With my left arm wound around my right, I tried to stop the bleeding. The cut was about the size of my fist. They had given me a lousy, dirty bandage to cover it up. The puss was oozing out. My breath was hitching. I was quickly going to faint.

Couldn't remember how I'd gotten the cut. I think it had been someone who wanted me to stop living. I think they came up to me with a knife in the middle of the night. And the guards let them.

I wasn't bothered by it now, I mean I didn't care who had done it anymore, because whoever it was, he or she was stronger than me.

But I still had some memories that wouldn't give me peace. Like the heat.

In prison, the heat had been unbearable during the day. The hot stoves drove me insane. They were placed right under our cells, in the cellars. They'd burn constantly and then they'd melt our skins away, drop by drop.

Then at night they'd stop. They'd bring out the blizzards instead. They'd make it so cold my hands would freeze. They'd make it as cold as death.

And then it would be terribly warm again.

Now that I was back on the bus with my mates, I felt an incredible feeling of lightness. It was a perverse feeling of being completely free to do anything. I had gone through the worst possible evils. What more could they do to me? They had proven me innocent.

But I was still losing blood and my breath was still wheezing. If I was going to fall, I was going to fall feeling incredibly light.

I sat on my stool next to the driver's seat and I pondered over what I would do now.

I could do anything I wanted. I could go home and sleep in a proper bed. I could drink clear water. Oh, I could breathe. But not too much, not at once. I first had to stop the bleeding.

I hit my head against the window, hoping that one pain would eliminate the other.

Didn't work very well.

How could I start living again when I couldn't get a hold of myself? My head was in different places.

And then, I did the unthinkable.

I kicked Arnie out of his seat, right out the window. I took the wheel and swerved the bus into a tall building, full of bright, shimmering lights.

After a moment or two of raucous noise, my bleeding finally stopped.

When I woke up, I was still on the island. I was watching the wave crash over my weak, unresponsive legs. The water was cool. The sea was calm, right before a storm. Azkaban looked mighty pretty on the backdrop of a December sky.

Someone put a hand on my weary shoulder.

'Get up, Shunpike,' he said morosely. His wand was stuck in my throat.

I got up and walked with him along the shore. I was following him obediently, like a dog. I knew I was doing that, but I didn't know why.

'My name is Rookwood. You will join us and be a loyal servant for an indeterminate period,' he spoke, glazing me over with a dark stare.

'You mean, become a Death Eater?' I asked, curious.

'Yes. You will obey the Dark Lord and he shall be your only master from now on. Your freedom depends on your loyalty.'

My freedom – he meant my leave from Azkaban. If I was a good man, they would keep me out of there. If I followed the orders of You-Know-Who, I'd never have to return to that hideous place that had robbed me of my happiness.

I sighed. I'd never be happy again, with or without the place. But if I ever returned, I'd die before I walked over the threshold.

I nodded.

I would do anything, I just didn't want to go back.

He thought I was under the Imperio curse. I was, most likely. But I also knew I was doing it willingly.

Just like I had envisioned crashing my beloved bus into smithereens, without any remorse, without a care in the world.

I was a cold, hardened bastard. A free one.