She watched with fascination as the new boy was brought in. It was a rare occasion when another prisoner joined their ranks. Those who committed petty crimes weren't kept up here.
This new boy was young; younger than she expected. He wasn't school age, but not much older than nineteen. He was trembling with the unnatural cold she was used to. Shoved into a cell directly across from her, he sank to the floor.
Dementors surrounded the new arrival greedily. Fresh meat. She listened to his screams echoing through the dungeons as the slimy gray hands touched his flesh. As what little will he had left was sucked out of him.
Maybe the boy would resist for a few days; maybe more. But eventually, he, like all the others before him - like Crouch, like Rodolphus and Rabastan, like Mulciber, even like Bellatrix herself - he would give in. He would huddle in the corner, staring into space and muttering to himself. Waiting for a Dark Lord who would never come.
Or maybe he would just wait for death.
