RNP Chapter 352 The Prisoners of Azkaban
Chapter 352 The Prisoners of Azkaban
Chapter 352 The Prisoners of Azkaban
In the deep storms of the North Sea, there is a lonely island, and on this solitary island stands a cold and desolate brick fortress.
An unsuspecting wizard might mistake this place for the base of some dark wizard, but anyone with a little common sense would realize that it is a place that strikes fear into the hearts of all.
Azkaban.
The most vicious wizards are imprisoned here, where they suffer the most terrible tortures until their release and death.
That is, the Dementor's kiss.
Azkaban is not guarded by wizards; it is only inhabited by a group of dark creatures that resemble robed demons: Dementors.
They feed on the strongest human emotions. If you are taken from them, you will lose your happiness and emotions and become a walking corpse. If you are taken from excessively, you will not be far from death.
Therefore, wailing does not exist in Azkaban. Apart from the newly arrived guys, most people cannot utter a wailing, or even dare to groan.
Of course, today is a little different—because today is the day of the monthly patrol, and the Dementors will move a little further away from where the prisoners are staying so that the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic can conduct the inspection.
Scrimgeour, the Auror's Chief of Staff, also set foot in Azkaban today.
"Director Scrimgeour—" The Auror standing beside him nodded slightly and said, "The Dementors are gone. We can go in now."
"Hmm—" Scrimgeour nodded, his serious face showing no particular emotion.
As they stepped into the prison area, the prisoners seemed to come alive, clinging to the bars and starting to make a ruckus.
"Director Scrinker, I'm innocent! I'm innocent!"
"Scrimgeour, I could kill you a thousand times over!"
"Voldemort is coming back, hehehe! You'll all die!"
"Director Scrimgeour, I even hugged you before! Please, please let me out! Please!"
No matter how much the prisoners cried out, Scrimgeour merely glanced at them and remained silent. His indifferent face showed no sympathy, only a slight hint of pleasure flashing in his eyes.
These guys deserved it—they all deserved it!
Scrimgeour has always believed this.
"Director Scrimgeour, this is the area for serious offenders." As a heavy iron door appeared before them, an Auror nodded slightly and said in a low voice, "Would you like to go in and take a look?"
"Of course," Scrimgeour nodded and said, "Now that we're here, we should conduct a thorough inspection."
He hadn't come in person for a while, and if it weren't for that recent incident involving the Hamilton family—he probably wouldn't have come.
As the heavy iron door was opened, a bone-chilling wind seemed to blow out, causing the Aurors to instinctively shiver. Even Scrimgeour, the "vampire," frowned slightly.
He coughed and slowly stepped into the area. Unlike the previous area, the prisoners here were mostly quiet. Come to think of it, most of them had been here for a long time; they were either insane or had little emotion left.
Most of them just stared coldly at Scrimgeour, their eyes filled with resentment and murderous intent that seemed to overflow from behind the iron bars.
But Scrimgeour just snorted and didn't care about their looks at all.
They're just a bunch of murderers—by Muggle rules they wouldn't even deserve to be alive—especially since many of them have committed horrific atrocities.
However, Scrimgeour did not enter here to criticize them. He walked to the innermost part of the cell, where a cell looked much newer.
The people inside seemed more energetic, but only relatively so.
"Ah—Director Scrimgeour, you're here! Hehe—is there any news about my new book?"
"Can I see the newspaper?"
"Oh, and also, could I see the letters from my lovely fans? —"
Scrimgeour's lips twitched slightly upon hearing the somewhat familiar voice, and he said, "Mr. Lockhart, you have no fans left, and no new books."
"Hahaha, you're kidding, right? Joking isn't a good habit, or are you just trying to get my attention—"
Scrimgeour glanced at the somewhat deranged Lockhart, pursed his lips, and said nothing more. Instead, he looked at the person in the cell next to Lockhart.
"Peterson Hamilton," he slowly read the prisoner's name, "How have you been here?"
Peterson didn't speak. He just slightly raised his head and glanced at Scrinker. His usually gentle face was full of exhaustion, and the broken-legged gold-rimmed glasses hanging on his nose were probably no longer of any use.
His eyes were devoid of emotion, looking at Scrimgeour as if he were looking at thin air.
."
Naturally, he couldn't give any answer either.
Seeing his disheveled state, Scrimgeour sneered, "Feels good to have brought this on yourself, doesn't it?"
"After all, very few people are like you, capable of harming their own family members."
"————" Peterson remained silent, not uttering a single word.
"Hey, stop talking to that dead man. He's been like that ever since he came in. Come talk to me, Director Scrinker!"
"People outside must miss me a lot, right? Does my name appear in the newspapers often?!"
"————" Scrimgeour, interrupted again, frowned and looked at Lockhart. After a few seconds of silence, he nodded and gestured for an Auror to hand him a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Seeing Lockhart grinning foolishly while clutching the newspaper, he shook his head and then turned his gaze back to Peterson.
"I didn't come here to mock you."
"Just wanted to tell you some news," he said, coughing. "Your father, Mr. Edward Hamilton, passed away two weeks ago."
The cause of death given by St. Mungo's Hospital was heart failure.
As he spoke, Peterson's eyes seemed to twitch slightly, but then again, they seemed to remain motionless. He just huddled silently in the corner, not uttering a word.
"Director Scrimgeour, according to the Auror who examined him earlier, it seems that he was targeted by the Dementors because his emotions were most intense when he first came in," the Auror said, head bowed. "So now he hardly reacts to anything."
"I understand." Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. He started to leave, but after only a few steps, another person living next to Lockhart's cell suddenly grabbed the railing.
"Scrimgeour—is that you?"
"—" Scrimgeour, who had been called upon, paused and said, "Sirius Black, what's the problem?"
"Could you please change my cell?" the prisoner known as Sirius said slowly. Although he looked quite tired, his eyes were unusually sinister.
"He's so noisy." He was probably referring to Lockhart next door.
"Heh." Scrimgeour chuckled softly upon hearing this. "This is nothing to you."
"You can start negotiating when you truly repent for the Potters' deaths."
After he finished speaking, he walked away, and as the iron gate closed, the area for serious offenders fell silent.
"Why?! Why?! Why can Loila publish books?! Ah, I know, she must have plagiarized mine! Plagiarized my book!"
Lockhart's voice still echoed as he leaned on the railing and shouted to Sirius next door, "You know, I'm a famous author, it's normal for others to plagiarize my work!"
Looking at the newspaper he was holding and listening to his annoying voice, Sirius took a deep breath, then reached out and snatched the newspaper from over the railing.
Listening to his screams and curses, Sirius shook his head with a cold smile, then looked at the newspaper. The last time he had read a newspaper was last summer, but he remembered seeing Miss Hamilton back then.
She still looks amazing this year!
He glanced at the picture in the middle of the newspaper, but he wasn't particularly interested in Miss Hamilton's appearance—only his expression froze slightly when he saw the boy standing next to her.
Because in the boy's breast pocket was a mouse, and the mouse was missing a finger from its paw.
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