6 months
He had been in this hellhole for six months.
The prisoner had placed himself in front of the window to watch the crescent moon rise. After the unbearable heat of the fiery orb they called the sun, the moon's steady and patient light had been quite a welcome change.
His thoughts were strangely twisted, not because of the demons out there, but maybe because of lack of correspondence of any sort.
They really do make us animals, he thought wryly, or most of us, at any rate.
The prisoner was a skeletally thin man. His hair was long and matted, his eyes, which once sparkled with life, were dull. He could have been made out of stone, so still was he in his fervent admiration of the moon. His breathing was shallow, but his hands moved incessantly, perhaps the last sign which went to show that he too was waiting.
What was he waiting for?
As if in answer to the question, the heavy door of his cell was violently opened. A man stepped in pompously. He does not play a major part in this narrative and so will not be named. He had only one thing to say
"Number 721, your plea has been registered with the authorities. I have just received a copy of the judgment."
The prisoner waited with baited breath, not daring to hope. After all his pleas, would he finally get what he wanted? He schooled his features into a neutral mask and asked with a careless air, "And?"
The man broke into a smile and said "They have agreed. Looking at your past record, they have agreed to grant you a cellmate."
The prisoner couldn't believe it. He was ecstatic. Finally, he would have somebody to talk to. Even if it were a murderer he wouldn't have cared. At this point he couldn't be picky.
"Thank you." He said.
"The pleasure is mine Mr. Potter."
Ah yes, the prisoner thought, that was my name, wasn't it? Harry Potter? Boy who lived? Wish those scumbags could see me now. Aloud, he said, "Thank you sir, it means a lot to me."
The man quickly left the room, his visit no doubt cut short due to the stench and cries of the depraved souls entombed here. The screams would not let him sleep at night for the first few months, but now it didn't disturb him. Nothing mattered anymore. One day was very much like the last and the weeks and months dragged on and on.
Still, the prisoner thought, at least my life is going to take a turn, either for the better or for the worst
He had no idea.