(A/N): This is really short, it's like 302 words long. Plus, I wrote it at one in the morning so goodness knows how it turned out. Anyways, enjoy.
"I'm your son! Please, father please!" young Bartemius' voice echoed through the cold room. A stiff and silent stare was all he received from his father after he sentenced him to a life spent in Azkaban. His father had no time for something that ruined his flawlessly pristine reputation.
His mother's sobs sounded through the jeers of the court; an agonizing cry for her son. She had always cared for him, but there was only so much she could do. It was his father he wanted to at least notice him; but he never did and now he was being sent to a life in Azkaban; so his mother cried.
His father, however, gave not a second thought to his son; and why would he? He never had before. He turned a deaf ear to him and summoned the dementors to take him away.
The dark creatures ominously seeped into the court room like a menacing virus. Their mere presence ripped all the joy and hope from from his aching heart; that is, what little happiness he had. The sole time the young man could ever remember being happy was his third birthday. He had the foggiest memory that his father had attended the small party his mother had prepared. He realized now, of course, that it had only been for the press to believe he had a precious and close knit family. But he had believed it then.
Any and all of this was sucked away however as soon as the foul hand of the dementors clawed firmly around his arms.
"Father." He pleaded quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please..."