Interlude II
The emaciated man woke up again. He didn't notice that he was in his human form again. No one had cared at Azkaban, since only the sightless Dementors ever went by his cell.
The man stretched and noticed once more that he was lying on something other than the straw on the floor. Additionally, he noticed something he had learned to ignore. His smell. Well, he didn't notice his smell, but the lack thereof. Which he had learned to ignore. His smell that was. But he didn't smell–
He stopped his thoughts running in circles forcefully and just thought with little feeling behind them, I don't stink. Yay.
Oh right, I'm in the holding cells at the Ministry. On a camp bed.
…
Why?
He had been at Azkaban, for a long time, right?
His stomach growled. It hadn't done that for quite some time.
Then the smell of actual food registered in his mind, and he scrambled off the rickety bed and dove towards the wooden bowl full of stew.
There might have been a spoon, but he didn't use it. He put the bowl to his lips and tipped it carefully to catch every bit of food they allowed him. He had learned the hard way never to waste any.
After the feast, he sat back on his haunches and looked around while licking his lips and beard clean. He was alone in this block which he was very thankful for, after having to listen to Bella's screeching and rambling for such a long time.
How long had he been there?
Why was he here?
Where was everybody?
He knew that the cells were observed constantly. But from the outside.
He waved and said, "Wh…" he coughed, found a cup of water, and tried again. "Why am I here? May I testify now? How long have I been in Azkaban?
No one answered. So, he shrugged, went back to his camp bed, and fell asleep again.
A/N: Thats it for today, but there is more to come.