The Very Private Diary of Malcolm Nott, written in his head from Azkaban Prison
[Private]
I hate this place. I hate it with every fibre of my being. I hate the smell, I hate the sight, I hate the feel of the stone beneath my fingers. I hate the mutterings of other prisoners. I hate the lapping of water as it hits the rocks. I hate the food. I hate the guards as they gather around their pitifully small fire, and begrudge them every instant that they are able to keep warm.
I worry for Theodore. No word from him, not that I expect anything he might have written to be sent on to me by those damnable guards. He's a bright boy, as bright as they come; he'll survive. I hope he's thought, though, to raise the wards on Nott Manor; I certainly have no wish to be caught again when we escape.
There is no 'if,' here. The Dark Lord will enable our escape, and allow his loyals ones to return to his side. And when I do, there will be a great dearth of guards for Azkaban, and I will smile at the reason, and clench my hands around the blood that will be spilt over them.
It will be a great day.
They think they are quiet, when they speak of the outside world. They think that I can not hear them when they speak the words 'funeral' and 'Dumbledore' in the same sentence. They think I can not hear them when they whisper that Snape killed him.
I smile when I think of this news, for it shall not be long before my Lord has conquered the brat, no longer will those most loyal to him be living in the meanest of conditions, hiding like scared rabbits.
[/Private]
I hate this place. I hate it with every fibre of my being. I hate the smell, I hate the sight, I hate the feel of the stone beneath my fingers. I hate the mutterings of other prisoners. I hate the lapping of water as it hits the rocks. I hate the food. I hate the guards as they gather around their pitifully small fire, and begrudge them every instant that they are able to keep warm.
I worry for Theodore. No word from him, not that I expect anything he might have written to be sent on to me by those damnable guards. He's a bright boy, as bright as they come; he'll survive. I hope he's thought, though, to raise the wards on Nott Manor; I certainly have no wish to be caught again when we escape.
There is no 'if,' here. The Dark Lord will enable our escape, and allow his loyals ones to return to his side. And when I do, there will be a great dearth of guards for Azkaban, and I will smile at the reason, and clench my hands around the blood that will be spilt over them.
It will be a great day.
They think they are quiet, when they speak of the outside world. They think that I can not hear them when they speak the words 'funeral' and 'Dumbledore' in the same sentence. They think I can not hear them when they whisper that Snape killed him.
I smile when I think of this news, for it shall not be long before my Lord has conquered the brat, no longer will those most loyal to him be living in the meanest of conditions, hiding like scared rabbits.
[/Private]