Meine Liebe

-1**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters affiliated with Xena: Warrior Princess and Harry Potter. As always credit goes to the original writers and so on. This is just my fan fiction based on the awesome characters of the two series. Please R/R**

**Chapter 1- Numbers To Friends**

The sunlight cast an enlightening glare on the daily monstrosities that ensued. Squinting eyes gazed up through blowing blonde streaks of hair into the effortless rays in hateful recognition; her ears filled with the deafening screams setting the mood for what was doubtless to be another treacherous day. It had been countless days, maybe even weeks since the captive was reluctantly concealed in the confines of the hopeless pit of a camp. Her lifestyle extremely altered, the captive peered around in an awkward calmness that overcome her some days ago. Or at least, that overcame the projected façade of the captive. In such a place, one either chose to rebel and embrace death, or stumble upon a false sense of security in attempts to further stall the inevitable. At least these were the musings of someone who would always be consulted for comfort from her friends and especially her family.

Hers was the choice to overlook her own problems and awarded loved ones with much needed love and support. That was how it always was. From the beginnings of her young adulthood, always being a beckon of hope when poverty struck her family hard. When the starvation drove the farmers to extreme forms of violence, her father was slain trying to protect his family's rations. She carried her family, aiding them all she could, with a fire in her heart and determination in her eyes. No matter what hardship she was confronted with, she always clasped on to her boundless hope and pressed forward. Her faith would remain with her throughout the rest of her life. And so she hoped as she looked on at the dark acts that occurred where not even birds would sing or butterflies would fly. _I will overcome this_, she proclaimed to herself, shaking away the beginnings of a tear forming in her eye.

_Komme mit mir._

Three simple words that stuck in her mind, threatening a rush of emotions that sent her thoughts spinning. She sighed heavily, drawing breath through clenched teeth as she attempted to avoid the stench of destruction that hung in the air. Not more than a few weeks ago, though it seemed years since, her sister had asked to accompany her to America. Go with her to freedom. Though at the time the decision seemed insurmountable, the decision became glaringly simple in the heat of the sun. With a mournful sigh, she fell forward onto hands and knees, being beaten from behind by a restless SS officer. Raising her chin in tired realization, she raised her sight on the bodies that laid in waste in front of her.

"Mach schnell!" The officer hissed from behind her, momentarily overshadowing the painful screams of other prisoners. Lifting herself up with all she could, she hurriedly continued shifting the bodies from the endless heap down into the deep trench below to her right. She set all of her attention to the gruesome task at hand, willing herself to finish the job. _Soon it will be over_, she promised herself. At least, that's what she had to believe in order to keep from fleeing the camp. But she knew - they all knew - what happened to the poor fools that attempted such a feat. Some of the examples she witnessed firsthand, while others she helped drop into the trenches. Any chances of freedom were quickly diminished as guards would unsympathetically beat and gun down all ignorant captives. Their place was fully explained and that was where they were destined to stay until they were too hungry or sick to continue. Then they accompanied the rest. This thought made the captive shudder, though she managed to hide this from the officer by shifting her bodyweight. _Any sign of weakness, and they strike_. This was a constant threat, though definitely not the only one that haunted the reluctant guests. Hearing the sobbing of the young man immediately to her left, she bit down stiffly on her lower lip to stifle any whispers of a gasp. Sensing the breaking point of the trembling figure, she hurriedly lost grip of the body she was moving and let out a soft gasp as she regained control of it inches from the ground. She knew this would be enough to draw attention to herself and subtract that of the troubled boy. Sure enough, she heard the thundering of boots creep up from behind and the tough grip on the back of her neck. This made her wince, as she was already growing dizzy from exhaustion.

"Were the orders to complicated for you to understand, filthy bitch?!" The officer growled in her ear, making her blood boil at the thought of punishment. She fought back tears in her eyes, and forced herself to regain all strength lost in her legs to carry her through this interrogation.

"No, I'm sorry. It won't happen again," she stated, dismissing any fear that seeped into her voice. She knew they don't stand for much explanation. They did as they pleased, regardless of what truths were behind mistakes. She drew in a cool breath and held it, as if clinging to fleeting hope.

"Keep in mind what happens if it does," the officer threatened, breaking the growing silence and shoving her back into the corpse she now held firmly in her grasp. Hearing the officer trudge toward another outburst of rebellion, Gabrielle glanced over to the boy who had now stopped sobbing entirely, and their eyes met. In all of her time in the camp, Gabrielle had not found a pair of eyes so full of youth and kindness as she did in the boy's. It was refreshing to feel the air of companionship she could sense in the few seconds they shared a gaze. There is always hope for the future, or at least one had to believe.

At last it felt as though time stood still for the short moments lacking of work; it was finally time for supper. If that's what you could call it. Gabrielle was more than satisfied with her exceedingly small portion of cheese and tea that she was able to devour that night; she had seen what days of forced fasting did to punished prisoners. It was never good. At least she could dwell on the comfort that she had some nourishment to continue this torture. Peering across the room, she took in the swarm of men engulfing their plates in pleasure. Very few women were imprisoned at Dachau, but the ones that were there accompanied the feasting men. Suddenly her eyes were stayed on the flashing emeralds once again. Across a few rows from her sat the boy who she had shared a gaze naught but a few hours previously. She squinted, pleading with the eyes to join her in the few moments they had not completely isolated by officers. She cautiously arose and glided over to where he sat, and quickly squeezed down beside him so as not to be caught out of seat. The boy gave a half smile, as feeble as it was, and brushed back his raven hair from his forehead. His hands were worn down, layered with calluses and caked in dirt. Gabrielle greeted the boy with a quiet yet hearty "Hello," so as to welcome him to conversation. She did not have anyone to converse with, and tried her best to distance herself from the other prisoners. Oftentimes prisoners found repeatedly conversing with each other were considered a threat to the security of the camp.

"Hullo," he replied, his voice cracking as though he was unable to quench his insistent thirst. Clearing his throat, he advanced the conversation. "Um..thank you," he whispered, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he was appreciating the other captive's courage and kindness. At a loss for words, she responded only by cupping his beaten hand and warming it with her own. She grinned softly at him, as if to say this will all be over soon. But she was beginning to fear that maybe soon would not come soon enough. Every moment that passed showed her more trauma, more collapsing prisoners, more punishment. She was not afraid of her own life any longer, but of those of others around her. The boy that sat in front of her, for example, that may never be able to laugh with his friends again. Or pursue his dreams. Or even see a bird singing blissfully in the sky. All things were stripped from them at this place, and she hated the thought of other people suffering.

"How long..?" Her voice trailed off mid-sentence. She was overcome by the foolishness of her question. Many prisoners had been in there too long to calculate or even care how many horrid days they had spent here.

"46 days." he answered, unhesitant to her question. Noting the shock on her face, he elaborated, "I'm counting every day in this hole. I want to see how many weeks I shall be in here before I get to go home again." The honesty in his tone overtook her, and she looked back down at his hand. She was too afraid to look into his eyes again. She did not want any sense of insecurity to penetrate the boy's confidence.

"23 days," she looked back up at him. She felt as though she was looking into her own eyes. The eyes she had focused on her own friends before the war. The eyes of someone who would always hang onto hope, no matter what arose. "Can I ask your name?" She shuddered as she saw the pink chevron on his uniform, directly below his number, 11214.

"Harry," he said, almost as though to greet himself once again. She assumed it had been a long time since he was addressed by his given name, and she assured herself that no matter what would happen, she would never forget it.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Gabrielle," she replied, giving him a warm head tilt in his direction, "Most people call me 11312 though." She gave him a smirk, as if to protest her own morbid humor. His eyes shot down, still uneasy about the reminder of his situation. He peered at the cuts in his hand and seemed to reflect on horrific experiences he had associated with his number.

"Sorry," she added softly, regretting her futile effort at comedy. She grew anxious as she knew their time together was running low. "Look, I know these times are hard on us. You've been here longer than me so you of all people know this. But I think if we stay together, we can make it through this. All you need is a friend in a hardship." She watched as his expression once again grew soft and optimistic. His eyes lit up at the thought of a friend amongst all enemies.

"Agreed," he offered a toothy grin to her. It was then that the prisoners were commanded to the wash and then to bed.

"We'll see each other again," Gabrielle committed to her new friend.

"Until next time," Harry returned, and they both agreed to attempt further communications through any possible means.

Their companionship carried on in the following days through meal times, and in passing throughout the whole day. Unfortunately for them, they very rarely labored throughout the day together; however, this was for the best. Constant conversations that ensued between prisoners were frowned upon. Their methods ranged from comments in passing, sneaking to eat together, and into more desperate means. The next mealtime they spent together, some days later, Gabrielle watched as Harry padded over to her spot and slipped into a seat. He gave her a quick grin and then dropped his look back down to the minute serving of soup and sausage that would have to suffice until the next day. He did this to avoid any suspicious glances from the officers that weaved around the room looking for victims. Barely leaning over in her direction, he muttered a quick, "I thought of something," as be brought the sausage up to his mouth. Following his lead, she started raising her mug of tea to her mouth, and answered, "Really?"

"Yes," he declared, "Since our times are cut short, why not converse when we're apart?" He said defiantly.

"Hmm?" Gabrielle, raising an eyebrow, was impressed. She had understood what he was implying; it was something she had considered but was unsure if Harry would be willing to risk such methods.

"Yes, its simple really," Harry teased, "We work in it everyday. Who would notice a few clumps missing each day, eh?"

And so it began. They had decided on writing each other notes to exchange at their meetings, both to have more conversation and to have something to look forward to each day.

Once again summoned to the bunkers, Gabrielle found herself cramped up between multiple sweaty bodies, having just enough room to stretch out flatly on her stomach to ponder. She waited some time for the other prisoners to have passed out from exhaustion before she exposed the clump of mud she had snuck on the way in from washing. As silently as she could, she ripped a portion of the bottom of her shirt off and laid it out neatly in front of her. Licking her lips in concentration, she moistened her pointer finger with the damp mud, and began jotting down her thoughts. She wrote about her former life, that is, her life outside of the concentration camp. She wrote about her sister moving to America, and how she was supposed to accompany her. She wrote about her fears of the camp, and her ambition to get released. She talked about the fun they would have after they made it out of the camp together. And, above all else, she wrote about her hope.

The next morning brought to light breakfast, and a quick exchange of notes between the two. Not even a hello was uttered, as the rush to get out to roll call had begun. All that they shared was a quick smile, and they stumbled out into the main street of the camp to line up. This was, as always, a tedious and nerve-racking procedure. All the prisoners stood as tall as they could, willing themselves to appear strong and committed to the Fuhrer's cause. But anyone who had been imprisoned for a few days knew what the roll call entailed. There were always a handful of prisoners to be executed, and the desperation made the air both thick and muggy. It was this very desperation that often times pitted prisoners against each other, because everyone was competing for their lives. Gabrielle was positioned towards the back of those standing outside for roll call. Peering slowly at her surroundings, she caught glimpse of a handful of prisoners in her direct vicinity that could no longer carry themselves. They had resorted to leaning on the prisoner next to them, or hunching over in pain. Gabrielle did not like the sight of this; the executions could very well occur right around her, and fear exploded in her stomach. She broke out into a cold sweat and held in her shivers as best as she could. She did not cry, instead released a low whimper and continued keeping herself completely straight. In the palm of her hand, she still felt the soft cloth of Harry's note, which made her more nervous still. If an officer would discover this on her, who knows what would happen. She longed more than anything to be back to labor, carrying the bodies of dead comrades or anything worse they could hand to her. Anything but the fear of impending doom that loomed over her right now. She sniffed and remained still as the roll call continued. As of yet, no shots rang in the air. She knew, however, that was about to change. Not even a minute after her thoughts, the first three shots took ill prisoners to their graves. Fortunately, only one of them fell a short distance from Gabrielle. She exhaled appreciatively, though disgusted that such a thing could even be relaxing to her. She felt everyday she spent there, she lost more bits of her morals and beliefs. Never before had she ever thought she would be relieved to see someone die in front of her. But then, it was all about survival in the camp.

Finally, after what felt like hours upon hours, the roll call was completed and the prisoners were divided and marched off to their daily labors. Able to breath freely again, Gabrielle marched and casually peered at her palm every so often to catch a few of Harry's words. She sought comfort in them, as if they could somehow protect her or grant her freedom. She was appreciative that she had another's thoughts to read, and hoped more than ever that his words would drive her own out of her head. She grew weary of the time she actually had to think or reminisce. It became almost a nuisance. After beginning her labor in the assembly line, once again with the corpses, she eased up enough to clear her mind, or at least as best as she could. She didn't see Harry anywhere near her position, but this was typical. She never spent much time deciphering or remembering the others around her, as she always attempted to isolate herself to avoid any trouble. Many of the prisoners were driven mad by hunger and would do anything to save themselves. No means were considered too extreme in a place like this. Gabrielle, however, never found herself sending someone to their death for the safety of her own. She shuddered at such a thought, and once again glared at the corpses they passed down the assembly line. Her thoughts rushed back over her, and she succumbed to their persistency. The faces of those she carried were quickly replaced with that of her father's, and friends she had before her encampment. Shaking her head violently, she bit down on her bottom lip and continued to labor through her silent sobs. She felt guilt for all the evil that attacked the people of the world. Though she could not put a stop to this, she would've sacrificed anything for loved ones to escape this hurt. Gazing carelessly to the ground she caught sight of the round caterpillar that inched its way across the dirt. She gasped at this, as she had not seen any signs of life in this camp. The caterpillar seemed so out of place, colorful and indifferent to the death that surrounded it. Gabrielle felt the warmth of her smile spreading on her face, and she let out a little chuckle at the simplicity of it. Something so little, so out of place, so insignificant. And yet it lifted her spirits effortlessly. As she waited the next weight to pass on, she bent down to bring her eyesight level with the caterpillar. The curious creature continued his journey across the dirt, and Gabrielle gently began picking it up when it happened.

An outburst of noise shattered her desperate thoughts, and she gazed up just in time to see Harry falling to his knees a few hundred feet away. Her face paled as she feared the worst for her friend; the looming SS officer stole a blow to Harry's head as he crumbled fully to the ground. Gazing back at the caterpillar in her hand, she replaced it on the ground as if to say save yourself. Glaring back at the monstrous scene, she saw her friend cowering on the ground, and then attempting to get back on his feet. Every time, though, he was greeted with a heavier beating. A slightly taller figure emerged from out of sight, and started stalking toward Harry and the officers. The blonde figure halted a few feet away from Harry and his attacker, and raised a hand to pause the beating.

Sneering down at the fallen raven-haired boy, the blonde advanced until he was only about a foot away. Bending down and bringing his face inches away from the Harry's, the blonde continued to glare into the other's eyes.

"So you thought you could get away with this?" Draco menacingly threatened the other. "Surely you know that assault of an SS officer is directly punishable."

Harry was at a complete loss for words. He was attending to his labor as ordered, when an SS officer decided to beat him after noticing his homosexual marking. It was one thing to have an officer assault you, but it was quite another to be blamed for initiating an attack on the officer. And this was the position Harry found himself in. He had done quite the opposite, however, and just took the fearsome blows that were dealt to him by the SS. Harry sniffed and was kicked in the chin by Draco for his persistent silence. Each moment the raven-haired boy spent rejecting any bait dealt to him saw the blonde growing more and more fierce with anger. Being the camp senior, Draco answered directly to the camp and report leaders; Harry fully-well knew this meant an ill-fate for him if he did not play along.

"I'm sorry, sir," he murmured to the ground, afraid to lock eyes once again with Draco. He licked the blood off of his broken lip and continued to kneel in front without swagger.

"Sorry? Did you hear that?" Draco raised his voice and his sight to announce to the officers and surrounding prisoners. "The swine attacks one of the officers, and apologizes for it?" Draco released a bone-chilling laugh that he choked back at the sight of the camp leader closing in. "Get up, you bitch, get up and stand fast for the camp leader."

Just as Draco finished ordering Harry to do so, he to erected himself completely and neatly in front of the camp leader. "SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer X." He shivered even as he uttered the title of his superior. At this, it seemed as though the entire camp was silenced by the addressing of the leader. No one wanted to cross the SS, certainly not this particular officer.

"What is the meaning of this?" X addressed Draco, with a tone that matched the blackness of the lengthy hair that dropped down beneath the customary SS hat and onto the shoulders of the uniform. Draco gazed at X, the most feared woman in all of Nazi Germany. She was renowned for her brutality and the lack of hesitance while sending hundreds of people to their deaths. She indeed embodied all that the Dachau concentration camp stood for. Complete extermination of those in opposition of the Arian race and the Third Reich. So much as her drawn breath sent many pleading for forgiveness and life, regardless if they held any guilt in their past. Growing tired of the insolence that presented itself in the form of a blonde in front of her, she took in the scene that occurred around her, and in the distance Gabrielle cried out as the worst was announced.

"Detain him."

And with that, the whole camp stood still and the wind died off. The only sign of movement was that of the oblivious caterpillar continuing his path along the dirt in front of Gabrielle.


End file.
