Karkaroff perched on the edge of the bed, haggard and tense, the brightly-labeled vial shaking in his hand. Breathing irregularly, he fumbled with the cork, trying to open it manually. He'd only been out of Azkaban for sixteen hours, and the new wand he'd bought was still as useless to him as a broken twig.
Finally, he managed to dig his dirty fingernails into the cork and prize it out; still trembling, he downed the entire potion and curled up on the broken mattress. It worked. Darkness came immediately.
For the first time in many nights, Igor Karkaroff slept peacefully.