Title- The Prisoner with No Name
By Virginia
Rating- PG-13 for language and some slightly violent moments.
Disclaimer- Everyone and everything, including Azkaban, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, etc. belong to JK Rowling. The only thing that's mine is the prisoner that narrates part of this story as well as Jakura.
Warnings- This may have some violence later on, so if you don't like blood, knives, or painful sounding deaths, I would suggest not reading.
Notes- This is my first fan fic, and it may be a long time in the making, as it's nowhere near completion. Heck, I've hardly even started. Anyway, since I'm relatively new to the world of fan fiction, feedback is appreciated. Only constructive criticism, though. All flamers will be pointed at and mocked.
Chapter One: The Accused and the Insane
The light is fading. Well, it is never really light, not where I am. It is just a darkening in the shades of gray and black surrounding me. Soon, it will be pitch black. I will be thrown into another endless night, where whispering memories of chaos and fear reign, their one purpose to drive me out of my mind. No, not just me, the entire population of the island penitentiary of Azkaban. Yes. That's where I am. The worst wizard jail…no, the worst jail in the entire world. This place makes Alcatraz seem like Euro-Disney.
It's not the place itself. It's actually just a really dark, dank jail, complete with dripping walls and clinking chains, and I think I could handle it okay, if it weren't for them. The dementors.
Even now I can hear them gliding down the corridor, their decaying robes sliding along the floor creating that horrible rustling sound that makes me want to vomit until I black out from fear. The ones standing in front of my particular cell are nearly silent. Nearly. Every once in awhile one takes this deep, rattling breath, and it feels as if my entire body has been plunged into a lake of ice water. It used to happen that I would become incredibly depressed, reliving the most terrible moments in my life. But I've been learning. Most of the other prisoners lose their minds within the first week, screaming in their restless sleep, tearing at their own flesh as if they were trying to physically get out of their skin.
When it's apparent that one of the crazies is truly insane, a single dementor will enter his or her cell, pull off the hood of its robe, and kiss the unlucky person. It's not a kiss, really, it's just called the Dementor's Kiss because the dementor will seal its mouth over the victim's mouth, and suck out his or her very soul. Then, that person is worse off than dead. I don't know what happens when one dies--if there's such a thing as reincarnation, heaven, hell, what have you, but I know one thing. Losing your soul is far worse than any hell you could experience. It leaves your body empty, devoid of any thought, incapable of emotion, movement, or any sensations. It's truly a terrible way to go. I, on the other hand, have decided not to allow myself to become insane. I will do whatever it takes to hold onto the last bit of my mind.
All right, I hear you asking, why am I here? What deed have I committed foul enough to have me thrown into this stinking place? I'll tell you then. I am a Death Eater. Or, I am an accused Death Eater. I might as well claim I am one, since people would never let the possibility that I might not be a Death Eater cross their minds. And they never actually really proved it. This was during the time of that pompous, righteous ass, Bartemius Crouch. When was that, about fifteen years ago? Time flies so fast when you're here. Yet, at times it seems to crawl by slower than a flobberworm. So, Crouch had me thrown in here (even now, I can't recall the exact charges, though I think being labeled Death Eater was enough to have me thrown in here for several life sentences), and here I've stayed for well over a decade, staring into darkness and shadows that surround me, not even bothering to think about the past or future. Such thoughts are what the dementors feed off of. Instead I think only about the present, allowing the darkness to slip into the tiny crevices and corners of my mind until I can hardly even remember who I am.
As I stand in the ever-growing dark, I can hear the dementors shuffling up and down the halls faster than they've ever gone before. They are upset. I can feel their anger and frustration, just as they can feel any happiness in my mind. Someone's escaped from Azkaban. Actually, it was the prisoner in the cell next to my own. He's this extremely dangerous convict, supposedly, who had apparently killed thirteen people with one curse. I don't know if he did it or not. Frankly, I couldn't care less if he's guilty. They said he didn't need a trial—there had been an entire street full of witnesses, including Muggles, but the Ministry managed to convince them it had been some kind of gas explosion. So he didn't get a trial. They didn't even take the time to bring him into a courtroom for the ceremonial condemning. Bastards. I hope he is dangerous; maybe he'll track down the assholes that incarcerated him to this life of hellish misery. I know I would if I ever got free. My belief is innocent until proven guilty, and they never proved him guilty, like they never proved my culpability. He was put here a little after me, and now he's gone, the lucky bastard. I allow a tiny bit of emotion to surface, slamming my fist into the wall of my cell.
Immediately there's a dementor at the entrance to my cell, and I force myself to allow the darkness to seep back into my mind, refusing to let the creature entrance into this precious thing we call a brain. It stands there for a moment, its' face hidden within the shadows of its cowl. I can't tell if it's staring at me or not, and I wait, standing there, facing it, waiting for it to suck in that breath of air that will steal even my anger from me. But it doesn't. The escape of my fellow prisoner must have upset it so much that it glides away from the bars without punishing me, leaving me staring after it blankly.
A/N: I've made a few grammatical changes along with a few others suggested by my great beta reader. For those of you reading this for the first time, hope you're enjoying it so far. ^_^
By Virginia
Rating- PG-13 for language and some slightly violent moments.
Disclaimer- Everyone and everything, including Azkaban, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, etc. belong to JK Rowling. The only thing that's mine is the prisoner that narrates part of this story as well as Jakura.
Warnings- This may have some violence later on, so if you don't like blood, knives, or painful sounding deaths, I would suggest not reading.
Notes- This is my first fan fic, and it may be a long time in the making, as it's nowhere near completion. Heck, I've hardly even started. Anyway, since I'm relatively new to the world of fan fiction, feedback is appreciated. Only constructive criticism, though. All flamers will be pointed at and mocked.
Chapter One: The Accused and the Insane
The light is fading. Well, it is never really light, not where I am. It is just a darkening in the shades of gray and black surrounding me. Soon, it will be pitch black. I will be thrown into another endless night, where whispering memories of chaos and fear reign, their one purpose to drive me out of my mind. No, not just me, the entire population of the island penitentiary of Azkaban. Yes. That's where I am. The worst wizard jail…no, the worst jail in the entire world. This place makes Alcatraz seem like Euro-Disney.
It's not the place itself. It's actually just a really dark, dank jail, complete with dripping walls and clinking chains, and I think I could handle it okay, if it weren't for them. The dementors.
Even now I can hear them gliding down the corridor, their decaying robes sliding along the floor creating that horrible rustling sound that makes me want to vomit until I black out from fear. The ones standing in front of my particular cell are nearly silent. Nearly. Every once in awhile one takes this deep, rattling breath, and it feels as if my entire body has been plunged into a lake of ice water. It used to happen that I would become incredibly depressed, reliving the most terrible moments in my life. But I've been learning. Most of the other prisoners lose their minds within the first week, screaming in their restless sleep, tearing at their own flesh as if they were trying to physically get out of their skin.
When it's apparent that one of the crazies is truly insane, a single dementor will enter his or her cell, pull off the hood of its robe, and kiss the unlucky person. It's not a kiss, really, it's just called the Dementor's Kiss because the dementor will seal its mouth over the victim's mouth, and suck out his or her very soul. Then, that person is worse off than dead. I don't know what happens when one dies--if there's such a thing as reincarnation, heaven, hell, what have you, but I know one thing. Losing your soul is far worse than any hell you could experience. It leaves your body empty, devoid of any thought, incapable of emotion, movement, or any sensations. It's truly a terrible way to go. I, on the other hand, have decided not to allow myself to become insane. I will do whatever it takes to hold onto the last bit of my mind.
All right, I hear you asking, why am I here? What deed have I committed foul enough to have me thrown into this stinking place? I'll tell you then. I am a Death Eater. Or, I am an accused Death Eater. I might as well claim I am one, since people would never let the possibility that I might not be a Death Eater cross their minds. And they never actually really proved it. This was during the time of that pompous, righteous ass, Bartemius Crouch. When was that, about fifteen years ago? Time flies so fast when you're here. Yet, at times it seems to crawl by slower than a flobberworm. So, Crouch had me thrown in here (even now, I can't recall the exact charges, though I think being labeled Death Eater was enough to have me thrown in here for several life sentences), and here I've stayed for well over a decade, staring into darkness and shadows that surround me, not even bothering to think about the past or future. Such thoughts are what the dementors feed off of. Instead I think only about the present, allowing the darkness to slip into the tiny crevices and corners of my mind until I can hardly even remember who I am.
As I stand in the ever-growing dark, I can hear the dementors shuffling up and down the halls faster than they've ever gone before. They are upset. I can feel their anger and frustration, just as they can feel any happiness in my mind. Someone's escaped from Azkaban. Actually, it was the prisoner in the cell next to my own. He's this extremely dangerous convict, supposedly, who had apparently killed thirteen people with one curse. I don't know if he did it or not. Frankly, I couldn't care less if he's guilty. They said he didn't need a trial—there had been an entire street full of witnesses, including Muggles, but the Ministry managed to convince them it had been some kind of gas explosion. So he didn't get a trial. They didn't even take the time to bring him into a courtroom for the ceremonial condemning. Bastards. I hope he is dangerous; maybe he'll track down the assholes that incarcerated him to this life of hellish misery. I know I would if I ever got free. My belief is innocent until proven guilty, and they never proved him guilty, like they never proved my culpability. He was put here a little after me, and now he's gone, the lucky bastard. I allow a tiny bit of emotion to surface, slamming my fist into the wall of my cell.
Immediately there's a dementor at the entrance to my cell, and I force myself to allow the darkness to seep back into my mind, refusing to let the creature entrance into this precious thing we call a brain. It stands there for a moment, its' face hidden within the shadows of its cowl. I can't tell if it's staring at me or not, and I wait, standing there, facing it, waiting for it to suck in that breath of air that will steal even my anger from me. But it doesn't. The escape of my fellow prisoner must have upset it so much that it glides away from the bars without punishing me, leaving me staring after it blankly.
A/N: I've made a few grammatical changes along with a few others suggested by my great beta reader. For those of you reading this for the first time, hope you're enjoying it so far. ^_^
