Chapter Text
The echoing of the insane screams, the deep, sticky feeling of sweat sticking to their skin was a constant every day for a prisoner of Azkaban. The small cramped cells and the blistering skin from chains tied too tight—the eerie chill of the Dementor‘s passing by. The tormented dreams and continuous depressing thoughts are all that fill the minds of the damned prisoners. The heinous crimes they committed deemed them to get the most horrible treatment. Only the worst of wizards and witches were sent here. So, of course, only the worst treatment was expected. And those that we’re not there were fatally kissed by the Dementor‘s so that they were no more.
The prison has been here for over 500 years, housing some of the worst and most atrocious criminals in all wizardkind. It wasn’t always a prison. Though that depends on who you ask, if you ask the countless muggles tortured and murdered here, then sure, it was a prison. But if you asked the old owner of this island, then maybe it was his paradise. This island was always a home of the dark arts; the fact that played it true was how many Dementors it homed. Some people were against the building of a prison; some people wanted to just get rid of the Dementor’s altogether for fear of those detestable creatures. But their fear of the creatures left them no choice but to leave the island to them. For the fear, they might one day get out and harbor a grudge against those who took their home.
Creatures of mist and impossible to kill, the Dementors were feared by every witch and wizard of the good and the bad. So instead of taking their home away from them, they left them to guard a prison where no man nor woman would be able to escape from a Dementors grasp. The perfect prison. Guards that never took breaks, an island undetected by any maps, Dementors sucking the will out of all its prisoners. Every prisoner who walked into those walls never walked out again, and all went insane, just like it was intended when they made it a prison in the first place. Nobody cared about what happened to the prisoners; as long as it seemed like it was working on the outside, everyone was happy with how Azkaban kept its most tormented souls at bay.
Did they know about the horrible treatment that happened inside? Did they know about the graveyard built soon after opening? Did they know all those prisoners that died of despair? No, every minister of magic decided to turn a blind eye to the horrible treatment of the prisoners. So it continued for 500 years as one of the worst prisons, incarcerating many horrible wizards and witches.
One of the main reasons why nobody ever complained was the unbreakable track record of no escapees. Well, no, that’s not right. It was broken by a mother who smuggled her child out and took the child’s place in Azkaban. But nobody remembers that. The children of today don’t remember that break out. No, the one on everyone’s mind is of Sirius Black . A horrid murderer and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sympathizer, after betraying friends and murdering some muggles and wizards, he was thrown into Azkaban without trial. But most people felt like he didn’t need a trial considering the horrible atrocities that he committed. When he broke out, it flashed on the news for days on end. ‘Sirius Black Sighted’ outlined the newspaper the Daily Prophet for months.
But they never did catch that dastardly villain. He vanished without a trace. Nobody knew how he escaped, and nobody knew where he went. He was gone, just like that, and the world moved on; people forgot that Sirius Black was a threat. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the one who everyone thought was the most in jeopardy, was still alive, as good as ever. So the commotion died down. But the news of his escape spread far and wide—all the way to the other prisoners rotting away in their cells at Azkaban. The old prisoners strike up conversations with new prisoners, and the chain of information spreads throughout Azkaban. The escape of Sirius Black sparked the catalyst of events to follow.
Today, a dark and dreary day like any other on this horrid island with the screams of despair and the moans of melancholy that fill the air. The mad prisoners of Azkaban screaming and banging on the walls, they’re going out of their minds just as they do every other day. One prison cell deep down in the bowels of Azkaban lies a very small cell. Barely fit for a man, but inside was squeezed a 6-foot tall young man. Grimy hair matted to his face, dirt and grime obscuring the view of his skin. His ragged and torn prison garb basically ripped to shreds. His deteriorated blanket on the bed far too small for a man of that size. Chains wrapped around his ankle, rubbing the skin a bloody red.
The man, however, seemed none the wiser as he slept soundlessly, not appearing to be tormented by the nightmares that the Dementors inflict. This man has been in prison for a very long time. Almost too long, no matter what crime he committed. He’s been in this prison since day one. Locked up in a cell and forgotten throughout time. Nobody remembers his name or that he’s even incarcerated in these cold stone walls. Nobody really ever ventures this far down into the deep, dark, and dank prison. No need to go closer to the middle of the prison since more Dementors are found there. The more the Dementors congregate, the more the dark and depressing your thoughts get as you’re in the vicinity of them. Not even the Aurors transporting prisoners go in that deep lest they go insane themselves.
But on a day like today, something different happened. The chilling screams still rattled the air. The overall feeling of despair still was felt by every prisoner. Nothing seemed amiss, yet that was not the case. As four prisoners decided, today was the day; the day to escape. And they successfully got out of their cells and went on a rampage throughout the prison. They were unlocking every single cell in their wake. No matter what criminal was sitting inside that cell, their door was opened.
One woman, a particularly nasty witch by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange, delved deep into the prison, far deeper than she meant to go, opening cells in her wake, unlocking the chains around the prisoner's ankles and arms. Stumbling upon the last cell, she opens the door to find a sleeping man. Unlocking his chain and cackling, she runs down the hall back the way she came.
Unbeknownst to that witch, her laughing woke up the slumbering man. One bleary blue eye cracked open. An eye as blue as the night sky. The only bit of life that seemed to spark on the slouched figure. He slowly got up, leaning against the wall of the door to his cell. He takes a quick peek outside to see multiple prisoners crawling their way out of their cell. He has a confused look on his face as if he’s not sure exactly what’s happening. But he follows their lead, walking all the way to the entrance. It was a long walk, but for some reason, he was more agile and not as dreary or tired as the other prisoners. He quickly walked all the way to the front entrance and walked onto the sandy beaches. His bare feet scrunching up in the sand, feeling a sliver of warmth from the few rays of light pushing through the fog that surrounds the island. The warm feeling of the sun he hasn’t felt in a very long time causes him to cover his eyes from the harsh sunlight on seemingly nocturnal eyes. Yet he watches as the misty figures of the Dementors glide on by him, trying to catch all of the prisoners that were escaping. The Dementors didn’t really affect him as they did every other living creature. His magic was so bright and so pure that the Dementors shied away from him. The man was like a personal Dementor repellent. The dark and depressing thoughts were still rampant within the man's mind, but otherwise, the creatures had little to no effect. When the man noticed how prisoners were being forced back into the prison, he noticed four Dementors coming at him, yet he didn’t want to go back. The man felt like something was calling to him to not go back. So unlike the wizards of today, instead of apparating away from there, even though it had anti-apparating wards, a great wind started up around his feet, swirling in a tornado-like fashion around his body. The wind picked up, going faster and faster until you can no longer see the man standing there. The Dementors shied away from that spot, backing up. But when the wind finally died down, the place where the man stood was empty.
On this day, there was a mass breakout from the almost impenetrable Azkaban.