"I- I didn't know, I swear I didn't know!" I cringed inwardly as the sound reached my ears. After 15 years, I still can't stand the sound of them. The new ones shriek their innocence, or beg me to let them out when I bring their meals And when they're sanity leaves, of course, it's worse. They thrash in their cells, banging their limbs-their bodies are so pale, they almost glow- against the bars. That is, until the Dementors come, then, they stop screaming, but instead let out a little wail. And after awhile, they simply stop wailing. At first, I thought they were asleep. But then, I'd go to bring them they're dinner, and I'd see them, staring at the stone wall, they're lips moving, but in silence. Some looked so young, but I didn't think that the Ministry of Magic would put them here if they were children. It was not till a few years later that I found out- If the crime is bad enough, they have the right to imprison even a five year old child.
I work in the kitchens of Azkaban, and I serve the meals to our prisoners. I started working here directly after I graduated Hogwarts, and now I am in my thirties, tired, old, worn out and sick of hearing the constant wailing. I even hear them screaming when I am safe at home, in my bed.
I live alone. It's not that I am a hag. Nor am I a beauty Queen. But who would marry a person who worked days and even nights in a prison so horrible that one day there could drive a prisoner from proclaiming his innocence to begging, pleading, promising to do anything just to be let out? Sometimes, I don't even want to be near myself.
I remember when they brought Black in. He was so angry, so livid that I was scared to serve him his meals. We had graduated the same year, but I'd never been friendly. I hadn't liked him very much at all. Slytherins and Gryffindors have a tiresome feud between them, and it really makes it hard to be friendly to other houses. But I'd never seen him so angry.
Of course, I had to feed him, but I put it off quite often, just to see how far I could drive him. It does sound cruel, I know, but after being in a place so drained of everything except hate, you become slightly hateful yourself.
The first time I brought him dinner, he looked at me, and recognition dawned on his face. But he didn't say anything. Even after the torture, he still wouldn't talk, wouldn't cry. One time I came to bring him dinner, and saw blood on the floor of his cell. Not so much, but a little pool of it, slowly drying into the stone. It made my stomach turn.
After that, I tried to give him his meals on time, but there are so many prisoners, and I only have 2 hours to give the food out before the Dementors return, so sometimes, I missed him. It's always someone who doesn't get fed. But what can I do? I am one of the only people who works here. Needless to say, I've consumed quite a lot of chocolate since I began.
One night, I brought him his dinner and found him, curled up by the bars, sobbing. This sight scared me. How could he be crying, it didn't seem like something he would do. Black had always seemed so strong.
I knelt down beside the bars, and stretched my hand through them, until I felt his head. Oh, it was disgusting. Greasy, coarse hair met my fingertips. He flinched when I touched him, but looked up at me with a face so cramped in pain that I felt tears well up in my own eyes. He said something, but no sound came from his lips, perhaps because the bottom one was split and bleeding, and they were so cracked that I wondered if it hurt him to breathe.
I grabbed his hand, and held it in my own. It was so thin and paper like, as if he had the bones of a bird underneath his skin. Oh how I wished that he could fly away at that moment! We said nothing, and, eventually, I realized that I had to feed the other prisoners. I gently squeezed his hand, and left. But I continued going back to his cell when I could, sitting beside the bars to whisper to him. Several times, I just missed being caught by the Dementors when they came to drain him. He was my one happy thought when I was away from Azkaban, as I ate my badly cooked dinners and read books whose characters had the life I wanted, I thought of him. My dreams were filled with fantasies of his name being cleared, and us leaving everything behind when we got married and lived 'happily ever after.'
After the next time they tortured him, he couldn't breathe. I was so scared. I managed to get most of my arm through the bars, to let him squeeze my hand as he struggled, throwing up water from the tank they had dunked him in repeatedly. Somehow, I had thought wizarding torture would be more magical- but apparently, Wizards are just like Muggles when it comes to that kind of pain. I thought that even if he had killed James and Lily Potter and all those Muggles, he didn't deserve this. He still hadn't spoken to me, just clung to my hand in the darkness as I stroked his hair. Awhile later, I got sick, and had to take a vacation. When I got back, he was so thin, I knew that they hadn't bothered to hire anyone else to sub for me, and I felt so guilty, I cried. I hadn't cried in years, and it felt alarmingly good to switch positions, and have him stroke my hair while I held his hand and sobbed.
On August 27th, I was sitting in the kitchen at Azkaban when I heard an odd snuffling. I peered through the glass window, and saw a skinny black dog, gazing mournfully up at me. Looking around to make sure there were no Dementors, I unbolted it, and opened the door to let it in. Immediately, the dog leapt up, placing it's paws on my shoulders, and licked my face, then it disappeared through the open kitchen door. I watched it trot through the yard, and slip through the bars of the gate. This struck me as faintly unusual. I mean, I've seen animals go inside the prison- rats, and a couple of cats- but none of them ever came out. And where had the black dog come from? I ran inside, forgetting my kitchen duties, and followed the canine footprints in the dirt. They led to Sirius' cell, and stopped abruptly at the bars. And the cell was empty. My stomach lurched. True, they could have taken him for torture, but somehow, I knew, I just knew that it wasn't the case. I quickly pulled off my cloak, and retraced my steps, wiping away the dog tracks, because I knew that it was him, I knew that Black had escaped, that he'd somehow turned himself into a dog , and I didn't want him to get hurt.
That was the last I ever saw of Black. They came and investigated, talked to me, and even the Dementors, but they didn't get anything. I played dumb, maybe they figured I'd had one too many memory charms or something, because they stopped asking. Then I went home, and prayed that they wouldn't find him. And they haven't yet. I still work in Azkaban. After 15 years, I still can't stand the sound of them. But what I can't stand even more than the sound, is knowing that I will never see him again because if he is caught, he will get the Dementors kiss, without a trial, without any chance to defend himself. And if that happens, I will know he is dead. Until then, there is a tiny grain of hope, and I am going to cling onto that until the day I die. I will never stop loving Black.
A/N I know, it's kind of stupid. Kind of pointless. A monologue, of sorts. But I started thinking….Well, I am not sure what I was thinking exactly. I just got sick of writing my other stuff. And I wanted to invent a character. One who worked in Azkaban. Maybe I'll write more about her. Give her a name? Or maybe not. You tell me what you think. Please review.