Wendelin the Weird sat in a cell in Azkaban. Alone.
"Oh," She lamented, "How has it come to this?" Tears streamed down her face, which was now covered in dirt. Her long, matted grey hair was threadlike with grease while her face was crinkled and appeared to have aged at least ten years in the past six months. Of course, she was 172, but no matter. Wendelin valued her looks. Or at least she did.
Heaving herself up, Wendelin groaned, feeling a complete lack of energy. "Damn Dementors!" She yelled, wailing to the walls and the un-listening ears of the other prisoners. Here, nobody cared. Hours were filled with incessant wailing of other prisoners, driven mad by their loneliness, driven mad by their thoughts, driven mad by their guilt. A hooded cloaked figure drifted by the cell. As it went, darkness emanated from below it's hood and a rush of cold air followed it. Wendelin shivered, rubbing her arms, trying to comfort herself. Hier breath rose as a mist in front of her face and her black eyes widened in terror. Echoes of his past haunted her, ghosts of memories filling her mind. The day it all went wrong engraved into the back of her eyes replayed before her.
"It's magic!" Yelled a leather clad villager, waving his pitchfork at Wendelin, who had just transfigured a slug into a snake. At these words, many of the village's men seemed to be summoned. Being muggles, their understanding was limited and they attempted to grab at Wendelin, brandishing torches of fire and old farm tools towards him. Had he wanted to, Wendelin could have apparated within an instant to a safe place. The only people muggles actually caught doing "magic" were their fellow muggles. It was easy enough for wizards and witches to escape, not to mention there were no problems even if they were. The wooden houses of the villages stared emptily, their windows as eyes, staring into the family inside as women and children looked out, condemning Wendelin.
Wendelin was happy. It was the 47th time she was to be burned at the stake in different villages, wearing numerous disguises and she couldn't wait for the fun to begin! Approaching a pile of wood, surrounded by various kindling, she was tied with knots to the large pole within the centre. The binding was tight. Tighter than it had been before. No matter, she said to herself, trying to wriggle her wand free from her belt. The village mayor used his torch to set the wood alight. It sparked into light. Time to shine, thought Wendelin, still attempting to get her wand. It was stuck. Don't panic, she thought as the flames crept closer, her fingers still scrabbling at her belt where her wand was stashed. Now feeling the intensity of the roaring flames, she tried moving with her whole body. She needed her wand. The jeering faces of the crowd yelled as, for the first time ever, Wendelin screamed in the agony of being burnt alive. Continuing to scream, something strange had happened. She became light headed. The clouds above darkened into grey and the men stopped jeering.
"Magic!" One of them yelled.
"Burn that witch faster!" Called another in attempting to stop the weather from behaving so. The clouds, now blocking all clear light from the village, started to cry tears. They dropped down, slowly at first but soon as heavy as a tempest at sea. Extinguishing the flames, Wendelin stopped panicking, glad to be a true witch where wands were not always needed and some magic was still unexplainable. The men looked at her and her relief. One began to run with his pitchfork aiming straight for her heart. She closed her eyes, unable to escape and willing to accept her fate. Boom. A force she had never felt before emanated from her body, her limbs glowed white hot, heat and energy exploding out of them, destroying everything and everyone in her way. The bindings broke and Wendelin levitated several feet from the ground, her skin still illuminated by whatever force controlled her. She felt empty. She crumpled. Doubled over on the floor, her skin became normal colour and she panted, trying to regain her breath. Her head was spinning. Her muscles ached. And everything was becoming cold. Is this death? She thought to herself, trying to crawl through the muddy crater which she had created. She needed to think and gather her thoughts, apparate as far as away as possible. But she couldn't think – she was sure she could see a giant squid, everytime she closed her eyes. Closing her eyes and trying to focus on it, she wondered why this remnant from her days at Hogwarts was making its presence in her mind. It's eyes glowed red, almost hypnotically. Starting to shiver, she stopped thinking and clutched herself. Strange, scaly fingers wrapped themselves around her neck from behind and she was dragged to Azkaban. Without trial.