A/N: This was a little drabble I wrote quite a long time ago, and then completely lost. Something happened, and the file just disappeared. I wanted to rewrite it, but was only in a bad enough mood today, so here it is :) Please review - constructive criticism is appreciated.

Disclaimer: Seriously? No, I don't own Harry Potter. Because I wouldn't kill Fred if I did. R.I.P mate :(

The wind howled around the building.

The sound it made as it swept past the rocks, angering the seas so that the waves tore away, throwing themselves at the prison with as much fury as each and every prisoner should hold. The screams instead were of despair, of lives unfulfilled and of promises broken. He listened to the sound, wishing and hoping that he could simply tear himself out of the place he had been sucked into, his almost soulless existence having never been missed. He wished he could turn back time, change the way fate had turned on him, make it so he was never accused.

The rain thrashed against the walls.

It struck and whipped, never-ending, with such force that the stone should buckle and crack under the onslaught. But it never did. Instead, the walls were tall, black, robust, trapping inside all of the people as their souls withered and died. After a while, they were no longer needed. All that was needed were those creatures, those things. They didn't need walls to keep the damned in their place; the creatures that were the embodiment of the foulness, the disasters of the world, every little thing wrong - they were enough. They trapped the people inside themselves. The walls weren't needed. He wished they would be taken from around him though, taken away from his own innocent mind, and wrapped instead around the backstabber, smothering him in all of the pain and anguish he had caused those he deemed his friends.

The thunder roared down at the prisoners.

It grumbled and clapped, a result of the dense, angry black clouds. They roiled and fought, shouting their rage down at the stone outcropping as if the people were to blame. But they were. They were the worst of the worst, the humanity that hardly deserved the name, the evil embodied. They were the sinners who deserved no forgiveness, no mercy, everything that came their way. All except one man. He was the one who had been trapped, cursed, punished for something he had yet to do. And something he felt had to be done.

The storm raged outside of the prison.

It touched no other places, no other people. The only people receiving the fear and the uncertainty of the fury of the wind, the lashing of the rain, the crashing of the thunder, were those who were trapped. They were locked in, caged up like the animals they had become, losing the battle they fought to stay sane. Only one man retained his sanity in the mortal hell, the one man who had the newspaper. The one man who needed to change the fate of the killer. The one man who held the most hate, anger and determination of anyone in that building.

He stared at the paper before him, his angry fingers tearing it up as if it were tissue. The rain began to slow as the storm began to abate, though he knew it would begin to tear apart the calm once more in a matter of hours.

His eyes shone for the first time in twelve years.

Time to go.