Hogwarts : The Descendant of Gryffindor
Chapter 1 : The Prisoner of Azkaban
The air was frigid as the moon rose and the sun set. The day slowly turned into night and torches were lit along the vast network of dark and dank corridors. Hooded figures drifted down them, neither walking nor flying with sightless eyes and skeletal hands. Chains hung from the ceilings, clinking against each other as a cold unearthly wind howled through the passages.
In cells lining the walls, individuals languished, waiting for their time to run out. Literally. It was in one of these cells that a man lay. He looked as though in a stupor with his eyes turned towards the ceiling from his prone position on the cold stone floor. A single window, barred and enchanted, provided light. Little pools of water formed around him as the drops dripped from the ceiling.
Very painfully, very slowly, he pulled himself to the bars of his cell. He grasped them for support, pulling himself into a standing position. Even as he rose, he clutched the bars as his legs, weak from the lack of exercise, shook. Feebly he collapsed again onto the floor, his hands sliding down the bars. Across from him, another prisoner scoffed.
"You must be the weakest they brought in. Stand tall and strong, man, for the Dark Lord is rising. He may consider you if you prove fit to serve him." The man, indeed, was standing tall but even he shrank back as a hooded figure passed. They were silent but their mere presence made you very very unhappy, as though all hope was lost and your faint glimmer of happiness was sucked away.
"Master! Come for me! I wish to serve you, Lord Voldemort! Come, please!" The man suddenly sunk to the ground and sobbed. Soon he quietened until, "KILL ME!" he wailed and his voice filled the whole passage. The hooded figure stopped and looked at him, as he fell into a curled up position on the floor, whispering gibberish to himself.
The prisoner turned from the man and slumped back against the wall. He looked up at the barred window, seeing the moon rise. Every time some hope came into him, the Dementors passing would suck it out like a black hole. Nothing could stop them. His shaking hand slowly moved to where his pockets would be if he were wearing a wizard's robe. But the robes of an Azkaban prisoner had no pockets and his were also torn and ragged.
For a moment his hand grasped something imaginary and his lips were seen to make out the words 'Expecto Patronum'. He flicked his invisible wand and was lost in his own fantasy. He saw the Dementors shrink back as the silvery figure charged through them. Maybe then he could be free. The seconds turned to minutes which turned to hours. He clasped his hands together in front of him and stared at the wall opposite him. Only the faint dripping sound of the water gave him an indication of whether he was awake or asleep, alive or dead.
He tried to think of happier times but he couldn't remember them. He had been trapped in this nightmare for so many years now that all he could remember was a little string of words. A mantra he kept whispering to himself day to day to keep himself sane and to not give up hope. But he had done that a long time ago.
"The knight of the Lion." He muttered to himself
It was the only thing he knew, the key he needed. An ancient secret that only he had been able to crack. The only thing that he had ever wanted in life and it rested with this 'knight'. He couldn't make sense of it but it didn't matter anyway. His life was slowly ticking away.
Shadows were suddenly thrown across the walls in the corridors that were illuminated only by the everlasting torches that burned in their brackets. The corridors were always dark and the only light sources in there were the enchanted torches.
The prisoner sat up bolt upright as the Dementors approached. But they passed his cell, between him a man with messy black hair between them. As they passed, he looked up and his eyes met the prisoner's. The prisoner slumped back against the wall, eyes wide open. But then he once again fell back into his almost vegetative state, eyes once again unfocused and lost.
Time passed and soon the moon was directly in the center of the sky in almost a right-angle to the ground. It was midnight. The prisoner dragged himself to the wall he had been staring at all this while and used an uncut fingernail to scratch a line in the wall. He had counted the days leading up to today. Grimly he surveyed his work and looked up as the shadows once again appeared.
They had come for him.
The Dementors arrived. Silently his cell door swung open. Hanging his head with his mop of untidy light brown hair and unkempt beard, he approached them. He couldn't refuse, his legs seemed to move of their own accord now. Then, just as the other man a few hours ago, he was sandwiched between the two black figures and marched towards yet another nightmare. The last one he would ever have.
The prisoner shuddered as the temperature of the air seemed to nose-dive ten degrees lower. They went through the endless corridors where people faded away slowly. In spite of himself, he smiled. Now he could end this nightmare. But maybe he was just going insane. Maybe this was just another of those dreams he had everyday when he finally dropped off to an unrestful sleep.
At last they arrived in a large hall illuminated also by the enchanted torches. His heart sank as he saw how many Dementors were there. They formed two lines with a space in the middle. The Dementors dragged him through that space. He looked around at the mouldy walls and smelled the dank air. He suddenly felt so unhappy. He just wanted to die suddenly. Life was not worth living anymore. He suddenly found himself looking up at the Dementor at the end of the hall, the Dementor lines on his left and right, with almost some fondness in his eyes. They were bringing the prisoner to him.
He finally arrived at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath, hating the rotting smell that the Dementors gave off. He bowed his head. No one in the world cared if he lived or died. He was just another lowly murderer being executed for his crimes. Just another one. They didn't want to know who they were really executing. He found himself thinking of the other prisoners that landed in the same boat as he did. No one to hear them scream, no one to find out the truth behind their sentences, behind their eyes.
A voice rang out in the hall, echoing off the walls. A cold voice and probably the last voice he would ever hear. "You, Alastair Graham Rythe, have been found guilty of murdering several innocents in Diagon Alley, in a supposed bloodlust. Thus, you have been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Do you have any last words?"
It was almost ironic. Who in the world cared, he thought, about me? So he asked for the only thing he could ever want since falling in this nightmare with no hope of getting out. It was like the deepest pit in the world and he was finally reaching the bottom.
The Dementor loomed ever closer, their breathing was uneven and their rotting smell was nauseating. Alastair set his jaw and looked the hooded figure straight where the eyes would be as his world swirled and he felt more lost than ever before. The skeletal hands were firmly on his shoulders now but their touch was gentle. It was almost as though he were about to be kissed by his mother or lover. The approach was slow, but tormenting.
"Just do it quick."
A/N : My second story and my first ever for Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy reading this. :). The title's a bit of a giveaway but it's the best I could think of.
Disclaimer and Credits : Kudos to J.K. Rowling for such a wonderful series of books. You deserve every bit of attention from us fans hehe. The name of the chapter is from one of her books but I couldn't figure out a better title. It just stuck. So all credits go to her because I didn't make up the name 'Azkaban'. Most of the names used here are owned by her except 'Alastair Graham Rythe'. It is entirely of my own creation. The plot is also thought of by me as well as the title. I did not create the names 'Hogwarts' or 'Gryffindor'.
