The Black Rose

People say that Dementors are able to suck happiness from every pore of the human body then they let their victims drown in their misery. It is not very surprising why people spread these rumors. Dementors wear long black cloaks that cover every surface except for their skeletal hands which grope blindly for their charges. They glide through the mists and hover in the cold.

“Ms. Star, would you like to see the prisoners?” The question rang out from somewhere in the mist.

I pulled my wand from underneath my thick traveling cloak. “Certainly, Mr. Grisham.” The mist pulled back and a transparent panther began to walk Mr. Grisham, a gaunt man with thinning hair, and I towards yet another corridor. Why there was so many, I had yet to discover.

“Azkaban is nothing like Grund’s Peak.” That much was obvious. Azkaban was by far the worst of the two wizarding prisons in England. “There’s never any sun here-about; always cold and wet,” he continued. “I can’t wait to be shot of this place.”

The Dementors drew away from my Patronus and floated back to their places as we passed. There were so many of them gathered within these walls. At any moment they could turn on us. A chill that had nothing to do with the clinging dew drops in my hair and on my outstretched hand crawled down my spine.

“These things; they don’t have eyes but they see everything,” he whispered. “But they haven’t turned on us since two years ago. Not sure why the Ministry allowed them to come back.”

“It’s better to have them under our surveillance and control than in society,” I answered. Dementors had wrecked havoc on the muggle world when they joined the Dark Lord. It was only after He had fallen that the Dementors were once again enticed back into the North Sea and resumed their duties. But for awhile they had tasted freedom and there was no doubt that they would take advantage of any opportunity to do so again.

“Not arguing but it’s only a matter of time…” A matter of time before the vacuum left by the Dark Lord is filled. Peace never lasts long. “…don’t see why you’d want my job though, Ms. Star. It’s not a pretty career path for a pretty girl if ye get my drift.”

I stared at the man walking ahead of my and sneered, “No, I do not believe I do. Would you care to elaborate?”

He held up a thick hand, his palms held out towards me. “I meant no offense. Only that these prisoners are here for a reason. They’re a tough lot.”

“I can handle any surprise,” I snarled. “I am a fully certified Auror and fully capable of handling unarmed, unfit miscreants.”

“Don’t forget loopy,” he said as he inserted an old silver key into an equally antiquated keyhole. He wiggled the door knob as he twisted and finally it clanked open and he shoved it. The door grated against the stone floor and then it started.

Screaming, moaning, sobbing, shouting, cursing. Prisoners pressed themselves against the sturdy doors, but all that showed was their faces. Narrow faces, thinned out by sorrow, horror, and depravation. Pale faces, covered in grime, soot, and filth. Faces of the young and old. Faces of the defeated. Faces of the hopeless.

And in this long line of faces, I noticed a door that was missing an occupant. “Is that cell empty?” I inquired.

Mr. Grisham, Azkaban’s current warden, shook his head. “No, that in there’s Bellatrix Lestrange, ye must’ve heard of her.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. My whole face crumpled with disgust. “Her I have most certainly heard about. She murdered her own cousin and tortured two people into insanity, did she not?”

“That she did,” Mr. Grisham answered. “She was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name’s most loyal Death Eater and look where she wound up.” We reached the door and he slammed his fist onto the door.

The door became transparent. She sat with one leg bent in front of her and the other stretched out, facing the leftmost wall, her hands were intertwined on her lap. In every way she looked like the conquered criminal that she was. But then she tilted her head to look at us and…

She laughed. Her laugh boomed off the stone walls penetrated through to my very core. It was deep and powerful and full of mirth. Was that possible? Here in Azkaban? “Mr. Warden is doing his rounds, is he?” she cackled. “Taking little Ms. Pretty for a tour?”

“Watch it, Lestrange,” Mr. Grisham demanded. “This here is Ama Star; she’ll be the new warden starting tomorrow. So show some respect.”

Bellatrix Lestrange’s wild hair fell around her and she tossed her head back and laughed some more. Each time was like…a…It’s impossible for me to describe without hearing it replay in my head. It’s impossible to recall without feeling as if ice is quickly sliding down my back.