Disclaimer This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros

Disclaimer This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A Prison for your Body and your Mind

It was dark. It always was. There was no such a thing as day or night, only endless dusk. Hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Time had lost its meaning.

'Sentenced to Life Imprisonment… ´

Moist grey stonewalls covered with slimy fungus, a narrow door with thick rusty bars, molten cot in a murky corner and a knocked bucket for wastes. A small hole so high up the wall to be of no use for view but it did let the chilly and salty see air; occasional freezing raindrops and the endless noise of strong waves hitting the shore fill the cold cell.

Wave's relentlessly pounding the steep rocky shores; endless amounts of freezing dark water roaring against the sharp stones and hollow ravines, deafening him, driving him insane.

There was no escape.

Combination of salty air, spoiled food, mould, wastes, sweat, his own rotting teeth and strong smell of death hung in the air so heavily that he could taste it. Taste it in his sleep, when awake, while eating. The water, the food, the insects, all tasted the same. It was impossible to recognise the different smells and tastes, all tasted like death, like suffocation. But he had gotten use to it, forgetting it, if he hadn't, it would have driven him mad.

'…without the possibility of parole'

There was nothing to see. It was always dark and nothing changed. Same stonewalls, same rusty bars, same black figures floating soundlessly in the corridor, sucking all the warmth and happiness from the air. Always dark, except when the visitors came. Then they'd turn on the lights and the brightness would burn his eyes, blinding him for awhile. But no-one ever did come. Not for him, anyway.

The cold had long since deluded his sense of touch. He felt numb. Just numb. Sometimes he would fall down and scratch his knee; he would bleed and feel nothing but a dull throb. Numb.

And the Dementors. To live trough his worst memories one after another or in this hellhole, which one really was worse? Bittersweet memories, reminding him what the sun looked like, the smell of fresh bread, sound of Lilly's laughter. At least the horrors in his head made him feel. Pain, sorrow, rage, envy, shame, resent, fear, greed, loathing, hate. Sometimes it was better than nothing.

Made him feel alive.

Sometimes he would dream of death only to wake up in this nightmare. He had failed them. Death would be a blessing, but not a luxury he deserved.

But now he had a purpose. A reason to live.

Kill Peter Pettigrew.

And probably Snivellus too, after all he still had twelve free shots left.

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AN: I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought by reviewing! What do you think Azkaban is like?

Thank You.