Discaimer: I do not own J.K. Rowling's world of magic nor any of her characters.

THE WAITING ROOM

The place had no warmth. Even the light was cold.

He spent his days, as his nights, always in the same way, lying there on his bed sometimes listening to the screams of the others. Usually it was the new guests, who bothered to scream. Their threatening soon changed into cries of despair, before their voices faded. But he would not really notice that. There were only few things able to catch his attention.

His environment did not worry him much, no matter how unpleasant it was. His mind was still free. For this reason his smile never left his face.

Oh, what fools the others were, how they screamed blasphemy and exhausted themselves! Couldn't they see that this had absolutely no sense at all?

Who did they want to threaten? Their guards? Fools!

The dementors didn't do this because they wanted to fight the Great Master but for what was given to them on free will: lifes.

He laughed, and it was really out of joy. Though, someone else than the dementors hearing it might have thought another prisoner had gone into madness.

Ah, this was funny!

All these smug guys who thought they had gained the final truth and knew about the good and the evil. What were they doing now? The used what they damned in the hand of the enemy and were glad to have the dementors, these wicked creatures!

They did exactly what they despised, their reasons were exactly what they pretended was unacceptable. Only that they didn't know. Oh, what idiots they were!

This was really a good joke!

He knew there was no such thing as good and evil. It was all a matter of ruling and to be ruled. Knowledge and ignorance. Braveness and fear.

He had made his decision long ago.

He despised those, who had turned to the other side again, they proved that they never had been worth to serve the Master. They would pay anyway.

They had returned there because they feared the punishment, they decided to be ruled by ignorants, being ignorant themselves.

He preferred Azkaban. Not that he especially liked the place. But he didn't fear it either, for to get real power you have to face all your fears before. He had faced them all, long before Azkaban. After that Azkaban couldn't harm him any longer. Though it was different with many of the other guests. He sighed. Yes, sometimes he enjoyed their howling. They were weak. And full of fear. But he wasn't.

No such thing as good and evil.

No such thing as happiness and misery.

Just be.

Voldemort would rise again. He had time. He could wait.

The place hadn't got any warmer, but he had always liked the winter months.

Thus he whistled a little song.