh God oh God...

He positions the stake on my trembling chest. Then he swings the mallet down.

'THWAM!'

Blood. Everywhere. There is nothing more gruesome than looking down and 
seeing your own insides. 

Oh God! Save me! Save me!

I must have said it out loud, because the crowd jeers. If you have a God, 
then where is he? You are forsaken, Harry Potter. 

You are forsaken.

The mallet comes down again with another thwam. The pain is almost 
unbearable, and I scream and feel ashamed. The blood soaks through my 
clothing, and I want to drink it. I strain to get to it but I am chained 
too tightly. The crowd laughs, but I hear sobbing coming from some people. 
I don't care. I am hungry. Oh God! I'm so hungry! 

Another hit. The stake is too big. One rib cracks, the other shatters. 
I scream with the pain. Blood, so much blood. It is running out of my 
mouth now, and I cough it out and lap it off my chin. I am just screaming 
and screaming and bleeding all over. I feel sick. And so fucking hungry. 

"Fuck you! Fuck you all!" I scream, blood spraying from my mouth. 
Bits of bone fly at my sudden jerk of movement. Blood is starting to 
pool around me. The cameras in the audience flash brightly in my 
eyes. I swear again, and the executioner hits me in the mouth and 
laughs as a fang pierces through my own cheek. There are screams from 
the crowd. I gargle, choking on the broken teeth and blood as it pools 
in my mouth. I swallow hard and I instantly crave more. 

God help me! God help me! 

I'm famished Lord! I'm famished! I'm so fucking hungry!

I try to breath, but I cannot. 

The mallet hits the side of my throat, busting an artery. Blood sprays. 

The stake is driven in further. Muscle pulls apart, tears apart. 
It hurts. God, it hurts! 

Cruel laughter burns my ears, and I wish I killed someone when I 
had the chance. 

But I am no killer. I am not forsaken. And I will not give them the pleasure 
of thinking so. I close my eyes and stop screaming. I am afraid. 
But I am proud. And brave. 

"Goodbye, mongrel." The man in black whispers, and I know the voice. 
Lucius Malfoy.

I shudder and I speak, my voice frighteningly clear. "The quality 
of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, 
Upon the palace beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that 
gives and him that takes." I wonder how, with so much blood gone and the 
state of my mouth and throat, I am able to quote Shakespeare. Then 
I remember that I am not human. 

He draws back in surprise. And he hesitates. But he does not stop. 

He pounds the blow in deep.

I scream.




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"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
-I Corinthians, 15:55
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