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Blood Price

Chapter 1: Prison Penalty

We stood outside the bleak, black walls of Azkaban, the Wizarding World's largest and most fearsome prison. Located on an island n the center of a great stormy sea, it would have been hard to escape from without a wand, but the guards… Oh, the guards.

Dementors are the guards of Azkaban Prison. They are soulless creatures that can steal your warmth and happiest memories with their very presence. If a witch or wizard is in their proximity too long, he or she loses all rational thought and magical powers.

I looked over at my companion. Why had he brought me to this Godforsaken place? Dumbledore hadn't told me a damn bloody thing. When I had asked, the Headmaster had shaken his silvery head and told me that he needed to retrieve something.

"Come, Alastor," Dumbledore invited quietly, "let us do this quickly." He walked briskly through the prison's only door, and I followed warily. I had put most of these killers here.

Someone might try something.

The sounds of whimpering and mad whispers echoed off the damp grey walls. The aura of despair was palpable and thick.

I followed Dumbledore through the bleak corridors, passing a myriad of full cells. Wails followed our passage; hands reached through the bars. One skeletal appendage grasped my robes. Drawing my wand, I prepared to blow the crazy bastard off me, but Dumbledore stilled me with a shake of his head. He gently pried the gaunt man off me, murmuring softly.

He had always been the compassionate sort.

We continued on our way, with Dumbledore pausing time-to-time to peer into a cell. At last, he stopped fully, turning a kind gaze on the cells occupant. Looking in as well, I had to work to keep the surprise off my scarred face.

There was a girl inside. A young girl, no older than sixteen. She was curled against the stone wall, huddling in a corner. Midnight hair, greasy from being unwashed for some time, curtained over her face. Gray, thing robes were draped over her too thin frame, and some rags that appeared to have been torn form the tattered garment were wrapped around her forearms. The wrappings were covered with rust colored stains.

Dried blood stains.

"Samara?" Dumbledore said quietly, but firmly.

The girl looked up and set a haunted jade gaze on us. She looked frightened—no, terrified—as she curled even farther into the corner, reminding me of a dog that had been kicked one too many times.

I glanced sidelong at Dumbledore. Appearing slightly shocked, probably by the bandages, he spoke again, "Samara, it is alright. We have come to take you away from here."

Samara looked at us a long while. Finally, she whispered hoarsely, "Who are you?"

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This," he stated, gesturing to me, "is Alastor Moody, a retired Auror and a friend."

Slowly, the girl stood and cautiously approached the bars.

Up close, it was easier to see her in detail. Too white skin was stretched over prominent facial bones and her eyes appeared even larger than they were, a solid dark green, against all that white. Thick black lashed fringed the eyes, and dark circles ringed them. A small nose, but with a slight hook shape. All in all, she was actually a pretty girl. Not so much as beautiful as striking in the unique blending of her strong features. A face you wouldn't forget. She also reminded me of someone.

Her surprisingly small hands encircled the bars, causing the shredded sleeves of her robes to fall farther back, revealing makeshift bandages that I was sure continued past her elbows.

"What happened to you, girl?" I growled out, motioning to her arms. Someone had to have harmed her, and it wasn't the Dementors. They weren't ones for physical abuse. Just mental and emotional.

Samara turned her head to look at me. "I happened," she stated matter-of-factly.

Dumbledore pulled out a set of keys while I asked, "Why?"

"Sometimes… Sometimes a little pain, a little blood, can keep you from losing your mind. It's a small price to pay for my sanity. What's left of it, anyway." She shrugged.

The bars swung open as Dumbledore turned the lock. Samara didn't move a muscle.

"Samara?" Dumbledore's voice was a gentle as I've ever heard it.

"Wait a bloody minute, Dumbledore," I said, finally voicing a misgiving that had been growing since we had arrived, "What did she do to get throw in this damnable place? And why are we moving her out?" I looked at her with my fake eye, keeping the real one on my companion.

"I-I..." the girl stammered, a tear leaking from her eye, "I didn't-"

She broke off, choking on sobs that wracked her entire body.

I wasn't moved, having seen so many talented actors in my time. Besides, it was my experience that people always lie, even when they were telling the truth. Only a dose of Veritaserum would prove the honest of an answer.

"Alastor, I'm asking you to trust me. I know for a fact that Samara did not indeed murder her family. She only had the unfortunate opportunity to be victimized by Death Eaters, vengeful Death Eaters." Dumbledore placed a long-fingered hand on her thin shoulder.

"Fine, Dumbledore, but you had better explain this to me more fully in the future." Dumbledore was the only exception to my rule about people. He could be trusted.

He nodded. "As you wish."

With the girl between us, we made out way swiftly out of that niche of hell. I couldn't help but wonder why Death Eaters would move against this girl. They had come to collect some debt from her, obviously. But what could a teenager like her, besides Potter, do to gain such a debt?

What earned such a bloody payment?

(A.N.) I got one reveiw, but there were more hits than I expected so I'll try to keep updating on this story. Thanks for reading! Please review!