Azkaban
Azkaban was a dark place, the Dementors allowed no happiness or light to grow inside the keep, quenching the little flames of hope in the prisoners' eyes and filling them with despair instead. Great sadness gripped Gandalf's heart, as his gaze met the blank stares of the witches and wizards. Underneath the despair there lingered an even worse feeling of hatred. The black hearts of the prisoners beat slowly on, waiting, waiting for the day they were set free and could get their revenge.
Three days he waited, the aged wizard guarding his cell giving him his meals through a little flap at the bottom of the door. He had been informed at his entrance into the keep that it would take a few days for the Ministry to decide what to do with him. When he asked if he could contact the Ministry, his request had been denied him. Curious as to what the Ministry would decide, he let himself be kept inside the cell, till he was marched off into a little bare office.
The young, stiff-lipped wizard in dark grey robes who sat behind the rickety little desk of the office read the sentence of the Ministry to him with a dull and emotionless voice. The Ministry informed Gandalf that as he had broken into Hogwarts he had been sentenced to four years in Azkaban and a life under constant surveillance through the Ministry. He was denied the right to raise a protest and only allowed one visitor per year.
That was the moment when Gandalf decided that his time at Azkaban was definitely over. With a move of his staff, he hurled everybody and everything within six feet distance to him to the ground. The doors between him and the outside slammed open at a wave of his hand, approaching guards were flung backwards as he pointed his forefinger at them, and after a very short while, he was off, to never set foot into Azkaban again.
His steps carried him north, to Hogwarts. He knew that much knowledge could be found there and also a certain intriguing pair of dark eyes.
Azkaban was a dark place, the Dementors allowed no happiness or light to grow inside the keep, quenching the little flames of hope in the prisoners' eyes and filling them with despair instead. Great sadness gripped Gandalf's heart, as his gaze met the blank stares of the witches and wizards. Underneath the despair there lingered an even worse feeling of hatred. The black hearts of the prisoners beat slowly on, waiting, waiting for the day they were set free and could get their revenge.
Three days he waited, the aged wizard guarding his cell giving him his meals through a little flap at the bottom of the door. He had been informed at his entrance into the keep that it would take a few days for the Ministry to decide what to do with him. When he asked if he could contact the Ministry, his request had been denied him. Curious as to what the Ministry would decide, he let himself be kept inside the cell, till he was marched off into a little bare office.
The young, stiff-lipped wizard in dark grey robes who sat behind the rickety little desk of the office read the sentence of the Ministry to him with a dull and emotionless voice. The Ministry informed Gandalf that as he had broken into Hogwarts he had been sentenced to four years in Azkaban and a life under constant surveillance through the Ministry. He was denied the right to raise a protest and only allowed one visitor per year.
That was the moment when Gandalf decided that his time at Azkaban was definitely over. With a move of his staff, he hurled everybody and everything within six feet distance to him to the ground. The doors between him and the outside slammed open at a wave of his hand, approaching guards were flung backwards as he pointed his forefinger at them, and after a very short while, he was off, to never set foot into Azkaban again.
His steps carried him north, to Hogwarts. He knew that much knowledge could be found there and also a certain intriguing pair of dark eyes.
