This is just really weird. This is my first fanfic. So be nice, but if you review tell me the truth. I don't want any liars. OK!
Prologue.
Many screams came from the island in the West Atlantic. All you can pinpoint from the big fortress on it. Most were from the prisoners inside, as the only guards are the black type ghost moving down the halls. These were called Dementors.
The muggles, non-magical people, couldn't see it but to those who did. Well they almost felt compassion for the prisoners. The key word being, almost. The thoughts in their heads were more along the lines, "they deserve it".
And many of them did. All but one. In a tiny cell in the back of the fortress sat a young man. Well at least what appeared to be a young man? His hair was long and tangled up. His emerald eyes blank with no expression in them. His figure thin as if he had not eaten in days. Which was probably the case. His name was scratched along the wall as were other names. His being Harry Potter. An innocent, among the rotten murders and scoundrels in the other cells.
Harry's cell was dark and damp. After being in there for God knows how long, Harry has become accustom to the dripping of water on the stone floor. As it is He cannot hear anything anyways except for the screams and voices in his head that comes with the wonderful guards of Azkaban.