She screams and claws at the door, droplets of blood spluttering onto the grains and splinters of wood. There's a lingering smell of mold, spiders dancing along their webs and a tired moaning in the distance all encompassed within the small prison of a room.

Her hands begin to slow and she sinks to her knees, sighing with frustration. The woman's heart pulses in her chest, while familiar slithering sensation arises on her left forearm.

Glancing down, she smiles maliciously at the sight of the wriggling snake protruding from the skull's mouth, her own jagged, crooked teeth laughing. He calls to her and the others, the Dark Mark thickening and growing stronger.

Slowly she rises, the sound of explosions ringing in her ears. If she's merely had her wand then she would have broken free ages ago. But the thought now seemed like a possibility.

The prison cell begins to tremble, causing miniscule pieces of rock to rattle and plummet to the floor.

Without any warning, the wall directly ahead bursts and crumbles, leaving a gaping hole looking down upon the thrashing ocean.

Stumbling here and there, she makes her way towards the opening. The wind whips through the room and throughout her hair, teasing and tossing her curls.

Dementors cut through the air, their cloaks billowing and fingertips callously spreading a haze of frost, ice and depression.

But she does not feel any sensation of sorrow. Strength and pride soar through her veins, all magical charms and spells undone. With a step and turn of her foot, she's disapparated on the spot, finally free from Azkaban Prison.