Written for a number of reasons, and the Room of Requirement's truth or dare challenge is the only good one.
Azkaban is cold, so, so cold.
The cold stones of Barty's cell press into his body, and even when there are no guards present, whatever warmth he can manage to create just seeps away.
It is numbing. Perhaps this is why he can't remember anything other than hopelessness and despair.
Barty tries to remember happier times. There are times it works. Sometimes, when he concentrates, he can make out a warm smile. His mother's smile.
He screams for her because he wants the warmth back. He's tired of being cold.
At this point, anything but cold is only a distant memory. Compared to the conditions inside the prison walls, it's almost a happy one. And happy memories never last long with dementors around.
They are trying to break him.
Barty refuses to let the dementors win.
He refuses to let them drain him, let them take away all he is and all he stands for.
But he cannot escape the cold.
He stares at the mark on his left forearm and remembers exactly why he's doing this. The Dark Lord is still out there somewhere, and no matter what, Barty will return to his side when the time comes.
He will not let the cold pull him into its depths until he can't break free.
Sitting against the cold, rigid wall, Barty makes a solemn promise to himself. Even though the walls always feel as though they long to close the gap and squeeze the last traces of life from him, even though he can never escape the dementors' need for food, he will not let his sanity slip away. It may not be today, but the Dark Lord still has use for him, and he won't fail him by being reduced to a mumbling mess.
He will not succumb to the cold.
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